Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (77 page)

***

The device was no larger than a shoebox, yet it was connected to a half dozen computers, each with its own computer engineer behind it, tirelessly pounding away at their laptops. Among the six men’s computer screens, there were hundreds of thousands of lines of computer code. Their eyes were bloodshot, strained from looking at the glare of the monitors for so long.

Perry watched from the corner, his eyes glued not to the men working but to the rectangular device on the table they all worked around. The room was dark with the exception of the glow from the computer screens and that of the candescent lines that ran across the Taipan.

“Mr. Perry?” One of the engineers raised his hand and gestured over to him in the corner. “I’ve made it through the first security wall.”

Perry leapt from his chair and crept up from behind. “How many did you find?”

“There are at least a dozen. But that’s as far as I can see from where I’m at right now. There could be more, though.”

Perry dug his fingers into the man’s shoulder, the nails piercing through the thick lab coat and into the soft flesh. “Will it take you the same amount of time to crack those as it did with the first?”

The scientist winced from the pain, his voice cracking. “H-hard to say. The learning curve should be exponentially faster, but with a device like this, the security features will no doubt only increase the closer we get to activation.”

Perry removed his hand from the scientist’s shoulder, and the man let out a sigh. If that were the case, then it could take months for them to crack the code, and every second that was wasted was one more in which the authorities could track him down. Time was a resource Perry was desperately running out of. “I want to know where everyone stands on their assignments.” His voice boomed through the room.

All the engineers straightened as Perry walked around, checking their progress one by one. He kept his hands close to his sides, toward the seam of his jacket. Once he circled around and determined who had gone the shortest distance, he pulled the engineer aside and placed him in the corner of the room. The lab coats fidgeted nervously, all their eyes locked on Perry and their colleague he held out at arms’ length.

“I brought you here because you were the best in your field,” Perry said, walking around the room. “Computer engineers, physicists, programmers, all of you more than capable of enabling the device before you. Yet it has been a week, and we have not so much as scratched the surface.”

Perry stepped between two scientists with their heads down. He saw the muscles along their necks and shoulders quivering. “Have I misplaced my resources in using you?” They remained silent, shaking their heads. Perry slammed his fist onto the table, shaking the computers and the device Perry so desperately coveted. “Then activate the Taipan!” He quickly wiped off the spit that had rolled onto his chin and stepped away from the table.

The engineer Perry had placed in the corner stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do. Perry walked back over to him and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, his voice calmer than it had been a moment ago. “We have no room for last place.” Perry reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol.

“No, wait, I can—”

The bullet sliced through his forehead and blasted out the back of his skull, ejecting a trail of bone and brain matter with it. The body collapsed at Perry’s feet, and the others simply gawked at what had transpired. Perry stepped over the corpse and left it there as a message and eyed each of the engineers on his way out. “Faster, gentlemen.”

Cooper straightened her shirt collar and took a deep breath outside the conference room door, clearing her head. When she stepped inside, the directors of the FBI, CIA, and her own director of the DEA looked up from their laptops. “Hello, sirs.”

“Agent Cooper,” Moringer said. “Glad to have you back.”

While the suspension was still fresh in Cooper’s mind, being given the lead on tracking down the remaining terrorist cells had helped the wound heal quickly. “Thank you, sir.” She took a seat by Moringer and passed out the folders she’d brought with her. “Everything we found in the raid is outlined here. With the exception of the physical bombs, Kasaika was right about the location of the cell, as well as the number of men occupying the facility.”

“We’ve already cleared the target locations you sent over,” Moringer said. “The terrorists had already planted the bombs, but we were able to disable them before detonation.”

The CIA director didn’t look up from the folder that Cooper had provided, scanning the contents. When he finally cast his gaze upon her, she felt the coldness of his eyes. “So you’re the one who tried to convince everyone that Perry was dirty but didn’t have the proof.” The CIA director spoke with a chip on his shoulder. With Homeland’s intelligence prowess growing over the past few years, his agency had to fight for funding. But with Perry being such a high-level leak, the CIA had been called in to take over operations while Homeland performed an “internal audit.” “Looks like you have everything you need now.”

“Except for Perry’s location,” Cooper replied. “What have we found out about the device that was stolen?”

The CIA director gave Moringer a frown. “She knows about the Taipan?”

“Agent Cooper has the same level of clearance I do,” Moringer answered.

