Hacker For Hire (Ted Higuera Series Book 2)

by Wallace, Pendelton

  “That’s great. Price Slashers will be one of our biggest clients.” Julie followed Donna into her office, note pad in hand. “I have a whole stack of messages for you.”

  Donna didn’t believe in voice mail. In a high tech world, in a high tech business, she insisted a human being answer the phone by at least the third ring.

  The personal touch is what made DigiGuard Security a rising star in the high tech industry. That and the fact that DigiGuard was the first company with an inoculation for the Armageddon virus, the biggest, baddest virus to ever hit the Internet.

  “You got a call from Tony in accounting that you should return. He’s a little concerned about cash flow.” Julie always gave the bad news first. “Then you’ve got a call from Mrs. Clarke at Millennium Systems. She wants to know how the investigation’s coming.”

  Alison Clarke was Donna’s biggest and newest client. If they did a good job for MS, it would open the door for a bunch of new clients.

  “I’ll call Alison first.” Donna compulsively rearranged the fresh-cut daisies on her desk. “We need to keep her happy.”

  The phone rang. Both Donna and Julie looked at the blinking lights on Donna’s desk phone.

  “That’s your private line.” Julie said.

  The caller ID said “Northwest Janitorial Services.”

  “Close the door. You answer the call.” Donna picked up the remote control and flipped on the plasma TV on her wall. She quickly switched from CNN to a soap opera and turned up the volume.

  “Yeah. . .” Julie shouted into the phone. “Who is this?” She did a good job of making her voice sound old.

  Donna smiled. Julie would make a great old battle-axe someday.

  “No, this is her mom. What d’ ya want?”

  Julie listened for a moment.

  “Yeah, she’s here. She’s in the can. You’ll have to wait for her. Hold on. BEEEEETTY!” Julie turned and shouted towards Donna. Her face nearly cracked open with a grin.

  Betty Johnson, Donna’s secret identity at Northwest Janitorial Services, was a recovering drug addict who lived with her dotty mother. Mom nipped at the cooking sherry a little too often and usually got her messages either garbled or forgot to give them to Betty altogether. That way, Donna only had to answer the messages she wanted.

  After waiting an appropriately long time, Donna took the phone from Julie.

  “This is Betty.”

  “Hi, Betty, this is Paula.”

  Donna’s boss at NWJ was ninety-percent bitch and ten-percent sweetheart. When she needed something, she turned on the sugar and honey.

  “Listen, sweetie, I need a favor. Shu called in sick today. Can you cover her tonight?”

  Donna couldn’t work, her son had a play tonight.

  “I’m sorry, Paula. I’ve already got plans. Don’t you have anyone else?”

  “Honey, you know I wouldn’t call you unless I’d already tried everyone else. You’re my go-to girl. When no one else can make it, I know you’ll always come through for me, so I don’t ask unless there’s no one else.”

  What bullshit. Donna was the first one Paula would call.

  “What would I be doing tonight?” She usually didn’t work her night job on Thursdays.

  “It’s a little different. You’ll be doing the accounting department. It’s no big deal, except for Mr. Schmidt’s office.”

  Jackson Schmidt was Millennium System’s CFO.

  “He’s pretty picky.” Paula’s husky, cigarette-scarred voice grated on Donna. “But you’ve been doing Mr. Metcalf’s office and no one is pickier than Mr. Metcalf.”

  Donna thought for a minute. She needed to get to Schmidt’s office. She hadn’t been in there before. But Billy’s play . . .

  “OK, Paula. I’ll do it. But I’ll probably be a little late. Can I start at around nine?” At least she could take Billy to dinner before his play.

  “Honey, you can come in whenever you want. You’re one of the few people I can count on to do a good job. I tell you, good help is so hard to find now a days.”

  Damn. She was going to disappoint Billy again. She was a horrible mother.

  Donna hung up and turned off the TV. “Jules, tell Andy that I’m going to need another mini DVR tonight. And get Bill on the phone. I need to tell him I can’t come home tonight.”

  Well, they were just going to have to deal with it. This is what paid for the iPhones and X-boxes.

