Kyle laughed as he walked out of his office for the last time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“What the hell’s taking so long?” Dwight demanded, pacing the floor.
“It takes a while to go through each program,” Santiago answered. “Give the guy a chance.”
Santiago returned to the warehouse with the disk Rene provided and gave it to Ian Reyes for evaluation. Ian had been a programmer for IBM in Dallas for three years, before getting caught selling company software out of the back of his car. He was fired immediately and had been unemployed for two months when Dwight picked him up with an offer to retire at an early age. His talent and lack of morals made him the most qualified for the job.
Dwight paced the floor as Santiago slouched in his chair, fiddling with a deck of cards. They looked like expectant fathers waiting for the birth of their children, but Dwight considered this to be much more serious. He had threatened Kyle without knowing how much Kyle had already learned, and it was down to the proverbial moment of truth.
The door opened and Ian emerged from the other room, a computer stationed at the far corner.
“Well?” asked Dwight, eager to hear good news.
“They’re close,” he said. “They seem to be building on Charlie’s work. If they are successful, they’ll have a program that can scan for our virus. That means they can ship the scanner to each bank and have them run it against their applications, and it will tell them exactly which ones are infected.”
“Shit!” Dwight yelled. “You said they’re close?”
“They could have a finished product within a day or two. But there’s more. It appears they’ve figured out a couple of the account numbers. One for sure. Peoples Fiduciary Bank of Kentucky.”
“Dammit,” Dwight screamed. “How’d they manage that?”
Ian took a seat, stretching his legs. “It appears they had a server that wasn’t on our list. The compiled code came up different. Someone caught it, probably Charlie, then one thing led to another.”
“Kyle’s not working alone,” Dwight said. “According to our source, one of Kyle’s employees, Robert Preston, has taken Charlie’s place.”
“I thought you told Kyle to back off?” Ian said.
“They figured this out before I threatened him,” Dwight admitted. “But perhaps we need to ask Mr. Randall to do more than simply back off. We have enough on him to demand more. Maybe he can hinder or even squelch Allied’s effort.” Dwight moved behind Santiago, leaning close to his ear. “Maybe you can have your contact inside Allied do the same thing. Sabotage any effort to uncover our code.”
“I know this girl,” Santiago said, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Dwight who was pacing around the room. “She’ll want more money.”
“Give it to her. It’s peanuts by comparison.”
“What if Kyle and Robert meet with a little accident,” Ian said, walking over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. “It worked with Charlie.”
“The FBI would invade Allied like Normandy. They’d call in their tech boys from Savannah and that would be it.”
“Not necessarily,” Santiago said. “Keep in mind that the FBI, or at least a section of it, is funding this little venture. I think we should pull Rudy Kain in on this. He ordered us to inform him of anything new, so why not give him a shot. Maybe the feds he reports to have something better to offer if they see their operation is about to blow up in their faces.”
Dwight smiled, his heart filled with pure exultation at the suggestion. “I like it. It not only takes care of Kyle and the local FBI but smooths things over with Rudy as well. It has tremendous possibilities. How many more days until payday?”
“Twenty-four,” Santiago said. “What about the girl?”
“Rene? Pay her to keep you informed of any new developments. If cooperating with Rudy Kain falls through, we may ask more of her.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kyle stepped out into the sunlight, the last few years of his life stuffed into one small box which he somehow had to manage on his motorcycle. There was a light chill in the air, but it felt good to be out of Allied nonetheless. He turned and looked back one last time, not sure if it was really happening, but rather a dream he would wake from and laugh about at the next team meeting. Charlie had been killed on Monday night, Kyle had somehow survived through Tuesday, and now Wednesday, and still no word of Charlie’s funeral. And he hadn’t talked to Beth since the first day, feeling guilt creep into his heart. He made a mental note to give her a call when things settled down a bit, knowing it would be a long call. Then again, maybe he’d just go over to see her at her mom’s.
Kyle turned and headed for his motorcycle, wondering how he’d manage the box and keep it steady while at the same time steer the handlebars. As he climbed on, one of the dark sedans he had seen so much of lately pulled up next to him. A man in a suit stepped out of the passenger side and opened the back door, looking to Kyle.
“Mr. Randall, if you please.”
“Oh, for the love of…you have to be joking,” he said, sitting on his bike, still holding his box and helmet.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Aren’t you supposed to show me a badge or something?”
Kyle remained where he was while the agent wrestled a small, leather wallet out of his jacket and flipped it open in Kyle’s direction. The top part held the FBI identification, below was the customary badge with the FBI emblem engraved on the front.
“Satisfied?” the agent snapped, returning it to his pocket.
“It’ll do,” Kyle said, hopping off the motorcycle. “What about my bike?”
“We’ll bring you back.”
Kyle got in the car, shoving the helmet and box across the seat, the agent scooting in beside him. The driver started out of the parking lot, not looking back at Kyle.
