Firewall (10 page)

2:47 A.M. TUESDAY

Grayson stared out the window of his and Joe’s kitchen into the blackness. In a few hours the sun would rise. Between now and then, the bad guys would remain on the loose, trying to get their hands on Taryn and eliminating anyone who got in their way. Neither the good nor the bad would rest until this was over.

Backup had arrived as he and Joe sped away, and they kept right on going. Right now he didn’t want to think of what would happen to his career, all because he believed a suspect.

“Stand still so I can bandage you up,” Joe said, lines deepening in his forehead. “You’re one lucky hombre this doesn’t need stitches. It’s mostly bits of your shirt.” He held up the tweezers with a bloody bit of cloth from Grayson’s favorite navy-blue shirt.

“You could have sewn me up.” Grayson eyed him grabbing a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “That’s going to hurt worse than picking out my shirt.”

“You want a bullet to hold between your teeth?”

“I might need it,” Taryn said. She had a bit of green in her face.

“Don’t pass out on me.”

She turned away. “I’d never make it as a nurse.”

“Hold on to Buddy.” Grayson dreaded the alcohol burning his raw flesh.

Joe scratched his whiskered chin and nodded at Taryn. “Now’s
not the time to get squeamish on me. Once I disinfect this thing, I need to bandage him tight. Remember, you’re the gal who’ll do whatever I ask.”

Eyes wide, she stepped to Joe’s side. “I’m beginning to regret that statement.”

The first drop of alcohol was like Joe had struck a match to his side. Tears welled in his eyes, but he’d not holler. His crusty uncle would never let him live it down.

“A mite tender, son?” Joe chuckled.

“You’re enjoying this far too much.” Grayson turned to Taryn, still green. “Tell me where you found your sidekick.”

She told him the story of meeting Buddy on the sidewalk. “I’m sure God sent him.”

Joe humphed. “I’ll reserve my opinion until he’s had a bath and gets a little meat on his bones. Suck it up, Grayson. This is going to hurt more. Gotta soak you in alcohol.”

As if nothing to this point had threatened to flatten him. His uncle, a retired FBI agent who’d been the ASAC for Houston’s violent crimes task force, was as tough as most of the cases he’d investigated. Never gave a bad guy an inch, and his gut instincts about crime were right on. Legend around the office said he was part bloodhound. But along with his reputation was a huge heart. His wife had died over twenty years ago, and the man had never shown interest in another woman.

Grayson had lived with Joe during his high school and college days. Life with his dad and brothers after Mom died would have landed Grayson in prison, full of more anger than he cared to remember. Joe showed him what it meant to be a man, a special agent for the FBI, and to have a steadfast reliance on God. From day one, the two had worked out every morning but Sunday, a habit neither man had given up. Except on stakeouts . . . or today.

“Miss Taryn, you sure have an unbelievable story,” Joe said. “Of course, the media’s full of crap. Whatever sells goes, and you’re just too pretty to be a criminal.”

“All I want is for the right people to believe me.”

Grayson trusted her words, and his views had nothing to do with how she looked. He’d been duped a few times and paid the price for a so-called helpless gorgeous female who wanted the prestige of dating an FBI agent. “What about the FBI press release?”

“They’re fishing,” Joe said. “After reassuring the public that law enforcement officials were working around the clock to find those responsible for the bombing, they requested information on Taryn and Francis Shepherd.”

“I despise being linked with him,” she said.

“Have they released his real name?” Grayson groaned when Joe pulled another piece of shirt from his wound.

“Oh, I found it on my own
 
—Phillip Murford, your typical ex-con who refused to be rehabilitated.” Which meant Joe had learned more on secure sites. He handed Taryn a bandage with instructions to hold it firmly against the wound while he taped it.

“I couldn’t get my call to the SSA to go through,” Grayson said, relieved Joe had finished torturing him. “So I used the radio.”

