Support and Defend: An Allison Quinn Thriller, #1

"I, Allison Quinn, do solemnly swear

that I will support and defend

the Constitution of the United States

against all enemies, foreign and domestic;

that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;

that I take this obligation freely,

without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion;

and that I will well and faithfully discharge

the duties of the office on which I am about to enter.

So help me God."

Chapter One

Allison Quinn was not, technically, a national park ranger.

Pretending to be one was another matter.

I can’t thank you enough. I could have died back there. The young woman, Shelby Thompson, dropped her gaze to the trail. Her blonde hair hung in front of her face. She was dirty and tired and her left ankle had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, but she’d live.

You wouldn’t have died. Rangers patrol these trails, especially South Kaibab and Bright Angel. Someone else would have found you if I hadn’t.

I guess. Still, it was a stupid thing for me to do. I can see that now.

A rim-to-rim run is something you train for, Shelby. And you should never—

Do it alone. Yeah. Got it.

Allison hoped the lesson stuck. The Grand Canyon is a place of unparalleled beauty, but it must be—

Respected. Now Shelby looked up and smiled. I’ll respect it now. What seems pretty easy with two good ankles, isn’t easy at all after you get injured.

Allison had been hiking up from Phantom Ranch when she came across the girl at the 1.5 Mile Resthouse. There was nothing to do but help her out of the canyon. Allison couldn’t exactly proclaim her identity as a special agent for the Department of Homeland Security’s Cyber Task Force, explain that she was undercover to catch a cyberterrorist, and hike past her.

Nope.

She had to do the rangerly thing.

Which meant she would be arriving up top later than she’d hoped.

I guess you’ve hiked the canyon a lot, since you work here.

At least once a week. Thirty-five years old, five foot, six inches, and one hundred thirty pounds, Allison was probably in the best physical condition of her life.

And you live at Phantom Ranch?

There’s lodging for workers at the bottom. On days off, we head up top or go off site.

I tried to get a reservation at the ranch, but they were filled up.

It’s a popular destination.

Which is when I got the idea to do a rim-to-rim. I wasn’t going to do it alone, but my boyfriend dumped me. I guess I was feeling like I needed to prove I could do it without him.

Maybe next time join a hiking group.

Phantom Ranch sat at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Reservations were always filled a year in advance. Fortunately for Allison, she didn’t need a reservation. She’d been undercover there as a seasonal park ranger for the past six months. Unfortunately, she wasn’t even one step closer to catching the terrorist known as Blitz.

She would catch him though.

They had solid intel that he would make an exchange in the canyon, and she planned to be there when he did. As she helped Shelby through the lower tunnel, her thoughts turned to the two days she’d spend up top. She was looking forward to a long, hot shower, a meal, and ten hours sleep—preferably in that order.

When they approached the upper tunnel, both women paused and turned to study the view. The Grand Canyon never failed to inspire—a chasm 277 miles long, 18 miles wide, and one mile deep. Considered one of the seven natural wonders of the world, Allison wasn’t at all surprised that Blitz would choose it for a terror attack.

Everything about Blitz and the terrorist group they suspected he worked for indicated they enjoyed making a big splash. What single place did Americans feel safest from high-tech terror attacks? A national park. Hell, much of the area within the canyon, you couldn’t even get cell service. Shelby had been shocked that her cell phone didn’t work. She hadn’t read any of the warnings on the website or at the trailheads. She was invincible.

Or she had been before she turned her ankle.

A terror attack? None of the guests at the canyon were thinking about that. What would you end up with but a bunch of rocks in the Colorado River?

Allison understood that cyberwarfare had grown more complicated than bringing down a network and demanding a ransom. Blitz was planning something far worse. Something that would kill thousands.

She helped Shelby across the parking area and to the first aid station.

Thanks again. Shelby looked rather forlorn sitting on a cot, holding the clipboard of medical paperwork.

Allison expected this was not exactly the celebratory finish she’d envisioned.

No problem. Take care, Shelby.

Allison walked over to the visitor center and behind the counter. No one questioned her. She did this every week. A few workers nodded hello, but most were busy with tourists. Allison pulled the reservation book toward herself and studied the list of people who had hiked down earlier in the day.

Quite a few males were listed. None were the right description for Blitz. They had ascertained his age, size, build, even ethnicity. The hiking log contained information about each hiker, but none of it matched up. He wasn’t in the morning group that had gone down, or the previous day’s, or any scheduled group for the upcoming week.

She sighed and returned the book to its shelf.

Next up—a shower, a hot meal, and bed.

She was in bed and asleep moments after the sun slid below the horizon.

Allison was once again nine years old.

Frightened, confused, and—like every time before—helpless.