“I take it I’m not under formal arrest?” he muttered, passing glances at the two agents.
“No,” the one beside him said, “not yet.”
“Are you the ones watching my house?”
No answer.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, headed west on Alameda then made a left on Fourth Street. In less than ten minutes they pulled into a familiar restaurant. Kyle had been to Casa de Benavidez many times before. He got out, leaving his stuff in the car, one agent leading the way with the other deliberately lagging behind. They entered the formal dining area, which was relatively empty except for a couple of additional agents parked in a booth. In the adjacent booth was Norm Alexander, sitting alone. Kyle positioned himself directly across from him.
“I like this better than the APD conference room,” Kyle said. “And I’m glad not to see Rudy around anywhere.”
A bowl of chips and salsa sat in the center of the table next to two tall glasses of ice water.
“You’ve been less than truthful with us, Kyle” Norm started, then added as if right on cue, “or do you prefer Drew?”
Kyle smiled, anticipating Norm’s newfound knowledge. “That’s the second time someone’s called me that today. Is there a billboard somewhere which says Kyle Randall is really Drew Meyers?”
“What are you talking about?” Norm asked, leaning forward.
“Your man was following me at lunch today, right?”
Norm blushed a little, nodding.
“I was abducted.”
“What?”
“I lost sight of your man, then I was abducted.”
“By whom?”
“Who do you think? By your phony counterparts. By the ones who killed Charlie.”
Norm settled in his seat, letting out a long sigh, not quite sure what to say next. Kyle grabbed a chip and dipped it in the salsa, taking a big bite.
“Well, since you’re still here...”
“Ahhh,” Kyle yelled out, spitting the chip and salsa onto a napkin and reached for the water. He downed four large gulps, one after another. “Oh, that’s hot!”
Norm couldn’t help
but crack a smile. “I thought you’ve lived here long enough to get use to hot chili?”
“Not that hot,” Kyle said, fanning his tongue and taking another drink. The agents in the adjacent booth grinned from ear to ear.
“Are you okay?” Norm inquired, having composed himself.
“Yeah, I’ll live. If I die, it won’t be from the chili.”
“As I was saying, since it’s obvious you’re not dead, they must have had a little chat with you.”
“You could say that.”
“What’d they say?”
Kyle looked around. Two agents were seated in the booth behind him, and the two who brought him sat at a table on the other side.
He turned to Norm and in a low voice said, “let’s move to the back. Just us.”
Norm glanced around, nodded to one of the agents and stood. Kyle stood as well, grabbing the chips and salsa. “You want me to bring this, don’t you?”
Norm laughed, grabbing the water glasses. “Sure.”
They walked three booths away from the other agents and took their respective places, Kyle sliding the salsa closer to Norm.
“Why all the secrecy?” Norm asked, dunking a large chip in the bowl of salsa.
“Both you and the other guys, whoever they are, figure out on the same day that my name isn’t Kyle Randall. Can you honestly tell me it’s a coincidence?”
“You think someone in my department tipped them off?” Norm said, devouring the chip in one bite.
“Yes.”
“Rudy Kain, right?”
“That’s who I’d put my money on.”
“Rudy’s a good agent. Sometimes overzealous, but nonetheless competent. He was recommended by another SAC out of the Washington, D.C. office over a year ago. Are you sure it’s not because you want it to be him?”
“It’s a hunch,” Kyle admitted, “but I’m pretty good with hunches. I was grabbed at lunch time, so you tell me – when did you discover I was Drew?”
Norm hesitated briefly before answering. “Point taken. But there were quite a few agents in the room when we found out, and even more that worked on your file later.”
“I have a file?” Kyle asked, not really surprised.
Norm sidestepped the question. “Drew Meyers was your last alias?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your real name?”
“It’s not important.”
“It might be. I’m going to find out one way or another, you know.”
“Go ahead, but I’m not telling you. Why’d you drag me here anyway?”
“You disappeared at lunch, and it looked rather suspicious, plus the fact you weren’t who we believed you to be. We began to wonder.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m not so sure. You still haven’t explained who snatched you and where you went.”
“He didn’t give me his name, but I think one of the guy’s name was Santiago.”
“How do you know that?” Norm asked, taking a sip of water.
“I guess I overheard it. They took me to the petroglyphs just up the hill from Taylor Ranch and we had a little talk. They said if I pursued this any further, they’d expose not only me, but my entire family.”
“Pursued what any further?” Norm asked, irritated. “You've been holding out on us, haven’t you?”
Kyle leaned back, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and considered how he would play this out. He knew at some point he would have to tell Norm everything, or at least selected things, but he would have preferred having more time to think it through instead of winging it.
Kyle opened his eyes. “This has to be between you and me alone.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Someone in your group is feeding information to whomever is involved, and my family is on the line. So, you better agree if you want me to tell you, and don’t threaten me with arrest either.”
Norm actually smiled, which surprised Kyle. “Okay. You have my word.”