  ****

  Ted heard Candace’s Porsche Cayenne SUV pull into the driveway. He took a hit off his bottle of Corona and went to the front room to greet his guests. His guests? He didn’t live here anymore. Well, they were his dinner guests anyway.

  He took a quick glance at the mirror above the stone fireplace. He pointed a finger at his image, dropped his thumb like the imaginary hammer on a pistol, made a clicking sound and winked at himself. “You good looking dog, you, don’t you ever die.”

  He already saw some of Sarah’s influence making its way into the house. A pair of pink yard flamingos flanked the fireplace.

  “Ted-meister, look what I found.” Sarah burst through the door and tossed her tan rain jacket on the couch.

  “Lookin’ good, hermanita.” Ted continued to be amazed by Sarah’s transformation. It was hard to believe that this was Chris’ Goth little sister. A petite brunette, she turned out to be quite a looker.

  She was followed through the door by Chris in his wheelchair, pushed by Harry.

  “Hey, dude, good to have you home.” Ted bent down and gave his friend a big abrazo.

  “What’s this shit about you moving out?” Chris winced, then sat rigid at Ted’s hug.

  “I thought it was time, dude. Sarah wanted to move in, and after all, this is your Dad’s house.”

  “You could have talked to me first. You couldn’t have let me know? Didn’t I get a vote in this decision?”

  Before Ted had a chance to respond, Oscar bounded across the room and leapt into Chris’ lap with a loud meow.

  “Hey, it’s good to see you too, little man.” Chris ran his hands through Oscar’s silky fur and scratched his ears.

  “Meeoooow.”

  You little whore. Ted heard the loud purrs. You’ll go with anyone.

  “Teddy, I hear you’ve got a treat for us.” Candace embraced Ted.

  She was at least an inch taller than Ted, but with her ever-present heels, she towered over him. The hug felt good, her breasts pushed into Ted’s collarbone. She was one hell of a woman. Ted felt a tingle where he shouldn’t have. He pulled away before he hardened too much.

  “Anybody hungry? I got tacos al pastor on the grill.”

  The crowd moved to the kitchen where Sarah grabbed beers from the ancient white Frigidaire for everyone.

  “Man, I haven’t had a home cooked meal since I can’t remember when.” Chris rolled up to the heavy old kitchen table. “Even if it was cooked by my EX-roommate.”

  “Be cool, dude.” Ted stepped out to the porch and lifted his masterpiece off the grill. “Check this out.” He had trimmed the spitted meat as it cooked, each time applying a new layer of adobado sauce. The aluminum drip pan was piled with little pieces of meat, onion and pineapple. The meat remaining on the spit was only a few inches around.

  “It smells amazing, Ted.” Harry twisted the lid off of his Corona and reached for a lime slice from the bowl on the table.

  “This is my specialty. For special occasions.” Ted removed a pottery dish from the oven and set it on the table. “Frijoles refritos. Vegetarian-style for Candace.” He poured Mexican rice from a saucepan into another pottery dish. “Mama’s special arroz, also meat-free. And here,” he took a round Styrofoam container from the Formica-topped counter, “are the tortillas.”

  The group crowded around the table. “You make your tacos like this.” Ted grabbed a four-inch corn tortilla from the Styrofoam container. “Put a little meat on it, then some cilantro, then a little onion. If you like, there’s guacamole, salsa and sour cream.”
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br />   “Ted, this looks delicious.” Sarah spooned the pork onto a tortilla. “I’ve never had anything like this before.”

  “Okay, so I get that you’re moving out.” Chris said. “At least tell me how things are at your new job.”

  “I’m starting at the bottom, but the pay’s good.”

  “What do they have you doing?” Harry helped himself to another tortilla.

  “It’s highly confidential. I had to sign non-disclosure agreements and all that, but I can say that I’m doing a series of penetration tests for a local business.”

  “At least you’ve been doing something since we got back from Canada.” Chris stopped in mid-bite. “It beats the hell out of lying around a hospital room for a month.”

  Was Chris actually jealous of him? For their entire relationship Chris had always been the have. Ted was the have-not.

  “Not really. It’s a low-level task for a junior employee. They’re paying me to hack into some sleaze’s system. That’s me, Hacker for Hire.”

