Tim Washburn: Cyber Attack

“Okay. Where?”

“My place.”

“Okay. Which way am I going?” Hank asks.

“Head toward Tysons Corner mall and I’ll direct you from there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hank threads his way through more emergency vehicles and heads for the airport exit. He digs his phone out of his pocket, pulls up his contact list, and touches his grandmother’s picture before putting the phone to his ear. “Hi, Nana,” Hank says when the call is answered. “Yes, I’m okay. Promise.”

As his phone conversation continues, Paige takes a moment to eyeball her new partner. Hank has a headful of raven black hair and, looking at his face in profile, his broad nose has a slight bump right in the center. His high cheekbones pair well with his deep-set, dark eyes and, mixed with his olive complexion, it’s difficult for Paige to determine his origins. Hank glances over to catch Paige staring and she can feel her cheeks warm.

“Yes, Nana, I will,” Hank says into the phone. “One last thing, you might want to have Jerry pull the generator out of the barn and get her gassed up. Talk to you soon.” Hank kills the call and drops his phone into a cup holder.

“Your grandmother?” Paige asks.

“Yes. My paternal grandmother, Ida Goodnight.”

“I take it you two are close.”

“We are. She’s seventy-five and still going strong.”

“Where does she live?”

“She lives on a hundred and sixty acres just outside of Ada, Oklahoma. Heard of it?”

“Can’t say that I have. I know where Oklahoma City and Tulsa are, but Ada, not so much. Is that where you grew up?”

Hank nods. “Yep, lived there until I was seventeen and went off to college. It’s about eighty miles south-east of Oklahoma City. The last time I checked the population was 17,143. Could have swelled some since then, though. The town’s calling card is that it’s the seat of government for the Chickasaw Nation.”

Paige snaps her fingers. “That’s it. So you’re Native American?”

Hank nods. “I’ve got a good dose of Indian blood running through my veins. My grandmother, on the other hand, is full-blood Chickasaw.” Hank flips on his blinker and moves into the right lane. “What exit do I need to take?”

“International Drive. My condo is just off the highway.”

“Which building?”

“One Westpark.”

Hank whistles. “Pretty rich digs.”

“Have you been there?”

“Yep, dated a gal that lived there. Her condo was much nicer than she turned out to be.”

Paige chuckles. “Not a good relationship?”

“You could say that,” Hank replies.

“Goodnight is not a name you hear often.”

“My grandmother married one of the Goodnight clan from out in the Texas Panhandle. I guess that makes Charlie Goodnight one of my great-great-somethin’s.”

“And who was Charlie Goodnight?”

Hank glances at Paige, his brows raised. “Western history not your thing? Charlie Goodnight was a big cattle rancher who developed the Goodnight-Lovin’ cattle trail to drive longhorns north to the railheads. You can Google him if you’d like to brush up a little on your history.”

Paige shows Hank her middle finger as he exits off the highway. At the stoplight, he makes a left on Westpark Drive then another left and pulls into the condo’s visitor lot. A high-rise, the nineteen-story tower dwarfs the surrounding buildings. Hank finds a vacant parking place, pulls in, and kills the engine. Reaching across Paige, he pops the glove box and grabs his pistol.

“We’re going upstairs to my condo. How dangerous could that be?”

“I’d rather have it handy and not need it, than to need it and not have it.” Hank shrugs. “Could be somethin’ passed down by my Native American ancestors.”

They climb out of the Mustang and Hank holsters his weapon and grabs his backpack from the backseat before following Paige into the lobby, a handsomely decorated space that would be at home in any five-star hotel. The low-slung furniture is grouped into seating areas to encourage conversation and the walls are paneled in mahogany, stained a honey brown color. Hank eyes the furniture and the custom-made light fixtures, wondering if he could afford just one of the wall sconces. He nods to the doorman as he follows Paige down the hall to the elevators. Paige punches the button and the car closest to them opens. They board and Paige swipes a card key before touching the uppermost button.

“Well, hell,” Hank says. “Here I thought maybe you could eke out a one-bedroom, maybe. But no, it has to be the fuckin’ penthouse?”

Paige laughs as the elevator ascends toward the nineteenth floor. “I did some video game programming for a couple of buddies in college for a percentage of the profits. They sold the company three years ago for something like five hundred million dollars. I got lucky.”

“Why the hell are you slavin’ away at the FBI, when you could be island-hoppin’ through the Caribbean?”

“That’s boring. I like catching bad guys.” The doors open onto Paige’s condo, a wide-open space with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the Virginia landscape.

“Damn,” Hank says, scanning the interior space. The living room and kitchen are one open space with a vaulted ceiling soaring high overhead. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” Paige puts her messenger bag on the entry table and Hank follows her deeper into the condo. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I’m good for now.” Hank steps over to the windows to take in the view. “How many bedrooms?”

“Three. I converted one of them into a home office.”

Hank turns away from the view. “Let’s put it to use.”

Paige leads Hank down the hall and into her office. Six computer towers are lined up on a credenza positioned along the far wall and six large video monitors sit atop a sleek steel-and-glass desk the size of most conference room tables. Paige steps behind the desk, waving to the two rolling chairs fronting her workspace. “Have a seat.”

Hank sits and sinks into the soft leather of a chair that probably cost more than he makes in a month. He shakes his head as he pulls out his laptop. He places his computer on the desk, asks Paige for the Wi-Fi password, and logs in.

“Where do we start?” Paige asks.

“The aircraft manufacturer might be a tough nut to crack. Let’s start with the power companies.”

Lees Ferry Campground

Marble Canyon, Arizona

The thirteen-mile stretch of the Colorado River that runs from Glen Canyon Dam to the Lees Ferry Campground provides some of the best trout fishing in the country. The cold, clear water is a consistent 50 degrees Fahrenheit year-round, making it a perfect breeding ground for one of the largest wild trout populations in the western half of the nation. Ranging in size from one to five pounds, the population of mostly rainbow trout along this stretch of the river number in the thousands per mile and many are awaiting the arrival of that wily fisherman with the perfect bait.

Two of those trying their luck today are best friends Tommy Thompson and Dale Schaefer. Retired from Fire Station 16 on the South Side of Chicago, the two friends have talked about this fly-fishing trip for the better part of twenty years. Though it was planned numerous times, their efforts to make the trip were often thwarted by work, family issues, or financial difficulties. Two months ago, they said screw it and booked the trip. Now they’re on day two of their scheduled five-day trip. Yesterday, both caught their limit (four) and they’re hoping for more of the same today.

“What fly are you using?” Dale asks as they huddle on the bank, preparing to wade out into the stream.