by D S Kane
Hours passed and he found his office getting dark. He gazed at his wrist watch. 7:25 p.m. He was hungry. Maybe food would fix his head.
He walked to the elevator. Rode it to the lobby. The gold-on-black logo on the building’s internal marquee stated “First Manhattan Bank” and the line below claimed “New York Office.”
As he exited onto Park Avenue, he made a decision. The only tactic he could think of was a low-probability outcome that, unfortunately, involved him in dirty work. But he’d no interest in exposing himself. No, no bloody chance of that.
He entered the Irish pub on 45th Street and sat down at the bar. “Simon,” he shouted to the bartender, “get me a bottle of Lagavulin.”
The bartender approached him partway, staying a comfortable distance from Jon. “Mr. Sommers, that’s a seventy-five-dollar bottle.”
Jon sneered. “Yeah. I bloody well know how much it costs. Drop it right here. Now.” He placed a credit card on the bar and tapped the space in front of him. “Here.”
The bartender disappeared through a doorway for a few seconds and returned carrying a bottle of single-malt Scotch. “Your funeral,” he whispered.
Sommers poured himself about six ounces without any ice and began sipping the amber liquid.
For over two hours, he continued mulling over his burgeoning plan. Yes, maybe it might work. And maybe he could keep from being exposed. He just needed someone with the right skills. It was time to call William Wing.
But Wing hated danger. Sommers frowned and poured himself another six ounces of Scotch.
* * *
Wing’s cellphone chirped with an incoming email. He put down the sandwich and pulled the phone from its case strapped to his belt. When he examined the screen, he smiled. “Jon?”
“Ah, William. Is this a good time? I only need a few minutes.”
Wing’s mouth dropped into a frown. “For what?”
“I need a favor. And I’m afraid it’s a big one.”
William thought of simply hanging up. But his fingers wouldn’t move. He tried to say something. His mouth wouldn’t work. His hands shook. He felt sure Jon wanted him to do something dangerous.
“William? You there?”
He shook himself out of his fear. “Uh, I, uh—”
“God’s sake. I need help. Please say you’ll at least hear me out.”
Wing nodded to himself. “All right. Come to my office at The Swiftshadow Group. Before 9 p.m., when I leave for the night.”
“But I’m in Manhattan.”
Wing sighed. “Plenty here to keep me busy. I’ll wait.”
* * *
William took Sommers to the company cafeteria. “Coffee?”
Jon still had a thick buzz going from the Scotch. “No.” He pointed out the hall. “Shouldn’t we be doing this in your office? Somewhere more private?”
Wing’s brows rose. “No. Everyone else left the building hours ago. Why?”
Sommers shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. Danger. And, yes, there is a bit of that.”
William’s shoulders folded inward. In a voice just above a whisper, he said, “Shit.” He faced Jon. “So, you’re about to put me in a situation. A bad one.”
Sommers nodded. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t about to bloody well ask you to go with me to the opera. But, done right, it isn’t that dangerous.” He took Wing by the elbow and pushed him toward the office.
Once within, he closed the door and took a seat across from William’s desk. “Sit.” Wing sat. Jon smiled. “Avram asked me to get someone into the Karachi office of the Bank of Trade. Air-gapped computers. A physical person; one who speaks Pashto. So, you don’t fit the picture. Do you know anyone in the hacker community who could help?”
William shook his head. “There are a few in the hacker community, but no one will want to actually ‘be’ somewhere, let alone inside that place.”
Jon nodded. “I thought not. But I had to try.”
Wing’s brows raised. “Doesn’t Avram have access to some of the advanced-weapons research development projects of the Ness Ziona?”
Sommers nodded, his eyes focused on something within. “Yes. What do you have in mind?”
Wing pursed his lips. “He’s been playing with a spy toy called ‘the fly.’”
“So?”
“Just ask him if he has access to several flies. If he does, I have an idea that might work.”
