Page 44

DORIAN

Traffic gets heavier the closer we get to Santa Barbara, but it’s moving.

Reports are coming in that traffic in Los Angeles is at a standstill, partially from traffic lights being out and intersections off the freeways getting clogged.

If they can’t get power restored by nightfall, there’s a possibility of a curfew.

On the East Coast, nightfall will occur shortly.

If the plan was to rock the world with a sudden multitiered attack, it seems the plan isn’t being executed correctly.

“Sophia says a fringe white supremacist group out of Texas has taken credit for the attacks on US soil.”

I glance at Caroline and the phone in her hand.

“Are they buying it?”

If true, then there’s no tie to my father.

Although these guys may not buy that. They’ve already accused him of funding fringe groups, dismissing the fact that he funds both parties to cover his bases.

For as long as I can remember, my father has viewed politicians as toll keepers.

If you want to avoid court or have a favorable policy outcome, pay the toll.

Want legislation that hurts your competitor?

Pay the toll. Want legislation that allows your business to grow?

Lower taxes? Lessen restrictions? Pay the toll.

“No one’s buying it. It’s a grab-the-limelight ploy.”

“Are you headed to Texas?” If she is, I’ll go with her. I should have my security detail with us, but I left them back at the compound.

“FBI and Homeland Security will handle.” Caroline sets the phone down and looks out the window at a sprawling neighborhood set off to the right, far too close to a freeway. “I’d bet this group has been on a watch list for years.”

“They being dismissed outright?” I ask.

“Not in the media, but…reading between the lines, they already know the players and don’t believe they have the capacity or funding to pull this off.”

Up ahead, a sign informs us we’re eighteen miles from Santa Barbara.

“We have a solid twenty minutes before we’re at the office,” I say. “What did you learn from Aurora Calloway?”

I don’t miss the hope in her eyes. It’s misguided. I’m not open to a relationship with a woman who walked away from her child. I get that my father can be intimidating, but if she cared, she wouldn’t have given up.

“She has two framed photographs of you. One when you were in the hospital, in her arms. Another when you were learning to walk. You were holding both of her hands. You were a chubby child.”

“Did you learn anything useful?”

Her silence draws my attention. Her lips are scrunched together as if she’s struggling to keep from saying something.

“Caroline, just say it.”

“She had no choice when she left you. She didn’t stand a chance against your father’s wealth.”

That’s what Caroline has always believed. But for the moment, that’s not relevant.

“Did you find anything useful for the situation at hand? That’s why you went to her house, right?”

“Possibly. She said your father frequented gentlemen’s clubs.”

“That’s hardly news. Much of his generation did. And like we discussed last night, your boss’s brother does, too. As does Nick.”

Or he did. Maybe he won’t now that he has a new girlfriend. Last I saw him, he was into the redhead, so into her he was willing to throw away his membership in the syndicate to keep her in his protection when the mafia wanted her.

“But there was one your father frequented that was associated with the Kremlin.”

“In what way?”

“It was before Rory’s time. She said that he’d been remorseful. But he told her that there were photos of him and other friends of his. Used for blackmail.”

“Infamous Russian trick. It’s not surprising. It clearly didn’t harm him.”

“No, but her theory is that if he had any other children, they came from that period in his life.”

“So her theory is that Geoffrey Cromwell is Russian?”

“Raised by a Russian.”

“What would make her say that?”

“Because your father seemed protective of his past.”

“But nothing ever came of it? To her knowledge?”

“No. She walked in on him with the au pair, who was seventeen at the time.”

“She was a fool to marry my father. What I’ve never understood is why he didn’t opt for an open marriage.”

“She said your father always gets what he wants. He wanted her until he tired of her.”

She’s still looking out the window.

“You know I never tired of you, right?”

“I wasn’t trying to insinuate you did.”

“I never cheated on you, either.”

“I know.”

Her knee bounces up and down, and she resumes scrolling on her phone screen. “For the record, what happened between your parents has nothing to do with us.”

“I’m always compared to my father.”

“Yes, but I don’t compare you to him.”

“No, you don’t.” Perhaps I should apologize for insinuating she did. When Caroline fell for me, I was an unknown to her, and once she learned about my family, she wished I didn’t have that baggage. She’s always seen the real me. The person, not the heritage.

