Unauthorized Access

by Andrew McAllister

“It’s your fault. You stole the money out of my bank account.”

  The man’s eyes blazed with fury.

  “I didn’t steal anything,” Rob said.

  Rob realized quickly there was little use in trying to explain matters. Instead he decided to duck the looping punch Larry aimed at the side of his head. Rob had little trouble in doing so. He had plenty of warning because of the considerable balancing act Larry had to pull off so he could remain standing while he swung his arm.

  Rob moved to one side and made for the door but Larry managed to recover. He caught up with Rob and pushed him away from the door.

  “You owe me eight hundred and twenty-three bucks,” Larry said.

  Rob was struck with an insane urge to laugh at the guy. He managed to stifle it.

  “Have you gone in to the bank?” Rob said. “They can fix most people’s accounts, especially if you have your receipts.”

  “You think I’m stupid?”

  Rob thought it best not to answer that one.

  “I went in,” Larry said. “They didn’t do nothin’ for me.”

  “Well neither can I.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “Look pal, it’s been a long day. Just get out of my face and let me by.”

  Larry grabbed the front of Rob’s shirt with both hands.

  “I want my money and I want it right now,” Larry said.

  That did it. All the frustrations and indignities of the last two days boiled over. Rob broke the grip on his shirt by pistoning his hands up between the other guy’s arms, then pushed the man up against the brick building.

  “Leave me alone,” Rob shouted.

  Larry drove one knee into Rob’s gut, which partially knocked the wind out of him. Then Larry lashed out with another haymaker and this one found its mark. Rob let go of Larry and staggered back a couple of steps, trying to clear his head.

  “How about that, huh?” Larry said, advancing on Rob once more. “Teach you to steal from me.”

  Larry swung again, but now that he was away from the building he was considerably less steady on his feet. Rob was able to dodge the blow. He grabbed the guy’s shoulders and pushed him so the back of Larry’s head hit hard against the brick wall. Larry slumped to the ground. Rob stood over the prone figure for a moment to see if he was game for more, but Larry only rolled on his side and moaned.

  Rob opened the security door and hurried up the stairs. Once he was on the first landing and out of sight of the lobby, he stopped and sat down on the stairs. His entire body trembled from the shock of what had just happened. He decided to stay away from his apartment as much as possible for a while. The next genius to come looking for him might not be as drunk as this one. Or for that matter, this guy could come back with friends. Or a gun.

  Or both.

  Rob dragged himself up the rest of the stairs. As he turned the key to open his apartment door, he wondered if he should pack a few things and find somewhere else to stay for a while. He walked inside to find dried pizza and the rest of the dinner mess on the dining room table. The two teddy bears still sat at their places, providing mute testimony to the futility of his evening with Lesley.

  The mess wasn’t confined to the dining area. Displaced furniture, drawers left slightly ajar and stray piles of his belongings greeted him as he walked through the apartment. His computer was gone, along with the external hard drive that normally sat on his desk.

  He pulled open a few desk drawers and found them empty except for stray pens and paper clips. All of the paper was gone—old bills, receipts, tax returns, everything. The FBI search team had been thorough, if not particularly conscientious about straightening up.

  Rob felt numb. The invasion of his home was one more in a seemingly endless series of blows to his spirit. He wanted more than anything to wake up and realize the whole thing was a dream.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. This was no game. His future was being shredded to pieces and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Or was there?

  After all, he hadn’t really tried, had he? Other than whining that he was innocent, Rob had done nothing to help himself. Of course there had been little he could do while he was in jail. But now he was out. He walked over to the living room window and stared out, his mouth twisted, deep in thought.

  He had no alibi, none that worked anyway. The only way to clear himself seemed to be to uncover the real culprits. But if the FBI had aimed their high-powered abilities at the situation and failed to come up with the right answer, how could he expect to do any better? The feds had deep pockets, databases of known criminals—plenty of resources to throw at the problem. Rob was just one guy, a guy who was prohibited from approaching the scene of the crime at that. What could he possibly bring to the table that the FBI had not already tried?

  The answer came back so suddenly that Rob blinked in astonishment. He had one advantage over everyone else when it came to figuring out who vandalized the computers at the First Malden Bank. Rob was the only one who knew—knew with absolute certainty—that someone else was responsible.

