When his dark eyebrows pulled into a deep V, she waved off his scowl. “No cap means no lie. Sheesh. Do you ever open social media?”
“Sorry I’m not hip to the lingo you kids are using nowadays.” He rolled his eyes and she wanted to poke them out. How many times since she’d arrived onsite had he called herkid? “I’ve been busy for the last decade and a half.” She gave him a dirty look and he was quick to add, “Not that your degrees and your job haven’t kept you busy. I wasn’t saying that.”
She crossed her arms and harumphed. “I forgive you. This time. And only because our emotions are running high because this…” She gestured toward Kerberos’s glowing words. “This is big. No. On second thought, it’shugeif Kerberos is involved. You think Agent Beacham has a clue what she’s stumbled into?”
“I think she started to suspect right around the time she was warned the Kremlin’s very own version of John Wick was on her tail.”
She frowned. “At least John Wick abides by a code of ethics. From everything I’ve read about this Orpheus character”—she pointed to another monitor showing what she’d found in the dregs of the dark web regarding the assassin—“he has no problem killing innocents if the price is right.”
“Orpheus. Kerberos. Why does every shadowy, underworld figure turn to Greek mythology to pick their code name?” His glower might’ve looked frightening to anyone who didn’t know that his center was soft and squishy.
“Probably because Greek mythology has influenced society in just about every way over the millennia. From culture to traditions to politics, it has shaped the way we think. Hell, most of the lessons we’re taught as children about what it means to be a good person and the possible repercussions of being a bad person can be traced back to a specific Greek myth. So…in the fight between good and evil, it makes sense the people involved are attracted to the source material.”
Sam just blinked at her.
“What?” she scowled. “You asked.”
“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”
“The whole point of a rhetorical question is not to respond because the person who asked it already knows the answer. I didn’t get the impression youdidknow the answer.”
His frown melted into a grin. “God, I’ve missed you.” And then he crushed the joy that sentence brought by tacking on a “kid” at the end.
She almost lifted her shirt to flash him her boobs and prove, once and for all, just how much of a “kid” shewasn’t. Instead she asked, “What do you want me to type next?”
If he noticed she’d gritted the question from between her teeth, he didn’t let on. “Ask ’em why they stepped in to help Agent Beacham.”
The man has zero clue how close he came to a drive-by boobing,she thought as she typed in the question. Once again, the response was almost immediate.
She’s an innocent in the game.
“Guess she was telling the truth when she said she didn’t kill her partner,” Hannah muttered.
“Ask ’em whoisn’taninnocent in the game,” he prompted, and she enthused, “Oh, that’s a good one.”
Many that we know of. One we don’t.
His chin jerked back. “The fuck is that supposed to mean? Do all hackers imagine they’re some version of The Riddler?”
It was becoming clear Kerberos wasn’t going to offer up evidence on a silver platter. And what answers they did give were going to be cryptic.
“I think we should ask how they found out about Orpheus,” she offered. “The FBI is a threat to Grace’s freedom. But the assassin is a threat to her life.”
Sam gave a staunch dip of his whiskered chin. “Agreed.”
You will find the answers you seek once you follow the director’s emailswas the reply from Kerberos after she keyed in the question.
“Aha!” Sam drew her attention over her shoulder when he snapped his fingers. “We wereright.” Then he frowned. “Whoa. What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
He pointed to the monitor where letters, numbers, and symbols assembled in tight groups scrolled across the screen. To the layman, they would look like gibberish. Even to the casual hacker they would be confusing as hell. But to Hannah? They were clear and concise and absolutely beautiful.
Whomever had written the code was a master artist. The Michelangelo of the computing world. And her eyes were drawn to the screen like most people were drawn to the painting of theMona Lisa.
“Good god,” she wheezed, leaning forward until her face glowed in the light from the monitor. “It’s a secret backdoor into the FBI’s servers.”
16
