Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

Yaeger nodded. “Seems likely,” he said. “The thing is, with both Brian Westgate and Sienna compromised, it’s become obvious to everyone that Phalanx cannot be relied upon to protect the computer systems and networks it’s been tasked with guarding.”

“What’s being done about it?”

Yaeger sighed. “Everything that can be,” he said. “A crash effort is under way to pull Phalanx and replace it with alternate systems. In addition, other security measures are being strengthened and reviewed. Some systems are being disconnected from the grid entirely.”

“A step in the right direction,” Kurt said. “But when the people behind this mess realize that Sienna is no longer useful to them, neither she nor her children are going to last very long.”

“No,” Yaeger agreed. “The most likely outcome has them being killed. The group behind all this will simply start over. Whatever their ultimate goal is, they’ve spent considerable time and energy trying to bring it to life. Nothing we’ve seen suggests they would give up.”

“Any idea what they’re up to?”

“We’ve detected a massive increase in hacking attempts but no clear pattern,” Yaeger said. “We think they’re trying to disguise their true objective.”

“Which means we have to find them,” Kurt urged. “The only way this ends is if we stop it at the source.”

Yaeger nodded. “And that brings me to why you’re here and flying west with the night instead of east to Guam. We have a new lead. And, strangely enough, you’re the one who gave it to us.”

As he spoke, Yaeger pulled another photograph from the file folder. Kurt had seen it before. It was the picture he’d taken of Calista on the deck of Acosta’s yacht.

“Max has finished the facial recognition analysis on your mystery woman.”

“Any hits?”

“Not at first,” Yaeger replied. “We checked through the civilized world’s DMV bureaus, passport-issuing organizations, and court archives. Even Interpol. No matching photographic record of this woman exists. So I asked Max to scan all publicly available images and see if we could find a counterpart.”

“There must be billions of photos out there,” Kurt said.

“Trillions,” Hiram said. “Many trillions when you include video images. Even for Max it was a big task. Took three full days. And when she finally came up with an answer, I almost asked her if she was joking.”

“I didn’t know computers could joke,” Kurt said.

“Max has been known to pull a prank or two. But this time she was serious.”

Hiram produced another photo, this one copied from an old three-by-five glossy. It showed a handsome couple in their thirties. Gathered around them were three children, two boys and a girl, who looked to be the youngest child. Judging by the clothes, the photo had probably been taken in the mid-eighties.

“Nice-looking family,” Kurt said. “Who are they?”

“The woman’s name is Abigail Banister,” Hiram said. “She was a telecommunications expert.”

Kurt studied her. Aside from the clothes, the woman could have been Calista’s twin.

“The man is her husband,” Hiram continued, “Stewart Banister. He was a satellite guidance specialist. They’re English. They disappeared while on safari in Zimbabwe twenty-eight years ago. At the time, there was some suspicion that they’d defected to the Eastern bloc. It seems British Intelligence had a low-level alert on them because of certain political beliefs and some old friends they’d made back in their college years. Though, for reasons that will become clear to you shortly, the world soon learned that such was not the case.”

Kurt had an idea where this was going. “The woman looks just like Calista. And the little girl . . .”

“According to Max, her facial structure shows an eightynine percent correlation with those of the woman you know as Calista. Once we did a computerized age progression, using her own features and those of her siblings and parents, we end up with a ninety-six percent correlation. For all intents and purposes, it might as well be a fingerprint match.”

“You’re saying the little girl is Calista?”

Yaeger nodded.

Kurt had great respect for what Hiram and Max could do— certainly they’d pulled off near miracles before—but this seemed like a shot in the dark. “Is there any way we can prove what you’re suggesting?”

“We already have,” Yaeger said.

“How?”

“DNA analysis.”