The GPS announces that we should take the exit in half a mile.

Once we reach the Arrow Tactical office, people will surround us. Her colleagues, bosses. People who see me as a person of interest—code for suspect.

Caroline’s attention fluctuates between her phone and the window.

“I shouldn’t have accused you of comparing me to my father,” I say, as that’s probably what she wants to hear.

Her head tilts, and she leans forward. “Is that your idea of an apology?”

That was an apology. I open my mouth to argue, but then I catch her smile and the shake of her head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“What do I need to apologize for? You’re the one who went to my mother’s house.”

“And I might have uncovered an interesting angle.”

I flick the turn signal to exit the freeway, following the directions laid out on her phone.

“If Geoffrey’s mother is a Russian immigrant, or if there are any other ties, Nick will uncover it.”

The navigation directs us through the streets, leading us to the tourist area of Santa Barbara.

Palm trees sway against crisp, cloudless blue skies. Given what’s going on with the world, there’s a surreal quality to the setting.

Caroline directs me to underground parking, but I see an open spot on the street and nab it. I don’t live in Santa Barbara, but I’ve been here often enough, I understand the fortuity of street parking.

We exit the car in tandem and cross the street.

To one side is a brightly painted front for a shoe company.

The nondescript door Caroline opens is part of a larger building that could be mistaken for the side of a parking garage.

But when we enter, the small reception desk in front of a black glass wall has a different feel entirely.

A black security camera hangs prominently from one corner, the placement making it clear they want everyone to be aware of the device.

A woman with black, short-cropped hair and an athletic build sits behind the desk. She clocks us both head to toe. She and Caroline exchange hellos, and the woman asks for my identification.

“Seriously?” The word comes out sharper than intended, but isn’t time of the essence?

“He’s with me,” Caroline says. “They’re expecting him upstairs.”

“I’m aware,” the woman says. “I’d still like to see your identification.”

Grudgingly, I withdraw my wallet and pass her my Colorado driver’s license.

“I’m surprised you haven’t relocated to Florida, given the absence of a state income tax,” Caroline says as the receptionist scans my license in a machine.

“Unlike some of my friends, I’m not petty enough to give a damn about taxes.” My gaze roams the walls and ceiling of the diminutive space. “And clearly, neither are you or your friends, given you’re in California.”

My quip earns a slight smile. The receptionist returns my license, and Caroline pulls on a doorknob. We enter a narrow vestibule, and she presses a button for an elevator. Two additional doors line the hall. Presumably, one of those doors goes to a stairwell.

I glance over Caroline’s shoulder and see that she’s messaged we’re here. The message is likely entirely unnecessary, given that I’m certain we were observed when we entered.

The elevator climbs one floor, and the doors open into a vast room of cubicles with offices lining the exterior.

The setup is typical Silicon Valley—glass walls and open concept, though I note the military-grade security features subtly integrated throughout.

Different from the quantum-encrypted fortress I maintain in Colorado, but effective in its own way.

A door on the opposite wall opens, and the woman I recognize from photographs exits.

She waves Caroline in, gesturing for her to enter the room. Unlike the other offices with clear glass, smoky glass forms the walls of this room, and as we approach, I recognize the glass as switchable glass, meaning it can become opaque with the touch of a button.

“Geoffrey Cromwell has exited the country,” Sophia says as we approach.

Interesting .

“Do you know how?” I ask.

“By plane.”

“Private?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because he knew I’d left Colorado. I wasn’t sure how he knew, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he flew out of the same location I did. He probably spoke to someone who told him I left.”

“Right.” Caroline’s friend holds the door for us and closes it behind us as soon as we step inside. “Dorian Moore, I’m Sophia Fisher.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

She gives a curt nod and makes no move to offer her hand, so I lower the one I’ve extended.

Four other men sit at a long conference table. I recognize only one of them—the jackass who picked Caroline up earlier this morning.

Interestingly, he averts his gaze, focusing on the laptop in front of him.

“Do you mind, Dorian? We need to confer with Caroline privately.”

“Not at all. Do you have an office I can use?”

“Do you need a computer?”

“No, I have my laptop.” I pat the shoulder strap of the bag I’m carrying.

“He can use my cubicle,” Caroline offers.