Her legs trembled, as she pressed her back against the tree. In front of her the pine-covered ground dropped away to beach and ocean, but there was no path, only a precipitous drop.

Run. Her father had spat that one word in her direction.

So she had run, but not far.

Her breath came out in gasps.

Her heart raced from fear more than exertion. She had stopped where their campsite was still within sight, but she didn’t look at it. The towering redwood she’d chosen to hide behind was wider than their jeep. It kept her from seeing, but it didn’t prevent her from hearing.

You shouldn’t have tried to stop me.

Bang.

The sound echoed through the old-growth forest. Allison squeezed her eyes shut tight. If she couldn’t see the man in the ski mask, he couldn’t see her.

Her heart pounded an even faster rhythm.

Sweat dripped down her face as the bark of the tree bit into her hands, her legs, even through the fabric of her Dora the Explorer shirt.

Run.

You shouldn’t have tried to stop me.

Bang.

The three moments played in an endless loop, until she feared that her heart would literally slam through her chest.

Like every time before, she waited—shivering, terrified, and certain that her father would call out for her, assure her that the man in the ski mask was gone, tell her that she was safe.

Like every time before, that did not happen.

Instead, she heard the chirp of a bird high above her head, calling incessantly, insisting that she look up, that she reveal her hiding place. She inched forward, only enough to tilt her head back and spy the bird.

And that was when he stepped in front of her.

Bang.

Allison sat up with a gasp, her hands flying to her night shirt, to her chest.

The dream.

She’d had the dream again.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and dropped her head between her knees, willing her heart rate to slow. Only then, when she had convinced herself that the terror she felt was unfounded, did she realize the bird from her dream was still chirping.

The bedside clock read twelve minutes after eleven.

She’d been asleep less than two hours. Snatching her cell phone off the stand, she checked the name of the caller and pushed the green button.

Quinn.

Parking lot. Five minutes.

Donovan Steele was the last person she wanted to see. They shared a history that she did not have the time or inclination to explore, and she’d managed quite successfully to push him from her thoughts. She did not want to meet Donovan in the dark of the night.

Since they were supposed to be cooperating on this op, she pushed aside those childish thoughts. Pulling on her clothes, Allison holstered her Glock, snatched up her cell phone, and hustled out of her room.

She’d reserved an upstairs room at the end of the hall of the Grand Canyon’s Yavapai Lodge. Now she pushed through the door that led out onto a small landing and hurried down the stairs. She should have grabbed a jacket. September nights on the South Rim brought temperatures down to the fifties. A light breeze carried the smell of rain.

She jogged down the walk and toward the parking area. Coming around the corner of the building, she nearly collided with the man that was alternately her friend, arch-nemesis, and partner. Five foot eleven and built like a linebacker, he should have been easy to see, but the blackness of the night melded with the color of his skin, leaving merely the impression of a shadow.

Steele held up his rather large hands to stop her from running into him.

An unprofessional squeal escaped her lips before she managed, What’s happened?

Steele nodded toward a black SUV parked ten feet away. As they walked toward it, he cast more than one glance her direction. Allison felt him assessing her—rumpled night shirt, hair a short mess of curls, her dark brown eyes blinking rapidly as her mind caught up with what his call must mean.

He didn’t speak until they were seated—doors closed, windows up, no chance of anyone eavesdropping.

The situation has changed.

How?

Blitz hiked down to Phantom Ranch today.

That’s impossible. I looked at the guest list. They didn’t know a lot about Blitz, didn’t know his real name or have an actual picture of him, but Homeland Security had created a composite description based on intercepted emails from his associates. They’d never hacked Blitz. So far, that didn’t seem to be possible.

The profilers had fed every piece of information they had into the mainframe computer, which then created a sketch.

Nearly six feet.

Late 20s.

Wiry build.

Pale complexion with straight black hair.

That was it. That was all they had to go on, but it would be enough. That sketch told Allison that Blitz was too young to be the man who had killed her father, but he might know that man.

Allison shook her head again, forcing her attention to the mission at hand. There was no one in today’s group that matched his age or description. I went over the guest list twice.

For medical reasons, the list of people hiking into the canyon included a basic description, age, and level of fitness. She would have known if Blitz was in the group, no matter what name he used.

Instead of answering, Steele passed her his phone. She scanned through the photos, her anger growing with each swipe of the screen. A rental car on the side of the road—red Subaru Outback. A body behind the car, lying on the ground. A close up of the body.

Where did this happen?

Twenty miles from here. Mr. Harris had a reservation to hike down. When he didn’t show—

Because someone killed him.

Blitz was there waiting to fill his spot.

