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Which he flipped open. “Jonathan Ross?” “Yes?” “I’m Special Agent Straub. This is Special Agent Vasquez. We’d like to ask you a few questions about last night. Your colleague, Hadi here, has been able to shed some light on things, but he tells us you’re the real expert.” Ross glared at Sarkar and put his laptop case down on the desk. “I’m happy to help any way I can. What’s all this about?” “You were present in Alcyone’s data center last night?” “I was working under contract for another.
The ground dead, his body smoking and sizzling. Grimacing from the pain in his eyes, the other team leader glanced around blindly and shouted, “Who’s shooting!” “That’s not shooting!” “Hooks!” A pause. “Where’s Hooks!” “Get to cover and sound off! Sound off!” Gragg moved toward the fallen men. He pointed and let loose with several seconds of deafening thunderclaps. Men crawled away screaming, only to be immobilized the moment the first bolt hit them. In a few seconds they were all.
The front door. “The caretaker deactivated the alarm and used her front door key just this morning without incident. I say we do the same.” He looked to the other two. Limon and Chapman nodded. Limon handed him a short pole with a gripping claw on the end. Guerner took it and fitted the key onto its end. He extended his arm and, using a steady hand, inserted the key into the lock. There was no need to turn it; it emitted a loud click. He let go of the key and used the pole to depress the lever.
Trear nodded appreciatively. Agent Straub cleared his throat. “Sir, if we want to make the evening news window, we’ve got to hold a press conference.” Trear looked at him. “Straub, this scene is being covered 24/7 by every news channel on the planet. Don’t worry about the news window.” Trear turned away and pulled a pen from his suit jacket. He started scribbling on a memo pad on a nearby conference table. “Look…” He tore the page off and handed it to Sebeck. “Bring Mr. Ross down to.
Got his hands on the Monte Cassino map designer, he was going to wring that fuck’s scrawny neck. Gragg pounded his head on the desk—not hard enough to hurt himself, but hard enough to inform his brain of the danger. Clues. He needed to examine what would be important to someone—say, Sobol—who wanted to keep a secret away from the Feds, but who also wanted Generation Y to find it. Those Feds would no doubt be using sniffers, crackers, and decompilers in order to find encrypted strings in Sobol’s.