Internal Threat Read online

  The man’s voice was coming over the earbud again. “The deal I am striking with you, Weatherly, is to follow my instructions for the night. Only then do I disable the bomb.”

  Matt’s urge was to rip the earpiece out and floor the Porsche out of the garage. Getting Luke to safety was his first priority. He tamped those feelings down briefly, though, to fully assess the situation. This man would lie to get what he wanted; there was no doubt about that. Matt’s honed instincts told him, though, that the bomb was no lie. And if he were responsible for the lives of millions of innocent people…then, in his mind, there was only one choice to make.

  His voice thick with revulsion, Matt at last replied, “Let’s get started.”

  Nine

  Tom Grafton genuinely liked Matt Weatherly. The man always had a kind word for him, treated him respectfully when he was forced to go through the standard checking in procedure and had even gotten a gift for Tom’s daughter, Isabella, when it was the girl’s seventh birthday. Yes, Matt was one of the good ones that passed through the front doors of the Hobson Building. It was why Tom considered him almost a friend.

  It was also why he was willing to cut Matt some slack when Tom saw what he was currently doing. Tom had just come on to the beginning of his shift when he noticed the image of Matt’s Porsche Panamera entering the parking garage on his desk monitor. He watched as the car pulled into an empty space against the far wall, not where Weatherly usually parked. His brow furrowed when Matt opened the passenger door to help a young boy out the passenger side. Tom recognized him as Weatherly’s son – Matt had shown him some pictures a few months ago when they got to talking about their kids.

  Tom’s confusion increased as Matt and his boy failed to take the stairs to the lobby as he always did when visiting. Instead, the pair entered the side stairwell that could take them all the way up to the top floor without checking in at the front desk.

  A sigh whistled through Tom’s lips. This was not how he hoped his evening would go. The last thing he wanted to do was create waves with one of the building’s top tenants. Matt and his company had been renting server space on the uppermost floor for over four years now and even a security guard like Tom knew that the rent income was substantial for his employers. He knew other guards in the building that were by-the-book types and relished any excuse to have a power trip over the suits that came to visit. Tom liked to think of himself as a cut above those guys.

  Maybe he would just wait a few minutes. Perhaps Weatherly had brought his son to see his work and had forgotten that he needed to check in. It could have been that Matt was simply distracted; even though he could not hear anything over the security monitors, Tom could plainly see that Matt was animatedly talking to somebody on his Bluetooth headset. The door to the stairwell shut behind the duo and Tom flicked his eyes to the next monitor, showing the two progressing up the stairs. They trudged upwards with no sign of stopping.

  Tom shook his head and grabbed his walkie-talkie. I should at least call it in to HQ, he thought. But before he could step outside of his circular lobby desk, his eyes caught sight of another of the building’s customers.

  Ashley Kane was making her way up the front steps.

  “Just great,” he said to himself.

  Tom tolerated Ashley’s occasional abrasiveness because she always managed to score him Kings tickets when he requested them. His interest was piqued, however. The presence of her and Matt Weatherly together at the same time seemed to indicate that something was going on. As he raised his muscular bulk out of his chair, he exhaled in frustration again.

  This was shaping up to be a bad night.

  “Keep moving,” the killer’s voice breathed in Matt’s ear.

  Luke faltered on one of the steps, so Matt placed his arms underneath the boy’s arm. “You need me to carry you?” Matt asked him.

  His son shot him an annoyed glance coupled with, “I can do it.” He shrugged away Matt’s grip, speeding his pace.

  After several minutes of climbing, they had reached a gray metal door on the top floor. A thick metal bar was placed across its center, a glowing keypad to its right. “Authorized Entry Only” blared from a white and red sign pasted to the door’s surface.

  “Use your passcode to get in,” Matt heard. He rapidly punched a six digit code and heard a click from behind the wall. Placing his hand on the metal bar, Matt pushed downwards, causing the door to swing back on hidden hinges. Entering first into the dimly lit space, he pulled Luke in and shut the door softly behind him.

  As Matt’s eyes adjusted to the light, he observed the full room. Before him stretched row after row of what resembled wide partitions stacked to the ceiling. Inside each of them was a nest of wires and small black boxes covered with blinking green lights. These were the servers and routers that allowed terabytes of information to flow through cyberspace and deposit the information where the owners wished.

  “It’s cold in here,” Luke said next to him.

  “They keep it that way so the servers don’t overheat.” He nodded towards a bank of boxes at the far end of the room. “The one we want is over there.”

  He and Luke crossed the polished cement floor, Matt’s eyes scanning left and right to see if anyone else was here. He knew that the chances were slim considering most of the building’s workforce had gone home for the night. Tom is working security tonight and he should be watching, though, he thought to himself. If Matt could alert him somehow, then-

  “Keep moving. You have a tight schedule to keep,” the killer said in Matt’s ear.

  Matt and Luke reached the space at the back of the room, taking in the expanse of machinery emitting a low hum. Matt spotted the server that the killer was looking for in the middle. It lay behind a crisscross of black metal grilling that allowed air to pass through thin holes that were too small for even a pinky finger to wiggle into.