Kyle took a drink before he began, then glanced behind him to see if the agents had migrated closer to them. They hadn’t. “The day your men came into Allied I received an e-mail from Charlie. Apparently, he mailed it just before he died.”
Norm slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “Dammit, Kyle. And you didn’t tell us?”
“You bet your ass I didn’t tell you. Do you want to know why?”
“Why?” Norm demanded.
“Rudy Kain, that’s why. He’s an arrogant SOB that needs to be exposed.”
Norm calmed after a bit. “Go ahead.”
“Charlie sent encrypted files inside the message. I deciphered them and with the help of another team mate, we started to figure things out. In a nutshell, someone’s introduced foreign code into our systems. We still don’t know all the details of what it does, but I have a hunch.”
“The same kind of hunch you have about Rudy?”
“Yeah, the same kind. Do you want to hear it or not?”
“I'll listen.”
Kyle crunched on a plain chip while he talked. “Allied has 412 customers and the majority have been receiving HSI code updates for over a year. Sometimes they are updated in installments, that way we can integrate them into the rest of their systems slowly and catch any bugs or anomalies that might arise. It protects both the client and us. Sometime, around April of this year, our code was infected, rather surreptitiously at that. Charlie caught on and somehow, they found out, and he paid the price. Now they’re starting in on me.”
“And no clue who they are?” Norm asked.
“None. But I have a theory, if you’re interested.”
“I’m still listening.”
“You may not like it.”
“So be it,” Norm said with a grin.
Kyle continued. “The code references account numbers at various banks. We were able to decipher three of them. They were set up by a company called Federated Financial Systems International based in Dallas, Texas. I was told one account was opened by a James Sterling, evidently the comptroller of the company. It was opened four months ago with a balance of a thousand dollars, but no activity since then. So, follow me on this, okay? We have computer code someone wrote and has injected into our system by stealth, and accounts that I believe exist at every bank we represent, domestic and international. At some point I bet the code is going to start filling those accounts with money. Not indiscriminately, either.”
“The banks would catch it,” Norm interjected, hurriedly writing everything on a notepad. “I’ve seen how those systems work, and money doesn’t just float around without a trace.”
“Under normal circumstances I’d agree, but think of the timing. The European community is still adjusting to a single currency, the Euro, and we’ve just survived massive cyber-attacks against the 13 critical Internet servers back in October of 2002. Blame for any discrepancies in accounts can easily be placed on a terrorist hack attack or faulty computer code.”
“Possibly,” Norm said.
The waiter appeared near their table, pen and pad in hand asking if they were ready to order. Norm motioned him away, saying the chips and salsa were fine, then Kyle interrupted. “Do you have any chili con queso?”
“Si,” the waiter said. “Mild or hot?”
“Mild,” Kyle said with a smile, his mouth still recovering from the salsa.
The waiter left without another word.
“I have to admit, it sounds plausible,” Norm reiterated. “Far-fetched perhaps, but plausible.”
“Even so, it’s still incomplete,” Kyle said.
“In what way?”
Kyle reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, slipped it across the table to Norm, who picked it up and studied it for a few seconds.
“It’s a picture of a smart card,” Norm said, setting it back on the table.
“Have you seen any like it before?” Kyle asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
/> “Of course, I’m sure.”
“Did you read the small print?”
Norm picked it up again and brought it close to his face, moving it back and forth like a trombone player, Kyle waiting patiently. Soon he finished, setting it back down.
“National ID card,” he mumbled to himself, seeming to ponder each individual word as he read.
“Does it ring a bell?” Kyle asked.
The waiter returned with the queso, setting it between them and leaving as Kyle grabbed a chip and dipped it in the thick cheese sauce. “Ah, this is much better.”
Norm grinned, returning to their conversation. “I’ve heard of it. It was buried in Congress, as I recall, then later came back up after 9/11.”
“Yeah. But that’s a real card, with someone’s real name and social security number written across the front. You probably have the means to check it out.”
“I could. But what does it have to do with everything else we’ve been discussing?”
“Charlie was onto something because he had that photograph bitmapped, along with an article about smart cards. You know how sometimes people try to obtain their goals through the front door, and if that doesn’t work, they go through the back?”
“You think all this is a back door for the national ID card?”
“That’s what I think Charlie thought.”
“I want to know what you think.”
Kyle wavered for a second, selecting a large chip from the bowl, covering it in queso and taking a bite. “At first…I didn’t,” he said, taking a sip of water, “but now I believe it’s true.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Almost. There’s a problem, however.”
“What’s that?”
“I quit my job today.”
A big grin swept across Norm’s face. “Do you ever do anything the easy way?”
Kyle chuckled. “They were sidelining me until this thing worked itself out, so I beat them to the punch.”
“Did they say why?”
“You should know. They’ve been getting pressure from the FBI about my involvement.”
“If they did, it wasn’t from me.”
“Hmm,” Kyle said, biting into the chip and rolling his eyes.
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