Several angry conversations with the concierge ensued, ramping up to a chat with the general manager, who was forced to admit that this wasn’t the first time such a break-in had occurred lately. The lack of forced entry strongly implied staff involvement. If they weren’t in on it, they were at the very least negligent, and Ted made sure to use that word several times.
As disgusted as he was, he still would’ve stuck it out if Til had wanted to. But she felt strongly that they should cut their losses and go home, so home they went. The manager had agreed to pay the difference on their adjusted airfare. Of course, first Ted had had to convince him that he was a vengeful attorney, and one who knew a thing or two about international criminal syndicates and the rackets they ran. All told, the only thing they lost in the long run was the cash, as there was no way to prove how much had been taken. Ted had backed up their photos and videos during his online time, so they didn’t even lose any precious memories. The hotel paid out for the cellphones and other electronics along with comping the room, so they actually came out of the mess in fair shape, perhaps even a little bit ahead.
* * *
Fangue was livid, holding the phone away from his face to keep the freelancer from hearing how heavy his breathing had turned. No sense setting off an international storm, though he would have loved to tell this guy a thing or two if he had him cornered in a room instead of half-an-ocean away.
“I’m tellin ya, boss, there was natting.”
Nutting?
“Nothing?”
“Right. Natting in the room, natting in the bags. We turned the place upside down for ya, trus’ me.”
Fangue couldn't contain his annoyance. “You did what?”
There was a pause before the freelancer caught on. “No’ting to worry ‘bout, really. We make it look jus’ like an ordinary robbery. Trust me, my people know what they’re doing.”
Fangue considered a retort, but elected to drop it. No sense in provoking him, not when he could still be a useful source in the future.
Instead, he simply replied with, “Okay, fine.”
“You’re welcome. So I’ll wait for your payment then?”
“It’s already there.” Fangue had sent the wire just after getting the confirmation text, though the amount of money and exposure he’d wasted on this failed effort wasn’t anything he would get over soon.
“Great! T’anks for da work, my frien’!” Fangue winced. That ‘cool islander’ accent was enough to make him want to put a hole through the wall.
“Yeah, okay,” he hung up abruptly, then slammed the receiver down to vent some of his frustration. It didn’t do any good, he was still shaking with rage. All that effort chasing her into the tropics, not to mention the sweep of her apartment, had yielded nothing more useful that that one intriguing scrap of paper. The storage unit they’d found a key for held nothing but concert equipment, sound boards and speakers and the like. No safe-boxes or friends’ houses cropped up either, no place to deposit anything for safekeeping in any case. If she really was in on the scam, she was dug in deeper than he could penetrate.
The partial copy of the roster they’d gotten at her boyfriend’s house was the only one, and that presented a problem. How was it that she was the only person on the list with access to sensitive club information? Why would they trust her and nobody else? And without bringing up charges, how could he find the rest of the list without her help?
In a flash of insight, he realized what it was that he’d been overlooking. The simplicity of it took his breath away. It was so obvious. They were investigating the wrong person. That had to be it. If she, an outsider with few resources within the company, didn’t have anything more to show for that list, then someone else from that apartment had to be involved. He grabbed his pen and scrawled out a note: Her boyfriend’s house. Find out who she’s sleeping with. See where he fits.
Now that he had something more to go on, he felt a strong sense of relief. But he would have to reveal some of what he learned if he wanted to avoid losing his job. He wasn’t comfortable giving up his ace in the hole to the idiot Hamm, but he had to turn over something. He’d promised the man either a lead, or his job. It was obvious which one he’d be more willing to part with.
~ 22 ~
Memberships
“I dunno, Phil...” Ted was shaking his head, though Phil didn’t look to be getting the hint. “People aren’t gonna want to wear those things.”
“Sure they will! It’s a membership card!” Phil’s voice always went squeaky from enthusiasm when he was on about something. At this point he was approaching a helium effect.