  Everyone else thought Rob had done it. The evidence—the planted evidence, Rob corrected himself—had placed him squarely under Steeves’ microscope so quickly that Rob was willing to bet nobody else had received much attention.

  And the other potential suspects were people Rob worked with. One of the factors that had helped convince everyone of Rob’s guilt was the overwhelming probability that only someone familiar with the system could be the saboteur. Rob was that type of someone, but so were his co-workers.

  He knew these people better than Steeves did—their habits and moods, their likes and dislikes. He could talk to them, read their faces, gauge their reactions. Maybe he could come up with something. Maybe his colleagues had noticed something about one of their co-workers that escaped Rob’s attention. As plans went, it was thin, but it was better than sitting back and hoping the FBI might come up with new evidence.

  Suddenly Rob couldn’t stand the idea of waiting meekly to go to slaughter at his trial. He felt energized, anxious to get moving.

  He showered, dressed, and then turned his attention to the mess. The leftover pizza went into a garbage bag and he put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, which he started running. He didn’t clean the entire apartment but at least it would smell better when he came back.

  His cell phone still sat on the kitchen counter where he had left it the night he was arrested. He picked it up and checked for voice mail. The first message was from Tim.

  “Hey guy, it’s me. I’m glad you got bail. I was going to stick around and see you when you got out, but I thought you’d want a chance to talk to all the other people who were waiting to see you. If you want to talk, have a brewski or something, give me a call. We could get out for a bike ride, too, if you want. Anyway, call me.”

  Rob nodded as he deleted the message. A bike ride might be just what he needed to clear out his pipes. But not now. He would call Tim later.

  A series of requests from reporters followed Tim’s message. They all wanted to hear his side of the story. Rob snorted as he deleted the fourth one in a row. His side. Right. What they really wanted was to know how someone could get around the security at a bank. They would show the world the idiot who was clever enough to pull off such a daring strike but dim enough to leave a trail to his front door more obvious than the yellow brick road.

  Not bloody likely. Rob was about to cut off the one remaining message when he heard: “Hi, it’s Kirsten.”

  He hadn’t heard from Kirsten in a long time.

  “I really need to talk to you,” the message continued. “Can you give me a call?”

  What could that be about? Rob made a snap decision that whatever it was would have to wait. He would call her back later. He was too anxious to get moving to deal with anything else right now.

  When he got down to the building’s front door, Rob checked to make sure Larry was gone. Then he walked to the parkin
g lot, tossed the garbage bag into the dumpster and drove away. Just after he turned the corner and passed out of sight, a dark blue Buick sedan drove up the street from the other direction and pulled into a vacant parking spot. Ray Landry got out and walked into the lobby of Rob’s building.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ROB STOOD INSIDE the front door of the Beantown Pub and scanned the noontime crowd. The Beantown was a favorite lunch spot for the computer folks from First Malden because of the pool tables in the back. Playing a few racks of nine ball was a great way to unwind before heading back to work for the afternoon.

  He saw no one he knew sitting at the tables in the front section of the pub, so Rob wandered toward the back. He felt like an outsider as he searched for familiar faces. The feeling depressed him. He was normally one of the gang when he came to this place.

  He spotted Anthony Finnamore and Paul Dees sitting at the lunch counter that ran along the wall to his left. Dees noticed Rob approaching and frowned as he said something to Finnamore. Finnamore put down his club sandwich and looked up as Rob arrived beside them.

  “Hi,” Rob said.

  Dees just nodded, his face set in grim lines. Finnamore used a napkin to wipe a few toast crumbs from his bushy beard.

  “Hi yourself,” Finnamore said, looking nowhere near as stern as his companion.

  “Mind if I sit down?” Rob said. “I need to talk to you.”

  Finnamore scooted his stool sideways to make room, pulling his plate and glass along with him. Rob dragged a tall chair over from the bar.

  Dees spoke up as Rob sat down. “We’ve all been told not to talk to you about what we’re doing at the bank.”

  Rob barked out a short laugh. “Because I’m such a threat, right? I might learn how to crash the system again.”

