Page 50 of Fox in Plain Sight

Moments later, he’d navigated to it. There were hundreds of backup files pertaining to Sheppard’s files. They were listed chronologically. The last one had been made about a month after Sheppard’s death. Since then, the files in his cloud hadn’t been backed up, most likely because the system hadn’t detected any activity.

Nick opened the last backup file, the one made after Sheppard’s death, but no folder with the name My Boys was among it. This meant that somebody had erased it within a month after the Stargate program’s leader had been murdered.

Remembering Sheppard’s date of death all too well, Nick clicked on the file with a date only two days prior.

“Shit, Fox!” Yankee’s voice came through his earpiece. “Somebody’s coming. You’ve gotta hightail it outta there.”

“I only need a minute,” he said, already perusing the contents of the backup file. “There! Got it!” The folder named My Boys was right there. Nick clicked on it, and a long list of individual files appeared, all carrying only initials.

Nick pulled a flash drive from his pocket, jammed it in the computer’s USB port. Immediately, an alert flashed on the screen: Copying disabled. He’d expected this, but thanks to his years in the CIA’s Data Security department, he knew a way around it. He typed in the appropriate command and seconds later, copied the entire folder. A window popped up, indicating the number of megabytes it was copying and the time left.

“Damn it, Fox! Get your ass out of there now!”

“Almost there, just twenty more seconds!”

Drumming his fingers on the desk, he watched the time on the window decrease. “Ten seconds.”

“Now, Fox, now!”

The window closed, indicating that the copying process was complete. Nick pulled the flash drive from the USB port and shut the computer down.

He headed for the door.

“Fuck!” he cursed and whirled back around. “The login credentials.”

“Leave ’em!” Yankee ordered.

“Can’t!” He rushed back to the computer, snatched the piece of paper from the desk and ran back to the door. He eased it open.

“Turn right! Into the office next to you.”

Nick followed Yankee’s command without hesitation and dove into the room next to the one he’d just exited. Just in time, as it turned out. Footsteps passed by his door. Then the door to the other room was opened and closed.

“Now, out!” Yankee ordered.

Breathing heavily, Nick exited the room and walked back the same way he’d come. At the door, he stopped for a brief moment, then he pushed it open and left the restricted area.

As he walked through the maze of corridors, back toward the main entrance, he glanced at one of the clocks on the wall. It was high time that he left. His hour was almost up. Shortly, a vigilant system administrator would realize that the ID Nick was using belonged to a dead man. But before that happened, Nick had to get back to the computer Yankee was using to keep tabs on him, and replace his photo on Sheppard’s ID with Sheppard’s original one.

He increased his speed, but didn’t run. It would only draw suspicion onto him. At the next turn, he reached the entrance hall. Ahead of him was the oversized seal of the CIA, and beyond it were the turnstiles. Nick let his eyes roam. The security guard who’d assisted him earlier was gone, probably on a break. Somebody else had taken his place. Good. It meant the guy wouldn’t get suspicious seeing him leave again so quickly.

Trying to appear as relaxed and calm as he could under the circumstances, Nick walked past the turnstiles and through the glass doors into the open air. He didn’t look back, and continued in the same tempo until he reached the Toyota.

“I’m outside.”

“Good. I’ll be right there.”

Nick unlocked the car and got inside. When the engine started, he felt a little better already, but only once he’d passed through the gate, leaving the CIA campus, did his heart beat normally again.

The Buick with Yankee was waiting for him in a side street about two miles from the CIA’s security gate.

Nick pulled over, killed the engine, and took out a special antiseptic wipe, ripped open the package and proceeded to wipe down the steering wheel, gear stick, and anything else he’d touched. Not only would it make sure he didn’t leave any fingerprints behind, it would also get rid of any DNA. He finished by wiping the outside door handle, before he stuffed the used wipe and packaging into his pocket then got into the waiting Buick.

Yankee pulled into the street the moment Nick was inside the car. “You got it?”

Nick patted his jacket pocket. “I’ve got it.” Then he looked at his watch. “Step on the gas, Yankee. Michelle is waiting for us.”

Nick reached for his computer on the back seat, jetpack already attached, and didn’t lose any time wiping out any trace of his picture on Sheppard’s old CIA access card.

It took them less than ten minutes on the George Washington Memorial Parkway to reach the Arlington Metro station.

Nick searched for the van. “Do you see her?”

“Nothing,” Yankee said.

“Shit!” Nick cursed and looked at his watch again. Then his nape began to prickle uncomfortably. “Something isn’t right. Shit, something happened to Michelle.”