Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(33)

We turn and follow her through the shadowed parking lot to the elevator bank, where she hits the button for the seventh floor.



The FBI’s COM center is something straight out of a spy movie. They’ve set it up in the empty office adjacent to Miranda’s executive suite, and even at this late hour, it’s buzzing with activity.

It’s got “waste of taxpayer money” written all over it.

By my count, there are fifteen fully equipped computer stations set up, arranged in a semicircle in the middle of the room. Each bristles with wires and is covered in monitors and hard drives, staffed by a young man in a suit, tapping diligently at a keyboard. A large desk has been set up to one side, where I suppose a more senior man sits, although it’s currently unoccupied. On the wall has been hung a large dry-erase board, with a mishmash of case facts, website URLs, and hypotheses scrawled over it in red pen. In the center of the board is a large circle, drawn by hand, with a big question mark at its center.

“Why are there so many government employees in this room?” I ask Miranda. “They usually sent out two or three guys for this kind of thing.”

“Because the Sony hack was traced to North Korea and the feds are concerned that this is the North Korean government upping their game. Apparently there have been some recent threats of nuclear strikes from the regime that are credible. These gentlemen are from the Cyber Action Team, the FBI’s rapid deployment group.”

I sigh, because this is going to be a real pain in my ass.

I stride across the room and pick up the red Erasermate pen from the thin metal lip at the bottom of the board. In the big circle, I write, “S?ren Killgaard.”

When I turn around, everyone in the room has stopped to stare at me.

“Hello, humans,” I say, looking at each one in turn. “Take me to your leader.”

“That would be me.”

I look in the direction of the gravelly voice. A man stands in the doorway I just passed through. He’s built like one of Juanita’s MMA fighters, barrel-chested and short-necked, with a big red face that betrays his fondness for alcohol. His head is shaved. His tie is askew. His eyes are bloodshot and squinty. He looks as if he was woken up by gunfire halfway through a bad dream.

“Mr. O’Doul,” I say, recognizing him. Everyone in the hacking community knows who all the top government cyber dogs are. “I’m a big fan.”

He takes me in with a single, sweeping glance, his expression unchanging. “Executive Assistant Director O’Doul. And you are?”

Standing beside a tense-looking Connor near the doorway, Miranda says, “This is Tabitha West. She’ll be assisting in the investigation. I expect your team to give her its full cooperation. She’s a computer specialist, subcontracting with Metrix Security.”

Connor and O’Doul nod a greeting at each other. I take it this is one of the FBI guys Connor mentioned he knew.

O’Doul’s steady gaze comes back to rest on me. “What’s your specialty?”

I flippantly reply, “Destabilizing governments.”

His expression sours. “You’re a hacker,” he says flatly. The young men sitting at the computers shift in their seats, glancing at one another in surprise.

I give him my most winning smile. “I prefer the term social engineer. By the way, congratulations on being promoted to the head of the National Cyber Investigative Joint Task Force. Your predecessor was a total moron.”

His squinty eyes narrow. He says slowly, “Tabitha West, is it?”

Connor says tersely, “You won’t find anything.”

“We’re the FBI. We always find something.”

“Really?” My brows lift. “How’s that working out for you with Maelstr0m?”

The mood in the room is growing decidedly tense. I’m used to aggravating people, so it’s no skin off my back, but Miranda looks as if she’s already regretting the decision to bring me on board, while Connor is glaring a warning at me from beneath lowered brows. The guys at the desks have their hands poised over their keyboards, as if waiting for a command from O’Doul to enter my name into one of a dozen databases.

O’Doul asks, “You an associate of Maelstr0m’s?”

“Nope.”

Connor says, “She’s clean, Harry.”

A pause as O’Doul examines my face. “You vetted her?”

“Yes. You know no one gets on my team without a squeaky-clean file.”

That’s a stretch, considering Connor has witnessed in the past one or two of my less “squeaky-clean” activities, but he’s technically correct. My file is clean.

My hands are another subject altogether.

I wait for O’Doul to decide whether or not he’s going to allow me into the boys’ club before a full government background check can be completed and he’s convinced I’m not collaborating with the enemy, a worm sabotaging the investigation from the inside. When he takes too long, I say with exasperation, “Okay, I’m not being conceited when I say this, but I’m your only hope here. You’ll never catch him without me. Dicking around is only going to make the situation worse.”

A few snickers and rolled eyes from the guys at the computers. Someone chuckles and says under his breath, “Is that a Hello Kitty watch she’s wearing?”