Breaking the Honor Code Read online

  “Don’t you know it.” Sloan took his badge from Hicks. “I’m going to grab some coffee before I start on my report. Hicks, you want a fresh cup?”

  “No, thanks. The wife insists I cut back on caffeine.” Hicks released the locks that led to the firm’s inner sanctum. “You’re clear to go in.”

  “Thanks.” Sloan and Riley chimed together as they pushed through the bulletproof doors.

  As always, Sloan’s gaze was drawn to the far wall. In standout gold lettering the firm’s mission statement read:

  Northstar—Guided By the Truth

  He liked working for a company that maintained integrity above all else. Something his father didn’t care much about. In a way, it gave Sloan satisfaction to know how much his father hated him working with the “dregs of humanity.” Helping others, earning a paycheck with actual taxes deducted, living the working man’s life was something his father didn’t understand, let alone appreciate.

  Riley stopped at his cubicle. Sloan continued around a partition and peeled off his overcoat. He tossed it over the back of his chair and switched on the desk lamp, then headed straight for the break room at the end of the hall.

  As he expected, a half-full pot of coffee sat on the warmer. The entire office knew the cyborg queen of the lab, Allison Richards, was a coffee junkie. Given what had gone down tonight, she and the other techs would be justifying their jobs to the director. Yeah, Sloan was damn glad he wasn’t in that meeting.

  After filling his cup, he savored the aroma of the hot brew warming his hands as he returned to his desk. He had his own reckoning to deal with. Not only would he have to explain to O’Neal what happened tonight—in writing—he could also count on his father self-combusting once the news hit the morning broadcasts.

  Twenty minutes later, Sloan typed the summary paragraph, snagged his now lukewarm coffee, and reviewed the text. He took another sip, grimaced at the temperature, then set his cup on the desk. As he pressed the SAVE icon for the document, his phone rang. He grabbed the receiver. “Cartland.”

  “Need you in my office.” The director’s tone was short and to the point, and totally expected.

  “On my way.” Sloan locked his computer and pushed out of his chair. When he checked over the partition, Riley’s chair was empty. He’d probably gotten his summons earlier, while Sloan was too engrossed to hear his partner’s phone ring.

  Byron O’Neal was the heart and soul of the firm and had established Northstar as one of the most prestigious security agencies in the country. He mentored his employees as though they were members of his family and he inspired legendary loyalty. The waiting list of potential recruits from police, military, and the alphabet agencies was long and constantly vetted, allowing O’Neal to select only the best of the best.

  As one of the fortunate few who worked at Northstar, he would always be in O’Neal’s debt, because O’Neal had taught Sloan more about himself than anything he’d learned from his father. Considering O’Neal’s seemingly boundless energy, Sloan expected to learn a lot more in the years to come.

  Normally, O’Neal exuded a youthful air that belied his tragic past, but as Sloan entered the office, he saw that the director’s face was drawn. Graying, light brown hair had been raked by aggravated fingers. His suit looked slept in. An unshaven jaw accentuated a hard, battle-tested face.

  Riley sat off to the side of the large mahogany desk, looking very much like a younger version of his dad. Both their expressions were grim.

  Tom Delano rushed in, bumping Sloan’s shoulder.

  Another of Northstar’s technicians, Tom reminded Sloan of a clumsy orangutan—short, muscular, and a bit on the homely side. However, he contributed his own brand of brilliance to the firm.

  “Did you confirm it?” O’Neal barked at Tom.

  The tech nodded. “It was definitely the hacker again.” He scooted forward a little. “And there’s more bad news.”

  O’Neal scowled. “Let’s have it. Might as well fight the entire firestorm at once.”

  Tom swallowed. His expression was almost fearful. “Five minutes ago, the press released details of Lorraine Voras’ arrest. The content could only have come from our confidential files.”

  An expletive roared from O’Neal, making Tom jerk backward and bump into Sloan.

  Sloan narrowly avoided getting his foot stomped.

  Riley pushed out of his chair. “I’m on it.”

  Sloan stepped aside as Riley put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close with a whisper. “It’s gone from bad to worse.”

  Sloan nodded.

