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Chapter 39

A Fatal Attempt

17300 - London, UK

Ice tinkled against the fine crystal and began to sweat as soon as the amber liquid touched it. Reginald lifted the glass, inspecting his pour, thinking perhaps he should have left it neat. He imagined he saw Debra's face swirling around the small frozen squares, taunting him, fueling his anger. He was not surprised she filed for divorce she had threatened as much on numerous occasions. But the Protection from Abuse order was another matter. That insult bore deeply under his skin.

Lifting the glass, and sipping slowly, he silently critiqued Desmond Pyle's efforts on the laptop and said, "You have been plucking at that forsaken keyboard for ages."

Not bothering to look up, Pyle said, "You're exaggerating."

"Am I to presume you have found nothing?!"

"As I have not uttered any revelations, you can assume to be correct."

Nerves as thin as a thread, Reginald gripped the edges of the dry bar. "I am not asking you to search for a ghost!"

"Well, that is precisely what Harte appears to be at the moment."

"Impossible Des. Find something!"

"Right." Pyle rubbed his face then leaned in, fingers deftly tapping away at yet another option.

"That's my boy," Reginald said raising his glass, but it never reached his mouth. Pyle's reaction stopped him.

"What?" Reginald said.

Pyle repeatedly hit keystrokes to back out of his query. "We have a problem mate."

Reginald took an anxious sip, "What did you uncover?"

"Something I hope the other side did not notice," Pyle said shakily rubbing his brow.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Reginald said moving across the room.

Pyle blanched, "I was toying with the idea to check his military record and decided to go for it."

"Excellent idea! And….."

"No. Bad idea actually. His record is classified! Obviously, I cannot open it without proper security clearances."

"Security clearances?" Reginald said emptying his glass with one swallow as he maneuvered behind Pyle to view the screen.

"This is a bit more complicated than a rudimentary background check. If my attempts fail, their system could activate an alert. In fact, they may have already noticed that I entered the data base."

"Let me have a look," Reginald said pushing Pyle aside.

"No! I closed out of it!"

"What?! Well, open the bloody thing back up! I want to see for myself."

"I do not recommend doing that," Pyle said slamming the laptop closed.

"Do it!" Reginald roared.

Pyle looked up, and against his better judgement brought the screen back to life. Reginald carefully watched each step taken to access the data base.

"There, see what I mean?" Pyle said.

Reginald's eyes covered every inch of the screen. He felt caution throbbing in the back of his conscience, but malice was stronger. "You have breached financial databases that are encrypted. Go on. Work your magic," he said.

Pyle's eye bulged. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Do it!"

"I cannot!"

"Yes, you can!"

"How about this…I will not!"

"Do not tell me you will not! I fucking pay you to do what I want!"

"Fine. Then pay someone else to do your dirty work," Pyle said shutting down the computer once again.

"Des, I need that information."

"Not as much as you will need a damn good lawyer if the DOD realizes they had a breach."

"Spare me the dramatics," Reginald said striding back to the dry bar.

"What is it about Harte that has driven you to this extreme?" Pyle said slipping his laptop into a case.

"Let's just say the man is a thorn in my side and I wish to have him extracted."

"Fuck sake Gwain, who's over the top now?"

Pouring a glass for each of them Reginald said, "You are forgetting that Harte has a matter to settle with you."

"Ah yes, well he has yet to make contact with me since landing in London."

"I assure you he has not forgotten," Reginald said handing over a glass.

Pyle agitated his drink and said, "My son is a brat. I will give Harte that much.

"His daughter is no better."

"She lands a punch better than Heath. In retrospect he deserved what he got from the Harte kid." Pyle said taking a full burning swallow.

"Go on, have a laugh. You have not met Harte," Reginald said. "He carries a gun. Who does that?"

Pyle chewed his lower lip, "Perhaps someone who has a classified military record."

"Aren't you the least bit intrigued?" Reginald said.

Pyle finished his drink and eyed his friend. He felt like he was caught in a web waiting to be devoured by a rather large spider. "No. No, I am not. I think you should move on mate."

"Is that what you think?" Reginald said with words dripping in sarcasm.

"I do. Harte has done nothing to you. Your failed marriage is your doing. It is a mystery as to what you hope to gain meddling in his life."

Reginald numbly watched Pyle pack up his gear and silently walk out the door.

Finding himself suddenly alone, Reginald swung the leather desk chair around and sat, leaning his head back, gulping down the remainder of his drink. He could not let it go. He was not even trying to. He wanted that information on Harte. Swiveling toward the desk top computer he typed in the pathway Pyle had taken to access the military data base. All of the pop-up warnings reappeared, and his upper lip curled in defiance.

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1845 – Hereford, UK

Colonel Thornton tidied up his desk for the day, anticipating a quiet dinner and relaxation. It had been one of those days. However, an abrupt rat-a-tat at the door dashed his hopes of the imminent respite.

"Yes?!" he shouted.

Sergeant Ian Miller entered. The look on his face sank Thornton's hopes even further.

"What is it sergeant?" Thornton said dryly.

"Sir, cybersecurity is on the line for you."

"Cybersecurity?"

"Affirmative sir. The specialist said he must speak to you ASAP."

Thornton immediately eyed the blinking light on the desk phone. Slamming a finger down on top of it, he waved Miller out of the room and picked up the receiver.

"Thornton."

The caller proceeded to relay that an alert appeared following a breach of the DOD data base. Several attempts were made to access Captain Elvis Harte's record.

Thornton's neck veins became like thick cords. "Was it only Harte?" he said. "I see. Do you have the IP address?" He looked at his watch. Harte was due back on base tomorrow. "Copy that. I will advise the captain. Keep me posted."

Thornton stood and planted his hands on his hips. Elvis had never formally been identified following the hijacking incident. It would take a good measure of skill for someone to breach the DOD data base. Exposing Elvis' record to public scrutiny would compromise his integrity as a Special Forces Operative. His heavy brow creased as he rang the captain.