The CIA director snapped the folder shut and leaned forward on the table, clasping his hands together. “We’ve spoken to the Secretary of the Navy and the Air Force, along with some of the top generals who were aware of the project. While the device is operational, the team that worked on it installed a series of firewalls and encrypted code to ensure that even if someone did obtain it, it would be extremely difficult to activate.”

“What about the nuclear missile silos? Any activity there?” Cooper asked.

“Nothing yet,” Moringer answered. “But it is possible, however highly improbable, that Perry already has the device activated, and is choosing not to use it to take control of the silos.”

“You think he has another plan?” Cooper asked.

“We don’t know what he has. That’s why we asked you to come here, Agent Cooper.” The CIA director stood up and paced around the small conference room, and for the first time since she had walked in the door, he looked uncomfortable. “You’re aware of the investigative committee that’s being put together for Homeland’s internal review?”

“I’ve heard they’re reevaluating themselves, yes.”

“There’s another investigation happening,” Moringer said, cutting into the conversation. “The internal audit is just for show. The current administration is concerned about how far Perry’s reach might have gone, and in order to learn that, they want a review of everything that he did. His employment with Homeland, schooling, family, childhood. And the President would like to keep all of this out of the news until we find Perry. After everything that’s happened the last thing we need is the public catching wind of the possibility of a nuclear strike happening on American soil.”

The CIA director pressed his knuckles onto the table and leaned over, looking Cooper directly in the eye. “Perry fooled every intelligence director and official we have, and now every agency has to take a hard look at who we can trust.”

Cooper understood the feeling. Her own partner had been working for Perry. She’d worked with Diaz for more than four years, and he had never shown any signs of being a mole. The fact that Perry had influence over people wasn’t half as intimidating as the type of people he managed to have influenced. And the longer Moringer and the other directors stared at her, the more she realized who that investigator would be. She shut her eyes and let out a breath. “Digging into the lives of intelligence employees won’t exactly win me a lot of popularity.”

“From what I hear, you were never popular in the first place,” the CIA director said. “So why should that stop you now?”

Cooper cracked a smile. “When do you want this started?”

“Yesterday.” The CIA director extended a folder at least six inches thick. “That’s everything Homeland had on Perry. Now, how much of it is true is yet to be seen. There’s a motive hidden somewhere for why Perry is doing this. We find the why—”

“And we find out what might be able to stop him.” Cooper tucked the file under her arm, and when she made it to the door, she turned around. “What’s happening with Dylan Turk? Has the attorney general finalized his plea bargain?”

“They’re meeting later today,” Moringer answered.

“You think they should go easy on him?” the CIA director asked.

“I think the man’s been through enough hell. How much hell the attorney general thinks Dylan deserves is up to him. It was like you said, Perry had all of us working for him at some point, so, yeah, I think they should take it easy on him.”

***

Sean and Mary had been quiet during the entire service, and Mark wasn’t sure whether that was normal or not. In the end, he determined that nothing either of those kids had gone through over the past two weeks was normal, especially for Sean.

The boy hadn’t even had a real opportunity to speak with his father. The only times Dylan had been able to see his kids were during the hospital stay and then today at the funeral. Neither occasion had offered any real time to process what happened, and both were traumatic enough by themselves.

Mark followed Peter’s car all the way to his home on the outskirts of Boston. The attorneys had allowed Mark to visit the kids during the day, and he wanted to make sure he had an eye on them as often as he could. He didn’t know what Peter would try in court, but any inside information he could pass along to Dylan’s attorneys would hopefully help.

Most of the neighborhood was still abandoned, although a few of the residents had come back, forced to by circumstances, curiosity, or sheer stubbornness against being driven out of their own homes in the first place. Mark parked his truck on the side of the road in front of the house as Peter was helping Mary out of the back seat.

“I see you’re taking advantage of visiting hours,” Peter said.

Sean made a beeline for Mark and hugged his thin arms around Mark’s waist. Mark gently patted the back of the boy’s head. “I just want to make sure these guys are all right.” God knows what he’s seen will live with him forever. The rough calluses on Mark’s palm caught Sean’s dirty-blond hair. “How you holding up, kid?”

“I’m okay.” Sean’s voice was a whisper, and his tone didn’t match the words meant for reassurance.