  Tom shifted from foot to foot. “Boss?”

  O’Neal looked at Tom. “Go back to the lab. See if you can find something more in that trap Allison set.”

  “Right away.” Tom rushed out of the office as though his lab coat was on fire.

  That left Sloan alone with O’Neal in the worst mood he’d ever seen the old man in.

  “That’s the fifth leak in three months.” Frustration echoed in O’Neal’s voice. “Tonight’s fiasco could only have happened because someone is monitoring our internal communications.” He punctuated the air with a finger. “These hacks have got to end! I want this bastard stopped and yesterday isn’t soon enough.”

  It was an unlucky day for everyone at Northstar that the hacker had surfaced again. “Is there any way this information could be coming from another source?”

  O’Neal shook his head. “No. We’ve examined every possible angle. Tonight we finally got proof the leak is from inside our own systems.”

  “Proof?” Sloan raised his eyebrows.

  “Allison put a trap on the network before she left. It pinged around eight p.m. Tom called me when he got the warning. He drove straight to the office.”

  O’Neal must have arrived shortly after Tom. “That’s when you sent out the call for me and Riley to check on Coles.”

  O’Neal raked a hand through his hair, again. “A lot of good that did. Now there’s blood on our hands.”

  “The police have both Riley’s and my guns. They’ll find Jessop’s shooting was self-defense.”

  “I hope so.” O’Neal’s expression was bleak, as if he expected a call any moment saying the ballistics on Northstar-issued weapons had been used in unsolved serial murders.

  Sloan changed the subject. “What did Tom find in the trap?”

  O’Neal blinked, his eyes focusing. “He followed a possible link back through the firewall. We don’t have a specific physical address yet, but he believes the hack originated from the Los Angeles area.”

  “Los Angeles? That’s a long way from what’s happening here in D.C.”

  “The media doesn’t care where the leak originates. They’re just waiting for the next juicy story.” O’Neal stood and paced the room like a caged lion.

  “Any idea how the guy’s getting through?”

  O’Neal dropped into his large leather chair. “Not yet. Last week, Allison reinforced the firewall with the latest encryption tools. She thought she resolved the problem.” He rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. “After her last network scan, she programmed a warning signal. Poor girl’s been kicking herself for not doing that from the start.”

  Obviously, O’Neal wasn’t sharing this information just because he wanted to vent. “Anything you need. Tell me what to do.” Sloan wasn’t sure how his skills would be of any use. His knowledge of computers and software wouldn’t fill the cap of a pen. But he’d do anything to save the company that had helped him find a purpose in his life.

  A hint of gratitude showed through the older man’s concern. “Riley’s handling damage control. I’m sending you to Los Angeles to oversee a task force with the cooperation of the FBI. I’ve called in a few markers on this one. God only knows how many times we’ve helped them with caseloads. This breach clearly violates the Internet Architecture Board’s use policies. The FBI has agreed it warrants investigation. It’ll be a joint operation, with you as Northstar’s liaison.” O’Neal spla
yed his hands atop the desk and leaned forward. “Everything will be aboveboard. I expect you to stay within legal boundaries. We aren’t going after some pimple-faced teenage hacker just to save our own neck.”

  “Regardless of the hacker’s age, he’s committed cyber-terrorism.” Sloan understood the director’s concern about how the media could spin the story, but laws had been broken. “And after tonight, the authorities can add accessory to murder.”

  “I’m not denying this is bad. But the firm’s reputation has taken enough of a beating without this investigation coming off like a vendetta.” O’Neal ran a hand down his face. “I’m relying on your assessment of this hacker, Cartland. Get into his head. Find a motive. Help the techs catch him any way you can.”

  “Consider it done.”

  O’Neal pinned Sloan with a hard stare. “I don’t just want him stopped—I want to know who he is, and why he’s doing this. I want closure.”

  Sloan straightened, feeling the older man’s faith brand his soul. Four years after that fateful meeting with Riley, Byron O’Neal took a chance on him when he applied for a position at Northstar. All he brought to the table was a quick wit, a willingness to prove his worth, and a master’s degree in psychology. Getting out from under his father’s shadow had provided plenty of motivation to succeed. His subsequent years with Northstar had proven he was more than a shiny portfolio—he’d found his life’s purpose.

