Fatal Code (The SNAP Agency Book #2)

"Romantic suspense fans will not want to miss this latest installment of Natalie Walters’s SNAP Agency series, Fatal Code. Sparks fly between Elinor and Kekoa as danger presses in! Recommended!"

Lisa Harris, bestselling author of the Nikki Boyd Files

"In Fatal Code, Natalie Walters excels at bringing characters to life in this complex, nail-biting tale of intrigue steeped in mystery, encrypted messages, and a top-secret nuclear project. Fatal Code is reminiscent of Cold War spy thrillers and riveted me to the page as I rooted for Kekoa and Elinor to expose secrets, survive danger, and fall in love."

Elizabeth Goddard, bestselling author of the Rocky Mountain Courage series

"Natalie Walters weaves an intricate web of secrets and suspense in Fatal Code, with a plot that feels inspired by tomorrow’s headlines. The mystery and danger are complemented by real human experiences and emotions as her vivid characters contend with loss and discover love. Warning: once you pick it up, you won’t be able to put it down!"

Andrew Huff, author of the Shepherd Suspense series

Hold on tight for another riveting adventure from Natalie Walters. With high stakes, a hero who is right up there with Captain America, and enough suspense to make you need warm milk and a cozy blanket to calm you down, this read will stick with you well after you turn the last page.

Jaime Jo Wright, author of The Souls of Lost Lake and the Christy Award–winning novel The House on Foster Hill

Books by Natalie Walters

HARBORED SECRETS SERIES:

Living Lies

Deadly Deceit

Silent Shadows

THE SNAP AGENCY SERIES:

Lights Out

Fatal Code

© 2022 by Natalie Walters

Published by Revell

a division of Baker Publishing Group

PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

www.revellbooks.com

Ebook edition created 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4934-3631-6

Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.

Emilie and Christen, thank you for praying and encouraging me through every page of this story.

Contents

Cover

Endorsements

Half Title Page

Books by Natalie Walters

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

Acknowledgments

Sneak Peek at the Next SNAP Agency Adventure

About the Author

Back Ads

Back Cover

1

Maple Valley, IA

Death has no sting.

He studied the pastor speaking from the stage, a giant cross hanging behind him, and smirked. Depends on how you kill someone. He glanced quickly at the cedar beams crisscrossing the white-plaster barrel ceiling, half expecting lightning to strike him dead. But if God was going to punish him for his blasphemy, it would’ve happened the second he walked into the church.

The hard wood of the pew dug into his back, a painful reminder of his childhood, as was the nauseating citrus scent of the furniture polish. Stained glass windows lined the sides of the church just like in the one his mother used to drag him to when she’d pray to a God she assured him was good. He wasn’t more than six when he learned, thanks to the fists of a schoolyard bully, that whoever his mother prayed to didn’t care about him. A God who was good wouldn’t let bad things happen—especially to children. And yet every day they were happening. The only escape from the bad . . . his eyes landed on the simple wooden urn. Death.

In the middle of two large vases of flowers and three floral wreaths was a photo of Arthur Conway. According to the small piece of cardstock in the man’s hand, Arthur was eighty-five, a loving grandfather, father, and husband. Theoretical physicist and retired professor from Iowa State, Arthur ‘Artie’ Conway played an integral role in the progress of science.

The progress of science.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, covering the scoff before it could draw attention to him. An understatement if there ever was one. The modest oak box didn’t hold only the cremated remains of Arthur Conway. It held a piece of the puzzle in a decades-old game of power.

As the pastor continued to offer platitudes of comfort to the family, the man scanned those in attendance. The church was fuller than he’d expected. He guessed friends, neighbors, maybe even a few colleagues from the university made up the crowd.

The pipe organ bellowed and the people rose to their feet. One man, a few rows back from the front, grabbed his attention. Besides the custom-tailored suit, nothing stood out to him and yet . . .

Picking up a white book from the back of the pew, he carelessly flipped it open. His eyes drifted to the domed fixture in the upper corner of the church ceiling. A camera. There was another across from it and a few, he’d noticed, at the entrance of the church. It wouldn’t take much to hack into the system and download the footage. Find out who the man was and why it mattered.

But at the moment, the only one who truly interested him was the young woman in the front row standing next to her parents.

