Chapter 10
Omar stared at the laptop screen, his jaw tight as Cal McCloud’s face appeared in the video feed. He looked like he’d aged a decade. His skin was sallow, his cheeks were hollow, and deep lines bracketed his mouth. But his eyes were the same, still sharp, calculating, and aware.
It was a good reminder that McCloud was smart, really freaking smart. And it wouldn’t do to lose sight of that.
Behind Cal, two CSIS agents stood against a bare wall. The room was institutional. Interrogation standard.
“Cal,” Jake said, his voice flat.
“Boss.” Cal’s voice was hoarse. “It figures you guys would want to talk.”
“Talk?” Trent leaned forward, his hands balled into fists. “You betrayed us and you think we want to talk?”
Cal flinched but held Trent’s gaze. “I know what I did. I know what it cost.”
“Do you?” Omar asked. “Marielle and Olivia are in Paris right now, exposed, because you gave up our safe house locations. We’re sitting here trying to come up a plan to stop a coup because you decided your son’s freedom was worth more than our lives.”
“My son is all I have left.” Cal’s voice broke slightly. “You have to understand—”
“We don’t have to understand anything,” Jake interrupted. “We need information. Starting with who you were working for.”
Cal was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “I was approached maybe a month ago. Anonymous contact, encrypted messages. They knew things about me. About Jackson and his case.”
“So they offered you a deal,” Jake said.
“They said they could get Jackson a Presidential pardon. He’s thirty-two. And they sentenced him to thirty years. Thirty years, that’s half his life. All I had to do was provide some information.”
“Information about Potomac’s operations,” Trent said.
“At first it was small stuff. Personnel files. Contract details. Nothing that seemed mission critical.” Cal’s hands trembled slightly. “But then, right around the time Omar and Marielle headed to Mallorca, they started asking for operational data. Safe house locations. Communication protocols.”
“And you gave it to them,” Omar said.
“I gave them what they asked for. Because every time I did, they’d send me proof Jackson’s case was moving forward. Filings. Motions. Then the pardon application.”
“Who were you communicating with?” Jake demanded.
“I don’t know. It was all encrypted file transfers. I never met anyone face to face.”
“But you figured it out eventually,” Omar said. “You knew it was connected to Vice President Hampton.”
Cal nodded slowly. “When the pardon came through, some communications aide mentioned that the Vice President’s office had lobbied hard for Jackson. I’m not stupid. I put the pieces together.”
“And even after you got what you wanted—after Jackson was released —you kept feeding them information,” Trent said, his voice hard.
“They have leverage. I’m dirty now. Plus, I thought maybe they’d gin up charges to throw Jackson back in prison if I didn’t keep playing ball. What was I supposed to do?”
“You could have come to us,” Jake said. “We would have protected you. And Jackson.”
“Would you?” Cal’s laugh was bitter. “Jake, you’re a good boss. But you’re not more powerful than the Vice President of the United States.”
“Walk us through your last communication. The one where you accessed your email from Calgary.”
Cal’s expression shifted, confusion replacing self-pity. “I haven’t used my email since I left Virginia.”
Omar exchanged glances with Jake and Trent.
Omar chose his words with care. “Someone accessed your email account from an IP address in Tunisia about twenty minutes after our team left Paris.”
Cal’s face went pale. “That wasn’t me. I swear to God, that wasn’t me. I wasn’t in Tunisia.”
“Then who has access to your accounts?” Jake demanded.
“Nobody. I used a dedicated air-gapped device for this stuff. No network connection except when I was actively sending or receiving messages.”
“Where’s that device now?” Trent asked.
“In my apartment in Arlington.”
“You want us to believe you left that behind?” Jake scoffed.
“I couldn’t exactly bring it through TSA screening. So, yeah, it’s hidden in my workshop.”
Ryan, who’d been silent until now, spoke up from beside Omar. “Does anyone have a key to your apartment? A partner? A relative?”
“No. I’m alone.” He gestured to his wheelchair. “Ever since I got out of the Walter Reed, it’s just been me and my hot rod.”
“What about a cleaning service? Maintenance workers?” Ryan pressed.
“I don’t use a service. And maintenance would have to schedule with building management. They can’t just walk in.”
Omar’s mind raced through the possibilities. If Cal wasn’t accessing his own email, then someone else had the device. Or had hacked his system remotely. But Cal said it was air-gapped.
