The Kill Order (27 page)

44

Tucson, Arizona

S
ydney and Griffin drove to Arizona, deciding it was the safest route, and would allow them the freedom of carrying their weapons, something they couldn’t do if they flew, now that Griffin was likely to have a warrant for his arrest. The trip took about thirteen hours, and they pulled into a hotel that night a little after three in the morning.

Which, of course, meant there was the whole sleeping arrangement thing, something Sydney hadn’t really even thought of until the clerk, a dark-haired woman in her twenties, asked, “Just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Griffin said. “There should be a paid-for reservation under my name.” He slid his fake ID across the counter. The clerk barely looked, then typed something into the computer. Doc had paid for it online with his credit card.

“One night, two occupants. Here you go.” She handed Griffin a small folder with two plastic card keys. “Breakfast is served between six and nine just off the lobby.”

“Thank you.”

Their room was on the fourth floor overlooking the parking lot and the freeway. There were two double beds, and Sydney dropped her bag on the farther, then walked toward the window, looking out, wondering what, if anything, she should say. It wasn’t like they hadn’t slept platonically in the same room before. They had. It was more that she hadn’t expected to be hit with the very vivid memories—and her body’s reaction to them—of the first and only time they’d slept together in the same bed. She was beginning to think he was like a drug, and apparently two days’ time was not enough to get him from her system. Why else was she hyperaware that they were here, alone, and no one around to disturb them?

Another point was that there was still a very deep chasm between them. Even knowing about the kill order, she trusted him with her life. But this was a different sort of trust. Maybe it was more that she realized how very little she knew of him. They’d worked together, slept together, but they didn’t really know each other.

That awkward silence that had filled the room the morning after at the bed-and-breakfast was back. And suddenly she was aware that he was standing behind her.

“Sydney. If you’re more comfortable, maybe we should get separate rooms.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You want the shower first?”

“Sure.” She started to slip past him as he stepped away, and then she remembered her bag on the bed, turned, reached for it, brushing against him, losing her balance as she tried to pull back.

He caught her, and they stood there for a few seconds, his breathing as ragged as hers. Neither spoke. She realized that he was waiting. He’d let her make the first move.

Listen to her body or her head?

“Things are
not
settled between us,” she said.

“I know.”

And then she pulled him down to the bed.

T
hey arrived at the Tucson facility a little after ten. Sydney used her real ID for this, thinking they’d get more mileage with an FBI credential than their fake identifications, which had no law enforcement affiliation.

First, however, she called the warden to set up the visit, and he was waiting for them in his office.

“I wasn’t aware there’d be two of you.”

“Yeah,” Sydney said. “He’s, uh . . .” She turned to Griffin, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

Griffin held out his hand. “
International Journal of World Peace.
Special interest section. We’re doing a cover story.”

Sydney smiled at the warden. “As you can see, I’m not really here in an official capacity, so I hope that’s not an issue.”

“Not with me,” the warden said. “Mr. Chapman will have to be the one to decide. He’s allowed visitors like any other prisoner. That being said, I’m curious why the interest in this guy? Typical drug bust. Don’t think he’s had a visitor other than his ex-wife in at least a decade, and even she hasn’t come the last couple years.”

Sydney owed the guy some explanation, if nothing else than to satisfy his curiosity so that the matter wouldn’t be looked at too hard. “Old conspiracy case. He-said, she-said sort of thing. A rumor he was set up on the drug charges.”

“Not likely,” the warden said. “Right after you called, I looked at his file. The guy’s a career criminal. Arrested on drug charges starting when he was twenty-five, manufacturing meth. Not a big stretch to think he was manufacturing it twenty years later when he was arrested on his current conviction.”

He opened the folder. “We’re in the process of going digital. Not quite up to two decades ago, so you’re in luck, or these wouldn’t be here.”

“Anyone else making inquiries on this guy?”

“Like I said, you’re the first in about forever.” Sydney eyed the prisoner folder on his desk. “You wouldn’t mind if I had a look at that, would you?”

“Don’t see why not, seeing as how you’re FBI.”

He slid it across the desk toward her. The first thing she examined was the custody log, which followed a prisoner wherever he went. In this case, it showed Rico Chapman had been incarcerated in this facility about the entire time. Considering he’d been in here close to twenty years, there weren’t that many visitors. The ex-wife, a couple of FBI agents whose names she didn’t recognize, and the reporter, Ronson.

That wasn’t the most damning thing in her mind. It was the printout of the conviction record. And after she returned the file to the warden, and he had a guard take them back to the visiting room, where they waited a few minutes alone, she asked Griffin, “Did you see his crim hist?”

“The case he was convicted on? Unremarkable—unless one counts that there are murderers who don’t get as many years.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. How is it they’re keeping this guy locked up for so long?”

The guard brought Rico Chapman in, then, surprising Sydney, said, “Good thing you guys came when you did. Any later, he’d be gone.”

“Gone where?” Griffin asked.

“Being transferred back East is all I know.” He looked at his watch. “In about two hours.”

And once again it was like someone knew the next steps they’d be taking.

R
ico Chapman did not look like a computer geek or a scientist. If anything, he looked like a beer-drinking redneck. He had shoulder-length graying hair that was receding at the temples, crow’s-feet around his eyes, and a gut that said he didn’t spend much time in the prison gym.

He eyed Syd and Griffin with suspicion as he took a seat across from them. “You’re not my attorney.”

“Not sure how that mistake was made,” Sydney said. “Then again, we didn’t go to law school. I would, however, suggest you check your attorney’s credentials.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen murderers get less time than you. What the hell’d you do? Sell methamphetamine to kindergarteners?”

