Numa Files: Ghost Ship Part 5

"Be kind of hard to sell Phalanx to other governments if I was the head of our own," Westgate replied.

"Good point," Forrester said. "We've already got requests from five European countries, along with Brazil and j.a.pan. Everyone wants their data secured, and nothing comes close to Phalanx in terms of ensuring that."

"Maybe you should go out and give the speech."

"Do I look like the face of this company?"

Forrester was a lawyer who'd spent two decades with an investment banking firm and several years working for one of the Federal Reserve banks. He was short and squat, like an old athlete gone to seed, but with great strength hidden beneath the slowly growing layer of fat. He had a jowly face, thinning hair, and wore rimless gla.s.ses, behind which were sharp eyes that did not miss a trick. Thin, almost colorless lips gave him a stern, menacing look. The disciplinarian you did not mess with.

"You're giving away a million computers to America's schools," Forrester pointed out. "And you just signed a contract with the federal government to protect American data from foreign sources. These are all good things. This is your chance to brag to a grateful nation. To tell all Americans that their data is secure."

"It feels wrong," Westgate moaned.

"Because of the sinking?"

Westgate nodded. "It's too soon."

"It's been months," Forrester said. "That's an eternity in our twenty-four-hour news cycle. Besides, the stock is up fifteen percent since the accident. Sympathy buying."

"What's wrong with you?" Westgate blurted out. "You're talking about my wife and kids. My daughter and my son."

Forrester held up a hand. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Forget it."

"Look," Forrester said. "Wasn't this Sienna's idea in the first place? Didn't she ask you what good more money would do in your bank account? She wanted you to start giving back and here you are. We all know the Phalanx design and architecture was Sienna's stroke of brilliance. It's her legacy. As long as the system lives on, she's made a mark in the world that no one can erase."

Westgate pursed his lips, unable to either agree or disagree.

A knock at the door told them it was time to go onstage.

Both men stood up. Westgate walked out the door and onto the stage to fairly loud applause.

He began in earnest, talking almost too quickly. But as he hit his stride, he began to forget about the crowd, the contracts, and even David Forrester, and he began to talk from the heart.

He spoke about education and opportunity and the vast investment his company was making in America's schools. He spoke about how computers and training meant better jobs for single mothers and why technology and education meant a way out of poverty and off the government rolls.

He didn't mention the deals his company had just made to upgrade security for a basket of federal agencies, didn't mention the multibillion-dollar contracts with the DOD, SEC, the Fed, and Homeland Security. Nor did he mention the sinking or the loss of his family.

He didn't have to. The reporters in attendance brought up both the moment he began taking questions.

A tall woman in a red dress went first. "We understand your company has just been chosen to upgrade Internet security for most branches of the federal government. A million computers is a large gift, but it's small in comparison to a multibillion dollar contract."

Westgate smiled. He'd been prepped with exactly the same question, phrased exactly the same way, the night before. It dawned on him that Forrester was behind it, most likely paying the woman to ask, keeping the message pure and ensuring the face of the corporation stayed on message.

Westgate held his smile just long enough for the cameras to snap a few shots.

"The computers are just the beginning," he said. "The next phase is to open secure learning centers in all the downtrodden neighborhoods. Safe places where children and adults can learn for free. We don't just want data to be secure, we want the people using it to be secure.

"As for the big contract," he added, "a billion dollars a year is small potatoes if it prevents twenty billion a year in thefts. Did you know that in the last year alone, anonymous hackers and state-sponsored groups have breached allegedly secure networks at the FBI, the Department of Energy, the Social Security Administration, as well as the data storage centers at NASA and the Defense Department?

"And that's just the government breaches. Every day, companies around the world are under siege from criminals, state sponsored terrorists, and purveyors of corporate espionage. The Phalanx system my wife helped develop creates a different kind of security when it's installed. It literally thinks for itself, detects threats using logic, not just random matching of code. The Fed and the Department of Defense are thrilled. And the rest of the country will be too."

A smattering of follow-on questions were easily handled before a reporter from a local TV station asked about Sienna and the children. Westgate paused. He tried to collect himself, but when he spoke his voice genuinely cracked and he couldn't quite get the words out.

It was unplanned, and awkward for him, but from the corner of his eye he saw Forrester grinning. Some part of him wanted to apologize and deflect the question, but he pushed on, despite a sudden pain in his temple that felt like the beginnings of a stroke.

"A part of me thinks I should be in mourning," he said. "And, privately, I am. I miss my wife and children. They were the light of my life. But Sienna would be the first to say don't wallow in grief or self-pity. She was the first to stand up and help others even when she was hurting herself. This program was hers. I'd like to think it's her legacy. One that will help protect our country in what has become an undeclared war."

A hush of respect lingered over the crowd before a few easier questions came his way. When he finished, the applause was loud and heartfelt. By the time he walked off the stage, Brian Westgate was glad he'd decided to push through.

Forrester met him on the steps and the two made their way back into the Smithsonian.

"Great work," Forrester whispered.

They stepped inside and turned down the hallway toward the office they'd been allowed to use as a waiting room. As they neared the door, Westgate noticed two men approaching.

One of the men looked vaguely familiar. The square jaw, the bright blue eyes, the mane of platinum-gray hair.

"I have a question," the man said.

"No more questions," Forrester replied.

Westgate paused at the door, eyeing the man. It dawned on him suddenly. Kurt Austin. Before he got a chance to say anything, Austin spoke again.

"Where were you?"

"Excuse me?" Westgate said.

