“Have you compromised this company in any way?” Stacy asked, undoubtedly dissatisfied with his answer.
“No, of course not,” Kyle said. “Is this an inquisition, Tom?” Kyle knew Tom hated to be called by his first name in front of the others, which was why he did it. It was a cheap shot, but felt good nonetheless.
“No, we’re calling all of your team in for questioning.”
Kyle’s eyes widened. “You’re joking?”
“No,” Stacy said plainly. “Not at all. It’s in the best interest of the company that we learn all the facts.”
“Tom sat through the entire FBI investigation along with Kurt,” Kyle pointed out.
“True, but our questions are more specific.”
“How many have you interviewed already?” Kyle asked.
“Ten, in all,” Tom offered, evidently proud of his achievement.
Kyle felt agitated, but didn’t want to flare up in front of an audience. They would know they got the best of him, and he could do without that for the time being. He was outnumbered, evidently as they had hoped and planned.
“And have you learned anything new?” Kyle asked.
“We cannot say at this time.” Curtis answered, in true managerial fashion. Hoard the information until it became strategically prudent to do otherwise.
“Then why am I sitting here?” Kyle asked, his gaze trained solely on Tom.
Tom regained the lead once more. “We thought if you were holding out on the FBI, you were doing so to protect the company. If that’s the case, then we’d like to know about it.”
“Okay,” Kyle said, “but know this – my intent is to protect Charlie’s family and his reputation. If the company’s protected in the process, then great. Understood?”
Everyone was silent.
“I believe Charlie stumbled onto foreign code embedded in the software we provide to our customers.”
“Can you elaborate?” Stacy asked.
Kyle fought the urge to laugh. A woman whose entire existence rested on her ability to create documents no one could understand was now asking him to clarify a statement. Kyle obliged. “We have a virus.”
“A virus?” Paul repeated. It was his only contribution to the conversation, and would likely be his last.
“Not really a virus, but alien code strategically planted.”
“How long have you known?”
“I suspected yesterday, and received confirmation just before this meeting. Now we’re trying to break the code and see what it’s doing.”
“Who else is working on this besides yourself?” Tom asked.
“One of my teammates,” Kyle said. “Everyone else is buried with HSI deadlines.”
“Who’s the other teammate?” Tom asked again.
“Robert,” Curtis blurted out. “Right?”
Kyle nodded, amazed Curtis figured it out on his own.
“You should have reported this to Curtis immediately,” Tom scolded.
“Reported what? A hunch?”
Curtis diverted the conversation. “Do you know how, or who, infected our systems?”
Kyle shook his head, quickly deciding not to mention Robert’s call to two other banks to get their base numbers. “Not a clue. We just now found out how to identify which programs are infected. It’s a sure bet someone in the organization is responsible.”
Curtis nodded in agreement.
“Have you discussed this with anyone else?” Stacy asked, frantically scribbling notes on a legal pad.
“Robert, naturally. He also contacted one of our customers.”
Tom’s face blossomed to a rosy red. “What?”
Stacy’s eyes seemed to freeze in their sockets before she regained her ability to speak. “He had no authority.”
“I gave him the authority,” Kyle said. Robert made that move independently, but Kyle decided to take the responsibility. “I needed his help to figure out what’s going on.”
“Do you realize the position you placed this company in by doing that?” Tom asked rhetorically. “Now that you’ve let the cat out of the bag, so to speak, we could be held liable.”
“What you’re saying is you’ve lost the opportunity to sweep it under the rug?”
“That’s enough, Kyle,” Curtis said.
“Who’s the customer?” Stacy asked.
“Morgan Weir, Peoples Fiduciary Bank of Kentucky.”
“Anyone else?” Tom demanded.
Kyle shook his head. “No one else directly. Not even the FBI. At least not yet.”
“I want a full disclosure statement from you by close of business,” Stacy ordered, then added, “signed and dated.”
“I want a copy as well,” Curtis said.
Kyle shrugged. “Maybe I should just publish it on the web so everyone can get a look.”