“Probably a good reason for that.” He sent an admiring glance at the bandage. “I haven’t lost the touch.”

“You mean for inflicting more pain than the bullet?”

“You can handle it.” He opened a kitchen cabinet and gave Grayson a prescription bottle. “Take these until they’re gone.” Joe flipped open a huge container of generic Tylenol and handed him three. “These too.”

Grayson read the prescription. “How old’s the antibiotic?”

“Old enough to do the job.”

Grayson swallowed all four tablets with a glass of filtered water. Some things never changed. The meds might be five years old, but Joe would not allow anyone in his house to drink city water.

“Why don’t you two rest in the living room while I find out what’s going on at our friendly FBI office?”

“I suspect there’s a mole there. How else would Murford have known when backup would arrive?”

“Lucky guess. Maybe.”

Grayson needed a ten-minute power nap to fuel his brain. If he stretched out on his bed, he’d be out for hours. He dragged himself into the living room. Taryn trailed behind him with Buddy.

“What’s with you and shepherds?” Grayson said.

“So far, this one’s more loyal.” Taryn’s voice sounded weaker.

“You are a real sorry pair,” Joe said from the kitchen. “Rather pathetic. To be superheroes, you have to attack the case with your brains in gear. I doubt this is over, so do what you can to pump some life into those pitiful bodies.”

Joe always had a way of being encouraging.

“We should leave,” Grayson said. “Where I live is no secret.”

“The drapes are drawn and we’re working with little light.” Joe pointed to Buddy. “That dog will let us know if anyone approaches. From what you said, Murford needs a little while to regroup.”

Grayson and Taryn eased onto opposite ends of the sofa. The middle sank to the floor, but Joe claimed he liked it that way. Every time Grayson started to nod, a thought popped into his head, and he’d jerk awake. Snippets of conversation. Research. His organizational skills competed with information he did and didn’t have.

Think. What’s Murford’s next move? How can I be one step ahead of these guys?

Taryn stared ahead, eyes wide open. Looked like she had the same problem. “You live here too, right?”

“Yes. Two old FBI bachelors. One week I cook and he cleans. Then we swap. Joe’s the better cook.” He forced his eyes to stay open. “I’m thinking if neither of us can sleep, then let’s talk. But not about all the near misses of tonight.” A brief reprieve often caused missing pieces to slide into place, and he wanted to know more about this mystery woman.

“Give me a topic.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“What’s the craziest story your parents ever told about you?”

She tossed him a bewildered look. “And I thought I had strange social habits. Okay. You go first.”

He stood and pulled back the drape to take a peek at the street. A cat crept across the driveway. A poor squirrel was about to meet its Maker. Odd, since squirrels normally were active in the day. Grayson had always been for the underdog, and a part of him wanted to stop the game outside. Just like the case before him. “When I was six, I had this bright idea of going back outside to play after my parents put me to bed. I pulled the sheets from my mattress and tied them together, opened my bedroom window, and lowered myself.” He laughed. “I hadn’t calculated how many sheets I’d need, so I dangled in front of the living room window, where my parents were watching TV.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said for about three days.”

She laughed, and he enjoyed the musical ring. “Good one.”

“Your turn.”

When she frowned and rubbed her face, he had a clue what bothered her. “Taryn, this is a diversion. Nothing more,” he said. “Something to keep our minds off what’s happened, and then we’ll regroup after Joe finishes talking to the SSA.”

“Thanks. I do have a story. I was three, and I don’t remember a single moment of what I’m about to say. But it’s one of my mother’s favorites. One night, they woke to me calling for them. I wasn’t in my room, and they looked downstairs. My dad followed my voice to the kitchen. He snapped on the light and found me sitting on top of the fridge, where I’d eaten a whole bottle of Flintstone vitamins. Guess I couldn’t get down.”

Grayson laughed. “Daredevil even then.”