Forrester stepped between the two men. "I said no more questions."

Forrester made the mistake of putting his hands on Austin and soon found himself spun around, his arm bent backward and his face shoved into the wall. The impact was so abrupt it cracked the drywall.

Pinned against the wall, Forrester shouted for security. A pair of guards at the end of the hall turned slowly and then began to run down the pa.s.sageway toward them.

The second intruder, a man with dark hair and deep-brown eyes, tried to keep the peace. He was flas.h.i.+ng some kind of badge. "We're with the government," he said. "Kurt Austin, Joe Zavala. We're with NUMA."

It didn't work. Even as Austin released Forrester, the plainclothes officers pounced. Austin didn't resist, and they took him down without a fight. He seemed only focused on Westgate.

Through a tangle of bodies he shouted at Westgate. "Where were you when the Ethernet went down?"

"This isn't necessary," Westgate said, trying to intervene.

"The h.e.l.l it isn't!" Forrester bellowed. "Arrest this son of a-"

"You were nineteen miles away," Austin shouted. "Nineteen miles!"

"Shut up," Forrester demanded.

A man appeared at the end of the hall, pulled out a camera phone, and aimed it their way. "Turn that camera off!"

A third officer entered the fray, pulling out a pair of cuffs and slapping them over Austin's wrists, which were now behind his back. Austin wasn't struggling a bit, he seemed to know better, but was still straining to see past all the men and look Westgate in the eye.

"Let him go," Westgate shouted, putting a hand to his temple. "For G.o.d's sake, there's no need for this!"

The cops yanked Kurt up, hauling him to his feet.

"We have to take him in," one of the officers explained. "Anything like this happens, we have to run them in."

"Him too," Forrester insisted, pointing to the dark-haired man.

"What did I do?" Zavala asked.

"You came with him," one of the cops said. "Now, turn around!"

"You're hiding something," Austin insisted as they began to drag him off.

Forrester had had enough. He couldn't get the police to gag this madman, but he could get his own guy out of there. He grabbed Westgate by the arm and hustled him into the office.

"Get that camera!" he yelled to an a.s.sistant. "I don't care how you do it."

Westgate was too stunned to do anything but go with Forrester. As he was pulled into the waiting room, he caught sight of Austin shouting at him one more time.

"What happened on that yacht, Westgate? What the h.e.l.l happened out there?"

The door slammed, the intrusion ended, and Forrester sat Westgate on the couch. "Are you all right?"

Westgate blinked. "Of course I'm all right. Did you see someone hit me?"

"You may not feel like you were hit," Forrester growled. "But if that tape gets out, you, me, and the entire company are going to have a problem."

Westgate could hardly think. The pounding in his skull was relentless. "What are you talking about?"

Forrester didn't explain but instead moved to a makes.h.i.+ft bar, poured a drink, and shoved it into Westgate's hand.

"Here."

Westgate took a few sips. He felt confused and dizzy.

Forrester sat down and poured a drink for himself. He chose to do more than sip. "This could be a disaster," he mumbled.

The door opened and the a.s.sistant came in. He held the camera phone in question.

"How much?"

"Twenty K," the a.s.sistant said.

Forrester nodded. "Good, take care of it. And give the guy a job, if he'll take it. A highly paid spot. I don't want him changing his mind."

The a.s.sistant left and Westgate looked up. His wits were returning to him, the aching in his head subsiding. "Do you know who that was?"

"Of course I do," Forrester said. "And I'm gonna have him locked away for a.s.sault, making threatening statements, and anything else I can think of."

"Are you insane?" Westgate snapped. "That man dove from a helicopter in the middle of a hurricane to try to save me and my family. You're going to prosecute him? How's that going to look?"

Forrester exhaled in frustration. Westgate could see him thinking, coming to the only logical conclusion. The calculations were easy.

"I want to meet with him," Westgate said.

"No way."

"Why not?"

"Because," Forrester said.

"Because what?"

Forrester hemmed and hawed for a second. "Because he's crazy. From what I've heard, he's been struggling. He was injured in the rescue and has been on medical leave. He's locked into some conspiracy theory about the yacht not really sinking or your wife not being on board or surviving somehow. He thinks she's working for the Iranians."

Westgate was stunned for a moment; he felt dizzy. "Working for Iran? Are you kidding me?"

"Told you he was crazy," Forrester said. "Now do you understand why you can't meet with him?"

"Why would he think that?"

Forrester looked away. "Forget it, Brian. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Westgate insisted. "Could he be right? Is there any possible way?"

Forrester turned and fixed his gaze on Westgate. "Don't do this to yourself. You know as well as I do that she drowned."

Westgate looked away, his mind spinning. Of course he knew that. The question was, why didn't Austin? He was the one who'd seen her. "How do you know Austin's been on leave?"

"I keep an eye on things," Forrester said. "That's my job. And when I first got the details of the incident, I started looking into it."

"And you didn't tell me?"

Forrester leaned toward Westgate, cradling the drink in both hands. His tone changed. There was venom in it. "And what would you have done if I told you?"

Westgate didn't answer.

"He's a danger to us. Whatever ax he has to grind, we need to keep him far away from you."

"Why would he have an ax to grind with me?"

"Come on, Brian," Forrester said, "don't be so naive. He was engaged to your wife years ago. They were supposed to get married the same summer that you two met. Or didn't she tell you that?"

Westgate took the statement for what it was, a barb to get him riled up against Austin, to prod him into green-lighting some dirty trick. And it did sting. How could it not? But it wasn't news.