  “I’ll get closure for you, sir. You have my word.” He’d stop the hacker any way he could. “I’ll leave for L.A. tonight.”

  O’Neal picked up a folder. “I’m also sending Tom to set up the computer lab and—”

  “Sir!” Tom ran into O’Neal’s office waving a slip of paper. His air of urgency made both O’Neal and Sloan stare at him.

  “What is it?” O’Neal looked over at Tom.

  “It’s Allison, sir.” Tom handed over the paper.

  O’Neal scanned it and swore. “When did you get this?”

  “Just now.” Tom swallowed, his face flushed. “There’s more…”

  O’Neal glared at the tech, who looked even more drawn than before.

  Tom swallowed. “I can’t reach her, sir.”

  “What do you mean, ‘can’t reach her’?”

  Tom gestured with his hands. “Allison’s not responding to e-mail and she’s not answering her phone.”

  O’Neal looked over at Sloan. “Change of plans, Cartland. You’re flying to Idaho to collect Allison. She’s been on the front lines with this situation, and I need her in L.A. to finish the job.”

  Sloan recalled the half-full pot of coffee and mentally backpedalled. Allison? Idaho? “I thought she was here.”

  “She’s not even in the city. Bad timing on my part. She was long overdue for a break. After chasing this hacker for the past three months, I gave her a week off.” O’Neal frowned. “The trail had grown cold, she was hitting dead-ends. She thought—we all thought—she’d secured the systems.”

  “What is she doing in Idaho?” Regardless of her lithe figure, Sloan couldn’t quite picture Northstar’s cyborg queen as a ski-bunny on the slopes.

  “That’s where she calls home,” O’Neal answered.

  “I didn’t know.” O’Neal often sought Sloan’s opinion when recommending new employees. Oddly enough, Allison hadn’t been among the applicants he’d interviewed; O’Neal had hired her directly eight months ago. “Why not try to call her later? Maybe she’s out on a date or something.” Although, that image seemed even less likely than the ski-bunny one, and it was curiously unsettling.

  “This is why.” O’Neal handed Sloan the slip of paper.

  Sloan read. Then reread the message more slowly to be certain he hadn’t misread. The note was clear and, unlike his earlier venture out in the storm, froze his blood.

  Tonight is the beginning of the end. You’re one tech short. I intend to make that a permanent condition. You can’t stop me.

  Tom was speaking to O’Neal. “I’ve tried the local police, but there’s a bad storm in the area. They can’t spare anyone to look for her until morning.”

  An unfamiliar tightening in Sloan’s chest took him by surprise. Allison was a coworker, but her enigmatic personality routinely invited him to get a rise out of her just to see what made her tick. Sometimes he couldn’t resist wandering into the lab just to tease her. He’d never encountered a woman who’d resisted his charms the way she did, and yeah, maybe it had bruised his ego just a little. “Is it possible the hacker is blocking our communications?” Sloan put his mind back on the problem and the possible danger to his inscrutable coworker. “He’s done it before.”

  “Not only possible, but likely.” O’Neal rubbed the back of his neck. “That makes it doubly important that we get to her quickly.”

  “Where in Idaho?” Sloan was twitchy, anxious to be on his way.

  O’Neal’s smile was humorless. “A little town called Thunder Valley, right in the heart of the Sawtooth Mountains. I remember Allison saying there’s a road through a mountain pass that leads straight to her door. I’ll arrange for you to pick up a rental at Boise International while you get a bag ready. Once you find her, I want both of you on a flight to L.A.”

  Sloan turned for the door. “On my way.”

  “There’s one more thing.”

  O’Neal’s voice stopped Sloan’s exit and he glanced over his shoulder at the director.

  “Dress warm.” O’Neal’s tone held a hint of a warning. “If you think it’s cold here, it’s the dead of winter in that wilderness, and I need you both alive.”