* * *
Ann sat at her desk and examined the document on-screen. The teen clenched her eyes shut. Reopening them, she forced her fingers to peck on a few keys. So, who was the eighteenth President? She opened the electronic textbook file and pounded her hand on the desk. Her answer wasn’t even close. As she read more of the eBook, the GNU Radio in the master bedroom began chirping. Cassie and Lee weren’t home, but just a few people called using that arcane device. She ran into their room and pressed the Answer key. “It’s Ann.”
“Hi, Ann. It’s William. I need—”
“Yeah, I can guess. They’re out at the farmers’ market buying stuff for the dinner crowd. I’ll have her call you when she returns. Okay?”
She heard him sigh. “Yeah, but tell her it’s—”
“Important? But of course it is. Don’t worry. Look, I gotta finish my homework. Bye.” She terminated the call and returned to her notebook computer.
* * *
Her hands shook so hard she braced one with the other as she gripped the GNU Radio. “Absolutely not. Remember the password, ‘divadoesnottravel’? If I try travel to New York, it’s certain death. And I’m pregnant. So I don’t care what’s at stake. Avram, find yourself another guinea pig.” She slammed the End Call button.
Lee heard the shouting and found her in the bathroom, sobbing. He hugged her close. “Whazzat about?”
She sighed and used a tissue to dry her eyes. “Avram had the unmitigated gall to ask me to, to—”
He touched her ear with his lips. “Calm down.”
She nodded. “He wants someone to run his damned fly remotely, in New York, to invade the Bank of Trade’s accounting department in Karachi and steal records on a computer for which there is no telecommunications access.”
“Why does it have to be in New York?”
She shook her head. “He has Sommers there, and thinks it would be better if the team was together. Sommers speaks Pashto, Darija, and Arabic, and also knows bank accounting. He thinks I’m more agile than the merc who he has running the fly right now”
“Guess he’s up the creek.”
She pulled back from him far enough to see his face. “Probably. But my guess is, the end of this particular rainbow contains knowledge of every terrorist bank account used globally. Anyway, you’re right. It’s not me and I don’t know anyone else.” She sighed.
Lee frowned. “So he’s screwed?”
“Totally.”
CHAPTER 38
April 29, 7:45 a.m.
Bank of Trade headquarters,
Lakhani Centre, on I. I. Chundrigar Road,
Karachi, Pakistan
A small silver insect resembling a fly buzzed near the revolving door to the bank’s lobby.
Jon Sommers and Avram Shimmel sat in the conference room at Swiftshadow’s headquarters, eight thousand miles away, staring at the screen. Sommers frowned. “This is so past crazy.”
Cassie sat at her daughter’s notebook computer, eleven thousand miles away, watching the fly’s view through the tiny twin cams mounted where a real fly’s eyes would be. The view was three-dimensional.
The electromechanical insect twitched as Cassie touched the joystick. She moved the joystick up and the fly took off, heading into the Bank of Trade’s revolving doors. “Am I doing this right?” Cassie’s hands tensed, trying to keep the fly from getting smashed by the doorjamb as it flew out into the atrium.
“You’re doing fine. Even if you damage that one, we have others,” Shimmel said.
The screen was split four ways: three thumbnails of Cass
ie, Avram, and Jon, and the biggest part of the screen, showing the fly’s-eye view.
Cassie squirmed in her seat and moved her right hand on the joystick, barely touching it. The fly slammed into a wall and its view disappeared from the screen into a hiss of static. “Avram, that’s the fifth one I destroyed. How many do you have?”
Ann had come down the stairs and watched the small disaster. “Looks like fun, Mom. What are you doing?”
Cassie hissed with frustration. “Not fun. Not fun at all.” Then she touched her chin and thought for a few seconds. “Do you play these kind of computer games?” She pointed to the joystick.
“Sure. I’m good at them. Can I try? Please?”
Cassie looked into the screen, at Avram and Jon. Both shrugged. She smiled at Ann. “Yes. Let me tell you what we have to do.”