Elinor Mitchell. Twenty-nine. Her shoulder-length hair was twisted into an elegant knot at the base of her neck. Somewhere nearby, an air-conditioning vent blew cool air, causing the loose strands of her chocolate-brown hair to dance along her neckline. She wore a charcoal-gray pencil skirt and a deep burgundy silk blouse instead of the traditional black attire. Smart choice. The jewel tone highlighted her creamy complexion and made the green in her hazel eyes sparkle like emeralds. Or was that the tears?

She shared in Arthur Conway’s brilliance. Graduating from Georgia Tech summa cum laude was enough to warrant the interest of major aerospace companies like Lockheed Martin and Raytheon, but in the end, she chose Lepley Dynamics.

And in the last few years, her work had secured several multi-million-dollar contracts that made her very valuable to the company . . . but would that keep her alive?

The music slowed to a stop, bringing everyone back to their seats. He gave his watch a subtle glance. They would be waiting for his call.

As the pastor invited friends up to speak about the departed, the man kept his ears attuned to anything that might be a clue. Unfortunately, when they were done, the only thing he’d learned was not to go fishing without a charged cell phone battery.

Agitation began to unfurl in his chest. Time was wasting and—

Elinor—the pastor’s introduction interrupted his thoughts—Arthur’s granddaughter, would like to say a few words.

He sat up straighter. The polished wood beneath him creaked as he leaned forward, attention glued to the woman as she rose from her seat and walked to the podium next to the minister. It took her a moment to gather herself, which gave him the time to study her features. She favored her mother’s high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes, characteristics of their Korean ancestry passed on from Arthur’s wife. Something shifted in him, almost making him second-guess his purpose here, and then he remembered the photo in his wallet.

Elinor smiled, looking timid. On behalf of my family, we want to thank you all for coming today. My grandfather was a well-lived man. He always told me that. Said that when his time came, he’d be ready. I didn’t realize I wouldn’t be. She sniffled. I took for granted the time I had with my grandfather, but every time I open up one of his notebooks, it feels like he’s right there with me, sparking my curiosity and teaching me. The gift of his words gives me comfort and is such a blessing.

His attention snagged on Elinor’s words. Notebooks. There were more? His agitation swiftly morphed into anxious energy. He pressed his palm to his knee to keep it from bouncing.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

His cell phone vibrated in his coat pocket, and he pulled it out. The message was a photo of a fair-skinned European man with thick black hair hanging low over his eyes. Four words were typed beneath it:

Dominic Kamenev is here.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket. It didn’t surprise him that Russia was now involved. It ticked him off. Another player joining the race. One more issue to take care of . . . one he might be able to make work for him.

He was already formulating a plan when his phone vibrated again. He pulled it out just enough to see the new message. It was a photo that made him bite down on his tongue to hold back the curse. Jaw clenching, he slid the phone back into his pocket and eyed his target.

Elinor finished speaking, and the pastor gave a concluding prayer. Her parents joined her at the front of the church as guests stood and began to form a line and offer their condolences.

He noticed the shadow beneath Elinor’s eyes. The brave attempt to smile and assure those talking with her about her grandfather that she would be okay. She had no idea she’d just become a pawn in a deadly game. A little pressure, a little discomfort, and people were quick to talk. Quick to reveal their deepest secrets. And if Elinor’s grandfather had left her one, he’d find out.

2

Washington, DC

Is there anything more beautiful than a hamburger patty smothered in gravy tucked onto a bed of rice and a fried egg? Kekoa Young lifted the Styrofoam container to his nose and inhaled. Ono, eh?

Mixed expressions met him from those sitting around the large island in the SNAP Agency’s kitchen.

Disgust from Garcia.

Suspicion from Lyla.

Indifference from Jack.

Appreciation from Brynn. I knew that would bring you out of your cave.

Kekoa wiggled his hips, working his way to the empty stool, and grabbed a fork. He closed his eyes after the first bite and allowed the savory flavor to take him home. His chest squeezed at the longing—as wistful as it was painful. Homesickness washed through him, making it hard to swallow the food down.

That’s a heart attack on a plate.

Kekoa opened his eyes to find Garcia eyeballing his plate lunch. No way was he going to let the team health fanatic spoil the moment. Brah, you gotta live a little. This is local grindz. He took another bite. Tell him, sis.

It’s true. Loco mocos are a Hawaiian favorite. Brynn grabbed hers. And taste better than they look.

