Firewall (5 page)

6:18 P.M. MONDAY

How could anyone think she or Shep were responsible for the airport tragedy?

The cacophony of voices on the bus drowned Taryn’s sobs
 
—tears for all the innocent people who’d died today, for her beloved Shep, and for the things she’d done to protect herself. Embracing change had always been one of her strengths, but not when it involved horror. She’d gone from a bride to a fugitive. Her body ached, claiming the strength she desperately needed.

The whole concept of the Metro system had a learning curve, especially since she’d never used public transportation. She paid when she boarded, but she had no idea how long her money allowed her to ride.

A screen mounted in the bus displayed graphic scenes from the bombing. A woman reporter held a shaking mic while speaking about a church youth group in which three students had died in the bombing. They showed horrendous footage: missing limbs, first responders working tirelessly to pull the dead and injured from the wreckage. Taryn choked back the acid rising in her throat.

An interview with a local congresswoman called the perpetrators cowards, and she was right. “We are strong Americans, and we will unite to do whatever is necessary to find who’s responsible. Here’s a message to you: We stand strong. You think you put fear
in us. Well, you’re wrong. You’ve only made us more determined to preserve our way of life
 
—our freedoms
 
—and we are resilient.”

Taryn’s picture flashed as a person of interest. She slumped in the seat, hoping no one recognized her. Two phone numbers were listed for anyone who had information about her.

The interview continued. “We don’t know if this is homegrown, foreign, or a combination, but know we will not rest until we find out who has done this and why. And hold them accountable.”

No words could express her terror.

Hope rested in seeing Claire. She’d believe in Taryn’s innocence. Claire had met Pastor Willis at the ceremony, and he’d given Taryn his card. Shep said he was a personal friend. Maybe he, too, could help her make sense of what was happening. She fumbled through her purse and pulled his card from her wallet
 
—Pastor Willis, First Citywide Nondenominational Church of Houston. When she got to Claire’s studio, she’d call him.

Or was she fishing?

If only she could clear the cobwebs from her head.

Maybe the FBI would arrest the terrorists tonight, and all she’d face was what she had done at the hospital. They’d return her photographs and slap on a hefty fine for assaulting an officer. She’d need a good lawyer and resolve the issue at Gated Labs. Then she and Shep could honeymoon on a Puerto Rican beach. The nightmare had to end soon. But so many unanswered questions threatened what she believed to be true.

Three blocks from Claire’s studio, the bus stopped. If not for the torment raging through her body, she’d have run the rest of the way. Claire was her best friend, everything Taryn was not
 
—outgoing, vibrant, fun to be around. So creative. And her three-year-old daughter was a joy.

The sign on Claire’s studio read Closed, but the knob turned. Taryn stepped inside and removed her sunglasses. Photographs covered the gallery. Claire often said, “God speaks through His children’s smiles.” A sign bearing
shalom
rested on the counter.

“Claire. It’s me.”

When no one responded, Taryn called again. She walked through the studio to the workroom, repeating Claire’s name. Typical lights were on. The smell of glue and chemicals, so very much Claire, met her nostrils. She didn’t hear little Zoey’s giggles, though the girl usually played on Monday evenings while her mother worked late.

“Are you so engrossed that you don’t hear me?” Taryn laughed, despite the horrific day. Many times Claire lost track of reality in the midst of creativity, a common joke between them.

Not a sound.

“Zoey, this is Aunt Taryn. Are you hiding from me?” She looked in all the familiar hiding places
 
—behind the counter, under an umbrella-shaped reflector that Claire used for lighting, inside a storage closet.

Empty.

What had Claire done with her computer? Odd that she’d moved her Mac desktop and the two twenty-seven-inch screens somewhere. Her cameras were missing too. A chill crept up Taryn’s spine. The phone lay upside down on the floor. The line had been cut. Fear swirled through her.

A pair of jean-covered legs jutted from the section of the workroom where Claire framed photographs. Horror repeated from the bombing.

“Oh no.” Taryn rushed to her friend’s side.

Claire lay in a crimson pool
 
—her throat cut.

6:45 P.M. MONDAY

Grayson hadn’t seen such destruction in a long time. He and Vince surveyed Young’s residence, busy with agents sweeping for prints and DNA.

“Took more than one person to make this mess,” a female agent said.

“Looks more like rage.” Grayson stepped over the debris into the small kitchen. “Even the eggs are splattered on the floor. A stick of butter tromped on.”

