I Will Not Yield Read online

  He ran his hand through his hair as he bee-lined to the door. “Strawhead, you can quit nagging.”

  “That’s not nagging, Mike.” Her voice sounded sweet as molasses on a summer day. “Do you want me too?”

  “Geeez.” Mike shook his head. Too damn human?

  Mike loved old movie stars, especially ones starring Marilyn Monroe. The last movie he and his dad watched on their “B” movie list was Marilyn’s screwy sci-fi comedy ‘Monkey Business.’ He nicknamed the computer avatar “Strawhead,” a name he’d appropriated from the CIA, it was her moniker when she sneaking around with JFK.

  Sokol stepped up to Mike’s front door before turning to his giant subordinate. “It behooves you to remember this man’s profile.”

  Sokol’s right-hand man, Erik sneered. “I can handle ‘The Geek’ Sokol, er, Agent Townsend.”

  Erik outweighed Mike by over a hundred pounds, and Sokol thought the boast might not be one.

  His voice quiet and steady, Sokol tugged the collar of his gray suit, bringing every line into precise alignment. “You are not here to prove what you can handle. You are here to push his buttons. Do not push too hard.”

  “Yes sir.” He did not sound sincere.

  Sokol’s gaze set right his sincerity.

  Mike and Lokai reached the door at the same time. Mike turned the knob and greeted two impeccably dressed FBI agents.

  Lokai became a statue. His tail lowered. The whites of his eyes showed. The fur raised on his back. He leaned forward.

  “Lokai, go to your room!”

  The dog did not budge.

  “Lokai go to your room, now!”

  The second order and demeanor got through. Lokai trotted off in the direction of his room. Ten feet away, his eyes afire, Lokai turned to face the men.

  First Eddie and now the damn dog’s acting strangely. What the hell?

  With Lokai out of sight and out of mind, Mike returned his attention to the agents. “I have no idea what happened.” He shook his head. “He’s usually an enormous pile of loveable fur.”

  He paused and gathered his thoughts. “I suppose you’re from the government and here to help?”

  They did not react.

  In unison, the agents flashed their badges, not that Mike spent any time reading the names on them.

  Mike fought the temptation to roll his eyes. Like I really need to see your ID’s? C’mon guys, the way you’re dressed, you’re legit.

  The giant agent wore the standard FBI uniform of black tie, suit, shoes, and pressed white shirts, Mike noticed that the second agent, although shorter in stature, carried himself a little differently and wore a pricey, custom-tailored dark gray suit with a black silk shirt and matching tie. Small, blue-gray eyes shined like polished gunmetal with features that looked as hard as a diamond. The smaller man dwarfed the giant.

  Mike finished his appraisal. Shoes? Testoni? Must be. Dude’s got pocket change.

  Mr. Gray Suit broke the silence along with Mike’s chain of thought. “Good morning, Mr. O’Connor. My name is Agent Townsend. We are here to sign the terms of the agreement. Everything should be to your satisfaction.” He pointed to the oversized agent. “Agent Purvis will join us.”

  Smug bastard. No one talks like that, do they?

  “By all means, gentlemen.” Mike opened the door further and stepped back with his knees bent. He bowed, sweeping his right hand from his heart to his home like a courtly jester. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  Mike noticed Townsend’s eyes flicker but otherwise did not react. So, that’s how it’s going to be?

  CHAPTER 4

  Negotiations

  The big man knocked Mike backward after he passed through the threshold. He continued into the living area without turning or saying a word. Bastard. This is not going to be fun.

  Mike gathered himself and led the agents into the kitchen. He forced a smile. “Would you gentlemen like a glass of water or coffee?” He turned and pointed. “I have an amazing coffee machine.”

  The massive black-suited subordinate agent stood frozen in place. His look unfriendly.

  Mike tensed in an effort not to overreact. He switched gears and tried a light-hearted jab. “I’d offer you a stiff drink, but I assume it’s too early, even for the FBI?”

  The man might as well have been a statue. Mike turned his head toward the lead agent. He watched Townsend offer an imperceptible shake of his head, and the ice shattered.

