Jeffery Deaver - The Blue Nowhere

"I tried," Bishop responded. "Bernstein did too. But the agents hung up on us. The rules of engagement that Shawn issued say that the perps will probably try to impersonate state cops and try to countermand or delay the attack order. Only computer codes are authorized. Nothing verbal. Not even from Washington. If we had more time maybe we could convince them, but…"

"Jesus, Frank…"

How had Shawn found out he was here? Then he realized that Bishop had called the troopers to say that Gillette would be at Elana's place for an hour. He remembered that Phate and Shawn had been monitoring radio and phone transmissions for keywords like Triple-X and Holloway and Gillette. Shawn must've heard Bishop's conversation.

Bishop said, "They're near the house now, at a staging area." The.detective added, "I just don't understand why Shawn's doing this."

But Gillette did.

Hacker's revenge is patient revenge .

Gillette had betrayed Phate years ago, destroyed the carefully socially engineered life he'd made for himself… and earlier today he'd helped end the hacker's life altogether. Now Shawn would destroy Gillette and those he loved.

He looked out the window, thought he saw some motion.

"Wyatt?" Elana asked. "What's going on?" She started to look out the window but he pulled her back roughly "What is it?" she cried.

"Stay back! Stay away from the windows!"

Bishop continued. "Shawn's issued Level 4 rules of engagement – that means that the SWAT teams don't make any surrender demands. They go in assuming they'll be met with suicidal resistance. They're the rules of engagement they use when they're up against terrorists willing to die."

"So they'll shoot tear gas inside," Gillette muttered, "kick the doors in and anybody who moves is going to get killed."

Bishop paused. "It could go like that."

"Wyatt?" Elana asked. "What's going on? Tell me!"

He turned, shouted, "Tell everybody to get down on the living room floor! You too! Now!"

Her black eyes burned with anger and fear. "What've you done?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Just do it now. Get down!"

He turned back, looked out the window. He could see two large black vans easing through an alley fifty feet away. In the distance a helicopter fluttered a hundred feet in the air.

"Listen, Wyatt, the bureau won't go ahead with the assault if there's no final confirmation. That's part of the rules of engagement. Is there any way to shut down Shawn's machine?"

"Put Tony on."

"I'm here," Mott said.

"Are you in the FBI system?"

"Yeah, we can see the screen. Shawn's imping that he's the Tactical Operations Center in Washington, issuing codes. The tactical agent in the field's responding like it's business as usual."

"Can you trace the call back to where Shawn is?"

Mott said, "We don't have a warrant but I'll pull some strings at Pac Bell. Give me a minute or two."

Outside, the sound of heavy trucks. The helicopter was closer.

Gillette could hear the hysterical sobbing of Elana's mother and her brother's angry words coming from the living room. Elana herself said nothing. He saw her cross herself, glance once at him hopelessly and bury her head in the carpet beside her mother.

Oh, Jesus, what've I done?

A few minutes later Bishop came back on the line. "Pac Bell's running the trace. It's a landline. They've narrowed down the central office and exchange – he's somewhere in western San Jose, near Winchester Boulevard. Where Phate's warehouse was."

Gillette asked, "You think he's in the San Jose Computer Products building? Maybe he got back inside after you finished going through it."

"Or maybe he's someplace nearby – there're dozens of old warehouses around there. I'm ten minutes away," the detective said. "I'll go over there now. Brother, I wish we knew who Shawn was."

Something occurred to Gillette. As when he was writing code, he applied this hypothesis against the known facts and rules of logic. He came to a conclusion. He said, "I have a thought about that."

"Shawn?"

"Yeah. Where's Bob Shelton?"

"At home. Why're you asking?"

"Call and find out if he's really there."

"Okay. I'll call you back from the car."

A few minutes later the Papandolos phone rang and Gillette grabbed the receiver. Frank Bishop was calling back as he sped down San Carlos toward Winchester.

"Bob should be home," Bishop said, "but there's no answer. You're wrong if you're thinking Bob's Shawn, though."

Looking out the window, seeing another police car cruise by, followed by a military-type truck, Gillette said, "No, Frank, listen: Shelton claimed he hated computers, didn't know anything about them. But remember: he had that hard drive in his house."

"The what?"

"That disk we saw – it's the kind of hardware only people who did serious hacking or ran bulletin boards a few years ago would use."

"I don't know," Bishop said slowly. "Maybe it was evidence or something."

"Has he ever worked a computer case before this?"

"Well, no…"

Gillette continued, "And he disappeared for a while before they raided Phate's house in Los Altos. He had time to send that message about the assault code and give Phate a chance to get away. And, think about it – it was because of him that Phate got inside ISLEnet and got the FBI computer addresses and tactical codes. Shelton said he went online to check me out. But what he was really doing was leaving the password and address of the CCU computer for Phate – so he could crack ISLEnet."

"But Bob's not a computer person."

"He says he isn't. But do you know for sure? Do you go over to his house much?"

"No."

"What's he do at night?"

"Usually stays at home."

"Never goes out?"

Bishop reluctantly replied, "No."

"That's hacker behavior."

"But I've known him for three years."

"Social engineering."

Bishop said, "Impossible… Hold on – there's another call coming in."

While he was on hold Gillette peeked through the curtain. He could see what looked like a military troop carrier parked not far away. There was motion in the bushes across the street. Policemen in camouflage clothing ran from one hedgerow to another. It seemed that there were a hundred officers outside.

Bishop came back on the line.

"Pac Bell's got the location where Shawn's cracking into the FBI from. He isin San Jose Computer Products. I'm almost there. I'll call you when I'm inside."

Frank Bishop called for backup and then parked the car out of sight in the lot across the street; San Jose Computer seemed to be windowless but he wasn't going to take the chance that Shawn would get a look at him.

Crouching, moving as fast as he could despite the terrible pain in his temple and the back of his skull Bishop made his way to the warehouse.

He didn't believe Gillette's conclusion about Bob Shelton. And yet he couldn't help but consider it. Of all the partners Bishop had had, he knew the least about Shelton. The big cop did spend all his nights at home. He didn't socialize with other cops. And while Bishop himself, for instance, had a basic knowledge of ISLEnet he wouldn't have been able to get inside the system and track down that information about Gillette the way Shelton had done. He recalled too that Shelton had volunteered for this case; Bishop remembered wondering why he'd wanted to take this one rather than MARINKILL.

But none of this mattered at the moment. Whether Shawn was Bob Shelton or someone else, Bishop had only about fifteen minutes before the federal tactical team began their attack. Drawing his pistol, he flattened himself against the wall beside the loading dock and paused, listening. He could hear nothing inside.