I’m going to go with Nicolás on this one, Lyla said, cutting into a piece of teriyaki chicken. She wrinkled her petite nose and shook her head a few times, light-brown hair tinted dark pink at the edges swirling about her shoulders. Gravy, eggs, and hamburger? You’d have to be pretty loco to eat it. She waited half a beat before giggling at her lame joke. Oh, come on, that was funny.

Garcia rolled his eyes, but Kekoa caught the beginning of a smile—white teeth flashing against his tanned face—that he quickly hid behind a bite of chicken. Without teriyaki sauce. What is even the point?

And on that humorous joke—Brynn reached for her purse and started for the office door—it’s time for me to get back to the office.

Thanks for the plate lunch, sis! Kekoa said, scooping another bite into his mouth. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was or how fast the morning had passed since breakfast. The Lepley assignment was taking its toll.

Anytime, Kekoa, Brynn called over her shoulder as she and Jack stepped into the hallway outside of the office and let the door close behind them.

Kekoa admired Jack. He and Brynn Taylor had a long history together that came to a head during an assignment a few months ago. Witnessing the two of them work through their fears made Kekoa hopeful that happy endings did exist.

Lyla tipped her head to the flat screen television mounted on the wall across from them. He knows we have cameras out there, right?

They just want a little privacy, Lyla. Garcia finished the rest of his naked chicken and dumped his to-go dish into the trash can. Jack said Brynn’s headed overseas for a few weeks. Not sure when she leaves exactly.

Ouch. Lyla wrinkled her nose. Didn’t she just get back?

Garcia washed his hands and dried them with a towel. A week ago.

Kekoa peeked at Jack and Brynn outside in the hallway. Working for the Strategic Neutralization and Protection Agency kept all of them busy, but especially Jack. And with Brynn’s career in the CIA, the couple had to work to keep their relationship a priority. He admired their commitment and let it give him relationship goals to aim for . . . one day.

For now, he’d keep his focus on his job. After leaving his career in the Navy as a cryptologist, he wasn’t sure what his future held. Faced with the possibility of returning home, he was grateful when Director Walsh hired him, giving him the out he needed. He had no idea how much he’d come to appreciate the job or the people he worked with. They had become more than colleagues in such a short time—they’d become family. Ohana.

Oh my goodness, you guys are so annoying. Lyla held up a plastic container full of raisins. She pressed her foot on the pedal of the trash can to lift the lid and dumped them into it. You cannot pick all of the nuts and chocolate out of the trail mix and leave behind the raisins. It’s gross and unhygienic.

Raisins are gross.

Now, that I can agree with. Kekoa fist-bumped Garcia. Just buy chocolate, Ly.

Or the nuts, Garcia said.

Lyla rolled her eyes. I asked God for a sister—not three pesky brothers.

Kekoa caught the flicker of resentment in Garcia’s eyes at the word brother. The man, whether he admitted it or not, carried some kind of flame for Lyla. He’d never acted on it, but Kekoa wasn’t sure if that was an integrity thing on Garcia’s part—not wanting to mix business with pleasure—or something deeper.

Kekoa believed it was a little of both. Nicolás Garcia had come to the team from Special Forces as an EOD specialist. His quiet, observant demeanor served him well as a bomb and weapons specialist, but it also kept people from engaging with him. Their loss. Garcia was loyal, purposeful, and generous, and he had an easygoing personality. Only one person had the ability to draw an immediate reaction from him.

Lyla Fox.

As the youngest member of the team, she came from a well-connected family with deep roots in politics and the tech industry. She brought a vast network of resources to her position with the agency, giving SNAP the kind of access it would have taken decades to build. She easily slipped into the role of little sister, reminding Kekoa of the ones he had back home in Hawaii. But that’s not how Garcia saw her, or wanted to see her.

Yep. Leaving the relationship stuff to everyone else seemed to be the smartest choice. The last thing Kekoa needed was the responsibility of a romantic entanglement. He ran his hand over the name tattooed on the inside of his left forearm.

Lyla tapped the wedding invitation stuck to the refrigerator. How they’re going to manage being in the same country, much less the same church, on the same day for their wedding is going to be a miracle.

You’re telling me, Jack said, agreeing with Lyla as he walked back in. A few inches shorter than Kekoa, Jack Hudson held a commanding presence fitting of his position as their team leader. His piercing gaze was eased by a wry smile. So long as everyone behaves, there should be a wedding in six weeks.