Allison sat back against the leather seat. The scenario was possible. Slots to stay at Phantom Ranch were filled a year in advance, but when a person didn’t show, someone else waiting at the visitor’s center could take their place.

Those occurrences were rare, but they did happen.

They didn’t always get logged in.

She should have thought of that.

You couldn’t have thought of that, and you couldn’t have hiked down with every group. Steele held out his hand, waited for her to drop the phone in his palm. You’re not superwoman.

She studied Steele by the light of the phone he dropped into the console’s cup holder. His hair was buzzed, as usual. He somehow managed to look like a fitness freak despite their hours on the job—him with the FBI, her with Homeland Security. Tonight, his face seemed taut. As for his dark brown eyes, they contained the worries of a nation.

Steele didn’t glance away. He didn’t have to hide his concern or his frustration. He didn’t have to voice those things either. They both knew what was at stake. They both knew how much the success of this operation mattered.

He passed her the phone again, this time after opening a document stamped CLASSIFIED. As she scanned it, he caught her up on what had happened in the last week.

We’re looking at a Catastrophic Systems Failure in thirty-six hours and . . . He glanced at his wristwatch. Twenty-three minutes.

Noon Friday.

Basically.

You’ve confirmed it will affect systems coast to coast?

As well as Canada. We’ve deployed all of our teams. There are a dozen places those kill codes could be, but one of our teams will intercept them before noon Friday.

And Blitz?

Steele clenched his left hand into a fist—the first sign of emotion she’d seen from him since getting into the car. Honestly, I don’t know. He could have the kill codes. He could be a decoy. We’ll proceed as if we are certain he has them, which is the same thing I’m telling every other team.

Am I doing this alone? She didn’t mind working alone. Sometimes she rather preferred it.

I have additional agents flying in. They’ll position on the North Rim.

An FBI team?

Yes, Quinn. The FBI is who I work for.

And I’d rather have Homeland Security agents backing me up.

We’re pooling our resources, remember? He dismissed her concerns with a wave. I’ll coordinate all teams from a secure location. Once we confirm who has the codes, we’ll refocus our assets there.

It was unlikely they’d make that confirmation and still have time to move around personnel, and they both knew it.

More details will be sent to your cell, but I need you down at Phantom Ranch. I assume you’ll want to take a local on the hike down with you.

Never hike alone. She’d been on enough rescues in the last six months to know that wasn’t simply a slogan. There were a dozen different ways you could die hiking into the canyon.

Once you confirm Blitz is there, wait until he’s received the cancellation codes before taking action. If possible, and if time allows, I’d prefer you hold off his arrest until he passes those codes to whomever bought them. We suspect Blitz is merely the courier. The men involved on both the selling and purchasing end are almost as important as the codes—if we don’t want to be right back in this situation six months from now.

Got it.

She reached for the door handle, but Steele’s hand on her arm stopped her.

Be careful.

Always. She flashed him what she hoped was a confident smile.

Listen to me, Alli.

Her head jerked up at his use of her nickname.

They’d known each other several years, and he’d only called her by that name twice. The first time was when she’d woken up in a hospital room after having surgery. The second time she was trying to banish from her memory.

Interagency cooperation on cyber ops had begun the same year she’d been hired at DHS, when she was twenty-five, naïve, and optimistic. She’d just celebrated her thirty-fifth birthday. . . if you could call a phone call from her Aunt Polly and a piece of pie from Bright Angel Lodge a celebration.

Though they’d started their careers at roughly the same time, Steele was angling toward the managerial route. Allison needed to be in the field.

I’m serious, Quinn. I need you to hear this. Be careful. Blitz isn’t like most of our cyberterrorists. He doesn’t spend all of his time in front of a computer screen. He isn’t afraid of physical altercations.

Steele picked up the phone, but he didn’t push the button to wake the screen. He killed Mr. Harris with his hands, Allison. He didn’t use a weapon. He didn’t do it from a distance. He was looking in this guy’s eyes when he choked the life out of him. Someone who could do that—

Is dangerous. I know.

And I know that like every other mission you think this one can lead you to your father’s killer.

When she didn’t respond, he continued. You’re one of the best agents on the cyber task force, and I am convinced that’s partly due to the fact that you have a personal vendetta to settle. Just don’t allow that crusade you’re so committed to make you reckless.

I’ll be careful. This time her smile was genuine. She’d been chasing Blitz for six months, and now he was close enough that she could practically smell him.

Game on.

Only as she hustled across the parking area to the staff headquarters, she understood that what they were facing wasn’t a game. If Blitz succeeded in passing off the kill codes to the buyer, the situation could easily spiral out of control. The buyer might merely destroy the codes, then take credit for the impending cyberattack. Or the buyer could attempt to sell the codes back to the U.S. government for a hefty profit—which would take time, something they didn’t have.

