“Dreadworm.”
The speaker, slouching behind a post on the tracks of the central Berlin train station, drew out the last syllable of the word and it reverberated in Rex Denver’s chest like an omen. He coughed as if to dislodge it from his throat.
“Dreadworm? You mean the hacking group?”
“Only they can break into the CIA’s computer system.” The man drew the hood of his gray sweatshirt more tightly around his face with a pair of gloved hands. “Rumor has it they’ve already been successful.”
Denver had a side view only, but he didn’t care. The identity of the informant held no interest for him, but his words acted like an electric prod.
“You’re sure the CIA is behind this setup? In league with an international band of terrorists?” Denver’s gut roiled and tumbled, bitter bile clawing its way up his throat.
“The entire Central Intelligence Agency?” The man jerked his head from side to side, his hood moving with it. “No, but forces within that agency…and others…are actively working against US interests and that means holding the government hostage with the threat of some kind of terrorist attack.”
Denver swore and spit the sour taste in his mouth onto the train tracks. “Why are you telling me this? Reaching out to me in this secretive way?”
“Call me a concerned citizen.”
Denver snorted. “Most concerned citizens don’t risk their lives and livelihood on what could be a conspiracy hoax.”
“Was the attack on you, your Delta Force teammate and that army ranger a hoax? Is the campaign to discredit you and label you a traitor a hoax?”
“Hell, no. That’s real.”
“So is this.”
“Why not go to the director? I’m just gonna assume here that you’re CIA.”
“Don’t assume anything, Major Denver. I have no solid proof that this is happening.” The informant lifted a pair of narrow shoulders. “And I don’t know whom to trust.”
“The director?” A cold chill seeped into Denver’s bones and it had nothing to do with the empty tracks he was straddling in the dank tunnel, his hand flattened against the damp wall.
“It could be anyone. That’s why you need Dreadworm. They can cross all boundaries. They have crossed all boundaries.”
“Their leader, Olaf, is in hiding.”
“So are you, Major Denver. Tell me. How did you get from Afghanistan to the streets of Berlin without showing up on anyone’s radar?”
“You know that thing you said about trust?” Denver shoved his cold hands into his pockets. “Right about now, I trust no one—except my Delta Force team.”
“That’s wise. They’re the only ones who have been actively working to clear your name…and they’re getting close.” The man stepped back against the wall as the tracks beneath them vibrated. “You don’t have to explain—dark-haired man with a beard slipping across borders with the other refugees. Who would stop to think the mass of people contained an American Delta Force soldier?”
Denver didn’t plan to reveal his secrets to anyone—not even a shadow in the night with his own secrets. “I know someone who works with Dreadworm.”
“Then I suggest you start pulling in favors, major.”
The informant stepped forward, and Denver jerked back, gripping the weapon in his pocket.
“Stay where you are.”
“Your contacts at Dreadworm might be interested in this.” He held up a cardboard wheel in his gloved hand. “Go ahead. Take it.”
Denver snatched the circular object and shoved it into his pocket. “I should pass this on to Dreadworm?”
“That would be advisable.” The informant pulled the collar of his jacket close around his neck. “Because Dreadworm is your only hope right now. Dreadworm is our only hope—I never thought I’d hear myself say those words.”
“Wait.” Denver peered into the blackness, as the man stepped back. “How am I going to contact you again?”
“I’ll find you when I need to.” He laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the tunnel. “After all, we need to save the world.”
A light appeared at the end of the tunnel, outlining the slim figure hugging the wall, and Denver prayed it was a metaphor for his current situation. Could Dreadworm really be the light at the end of his tunnel?
The shrill train whistle made his teeth ache. Denver climbed off the tracks, his head cranked over his shoulder, his eyeballs throbbing with the effort to pick out his informant, still on the tracks in the path of the oncoming train.
Denver shouted. “Get out of the way!”
The light from the train flooded the tunnel, the empty tunnel, and as Denver stepped back onto the platform, the train whooshed past him, lifting the ends of his long hair and shaking the buttons on his shirt.
His informant had melted away, but his words rang in Denver’s ears.
Pulling his watch cap over those ears and hunching his shoulders, Denver put his head down and made for the stairs.
He had to get word to Gray Prescott to make contact with his ex-girlfriend. Things had ended badly between Gray and his ex, but Gray would have to suck it up and make nice with the hacker with the chip on her shoulder—she just might hold the fate of the world in her hands.
Jerrica turned her head and sucked in a quick breath as the man behind her ducked into a doorway. She hitched her backpack over her shoulders and darted into the street.
A taxi blared at her, and she smacked her hand on its hood, yelling. “Watch where you’re goin’!”
She crouched behind another taxi, the heat from the exhaust pipe burning her leg as the car lurched forward.
For a half a block, she stayed in