Page 28 of The Devil's Ransom

His head still spinning, Hobbes said, “Show me. Show me the code.”

Kirk nodded and said, “Follow me.”

They walked down the hallway, Hobbes feeling sick to his stomach. He had agreed to help solve the ransomware problem for some obscure consulting firm, only to find out it was actually a covert agency of the United States government. He’d brought in his best man to penetrate the systems and deconstruct the code, and that man had now told him his very own code was in the ransomware.

Because it was him who’d let it out in the wild. He’d given it to a ransomware gang for a specific hit at a specific time, for a specific reason.

There was no way he could let this covert top-secret killer organization know it was his code involved in the attack.Hiscode. Why they’d chosen this target was what he didn’t understand.

He walked down the hall panting, his eyes becoming blurry. He was going to be found out. Going to go to jail. Lose everything he’d worked toward.

Lose the mission.

Kirk glanced back at him and said, “You okay, boss? You look a little sick.”

Hobbes gave a weak smile and said, “Yeah, yeah, just something I ate.”

He had to do something. Had to prevent the leak of his code from getting back to anyone at Blaisdell Consulting. And the only way to do that was to keep Kirk from talking. But how? He was a good man, but not someone who would understand what was at stake here. Kirk would not agree with Hobbes’s worldview, of that he was sure.

Since the fateful day of 9/11, Dylan Hobbes had lived in a universe of vitriol that only grew worse after each passing year. He’d worked to defend the United States from fanatical enemies all over the earth, and had been castigated for his efforts by elected leaders when leak after leak occurred. It didn’t matter which party was in charge at the moment: He was always the punching bag for cheap political points from pandering windbags who had no idea what it took to defend the United States. Nobody stood up for him or the men around him. Democrats called him a Nazi, Republicans called him the Deep State. None of the people ever said he was needed to defend the nation—right up until a terrorist attack occurred, and then they all called him incompetent.

It was impossible to succeed in such an environment, and the rot extended past his small world. It wasn’t about him. It permeated the entire country, extending down through every level from the decision making of the federal government to the kitchen table. Each party was simply looking for an edge in an upcoming election, focusing on the near-term target while ignoring the long-term implications to the country.

What was needed was a union of national pride, as had happened briefly after 9/11. Or after Pearl Harbor. Something to unify the country once and for all. Something that would give theentire population a focus other than partisan politics. He’d seen it happen before, and he was determined to make it happen again.

Only now his plan was about to be short-circuited by a man he’d hired to solve a problem that was one of his own creation.

They reached the top of a stairwell, a metal door held open by a rubber stop, the stairs themselves concrete with a steel plate at each edge, thick utilitarian tubes for railing leading down, the stairwell itself as dark as pitch.

Kirk waved his hand and a motion light came on, saying, “I get the need to control costs, but those lights are creepy.”

He smiled at Hobbes, the smile fading when he saw Hobbes’s face. He said, “What’s wrong?”

And Hobbes shoved him with all his might. Kirk flew off the landing, going about three feet through the air, his arms windmilling before he slammed into the sharp edges of the stairs. He tumbled down to the next landing and then moaned, rolling over.

Hobbes opened and closed his fists, not sure what do to. Surprised he’d even done the shove. He turned to the door, then turned back. Finally, he made a decision, bounding down the stairs to the body below. Kirk looked up at him, pain on his face, saying, “My back. My back. What did you do?”

Hobbes wrapped his hair in his hands and pulled his head off the concrete. Kirk raised his hands and moaned, “No, no, no.”

Hobbes paused, and then committed, smashing Kirk’s forehead into the steel plate of the stairs. He dropped the head, sank down, and began crying.

Five minutes later, he rubbed his face, then checked Kirk’s pulse, finding it gone. He raced back upstairs to a bathroom, looked in the mirror, and saw blood on his face. He leaned forward in astonishment, as if what had happened shouldn’t have paintedhim with the results. He looked at his hands and saw more splatter. He furiously scrubbed his face and arms, then sagged into the corner, wondering what he had done, and what he should do now.

He came to a conclusion. There was nothing to do but continue.

He pulled out his cell phone and called 911.

Chapter17

Jennifer radioed, “In position,” then snuggled behind her weapon as gently as if she were wrapping a puppy in her arms, seating the butt into the pocket of her shoulder, shifting it minutely left and right on its bipod until she achieved a natural point of aim on the apartment door.

She took long, slow breaths to calm her pulse after the climb up the wall. While it wasn’t that challenging in a technical sense, it did require a significant effort, especially with a rifle strapped to her back, and she needed to lower her heart rate.

She put her eye to the scope, seeing the stairwell ninety meters away, the single bulb at the door providing enough illumination to determine targets. There was one man on the stoop, sitting and smoking a cigarette. She had no idea if he was a threat but had to assume so. She centered the reticle on his chest and waited, breathing in a practiced manner as precise as a metronome.

She thought this entire thing was a bad idea, but Pike had a way of solving a problem, and even when that sometimes involved violence, it was usually correct. So she deferred to her team leader.

She saw a vehicle come around the circle and knew who it was. The car parked and she saw Pike, Knuckles, and Brett exit, but only Pike mounted the stairs. He walked up, the light above him making him look like something out of a horror movie. Shetracked him with the scope, praying this was a dead end. They had no way of knowing what was behind that door, and she honestly didn’t want to find out.

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