Storm Front

“The MonEx codes. I… I… I paid him to steal MonEx codes from a bunch of bankers around the world. And I might have… I told him about Click Theory. I can’t believe I was so stupid, but he was… I mean, he was just this muscle-for-hire, you know? I never thought he would have any plans of his own beyond… He was just supposed to give the codes to me, accept his payment, and that was that. But now he wants to use them for his own purpose. He doesn’t know how to work the MonEx, and even if he found someone who did, he wouldn’t know how exactly to perform the trades you would need to make Click Theory happen. There’s probably only a handful of us in the world who truly understand what would need to be done. And with the threats against my family… I have no choice.”

“What exactly does he hope to gain from this?”

“A planned catastrophe, just like me, but with a different ending,” Whitely said. “He was rambling on about returning Russia to her full glory. ‘America will sink. Russia will rise.’ All that stuff. He’s aligned some Russian oligarchs to take advantage of the instability brought on by a triggering of Click Theory. In return, those oligarchs are apparently going to support him in some kind of coup….”

“Making a financially reinvigorated Russia a military dictatorship with General Volkov at the head of it,” Storm completed.

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it.”

Storm considered the ramifications of having a man with Volkov’s ruthlessness and ambition with his finger on the trigger of Russia’s depleted-but-still-formidable nuclear arsenal. It was not a thought he wanted to entertain further.

“Mr. Cracker, where are you right now?”

“I’m… at a rest stop off the New York State Thruway…. Just past Exit Fifteen-A.”

“First thing I want you to do is call your wife and tell her…”

“It’s already taken care of,” Cracker assured him. “She’ll be out of the house in no time.”

“Okay, then the next thing you need to do is sit tight and wait for me. I’ll be there in under an hour.”

Storm knew that as long as Volkov needed him, Whitely Cracker still had his uses.

As bait.

NEW YORK, New York

First problem to deal with: Storm needed a change of clothes. Fortunately, the city of New York was full of establishments that sold those. Storm was soon reoutfitted, in a charcoal corduroy jacket, a snug-fitting black T-shirt, gray cargo pants, and — his father would have been proud — black rubber-soled shoes.

Second problem to deal with: Storm needed a car. Fortunately, the city of New York was full of people who didn’t own one of those and therefore needed to rent one. He let his phone lead him to the nearest rental place, and he was soon driving the only Ford they had. A Fusion. Not the sexiest car for an international superspy, but at least it had a V6 engine.

The third problem to deal with was the most vexing of all: Storm needed the nerds. And, unfortunately, those nerds were not in the city of New York. They were in a cubby deep underneath and/or beside and/or on top of CIA headquarters. And given that he had just been terminated, Storm couldn’t just call them.

Unless…

Unless he could get a certain someone to answer his cell phone.

One ring. Two rings.

“What do you want?” Agent Kevin Bryan demanded in a fierce whisper.

“Kev. Kev, bro, it’s me, Storm.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bryan whispered. “But I’m sorry, we can’t have a conversation right now. I don’t talk to dead people.”

“I know, I know. But I need a favor.”

“Forget it. The way Jones is stomping around here? He’ll bust me back to the translating unit if he learns I helped you. You’re too hot to touch right now.”

“You don’t have a choice. You owe me.”

“From what? I do n — Oh, wait, because of that twenty bucks you gave Javi? Forget it.”

“A debt is a debt,” Storm said.

“That debt is not equal to anything you’d ask me to do right now.”

“Fine,” Storm said. “I’m calling in Bahrain.”

Bryan paused. Even in the slippery world of the CIA, there was a code of honor between fellow foot soldiers that would not allow Bryan to back out now, and they both knew it.

“Aww, man, you’re unbelievable,” Bryan said. “Fine. What do you need?”

“First of all, you can’t tell Jones about any of this.”

“Believe me, that’s no problem. Jones would fire me on the spot if he knew I was even talking to you.”

“Good. I actually need something from the nerds. There was an unauthorized helicopter that flew into Manhattan airspace earlier this morning….”

“Yeah, I sort of heard about that,” Bryan interrupted. “You are of course aware of what direction shit flows, and I can assure you I’ve been one of the unfortunate victims downstream of a flood of it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Anyhow, have the nerds hack into the FAA’s computers. The FAA has a flight history database that tracks all authorized and unauthorized air travel. I need to know where that helicopter went.”

“Hang on,” Bryan said, putting his phone down. Storm could hear Jones, still fulminating somewhere in the background.