Should we write up a memo for the terrorists and criminals? Lyla finished her plate and stood, but Garcia was already there, taking it from her to put into the trash. Let them know about your nuptials so they can plan accordingly?

If I thought it would work . . . Jack shook his head. Right now, just coordinating a cake tasting and catering options seems impossible.

Brah—Kekoa patted Jack on the shoulder—I’m your man. Tell me the time and place, and I’m there. He glanced down at the remnants of his lunch. As you know, I’ve got discerning taste.

Debatable. Garcia laughed, taking Kekoa’s empty tray to the trash.

Kekoa walked to the fridge and grabbed a water bottle. Do I mock you for eating minced vegetables?

Garcia frowned. Are you talking about cauliflower rice?

Brah—Kekoa shook his head—that’s not rice. A horse painted in stripes is still a horse.

Lyla twisted her lips to the side, looking at Kekoa. I don’t think I’ve heard a stranger phrase come from your lips, and yet it’s accurate.

What can I say? Kekoa puffed his chest a bit. I’m a man of many talents.

Speaking of talents, let’s get them back to work. Jack started down the hallway, leading the team back to the nerve center of the agency. The fulcrum.

Consuming most of the eighth floor of the Acacia Building, the SNAP Agency overlooked the Lower Senate Park and the north side of the Capitol. The panoramic view through a wall of windows lit up the open space where the team worked.

The front part of the office, which was divided into two spaces, gave the appearance of a luxury condo. No expense was spared on the large living space and kitchen designed for comfort—a juxtaposition to the high-tech hub of the space he was walking into now.

Fifteen-foot-high ceilings with the pipes and ductwork exposed made the space feel as large as the assignments they worked on. At the center of the space, a large conference table anchored the room. Around it were three stations where Jack, Lyla, and Garcia worked. To his left was Director Walsh’s office, separated by a glass-and-steel grid wall. Ahead of him, a bank of fifty-inch television screens were mounted on the wall, each of them turned to news channels across the world. It was a state-of-the-art workspace that always made Kekoa stoked to come in.

Jack glanced back at Kekoa. Any progress on the Lepley account?

I’ve run into a few hiccups. Kekoa’s lunch suddenly felt heavy in his stomach. As the team’s tech guy, he should be a lot further along than he was on the assignment, but so far his best efforts had fallen short. Over the last eight weeks, he’d been testing the firewall system protecting the Lepley Dynamics servers, and so far he hadn’t discovered a weakness a typical hacker would use to gain access. Either the thief was better than he was—doubtful—or the information being stolen had to be coming out another way. I may have found a way into the system, but I need to run my program through some tests first.

Keep at it. Jack nodded. If you can hack into the Cyber Command, I know you can do this.

Kekoa blew out a breath. Even though I had permission, I swear those guys are still looking for a way to get back at me.

Jack laughed. I’m sure their egos were a little bruised when you showed them up.

"Brah, I went Independence Day on their egos."

Garcia snorted, pulling out his cell phone. Lyla, what’s the name of a good pie shop around here? I want to order Kekoa a big slice of humble pie.

Aww, Garcia—Kekoa wrapped an arm around Garcia’s shoulders, feeling his muscles grow taut at the touch—are you still bitter that I beat you on ‘Warzone’?

Lyla made a face. Wait. When did you guys play ‘Warzone’? She punched both of them playfully. Why didn’t you tell me?

How are things moving on the Nowak assignment? Jack faced Lyla, bringing the focus back to their jobs. Any changes to the time line?

Nope. Operation Kærasta is going swimmingly. Lyla twirled a few strands of hair around her finger. Magnús thinks he’s in charge, but I’ve got him wrapped around my finger.

I wish you’d stop calling it Operation Kærasta. Garcia’s expression tightened. "You’re not his girlfriend, and this isn’t a game."

Kekoa cringed. He looked between Garcia and a suddenly still Lyla, who was giving him the kind of stink eye that warned they should all start looking for cover.

I know it’s not a game, and I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job. Her attention moved to Jack. Magnús used a very expensive bottle of champagne to lure the Ignus floor plan from me. She shrugged. It’s not my favorite champagne, and I let him know it. He assured me he’d get me the best soon, which makes me think they’re getting ready for the heist. And— she placed her hands on her hips—he’s asked me to attend a party he’s hosting to introduce me to his best friend . . . Armand Nowak.