She shrugged. “Never thought about it that way. I know I’ve always been interested in math and science. Computer programming came naturally. I don’t have a desire to ride a motorcycle or dive off a cliff or parachute jump. What did you want to do as a kid?”

“To play professional baseball.”

“Were you good?”

He waved his hand. “Depends on who I was playing against.”

“Your turn for the next story.”

“Can’t top yours,” he said. “But you mentioned
one
of your parents’ favorite stories. What’s another?”

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “After what I told you, this will come as no surprise. I was three. That seems to be my most rebellious age. My mother found me standing in her bathroom sink rummaging through her medicine cabinet. I’d eaten all of her birth control pills.”

“What did she do?”

“Had my stomach pumped. I’ve been hormonal ever since.”

He howled, allowing the mirth to relax him. “That’s one I’ll remember.” The more he learned about Taryn, the more he liked her. She’d won numerous awards and had hit the who’s who on every geek list he could find. “Who taught you hapkido?”

“Oh, you recognized it.” She nodded as though appreciating his interest. “You won’t find it in my records. Didn’t train under my real name. I know that sounds odd, but it wasn’t one of those things I wanted to incorporate into my résumé. I enrolled while in college, and I was against carrying a weapon.” She paused. “I might need to rethink my decision. Anyway, I didn’t compete in tournaments. Just trained and worked my way up to a black belt.”

“What degree?”

“Third. I still train in a studio on the northwest side of town. Never had to use it until yesterday and today.”

From the way she moved, she’d been at the top of her class. “What made you choose hapkido instead of the typical flashy stuff?”

“I like what it accomplishes, using an attacker’s strength and power against him. It also makes use of many joint locks and pressure points.”

“Glad you persevered.”

“Give your sentiments to the police officer. My stunt will probably get me at least eighteen months.”

“We’ll wait to see how this turns out. He’s fine, so don’t let it bother you. I have a question, and yes, it’s about you and this case.” He pulled out his notepad and pen.

“Fire away.” She cringed. “Poor choice of words. How about write away?”

He liked Taryn, and he hoped he didn’t live to regret it. “I learned Congress met behind closed doors to decide if they’d issue an export license for companies to ship LNG.” She confirmed this, and he continued. “Do you know of anyone who would be violently against the export?”

“I spent months studying the current software used to regulate temperature and pressure and the protection needed to export liquid natural gas. I understood the advanced security protection measures that are needed to ensure the US’s infrastructure is safe from enemies. That said, oil and gas companies wanted this badly. Europe is a go for LNG from the East Coast, as well as countries who need the product in the west. But those who didn’t want the license granted were industry and manufacturing who use natural gas here in the States. They believed it would drive up prices. If you’re asking me if I know of a specific company or person who could be involved in something catastrophic, the answer is no. None of the discussions and heated arguments indicated such actions.”

Grayson took copious notes. The FBI was on every angle, but then again, so was he. Terrorism was a nasty pill filled with poison that lingered long after the public pushed the event aside.

She patted Buddy’s head and shook her head. “Bentley.”

“What?”

“My precious little dog is at the kennel, but I guess he’s okay. I made reservations for over a week.” She paused. “Murford liked Bentley. Played with him. Would he have planted something to keep track of me?”

Grayson made a quick note. “He might have. Give me the name of the kennel, and I’ll check it out.”

“Thanks.”

Joe walked into the room and sank into his recliner. His slumped shoulders and the telltale facial lines indicated bad news. “Got an update from Alan Preston.”

“Bring it on.”

“An anonymous tip reported to the FBI. Said you’d gone rogue and you and Taryn were working with Phillip Murford. Taryn’s upset with the whole operation because she thinks Murford tried to kill her in the bombing. The caller said Taryn told Murford that when he delivered another $50,000, she’d give him the information about Nehemiah.”

“Was the call traced?”

Joe snorted. “Untraceable. Since Vince wasn’t with you at the church, he couldn’t vouch for your innocence. Now, Alan doesn’t believe the caller, but he has to take it into consideration.”

