instant she both lost a little and gained a little respect for him.
“Sure.”
“Sabrina, why did you call me?”
Good fucking question. Because Arnold told her this was a chance to get back in the game. Because she thought she was ready to get back in the game. But Krueger was offering her a chance to be quarterback in the Super Bowl. She didn’t know if she was ready for this.
So she ignored his question and asked him one of her own. “What if I say no? What happens?”
His answer was too quick. “We’ll put plan B into place. We believe there might be someone else who can perform the same role we’re asking you to perform, but because of your previous training you were our top pick.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“I need to know. I need to know whose head is going to be on the proverbial chopping block if I pass.”
“You’ve heard of Sal Ploxm….”
“A hacker?” she blurted. “You’re going to use some virus-spreading geek to catch Kahsan? Do you even know who he is?”
“We’re following some leads. He’s had success hacking into some of the most secure networks. That and the fact that he works outside the law, we believe he’s the next logical choice.”
Sabrina considered him for a moment. The CIA was resorting to an insubordinate ex-agent and a hacker. One thing became crystal clear. “You don’t have anybody on your staff who can hack through Arnold’s password, let alone decrypt his code. Not even close. You know that your project is over and that this… is a last-ditch attempt to salvage something from it.”
He didn’t deny it. “The radiation patterns will fade eventually and no, we don’t believe anyone can access the information in time. We have enlisted cryptologists from every department in the government to work on one of Arnold’s predecessor programs in an attempt to see if anyone could come close. No one has. Not even your father. As far as we’re concerned the project is a write-off. The FBI has sent agents out to the last known location of those people we’ve tagged. If we lose them somehow, then we’ll merely revert to our previous methods—good old-fashioned legwork—to find them again. But in the meantime, the lure of this data might be our only opportunity to push Kahsan out of hiding. We’re going to take it.”
“Arnold thinks I can do it,” she suggested. “If you gave me a chance—”
“We don’t have that kind of time. As I said, Kahsan is not without resources. We have to move quickly and we have to make it look real. Salinski’s death will leak. There’s no stopping that. This has to go down like a well choreographed ballet.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “It’s a list of Web sites that he uses where you should be able to make contact. I need to know now if you’re in.”
If she wasn’t, then the job would go to Sal Ploxm, a virus pirate who got off on infecting systems that were deemed foolproof. Apparently, there was no firewall that could stop him. A hacker with more balls than brains as far as she was concerned. If he was that talented, he’d be making more money and fewer headlines. The fact that she knew his name meant he got off on the rush. A hacker like that had to have one hell of an ego.
Was this the person she wanted responsible for heading up a mission to take down Kahsan?
Then she chuckled softly. Hell, she thought. Who would have thought that she should be the person to take him down? Who was she but a drifter, a cheat and an ex-operative?
Sabrina focused on the stone burial monument directly in front of her windshield.
Cowan.
She didn’t know who the poor son of a bitch was, but he’d died for something. He’d believed in something. His country, his family, who knew. He gave his life in what Lincoln called the last full measure of devotion. For too long Sabrina had only been devoted to herself. Frankly, she was growing bored.
“Don’t you want to know what you get in return?”
Of course he would be expecting her to ask that. It’s who he thought she was.
“Absolutely,” she lied.
“There is a sizable bounty on Kahsan’s head. If you agree, if your work leads to his capture or death, you would be entitled to it.”
She glanced at the monument again. Cowan hadn’t done it for the money. In fact, she was embarrassed they were having this conversation in front of his grave. What if he was somewhere shaking his head at her, more than a little disappointed in this new breed of American hero.
Without a word, Sabrina took the slip of paper from his hand and shoved it in her pocket.
“Just one more thing,” Sabrina said, catching his arm before he could leave. “This agent that you’re sending. The one I need to convince…make sure he or she is damn good.”
“Only the best.”
Chapter 2
“H ey, Bubba. What’s shaking?”
The hardened old bartender with a missing front tooth looked up from his beer taps to smile at his latest customer. “What’s a girlie like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, performing their common ritual.
“Just staying out of trouble,” Sabrina replied with a smile.
“The usual?”
She considered that for a moment, then ordered. “Make it a double.”
She shrugged out of her winter paraphernalia, a task that took almost more effort than she had, and waited for Bubba to finish pouring another customer’s beer. She sat down on the high stool with the ripped leather seat and sighed at the familiar comfort.
Peace and a little distraction. It’s what she’d been looking for when she decided to go out tonight and she always seemed to find it at Bubba’s. Maybe it was his smile. Or maybe it was his whiskey. It didn’t matter.
It was Monday. Three days had passed since her conversation with Krueger. Three days since she’d followed orders and done what she needed to do, but still no contact from any agent. She’d been edgy, irritable and impatient. To top it all off, a major chunk of crown molding had fallen from her living-room ceiling.
That’s when she’d decided she needed a break.
The crowd was light tonight. A few diners sat at the tables along the wall eating burgers and fries. There was a group of men at a five top in the back. And she sat alone at the bar except for an older gentleman with a semifamiliar face who sat two stools down. She nodded toward the older man and he replied with a similar nod. Then they both went back to staring straight ahead into the rows of bottles that lined what Bubba liked to call his top shelf but what was in reality his only shelf.
It was protocol among the regulars to respect the nod and the straight-ahead stare. Most people came to this place looking to unwind. Sometimes that called for small talk. Sometimes it didn’t. Tonight
