Chasing the White Lion by James Hannibal (mind reading books .TXT) 📕

the energy stock and real estate wunderkind he pretends to be. His wealth comes from other sources.”

The lists of buyers on Tyler’s laptop appeared in Talia’s eidetic memory. She couldn’t have blocked out the image if she tried. “So Boyd was the Englishman mentioned in our Dark Web intercepts—Ivanov’s arms broker.”

Full circle. Talia had taken the conversation in a new direction, and Tyler had led her right back around. During the operation to stop Ivanov from selling hypersonic tech and launching a missile against Washington, DC, Talia had unmasked Tyler as the assassin who killed her father. Archangel had given the order.

She took her eyes from the unmoving stars. “You think Boyd is linked to Archangel.”

“Ivanov practically told us so.” Tyler eased himself up from the table and crossed the aisle to the rear galley. “Murderer or not, he had no reason to lie at the time. He told us his contact at the Agency gave him the idea for the attack and the arms sale and brought him the broker—Boyd. If Boyd was Ivanov’s link to Archangel, then he can be our link to Archangel as well.”

She read his expression. Confidence. “This isn’t pure speculation. You’ve done some homework.”

“Not me. Eddie.”

“Eddie?”

“Who else would I go to for high-level hacker work?”

Unbelievable. “You’re using my best friend behind my back?”

Talia had met Eddie Gupta at Georgetown and found an instant connection. Together, they were a foster care kid and a child of foreign diplomats, out of place among their Ivy League peers. The Farm had followed. Same class. Afterward, they’d been assigned as a pair to Frank Brennan’s Other branch within the Clandestine Service, then promoted to REED. “Eddie is supposed to be working with me now, at the Russian Ops desk.”

“He is. But let the kid have a hobby.”

“Eddie is a geek. By definition, he has a hundred hobbies.”

A spark in the eyes. The court jester again. “And working for me is one of them.”

“Tyler . . .”

“The encryption on the thumb drive had a digital fingerprint—subtle, but definitely there. Eddie cross-referenced this fingerprint with data from the Gryphon heist and intercepts on the Dark Web. We were looking for connections to our CIA traitor, and—”

“Alleged CIA traitor.”

“Sure. If it makes you feel better.” Tyler opened the galley’s mini-fridge. “Ginger ale? I stocked up before we left.” He offered her a bottle.

Talia accepted. “So you were looking for connections, and . . .”

“And the markers kept taking us to remote servers.” He fiddled with the other drinks in the fridge, pausing too long for her comfort.

“What servers, Tyler? Where?”

Again, he prolonged the silence, pouring himself a glass of Perrier. He returned to the table just as Talia took a swig from her ginger ale. “You’re drinking straight from the bottle these days? What would Conrad say?”

She lowered it quickly, nearly choked on the fizz. He had set her up for the wisecrack by not handing her a glass in the first place. The tennis match was in full swing. She didn’t want to play. “Tyler. The servers.”

“They were everywhere. All across the globe. No discernible pattern. But fragments of Boyd’s digital fingerprint kept popping up. We’ve been following them for months.”

Talia’s eyes widened. The team’s little excursions. “Zambia?”

“And Chile. You were with us for those. But Moscow, Minsk, and Vladivostok were about Boyd as well. I never had to work at keeping our efforts close to your operations. There were too many options, too many rabbit trails to chase.” He finished the water in his glass and filled it halfway with the remainder from the bottle. “Eddie hasn’t nailed down the architecture yet, but it’s clear Boyd has his fingers in criminal operations in every major city, from London pickpockets to human traffickers in Rangoon to forgers in Volgograd.”

Talia dropped her half-empty ginger ale into a cupholder. “And that brings us to Oleg.”

“One of his Dark Web posts had a digital marker matching Boyd’s network, so when you were assigned to his case, Eddie placed a RAT on Oleg’s home computer—a remote access tool that gives us screen and keylogging access, among other things.”

“I know what a RAT is.”

“Sure you do. Sorry.” Tyler grew deadly serious. “A data packet came in unsolicited from the network. When Oleg opened it up, there were three simple words. ‘Vera Novak. CIA.’”

“You think the tip-off came from your mystery spy, routed through Boyd’s network?”

He touched his nose.

The story had merit. Talia had learned to trust Tyler, but she had been placing her trust in Eddie far longer. Not even Mary Jordan, chief of REED, fully appreciated the hacker asset the CIA had gained when Eddie signed up. She looked down at her hands, searching for a handle on the implications.

“The data packet came from Boyd’s network,” Tyler said. “But the information had to come from the Agency.”

She shook her head. “You’re making a leap. Most covers are throwaways. They’re only the first curtain.”

“Throwaway covers leave a black hole. They don’t point the mark to the CIA.”

“Yes, but—” Motion in the panoramic window caught Talia’s eye. The stars remained still, but the cloud layer was rising. Or rather, the Gulfstream was descending. “Is Mac landing the jet?”

“Nothing gets past you. Sorry, Talia. A quick ride home might tip off our traitor to my involvement. We got you out of Volgograd, but you’ll have to find your own way out of Russia.”

THEY LEFT HER STANDING in a dark hangar on the outskirts of Kursk. No passport. No luggage. Just her Glock and a wad of rubles. Darcy offered a finger-wiggling wave from the lighted cabin. Talia didn’t wave back. She watched the Gulfstream take the runway, then trudged off across an empty field toward the highway.

“Thieves.”

CHAPTER

SEVEN

WASHINGTON, DC

POTOMAC RIVER

TALIAANDHERFOSTERSISTER, Jenni Lewis, walked a racing shell out to the Georgetown dock on the Potomac. They worked by the orange glow from the boathouse and the small lights clipped to their caps. The sun had not yet risen.

“Way enough,” Talia said in an even voice—the halt call. In