Page 117 of Rescuing Rebecca
“How long to search the files?” Adam asked, getting the meeting back on track.
“Hard to say,” Jay replied, sitting taller in his seat, his actions betraying a shift in his previously somber mood. “There’ll be a massive number of encrypted files. Too much to sift through manually. But we can write a program—something that’ll scan for references to the implant, cross-checking terms like ‘neural integration,’ ‘biomechanical augmentation,’ or even ‘manufacturing and distribution.’ If there’s anything useful, we’ll find it.”
“That’s it,” Zander said, leaning in and calling attention his way. “That’s the fucking link. Whoever’s producing and selling the implants to the members of the Imperium must be doing it in mass quantities, right? We find the manufacturer, we find the defense contractor. Find the defense contractor, and we find Johnson’s backers. I’ve been looking from the top down—but maybe it’s time to start from the bottom up.”
“The suppliers,” Jay said, his excitement echoing Zander’s. “Neural interface processors, wireless transceivers, power sources, biocompatible casings, failsafe mechanisms. They’ll come from several sources. Leading-edge tech companies, biomedical firms, universities, and the black-market, but they’ll all be shipping components to the same place for final assembly.”
“Exactly,” Zander agreed. “We find out where the parts are manufactured, and we trace the connections back to the parent company. From there, we follow the paper and money trails until they lead us to Johnson and his backers.”
“Alright,” Adam said. “It’s as good a place as any to start. Z, dig in. See what you can find. If anything solid surfaces, bring it to the table. In the meantime, I’ll loop Diane in and pass along what we have. Maybe the CIA can shake something loose.”
“Roger that,” Zander replied.
“Jay, how long to write the program you need to sift through Volkov’s files?”
“A couple of hours.”
Adam acknowledged with a sharp nod. “Do it—but let Zander search the results. We need you and Becca to focus on the lock and key. And get her a secure phone. I want all comms encrypted from here on out and zero chatter outside of our circle unless it’s on a burner device. One and done. Use them and lose them. We clear?”
“You got it.”
“Chase, you have three days to lock this op down tighter than a steel bunker under mortar fire. Up to you if you want to take Gray with you to do the recon.”
“Oh, I’m going,” she replied, leaving no room for debate. “I’ll find angles through my camera lens you won’t get otherwise.”
Chase grinned. “Yeah, Gray’s with me. I’ll figure out where to stash her when the time comes.”
Grant snorted and crossed his arms over his marshmallow man’s puffy head, but wisely kept any smartass comments to himself.
“Like hell you will.” Her grin turned into a scowl, and Cody didn’t envy Chase his job of trying to protect her. “Someone needs to document this shit for legal and evidentiary reasons.” She jerked her thumb toward her chest. “And that someone would be me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Exhausted and dizzy from climbing two flights of stairs, Grant made his way down the dimly lit hallway toward his bedroom. After a long evening of sitting at the conference table strategizing with the JTT, he’d spent the rest of the night fighting off a migraine and haggling with Madelyn so Eve could take a break and get some sleep.
Yeah, haggling. For a kick-ass combat pilot with a reputation for making the big saves, the woman had zero chill when it came to being a patient. Already tired of being bed-bound, she’d spent the wee hours of the morning trying to convince him to help her get to her feet so she could take a hot shower.
A shower.
Jesus Christ. He’d refused, multiple times, and then damn near caved when her pretty hazel eyes had filled with tears. So, he’d brought her the potato chips she’d wanted before breakfast instead, which, now that he thought about it, had probably been her goal all along.
He shook his head and grinned. His little Canadian minx had played him, and he’d fallen for it—hook, line, and sinker. Not the worst way to end his night. Or start his day. But damn, he had to be on guard, or he’d be catering to her every whim in no time.
Not that he had anything better to do. He’d been sidelined. Shut out. Scratched from the roster. He hadn’t been given any assignments while the rest of the team struggled under the sheer volume of work.
Sure, his brain was the equivalent of a cracked egg with a scrambled yoke, and his visual acuity remained impaired, but what the fuck? He wasn’t dead. He could still contribute. Still?—
A door opened near the end of the hall, and Grant’s slow meander ground to a halt as a hulking frame stepped out of the room.
Shit! Fucking Chase.
Caught out and with nowhere to hide, Grant had no choice but to keep going since the door to his room was directly across the hall from where the asshole stood.
Damn it. Now.
Now would be a good time for his feet to get with the program, but too stubborn to move, they ignored the order and kept him stuck to the floor like the soles of his shoes had been coated in Gorilla Glue.
Chase turned. Startled. Then closing the door and hitching the big duffel he carried higher on his shoulder, he frowned with his entire being.
