Page 37 of Absolute Valor

Austin plugged the address Largo had given him into my GPS. Crest Street was located off King. As we drove, several cruisers passed us, red and blue lights warning us to move over and let them by. As we waited for the fourth one to speed beyond us, I asked Dylan why he called the dead man Largo.

“Largo is his thug name. Since the first time I arrested him, I’ve called him Lardo, because he was such a big boy. He corrected me a few times on his name, but I didn’t give a shit what he wanted to be called. If what Austin suspects is true, I owed it to him to use the name he felt good about.”

The house stood quiet as a tomb, it’s bright white paint and dark shutters matched well with the surrounding homes. Dylan scanned the area before climbing out of my truck, then crouching at the front door. Many houses in Charleston, especially the ones in downtown, were built before the Civil War. Back then, having a private front porch wasn’t just a luxury, it was a necessity since air-conditioning hadn’t been invented. The private porches gave the lady of the house an opportunity to cool herself under all those petticoats, while remaining a lady.

This particular house was no different, the front door was actually the entrance to the porch, or veranda, as the uppity class called it. Dylan took longer to twist the knob, than to open the lock and let us in. The main door had a security pad, neon blue numbers glowing in the darkness. Austin pulled out his cell phone, scanning a few pages until he found what he was looking for. Dylan and I gave him puzzled looks as the door clicked open and the hall light came on. “Touch screens are tiny computers, waiting for a command to do what they’re programed to do.” He shrugged as he motioned for Dylan to walk ahead of him.

Inside the house was Priscilla Morgan’s wet dream. Rich fabrics covered high-end furnishings, heavy tapestries, in soft beiges, and creams, covered the windows and matched the furnishings. I had to question if this was a set up by a dying man, until I saw the portrait hanging above the fireplace. Virginia, Ginny, Gina, Harmony or whatever she would end up being named, was sprawled naked as the day she was born across a settee. Her hair long was draped over the arm of the chair, one hand at the crown of the head pushing the strands away from her face, while the other hand appeared to be caressing her nipples. Her skin looked flawless, absent of any tattoos or blemishes. Maybe this was how she saw herself, a beautiful woman to be appreciated and admired.

“Chase?” Austin called my name from down the hall, “You comin’?”

Leaving behind the illusion of a woman I thought I could love, a small slice of my heart and dignity in the coldness of her deception returns. “Yeah, I’m comin’.”

Walking down the hall through the rest of the house, pictures of Cash and Ginny line the walls. Black and white photos of them in a lovers embrace, selfies of them kissing, and even of one of him between her thighs. I’d always been careful with her, but after seeing how involved she was in drugs and other men, a trip to the doctor was in my immediate plans.

As I entered the kitchen, I still can’t believe this is the home of a girl who lived the way she did. Maybe it was wrong of me to pigeonhole her, but the way she turned out to be, placed her in a house like the one I just set fire to not one my Momma would move into. “Found it!” Dylan shouted, causing me to increase my pace as I followed his voice into the pantry.

A steep staircase opened to complete darkness. Dylan and Austin were searching on each side of the wall for a light switch, swearing under their breaths as they both came up empty. Pulling out my phone, I swipe the flashlight button on, illuminating the tiny space and the single light bulb which dangled above our heads. Reaching over, I pulled the beaded chain until the brightness of the bulb nearly blinded me.

“Motherfucker.”

Austin mumbles, noticing something at the bottom of the steps, and practically jumps down them in his hurry to get to the bottom. As he reached the last step, the click of a motion detector turns on the lights in the room, giving Austin a reason to gasp.

Hidden behind a fake door is one of the largest computer rooms I’ve ever seen. Austin is about to lose his shit as he takes a seat in one of the desk chairs. With his latex gloved hands, his fingers begin to dance across the keys, causing several of the wall mounted monitors to come to life. It reminds me of one of those movies about NASA, where they’re about to launch a rocket. Columns of numbers scroll on one of the monitors as Austin keeps playing those keys like he was playing a piano.

A large cabinet against the far wall catches my attention, the lock is laughable as I pull hard on the handle and the pins in the hinges give way. Inside are a number of boxes and plastic bags full of what looks like credit cards. Pulling one of the boxes off the shelf, the edges of each box are tucked under one another. With a tug, I peer inside to see more of the square pieces of plastic which look like blank credit cards.