“I guess you can call me the guy who knows too much. I just can’t get anyone to listen.”

“Which,” Griffin said, “in your case, could be a good thing.”

“How’s that?”

“Just about everyone else involved in this case is dead—you being the anomaly.”

“And all this time I figured I was here because I pissed off all the wrong government officials.”

Sydney took a seat opposite him, while Griffin stood off to one side. “You think the government’s involved?”

Rico’s brows went up. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yes, I’m kidding,” Sydney said. “Even so, I’m going to admit, I know next to nothing about your case.”

“Then what the hell you doing here? You’re another one of those reporters?”

“I’m not,” Sydney replied, then nodded toward Griffin. “But he is.”

“Who are you, then?”

“FBI.”

“Not interested. Last time I talked to the FBI—and that was
over
a decade ago, I got stuck in solitary confinement.”

“I’m not like other agents. In fact, I’m not even here officially.”

“Another white hat, gonna save the world? Little late, don’t you think?”

“We sort of stumbled across your name pertaining to a case we’re working on.”

Griffin added, “Something to do with some numbers smuggled into Mexico.”

He didn’t seem surprised. “The Devil’s Key.”

“See?” Sydney said to Griffin. “Here’s where it helps to talk to someone in the know. All this time I thought they were offshore accounts or maybe all the missing money from when BICTT went under.”

Rico looked amused. “Assuming you’re talking about the list of numbers stolen from Wingman and Wingman?”

“Wingman and Wingman?” Griffin said. “What about them?”

“What do I get if I talk?” he asked Griffin.

“Has it gotten you anything in the past?”

“Besides the fact no one believes me? Another stint in solitary.”

Sydney leaned forward across the metal tabletop. “Are you starting to see a pattern here, Mr. Chapman? There’s people out there who don’t want what you know to get out.”

“Question is,” Griffin said, “why haven’t they killed you yet?”

“Because
I
wrote the code. They
need
me. Something happens to it, they’re screwed. They got screwed when the key was stolen from Wingman Squared.”

“Why?” Griffin asked, even though Sydney was certain he knew the answer.

“Unlike the first nine keys the government destroyed,
this
one happens to be a key to every program sold to foreign countries. Canada, Israel, Iraq, Russia . . . Need I go on?”

“Slow down, Rico,” Sydney said. “Pretend like I’m clueless in all this—because I am—and start from the beginning.”

Rico cocked his head, smiled slightly. “The beginning? You’ve heard of the SINS software? A case management system the government purchased from a small software company in California. They liked it so much, they decided to implement it nationwide. Next thing I know, the DA of our county is taking
my
system and claiming it’s his, and using it as his ticket to make a bid on Washington. You might recognize him as one of the Wingman Squared crew, now that he’s left Congress. Trenton Stiles? He’s probably running Wingman Squared.”

“So you wrote a code for a case management system for the software company?”

“Right.”

“And the government is now using it.”

“The
entire
government. Every federal office, in fact. And the software developer sued the U.S. government. The developer lost, but what do you expect when you take on the Feds?”

“Hard to believe they’re killing this many people over royalties. What’s a few million or even a billion dollars to a government that’s trillions in debt?”

“Because it’s not about the royalties. It’s about the back door the CIA paid me to write into the program.”

“The CIA?” Sydney asked. “You’re sure they were behind it?”

“Well, someone connected to them. It was all very hush-hush.”

Griffin said, “Like a Trojan horse back door?”

“He catches on quick.”

“Sometimes,” Sydney said. “In this case, he has insider knowledge that I don’t have. You’re talking about a case management system that’s in
every
federal office in the U.S.?”

“No. I’m talking about a case management system that’s in nearly every country in the world.”

“So,” Griffin said, “the U.S. is using it to spy on other countries. We’ve heard the spiel.”

Sydney crossed her arms over her chest. “Not buying it. You don’t kill this many people over that. After all, they’re doing a pretty good job making anyone who
suggests
this scandal sound like a lunatic—those who live. Case in point, look at you.”

Rico laughed. “You don’t
really
think it’s all about national security, do you?”

“What else is there?” Griffin asked.

“What do you think? Money.”

“The royalties?” Sydney said. “Thought we’d established that wouldn’t do it.”

“Not royalties. Money. All of it.”

“Not sure I understand.”

“It’s about the handful of billionaires and major corporations running the world. Them and their representative sitting on Capitol Hill, making sure that the bills they need passed get passed to keep their kingdoms intact. It’s about their tentacles reaching into every major conspiracy you can think of. You mentioned the late, great BICTT? The bank the CIA was running? Yeah, it’s part of that. But it goes beyond that. It reaches into the government, the military, and the federal law enforcement agencies charged with investigating it. It’s about having the ability to track every dollar being moved and to move every dollar being tracked.”

Sydney glanced at Griffin, who nodded. This was nothing he didn’t already know, but clearly he was hoping to find out something more. “You’re gonna have to be clearer than that,” Sydney said.

“Banks. Back doors. Control of the world’s money.”

“The world?”

“As in the
chips
that have been imported to the entire world. If money is being moved electronically, yes. But it’s more than that. The program is doing it seamlessly.
Without
a trace. And it’s not just money. You can go in, change things around, and no one will ever know you’re there. Or you can add something. A Trojan horse with a specific task, search for and set off a nuclear warhead with no one the wiser on how it was done. Sabotage something? No problem. As long as you have the key. Because the program’s already out there. The Devil’s Key accesses those chips. The SINS program was just the start. The Devil’s Key is the end. It’s just knowing how it works that’s the hard part.”