“You can drop the attitude,” Curtis admonished.
“Pardon me, but it wasn’t your best friend who lost his life because he stumbled onto something he wasn’t meant to.”
Tom broke a momentary silence. “We’re all sorry for what happened to Charlie. But the FBI did find illegal drugs in his office.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Which was conveniently planted. Even Norm believes that now.”
“Perhaps,” Tom said softly, “but we can’t simply ignore it, now can we?”
“Are we done here?” Kyle asked to no one in particular.
They all looked around to one another, then Tom answered. “I want you to report here later this afternoon.”
“Fine,” Kyle snapped, standing up.
“I also want Robert to report any new findings to Curtis.”
“Agreed,” Kyle said.
“You may go.”
All eyes were on Kyle as he walked to the door, turned and looked back at the accusing stares. “Listen, you may not believe this, but I’m not the bad guy here. I’m trying to find out who killed Charlie, and when I do, I’ll also discover who’s screwing around with this company.”
“That’s not your responsibility,” Tom said, the others in silent agreement. “It’s a security issue. Leave that to Kurt.”
Kyle left without another word.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I don’t trust him,” Rudy told the others.
They were all seated around the conference table at the FBI office on Silver, Norm at the head of the table working the VCR remote, with Rudy to his left. Norm had showed them the tape twice in an attempt to gain consensus among the group, but it was becoming more contentious as fervent opinions flew back and forth across the table.
“He’s hiding something,” Cory said. “I’ve been watching him for almost two days, and I think he’s keeping something from us. The fact he took off in the middle of the night proves it.”
Norm let out a weary sigh as he rewound the tape once again, stopping at the main point of controversy. The hidden camera caught most of the conference room and virtually all of Kyle. Norm had played it for the other agents in the room to determine if Kyle was indeed hiding something, but he was slowly coming to the conclusion that there were more questions than answers. Sitting next to Rudy was Cory Churchman, and at the end of the table, nursing a Pepsi, sat Eric Lucero. Both had been assigned to watch Kyle.
Norm stopped the tape and hit the play button.
Norm: “I could arrest you now for obstruction of justice, interference with an ongoing FBI investigation, and perhaps a few other things if I put my mind to it.”
Kyle: “You can do that. I’ll call my lawyer and be out of here by this afternoon. Tell me, have you informed the director, or even the deputy director, about FBI imposters running around Albuquerque?”
Norm: “Is that a threat?”
Kyle: “Think of it as a guarantee. I figured you’re keeping this out of the papers for a reason. Who knows, I might even stroll on over to the office of the CIA and tell them this whole, sordid story. They might see an opportunity here, don’t you think?”
Norm: “You’re h
iding something, Kyle.”
Kyle: “Wasn’t it you who said, just a few moments ago in fact, that the truth usually surfaces, given time? So, if I’m really hiding something, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Norm hit the stop button, turning to his agents.
“He’s too smug,” Eric said. “I think I’m actually starting to like the guy.”
Cory smiled, glancing over at Eric. “You would.”
“Look at what the guy’s been through in the last couple of days, man.” Eric took another sip of Pepsi and continued. “His friend got shot, his business was invaded by people posing as us and then we come along and do basically the same thing. We enter his house in the middle of the night and then drag him downtown the next day. Who wouldn’t be smug?”
“That’s the real question here – where the hell did he go last night?” Rudy inquired forcefully, eyeing Eric closely.
Cory spoke up. “I was the one following him. It’s virtually impossible to keep up with that motorbike of his.”
“Do you think he was evading you on purpose?” Norm asked. He’d asked before, but wasn’t satisfied with Cory’s response.
“I’m not sure. It could go either way.”
The door swung open as Vivian Storey walked through, a stack of papers in one hand and a cigarette dangling from her lips. She had bright red hair that hung to her lower back and a forcefulness Norm admired. She took the empty seat on Norm’s right and began tossing document copies around the table.
