Page 12 of Protecting the Nerd

“Anytime. I’ve always been proud to work with law enforcement in whatever capacity.”

Once Remington had left the room, Coulson leaned forward. “Let’s proceed.” He opened a thin manila folder. “The situation is more intricate than we initially suspected. Based on the first chatter we picked up, we thought it was a matter of corporate espionage, a rival company that wanted its hands on your patent, York.”

“It’s not a patent yet,” York said. “I can’t file for one in this stage because it involves classified information. We’re working with the copyright office on how to circumvent that.”

“My apologies.” Coulson appeared not in the least perturbed by York’s correction. “Is invention a better term?”

“Invention works.”

“Perfect. Anyway, we discovered that our initial assessment was off, and that’s when we recommended Anderson Security. We now have credible evidence that a terrorist cell operating with the full approval of a foreign country wants their hands on this information.”

York swallowed. “Friendly or hostile?”

“Officially, neither, but that’s all I will say until we have confirmation. I’m in charge of the counter-terrorism unit based in New York, and we’re doing this in close cooperation with other federal agencies.”

I’d been right. The CIA was involved.

York sat with his spine straight, hands folded on the table—every inch the picture of composed brilliance, except for the muscle ticking in his jaw. “Why are they sending you?”

“What do you mean?” Coulson asked.

“If you’re in charge, you could’ve sent agents who work for you. Why didn’t you?”

Coulson smiled. “The short and sweet of it is that we’re keeping as many people out of the loop as possible. There’s a leak, either at EDS or within the FBI or another federal agency, and until we’ve found it, we’re flying under the radar.”

“Why not have him protected by the FBI, then?” I asked. “Or even the Secret Service?”

The second I asked the question, I knew the answer. Of course. “You’re using York as bait.”

“Bait?” York paled.

Coulson took a sip from his coffee. “We’ve been tracking this group for two years, but so far, we’ve been unable to find any concrete leads. This is the first time we’re aware of them being after something specific, and letting this play out could help us find the leaders and shut this cell down. If we’re lucky, we can tie them to their government and use that as diplomatic leverage. It’s the most effective way to draw them out.” Coulson’s fingers laced tight enough to blanch his knuckles. “They want York, which makes him our best chance at stopping them before they strike again.”

My muscles tensed as if readying for a fight I knew was coming but couldn’t yet see. The revelation didn’t just raise the stakes. It catapulted them into a new stratosphere. York was now the prime target of a group of extremists with only god knew what kind of capabilities.

“So you can’t have federal agents protect him because that would alert this group that you’re on to them.”

“Correct.” At least Coulson wasn’t trying to bullshit us.

“But how do I keep him safe? I’m only one man, and adding to his security detail would also alert them.”

Coulson took a bite from his cookie and chewed slowly. “That’s what we need to figure out. I can have agents in the background shadowing you both, but they’ll have to stay at a safe distance, or they’ll be made.”

“That’ll be hell in Seattle.” My mind raced. “There are too many variables, too many ways someone could go unnoticed. And too much ground to cover. We’d be sitting ducks in an open field.”

Coulson nodded. “We need more control over the environment. Somewhere quieter, less conspicuous.” He turned to York. “I recommend you relocate to Forestville. We know that’s where you grew up, so it won’t arouse suspicion. It’s small, manageable, and much easier for us to control.”

“Forestville?” York’s voice cracked like thin ice underfoot. His chair scraped back with his abrupt stand, the screech grating on my nerves. “I can’t just abandon my life here. My work, my—everything.”

Coulson remained unfazed, an immovable force as he leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. “I understand your hesitation, York, but Seattle is a labyrinth. Threats go unnoticed easily in the chaos of the city. People can hide in the crowds. The rhythms of a small town are easier to predict and control. There, we can safeguard you more efficiently.”

As much as I understood York’s protest, I agreed with Coulson that Forestville was a lot more attractive than staying in Seattle. I’d never lived in a small town, but residents would notice an unfamiliar face. Plus, York had his roots there, which meant connections, allies, friends.

“Small towns have their own kind of shield,” Coulson said. “Familiar faces, predictable patterns, a fortress built on community. In a town where everyone knows each other, an outsider sticks out like a sore thumb. We can use that to our advantage.”

“Less traffic, fewer places to hide.” I was warming to the idea. “It puts us in a position to be proactive rather than reactive.”

“The downside is that I won’t be able to post agents without them standing out. And the same would be true for more than one bodyguard. We’d have to figure out how to get more people in without drawing attention. We may have to work with local law enforcement. Without briefing them, obviously.”

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