“We got a shoe print from the butter,” she said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Wonder if they found what they were looking for.” Vince bent to the hardwood floor and used his pen to sort through broken glass that looked like the remains of a crystal vase. Roses and a small puddle of water lay to the side. “Agents found blood on the floor.”

“If they didn’t find what they were looking for, then it wasn’t here. And was it Shepherd or someone the two double-crossed?” Grayson pointed to the bedroom. “I see her clothes from the hospital. She didn’t waste much time here.”

“Probably meeting Shepherd for their mad dash out of the country.”

Grayson reserved his opinion. He made his way to the bedroom. Even the towel bar in the bathroom had been yanked from the wall. Whatever they were looking for must have been small.

What did they think Young hid in her condo? Maybe a flash drive? Possibly a list of those involved with Nehemiah? Those who bombed the airport? Was this in support of a blackmail attempt?

He pulled data from his mental bank. The international airport had been bombed with materials that were easily obtained. Although a handful of groups claimed responsibility, the who remained a mystery. The why might be the software in Young’s control, although that theory was a little out there. One scenario was she’d betrayed her country for the almighty dollar, and Shepherd chose to eliminate her instead of splitting their share. But why kill innocent people unless there were others at the airport who needed to be eliminated? Was there even a connection there?

Grayson stepped onto the balcony and closed the glass door behind him to call the SSA. The information he needed would eventually come through his BlackBerry, but he wanted it now.

As he pressed in the SSA’s number, his impatience mounted with the slow trickle of information. “I’m at Young’s condo. She’s been here and gone, and the place is a disaster. Got anything new?”

“One of the VPs from Gated Labs was killed this morning
 
—Ethan Formier, head of product development. A friend of Young’s. He took an earlier return flight instead of his scheduled afternoon one. Follow up on that. Could be an unfortunate coincidence. Still checking the names of the dead and injured for anyone else suspicious.”

“What does Gated Labs have to say?”

“They regret Formier’s death. The CEO has no idea why we asked about Nehemiah because as far as he knows, there aren’t any issues.”

“And Young claimed she disabled it.” Grayson clenched his jaw. “Said only she had the activation code. She planned to contact Ethan Formier today about the situation.”

“Did she say why?”

“Refused to. Said she wasn’t authorized.”

“Find her and we’ll get to the bottom of this. Shutting down software with advanced protective mechanisms will get her jail time. She got greedy, and now she’s going to get herself killed before we have names. Formier could’ve been working with her.”

“Or caught on to what she was doing, and that’s why he arranged an earlier flight,” Grayson said. “Has Formier been on your radar?”

“No. Neither do we have Shepherd’s true identity. You realize all this will hit your BlackBerry in the next few minutes.”

The sharp rebuke in the SSA’s words halted any more questioning. “Just a bit anxious. Gated Labs knows we’re on our way?”

“The CEO is waiting and has called back in those who worked with Young. Don’t dismiss anyone until you get answers. Find out who’s using the software and have them confirm it’s fully enabled.”

“Yes, sir.” Extensive interviews were going on with the congressmen who’d participated in the closed-door session before issuing
the export license for oil and gas companies. Leaks and payoffs could come from anywhere.

“Grayson, I want to know that Gated Labs isn’t hiding anything.”

7:30 P.M. MONDAY

Grayson studied the face of Gated Labs’s CEO, Brad Patterson, a forty-eight-year-old man whose face-lift pulled his lips into a permanent smile, like the Joker from
Batman
. He sat across from Grayson and Vince at a twenty-foot-long solid mahogany table in the company’s boardroom, equipped with a full bar in one corner and an espresso station in the other. A wall of windows looked out from the twenty-story building onto the exclusive Galleria area.

“We appreciate your seeing us after hours. Our condolences on the loss of Ethan Formier,” Grayson said.

“Thank you.” Patterson nodded with a coolness that matched his arctic blast of white hair. “We lost a highly respected man. A strong leader.”

“Our interest is Taryn Young. Has anyone heard from her?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Patterson said. “After we received your subpoena, we faxed the FBI her employee information.”

“We also need confirmation that the software project she helped complete is secure.”

He folded his hands and leaned back in a dark-brown leather chair. “The Nehemiah Project. I assured your office we’re in good shape.” A twitch beneath Patterson’s right eye gave him away.

“We need verification.” Grayson removed a notepad from his
jacket pocket. “Who are the companies using the software so we can double-check things?”

“It’s a highly secured program.”