For once Grayson wished Vince had been with him. “What am I supposed to do?” Grayson had neared his frustration limit.

Joe handed him his cell phone. “Call Alan. He’s the SSA. Let him take your concerns to the next level.”

3:35 A.M. TUESDAY

Taryn fought tears over the deceit that trailed through her association with Murford. Those useless displays of emotion never solved a thing. Fury best suited her, and anger she could work with. With all Murford had done . . . If he were standing before her, she’d pull the trigger on him. Revenge made a strange bedfellow. She, Taryn Young, the woman who opposed animal cruelty and fought for their rights, now had murderous thoughts. Combine her thirst for blood with a renewal to God, and what did that make her?

This wasn’t the best time to analyze herself.

She stroked Buddy’s head. The dog soothed her frazzled nerves. “I’m afraid a call to your boss means an arrest for me.”

“The SSA is the epitome of integrity. Both he and Joe live and breathe it,” Grayson said, the phone in his hand.

“Thanks,” Joe said. “Appreciate the morale boost.”

Grayson nodded at his uncle and turned to Taryn. “Is there anything else you need to tell me before I make the call?”

“Not without getting online and doing a few searches.” She hesitated. Like Congress, the FBI deserved all the background information she could volunteer. Chances were they already had everything documented about her life. “One more detail. When I was briefed during the closed session with Congress, I told them I regularly attended defensive and offensive hacking conferences.
Some, like Black Hat, have participants who don’t use their knowledge legally. Many of those conferences don’t require a legal name.”

“What’s the difference between defensive and offensive?”

“Those who acquire defensive methods are looking to protect systems from being hacked. Those attending the offensive security conferences are looking for ways to get into a computer undetected, and that’s my preference. It’s more challenging and helps me find vulnerabilities in the software development process.”

“How good are you?”

She shrugged. “I achieved elite hacker status. I wanted to be top of my class on both sides of the fence. You already have my career history.”

Grayson handed her his notebook. “I need the name or names used for the hapkido classes and all hacker conferences.”

She jotted down
Julie Harmon
. “It’s the same for both instances.”

Joe cleared his throat and eyed Grayson. “Make the call.” Not an ounce of emotion passed over the older man’s face. “Alan knows what he’s doing.”

“I want to get my hands on Murford and those working with him.”

“Make that two of us. And I want Zoey found.” Taryn refused to consider that the little girl had witnessed her mother’s murder. “She’s my child now, and I can’t imagine her terror.”

Joe pushed himself up from the recliner. “Make that
we three
want the child found
 
—and those responsible for the chaos this week,” he said. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee while you talk to Alan.”

“Joe, we need to get out of here,” Grayson said. “We’re sitting ducks.”

“I agree,” Taryn said.

Joe held up his hand. “You’re safe here, or someone would already have blown in the door.”

“Why are you two risking your lives to help me?” Taryn glanced
from one man to the other. Both carved from the same stone. “If you live through this, your careers might end up in the sewer.”

Grayson gathered his notepad and pen. “When we find who’s responsible, we’ll have brought all those involved to justice,” he said. “And it’s not just Houston’s FBI working on the bombing, but the entire bureau, including agents abroad. The investigation is pooling law enforcement efforts that most of the country is not remotely aware of. Joe and I are small potatoes in the whole scheme of things. But I know the truth will surface, beginning with my call to the SSA.”

“I’ll grind those coffee beans,” Joe said. “Grayson, when you’re off the phone, you two need to figure out your priorities. Listing what you want accomplished helps us devise a plan. Right now we need caffeine flowing through our veins. How do you drink your coffee, Taryn?”

“Black and strong.”

Joe gave her a thumbs-up. “Smart, pretty, and knows how to drink coffee.”

She didn’t add that a vegan wouldn’t use dairy products.

