CHAPTER EIGHT FBI HEADQUARTERS—J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING WASHINGTON, DC

FBI HEADQUARTERS—J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING

WASHINGTON, DC

January 9

“Tell him that a deal might be possible. It’s not too late. Immunity if he testifies against Calakmul.”

Roth wasn’t sure if Lund had the authority to make such an offer, or if Monica or someone else in the room with them had suggested it. He wasn’t sure how Carter would react to it either.

“Look,” Roth said, leaning forward. He stared into his friend’s eyes. His emotions were difficult to process, but there were a lot of years they’d shared. A lot of memories. He hated that his friend had betrayed him. But that didn’t erase their years of history. He still cared about Moretti and his family. “What if survival weren’t the only outcome? With your help, we might be able to stop him. Do you really want ‘Armageddon It’ to happen?” He’d dropped a reference to a Def Leppard song they both knew, hoping to soften him.

Moretti gave him a half smile. “There’s no stopping it, Roth. All we can do is survive it.”

“But what if we could? Isn’t it worth trying? What if you had immunity for testifying against Jacob Calakmul?”

Carter chuffed. “It would have to be very helpful information. Actionable.”

That was apparently Carter’s favorite word.

Moretti glanced at Carter with a look of contempt. “I already have all the immunity I need.”

“What kind are you talking about?” Roth questioned.

“The kind that’ll come in handy when people start getting sick. Or has it already started?” He glanced at Carter again. “I’m going to be fine. So is my family. Besides, I don’t trust any protection the Feds could offer.”

“Why not?” Carter demanded, looking insulted.

Moretti leaned back in his chair and folded his arms—at least the best he could manage while wearing handcuffs. “I’ve worked in law enforcement my whole career. From being an MP in the navy after I washed out of BUD/S to my current job. Do you know how many run-ins I’ve had with the Feds? The politics of my own department? The power trips? It’s pathetic.”

“Not all cops or agents are bad, surely,” Roth said.

“What does it matter? I’ve seen corruption at every level, Roth. I’ve had to provide security details for visiting bigwigs. I’ve busted a state senator’s kids for drugs, only to have the case tossed out because of a favor owed. I don’t know how many people in this building work for Calakmul directly or indirectly. And neither do you.” He glared at Carter. “But I’m not the only one.”

Roth sighed. He had the same concern. When he went to the death game, he’d seen all the people who’d signed up to be part of the new world that Jacob was bringing. There’d been famous faces among them—the ones Lund had told him not to name yet. So Moretti wasn’t wrong to be cynical. Some people felt like they were above the law. And maybe they were right. Jacob Calakmul’s reach was vast. He’d proven that over and over.

Then a little thought niggled in Roth’s mind. Something he hadn’t thought of before. Something that didn’t add up.

“Calakmul sent some MS-13 gang members to kidnap my family,” Roth said. “They were coming for us the night we got back from Germany.”

Moretti’s shoulder twitched. “So?”

“We were just sitting at home. Except for Suki. They could have driven up and taken us. No one would have known. No one should have known.”

Moretti looked down at the table. He said nothing.

Roth scratched the back of his neck. “But someone alerted the FBI they were coming. The FBI came right away to protect us.”

“You’re lucky,” Moretti said, still looking down.

“I know you’re the one who arranged it,” Roth said. “Agent Sanchez told me. You were trying to help me.”

Moretti’s attorney looked startled by the news.

Silence hung in the room. Moretti wouldn’t look at anybody. Although he was stone-faced, Roth could see his jaw muscles clenching. He was wrestling within himself.

“And Calakmul doesn’t know,” Roth whispered.

Moretti’s eyes shot toward his. He looked frantic. “He does now,” he said gruffly. “She works for him.” He jerked his head toward the attorney.

The woman rose hastily from the chair, the metal legs of it screeching as she backed away.

Carter walked over to the door. “Oh?” he asked with a cunning smile.

“You cannot keep me here,” the attorney snapped. “I have not been charged with a crime. I’m leaving.”

“So you can tell your boss?” Carter asked. She started toward the door, but he blocked it with his body. “No need to be in such a hurry, Mrs. Brown.”

“You cannot hold me against my consent,” the attorney repeated, her cheeks flushed. She looked guilty. Very guilty.

“Actually, I have probable cause now, thanks to Mr. Moretti implicating you,” Carter said. “I think we need to bring you to a separate room and start this conversation all over again from the beginning. Sanchez, can you come in here and remove her, please?”