  “Some sleaze?” Chris raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, this jerk owns a chain of strip clubs.”

  “Strip clubs?” Chris slammed his Corona bottle down on the table. He winced at the movement. “Jesus Christ, Ted. You’d complain if they hanged you with a new rope. How do I get that assignment?”

  “It’s not that glamorous, dude. I’ve been locked in an office for two weeks trying to hack his system. I’ve probably said too much already.”

  “I can understand that.” Harry said. “In a law firm, it’s all about trust. We have to guard attorney-client privilege all the time.”

  “So tell them about your new apartment.” Sarah broke in.

  “I rented a place in one of those new buildings in South Lake Union. It’s not much to get excited about. It’s just a studio-loft.” Ted sprinkled cilantro on his taco. “The whole neighborhood is changing. Everywhere you look they’re putting up new buildings.”

  “That’s one of Paul Allen’s new buildings,” Harry said. “He and Jack Metcalf are transforming that neighborhood. Metcalf is obsessed with building a bio-tech corridor there.”

  “Jack Metcalf?” Chris asked. “That name sounds familiar.”

  “He’s on Forbes list of the 10 richest men in America. He’s the chairman of the board at Millennium Systems, and hopefully a new client.”

  “Dad, you’ve got to see Ted’s view.” Sara bubbled over with excitement. “He got a top floor apartment that looks out over the lake. You can see the Space Needle and Queen Anne. At night you can see all the lights reflecting off of the water.”

  “I’m pretty pleased with it.” Ted took a pull from his long neck. “I’ve never lived in a new building before.”

  “And Teddy’s thinking about a new car.” Sarah picked up the dirty dishes and carried them over to the sink. “It feels like we’re all starting new lives.”

  “What kind of car?” Harry asked.

  “Oh, I’m just thinkin’.” Ted pushed back his wayward lock of black hair. “I’ve been patching that old Mitsubishi together for so long that I don’t think it has any original parts left. It should have a “Made in the USA” label on it.” Ted paused to down a swig of Corona, then said in a low voice, “I was kinda lookin’ at a Beemer.”

  “A BMW?” Beer spewed from Chris’ mouth. “First a fancy new apartment, now a new car. What happened to the poor kid from the barrio?”

  Ted shot him an icy look.

  “You must be making pretty good money at YTS,” Chris continued.

  “The pay’s good enough. Somehow it just doesn’t feel right though. I want to do more than protect some strip club owner’s data.”

  “That’s just a load of bullshit to make you feel better about your job.”

  Ted looked at his friend. This wasn’t good. Nothing had ever come between them before.

  “Hey, bro, I’m just thinkin’.”

  Chapter 5

  The Pegasus slid easily through the waves. The mega-yacht was performing beautifully. Yves Bohier sat in the sky lounge, put his feet up on the teak coffee table and stared off into the blue. They were two days out of Manila on a passage to LA. Captain Evans assured Yves that it would be a smooth voyage. The Pacific high was expected to hold for at least another week.

  “Mr. Bohier,” Captain Evans shouted back from the bridge deck. “We’ve got something on long-range radar.”

  Yves walked into the pilot house. “And this is an issue because?”

  “It looks funny. Two bogies. Coming in hot and fast. That’s not an airliner.”

  “Bring the defensive systems on-line.” Yves scanned the sky to the west.

  Evans took a key from his pocket and unlocked a locker next to the steering wheel. He flipped a red switch and a series of green lights came on. Alarms rang throughout the vessel. Men grabbed life jackets and helmets and scrambled to their action stations.

  “All systems are hot.”

  Evans was a good man, a former US Navy Seal. Like all the rest of Yves crew, a good man to have in a pinch.

  “Yves, what ees it?” A tiny French woman, wearing a steward’s uniform entered the pilot house.

  “We have company, Elise. Fighter jets.”

  Yves had always known that this would happen someday. He had lived this long because he was always prepared.

  “Go to top speed.”

  Evans touched a starter button. A whine emitted from deep within the bowels of the ship as the gas-turbine engines wound up. The Pegasus surged forward. Evans cut the diesels. At the speeds they would be traveling, propellers were totally inefficient and added drag. Aqua-jets now drove the Pegasus, the props folded up into a hydrodynamic shape.