Unless—
“Cal,” Omar said slowly. “When’s the last time you physically checked on that device?”
Cal thought for a moment. “Right before I left for Calgary.”
“And it was secure? Exactly where you left it?”
“Yeah. In the false bottom of my tool chest. Sonofa—”
“What?”
“A couple weeks ago, I had a break-in. Nothing was taken. I figured it was just some junkie looking for cash or electronics. But they went through my workshop. Made a mess of it.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to security?” Jake’s voice was dangerously quiet.
“I reported it to the police. Filed a report. They dusted for prints, found nothing.”
Omar stood and paced the small room. “Did you tell your handler how you were communicating with them? The air-gapped device you were using?”
Cal was silent.
“Answer the question,” Ryan said in a warning tone.
He sighed. “Yeah. I thought they’d be impressed.”
Jake shook his head. “They weren’t looking for valuables. They were looking for your communication device. And they found it.”
“And evidently cloned it,” Cal said sourly. “Because I’ve received instructions, but I haven’t sent anybody anything since I left Virginia.”
‘So, they can access everything you can access, and they can pretend to be you. Looks like you’ve been nominated as the fall guy for this enterprise.” Jake laughed. “Chelsea would call that karma.”
Cal’s face contorted with panic. “You gotta help me. I changed my mind. That’s why I came here. To intercept the shipment. Try to make things right.”
“Make things right,” Trent repeated. “By doing what, exactly?”
“By documenting the explosives. Getting proof. Turning it over to the authorities.”
“Instead of coming to us,” Jake said.
“I couldn’t face you.” Cal’s voice was barely audible. “After what I did. I thought if I could stop the attack, maybe it would count for something.”
“It counts for something,” Omar said. “But it doesn’t erase the damage.”
“Did you turn the explosives over to CSIS? Nobody mentioned that to me,” Ryan said.
“No. Like I told the maple syrup swillers, the shipment hasn’t arrived yet. If they’d let me, I’d work for them. Collect it when it comes in and turn it over. But they don’t trust me.”
“Imagine that,” Omar said.
One of the CSIS agents behind Cal stepped forward and said something off-camera. Cal nodded.
“They’re telling me our time is almost up,” he said.
“One more question,” Jake said. “The shipment you’re waiting on. How much explosive material are we talking about?”
Cal’s expression grew grim. “Enough to level a city block. Maybe two. The fireworks are legitimate, but they’re packed with extra propellant. Military grade. Someone knew what they were doing.”
Omar leaned forward. “How were they planning to get explosives into a venue that’s going to be crawling with security?”
“That I don’t know. My contact never shared operational details. Just asked questions.”
The CSIS agent appeared on screen. “We need to conclude this interview now.”
“Wait,” Omar said. “Is there anything else? Anything that might help us stop what’s coming?”
Cal was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “No, I don’t know anything else.”
The screen went dark.
“He’s telling the truth,” Ryan said. “At least about not accessing his email. I pulled the metadata. The Tunisia connection was routed through multiple proxies, but the device signature doesn’t match Cal’s laptop.”
“So someone else is pretending to be Cal,” Jake said. “Someone with access to his communications and his protocols.”
“Someone who wants us to think Cal is still actively helping them,” Omar added.
“Why?” Trent asked. “Cal’s already compromised. They got what they needed from him. Why keep up the charade?”
Omar thought about it. “Misdirection. If we think Cal is still feeding them information, we might change our behavior. Avoid certain locations. Use different protocols.”
Omar pulled out his burner and started typing a message to update Marielle. Then he stopped. If someone had access to Cal’s communications, did they have access to the team’s burner network too?
“Hey, Jake. You know these burners you passed out at the airstrip?” he asked carefully.
“Yeah.”
“You took them from Potomac’s inventory before you left for Marseille, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Before we knew McCloud was dirty.”
Jake fisted his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. They all watched silently. Eventually, he snorted out a breath through his nose and looked at them.
“Cal would have had access to all five phones,” he confirmed.
“And whoever has access to his air-gapped device does, too.” Omar tried to swallow, but his throat was tight.
The room was silent.
Omar looked down at the half-written message to Marielle on his screen. He deleted it and started over:
Trust no digital comms.
Someone was monitoring every step they took.