The attorney’s eyes flashed with anger. She backed away from Carter, standing behind Moretti. Then she reached down and quickly traced something on the back of Moretti’s neck. Roth had seen Calakmul do that. He’d traced a glyph on Sarina when she was in a coma.

“Don’t touch him!” Roth said, scooting back in his chair and coming to his feet.

Moretti twisted his shoulders, having felt her touch, his eyes wide with fear.

Carter drew his gun and pointed it at the attorney. “Hands in the air!”

The attorney complied, hands up. “I did nothing! Nothing!”

Moretti was jerking back and forth and breathing fast. The attorney backed away into the corner.

With a table separating him from the attorney, Roth felt safe looking away from her to study his friend’s face. He’d gone pale.

“You okay, bud?” Roth asked him.

Moretti twisted his neck and looked at the attorney with fear. Then he began rubbing his chest with his fist. “I don’t ... something’s not right,” he muttered. He rubbed his chest again.

Carter kept his pistol aimed at the attorney.

Moretti began to tremble. Sweat popped out on his forehead. “What’d you do to me!” he roared, trying to stand and fumbling. He was becoming increasingly pale.

The attorney stared at him, then a little smile crept across her face. She’d done whatever she’d set out to do.

“Te maté,”the attorney whispered.

Roth knew what that meant in Spanish.

I killed you.

Lund entered the conference room with a tray of food for lunch. A few sandwiches, bags of chips, and sodas. Monica entered with him. Roth had been pacing the room while Jordan played hangman on a white board with the twins at the far end of the table.

“I’m starving,” Jordan announced. “That’s all for me, right?”

“It’s for all of us,” Lucas said.

Monica didn’t smile. She motioned for Roth to approach her while Lund brought the tray to the far end of the table. He heard them murmuring, but his brain didn’t interpret the words because his focus was on Monica. Specifically on the look in her eyes. She had news, and he wasn’t going to like it.

“How’s Moretti?” he asked with concern when he reached her.

“He’s gone,” Monica said with a sigh. “They took him to Georgetown, but he went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance. We’ve got his blood work going to the FBI lab at Quantico to see what toxin killed him.”

Roth felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Now his two best friends from high school were dead. The pain in his own chest was searing. He felt tears sting his eyes. Moretti had stabbed him in the back, but he hadn’t wanted him to go out like this. He’d wanted him to have a redemption arc, to turn this thing around.

“You won’t find any toxins,” Roth muttered. “I saw what she did.”

“I’ve reviewed the video footage several times. She touched his back with her forefinger. There’s no pinprick, but—”

“She drew a glyph on him,” Roth said. “It was her touch that did it. Not poison.”

She opened her mouth as if to say, That’s impossible, then stopped herself. She’d seen a lot of impossible things since they’d met.

“They can ... do that?” she asked softly.

“I think it’s how they started the virus, remember. Glyphs. A sign. A symbol. There are stories in other parts of the world about killing or incapacitating with a touch,” Roth said. As an author, he’d studied a variety of topics, including this one. “It’s called dim mak. The ancient Chinese knew it. Even ninjas in Japan were supposedly able to do it. It was in Kung Fu Panda if you saw the movie.”

“Sweet movie,” Jordan interjected.

“Vaguely remember it,” Monica said. “How would an attorney know it?”

“Who else would have access to people Calakmul would want dead?” Roth said. “From what I’ve read, death can be instant or delayed. No evidence of foul play. If it could happen here ...” Roth’s chest clenched with dread. “I don’t feel safe anywhere.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Monica said, putting her hand on Roth’s shoulder. “Lund and I both believed he was on the verge of flipping. Now he can’t help us. But hopefully another source can.”

“What source?” he asked, his mind a mess.

“Dr. Estrada and Illari Chaska. In light of what just happened, Lund had them taken to a separate location. Grab some lunch and let’s get going.”

As they left FBI headquarters, using a different exit from the entrance they’d used going in, Roth still felt the paranoid sensation that everyone was staring at them. He kept the twins close, and they were flanked by Jordan on one side and Monica on the other as they pushed their way through the crowds on Pennsylvania Avenue. There were people everywhere, the street full of vehicles and commotion and noise. Roth kept looking around, trying to find a source of danger, but the fear was inside his heart. Jacob Calakmul had reached into FBI headquarters and murdered Roth’s friend right in front of him. There was no reason someone couldn’t do that to Roth or his boys.

Lund summoned an SUV using Uber, and they all crammed inside. It was a short ride, though, only a few blocks. They got out, and Roth stared up at the seven-story building next to them in confusion. “This isn’t a hotel.”

“Exactly,” Lund said. He walked up to the glass doors and held them open for everyone, then closed them. He stared out at the street for a moment before approaching the security guard.