The tension in the room doubled, and it had nothing to do with unrequited feelings between Garcia and Lyla. Interpol had reached out to SNAP to investigate rumors that Armand the Polish Nowak was behind one of the largest Bitcoin heists in Europe that ended in the deaths of three people. Whether the murders were at his hand was still unknown, but according to information Lyla had gathered from Magnús, the order came from Nowak. And now they were both in Washington, DC, in preparation to take down Ignus, the data company they believed Lyla worked for.

Shouldn’t we call in Walsh’s man at Interpol? Let them take over?

Lyla pursed her lips and shifted so her back was facing Garcia, ignoring his question. Jack, you know if you pull me, Interpol will never get the information I can. Magnús trusts me. He wants what I have. She cast a sour look over her shoulder at Garcia. "The only way to get Magnús and Nowak is to keep me in the game."

Kekoa could see Jack was weighing the situation. As their team leader, he carried the burden of their assignments whether or not he was leading them. Lyla’s in place. We move forward with the assignment as planned.

Lyla responded with a smirk. Garcia muttered something that sounded like stubborn, but before round two got started, Jack stepped between them.

Lyla, you and I will work on the details of your meeting with Magnús and Nowak. He gave a pointed look at Garcia. Let’s get back to work before Director Walsh returns for our debriefing.

Kekoa turned right, breathing a sigh of gratitude that he had his own sanctuary to retreat into. Set against the back wall, the only similarity his office had with Director Walsh’s office was the glass-and-steel wall separating it from the main area. Everything else was every cybertechie’s dream space. From the climate-controlled environment housing four forty-inch, 8k-curved monitors to the dedicated AC vents that pushed cool air silently into the processors to the LED accent lighting, Director Walsh had spared no expense. But Kekoa’s favorite feature was the ring of electronic waves built into the materials—even the glass—that prevented signals from getting in or out of the room, requiring encryption to get any information. Or maybe it was the Renegade500 gaming chair that was molded to his measurements for ultimate comfort?

He sank into it and smiled. Definitely the chair. Waking up his computers, Kekoa avoided looking at the calendar hanging on the wall next to his screens. He didn’t need to see the upcoming date to feel the guilt, regret, and pain associated with that day. He’d been feeling it every day for nearly fourteen years. The workplace drama between Lyla and Garcia paled in comparison to his own personal drama. Shaking off the emotion, Kekoa opened his program for the Lepley assignment and forced himself to focus on that. His gaze moved to his team, determination coursing through him. Unlike his ohana in Hawaii, Kekoa wouldn’t let this one down.

3

Kekoa smiled. He flipped a switch, and the bass picked up. He pushed back from his computer station and walked out of the office as the hip-hop music came to life. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he danced toward his team as Nelly’s voice filled the space.

‘Here comes the—’ Kekoa joined the song, pausing to wait for someone else to fill in the rest.

Lyla glanced up and obliged. ‘Boom.’

‘Here comes the—’ He looked at Garcia, who shook his head. Oh no, bruddah isn’t going to get away with it this time. Kekoa rolled his fists in front of him, dancing toward Garcia, who shoved his chair back. Here comes the—

Just do it, Nicolás. Lyla laughed, singing along with Kekoa’s victory song.

‘Here comes the—’

Garcia heaved a sigh, dropping his head back. ‘Boom.’

Jack stepped out of Walsh’s office. Tell me you figured something out on the Lepley assignment?

With a remote, Kekoa turned down the music pumping from the speakers. Brah, you gotta ask?

Director Walsh got pulled into a meeting. Jack took a seat at the conference table. So it’ll just be us for the afternoon debriefing, and maybe we can cut out of here early.

Sounds good to me, Lyla said, taking her place across from Kekoa.

Garcia sat next to Lyla. Can we discuss the unnecessary use of music to announce our achievements in the workplace?

Don’t worry, brah. I knew you’d feel left out. Kekoa snickered, knowing how to get under Garcia’s skin. So I picked one for you too.

Pointing the remote over his shoulder, Kekoa pressed Play and listened as Glen Campbell’s voice crooned, Like a rhinestone cowboy.

Lyla burst into laughter, Jack covered his mouth, while Kekoa swayed side to side, his shoulders moving to the music. Garcia stared him down for several long seconds before the edge of his lips twitched