Chapter 10
COLE
I’m back at my desk before sunrise. I planted trackers in all the Lynch files I opened to Tarasov so I can study the precise path he takes through the data, opening folders, studying documents, surveying the entire trove.
The Russian calls precisely at seven. “Where is the rest?”
“The rest of what?” I ask.
“I told you I wanted access to all Canton Crew records.”
“And I told you I’d need weeks to get in.”
“This is just a record of crypto deals.” He sounds dismissive, like I left him with the crumbs at the bottom of a bag of chips.
“You can track Lynch’s investments in three different coins, daily records of gains and losses.”
“I could do that with a subscription to Financial Times.”
It’s a good thing we’re having this conversation by phone.
Otherwise, I might give in to the temptation to break this asshole’s nose.
“FT won’t tell you what Lynch owns,” I remind him.
“I did what you asked. I got you into his files. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.
” My finger hovers over the red button to end this call.
“Hang up on me, and your wife becomes front-page news,” he says, as if he can see through airwaves.
“What the fuck do you want?” I snarl.
“What I asked for the first time: Access to the Canton Crew. Everything behind that firewall.”
This is the same problem I’m facing with the blackmail over my indictment. Feed the fucker once, and he’ll never stop begging at the table.
But this fucker holds Kate’s reputation in his hand. And I haven’t forgotten the vow I made the day he broke in here, when he couldn’t keep a civil tongue in his head. Pyotr Tarasov will be dead and buried before this game is over.
“I need two weeks,” I finally say.
“You have one.”
“I can’t—”
“One,” he says. “Or the entire world learns about the exciting adventures of Cyber Fucking Ghost.” He ends the call.
I look up to find Kate standing in the doorway. Her face is pale against her dark gray hoodie, her freckles stark.
“How much did you hear?” I ask.
“Enough.”
“He won’t go public,” I assure her.
“I don’t give a fuck about his going public,” she says, stepping into the room.
“You put a ring on my finger, but I am still a Lynch. I’m loyal to my clan, and I swear to ever-loving God I’ll tell Da exactly what you’ve done before I let you give that gobshite access to one more bit of Canton Crew data. ”
I’m beginning to understand why Barry Lynch shuttled his daughter off to Ireland when she was a child. My private jet has the range to get her to Dublin. My house could be back to its usual peace and quiet by dinner tonight.
I don’t want peace. I don’t want quiet. I don’t want an ocean between me and my wife.
I start to stare straight into her eyes, to face her without blinking so she’ll believe the lie I’m about to feed her. But then I remember the fight we had the morning after I leashed her, when she said I had a tell. My own behavior gave away my lie.
So this time, I slide my gaze to the point of her chin. I fiddle with my trackpad, just the tap of a fingertip. And then I deliver my answer: “I promise it won’t come to that.”
“You promise,” she says, her voice full of doubt. “And how will you take care of that?”
“I have my work,” I say. “And you have yours.” I turn back to my computer as if we’ve actually settled anything.
“That’s the problem,” she snaps. “I don’t have any work.”
For just a moment, exasperation tightens my chest. I’m tired of telling her she can’t take care of Lone Wolf’s clients. She has to learn that I’m more stubborn than she is.
But even as I master my reflexive sigh, I realize I’ve won this round. We’re back to fighting last week’s battle. Tarasov’s access to the Canton Crew is temporarily back on the shelf.
So I press my advantage. “You do have work,” I say. “The same as you did before we ever met. It’s time for you to plan your next online raid.”
“I tried that!” she shouts. And then, quieter: “I can’t do it myself. I need a team. And I can’t exactly reach out to the Red Cap Raiders.”
The answer is so obvious, I can’t believe she hasn’t seen it herself. “Then build another team.”
“Who? How? I only found the Raiders after months of playing Winter Reckoning.”
I call up the command module of the game with a few brisk keystrokes. One line of code creates a second administrator. I throw the login credentials to Kate’s phone.
I watch shock transform her face. She still wants to fight. But she wants to explore the game’s hidden background more.
“There,” I say. “Find yourself new Raiders.”
I wonder what Pandora’s box I’ve opened as she leaves my office without another word.