“Guess what,” she said, a triumphant grin painted across her face. “Kyle Randall isn’t Kyle Randall.”
“What?” Norm exclaimed.
A grin spread across Rudy’s face. “I knew it!”
Vivian continued as she handed out the final copy to Rudy. “His real name’s Drew Meyers. Here’s the kicker – he’s in the witness relocation program.”
“He’s a protected witness?” Cory asked.
“Yep, his entire family. You ready for the next bombshell?” she asked the group, knowing full well she held everyone’s attention. “Drew Meyers isn’t his name either.”
“What is?” Rudy asked, thumbing through the pages.
“Don’t know,” Vivian said. “Drew Meyers was the first identity he assumed under the program when he was just ten. The file has no mention of his original name, which is understandable.”
“What on earth could a twelve-year-old have witnessed that would warrant all this?” Norm asked, reading through page one.
“If you turn to page two it gives the details. Kyle’s father, Douglas Meyers at the time, had prior connections to organized crime in New York. He got religious one day and decided he wanted out and then quickly discovered he was in too deep. The man had a large family – five daughters, a wife and one son, who we know as Kyle. He contacted the FBI in the early eighties, in return for federal protection, and agreed to implicate over a dozen individuals high in the crime family. The FBI, of course, jumped at the chance, and five out of the twelve are still serving time. The FBI moved him and his entire family, all with new identities, to upstate New York. They wanted to relocate him out west, but the father refused. It worked out okay for a couple of years until Douglas made a phone call to an old friend of the family. Two months later he’s shot dead on the street. The FBI report says there was a contract on his entire family, so they agreed to relocate them to Albuquerque, and they’ve been here ever since. The mother lives in Edgewood with one of the daughters and the rest are scattered around the city, except for his youngest sister, Jacqueline, who’s currently enrolled at Pepperdine in Malibu.”
“I guess he was hiding something after all,” Norm said.
“But is that all he’s hiding?” Cory asked.
“It doesn’t explain why he skipped out in the middle of the night,” Eric added.
Rudy turned, looking directly at Norm. “Or why he’s uncooperative and hostile.”
“I think I can explain,” Vivian said. “If you flip to page 30, you’ll see they conducted interviews with each family member. The interviewing agent, a Greg Pieart, wrote that Kyle placed the blame of his father’s death on the shoulders of the FBI. He even took a swing at an agent, if you can believe that.”
“I can,” Rudy said. “Maybe he’s following in his father’s footsteps.”
Norm passed Rudy a hard, long look. “Explain yourself.”
“Simple, really. His father was, at one time, involved in organized crime. Kyle blames the FBI and becomes bitter. Maybe he decides to get even by taking on the old role of his father, and at this stage of life he’s in a position where he has direct access to bank computers.”
“And how do the FBI imposters fit into all this? Kyle’s already on the inside, why take the risk?”
“To throw suspicion off himself. Same as the drugs in Charlie’s cube.”
“That’s another thing,” Eric said. “Why would he kill his best friend?”
“Think about it,” Rudy continued, on a roll. “His father sold out a dozen of his former associates, probably even close friends. We’ve seen it all before. The Family has no friends, remember?”
“You’re stretching,” Norm said. “It’s likely Kyle was only protecting his family by keeping it a secret.”
“Maybe,” Rudy consented, obviously not buying into Norm’s conclusions. “But are we willing to take the risk?”
Norm thought for a second, Rudy’s gaze fixed on him, along with everyone else. It was his call, and he didn’t want to make the wrong one. “It’s still our responsibility to protect his identity,” he informed everyone.
“Granted,” Rudy said, “but it doesn’t make him immune from prosecution if a crime has been or is about to be committed.”
Norm turned to Vivian. “Who’s watching Kyle right now?”
“Ellis.”
“See where Kyle is at the moment.”
Vivian pulled out a cell phone, punching at the numbers. There was a moment of silence then she spoke in a low voice, raising her head toward Norm. “Kyle’s on Alameda headed toward Corrales. Ellis is a couple cars behind and believes Kyle’s on his way to lunch.”
