Both women looked very official in their pantsuits and with their badges hanging on lanyards around their necks. But, more importantly, they looked victorious since they each held an army-green duffel bag loaded down and lumpy with cash. Sam Harwood, a former Marine Raider, and Hunter Jackson, a former Green Beret, held an additional two bags each.
Ten million dollars.
Would ya get a load of that?
“Julia had to do some convincing even with the warrant,” Grace told the group, her face shiny with sweat even though the sun was well on its way toward the western horizon. Golden rays streamed in through the tall windows, casting honey-colored shadows over the whole shop.
“And Grace had to bat her lashes and flash some cleavage at the old guy running the place,” Julia added in her South Side Chicago drawl. “But we got it.”
“The catch is, we have to return it in seventy-two hours.” Grace made a face. “Or our asses are grass.”
“How are we planning to do that?” Becky asked the question they were all thinking.
“One problem at a time,” Boss declared. “We have the cash to buy Sabrina’s freedom. After that’s done, then we figure out how to get the money back from her abductors.”
“Uh, guys?” Ozzie’s voice echoed down from the second floor, and that’s when Graham realized the mad hacker was missing from the crowd. “You’d better get up here. You’re gonna wanna see this.”
The alarm in Ozzie’s tone was as clear and ominous as a klaxon. In response, duffels were dropped on the floor like they were full of dirty socks instead of stacks of cash.
Graham was the caboose on the train of folks who wasted no time beating feet up the stairs. Which meant he bore witness to half a dozen gasps and curses before he hit the landing and saw what all the hubbub was about.
All six monitors had switched from screen savers to show jet-black backgrounds with bright white letters blazing in the middle of each.
“We are the ears that listen in the darkness.
We are the eyes that witness secret sins.
We are the guardians against tyranny and fascism.
We are Kerberos.”
Kerberos…
The hacker collective. Anonymous on steroids.
“Well, shit,” Graham muttered, the sandwich in his gut turning to stone.
If Kerberos was reaching out, it meant only one thing.
This wasn’t some simple abduction motivated by greedy bastards wanting quick cash. Something was very, very wrong.
11
“Hew! Go take a walk!” Boss thundered.
“I’m not your damned dog!” Hew’s voice cracked. His hands fisted. His body shook. “I’m not?—”
“You’re not a dog,” Boss cut in, his tone softer but still with that same iron center. “But you’re about to go nuclear. And this isn’t a launch pad. Go cool off so the rest of us can think.”
Hew’s pulse was a ferocious thing. It rushed through him in a torrent that made his head pound. Made his vision tunnel. Made him want to give someone a fatal dose of projectile lead poisoning.
“Crunch on this. It’ll make you feel better.” Becky pulled a cherry-flavored Dum-Dum lollipop from the front pocket of her pink bib overalls.
He took the proffered sucker. Because, damnit! What else could he do? It was either that or give in to the urge to break the conference table in half.
Julia, ever the diplomat, said reassuringly, “It’s good they contacted us. Now we’ve been warned and can adjust accordingly.”
“Warned,” he growled, ripping the paper wrapper off the sucker. “But that’s it. If they know enough to tell us this is a trap”—he thrust a finger at the monitors and the screensavers bouncing around their edges now that Kerberos had disappeared—“why the hell can’t they tell us how they know? Why the hell can’t they tell us who or what we’re up against?”
