Page 22 of Code Name: Atticus
Kodiak pulled files up on his tablet, angling the screen so we could both see it. “Morrison’s been asking questions about the ‘new couple’ who recently moved to the Bay Area.”
“That was quick,” I said. “Though not entirely unexpected. When I reached out to him last week as Bronwyn Nolan, expressing interest in West Coast investment opportunities, I mentioned my husband and I were relocating. He must have started his due diligence immediately.”
“He’s thorough,” Kodiak agreed. “Already knows about the house purchase, the asset forfeiture connection, and everything Alice wanted him to find.”
“Which means tonight might be the equivalent of a job interview. Skip the prelims and jump right in,” said Atticus after he sat down beside me.
“Exactly,” Kodiak muttered.
“And if they don’t find us suitable?” I asked.
“Then we’re back to square one. Best case, they realize you’re too good to be true and start digging into your backgrounds. Which will all add up perfectly.”
“They’re airtight?” I asked.
Kodiak raised his eyes and met mine. “You don’t know Alice very well, do you?”
“No, I don’t. So I’d appreciate an answer to my question.”
“Rock solid as they can be. Anyone attempts to hack deeper, she’ll shut ’em down so fast they won’t know what hit ’em.”
“These are some of the best tech people in the world,” I pressed.
Kodiak looked over at Atticus. “You wanna jump in here?”
Atticus leaned against his chair. “You seem to be handling it stellarly,” he deadpanned before turning to me. “What he’s trying to say is Alice could hack into the Pentagon while making breakfast. And where she doesn’t excel, Tex Keegan fills in.”
“I’ve heard of Tex. I mean, I’ve obviously heard of Alice. But not until after she signed on with K19, of course.”
“Which is exactly the point,” Kodiak chimed in. “She knows how to stay hidden. And keep us hidden at the same time.”
“Okay. Let’s move on.”
“Equipment?” Atticus asked as tourists began gathering for the noon ferry.
Kodiak slid the gear bag across the table. “Everything’s tested and ready.” He studied us both. “I’ll be running commandfrom South San Francisco—close enough for rapid response, far enough to maintain separation.”
“Any final questions about tonight’s approach?” I asked.
“Just remember—these people are paranoid. Morrison especially. Don’t try to oversell yourselves.” Kodiak closed his tablet. “You two ready for this?”
“We are.” From a prosecutorial standpoint, tonight would either give us the evidence we needed to build a case or send these criminals underground. Everything hinged on our performance.
The ferry terminal had been perfect for the briefing—public enough to seem casual, busy enough that we blended in with other business meetings. After Kodiak left, we took a car service to the house.
Once there,we spent the next few hours immersed in preparation. I spread target dossiers across the dining table while Atticus reviewed floor plans of the Rosewood Hotel on his laptop. We rehearsed responses to hypothetical recruitment approaches and went through every detail of our cover story until we could recite it in our sleep.
By sixteen hundred hours, my head was spinning with details about cryptocurrency laundering and social engineering techniques.
“Time to get ready,” I said, checking my watch. “Event starts at nineteen hundred. We want to arrive fashionably late, but not so late that we miss the initial mingling.”
“Etiquette math,” he said with a grin. “My least favorite kind. Give me explosives calculations any day.”
I ignored his attempt at humor. “We’ll arrive at nineteen-thirty. That will give us time to make an entrance and scope the room.”
I headed upstairs to the walk-in closet and stared at the midnight-blue dress I’d selected—expensive, elegant, the kind of outfit that whispered wealth rather than shouted it. The fabric felt like liquid silk against my fingers, and when I put it on, it transformed me into someone I barely recognized.
Bronwyn Nolan, venture capitalist. A woman who could move through Silicon Valley’s elite circles like she belonged there.