“Can you buzz Talbot Glenn for me?” Lund asked.

“Yes, sir,” said the guard. He got on the phone and then spoke briefly. “Yes. Thank you.” He hung up and gestured to the elevator. “Elevators are that way.” He handed Lund a key card.

“Penthouse is on the top floor?”

They all went to the elevators, Monica shooting Lund a look. “A penthouse?”

He nodded curtly and led them into the elevator. He tapped the key card and then punched the seventh floor. The elevator rocketed up quickly, and they entered a lavish corridor. Monica’s cell phone buzzed, and she pulled it out.

“It’s Carter,” she said and then answered it. “Yes?”

Lund walked down the corridor to the final room and then pushed a doorbell button.

“We’re not far,” Monica said. “I’ll let you know when we’ve spoken to Dr. Estrada. Thank you.” She hung up.

The door opened, and a well-dressed middle-aged man with graying hair opened it. He had on a tweed jacket and plaid shirt and looked like a stereotypical university professor.

“Steve! Come on in!” he greeted them all with a slight Midwestern accent. “Good to see you, old friend.” They shook hands, and as Roth entered the penthouse, he was struck by the man’s wealth on display. There were antiques everywhere he looked, along with the kind of marble decorations usually displayed in old estates.

“Sorry it was short notice,” Lund said. “Where is Dr. Estrada?”

“In the study. This way. Follow me.”

Jordan brought up the rear, glancing each way. The boys looked impressed with the furnishings and decorations, and Roth was too, but his mind still felt a million miles away.

Opening the door at the end of a hall, the owner of the penthouse showed them a study that was paneled in dark wood with bookshelves and couches. A young bald man stood by the window—security, presumably, and a man and woman sat on one of the couches. The man looked to be Dr. Estrada. He had long, graying hair, a nervous smile, and salt-and-pepper stubble that suggested he hadn’t shaved in days. His companion was a younger woman, heavyset, with dark hair and a distinctly Hispanic look. She had a beanie on her head, a jean jacket over another jacket, leggings, and boots.

“Dr. Estrada?” Monica said, moving to the man and shaking his hand.

“Yes,” he said.

“I’m Agent Monica Sanchez. We spoke on the phone.”

“Agent Sanchez. Yes. This is my assistant, Illari Chaska.” He gestured to the young woman. Monica reached for her hand, but Illari wouldn’t accept it. She looked away. She looked very uncomfortable. Worried even.

“This is Jonathon Roth,” Monica said, indicating Roth. “And his boys.”

As soon as his name was said, Illari started and looked at him with recognition. He gave her a nervous smile.

Lund went to the bald guard and whispered something to him that prompted him to leave.

“Make yourselves comfortable. Do you need any water? Anything to eat?” said Talbot Glenn.

“We’re fine,” Lund said. “Can we have some privacy, please?”

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything.” He left through the study doors and shut them behind him, and Jordan walked over to stand guard.

“Sit on the couch over there,” Roth told the boys, indicating the one farthest from the window.

“I thought we were going to FBI headquarters?” Dr. Estrada said. “I wasn’t expecting to be brought here.”

“Sorry for the confusion,” Monica said. “It’s for your own protection.”

Estrada looked confused and glanced at Illari. “Why my protection?” His gaze shifted back to Roth. “And I take it this is the man the ransomware attackers want in order to decrypt the data?”

Monica nodded. “Yes. The hacker asked for Jonathon Roth. But we’re not going to hand him over to them. We need to find that temple in the jungle. The one you discovered.”

Dr. Estrada frowned. “Do you know how large the jungle is? I couldn’t find it again. Not without the data that’s been lost.”

“The LiDAR data,” Monica said. “I know. But you’re the only expert who can give us the rough area on a map. Even if you could narrow the search, it would help. This is a matter of national security, Dr. Estrada. We need to find that temple.”

Roth shifted his gaze to Illari. She was clutching a laptop bag with both hands, practically radiating discomfort.

“You still don’t understand,” Estrada said. “Even if I could give you a ten-mile radius, you’d never find it. The jungle is impenetrable. It would take weeks or months to comb through that much land, and that is only if you had the Mexican government’s cooperation, which you won’t.”

“Is there a backup copy of the data?” Lund asked.

“We’re trying that route,” Dr. Estrada said. “It’s taking time to get our supplier to provide it. I told you this on the phone.”

Roth watched Illari hug the laptop bag even tighter.

“Illari,” he said softly. “Do you have a backup copy of the data?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Tears pooled in hers.

And he had his answer in her silence.