Engaging his Enemy (Shattered SEALs #4) - Amy Gamet

1

Zach “Moto” Sato wiped sweat from his brow, hot on the trail of a kidnapper. Four thousand miles away, a teenage girl’s life hung in the balance, a series of keystrokes here in New York HERO Force’s only hope to find her.

This was what he was good at, his skills honed like the tip of a bowman’s arrow. He could wield a firearm as surely as his SEAL team brethren, but computers were his weapon of choice, the system of interconnected machines and languages the currency with which he would secure the girl’s freedom.

This job was a dream come true, a chance to go after the devil himself on his own terms. It was as if he’d spent his life preparing for this job, his education and military training converging on his position at HERO Force like a laser. Somewhere out there, the girl’s desperate parents waited for her return, and Moto was hell-bent the men who’d taken her would pay the price for their actions.

The door behind him opened and a deep voice belched. “There’s pizza in the conference room,” said Trace.

“I’m a little busy here.”

“They make the drop?”

“Late last night.” Moto had been at his computer ever since.

“And the girl?”

“Not yet. Supposed to be returned by sundown.”

“Tell me you got the bastards.”

“Almost.” The ransom had been paid in electronic currency, as demanded by the kidnappers, and immediately disappeared into an internet labyrinth hidden behind firewalls and state-of-the-art encryption. Ninety-nine out of a hundred computer programmers would have lost the trail right out of the gate. Of the one percent capable of tracking it, Moto knew he was one of the best.

It wasn’t arrogance, it was confidence and an accurate understanding of his abilities. God willing, the girl would be returned safe and sound. But if not, or hell, even if she was, their only chance of finding the people responsible for her ordeal and getting any kind of justice lay in his hands. “I tracked the funds to an account in Liechtenstein, where they split up into hundreds of individual packets, each routed to a different destination.”

“How the fuck do you track ’em all?”

“I don’t. I make the computer do it. I created a virus that investigates each individual transaction routed out of the account in Liechtenstein. A little bit of code that follows each electronic signature and reports back to me. All those packets need to converge again at their final destination, which means my code will recognize itself and tell me where the money went.”

“You can do that?”

“I can.”

“Is it legal?”

Moto narrowed his eyes. “Kidnapping is illegal.”

Trace took a swig of Mountain Dew, then raised it in a mock toast. “I’m good with that logic.”

Moto considered Trace a friend, a position only a few of his teammates occupied. He respected the others, had put his life in their hands on several occasions, but true friendship was a matter of another kind. His trust was hard-won and unable to be restored when broken. Moto trusted Trace.

Mac walked into the room. The leader of HERO Force had stayed the night at the office, just as Moto had, the older man’s youthful gait belying any fatigue. “Moto, you’ve got a phone call on line two. It wouldn’t ring through for some reason.”

“I put it on do not disturb.”

Mac clicked it off. “Someone named Davina.”

Moto’s head snapped up. He hadn’t heard that name since he’d left home ten years earlier, and the very sound of it made the wall he’d built around the past vibrate and shake. He refocused on his computer screen. “Take a message. I can’t talk to her now.”

“She says it’s important.”

He hesitated, his mind instantly flashing to his brother with a painful lurch. Was Ben okay? He wouldn’t have thought he could be so affected by the thought of his brother hurt or in need. Memory was funny like that, refusing to bow to distance or apathy. He set his jaw. “This is more important.”

Trace perched his hip on the opposite side of Moto’s desk. “Davina, huh? Nice name. She pretty?”

Moto glared at him, even as her image floated up from his mind. He’d once thought her more beautiful than any woman could be, but betrayal had a way of turning even the sweetest features foul. “No.”

“That the chick from the party last week?”

A petite brunette with a low-cut blouse and a particularly small vocabulary. Moto had thrown away her number. “No.”

“Tinder?”

He’d never even downloaded the app. “God no.”

Mac gestured to the phone. “So, why don’t you