“We won’t be able to tell them from any others, you know,” Ted tried, “I mean, they probably have gold ones too.” He stared down at the ugly looking, laminated identity card mockup. Phil had printed it up when Ted neglected to reply to the email images with notes demanding input. Now it was off his screen and in his face, all too real clutched there in the data man’s hand.
“Nope!” Phil replied, “Blue. They have blue. Well, it’s aqua, to be precise. And mauve, teal, maroon, sea-foam, burgundy, sienna, and a silver one for the twenty-fivers.”
“The twenty-huh?”
“You know,”—Phil pointed excitedly at a piece of paper with a list of details, color options, and markup scrawled on it—“people who’ve been with the company twenty-five years. Silver anniversary. Get it?”
“I guess so...” Ted was quickly losing interest and patience. He tried to indicate his clear lack of enthusiasm with crossed arms and a scowl, but Phil wasn’t paying attention.
“But no gold!” Phil crowed, holding the paper in Ted’s face and pulling on it hard enough to start a tear, “See, they requisitioned ‘em. It’s right there at the top, after the initial order went through. But see the addendum?” He pointed lower down the page. “They decided there were only three gold staffers anyway, so it wasn’t worth the cost.”
“How did you get all this?”
“I cracked into the requisition department, found this memo from when they first came up with the laminates!”
“Oh,” he’d not really cared one way or the other, but the effort was impressive.
“But Phil,” Ted started again, trying a new tack, “nobody wears them anyway. Our people are gonna stick out, it’s not safe.”
Ted felt it was a valid enough excuse, but unfortunately Phil was ready for it. “Nope! I took care of that.”
Ted felt a twinge of something. Maybe agita? “I hate to ask...”
“I hacked the personnel department, and wrote up a mandatory memo that was team-crafted”—that meant ‘no specific author’, Ted knew that much from his familiarity with Infotech jargon—“and I got them all to print it and sign off. Now everyone at Sahara has to wear them!”
Ted opened his mouth, then paused in mid-thought. There were a million arguments, not the least of which was the incurrence of wrath they could receive if this were discovered. But Phil was enthused, and an enthused Phil was not something to trifle with.
Okay, Phil. You sold me.”
“Ha!” he shouted, jumping up and reaching into his bag, “I just knew you’d see things my way.” He pulled out a gold laminate with Ted’s picture on it. Ted knew better than to ask where it’d come from. He smiled and took the plastic.
Phil wasn’t finished, he rummaged further and pulled another one out, “Here’s mine!”
Ted bit back the urge to laugh out loud. The picture wasn’t the worst image of Phil he’d ever seen, but it was close. There was an awkward, vacant expression in the eyes, and his mouth was twisted into a weird half-smile half-snarl. The angle of the shot made it clear this was an amateurish attempt at a selfie, but Ted opted not to make a point of it.
“Looks good there, partner!” Ted smiled again, giving Phil a nod of acceptance, trying to see it from the lighter side.
Phil nodded back with vigor, sticking the horrible picture of himself just below his pocket protector where everyone coul
d see it. Ted groaned inwardly, but widened his smile as he worked to match the beaming expression on his partner’s face.
* * *
Phil Caldorian was putting the finishing touches on a firewall for his client, who was hovering over him like a gnat. He could see the reflection in the monitor glass, right there, staring down at him. It was agitating to the highest degree. Ignoring it as best he could, he tried re-focusing on his task, but it wasn’t easy.
He didn’t need the money. Especially not now, considering his recent gold club windfall. The purpose of these side-jobs, though, from almost the very beginning, had been to challenge and keep him sharp. In particular, he looked to improve areas that weren’t covered in his day to day work. Although Sahara had been selected primarily as a proving ground, even a mighty juggernaut such as that couldn’t cover all the bases. He needed more. More exposure, more adversaries, more challenges. So he put himself out there, moonlighting wherever interesting assignments presented themselves. Pay level, comfort, benefits; none of that factored in.
