the most elaborate venues here and around the world, it seemed as if the museum founders had been as eager to inspire the staff as they were the visitors. She appreciated such excellent attention to detail.
As she turned her wrist to check her watch, her platinum and diamond wedding set glowed beautifully under the perfect lighting. She’d had it cleaned yesterday for this occasion, a little unnerved by how awkward and vulnerable she felt in the hours it wasn’t on her finger. She took comfort in the familiarity of the jewelry in its rightful place, a calming reminder in what hopefully wouldn’t blow up into a crisis.
The countdown for the evening was running in her head. The dignitaries from China’s foreign ministry would be here within forty-five minutes for a pregala toast and a private viewing of the new exhibit on loan to the United States. She knew from her years of experience as a State Department liaison that they would arrive five minutes earlier than scheduled.
Special Agent Spalding held open the door, encouraging her to enter the museum security office ahead of him. Even here, in the controlled lighting, she noted the aesthetic details that would empower the staff and boost efficiency. Her gaze slid over the monitors and the personnel watching each screen and status panel. No one was panicking and everything seemed to be in order, yet the tension simmering in the air was completely different than on her previous visits during the negotiation of the exhibit. When Spalding requested—demanded—her review of a potential security breach, he’d explained the threat was not as clear and easy to locate as a thief lurking in the building for his chance to strike.
“Technicians monitoring the computer systems found a problem,” Spalding said, his voice startling her after the long minutes of silence.
She followed him over to a small work space at the far end of the room. Although Madison had met with the cyber security managers on her previous visits, she’d only been introduced to the full team once. She smiled at the man and woman—very early twenties at best—wearing museum security uniform shirts with skinny jeans. Clearly uncertain how to proceed, they stood nervously beside their workstations where two FBI agents in subdued suits had assumed their seats and were working feverishly on their computers.
Madison’s stomach twisted, but years of practice and discipline had perfected her ability to hide any outward signs of distress or insecurity. She extended her hand to the woman first and introduced herself. “Madison Goode, State Department. Special Agent Spalding tells me you’ve found some kind of threat?”
“Yes. I’m Carli,” the woman said as she bobbed her head. Her bright red glasses framed blue eyes highlighted by purple mascara. Her pursed lips and scowl gave away her exasperation at being pushed from her station. “We were handling it.”
“Devon,” the man beside her said. He unfolded his arms long enough to shake Madison’s proffered hand and bump up his round, wire-framed glasses. Arms crossed once more, the fingers of one hand drummed against his opposite arm. She recognized how eager he was to get his hands back on his keyboard. “Carli and I saw the chatter about the attack and followed protocol,” he explained.
“These two just took over,” Carli said.
“We could be helping,” the two finished in unison.
Special Agent Spalding cleared his throat and gave a small tilt of his head. At the signal, Madison motioned for the technicians to step aside with her. “You did exactly the right thing,” she assured them. “Thank you both. I’m sure the FBI will only require another few minutes to make an assessment. Can you walk me through it, please?”
“We’ve been gearing up for weeks,” Carli began. “Staff meetings, search parameters—”
“And likely troublemakers,” Devon interjected. “There hadn’t been a whisper of a problem until an hour ago.”
“Then we found the chat room,” Carli continued. “Chatter about how America was selling the country to China one piece of art at a time. We saw blatant threats to the new exhibit. A rallying cry to take a stand.”
“Ugly stuff, really,” Devon added. “We notified our manager, took screenshots and started tracking usernames—”
“And IP addresses,” Carli finished.
By the time Madison had heard the entire story, she was nearly convinced Carli and Devon were twins with the way they completed each other’s sentences. The FBI agents at the stations continued working as Devon and Carli grew increasingly impatient. “I promise they’ll be out of your space as soon as possible,” Madison said.
Devon snorted and Carli elbowed him with a whispered reminder to be polite. Although Madison hadn’t hit thirty yet, these two suddenly made her feel old as they fidgeted and murmured in tech-speak about the situation.
Catching Spalding’s eye, she walked over. “Any progress?”
“Looks as if a group of American radicals is making a legitimate threat,” Spalding replied. “What my team is unraveling implies a direct, credible threat on the delegation from China. You need to postpone the reception. Possibly delay the exhibit.”
In her head, she raged and screamed, though she kept her expression neutral and her breathing under control. This unprecedented exhibit was scheduled to open to the public tomorrow. Ticket sales had exceeded their projections and officials at the Chinese consulate were openly thrilled. Delaying tonight’s event would undermine significant progress in the diplomatic arena and she wasn’t ready to toss that out the window, yet she couldn’t put lives or the displays at risk. “Can you run the vocabulary and threats against the emails our office received earlier this month?”
“Yes.” He signaled his crews to do as she asked. Spalding was grim, his voice low as he continued, “From all appearances this group is organized and ready to strike.” He went on with an explanation of his on-site security team and standard precautions. FBI and local police both in uniform and undercover had the museum surrounded and the Chinese delegation’s route from the consulate to the museum under surveillance, as well. “When we discussed this last week, we decided those emails came from a hacktivist group based in Asia.”
“The internet brings people together,” she replied. She braced a hand on the edge of the desk and leaned forward. Her sleek ponytail slid over her shoulder as she reviewed each correspondence and she pushed it back as she straightened. “The language is quite similar.” Similar enough that she was almost positive they were being strung along, dancing to someone else’s agenda.
Security wasn’t her assigned area of expertise and yet Madison needed to weigh all threats and consequences to the exhibit and the Chinese delegation. The political fallout of canceling the event or postponing the opening could be a serious problem. Her intuition told her they had trouble, though she disagreed with Spalding that the trouble would strike in the form of an immediate personal attack. “The radicals on the other side of that computer screen are noisemakers,” she said decisively. “They’ve never struck in person. We’re prepared and we’ll continue with the program as scheduled.”
Spalding’s eyes were hard and his voice was barely audible. “If you’re wrong?”
Since accepting her role within the State Department, she’d been walking the tenuous line of relations between China, Vietnam and other interested parties in the South China Sea long enough to trust her gut instinct. “There is trouble, I’ll grant you, but it is not a physical threat tonight. Someone is playing us, saying enough of the right things to make us doubt and potentially cause a rift. I refuse to make a decision based on fear that will undo the progress we’ve made in the past year.”
Spalding glared down at her and only her years of ballet training kept her spine straight, her gaze direct. “Listen, Goode, if you—”
“Sir! Ma’am!”
Madison peered around Spalding to see a member of the museum security staff waving frantically from the various readouts that confirmed priceless objets d’art and artifacts were secure in their displays. “What is it?” Spalding demanded as he crossed the room, Madison on his heels.