Once Joe disappeared into the kitchen, Taryn studied Grayson. A fine man. Murford should take lessons. She wasn’t sure if she supported the two agents on their decision to contact the FBI. But did she have a choice? God knew she had a difficult time trusting anyone, but she was convinced He had her back.

He pressed in a number. “This is Grayson.” He smiled, something she hadn’t seen too often. How sad she hadn’t met him before Shep . . . Murford. Strange thought in the midst of this mess.

“I’ve been with Taryn Young since the agreed-upon meeting late last night,” he said. “Joe patched me up. She’s given me more information, and I’ll send it once we’re finished.” He stared at her. “Fully cooperative.” He explained her hacking abilities. “Although our priorities and hers are not exactly the same, I understand her concern for Claire Levin’s child. Has the little girl been found?”

Taryn held her breath, but when he shook his head, she knew Zoey was still in danger.

“What are my orders?” He closed his eyes, obviously exhausted. “Yes, sir.” He disconnected the call. “The boss has made it known that Taryn and I are at a hotel. Hey, Joe, Houston FBI’s executive management has hired you as a postretirement contractor and given you top-secret clearance, but I imagine you know that.”

“Yep,” Joe called from the kitchen.

“I need your laptop to send a secure message. Mine’s at the office.”

“You know where it is.”

Grayson disappeared, leaving Taryn alone. She desperately wanted to hear about the conversation with the director of Houston’s FBI. “Grayson, do you need any help?”

“It’s my side that’s bandaged, not my fingers. I’ll explain more in a few minutes.”

But she wanted to know now. What were they doing to find Murford? The FBI had to understand the airport bombing and the software were linked. She could see it even if she couldn’t figure out why.

And Zoey?

She walked into the kitchen with Buddy trailing after her. Joe had just finished grinding coffee beans, the nutty aroma filling the room. “I’m really worried about Claire’s daughter,” she said. “There are so many places where they could hide a little girl.”

Joe pulled three mugs from the cabinet, all black with the FBI emblem. “Those who have her will be making their move soon.” Apprehension coated his words.

“I want to think they’d release a three-year-old.”

Joe focused his attention on her. “Don’t go there, Taryn. False illusion. Kidnappers rarely release their victims. Too big a threat. Your friend’s child could pick out the people who kidnapped her in a lineup.”

She couldn’t stop the tears. Her foolishness for falling for
Murford was one thing, but a helpless, innocent child in danger leveled her emotions. Joe was right. If a man was part of a scheme to bomb the airport, killing innocent people, he’d have no issue eliminating anyone in his way.

4:15 A.M. TUESDAY

Grayson pushed Send and joined Taryn and Joe in the living room. Joe was now working with him and Vince, not exactly protocol with his uncle’s retirement. But the country’s situation didn’t support business as usual.

Joe handed him a cup of steaming coffee. The tantalizing smell caused his stomach to rumble.

“I heard that,” Joe said. “You’ll need breakfast soon.”

“Wait until daylight. How do you feel about being my new partner with Vince?” Grayson said.

“Great. I’m bored with the retirement scene,” Joe said. “This old man needs a little excitement. Beats game shows and crime novels. If I see one more episode of
CSI
, I’m going to puke.”

Grayson took a sip, and the coffee didn’t disappoint him. Joe only brewed Starbucks. “You’re not surprised?”

“No, son, I’m not. Just a little odd to be a threesome with Vince. What’s our assignment?”

“For right now, it’s Taryn. Keeping her safe until the management has us bring her in.”

“Why not now?”

“Like me, the SSA suspects a mole. Working on something that he wouldn’t tell me about.”

“I could help with the investigation,” Taryn said.

“I’m not authorized to give you clearance,” Grayson said.

She shook her head. “I don’t need it.” She pointed a finger. “Whatever I do, I’ll take the blame.”

