side of the room. She was hard at work in front of her monitor as well. He could have sworn she was watching him, but he ascribed that feeling to his growing sense of paranoia. At this rate, his nerves would be shot before he managed to visit Torré in Thailand next month.
Fung was writing a software program for a wireless camera and audio device the Red Team wanted to install throughout the LED lighting systems at the U.S. Coast Guard Intelligence (CG-2) office in Washington, D.C. The USCG’s intelligence office was one of the sixteen intelligence agencies making up the IC, and, by some accounts, might prove the most vulnerable to hacking. The headquarters office was tasked with supporting the forward-facing intelligence activities of subordinate units around the world as well as interfacing with the IC. Anyone breaking into the CG-2 office would have access to the entire IC and the IC Cloud.
Knee-deep in an interface command problem he couldn’t fully resolve, his cell phone vibrated inside his pocket. That was quite unusual. Few people outside of his parents and Torré had access to this particular private number. His parents seldom called during his work hours, and Torré hadn’t called this number in weeks.
He pulled the phone out of his pocket. He saw a phone number he didn’t recognize, along with a text message.
Hello, Lawrence. I have a favor to ask.
Fung glanced around the room. He wasn’t sure why. It wouldn’t be anyone on the floor—they’d just walk over or call him on the office phone. A cold chill shook him. He typed a question, already guessing the answer.
Who is this?
Your old friend. CHIBI.
The cold chill turned to a full-body dip into a liquid nitrogen bath. He never gave CHIBI his private, unlisted cell phone number. And using this unsecured phone was a catastrophic breach of their security protocols. His adrenals kicked in. He wanted to run. This breach was practically an invitation to the FBI to come and kick the doors down. His terror turned to rage.
WTF?!
Sorry. But I have an emergency situation and I need your help ASAP.
We’re done, remember?
Yes, well, things have changed. I need one last favor.
That’s what you said last time.
Fung scanned the floor again. Watson glanced up from her work. Their eyes met. She smiled.
Fung nearly pissed his pants. He forced a smile back at her, then turned to his monitor, lowering the phone into his lap as casually as he could and killing the transmission.
Did she know something was up? Had she seen him texting? Any kind of private cell phone activity on the job was strongly frowned upon. Beyond the obvious security concerns, everybody had way too much work to do to spend time screwing around on personal business.
Fung’s heart hammered in his thin chest. He focused his mind on the string of text commands on his monitor, willing CHIBI to go away—
His phone vibrated again. He was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t pick up. He leaned over his keyboard as if studying his monitor closely, but he secretly manipulated his phone to access it. The message on the screen from the unknown phone number read:
That was not very friendly. We are still friends, are we not?
Shit. Now what? Was that an implied threat? What would CHIBI do if they were no longer “friends”? Fung wondered. Yeah, fucking friends.
Of course we are. Sorry about that. I’m being watched and I had to hang up.
Watched by whom?
Watson. She’s in her office and she keeps watching me. She’s ALWAYS watching me.
Maybe she is in love.
I don’t think Gaysian is her thing.
Then let us keep this short. I need you to dive in immediately on a search. I cannot tell you how important this is to me and it is extremely time-sensitive. I will compensate you accordingly.
This is not a good time. I’m right in the middle of a major project with a hard deadline and everybody is on the floor and Watson is practically sitting in my lap.
I do not think you understand.
YOU don’t understand. I can’t go to jail. I won’t go to jail! I’d rather kill myself. It would destroy my parents, shame Torré.
You will not go to jail. How will anyone find out?
Watson. I’m telling you, she suspects something. I can feel it. The bitch is a pit bull.
Do not worry about Watson.
Easy for you to say.
Yes, it is. Watch.
Fung kept staring at his screen but strained his peripheral vision. With the slightest turn of his head,