Mark lifted the boy’s chin and looked him in the eye. “You’re stronger than any sailor I’ve ever worked with.” Sean offered a slight smile and then walked back over to the house, taking his sister’s hand along the way. Mark took a step forward, but Peter blocked his path.

“I know why you’re here. Just because some judge granted your approval for visitation does not make you family. And whatever information you think you can pass along to hurt me in the case to keep those kids won’t do you a damn good thing.”

“And why’s that?” Mark took a step forward, his chest puffed and his back rigid, fighting the pain in his abdomen from the stance.

“Because all those kids have known is violence. And the common cause of all of it was Dylan. I’ll be damned if I let that man ruin their lives any more than he already has.”

“He’s their father.”

“He’s a cancer!” Peter’s face reddened. “If he loves his kids, he needs to let them go so they can heal. That’s what I can give them: something normal, something good. I can give them resources to help them in life that Dylan could never do. They will want for nothing.”

“Except their father.”

“I’m their father!” Peter stamped his foot on the pavement. “I’ve been in Mary’s life more than Dylan has, and as for Sean, that boy needs someone strong to look up to, someone who didn’t waste years drowning in a bottle.”

“You have no idea what that man has been through, so don’t sit there on your pedestal and judge him on something you know nothing about. He’s wrestled with his demons, and he’s put them to rest.”

“Has he? Because my dead wife says he hasn’t.” Peter marched off, storming into the house.

Any way Mark looked at it, the situation was bad, and the kids were caught in the middle of it. He knew about Dylan’s past; he knew about everything that had happened. He had gone to every AA meeting with Dylan when he started his rehab and had been there every time he relapsed.

But over time, Dylan’s wounds had healed, at least enough to stop drinking. Mark knew those scars wouldn’t leave him, and as much as he hated to admit it, the kids being with Peter wasn’t as bad as he pretended it was. The man was rich, well connected, and did care about them. As much as Dylan begrudged having to deal with Peter, he’d never said the man wasn’t caring or a provider. Still, Dylan had given him a job when nobody else would. When all the other captains said he was well past his prime, Dylan had let the old sea dog rust out on the deck a little bit longer.

When Mark stepped into the house, Peter was busy doing dishes and Mary was lying on the carpet, drawing. Sean wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so Mark joined Mary in the living room. Her head and arms covered the picture she was working on, and she didn’t look up when Mark entered.

“Hey, girly, what are you working on?” Mark asked, leaning forward on the couch, trying to get a better look at the drawing.

“A picture.” Mary switched out one of her crayons and continued her doodling.

“Can I take a look at it?” Mark stretched out his arm, and Mary looked at him questioningly. “Please?” The courtesies seemed to help, as Mary pushed herself up with a bunch of crayons fisted in one hand and the other holding the drawing.

When Mark got a good look at the piece of paper, he saw a dirt mound with a crudely drawn tombstone on it with “Mommy” written over it.

Mary climbed up on the couch next to Mark and pointed her little finger at the images. “That’s me and Sean, and this is Peter.” The three of them were standing next to each other by the grave, all holding hands. Her finger moved to another figure, away from the gravesite, and she tapped the paper. “And that’s Daddy.” Mary had drawn silver rings around his feet and hands.

“Why is your dad by himself?” Mark asked. “Why isn’t he with you and your brother?”

“Because my daddy did something bad. That’s why they took him away.” Mary kept her head down and played with the edge of the paper.

Mark set the picture down and shifted in his seat to face Mary. “Hey, kiddo, look at me.” She lifted her head, and a pair of big blue eyes stared back at him. Mark had never figured out where she got the eyes; neither of her parents had blue eyes. “Your dad didn’t do anything bad, okay? The only thing he’s ever done is keep both you and your brother safe.”

“That’s not what Peter says.” Mary cast her eyes down and fiddled with the picture again.

“Well, Peter’s wrong. Your father loves you, and he would do anything to protect you and your brother. Whatever anyone else says is a lie. You got that, young lady?”

Mary nodded her head and then jumped into Mark’s lap. He winced a little even from the pressure of her small body pressed against the wound on his stomach.

All the words against Dylan would only grow louder once the trial started, especially when the news outlets finally got wind of exactly what Dylan’s involvement had been with all of the attacks. If Mary was already having doubts, then it was only going to get worse. And Mark wasn’t sure if he would be able to block out all that noise by himself.