  “How are we supposed to get to it?” Luke asked.

  “Simple. We just-” The words froze in Matt’s throat. With a sudden sickening realization, he understood exactly why he had been chosen for this.

  And why it was desperately important that he get help.

  Ten

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” Tom said, his voice firm.

  Ashley stood in front of him, placing her palms on the front of the high lobby desk. “Come on, Tom. I know Weatherly is here. I’ve got a guy who works in the office across the way who said he just saw his fancy little Porsche pull in. All I want to do is take a quick peek to see what he’s up to. It’s called healthy competition.”

  “Is it now?” the guard replied skeptically.

  “Tom, you and I have known each other for a long time, right?”

  He shrugged in response, “A couple of years.”

  “How many tickets have I gotten you in that time?”

  “A lot,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t mean-”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “I know. It doesn’t mean we’re friends. What it does mean is that we’re business partners of a sort, right?” Tom simply stared back at her. “And, as a business partner, I would never ask you to do anything that you haven’t done before. Like the time you let me see the space that Weatherly was going to rent to that Taiwanese gaming company? I just took a fast look and then was gone. Remember the hockey seats you got for that?”

  The guard nodded, mumbling, “Right up against the glass.”

  “Exactly. And if you let me upstairs to see what Matt is up to, then I can guarantee you a similar reward. A better one, even.”

  Tom hesitated, his mind working. Damn, this lady is good.

  “Floor seats for the Lakers next week,” Ashley pressed, knowing her prey was wavering.

  “Floor seats?” Tom echoed incredulously, knowing the exorbitant value of such a gift.

  Ashley nodded. “So, do we have a deal?”

  Before the guard could answer, a red light popped to life on the desk console. “Shit!” he said, grabbing a nearby phone. “
This is Officer Grafton at the Hobson Building. We need a car here right away.” He slammed the receiver down and sprang from his chair, hurrying to the elevator. Ashley was right on his heels.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Mr. Weatherly tripped an alarm wire on the top floor.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Tom stepped in, Ashley trying to follow. He placed his arm across the threshold. “I can’t let you come. This could be dangerous. Stay down here.” The doors shut in Ashley’s face.

  She sighed in frustration as the numbers climbed above Tom’s elevator. Noticing that the lobby remained empty except for her, an idea blossomed. She depressed the button for the other lift and waited. When it arrived, she chose the button for the same floor as Tom selected. She was not about to give up on learning what Weatherly was doing. In fact, she would not be surprised if somehow Matt knew what she was attempting with Tom in the lobby and used the alarm as a ruse to lure the guard away.

  “You’re not a step ahead this time, Weatherly,” she whispered as the elevator ascended.

  Eleven

  It was Matt’s invention.

  As an additional security precaution, his company added a slim thumbprint identification system on to the server cage. Upon the execution of the contract, the renter’s print was assigned to the box. The only other person that could access the cage was Matt. The technology had really been added as an upsell, a way for Matt to charge an additional fee and convince prospective customers that his company provided a unique level of extra security. Since his firm usually provided all maintenance, the owners had never before used the system.

  Now, however, it became clear why the killer required Matt. In addition to the unique access his passcards and codes would get him, it was only his thumbprint that would give access to the multitude of cages and boxes that his company controlled.

  “Okay, let me just take a look here,” Matt stalled, intimately familiar with the design of what he was now staring at. Luke stood behind him, leaning on one of the other cages. Seconds before, Matt had toggled a small red knob that lay on the side of the server cage. It was an emergency switch which he knew would signal Tom, probably already on alert by his and Luke’s trip up the side stairwell, that something was truly wrong.

  “You know what to do,” the killer snapped, the first time Matt could recall him showing any hint of emotion.

  “Right, right, I just-”

  “Weatherly, I know you are a very bright individual. But so am I. I know that you do not need time to figure out how to disable a system that you created.”

  “Listen, uh, what do I call you anyway?” Matt asked. “If we’re going to spend the night together, my practice is to usually get someone’s name.”

  Whispered static of silence in the earbud. At last, the voice rematerialized:

  “You can call me John.”

  “Right, John. Last name Smith, I assume.”

  “You have three minutes to disable the server or you are forcing my hand to do more damage. Do you understand me now?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Matt pressed his thumb against the smooth black pad and waited for a beat. Behind its surface, he knew that a small laser was scanning every square millimeter of his digit and instantly matching it to the image buried in its memory. As the three seconds the scan typically took passed, Matt’s heart hammered in his chest.

  Nothing happened.

  Suddenly, a range of unfortunate possibilities raced through his head.

  The pad was broken.

  The ID had been changed without his knowledge.

  The small cut he got on his thumb after the bike crash the previous week was throwing the system off.

  As panic crept in, there was a small click. Matt breathed a sigh of relief. He reached forward and pulled the cage open, revealing the stack of blinking servers behind it. He stretched his hand to the back of the rectangular box in the center. This was the heart of the connected servers and, once disabled, would permanently disrupt the data that was coursing through its metal veins.