  “Jean-Paul,” Yves noticed that his security chief had taken his station at the weapons console without a word. “What is the status?”

  “They’re a hundred and ten klicks out and closing fast.”

  “Prepare to take evasive action. Jean-Paul, are you ready?”

  “Roger that.”

  Evans rotated the wheel. The one hundred and forty-foot yacht spun on her keel. It flew through the water at seventy-five knots. The turn was so sharp that the lee rail dipped under water.

  “The bogies are changing course to intercept.”

  “We can’t out run them and we can’t out maneuver them.” A menacing grin spread over Yves face. “It is a pity we are going to have to destroy them. Jean-Paul.”

  “I have ignition. The lead jet just fired two missiles.”

  “Kindly return the favor.”

  Jean-Paul pushed a red button. The fiberglass cover blew off the afterdeck and two SAM missile launchers popped into position.

  “Fire.”

  A burst of white smoke blasted from each launcher and the missiles took off like homesick angels.

  “Now, fire the chaff.”

  With the SAMS launched, Jean-Paul fired two canisters into the air. They exploded at two thousand feet, raining down aluminum chaff to distract the incoming missiles.

  Evans didn’t need to be told to alter course. The Pegasus again leaned into a sharp turn and made as much distance between herself and the chaff as possible.

  The incoming missiles flew through the chaff and struck the water harmlessly.

  A fire ball exploded in the sky above them. Pieces of the fighter jet rained down.

  “Splash one jet jock.” Evans smirked.

  Too soon.

  The other F-16 roared out of the fireball and climbed vertically. Yves could see the red Maple Leaf on its side as it passed. The jet wheeled over into a dive. Two missiles launched.

  “Fire chaff,” Yves screamed.

  It was too late. The jet was too close. The missiles streaked through the chaff and right at the mega-yacht.

  The Pegasus was engulfed in a ball of flames. A dark mushroom cloud erupted from the ship.

  The jet resumed its course, by itself.

  ****

  After several weeks of rain, Ted was gra
teful to see the late afternoon sun. Seattle was enjoying an Indian summer. He pulled on his light jacket and slipped out the office door. The baby blue sky was dotted with puffy white clouds. He had to grab all the vitamin D he could, it was only late September and already the sun was setting earlier. In a couple of months, he’d be going to work and coming home in darkness.

  YTS’ offices, located in a refurbished brick building on Yesler Way, were only a couple of blocks off of Pioneer Square.

  Ted loved Pioneer Square. This was the heart of Old Seattle, built after the Great Fire back in the 1800’s sometime. The place was now a tourist attraction alive with restaurants, night spots, comedy clubs and tourist traps. This was where the twenty-something yuppies hung out.

  Tonight was not a hangout night for Ted though, tomorrow was a work day. He walked two blocks to First and Yesler and waited for his bus. In a few minutes the MT66 pulled up to the stop.

  “Hey, Hero.” The bearded bus driver wouldn’t let Ted forget.

  “Hey, right back atcha, Garry. How’s the wife?”

  “Doin’ better, thanks.”

  Ted made his way to the back of the bus and pulled the sports page out of the Seattle Times. His Huskies had lost their second straight game to open the season.

  He let his mind wander. This was the first fall since he was nine years old that he hadn’t donned his pads and helmet. Football was his game. A football scholarship at the University of Washington had been his ticket out of the barrio.

  Ted finished the sports page, neatly folded it and put it back in the paper. He hadn’t played a starter’s role, but at least he’d graduated. His BS in computer science had been his entré to the job at YTS.

  Traffic was heavy. The bus stopped and started. People got on and off. A large black woman took the seat next to Ted. He felt like he was being crushed by an avalanche of flesh.

  He opened the front page and scanned down the international stories. Then it caught his eye.

  “French Yacht Disappears at Sea” the headline shouted. He read the article. The Pegasus had disappeared off the coast of the Philippines. There was no trace of survivors. The owner of the mega-yacht, multi-millionaire French businessman Yves Bohier, was presumed lost.