even.”
CHAPTER 15
T he Prophet was confused. While he was under no assumption that he would be safe—in the sense that his calling didn’t mean a safe life—he didn’t think that he would be in any physical danger. Not that that would dissuade him. He was committed. He would follow whatever direction he was led in. And if it meant his head being served up on a platter, then so be it. But if what he’d been told was the case, then how would he continue his mission?
Well
, he thought,
I guess that’s what living by faith means.
So … there would be someone coming for him. And while he wasn’t told who or when or how, he was to avoid being caught at all cost. And that was going to be the trick. Wasn’t it? Don’t get caught by the person or people who are coming for you, though you have no idea where they are or when they’re coming. He smiled to himself. Not that he found it amusing. Just that now he had more to be concerned with. He pulled the collar of his coat up, to shield his face from the bitter wind that howled outside, and left the diner.
Two blocks up he entered another small café. The hoodie was pulled tight, and he turned his head as he passed the front counter, avoiding the small camera above the clerk. He made his way to the back and sat down at an open space. He quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying him any attention. No one. Nor would they. Most people here were already busy typing away on the many keyboard stations around him. He chose this particular Internet café because it was usually filled with people who were out of work and didn’t have Internet of their own. Most of them were probably revising their résumés. Some others were just young kids skipping school, playing games.
He pulled the disposable credit card out of his pocket and inserted it into the receptor. The monitor came to life, and he began typing. Nervously, he felt inside his jacket pocket for the thumb drive. Still there. That made him feel a little better.
He finished typing his letter, pulled the thumb drive out, and stuck it in the machine. He dragged the file over to the icon on the screen and watched the little blue line streak across as the file was copied. Clicking on the icon, he watched as it opened and showed the contents of the small drive. There was his letter. And right next to it, another program. He double-clicked and watched again as the blue streak told him the program was opening. A little white box appeared with the words L AUNCH S WEEP ? on it. He clicked Y ES and ejected the thumb drive.
As he walked out the door, he could hear the patrons’ grumbles. Two seconds later, he heard the snap and sizzle as sparks flew from the desks of computers. The entire café had been fried.
CHAPTER 16
S o how do you know him?” Taylor asked as they drove.
“Who? Artie?” Keene said.
“No, President Grant,” she said. “Yes, Artie.”
Now there was a complicated story. One that he didn’t really have the desire to get into with her. He had used Artie on a number of jobs, jobs that he was neither authorized to talk about, nor did he want to. Shortly after leaving the SEALs and newly with the CIA, he had been introduced to Artie by his mentor, Sam. Sam had tried to explain to Keene, who was fresh off the Farm—the CIA’s training facility—that there were assets, and then there were
assets.
Artie was the latter: a pure genius who, from a technological perspective, could get you anything you needed. However, unless he felt his life was in danger by you, you couldn’t trust him farther than you could throw him. Keene only hoped he had instilled that level of fear in the little computer nerd before they left.
“We go way back.”
“Seriously, Keene. Can we trust him?”
“He better hope so,” Keene said as he reached into his pocket. Pushing the button, he put the phone up to his ear. “Keene here.”
It was Artie.
Suddenly, he jerked the wheel and crossed
CHAPTER 15
T he Prophet was confused. While he was under no assumption that he would be safe—in the sense that his calling didn’t mean a safe life—he didn’t think that he would be in any physical danger. Not that that would dissuade him. He was committed. He would follow whatever direction he was led in. And if it meant his head being served up on a platter, then so be it. But if what he’d been told was the case, then how would he continue his mission?
Well
, he thought,
I guess that’s what living by faith means.
So … there would be someone coming for him. And while he wasn’t told who or when or how, he was to avoid being caught at all cost. And that was going to be the trick. Wasn’t it? Don’t get caught by the person or people who are coming for you, though you have no idea where they are or when they’re coming. He smiled to himself. Not that he found it amusing. Just that now he had more to be concerned with. He pulled the collar of his coat up, to shield his face from the bitter wind that howled outside, and left the diner.
Two blocks up he entered another small café. The hoodie was pulled tight, and he turned his head as he passed the front counter, avoiding the small camera above the clerk. He made his way to the back and sat down at an open space. He quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying him any attention. No one. Nor would they. Most people here were already busy typing away on the many keyboard stations around him. He chose this particular Internet café because it was usually filled with people who were out of work and didn’t have Internet of their own. Most of them were probably revising their résumés. Some others were just young kids skipping school, playing games.
He pulled the disposable credit card out of his pocket and inserted it into the receptor. The monitor came to life, and he began typing. Nervously, he felt inside his jacket pocket for the thumb drive. Still there. That made him feel a little better.
He finished typing his letter, pulled the thumb drive out, and stuck it in the machine. He dragged the file over to the icon on the screen and watched the little blue line streak across as the file was copied. Clicking on the icon, he watched as it opened and showed the contents of the small drive. There was his letter. And right next to it, another program. He double-clicked and watched again as the blue streak told him the program was opening. A little white box appeared with the words L AUNCH S WEEP ? on it. He clicked Y ES and ejected the thumb drive.
As he walked out the door, he could hear the patrons’ grumbles. Two seconds later, he heard the snap and sizzle as sparks flew from the desks of computers. The entire café had been fried.
CHAPTER 16
S o how do you know him?” Taylor asked as they drove.
“Who? Artie?” Keene said.
“No, President Grant,” she said. “Yes, Artie.”
Now there was a complicated story. One that he didn’t really have the desire to get into with her. He had used Artie on a number of jobs, jobs that he was neither authorized to talk about, nor did he want to. Shortly after leaving the SEALs and newly with the CIA, he had been introduced to Artie by his mentor, Sam. Sam had tried to explain to Keene, who was fresh off the Farm—the CIA’s training facility—that there were assets, and then there were
assets.
Artie was the latter: a pure genius who, from a technological perspective, could get you anything you needed. However, unless he felt his life was in danger by you, you couldn’t trust him farther than you could throw him. Keene only hoped he had instilled that level of fear in the little computer nerd before they left.
“We go way back.”
“Seriously, Keene. Can we trust him?”
“He better hope so,” Keene said as he reached into his pocket. Pushing the button, he put the phone up to his ear. “Keene here.”
It was Artie.
Suddenly, he jerked the wheel and crossed
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