Raphael scrambled down, his boots ringing on the metal. Roman enjoyed watching Raphael squirm, watching him wonder what was going to happen to him. It gave him no small pleasure to have the power of life and death in his hands. That’s what good computer code was at its heart, anyway, the lifeblood of the machine, the brains, the heart. Without it, the screens wouldn’t light up, and humanity would be lost again.
Roman walked onto the stage, the flying Radulov falcon looming above him. He didn’t say a word, simply stood, waiting. The entire room became silent as death, the only sound the quiet whirring of the air pumps, feeding in fresh oxygen.
When, at last, he spoke, his soft words carried throughout the vast auditorium. “I am very disappointed.”
Dead silence.
The soft voice grew meditative. “A wolf entered our henhouse and created havoc. The name of the wolf is Caleb Temora, a name already known to many of you. He is a brilliant coder and worked extensively with me on MATRIX. You have also doubtless heard he was lost to us five years ago, to ISIS. I have no doubt this attack on MATRIX is his doing—there is no other who could do this amount of damage. His malware attack could have cost our clients billions of pounds, but Mr. Marquez has told me another hacker attacked Temora’s hack and put a stop to it. Who this other person is, we will find out very soon. Regardless, even though he stopped Temora’s hack and demands for ransomware, he could be as great an enemy.
“I had believed MATRIX invulnerable, but someone left a door open and allowed Temora in. Now every client, every computer, every software package in the world is vulnerable. We must do the right thing for our clients, and if that means we’re working twenty-four/seven for the foreseeable future, so be it. There is no overtime”—there were several muffled groans, bold of the buggers, he thought, wished he knew who they were—“no, don’t even think about complaining. We are going to take MATRIX apart. We are going to work relentlessly to find every last bit of malware in our systems. We are going to examine not only Temora’s hack but also the other’s hack as well. Then we are going to reengineer MATRIX to make it perfect, impervious to anyone who wishes us and our clients harm. I want sheer brilliance, and I will accept nothing less. No more ransomware attacks.”
He paused a moment to build drama. “The one among you to find the problem source will receive a year’s salary as a bonus.”
Now the whole room was sitting on the edge of their seats.
“And the person who designs me a code that is truly impenetrable gets ten years’ salary, equal to my salary. Are we clear?”
Audible gasps now. Raphael did some math, felt his heart take off at a gallop. That was somewhere near forty million pounds.
“Temora’s hack of MATRIX makes us look bad. We need to make it clear to our customers that Radulov is stronger and more secure than ever, that MATRIX continues to be indispensable to their livelihoods. Now, get to work.”
Roman gestured toward Raphael, and together they walked from the stage. Roman ignored the buzz of excitement coming from the floor. The offered bonus would get his people working harder than ever, gave them the hope of unimagined riches.
In the elevator, Roman fixed his dark eyes on Raphael. “I am increasing my efforts to find Temora. Even so, he should not have been able to get into MATRIX. This was done on your watch, Raphael. Should I fire you?”
“I would prefer to offer my resignation, sir.”
Roman contemplated his manager. Fifteen years, and he’d done a spectacular job, no denying that fact. And this short, bespectacled little man was too good to lose, especially now. And Roman had to hand it to him: at least the man was looking him in the eye, even though Roman could smell his fear.
“No, I don’t think so. That would be too easy. You will personally oversee this project, Raphael. You will repair and patch and fix MATRIX, and make sure every single client is up to date. You will ensure that MATRIX is made impenetrable. And you will give me the name of the one who stopped Temora’s attack.
“I will track down Temora and shove code into his terrorist systems that will disable him and his compatriots forever.”
Roman looked pensive, then said in his terrifying soft voice, “Do you understand what I will do to you if you fail?”
Raphael straightened, and Roman was struck again by the show of courage. Beaten but not broken. Good.
“Yes, sir. I won’t disappoint you again. I swear it.”
“See that you don’t. Give me the name as soon as you find it. Now, I need updates on Project Cabal. Where do we stand?”
Raphael realized that was why he wasn’t dead or ignominiously fired. He needs me to keep track of the shipments.
“Follow me, sir. The hanger is almost full. The shipments have been coming in regularly from your six building sites, and I’ve been handling the deliveries myself, no one else, like you said.”
The hangar was ten minutes away. Raphael gave him updates as they walked. “The boats come in after dark, as you wanted, and the crates are unloaded by the boat’s foreman himself. Then I move them here. I’ve been very careful.”
The hangar doors opened. Inside was a small Cessna, retrofit for battle, with missiles and guns, stripped down so as not to over-weigh the plane, customizations Roman had designed himself. And behind the plane were endless stacks of crates, floor to ceiling. Only Roman knew what was inside. And of course, his supplier knew, but Raphael had no idea, no idea at all, unless—
His soft voice. “Have you ever opened one of these crates, Raphael?”
Raphael looked shocked. “Absolutely not, sir, I would never—”
“I believe you, Raphael. Now, I’m going to share a little secret with you. I’m sure you’ve wondered what’s been coming in from my six building sites, so I’m going to tell you what’s inside the crates. And you will understand the necessity for privacy and discretion.”
Raphael’s eyes bugged out of his head at Roman’s next words.
CHAPTER NINE
Old Farrow Hall
Farrow-on-Gray, England
Mike had been gone only moments when Adam was back on Nicholas’s screen again. “I spoke to Fourtnoy, and all is good. Nicholas, I ran a few quiet inquiries about the murdered men. What do you know about Heinrich Hemmler’s background?”
“Very little. He wasn’t on my radar until he was killed this morning. I was told he was supposed to talk to the prime minister this morning about loosening the numbers of refugees the U.K. will let in yearly. Not unexpected, and no reason for murder I can see.”
“Hemmler’s been a rather vocal opponent of Brexit, and, like the chancellor, believes shutting down the borders of the U.K. is going to hurt Germany. I also heard talk about streamlining an ‘allies’ program, where British and German citizens could pass through security without visas.”
“Interesting. But again, hardly worth killing over. What about Chapman Donovan? He’s a councilman from Northern Ireland, specifically Belfast West. Did you find a connection between the two men?”
“No, but I did turn up that Hemmler traveled to Northern Ireland last week and happened to see Chapman Donovan in a local meeting. Could be something to it. There was some talk about Donovan’s loyalties, but nothing specific. Maybe I could get some inside information on both men that would shed some light.”
“You mean the kind of information only the government would have?”
“Sensitive info, yes.”
“Adam, no hacking into the Brit databases, you hear me? Anything else is fair game, but my father would have my head if I let you have a go at their servers. I can ask directly, politely, instead.”
“You’re no fun.”
Nicholas said, “Mike thinks I’m a barrel of fun.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t count.”