  Agent Purvis replied. The words were gruff. “No thank you.”

  Mike watched Townsend nonchalantly inspect his apartment. His eyes did not pause on Strawhead or the Steampunked items. The agent’s face remained expressionless, impossible to read.

  The man is not human.

  “It’s kind of you to offer, but business first. There is little to discuss and no need to take up much of your time.” Townsend’s voice was deep, passionless. “I’d imagine you’re busy?”

  Mike did not know how to react. He shook his head yes.

  Townsend continued. “Of course, this discussion is a sensitive matter. No recording devices are allowed under penalty of law. I need you to deactivate that lovely lady of yours.” Townsend’s head tilted up. “We can’t have her eavesdropping. Can we?” The agent smiled and winked at Strawhead.

  It was the first time Townsend had shown emotion.

  The man was impossible to read. Mike made a mental note to never invite him over for poker. “You’re sure? She can be helpful.”

  Townsend’s silent blue-gray eyes spoke volumes. “Please, Mr. O’Connor, do not make me repeat myself.”

  “O.K. then. My voice is my password. Strawhead, sleep.”

  The computer interface pouted. “As you wish.”

  The dining room’s four screens flickered and went dead. Decorative wooden panels slid over them; a hundred years of technology disappeared.

  Townsend’s face during the disappearing act might have been sculpted from stone. The agent waved his hand toward the giant. “I will let Agent Purvis discuss the contract.”

  Doesn’t want to get his hands dirty or doesn’t like details?

  Townsend clasped his hands in front of him. “Purvis, you may begin.”

  Agent Purvis stepped forward. “Ah hum... Mr. O’Connor, we have prepared a document per our agreement. As you know, we want you to test a computer system’s security on a government network.” He spread out papers. “The internal IP address of the server and the name of the file is listed in ‘Appendix A’ of the contract. The IP address is Classified ‘Secret’.”

  Mike chuckled. “Wow, you guys hand out classified information just like that, huh?”

  Townsend broke in. “Mr. O’Connor, not to reveal our protocols, but you are well-documented at this point. You had a Top Secret clearance in the military. We reactivated it. Please consider that we linked exposure to this information to only one person, and that person is you. Believe me when I say we have implemented all necessary precautions. Continue, agent.”

  Purvis half smiled. “After you sign the document, we’ll remove the appendix. It won’t be part of any permanent record. You must memorize the information. Do not share it under any circumstances.” The agent looked Mike in the eyes. “Can you remember the filename and IP?”

  “Is that a serious question?”

  Agent Purvis mimicked his boss and folded his hands in front of him. “I’ll take that as a yes. Questions?”

  “Thousands, but I’ll ask only one, and hope to get an answer. It will determine which method I use to breach the system.” Mike let the words sink in for five heartbeats. “Is this file on a secure government server?”

  Purvis said, “Yes, of course. The test must be realistic. All security protocols are in place. The system has a full gauntlet of security: firewalls, intrusion detection, honeypots, IP security, live monitors, you name it. We wouldn’t want the bad Russians getting their paws on it, now would we?”

  Mike looked at both Townsend and Purvis. “
You’re kidding?” The corners of Mike’s lips turned up until he realized Purvis was serious.

  Purvis raised his voice an octave. “To be frank, I personally do not think you will succeed. Your attempt will be a colossal waste of government resources and time.”

  Mike’s lips headed in a different direction, the muscles of his face tense.

  The agent turned toward Townsend. “However, my boss has faith in you, and pushed hard to make this happen.”

  Mike reacted poorly. “Are you looking for a fight?”

  Lokai interrupted the tension by bursting into the room. He smashed his nose into Mike’s thigh and looked at him with sad eyes.

  The heat drained out Mike’s pores. “That’s not going to work, boy.” His arm shot out and pointed. “Go to your room and stay!”

  Mike watched while the dog sauntered off.

  Agent Purvis said, “Do we have a deal?”

  Calmer. “Just to be clear, I get paid whether I am successful or not?

