Desh’s eyes widened. “But—”
“How?” Griffin interrupted, anticipating Desh’s question once again. “Without hearing your description?” As he spoke, his fingers once again sped over the keyboard and Sam’s picture disappeared to be replaced by a screen of what looked like computer code. Once Griffin had learned from Desh’s reaction he had found the right person he continued to pursue other projects he had been working on in parallel. “I can access the log-in patterns of any employee. I know Sam’s locations over the past few days and the timing of some of his activities. From your story I know his approximate age and I can guess the precise level and position in the organization that would allow him to achieve all that he has. I narrowed it to five men. His name is S. Frank Putnam. The S stands for Samuel. He’s among the top twenty people in the NSA.”
Kira was speechless. He had done it! At long last, she knew the identity of the man who had killed her brother and turned her life into a nightmare. “Do you have—”
“Yes, of course,” snapped Griffin. “His address and more.”
“What are you doing now?” asked Desh, his weapon still trained on the hacker. Finally, Griffin’s slower-witted avatar had allowed someone to get out an entire question without being interrupted.
“Clearing Kira’s and the colonel’s good names,” he replied.
Given that Griffin appeared to have almost free rein of the cyber domain, Kira was encouraged that he continued to work toward helping the team. “But won’t—”
“That be a tip-off to S. Frank Putnam,” finished Griffin. “No. The records will remain as they are for twenty-four hours. Kira and Connelly will continue to be wanted fugitives.”
“And in twenty-four hours?” called out Kira from her post in the bedroom with extreme interest.
“The record will show that the accusations and evidence against Kira Miller were false, but that she was shot and killed before this was discovered. You’ll be off the grid for good, Kira. I’ll set up a new identity for you later. When I’m finished, you’ll be able to ride naked on a horse through Fort Bragg without attracting military attention.”
“I’d take money on that bet,” mused Desh, who then quickly winced as if he couldn’t believe he had said this out loud.
A smile came to Kira’s face, knowing this was meant as a compliment, but she didn’t respond. “And the colonel?” she asked Griffin.
“New evidence will emerge that he is completely innocent, with prior information to the contrary an attempt by an unnamed NSA employee with a personal vendetta to frame him.”
“And what will—”
“Enough!” thundered Griffin. “I’ve been more than patient.”
He continued his work with the computer unabated; as if unaware he had just made an outburst. Eight minutes later he gasped and looked as if his best friend had just died.
Desh caught Kira’s eye and nodded knowingly. “Welcome back, Matt,” he said.
“This well and truly sucks,” complained the giant.
“Give yourself a few minutes,” said Desh. “It won’t annoy you so much.”
“Do you think you could untie me?” asked Griffin.
Desh shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Not for ten minutes. I need to be sure this isn’t a ruse.”
Griffin didn’t look happy about this but didn’t argue. Having been transformed, he now was one of the few people who would know firsthand why Desh had been so cautious.
“Do you remember what happened?” asked Connelly.
“Good question,” said Griffin, tilting his head for several long seconds. “I remember what I accomplished,” he said finally. “I only have the vaguest idea how.” He held out his hands in wonder. “I was like a hotrodding God,” he said in awe. “What I was able to do in an hour, I couldn’t do normally if I was given a thousand years.”
Griffin continued to take inventory of the past hour and a guilty expression came over his face. “I was a bit of an asshole, wasn’t I?”
“I wouldn’t say that at all,” said Desh. “You were a total asshole.” He grinned. “But don’t worry about it. Your work was phenomenal.”
Griffin turned to Kira and shook his head in wonder. “That’s quite a treatment you’ve got there,” he said admiringly. Still facing her, he let out a heavy sigh and the smile retreated from his face. “Got anything to eat?” he asked eagerly.
Matt Griffin quickly proceeded to devour four bagels and then started in on a large bag of corn chips Kira had given him. Desh released the giant from his bonds while crumbs rained onto his head at a steady pace.
Once Griffin had been restored to full freedom, the entire group gathered around him as best they could in the tight space. “My superhuman alter ego may not win any Miss Congeniality awards,” he said, “but he sure was a God of the cyber domain. Allow me to demonstrate.” Griffin hit a few keys and a satellite photo came up on one of the monitors. It showed a central residence and two small, red barns, contained within the expansive grounds. The house was nestled among several mature trees. About thirty yards from the house a number of tiny horses could be identified milling about inside a fenced-in area about the size of a football field.
“This is the Sam Putnam residence,” explained Griffin.
“He lives on a farm?” said Kira in surprise.
“A small one,” said Griffin. “And he doesn’t actually farm anything. But he does have eight horses and two barns.”
“A perfect layout for him,” noted Desh. “It lets him be isolated from near neighbors without seeming to be a recluse. He’s just a rugged outdoorsman. And while the farm must have been expensive, it isn’t showy enough to make anyone wonder how he could afford it.”
“And the isolation leaves open numerous options for security,” added Metzger.
“Where is it?” asked Kira.
Griffin worked the mouse and zoomed out, showing the scene from a far higher altitude. Putnam’s farm disappeared. As if by magic, a map with borders and place names was overlaid onto the satellite image. Griffin pointed at the center of the screen. “Putnam lives here,” he said. “In Severn Maryland.”
The town was directly between Washington to the southwest and Baltimore to the northeast. It was at most fifteen minutes away from NSA headquarters at Fort Meade.
While the group studied the map, Griffin pulled up a page of information about the town and left it on the adjacent monitor. Severn had been a small rural town for most of its existence, but in the past several decades it had seen explosive growth given its proximity to D.C. and Baltimore and the growth of the government, including the NSA. While much of the town was originally zoned as rural farmland, the vast majority of land had now be rezoned for residential purposes. Putnam owned one of the few remaining properties that could be designated as a farm.
Griffin changed the view of Putnam’s property, zooming in to give the view from about a hundred feet overhead. “He has enough video cameras blanketing the property that there are virtually no blind spots. They all feed into two separate banks of monitors, one bank inside his bedroom and the other,” he said, pointing to the barn that was the farthest from the residence, “inside here.”
Griffin moved the view a few hundred yards from the residence and zoomed in until a relatively unassuming fence came into view. “This is a chain-link fence, ten feet high, completely encircling the periphery of the property,” he announced. “It looks innocent enough—almost inviting. No razor wire, no electricity. But don’t be fooled. It has vibration sensors. Try to climb over it or cut through it and your exact location is revealed.”