“We’re the FBI. That gives us clearance.” Grayson hoped Patterson hadn’t contacted his attorney. “What happened at the airport today is of national concern.”

“What does the bombing have to do with who’s using Nehemiah?”

Grayson shrugged. “Maybe nothing. We’re looking at every angle, at anyone who has something to hide.”

“I resent the implication of my company’s involvement in any illegal activity.” His jaw tightened.

This guy needed to climb down from his CEO throne. “No one has accused Gated Labs of any wrongdoing. We’re both on the same side.”

Patterson danced a pen on the highly polished table. “There’s a problem.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “Please explain.”

“Our people are working on it.”

“Elaborate for us, sir. We aren’t as computer savvy as you are.”

Patterson continued to tap his pen. “I was informed that Taryn Young disabled the software late Friday afternoon. She phoned the two companies and told them she had activated an earlier version. This morning both companies called customer support and wanted to know when the problem would be resolved. The situation escalated to my attention.”

“We know Nehemiah is a software program that protects the process control systems that regulate underwater pipeline temperatures for natural gas,” Grayson said. “We also know Congress requested Young be the lead developer. But we want to hear the history and details.” Would Patterson’s explanation match Young’s?

“She was the head of her team, our top developer. Creative. Imaginative. I have no idea what is happening here. We have safeguards, and we’re using those.” He pressed his lips together as
though carefully choosing each word. “The US is positioned to export natural gas. It’s shipped in liquefied form, called LNG. Large companies are looking to ship the product all over the world. Nehemiah, at the moment, is the only software containing specialized hacker deterrents. If the wrong people had control of Nehemiah, they could raise the temperatures and cause a massive explosion.”

“We’d like to know what companies are using it.” Grayson would hate the time wasted if Patterson insisted upon another subpoena.

“A US company located in Kitimat, Canada, and one here in Houston that operates out of Corpus Christi.”

“We need contact information and all dialogue between Gated Labs and the two companies.” Grayson texted his request to the FBI office. “A team will be here shortly to review the information on-site. They will also need to acquire a mirror image of Taryn Young’s and Ethan Formier’s computers. The agents possess the necessary level of security for information classified as top secret. Mr. Patterson, as holder of the information, I think you would agree we have need-to-know.”

“My opinion doesn’t seem to matter here. You understand our lawyers will be notified, and we’ll need a subpoena.”

Grayson eyed him. “I expected no less. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Then we’re done here?”

“Not yet.” Grayson slid Young into the sellout category, but the airport bombing was a puzzle. “We understand Ethan Formier worked with Taryn Young.”

A shadow passed over Patterson’s face. “Nehemiah was her brainchild, and she worked closely with him.”

“When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Formier?”

“He texted me last night and said he’d changed his flight to early this morning.”

“Did he state why?”

Patterson blew out his exasperation. “Needed to discuss Nehemiah.”

“We’d like to see his files.” Did Patterson have something to hide, or had his lawyers advised him to be cautious?

“The subpoena?”

“We’ll make sure you have it.” Grayson would have said more, but there was no point in angering Patterson and closing down an interview. “How did Taryn Young get along with other employees?”

“Her supervisor was convinced she had issues.”

“Formier?”

“No, her immediate supervisor, the one the FBI spoke with earlier.”

“We’ll want to talk to him and the rest of the team. What were your dealings with Ms. Young?”

“As I stated earlier, this comes as a shock. She’s always been professional. Cooperative. Highly intelligent. Dedicated to Gated Labs, or so I thought. Ethan supported everything she did. I had no fault with her work until this hiccup.”

“Anything else?”

“She’s earned several awards, known worldwide for her various projects. I never knew of a problem until this morning with the software.”

“I want to talk to her supervisor.”

Patterson nodded and picked up his cell phone. A few moments later Grayson and Vince were introduced to Haden Rollins, a thirtysomething man who wore an Italian suit like a male model. And he knew it.

“What can you tell us about Taryn Young?” Grayson said.

“Have you arrested her yet?” Arrogance brimmed from his dark eyes. “One of our own is dead because of her.”

“Pure speculation at this point,” Grayson said. “For the record, I’m asking the questions here.”

Vince coughed. Up to now, he’d listened while Grayson led the
conversation. “We can do this here or at our office,” Vince said. “You choose.”

“Cooperate,” Patterson said. “I want this matter resolved.”

Rollins brushed his jacket sleeve. “She led the team for the Nehemiah Project. Competent, but she has a quirky personality. Paranoid, in fact. Didn’t trust her team.”