  “Yes. Ten thousand up front for a minimum of fifty hours documented labor. Documented is the primary word. A bonus of ten-thousand if you actually retrieve the file.”

  Mike’s cell phone chimed. “Excuse me.” He looked at the phone screen. It was a text message from Eddie. “Want to go to the nudie bar tonight? Oh yea, did I mention not to trust the FBI?” He flipped the sound off, put the phone back in his pocket, and made a promise to himself to hurt Eddie the next time he saw him.

  He was reluctant, but Eddie’s nagging pushed him in the other direction. He turned to Townsend. “I guess we’re on.” Mike's shrugged. “Besides, what can go wrong?” The last four words hung in the air.

  The negotiations were complete. Mike read the unclassified portion of the assignment during their email exchange. He had known the terms. Except for a few details, it was a boilerplate ‘White Hat’ hack contract.

  “Mr. O’Connor, only a few people know of the existence of this file. Every one of them firmly believes it contains national secrets.” He shook a finger at Mike. “You must do everything in your power to retrieve this file, but do not take risks, or this assignment, lightly.” Mike recognized a command. He nodded.

  “Can I push the boundaries of the law to secure access?”

  “We will give you some latitude and protection. Do not abuse it.” Townsend cracked his neck. “The security test is invalid, and half of the first deposit must be refunded if you are caught.” Townsend’s voice turned severe. “I do not like to waste my time or the government’s.”

  He turned to Agent Purvis. “I hope Agent Purvis’ assessment of you is wrong.”

  For the second time, Mike’s fuse lit. He leaned forward, fists clenched. The stare Townsend gave him froze him in place. He’s not scared, he’d welcome a fight.

  The flame lowered but did not extinguish. “Sir, I do not get caught. Do you understand?”

  Townsend remained impassive.

  Mike’s fire turned up a notch. “I’ll enjoy getting your file and proving your agent wrong.”

  “Good, very good. You will need passion to complete this mission. On this you are right, let’s complete the contract.”

  Townsend handed Mike his tablet to sign the contract.

  Mike said, “I will sign on the tablet, but I want a signed printed copy before you leave. There is an old saying, ‘Say it with flowers, say it with mink, but never say it with ink.’” He trusted electronic files, but Eddie’s warning nagged. “I require all my contracts to be printed.”

  Townsend seemed to expect this response and looked up at the closed cabinets. “If you insist. Can you provide printing access?”

  Mike responded. “My voice is my password. Wake up sleepy head.”

  The voice print analyst program verified the wavelength pattern of his voice and the precise sequence of words. The panels slid away, and the screens flickered to life when the computer awoke from its electronic slumber.

  “Strawhead, allow wireless access and shared printer services to one new laptop.”

  Mike’s voice triggered a unique program with inhuman patience. A wavy picture of Marilyn sprung to life on each of the four screens. The image solidified into a realistic movie setting that incorporated a full body-shot of the glamorous actress in her infamous white dress, every ounce of her curves and wiggling included. Air rushed up from a vent, threatening to expose more than shapely legs.

  Mike watched Purvis express awe at the response rate and scene, but Townsend didn’t seem moved by it at all.

  I think I hate that S.O.B. Think, hell, know. The program used the visual distraction to allow it to crunch ones and zeros. While the dress flew up, the spoken-word program scanned, processed and summarized his printing request. The computer crunched untold calculations in three seconds.

  Strawhead spoke in her familiar high, breathless voice. “Access granted. Printer is online and functional. Anything else sir? Oh yea, tell your company I said hi.” She winked but seemed agitated Mike did not introduce them before he gave her a command. The program worked as designed.

  Mike watched the steely-eyed agent pull out a surprise of his own. It appears he wasn’t the only one who brought a high-tech gadget to the party.

  Townsend opened an expensive leather travel journal. Inside was the thinnest liquid metal tablet Mike ever seen. Townsend used small hand gestures to install the print driver, load the contract and initiate the printing process.

  Mike was impressed. He would tell the team to consider incorporating the technology into their interface.

  The tablet displayed, ‘Waiting for access to print.’