CHAPTER 39
April 29, 11:12 a.m.
Bank of Trade headquarters,
Lakhani Centre, on I. I. Chundrigar Road,
Karachi, Pakistan
The fly remained suctioned on the ceiling. It had recorded everything: the user IDs and passwords of all twenty-six operations personnel and all four of the supervisors. Then, a piece of great good luck: the bank’s Vice President of Transfer Accounting dropped in to talk with the supervisors and, much to Ann’s delight, used the terminal in one of the offices, giving her the man’s user ID and password as a crowning touch. When the Vice President logged in, the fly was able to hack into the system and began transmitting all the files on the computer to the The Swiftshadow Group’s main server.
She smiled and handed the joystick to Cassie. “That was fun, Mom.”
Cassie looked at the screens that bore the images of Avram and Jon. “Are we good?”
Jon nodded. “Bloody well done.”
Avram also nodded. “Yah. We’ll contact you if there’s anything else. Thanks, Cassandra, Ann. Shimmel out.”
* * *
The assassins paced in Drapoff’s room. But no report of Mastoff’s death yet. Looking out the window of one of their rooms at the Copley Hotel on Boylston Street, Dushov shook his head. “We’d better report in.” He picked up his GNU Radio and dialed his contact, eight thousand miles away. After a short pause where he muttered passwords, code names, and countersigns, he heard the voice he wanted. “Aleph bet 11-72. Niner-eighty-six.”
The response was whispered back in code and the call terminated by the receiving party. Dushov scowled. “We’re done. Sanction is off. That was all the rope we were given. Let’s pack it up and get the fuck out of here.”
Drapoff cursed in Hebrew. “That piece of shit is still a danger to us while he breathes. What does the Prime Minister want to do now?”
Dushov shook his head. “I told you. Nothing. It’s too dangerous. He wants to leave. Now. Pack everything.”
CHAPTER 40
April 29, 5:32 p.m.
Montara Lighthouse,
newly incorporated city of Devil’s Slide, California
The fog had just started to roll in off the ocean as William Wing arrived at the home of Andrea and Dave Selman. He shivered as he exited the rental car. Sheesh, it’s chilly. Wait, isn’t that one of Ainsley’s verbal tics? He cursed, thinking he’d caught it, just like a disease. The house that contained the restaurant was squat, not well maintained, and downright ugly. It must be at least fifty years old, with moss on its ancient roof and walls of cracked stucco and flaking paint. He shook his head. Wasn’t she rich?
When he knocked on the heavy wood door, a cat’s meow answered. But no one came to the door. He looked at his watch. Lunch time on the West Coast. Damn. Don’t they run a restaurant? What’s its name? Can’t remember. He looked up and found the weathered sign: “Abdul’s Revenge, A Middle Eastern Eatery.” So, he was in the right place after all. But the sign proclaimed “Closed Mondays,” and he realized they might be anywhere today. He decided to sit on the front deck and wait. William Wing took a seat and faced the ocean, four hundred feet away. He thought how they owned a restaurant and here he—a friend—sat hungry. The sea pulsed rhythmically as waves pounded against the sand below the bluff. Tones of emerald green and gray.
He looked into the white blur of fog. As the afternoon passed, he read an ebook on computer technology on his cellphone. Hours passed and the gloomy sky left him colder. His looked at his wristwatch. He stood from his seat on their deck and bundled his coat tight around him. Sitting back down, eventually, his eyes closed and the ocean sang him to sleep.
He didn’t hear the car roll down the street. Three people got out. Dave opened the door for Andrea, and then for Sasha. But when Dave turned and saw a nondescript man in a raincoat facing away from them and sitting in one of their deckchairs, he motioned them to flatten against the ground.
Dave pulled a .22-caliber Beretta from his pocket and silently moved to the side of the house. He positioned himself along the dark back wall until he was less than ten feet from the intruder. He sighted the gun on the intruder’s head. “Whoever you are, get up slowly with your hands cupped on the top of your head. Now!”