  “Find something to cut the power cord and then break the box. I need it to be damaged enough not to fix in the next twelve hours.”

  And what happens during that time? Matt wondered to himself. His eyes scanned the room and landed on a small toolbox that lay in the corner of the room, most likely used by the facilities personnel to repair breaks in the cable or the cages themselves.

  “Luke,” Matt directed his son by nodding at the toolbox, “go find a pair of pliers for me.” While Luke crossed the room, Matt swept his eyes towards the far end of the room where the elevator doors were located.

  He noticed the illuminated numbers indicating both of the cars’ ascent and prayed that one of them contained Tom and a coterie of policemen. Remembering that the killer could see everything that he did, he quickly turned his eyes back in the other direction and found Luke holding out a screwdriver. Matt took it and squeezed his arm into the narrow space between the servers. Finding the main power cord, he opened the needle nose pliers and clamped down. There was a buzzing sound as the cord separated into two pieces. The green light on the front of the box flickered to black.

  Angling his arm again, he surmised where the motherboard to the server would be located. Putting the nose of the tool back together to create a point, he jabbed it through the aerated top of the box. It plunged into the heart of the server and Matt felt and heard a crack which would render the machine inoperable.

  “Alright, it’s done,” Matt said, pulling his arm free.

  “Good,” John said in his ear. “Time to get moving.”

  Matt was about to respond but before he had a chance, there was a small ding across the space of the room.

  The elevator had arrived.

  Twelve

  “Repeat that?” the voice said through garbled static.

  “I said, there’s an emergency at the Hobson Building. The server room,” Tom repeated into his two-way radio receiver.

  “The server room?” the person asked again, confusion coloring the question.

  “Yes, the server room, on the top floor. Do you need me to spell it for you? Just call the police and have them send a car. It’s called standard procedure.” Moron, Tom added silently. His eyes looked to the green digital screen on the elevator wall which informed him he was about to reach the top level. At the same time, his hand floated down to his waist where his issued Glock 9mm rested in a holster. He flipped open the button that kept it secured to the belt.

  “Just a precaution,” the guard whispered to no one but himself. In eight years on the job, he never had to fire the gun. Truth be told, this was only the third time he had ever felt the need to unclip that. His reflexes and aim, however, were honed by the required eight hours a month he put in at the firing range.

  There was a soft chime and the elevator doors slithered open.

  Upon first glance, everything looked and sounded normal to Tom. The lights were dim, as they always were, to avoid any overheating. To further keep things cool, the air conditioning system was humming strongly. Tom moved forward, hand on his holster, and entered into the broad tiled area that Matt usually referred to as the “meet-me room.” A large picture window looked out on to the office buildings across the way. This was where prospective clients were brought and shown the large gates that blocked any further entry, the first layer of security.

  Tom pulled out his master key from a chain on his belt and unlocked the main gate. “Mr. Weatherly?” he called out.

  His voice echoed out across the cavernous space and failed to get a response.

  Tom made his way towards the back of the room where the signal switch had been tripped.

  “Mr. Weatherly, are you here?” the guard asked aloud.

  Again, no answer.

  Something was definitely wrong.

  As Tom rounded a corner and at last spotted Matt, he knew what it was.

  “Mr. Weatherly!”

  Damn! Matt cursed to himself. He
had hoped desperately that Tom would come with reinforcements. When he realized that the guard had come alone, he only wished that he would not enter loudly to alert the killer to his presence. His hopes now dashed, Matt frantically tried to think of a solution.

  Now, Matt found himself standing ten feet apart from Tom, staring down the barrel of his gun.

  “Tom, I can explain,” Matt started, knowing how that ridiculous that sounded. He pictured himself, standing over a short-circuited ultra-secure server with a pair of needle nose pliers, and imagined Tom’s well-deserved disbelief.

  “Step away from there,” the guard ordered.

  John was suddenly hissing in Matt’s ear. “Big mistake, Weatherly. I told you not to alert anyone.”

  “I know, I just-” Matt replied, but was cut off by Tom’s booming voice.

  “Step back, now,” he commanded.

  Matt followed the order, lowering the pliers to his waist to appear less threatening. “I was up here doing some checking on a faulty box and accidentally hit that alarm switch. You can put the gun down.”

  Tom eyed him suspiciously, then motioned with the barrel of his Glock. “Put those down on the floor and then let’s talk about it downstairs.”

  “Dad?” Luke’s urgent whisper came from behind. Matt looked back and saw the fear etched on the boy’s face.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll be fine.” He dropped the pliers to the floor with a clang.

  “Let’s go,” Tom said again.

  Matt nodded, listening for any words from John but not getting any. He put an arm around Luke and stepped forward. He crossed the room, passing in front of Tom who lowered the gun to his side.

  “I can totally explain,” Matt lied when he was near him.

  “So you said.” Tom gestured towards the elevators as the trio crossed the floor. Passing through the main security gate, Tom pulled it shut behind him, his eyes never leaving Matt’s.

  “At least put the gun away,” Matt pleaded. “You’re scaring my kid.”