Page 1 of Undercover Infidel
1
CON
The amber liquid in my glass caught the moonlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my private office at Blackmoor Castle. Zero three hundred was a wretched hour to be awake, yet every night for the past week, my eyes had sprung open at the same time with the same question—how did I miss that a woman I’d pursued romantically was actually the mastermind behind the most lethal weapons system since the atomic bomb?
That her body now lay on a cold slab in the SIS morgue did nothing to assuage the terror behind my insomnia. She hadn’t been working alone, and we had no leads on her accomplices. The intel we’d gathered suggested Tower-Meridian’s vast shipping infrastructure remained operational despite her death, which raised disturbing questions.
If Fallon had been using the company’s global network for her schemes, who was controlling it now? And what were they using it for? The company thathad seemed merely suspicious in Sullivan’s initial investigation could now be the vehicle for something far worse.
I’d taken to using the sleepless hours when such thoughts drove me to a maddening level of frustration to exhaust myself physically. Tonight proved no different. After a ten-mile run on the treadmill in my gym, I was more wired than tired, so rather than attempt to sleep again, I returned to what I referred to as my operations hub.
It was located in the underground level of my home’s east wing and was where I balanced my discreet information brokerage with the legitimate data-protection business that provided its cover.
I removed my sweat-soaked shirt and studied the endless stream of feeds on multiple monitors, pacing between them since my constant state of anxiety kept me from sitting for more than a few minutes at a time.
I poured another scotch, knowing it would only worsen my insomnia. After yesterday, I needed it. I couldn’t fathom that, once again, I’d be working with someone who infuriated me even as herpresence affected me in ways I’d vowed a woman never would again.
Being teamed with Dr. Margot Sterling, MI6’s expert on cognitive warfare systems, felt like punishment, mainly because I had to concede—albeit only to myself—that she was damned good at her job. There were times when I’d go so far as to think she might be almost as good as I was.
I finished my drink and was headed back to the gym to do a second workout when a flash of red caught my eye.
“Bloody hell,” I growled when I noticed someone bypass my digital safeguards.
Instead of shutting them out, I watched in fascination as they navigated my defenses with unexpected ease, anticipating my countermoves before I made them.
On a hunch that the perpetrator wanted me to know who they were, I traced the intrusion, unsurprised to find it came from the facility I knew housed MI6’s AI-research division.
With a few keystrokes, I pulled up the CCTV feeds through the sophisticated systems that made myoperations hub the envy of both government agencies and private security firms. The building appeared empty except for one illuminated office, where I could make out a woman with long dark hair and confident posture. Just as I’d sensed who my hacker was, she knew I was watching.
Within seconds, every one of my screens but one went black. On the remaining monitor, the CCTV footage cleared and text appeared, letter by letter.
While almost as impressive as you are, your code contains a critical vulnerability, Lord Blackmoor.
The message disappeared, and briefly, a woman’s face appeared. She looked directly into the camera with a knowing smirk that quickened my pulse. Then she vanished, replaced by another message.
Your office at Blackmoor. 0900. And, Con? Do have a shirt on when I arrive.
When my systems restored as if nothing had happened, I poured myself another scotch and raised it to the screen in acknowledgment. Whether she could see me do it or not filled me with unfamiliar foreboding.
While no system was infallible, no one had gotten as deep as she had. Breach countermeasures existed for people just like her.
In Dr. Sterling’s case, her formidable intellect would either rattle my already faltering confidence or she would prove to be my most worthy opponent. Either way, tomorrow would be interesting.
The whiskey was a mistake.The throbbing behind my eyes confirmed it as I stood beneath the shower at zero seven hundred. Three hours of sleep couldn’t remedy the combination of alcohol and exhaustion.
I pressed my palms against the marble tile, letting the water pound my neck as I mentally retraced every line of code I’d written. Her intrusion shouldn’t have been possible. I’d believed every firewall and fail-safe was impenetrable. I’d designed them myself. Clearly, I was wrong.
She’d found a way. That “critical vulnerability” she’d mentioned haunted me more than the memories of Fallon Wallace.
Fallon. Chimera. The name twisted something inside me. I had been the quintessential fool to her duplicity. My expertise in reading people had failed completely. It was a humiliation I couldn’t tolerate repeating.
Yet now, another brilliant woman was challenging me directly. I couldn’t decide if Dr. Sterling’s boldness was refreshing or reckless.
Both, I decided as I shut off the water.
By zero eight thirty,I was at my desk in my study in Blackmoor’s east wing, dressed in a custom navy suit with no tie. I’d chosen this location rather than my operations hub, where I allowed no one entry other than upper-level staff. It was still equipped with impressive technology, but not my most sensitive equipment. I wasn’t about to give Dr. Sterling access to everything after her stunt.
The gate cam showed a car approaching at zero eight forty-five. Fifteen minutes early. A calculated move to catch me unprepared.