“I’d give her anything she wanted to know,” Joe said, respect brimming from his eyes.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile that made Grayson’s pulse race. “I want to help. Probably best I start with Shep . . . Murford. I spent three months with him. He’s not so good that he didn’t let something slip. I’ll look for camera footage at his condo. Chances are the limo driver’s in those too.” She picked up a legal pad and pencil from the table and handed them to Grayson. “Since what everyone wants is out of my control, I can at least dig into online searches. I need you to tell me what’s number one on the list.”

Grayson tilted his head. “What do you mean ‘everyone’?”

“Good and bad guys want Nehemiah. The problem is . . .”

“What?” Grayson leaned in closer.

“Neither my iPad nor my laptop can help them. I have a code memorized. Only a custom app on my iPhone, along with my knowledge, can give them what they want.”

“The information’s there?” He jotted down her words.

She nodded. “You’ve heard this before when I was in the hospital. But Murford was in my room, and I know that’s when he swiped my phone. I can only hope he doesn’t realize what’s on it.”

“I understand enough about computer technology to get around,” Joe said. “But you’re above my head. The software program is loaded on your iPhone?”

“No. That would be dangerous.”

“I don’t get it.” Lines deepened on Joe’s forehead.

“My iPhone has a key to a backdoor for Nehemiah.”

“Explain it to me,” Joe said.

“A backdoor is an undocumented method to access an application or system. I don’t need the typical end-user log-on credentials or normal front-door method of getting into the software. The backdoor isn’t documented anywhere since it serves as a point of exposure, but it is helpful during a software development process and even for ongoing support.” She paused. “Understand, the old software is in place with its firewall. Hackers could be working on that aspect. They could also be hacking into the new one. But if Murford accesses the new software through my backdoor, he
could install it remotely at the two companies that were using it. In short, he’d be in complete control of the LNG pipelines. It could be used to either destroy the software or plant a virus. Or it could be used for another purpose.”

“Like what?”

“Like a hacker raising the temps and causing an explosion that creates lots of damage . . . property and lives.”

Grayson wished he knew more about Taryn’s expertise. “So all they need is access through the backdoor to accomplish whatever they’re trying to do.”

“Right. But I have multiple layers of encryption in the old and the new software. Nehemiah’s firewall is quite sophisticated. Let’s just hope they don’t begin controlling Nehemiah through the backdoor.”

“What are the two companies?” Grayson said. “And why don’t they stop their plans until this is resolved?”

“Both are US companies: BC Moose Paw in Canada and TX-LNG in Corpus Christi. They’re motivated to put their companies on the map as the first to export LNG. Unless the FBI moves fast, we’re shot.” She grimaced. “My choice of words isn’t good.”

“But you’re right. Help me understand the profile of a computer hacker,” Grayson said. “I don’t think my idea of a college student working all night in his dorm room cuts it.”

“Sometimes. We’re talking highly sophisticated technology. It’s not difficult to be a hacker, and the root kits are inexpensive and fairly easy to understand. But the true professionals are targeted on what they’re looking for. They don’t make a single keystroke without weighing what it means. They use simple methods in the beginning and venture out into customizing their points of entry.”

“We have a department within the FBI devoted to computer intrusion matters,” Grayson said. “It’s not my forte. I do know the US is losing billions to system breaches.”

“What’s the most common method to gain access?” Joe said.

“Social engineering amounts to approximately 41 percent of
data breaches. It means using the social nature of people to obtain information. Like posting on Facebook that you’re going on vacation for ten days and not taking your computer. Joe, that’s not what we have here.”

“I get it. High-tech stuff.”

“Exactly. Then the user is in trouble if the hacker needs the information.” She tilted her head. “When this is over, I’ll give you a tutorial about protecting your system. Right now I believe Murford has what he needs to sabotage the software. The question is, has he found the custom app on my iPhone and secured the services of an expert hacker?”

Grayson cleared his throat. “We have no idea who the players are. We’ve already seen a well-organized team. Murford has a Navy SEAL’s background. I imagine his people are trained in weaponry. Find the bad guys, and we find the phone.”