Whoever was behind the ransomware that had been inserted into the national grid had already proven what he could do. The document Steele had shown her established that the grid had begun experiencing debilitating fluctuations four days ago—a spike here, a brownout there. So far, they’d been able to keep the enormity of the looming disaster out of the news blogs, but she knew the story would eventually break. The mission clock was ticking, and there wasn’t a single risk management specialist who doubted that the grid would fail—nationwide—in thirty-six hours.

Once that happened, all of the U.S. critical systems would crash, as well as much of Canada’s. The worst-case scenario did not limit outage to the electrical grid. The threat had expanded to include medical, telecommunications, banking, even national defense.

Projections were that thousands of people would die.

That would only happen if she couldn’t stop the man they referred to as Blitz.

She would stop him, and she’d have a private conversation with him before he was carted away. Arthur Quinn had been one of the FBI’s first Certified Ethical Hackers, though they hadn’t been called that back in 1996. The pool of computer criminals and hacktivists the FBI had chased was small. She hadn’t found much regarding the operations her dad had been involved in, but she’d found enough to understand that he’d become something of a legend in the cyber world. Blitz would have heard of him, and whatever he knew about her father’s death, he would tell her.

But she was going to need some help.

That wasn’t something she enjoyed admitting, even to herself. Her mind wanted to sink back into memories of her early days as an agent, to her first partner who had been like a brother to her, but she shook those thoughts away. The next twenty-four hours would require all of her focus. Having a partner didn’t mean she had to care about him, and she would not allow the person she had in mind put himself in danger. That was non-negotiable.

Fifteen minutes later she sat in Director Rivera’s office.

Rivera was in her early fifties, stocky, and had a commanding presence. Her hair was raven black, long, fastened in a single braid down her back. Her cheek bones were high, her nose broad, and her eyes seemed to take in everything. She ran a tight ship, and the employees at the Grand Canyon respected her because of it. Nothing seemed to surprise the woman, not even Allison’s latest request.

There was a tap on her office door, and Allison pulled in a deep breath. This would be the hard part.

Enter, Rivera snapped.

Tate Garcia stepped into the room—all tanned six feet of him. At forty-nine, he remained ridiculously good looking, more like an actor walking onto a movie set than the Grand Canyon’s most seasoned ranger. Allison had checked the schedule before she’d made her request. He was half way through his five day off rotation, and he’d spent those two and a half days up top. He’d be the perfect person to accompany her back down.

He held his ranger hat in his hands as his gaze bounced from Rivera to Allison and then back again.

Have a seat, Tate. We have a rather unique situation.

Tate sat, placing his hat carefully on top of his knees. What type of situation?

Allison suspected by the look Tate shot her direction that he didn’t approve of her. Of course, he didn’t really know her either. What he was about to learn would be difficult for him to fathom. No doubt Tate Garcia thought he’d seen it all. She’d been there when he’d handled the relocation of more than one bear, rescued unprepared hikers, and tore into workers who had missed a shift. She’d been on the receiving end of that lecture more than once. As the most senior ranger in the park, he could have chosen any assignment. He chose Phantom Ranch.

Allison needs to go back down to the ranch. Tonight.

Tonight?

We need someone to accompany her.

There’s a storm arriving before morning, and you know as well as I do that night hiking is strongly discouraged.

I’m aware.

Tate shifted in his chair, his attention firmly pinned on the director. Allison had the sneaking suspicion that he was avoiding looking directly at her.

Kaia—

Allison was surprised. She’d never heard anyone use the director’s first name, not in the woman’s presence.

Look, I’m sure you have your reasons.

I do.

But. . . He hesitated, his gaze sliding toward Allison and then back to the director. As I said in my most recent report to you, I highly recommend that you discharge Miss Quinn.

What? Allison couldn’t believe this guy. I’m a good guide.

You are a good guide, when you bother to show up for your shifts. Now Tate looked at her. His eyes, expression, and posture dared her to argue the fact. You’re not dependable. You’re here for a week, maybe two at the most, and then you disappear.

Allison didn’t know quite how to answer that succinctly, so she didn’t bother. Instead, she waited.

Tate turned his attention back to the director. I have no idea why you put up with it, Kaia. I don’t want her guiding my groups down the canyon because I can’t depend on her to be there to lead them back up.

Whoever goes down tonight won’t be guiding a group, and I want to be clear about one thing up front. This is a request, not an order. If you don’t want to do it, we’ll find someone else. The director gave Allison a slight smile, then motioned with her hand. Go ahead. You explain it.

Allison almost felt sorry for Tate Garcia, but instead