  Chapter Two

  The snow was light and the air crisp at six a.m. the next morning when Sloan drove the rental SUV away from Boise International Airport. Roads that started out clear soon turned wet and slushy. As he began his ascent over the mountain pass, the surfaces became icy and treacherous. He hoped that after he dropped over the other side, the snow would let up. Instead, it continued to fall from the dark sky in thick, heavy swirls. Cotton-ball flakes caked his windows where the wipers pushed them aside. Even though the heater blew a steady draft of warm air on his feet, the defogger barely kept the windshield clear.

  On his descent, he spied a small mountain valley surrounded by cloud-covered peaks. He caught glimpses of homes, but hadn’t spotted signs of an actual town until he was almost on top of it. Why anyone chose to live in such a godforsaken place, especially in the throes of winter, was beyond him. In his earlier life, he rarely traveled far from a five-star hotel. Never mind living where he couldn’t get a cab. As far as he was concerned, the remote mountain town had only one redeeming feature: he didn’t have to deal with his dad and the news of the previous night’s shooting. When the call from his father came, he’d told his dad he was out of the state and would discuss it when he returned. Not that he intended to do that, but it appeased the old man temporarily.

  Fatigue had set in. He hadn’t slept on the flight—just fidgeted uncomfortably in the confined seat. Although the adrenaline from the shoot-out on Coles’ front steps had finally worn off, he hadn’t been able to rest during the two-hour layover in Denver. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jessop’s angry determination to kill him and Riley. It’d been easier to stay awake than fight the nightmare.

  Tension from the long, harrowing drive added to his exhaustion. Right now, all he wanted was to find Allison Richards and return to Boise before the weather got any worse.

  At the edge of town, he spotted a local garage. He’d make a quick stop—long enough to fill the tank and get directions to Allison’s house.

  Sloan eased the SUV next to the pumps. The garage’s peeling brown paint over cinderblock was just visible through the falling snow. However unappealing it looked, this was the first place that showed any signs of life since he’d entered the city limits.

  He climbed out of the SUV and tugged the collar of his sheepskin-lined coat up against a flurry of snowflakes that blew in his face. This was a different kind of cold than wh
at he’d left behind in D.C. Dry and sharp, it bit at his face and hands. He stretched his fingers to ease the numbness that made them ache.

  Under his boots, the ground crackled like frozen tinfoil as he slid his credit card in the pump’s reader and selected the grade of gas. The car’s tank was still half-full, making the task quick. When finished, he pocketed the receipt. The snow on the sidewalk to the garage reached above his ankles as he stomped up to the door and turned the handle.

  He hoped he could thaw out a little inside while getting directions to Allison’s house. The GPS on his phone had marked her address, but with the storm, he wasn’t about to trust that the coordinates were working as advertised.

  The OPEN sign swung wildly against the dirty glass as a gust of wind followed him inside. A tinkle from a strategically placed bell announced his entrance. Heat, blasting from an electric stove, took the bite off the chill.

  A muffled voice from the open bay greeted him with something that sounded like, “Be right with you.”

  While he waited for the mechanic, he looked around. The pungent smell of oil and gasoline came with the territory. An unpainted wood shelf held thick auto-parts catalogs, their covers smudged with oil. In the greasy glass case under the counter, there was a half-filled box of chocolate bars. Although he was hungry, he wasn’t tempted to buy one. This building was exactly what it looked like—a place to fix engines. Nothing more.

  A wall clock hung next to an outdated pinup-girl calendar. He compared the time on his watch with the clock.

  Almost noon, local time. Damn. It was later than he thought.

  Anxious to get moving, he looked into the bay again. All he could see was a blue-and-orange ball cap, with a college logo, placed backward on the mechanic’s head. The rest of the guy was hidden behind a snowmobile propped up on a lift and stripped down to the frame. Engine parts littered a workbench off to the side.

  As Sloan watched, the mechanic shook out a rag and laid it on the floor. Then, like a mother laying a baby in its crib, he gently placed a part from the engine on it. Finally, he straightened and started around the other side of the lift. As he took off the ball cap, a black ponytail fell over one shoulder. Replacing the cap with the bill facing forward, the mechanic turned and unzipped the grease-stained coveralls.