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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

LONDON, ENGLAND

FRIDAY, MARCH 24, 2023

7:00 P.M.

After enjoying an outstanding dinner of Indian curries, Cami and Rachel were sitting in Rachel’s room savoring glasses of chardonnay when Cami suddenly fell silent.

“What’s wrong?” Rachel asked. “You seem out of sorts.”

“I am out of sorts,” Cami admitted. “In my interview with DI Wallace, I did my best to point him in George Smythe’s direction, but I don’t think I made a dent. What if Smythe ends up getting away with all of this?”

“Sometimes you have to trust the system,” Rachel observed.

“What if I don’t?” Cami asked in return. “What would happen if I gave the Essex Police a little shove in the right direction?”

“That sounds like interfering with a homicide investigation,” Rachel said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

But Cami remained undeterred. “Remember that old saw about leading a horse to water?”

“Sure,” Rachel said. “It goes something like, you can lead him to water but you can’t make him drink. What about it?”

“What if I came up with an idea to make that horse thirsty?” Cami asked. “What if I offered to give George Smythe exactly what he wants?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about GHOST, High Noon’s proprietary operating system. It looks as though Smythe sent Petrov after me because he wanted access to GHOST. What if I approached him and offered to sell him a stolen copy of the software? If I could get a recording of him agreeing to buy stolen goods, that might be enough to get Wallace’s attention.”

Rachel was floored. “Are you nuts?”

“I want to be sure he gets caught. All I have to do is put my cell phone on Record when I talk to him. If he’s willing to buy stolen goods, what else is he willing to do? And if I have a recording of him agreeing to make the purchase, that might be incriminating enough to get Wallace’s attention. By the way,” Cami added after a pause, “what’s the deal with recording private conversations here in the UK—legal or illegal?”

“It’s not illegal,” Rachel responded, “but if you think that kind of recording can be used as evidence in a court of law, that’s a big maybe.”

“Maybe it won’t need to be,” Cami said, “especially if I can provoke him into saying or doing something stupid.”

“What are you proposing?” Rachel asked. “If you’re expecting me to go along with this idiotic scheme, forget about it. I’m being paid to protect you. That doesn’t include letting you go rogue.”

“In that case,” Cami said, getting to her feet, “I’ll have to make like the Little Red Hen.”

With that, she picked up her glass, still half-full of wine, and headed for the connecting door between their rooms.

“First we were talking about a horse. Now we’re talking about a chicken?” Rachel seemed genuinely puzzled.

“It’s a children’s story,” Cami told her. “Don’t worry about it.”

Back in her suite, Cami sat on her love seat for a time, thinking about George Smythe—a man with an exaggerated sense of his own importance. For someone like that, exposure of any wrongdoing on his part would be anathema. In addition, as one of the movers and shakers in the UK’s tech industry, every detail of his life—both business and personal—would be documented in at least one digital calendar or maybe even two. Unfortunately for him, hacking into computers was Frigg’s strong suit. Without wasting another second, Cami dialed her up.

“Good evening, Cami,” the AI said. “I believe you’ve had a challenging day.”

“You could say that,” Cami replied, “but now I need some help.”

“How can I be of assistance?”

“I’d like to have access to George Smythe’s schedule for the next several days so I can find an opportunity to engage him in a bit of private conversation.”

“Is that wise?” Frigg responded.

“Not wise, maybe,” Cami said, “but I believe it’s necessary.”

“Are Ali and Mr. Simpson aware of your intention to speak to him privately?”

“They are not,” Cami replied, “and I would like to keep it that way.”

“So mum’s the word?” Frigg asked.

“Exactly, but since he’s the CEO of Cybersecurity International, his devices are probably well-protected.”

“Not to worry,” Frigg replied dismissively. “Cybersecurity’s algorithms aren’t exactly foolproof. How soon do you require this information?”

“As soon as you have it.”

“Are you sure? It’s already quite late in London.”

“I’m sure,” Cami said. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. It’s officially my day off, so I can sleep in.”

Off the phone with Frigg, Cami sat in semidarkness with her room lit only by London’s city lights shining in through the window, watching the endless stream of traffic on Great Portland Street several stories below and worrying that maybe Rachel was right and what she was planning really was nuts.

Clearly, striking out on her own was in direct contradiction of what Ali and B. expected of her. Not only were they her employers and her friends, they were also the people who had hired a recent college graduate sight-unseen and given her a chance to grow into a job she had come to love. What she was contemplating constituted a very real betrayal of them. Once they learned that she had gone after Smythe on her own, would they fire her? Was bringing him down worth jeopardizing her own life, never mind her career?

And then there was Mateo. Of course she wanted to discuss all this with him, but she couldn’t—and for the very same reason. Bringing him in on her plan might put his future on the line as well.

She was sitting there struggling with her conscience and going back and forth when her phone rang with Ali’s face showing in caller ID. Cami’s first thought was that Rachel had called Ali to let her know that Cami was about to go on the warpath, but it turned out that wasn’t the case.

“B.’s here with me,” Ali announced as soon as Cami answered. “We’re calling to congratulate you.”

Expecting to be hauled on the carpet, hearing that congratulations were in order came as a welcome surprise.

“Congratulate me about what?” Cami asked.

“I’m sitting here with a FedEx packet from Dozo International in my hand,” Ali answered excitedly. “It contains a formal request for a quote from High Noon.”

Cami was thunderstruck. Although it seemed much longer ago, her dinner with Dozo at the Lancaster had happened only a week and a day earlier. In her experience, corporate decisions usually moved at a glacial pace.

“This soon?” she asked. “Are you kidding?”

“No kidding,” B. put in. “If High Noon ends up landing this one, I’m pretty sure there’ll be a sizable bonus headed in your direction.”

Cami was happy to accept their congratulations, but when the call ended, she continued to sit by the window, staring outside without really seeing anything and still worrying. The idea of going after George Smythe seemed foolhardy and dangerous, too, but somehow she couldn’t let go of it.

So how should she proceed? For starters, she’d have to do this on her own. Finding a way to ditch Rachel wouldn’t be easy. Obviously, she’d have to approach the man in public. If she put her phone on record, she’d have proof of exactly what he’d said and how he’d reacted during their supposedly private conversation.

The more Cami thought about it, the more it seemed that her original idea of pretending to sell him a copy of GHOST wasn’t such a good plan after all. What then? Should she let him know up front that she had learned about his offshore finances or bring up her suspicions about the illegal money laundering activities going on under the auspices of Bulgarian-based Data Security?

Even more than that, what did she expect to gain from all this? What she needed was some kind of solid evidence that she could hand over to DI Wallace. In actual fact, she’d be poking a bear, and a very dangerous one at that. And what was the likely outcome? Maybe he’d call the cops and have her charged with attempted blackmail. Or, and this seemed far more likely, he’d send someone else after her, a hitman this time, rather than a potential kidnapper. After all, two people were already dead.

When Bogdan Petrov had come looking for her, Cami had been smart enough to evade him. But did she want to live her whole life in a similar state of watchfulness? While she remained lost in thought, an hour passed, then two, then three. It was well after one and she was finally thinking about going to bed when the call came in from Frigg.

“Good morning, Cami,” the AI said. “I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time.”

“No, it’s fine,” Cami answered. “What do you have for me?”

“I believe,” Frigg said, “it’s commonly known as ‘the full meal deal.’?”