“I’d prefer more privacy, if you have it.” The issue with cubicles is that anyone can see what’s on your screen. An outfit like this, it’s quite possible they have temporary staff doing recon.

“He can use my office,” the man at the end of the conference table says.

Based on Sophia’s reaction, she doesn’t like that idea at all. “It’s secure,” he says to Sophia. To me, he adds, “I’m Ryan Wolfgang, CEO of Arrow Tactical.”

“Ah, you work with Jack Sullivan.”

“Do you know Jack?”

“I know of him. We’ve attended some of the same conferences over the years. Friends in common with his brother, Liam, as well. They both hold an interest in satellites.” Satellite surveillance, actually, but I sense Ryan is informed.

With a polite nod, I follow Sophia out of the conference room and into an adjacent corner office. Through the glass, beyond the buildings and the street, a sliver of the Pacific Ocean shows.

“If you need anything, just knock on the conference room door.”

The door closes before I can respond. I scan the ceiling. There’s no visible camera, but I assume anything I do or say will be recorded. Still, I prefer the dignity of an office over a cubicle surrounded by strangers.

I power up my laptop and dial Nick. The desk is clean. Void of all items, save ports to plug chargers and connections. There’s not even a pen holder. Three monitors but no laptop. I suppose this is what he meant by his office being secure.

The setup is bare but efficient—exactly what you’d expect from someone who understands digital security. I connect through my own quantum-encrypted VPN. I’m taking no chances with data security.

Nick answers on the fourth ring.

“Where are you?”

“Santa Barbara. Arrow Tactical offices.”

“I’m in London. At my flat. How are things there? People worried?”

“When we parked, I saw two surfers lugging surfboards down to the ocean and a line at the coffee shop down the street. But it’s LA that has the blackout. We’re about two and a half hours away. What’re you hearing?”

“I have a reputable source claiming that Five Eyes has been infiltrated.”

“Infiltrated how? Hacked?”

“An employee. A leak.”

“Working for who? Russia?”

There’s no way. Those employees are thoroughly vetted.

“Awaiting details. Interesting that you bring up Russia. Your father’s financial adviser, Geoffrey Cromwell, is Russian. Did you know that?”

“Does he have dual citizenship?”

“No, nothing that obvious. His mother.”

Look at that. Rory’s hunch was right.

“I’ll shut down my dad’s accounts.”

“If Cromwell is involved, he would’ve transferred funds before this went down.”

“I’ll get someone to check.” I shoot off a note to Jay to request a full account report from Bedrock on my father’s accounts.

The geopolitical implications hit me. With Zenith’s control over global communications infrastructure, any state actor would see us as both a threat and an opportunity. The satellite network I built could be the ultimate prize. But no—Zenith is out of Geoffrey’s reach.

“Another option would be that your half-brother is setting up your father for treason. The question is, if he wanted him dead, why not just kill him? Or kill you, for that matter? The math’s not working on that one either.”

“Well, he may have attempted to kill me. My helicopter may have been sabotaged. Hydraulic lines. Cause yet to be determined.”

“Why would he aim to kill you and not your father?”

“Maybe Geoffrey’s not in the will? If I die, he’d be added?”

“Come now. The bloke’s controlled your dad’s finances for ages. He could’ve robbed him blind and spent his twilight years sunning on a beach off the grid.”

“You think he’s working for Putin?”

“Or he’s looking to hurt your dad where it will hurt him most—his reputation. But Halston’s not of sound mind, right?”

“And Geoffrey’s aware. Maybe Dad’s dementia forced him to alter his plan.

It’s been a gradual decline. Perhaps he went from someone who could be easily manipulated to someone who wouldn’t comprehend what had been done to him.

I don’t know. Investigators have yet to visit the crash site.

It’s not easily accessible, and a storm system came through late yesterday.

I’m guessing there, too. Could’ve just as easily been a mechanical malfunction. ”

“How old’s your bird?”

“Latest model.”

“Get your head out of your arse. It’s sabotage.”

“Would my staff be in on it?” My question is as much to myself as to Nick. In my rush, I didn’t bring anyone with me, but I’ve got a hefty payroll back in Colorado.

“That, I can’t say. But one thing is certain. Someone out there has infiltrated the syndicate, and that someone fakes your father well. You’ve got to let everyone know the truth about your Dad. Not just the syndicate. Anyone with weight that he influences.”