  Marilyn chimed, “Mike. Is this the document you wanted little ole me to print?”

  “Yes.” He heard the pages spew out of the printer.

  Agent Purvis walked to the printer and retrieved the contract.

  Townsend clenched his fist to power off the tablet and laid the document on the table.

  Mike was taken aback when he saw Townsend unfold his expensive coat to reveal custom-made ninja throwing darts. “Those darts look beautiful. Are you good?”

  Agent Townsend shrugged. “Just a tool.” He reached in and handed Mike the first dart.

  Mike inspected the well-balanced dart. He noticed a seam and realized the rounded end of the dart doubled as a pen. With a twist of the dart, a small ballpoint protruded. He shook his head. Getting killed by a pen? This guy’s something else.

  Mike signed, dated, and initialed the appropriate spots, then handed back the writing weapon with reluctance.

  Townsend snapped the dart in place without looking.

  Mike hesitated when Townsend reached out his hand. Embarrassed, Mike offered his hand.

  “Good. Please secure the documents and do not mention the contract to anyone.”

  “You know my history and clearance in the Marines. I can keep a secret.”

  The agent walked up to Mike. Townsend smelled of leather and orange. His gaze was direct when they shook hands. Townsend’s bruising grip match his pen choice. A weapon.

  He matched it. The handshake became a test of will. His hand stung when he released the grip. The glimpse into Townsend’s eyes caused Mike’s skin to crawl. The eyes had a movie star quality, but they unnerved him. Something’s not right.

  He moved with precision. Mike knew expert martial artists displayed this characteristic. He met enough of them in the UFC. Karate men moved with deceptively jerky movements, timed and measured to eliminate waste.

  Precision was lethal in the martial arts world. The darts aroused his suspicion, the grip confirmed it.

  Mike shook the thought off. With so much money at stake, he settled his bargain with the devil. “Well, it was fun meeting you. If you don’t mind, I want to get started. You gents know your way out.” Mike counted to ten and walked over to a jar of antique marbles. His fingers searched the marble pile for the key to unlock his file cabinet. He secured the file and put the key back in place.

  He picked up a marble and p
lucked a hunting slingshot from a nearby drawer. With the marble secure in the leather pouch, he aimed the weapon at the door. You weren’t the only one with weapons nearby. He returned the crystal globe and the device to the counter.

  He said to no-one, “Time to work, buddy-boy.”

  Mike sat on his couch. He lifted the lid off a decorative box on his coffee table. The box hid a keyboard. He pressed a key. A large-framed picture of Da Vinci’s ‘Roaring Lion’ appeared on his computer’s desktop. The computer desktop’s watermark appeared. It was his logo, a furious roaring lion with an imprinted collar, ‘Silent Roar.’ Symbolic, since over the Internet no one could hear his attacks. He hacked.

  Ten minutes later, Lokai jumped on the couch and pushed his nose between Mike’s arms and keyboard.

  “Let me work, boy.”

  Lokai did not comply and interrupted Mike’s typing again.

  “Okay, you win.”

  Mike scratched behind Lokai’s ears. “You know, I think you’re right, buddy, he’s a jerk.”

  The next morning, Sokol grew impatient. He felt the gritty concrete against his back while hiding in the shadow of a large apartment building. The alley’s urban bouquet smelled of urine and discarded trash. It wasn’t all disagreeable; a hint of chocolate and a nearby bakery helped mask the scent.

  A passionless hunter, Sokol loved shadows. The grays and blacks he wore helped him blend into the darkness unseen. He became one with the darkness, careful to not be seen, a fluttering shadow.

  His patience was rewarded, the front door to Mike’s apartment building swung open. Mike and his dog left for their daily run on Chicago’s beachfront shoreline.

  Sokol read Mike’s shirt, ‘PHU COUGH.’ It took him a few seconds to piece together the “f” sounding first word. “Back at you, back at you my friend.”

  Colorblind, Sokol couldn’t tell whether the color of Mike’s shorts was a dark green or dark blue, a weakness he hated. It was the other reason he wore gray and black: no mistakes color-coding.