Episode 21: The Prism Network
2529 Words
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"How?" he asked.
"Rachel." The name came without hesitation. "She's the best investigative journalist I know. She has contacts at every major outlet. If we give her the data, she can build a story that goes public simultaneously across multiple platforms -- TV, print, digital. A coordinated media blast that Victor can't suppress because it's everywhere at once."
"You're talking about going to the press instead of law enforcement."
"I'm talking about going to both. But the press first, because the press can't be bought. Individual reporters can, but Rachel can't. I'd stake my life on that."
"You are staking your life on that."
"I know."
They looked at each other across the cabin. The embers in the stove popped softly. Outside, a wind moved through the pine trees, making them whisper.
"Marcus," Damien said. "How much of the Prism Network data can you package into a portable format?"
"All of it. I've been compiling it into an encrypted archive. Fifteen terabytes of financial records, communications, and transaction logs. I can put it on a hardened drive and have it delivered to a location of your choosing within forty-eight hours."
"Make it twenty-four. We're leaving California tomorrow."
"Cross -- Damien -- be careful. Victor Hall is going to throw everything at you when he figures out what you're doing."
"I know." Damien looked at Sophia again. Something shifted in his face -- not a smile, but the shadow of one, the ghost of an expression his face had forgotten how to make. "But he doesn't know what we're going to throw at him."
The communicator went dark. The cabin settled back into silence.
Sophia picked up the Yeats book. She opened it to page 41 and looked at her father's handwriting -- the thirty-two digits that had unlocked four hundred billion dollars of criminal evidence and a hundred and twenty-three million dollar war chest.
"You planned for everything," she whispered to the dead man's handwriting. "Even this."
Damien started packing. They had a long drive ahead of them.
Three thousand miles back to New York. Eleven days until the dead man's switch. And somewhere between here and there, a conversation with Rachel Morris that would change the world.
Or end theirs.
Either way, they were done running.
- Writer
