[REDACTED]: Your requests have already been noted and processed. Until such a time as they are ruled upon, please focus on the inquiry at hand. Do you understand the law as it applies to you?
MS. COHEN: I was told that this is a deposition. Isn't it a bit unusual to have [REDACTED] with my counsel? Cross-examination?
[REDACTED]: Please answer the question. Do you understand the law as it applies to you?
MS. COHEN: Oh, I understand, all right. This is a damned inquisition.
CBD: To the matter at hand, Ms. Cohen.
MS. COHEN: Do I have a choice?
CBD: There is some discrepancy about when and how the Washington FBI divisions were informed of your suspicions concerning Senator Heidi Moss.
MS. COHEN: Clarification. By "your" you mean Agent Savas and myself?
CBD: That is correct. Can you shed light on this?
[REDACTED]: Enough! Damn the protocol issues. Agent Cohen, it seems pretty clear that Intel 1 kept this information to itself for some time. Now, when you and Savas returned from D.C., what were his actions at Intel 1?
MS. COHEN: We didn't have any time to do much. All hell was starting to break loose. The virus was already eating through the world financial system, and the first big break on that, hell, the discovery of it, was made in Singapore.
CBD: You knew this then?
MS. COHEN: No. But that's the timeline.
CBD: Let's stick with what you knew at the time and how the defendant behaved.
MS. COHEN: How did he behave? We were both exhausted from racing around trying to piece together what the hell was happening with the car bombing, when bam! A VIP kidnapping spree and a fucking boat-bomb!
CBD: Wait, one thing at a-
MS. COHEN: We were hardly given a moment’s rest and then I'm racing to midtown while John and Frank are landing back in D.C. to interface with the local FBI divisions on the snatches there. My work cell is firing like a receptionist’s and our division is split across the city and between cities. Then, the next thing you know it's the NSA on the line and-
CBD: Ms. Cohen, please! One thing at a time. We need things to be clear.
MS. COHEN: You want clarity? You have us isolated and jailed under military law, asking all sorts of questions about our protocol during those days! Protocol! You want clarity? Try following protocol when VIPs are disappearing and blowing up in real time around you, when you get informed that a cyberworm is chewing through the modern monetary system!
CBD: We understand that this was a difficult time, Ms. Cohen, but-
MS. COHEN: You don't understand anything!
CBD: Please. I'm his counsel, I'm on your side, here.
MS. COHEN: Are you?
CBD: All right, let's calm this down and try again. After your return from D.C., what happened?
MS. COHEN: What happened? Everything happened.
7
Citigroup CEO Mitchell O'Kelly glared across his desk at his chief of security. He couldn’t believe they were wasting his time on this, but the directors had insisted and there was one thing even the CEO couldn’t ignore, and that was the Board.
He had known Jack Craig personally, of course. They’d been sparring frenemies for their entire careers across a slew of different corporate locations. O'Kelly had always found Craig an uptight puritan who couldn’t help but judge everyone else around him. But he had respected Jack. The man was a fucking genius with the nose of a shark, and you were a fool to bet against him unless you were holding one hell of a hand.
What had happened last week was indeed disturbing. Certainly O'Kelly was worried for his own safety, but the odds that this was something corporate CEOs in general were going to have to be concerned about were very low. He still didn’t have a working model for who could have committed such an act — nor had law enforcement as far as he could tell — but it was most likely related to specifics of Craig’s business dealings, his personal life, or a random nut job like John Hinckley or Mark Chapman. Sure, beef up the security, scramble the schedules, and then get on with business.
If only.
“Mr. O'Kelly, we have contacted a private security firm that was active in Iraq for VIPs.”
“Active in Iraq?” This was getting ridiculous!
“Yes, sir. They have a lot of experience dealing with threats of violence against vulnerable and important targets. They are mostly former military, highly trained, experienced with this sort of thing.”
“This is Manhattan, gentlemen, not Kabul or Baghdad. We’re not going to be driving around in bombproof Humvees. Let’s get a grip.”
“Sir, we’ve been personally contacted by the Chairman. He supports our recommendations. With threats of this nature — bombings, IEDs, whatever — we need people who have clocked hours with this sort of thing. The landscape changes.”
Holy shit. “What does this mean? Armored vehicles? SWAT escorts? Can I go to my son’s soccer games without a parent shakedown?”
The two security men glanced at each other anxiously. The older man spoke. “We don’t know yet what they will recommend, but we have scheduled a meeting with them tomorrow, first thing in the morning. They’re eager to find work in the States, sir.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“We’ll get recommendations and then brief you and schedule a second meeting all together to iron out a course of action.”
Ah, to hell with it. “Fine. Do what you need to do. Now, out. This nonsense has taken enough of my time today.”
The two men excused themselves with apologies and quickly exited the CEO’s office. O'Kelly swiveled his chair away from the closing door and glared up at the dim ceiling of the executive suite. The second floor design hadn’t been renovated for years and still possessed the wood and metal, mirrors and leather sensibility of a previous era of financial power. He found the stately atmosphere helped clear his mind, focus his thoughts on the tasks at hand.
His cell phone rang. He scanned the caller ID.
Franklin?
His son had grown up with a special rule in the house: Dad isn’t to be bothered during the work day unless it’s an emergency. In sixteen years he had never called. Not once. Not during his parents divorce. Not even when he had smashed his first BMW on the Long Island Expressway. Why was he calling now?
“Franklin, what’s going on?”
A harsh voice cut through the speaker. “We have your son, O'Kelly. Don’t do anything rash, anything stupid, or we will not hesitate to kill him.”
O'Kelly jerked upward and stood at attention, his gaze wild. “Who is this?”
“You know what we did to your partner in crime, Jack Craig. We blew him to bits. His bones litter the streets of this city, one of many he robbed for so many years. We will do much worse to your brat if you do not follow our instructions to the letter.”
His pulse racing, sweat building on his brow, O'Kelly paced the plush floors of the executive suite in panic. “How do I know—”
“Dad?”
It was Franklin. O'Kelly closed his eyes.
“Dad, God, please. They’re not kidding.” He seemed to be choking up. “They killed Coach Larsen. Shot him. Dead! It’s my fault, Dad! He was just trying to—”
Abruptly his son’s voice was cut off.
“Convincing enough for you?”
“Yes,” he whispered, his mind racing for solutions. He walked to his desk and the red panic button.
“You have two choices, O'Kelly. The first is that you kill you son by calling the cops, the Feds, your new military men,” said the harsh voice.