He also didn’t take morality into consideration, reasoning that no place was exempt from corruption. Sahara had their own set of bones in the closet, particularly when it came to working hours and questionable warehouse conditions. Even so, here in the home office of the infamous Celestial Healers, Phil’s carefully constructed set of relativistic guidelines had been pushed near to the breaking point.
“Okay, it’s all set up now,” Phil said, pushing back from the desk and pointing to the new icon. “You just have to run the script whenever they attempt a renewed attack.”
“And if we need your help?” The man who’d hired Phil gave him an unpleasant stare, managing to turn even such a routine question into a contest.
“You know how to reach me,” Phil replied, trying to remain businesslike even as he was starting to feel edgy. “I’ll be out of here shortly, just as soon as I clean up a few leftover segments.” He paddle-wheeled his chair back into position in mid-sentence, punched up a black and white systems window, and proceeded to bend it to his will.
“You’re sure this’ll suffice, then?” demanded the leader. “Those Untouchable hackers are persistent, you know. Is this gonna hold?” His words contained a fair amount of distain, along with just a hint of grudging admiration for their attackers. Or maybe it was more like fear-tinged admiration.
Phil bit his tongue and held back an eye-roll. The clowns responsible for this brute force attack were hardly impressive by any real measure. Any hacker close to Phil’s skill level would know how to thwart them. There were plenty of people capable of doing the job, although given how distasteful this group was, he might be the only one willing to do it.
“It’ll hold. Don’t worry.”
The leader leaned down to his subordinate and whispered, “Honestly, I’d have been a lot more comfortable getting one of our people to handle this.”
“Ha!” Phil’s guttural laugh burst out before he could think to contain it. As if. But he shouldn’t have been listening, so he hunched back over his work and tried to look smaller.
Phil allowed some minutes to tick by before reaching for his shirt pocket to pull out a small notebook. “You still have my account information?”
The subordinate gave him a quizzical look.
“For my payment?”
“We have it,” said the boss.
The underling offered up a harrumph-snort, revealing his opinion of Phil. “If y’ask me, I say we deal with these heathens head on, instead of just deleting their cyber-garbage. Hit ‘em where it hurts”
“Enough of that!” the boss growled, his gesture toward Phil making plain his reason for admonishment. No arguments in front of outsiders. Present a united front. They’d been over the drill a million times.
Phil finished his work and left as fast as he could. He didn’t even check his inbox until the temple of doom, his pet name for the place, was safely in the rearview mirror. Ted’s was the only new message, inviting him out for an end-of week beer. Phil usually begged off, but tonight he chose to take his friend up on the offer. He switched course and headed back to the office to meet up.
* * *
Phil was was sporting a wide grin. That meant he was starting to feel good, at ease with himself, and sociable—a perfect storm into which normal, pleasant conversation became possible.
Ted grinned as well, mirroring his friend. “What?” he said, feeling for a second like Phil was giving him a quizzical look. But then he thought better of it, realizing that he, too, was simply feeling the effects of booze and good vibes.
“Huh?” Phil replied, looking drowsy. He closed his eyes and his head snapped forward violently, like someone falling asleep on a train. The sudden shock prompted a nervous laugh. “Oh, yeah,” he said as if nothing had happened, “I was just thinking about these clients I got stuck with...”
“What’d you mean, clients? You moonlighting again?”
“Yeah,” Phil drawled, “I told you that already.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ted slurred, “you did say that, didn’t you. Sorry.” He stared, his mind blanking for a moment. He came to, shook it off and said, “Go on...”
“Okay,” Phil said, gathering his thoughts as fresh beverages arrived. They paused to drink, Phil inspecting the bottle carefully before putting it to his lips. He stared into space for a moment before remembering his train of thought. “Right! The Temple of the Celestial Healers, if you can believe it. Real culties, these guys.”
“Oh, Jesus, the funeral protesters?” Ted exclaimed, getting drawn in despite himself.