“Huh?” Wing’s head bobbed up. He stared at Ainsley. “It’s Wing.”
Dave’s mouth fell open. “William? What are you doing here?”
Wing rose from the chair with his hands still clasped above his head. “I came for a couple of reasons. Of course to help you guys. I manufactured new identification papers for each of you. Three sets under different names. Avram asked me to do it. Can I put my hands down now?”
“Sheesh. Of course you can.” Lee walked to the house and unlocked the front door. “Come on in.”
* * *
Cassie listened to William as he weaved a story of what Avram had been up to. She picked up the envelope he’d dropped on the table.
“And here are the ones for your current identities. They should be good for a while at least. Shimmel asked me how the facial surgery went, but I can see it worked well.” William stared at the now tiny blotch on Cassie’s cheek. “I never would have recognized you. Scar is still there though. But much less prominent.” He smiled nervously.
“Yeah. Uh, William, you can drive the tunnel on Highway 1 through Devil’s Slide and get to the airport from there, but why not stay with us?” She pointed up the staircase. “We’ve a guest bedroom.”
He shook his head. “No. Too dangerous for you to have me seen here. I took a hotel room in Menlo Park. At the Stanford Park.”
“Then let me make you some coffee. In your body it’s after three in the morning.” She walked with him into the kitchen.
“Oh, and the other reason I came. I’ve some news. Important, good news. More visitors to your area. See, Shimmel is getting married. He liked the Montara lighthouse setting so much he wants to use it. I believe he wants to chase away Natasha’s ghost. Oh, and me too. It’ll be a double wedding. Syl and me are tying the knot.”
Cassie’s thoughts were objections. I speak with Mom’s spirit every day. Please, not there. Seconds passed in silence. She shrugged and a grin appeared and widened. Even Ann’s head rose from her notebook computer. “I’m so pleased. But it will be too dangerous for us to attend.”
Wing shook his head. “Nope, not at all. Your restaurant is catering. You’ll serve in disguise. No one will recognize you, Cassie.”
She thought, he called me by my old name. Others who recognize me might also, and word might leak back. She wondered about this, but nodded. They would disguise themselves for the wedding reception. Armed with the new identities, disguised, what could go wrong?
CHAPTER 41
May 1, 2:11 p.m.
Montara Lighthouse,
Highway 1, Devil’s Slide, California
The small group sat in seats facing the ocean. Near the cliff there was a hedge of jasmine that worked its way from two large pots to meet at its center, forming a flower bower. A rabbi stood there waiting as organ music sounded Pachelbel’s Canon in D minor, punctuated by the sound of hummingbirds feeding off the flowers.
There was another couple dressed similarly, much younger, already standing there, having walked the identical path minutes before. The two stood on opposite flanks of the rabbi.
The rabbi wore a white robe topped by fringed blue-and-white tallit, a Jewish prayer shawl, around his shoulders. Wind threatened to blow his cap, a bulbous yarmulke, off his head. He used one hand to hold it on, and the other to hold an opened prayer book. “Welcome. I am here with all of you for this joyous occasion, and to be sure, there are few so wonderous as the one we are here to experience today.” He scanned the audience.
Near the highway exit to the lighthouse men in uniforms toted guns. But no one seemed to be anxious about this. And some adjacent the bluffside cliff were also armed. The rabbi gulped. But he continued the service. It went on for nearly twenty minutes. And when he said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” both couples exchanged first wedding kisses.
The bar and the buffet table were operated by servers, ten of them, wearing costume ball masks covering their faces. One of them, a tall athletic woman, brought drinks around. The masked man behind the bar mixed drinks as fast as he could to keep up with her deliveries. A masked girl brought appetizers around to the guests.
The masked woman touched the arms of the four who’d just been married. “Congratulations. I’m glad you chose a venue my family could attend.”
Avram Shimmel smiled. “My greatest pleasure. Ach, what a day.”
William Wing giggled. “Wow. I’d never have thought I could be so happy.”