Wars in the future might still be fought on dirt and in the air and on the seas, but probably the most critical confrontations would take place in cyberspace as countries used armies of cyber soldiers to attack infrastructure, power grids, financial markets, transportation and energy hubs, and more, all through the click of computer keys instead of the pull of a trigger or the drop of a bomb.
What Grant was doing was akin to this type of futuristic warfare. But his target was fairly specific. In fact, it was about as focused as one could get.
He finished walking the perimeter, spent a few more minutes with his men, and then drove off. He noted with satisfaction that the security perimeter was already being installed. Along with the building Grant had also purchased a hundred acres. The closest home or business was miles away. He liked his privacy.
He reached the main road and sped up. He turned on the radio and found the all-news station he had been searching for a few seconds later. He waited until the top of the hour and then smiled as the lead story came on.
It was the old story of a missing billion euros along with a missing soldier. But now that story had new elements. The anchor paused for emphasis here and then announced with a flourish that:
“Information has just come to light that hints at the possibility of an illegal plot emanating from deep within the power corridors of the U.S. government, which might have serious international ramifications.”
Grant was glad that the story had hit all of the salient and salacious points. That had been his hope when he had it planted.
He turned off the radio and sped up. He had some confidential information to purchase. But with enough money there was nothing on earth anymore that could be truly kept secret.
CHAPTER
43
THEY WERE IN DOWNTOWN D.C. NOW, and the car Wingo was following swung into a parking garage. Wingo hesitated and then pulled in after it. It was a pay garage, and each driver had to get a ticket before the gate would lift. Wingo parked about six car spaces over from the other man.
Then things got dicey. There was a bank of elevators. People were waiting for the next one. The man walked up to the queue, and Wingo followed. He pulled his ball cap down tightly over his head and adjusted his sunglasses. He was not about to take them off. He’d changed his appearance since Afghanistan but he couldn’t take a chance on being spotted.
The group stepped onto the elevator car. It carried everyone to the lobby, where they all clambered onto another elevator. In the back Wingo saw that the man he was following pushed the button for floor six. When the doors opened on that floor several other people got off as well. Wingo was the last off. He watched as the man walked down the hall and turned left. Wingo followed, stopping at the intersection of the two corridors.
He watched as the man entered a door. It closed behind him. Wingo continued on, passed the door, and looked at the name on the wall next to the door.
The Vista Trading Group, LLC.
Wingo continued on down the hall and then stopped, wondering what to do. He had a gun. He could perhaps burst in and make a citizen’s arrest. That, of course, would be stupid. He had no evidence. He was a wanted man himself. He had no permit for his gun. The police would come and he would be the one arrested.
He rode the elevator back down and returned to his rental. He did an Internet search on the Vista Trading Group, LLC. He got the perfunctory website that told him nothing much of interest. They were engaged in defense contracting as consultants. He looked under personnel but did not find the picture of the man he had been following. He could simply have been going there for a meeting. He didn’t have to work there, Wingo concluded.
This had been a dead end, but Wingo wasn’t done with it yet. He would wait out on the street; when the man left, Wingo would take up the trail once more. It was then that Wingo noticed a shop across the street. He got out, ran across, and entered. Thirty minutes later he came back out and walked into the parking garage.
He went over to the man’s car, looked around to ensure no one was watching, and then knelt down and attached the surveillance bug under the man’s bumper.
Wingo quickly left the garage and got back to his car. He slid in and then powered up the device he had purchased. The shop had been one of those places that sold police scanners, handheld electronic wands that detected metal, handcuffs, police batons.
And tracking devices.
An hour later the man pulled out of the garage and passed Wingo on the street. Wingo had been watching in his side mirror and sank down in his seat before the car passed.
He put the car in gear and followed. He lost the car a couple of times in traffic and once when he hit a red light. But with the tracking device, he managed to regain sight of it each time.
It was rush hour now; traffic volume was heavy, and corresponding speeds were slow. Wingo kept his eyes on the car as it moved along with the other traffic. He was thinking maybe the man was going back out to Dulles Airport again because he seemed to be making his way to Interstate 66, which would tie him into the Dulles Toll Road in Virginia. If that was his destination, Wingo wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
When he checked his rearview mirror, he suddenly realized he would have to do something. Something drastic. It seemed that while he’d been following the guy up there, somebody else had been tailing him.
SUV. Black. Tinted windows all around. The Feds had a million rides like that. Was that who was back there? His own guys? After screwing him half a world away?
He lost the car up ahead when he hung a left. He decided it was better to live than keep up the tail.
The SUV also turned left.
Okay, confirmation was nice, thought Wingo. He could almost hear the camera taking pics of his car, his plate, and the back of his head.
If they were Feds back there, they could pull him over and wave their badges; he would disappear forever. Never see Tyler again. Never prove his innocence.