“Yup, the very same. Law degrees, too. I guess that’s a thing, a requirement or something. Anyways, so I’m defending their mainframe from attacks.”—he lowered his voice to a stage whisper—“They get attacked by everyone. Dead Cow Cult, Anonymous, Random Hacks, the Chaos Club, plus all the atheists. Everyone. It’s turning into a full time job!”
“Must be,” Ted agreed, lowering his voice to match the mood. Just hearing all the names of all those infamous hacker groups was fairly chilling, but Ted had to wonder if Phil secretly admired them. His tone was certainly reverent enough.
“They’re kinda dangerous don’t you think?” Ted asked, picking up his glass for another swig.
“I think so, yeah. They have weapons.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. Seen ‘em all lined up against the walls of the place. But they don’t scare me. They need me, and they know it. They’d be out of business in a heartbeat if I wasn’t helping ‘em out.”
“Nice to have powerful friends,” Ted said, reflective despite the heavy buzz.
Phil looked at his friend with a weird expression, then hiccuped. “Friends? I don’t like ‘em Ted. I just work for ‘em.” He hiccuped again.
“Oh, I know. Can’t be too careful with someone carrying a God Loves Dead Soldiers banner.”
“I know, right?” Hic.
“But then, why’d you wanna work for em?”
“Long story,” Phil began, “Partly it’s the work. Keeping up with their enemies every step. The ones who hack them are the best in the business, see? So it’s a challenge, you understand.” Hic.
Ted didn’t understand, but nodded anyway, trying to coax more information out of his inebriated buddy.
There was a long pause, and Ted wondered if the story was over. “But honestly,” Phil finally went on, “I didn’t know the half of what they were up to when I started, or I’d have skipped it.”
“Too late now,” Ted muttered.
“Right.”
“But what if...”
“What if what?” Phil motioned for his friend to continue, spilling his drink in the process. He went through the motions of wiping it up, but only made it worse.
Ted snapped his fingers at the nearest waitress, who nodded and reached back to grab a towel from the bar. They sat silent while she cleaned up their mess. When she left, he said, in a real whisper, “What if we could use those guys to sidetrack
the investigation?”
“What investi—?” Phil looked confused for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “You mean our investigation? The investigation on us?”
Ted nodded. They stared at each other, allowing an uncomfortable silence to fester. Phil looked incredulous. Ted just sat their stonefaced. There was no way to tell if he was serious, until his lip quivered and he grinned in spite of himself. Seeing that, Phil burst out laughing, bringing Ted along with him. They both laughed until tears came up, now quite drunk and doing a good job of amusing each other. The rest of the conversation was a blur, though looking back Phil couldn’t seem to tell if Ted was just talking a good game, or if he actually believed that using such people as their personal goon squad was a good idea.
* * *
Ted gripped the wheel hard, focusing on the road to avoid drifting. They spoke little on the way home, until they got to Phil’s house and Ted shut the car off. The earlier conversation still churned in his brain, he couldn’t put it to rest. “You don’t honestly want to work for those celestial healer whackjobs, do you? Come on, picketing funerals? There’s got to be better clients.”
Phil had the look of a teen caught having sex; a hint of thrill-seeker triumph mixed with heavy guilt. His half-grin and blushing cheeks were all the confirmation Ted needed. He felt the urge to rebuke his friend, and he did so with a smack to the shoulder.
Phil hollered, noisy enough for his voice to echo across the neighboring buildings. Ted to put a finger to his lips. “Not so loud!” he slurred loudly. Then he chuckled.
“Sorry,” Phil said quickly, reaching out to massage his sore arm, “didn’t mean to startle you.”
“How’d you get in bed with these guys anyway Phil?”
“I’m not in bed with them,” he protested, “I just handle their security.”
“Still. Pretty messed up for you to be mixed up with a group like that.”
The Gold Club: A White Collar Crime Thriller Page 14