Page 11 of The Grave Artist
Seeing Tandy’s confused expression, Carmen explained: “The bottom line is, thanks to Reynolds, a good hacker could backdoor their way into HSI’s system. All of it.”
To Heron, Carmen knew, external emails were a serious PPI, or Point of Potential Intrusion, to be avoided at all costs. He called them “Ebola.”
He looked up. “I’ve just sent a bot to scour all our systems to check for incursions.”
“How soon will we know?” she asked.
“If nobody exploited the breach, hours. If they did and cloaked the script? Days. Or we may never find it.”
“What did Reynolds want?” she asked Williamson.
“To ride herd. Or shotgun. Or at least be kept in the loop. Or whatever other irritating bureaucratic cliché you want to use. Apparently, the groom who died Saturday, Anthony Brock, worked for the Government Accountability Office in Washington. Reynolds thinks he was killed because he had access to sensitive information.”
Tandy said, “GAO? Ninety-nine percent of what they do is public.”
Carmen added, “And Brock was young, so he probably wouldn’t be handling anything requiring a high level of clearance, not top secret, definitely.”
“I hear you,” Williamson told her. “I made some calls and you’re one hundred percent right. He was a minion. Parks Department auditing. But Reynolds loves his grand conspiracies. And he also wants to know if the victims in Florence or Verona were connected to a government agency. He said we should concentrate on the spy angle.”
Carmen muttered, “You mean concentrate on the helping-my-career angle.” She said to Tandy, “Reynolds is the deputy director of Homeland, but he wants the number one slot. A while back, he filled in asactingdirector, but the Senate wouldn’t make it permanent and gave the top job to someone else. He’s still licking his wounds.” She glanced back at Williamson. “I have another cliché, sir: ‘feather in his cap’ if he catches that Russian spy he’s been after.”
“He’s got one in particular?” Tandy asked.
“He does indeed. Sergei Ivanov. Has businesses around the world, but he’s based in DC. Mini oligarch.”
“And he’s a suspected Russian asset?” Tandy asked.
“Zero evidence,” Williamson said. “But that won’t stop Reynolds.” Then he addressed all three. “And before you ask, yes, he expects regular briefings.”
She cut her boss a look. “Peachy.”
Heron was more to the point, reprising his earlier sentiment. “Shit.”
“Navigate as best you can,” Williamson said. “I’ll run interference ... as bestIcan. That’s all I have for now.” His abrupt turn to his computer keyboard signified that the meeting had concluded.
The three left the office, walking down the hallway leading to the Garage. Tandy had been to HSI—he and Carmen had run a few cases together—but not to the Garage, so Carmen showed him around, pointing out a workstation he could use. He sat down and placed a call to Robbery Homicide to give his people an update.
She returned to her own desk and glanced at her computer screen, scrolling through messages.
She froze. And gasped.
Heron asked, “Sanchez? You okay?”
She continued to stare. “They sent it.”
He asked, “The file?”
“That’s right.Dios mío.”
A file she’d gone to great lengths to find.
A file she half hoped would remain hidden forever.
A file whose contents would force Carmen Sanchez to relive the worst day of her life.
Chapter 6
The digital file Carmen had received didn’t involve Tristan Kane or the Honeymoon Killer.