“I want the names of those people,” Vince said.

Rollins nodded. “Friday night we discovered she’d disabled Nehemiah. Those using it were forced to use an older version.”

That wasn’t exactly how Young had explained it.

“I told these agents we have our best people on the problem,” Patterson said. “It’s only a matter of time.” He pointed his pen at Vince. “When she’s found, I want a full explanation.”

Vince slowly stood and paced the room. He turned to Rollins. “What did she have to say about Francis Shepherd and her marriage? We found nothing, no photos or information that connected the two.”

“She’s a private person. Actually, to my knowledge, she has no close friends within the workplace
 
—”

“Except Ethan Formier, who’s now dead,” Patterson said. “He’d been in Mexico on a project.”

“What was his business there?”

“Consulting.”

“We’ll want the verification,” Grayson said.

“You know how to get it,” Patterson said with a smirk.

Vince continued to pace the length of the conference table. “Mr. Patterson, why do I think you and Mr. Rollins aren’t being completely honest with us? Do you have any idea how many people died today? How many more are injured? Unaccounted for?”

“And we have no idea if Young’s role here at Gated Labs even fits,” Grayson said.

Patterson stood. “I regret the loss of lives and property today.”

“Sit down, Mr. Patterson. I see how caring you are,” Vince said.

Vince needed to hide his tough-guy routine. Being on the same page worked better than tossing grenades. Grayson picked up the ball. “We’d like to interview Young’s team members, beginning with any she had conflicts with.”

“The first would be Kinsley Stevens,” Rollins said. “She’s waiting in her office.”

From the moment Kinsley Stevens entered the room, she gave a new definition to
sashay
 
—more like
seductive
. With a toss of her blonde hair, she emitted power from every inch of her body. Beauty and brains must help her maintain a high-level position within Gated Labs. Easing into a chair beside Rollins, she revealed a low-cut silk blouse and crossed her pant-covered legs.

She moistened her ruby-red lips. “Why am I here?”

Rollins focused on the young woman. “Kinsley, these two men are FBI agents investigating Taryn Young.” His tone indicated irritation. “I know you’re grieving Ethan, but they have a few questions.”

“I see.” She stared into Grayson’s eyes without a blink. “I’m very concerned about Taryn and her shutdown of the software. Now the media are linking her to the bombing.” She paused. “Have you located her or Mr. Shepherd?”

“We’re close,” Grayson said. “Tell me about your work with the Nehemiah Project.”

“Taryn was the team leader.”

“Why would she disable it?”

“I have no idea. Companies were already using the program. Our work was essentially complete.”

“Any bugs?”

“There are always issues. How can I help the FBI?” She tilted her head. “Do you need access to my computer? I have my laptop and cell phone in my office.”

This woman knew the meaning of cooperation. “Tell us about your personal relationship with Taryn Young.” Grayson poised his pen.

“Off the record?”

“Sure.”

She sat military straight and folded her hands. “She’s a brilliant designer. The project was her baby, and she hand-selected the team. I considered myself fortunate.”

“What else?”

She glanced at Rollins as though asking for permission.

“Miss Stevens,” Grayson said, “do you have additional information for us?”

She nodded. “Taryn criticized everything I did. I never understood why. But the friction made it difficult in the workplace. Then she accused me of tampering with her computer.”

“Did you?”

She stiffened. “Of course not. I think she wanted me fired.”

“Why?”

Rollins cleared his throat. “Kinsley is highly qualified. I intended for her to be the team lead for the next project. Taryn didn’t take that well.”

Grayson let the information roll around in his head. If Young had provided the software to someone outside of Gated Labs, then she would have needed to keep her position secure. Getting along with her peers was important. “Were there problems with other team members?”

“You’d have to ask them,” Stevens said. “We’re a closemouthed group. It’s a necessity with the high levels of security.”

Coworkers always talked. “Oh, we will.” Grayson turned to Rollins. “Please bring in the next team member.”

Stevens rose, but Grayson gestured for her to wait. “Miss Stevens, Agent Bradshaw will escort you to another office while we conduct interviews.”

She eased down, fury lines creased across her forehead. “Are you insinuating I haven’t spoken the truth?”

Grayson met her question with cold professionalism. Rollins indicated others had problems with Taryn Young, and he intended
to find out who and what. “Just like you, I have a job to do. Is there anything more you’d like to tell us?”

She rubbed her palms. “I have a photo of Francis Shepherd.”