“When Kyle reaches his destination, have Ellis pick him up. Once that’s done, have him contact you on your phone.”
Vivian nodded and delivered the instructions, snapping the phone closed and returning it to her purse.
Norm looked around the room, all faces on him. “We do this my way, no questions asked. Understood?”
Everyone nodded simultaneously in agreement, an indelible smile forming across Rudy’s face as he hurried out of the conference room ahead of the others.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kyle spotted the dark sedan as he turned from Jefferson onto Alameda, heading west toward Cottonwood Mall, where lunch awaited at the Cajun Grill. He had spent the last couple of hours documenting as much as he could to honor Stacy’s request, but downplayed parts of Robert’s findings, and omitted others altogether, such as the smart card. If Tom or any of his clan panicked based on his report, it could cause as much trouble as having fake FBI agents running around or even the existence of virus code itself. He had seen management run off half-cocked before.
Kyle crossed Second Street, the dark sedan a couple of cars behind. He wondered if they knew he knew he was being followed, or even cared at this point. He wasn’t certain if they were watching him or protecting him. He caught the red light on Fourth and had to wait. Traffic piled up far behind and he could see the black car in his mirror, only the driver inside. When the light changed, Kyle flooded the gas and bolted ahead of everyone else, looking in the mirror again. The agent was pinned in a group of cars that were not moving. Kyle grinned. People in Albuquerque were notorious for stopping anywhere or turning from the middle lanes, or simply sitting at a green arrow.
Kyle slowed to the speed limit, checking left and right for any sign of police. The stretch of Alameda between Fourth and Rio Grande Boulevard was a known speed trap, four entire lanes treated
in the eyes of the law as a residential area.
Kyle caught the next red light. As he sat behind an eighteen-wheeler, he took another glance in the mirror. A few cars were pulled up on him and to his right, but none were black sedans driven by his friends at the Bureau. Kyle didn’t immediately notice the opening car door to his right, his view hindered by the helmet, but when the man crossed the path of the rearview mirror he turned. Two men were on either side of him, one jabbing him in the side. He looked down and saw a pistol clutched in one of the men’s hands, the end of the barrel buried against Kyle’s coat. The one holding the pistol looked him in the eye. He was Hispanic, hair long and pulled straight back, with dark brown eyes.
“Hop off, Kyle,” the man holding the gun said.
The man on Kyle’s right nudged him off the motorcycle, the other guy pressing the gun deeper into Kyle’s side. Kyle eased himself off the seat as the other man, the one without a gun, jumped on, revving the engine a few times.
“This way.”
The man pushed Kyle into the car. It was a Buick LeSabre and Kyle was sure he hadn’t seen it parked outside his house in the last couple of days. He got in and was scooted to the middle, sliding against a man sitting at the far door. The man with the gun climbed in behind Kyle, tapping the driver’s shoulder as Kyle removed his helmet.
The light changed and the car started moving. Kyle glanced out the back window and spotted the stranger on his motorcycle, following close behind the LeSabre. The FBI agent was nowhere in sight; this time Kyle wished he was.
“What is this?” Kyle asked.
The man held the gun up enough for Kyle to see. “Shut up.”
He looked at all three men, one on either side of him and the driver up front. None had been among the imposter FBI agents he’d seen on Tuesday.
“Did you kill Charlie?”
No answer.
They drove to Coors Boulevard and made a left, passing Cottonwood Mall heading south. They didn’t talk to each other, much less to Kyle. He peeked behind him occasionally to see if the man on his motorcycle was still following. He was close on the car’s tail. They finally turned west on Montano, the car climbing a long hill, passing residential areas, heading toward the petroglyphs. Kyle knew the area well. He had ridden dirt bikes with Charlie and a few others to the top of the petroglyphs and beyond, ten miles or so west into the heart of the desert where the Rio Puerco riverbed offered some of the best riding around.
Stratagems Page 15