Dylan comes up behind me, his phone out snapping photos as fast as humanly possible. “What the fuck is this stuff?”

Dylan peers into the box and then up at me. “Credit card blanks. See those numbers on the screen?” He points to the wall. “Those are the stolen numbers this system of Ginny’s is pulling off the internet. According to Austin, the computer copies the number and the security codes as the online stores process them for payment.” He hits several keys on his phone, and then points at another shorter cabinet along the next wall.

“This,” he opens the lower doors. “is where the numbers are printed onto the blank cards.” A machine that looks like a copier hums as it clicks several times before tossing a credit card into a large bin beside it.

“Hey, Chase, when did you go to Fallujah and Syria?” Chills run up my spine at the mention of those places and the memory of why I had been assigned there. “You never mentioned Cabestan or Liberia. What the hell were you doing in Djibouti?”

Rounding the desk, I take a look at the file he has opened. There on the screen is my military ID, my security clearance and a list of my medals—many I can never admit to having as they would tell too many tales. I have to sit down as the overwhelming feeling of dread fills my body. My records had been sealed due to the nature of my previous missions. “How did you get into the OPM web page?” It wasn’t meant to insult him, but these were government records, highly monitored by a level of technology the public has no idea exists.

“I didn’t,” Austin admits, his voice carrying an edge to it and if I wasn’t so freaked out by my life on the screen, I would’ve poked fun at him. “The password Largo gave me opened up all of this.” He stopped typing as he waved his hand around in disgust.

“If everything I’m finding is right, Ginny isn’t just some stripper, at least not anymore. She’s managed to do something many hackers have tried to do for years, and failed.” Dylan’s phone rang from across the room, having already emptied the cabinet and gone through every box, he picked it up. “Last year, the feds discovered a hacker who had broken into the personal management system. At first, it appeared as if they’d landed in there by accident.” He clicked the mouse a few times, exchanging the columns of numbers for columns of names. “So by the time they were discovered, they had managed to collect four million records. But what I’m seeing here, I bet the authorities didn’t see.” He leaned back in the chair as the names continue to scroll. “Otherwise, the feds would have busted down the door and taken her ass off to jail.”

Austin pulled himself back to the keyboard, his chair groaning in the process. “Let me show you something.” Several clicks later, my name is highlighted in the center of one of those columns. However, it’s the name below mine that makes me stand and take a closer look.

“Austin, can you tell me how she came to get this list?” My eyes are searching, my mind praying there are no other names from my SEAL team listed.

“Its genius enough. She either followed a hacker, or hired one. Either way, the second he was in, Ginny piggybacked onto his feed and started downloading as much information as she could.”

I’m hanging on to the hope my name is the only member of my team she got a hold of. My old LT’s name is Zach Michaels and the name under mine is Zack Michels. “Austin, if you click on the names on the screen, will anything happen?” The arrow moves across the screen as he hovers over my name. “No, the one under mine, LT’s.” I point at Michaels possible name.

“This guy?” Austin confirms as the sound of the mouse clicking fills me with more dread.

When I first met LT, the guys would tease him about being related to the Hollywood actor who got in trouble for doing something he shouldn’t in a public bathroom. Zach is from Atlanta, the son of an affluent family. His daddy is Chief of staff at an Atlanta hospital. He has two siblings; a sister who was trying to open a bakery and an older brother who played for the Falcons. He and his brother had been as competitive as the three of us growing up. When Zach chose to join the Navy, and eventually the SEALs, he did it out of a challenge his brother threw at him.

It’s all there; every mission we had ever been given, his scores from his online college, his cell phone number, everything. I didn’t consider the time or if he would be held up under gunfire. Several crackles and half rings greet me before he answers the phone. “Hey dickhead, you get married yet?” Michaels and I had spent a lot of time talking while we were waiting for something to happen. We exchanged how he wanted to open a tattoo shop and I wanted to come home and marry Harmony. He knew having a family of my own was the one thing I thought about outside of staying alive.

“Nah, man. I got rid of her. Sir, I got shit to talk to you about.”

“Sound serious, Diesel.” LT’s voice took on the one he reserved for leading us. His ability to gain attention, yet remain calm with how he carried his words, was a talent, which came naturally to him.

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