  “You’ve got some nerve coming around here like this,” Dees said. “What makes you think we’ve got anything to say to you?”

  Rob clenched his teeth and kept quiet. He had known his colleagues would probably be ticked off at him, but it was still hard to take.

  “I’ve hardly seen my family all week,” Dees said. “The whole AMS team has been going half crazy trying to clean up the mess you left us. Of course, this was after the FBI grilled us until they were satisfied we weren’t in on it with you. Did it ever occur to you that people would assume I must have had a role in the attack, since I was the only one who was supposed to have access to the code on the server?”

  Dees’ eyes gleamed with fury. Rob glanced sideways at Finnamore, who stared at his plate and pushed the remnants of his sandwich around with a toothpick.

  “That’s probably what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Dees said. “For people to assume I was the one who did it.”

  Dees stabbed a piece of battered fish with his fork, but didn’t seem to have any interest in eating it. He dropped the fork and started in on Rob again.

  “When I think of all the times I logged into the system with you standing over my shoulder.” Dees shook his head. “That’s how you did it, isn’t it? You logged in as me to alter the code.”

  Rob took a deep breath. “I doubt you’ll believe me,” he said, “but I didn’t do it.”

  “I didn’t think you’d have the decency to admit it,” Dees said. “Dysart told us how you won’t give up the keyword, even now that you’re caught. You’re some piece of work.”

  “I’m serious,” Rob said. “Whoever did it set me up to take the fall.”

  “Give me a break,” Dees said, his face darkening again. “The FBI showed us the programs they found in your apartment. Only someone on our team could write that code.”

  “Someone, yeah,” Rob said, “but not me.”

  “I don’t really feel like talking to you about it. Or even seeing your face. What I’d really like to do is rip your head off, so I think you better leave.”

  Rob took a deep breath and tried to control the urge to throttle his former team leader.

  “All right,” he said, “but before I go, think about this. If I didn’t do it, then the person who did is still on the AMS team.”

  Dees just glared at him with open contempt. Finnamore continued to stare down at his plate.

  Rob stood up. “And for all I know, the problem could be one of you two.”

  This brought an angry look from Finnamore, too.

  Rob walked away. Once outside, he jammed his hands into his pockets and began walking briskly along Tremont Street, trying to control the tumult inside.

  So much for his idea of reading people’s reactions. How could he do that if they wouldn’t even talk to him? The frustration threatened to overwhelm him again, to toss him back into the despairing place he had been only an hour before. He knew he had to keep trying, but he didn’t feel up to absorbing more abuse. He decided to find someone who was sure to be on his side.

  He decided to talk to Tim.

  * * *

  Ray Landry pulled into a parking spot and turned off the car’s engine. He had just spotted a place with a photocopier and fax machine he could use, and now he needed to make a phone call.

  Rob was not at any of the addresses Dysart had provided. Landry had considered asking Dysart to call around, see if anyone knew where Rob was, but that was out of the question. Dysart’s involvement had to be kept to a minimum.

  The time crunch, however, made it so Landry couldn’t wait around for Rob to show up. He had to track him down quickly but couldn’t watch three places at once. Landry needed help.

  He punched numbers on his cell phone.

  “Gourley’s Detective Agency.”

  “Doug Gourley, please,” Landry said into the phone.

  “Mr. Gourley is with a client. Can I have him call you?”

  “You tell Mr. Gourley someone wants to talk about Sarajevo.”

  “He can’t be interrupted right now, sir. If you would care to leave a message.”

  “Just tell him.” Landry’s tone made it clear he expected compliance. “Sarajevo. Trust me, he’ll want to talk to me.”

  The secretary hesitated, then said, “One moment sir.”

  The phone clicked in Landry’s ear and he was on hold. Thirty seconds later he heard a gruff voice.

  “Gourley here.”

  “Do you know who this is?”

  “Hey, how’re you doing? It’s been a while.”

  Landry had known Gourley would recognize his voice, just as he knew Gourley would be smart enough not to say his name over an open phone line. The two of them had spent too many years working in places where a slip like that could cost people their lives. Habits learned in that fashion don’t die easily.

  “Did I pull you away from something important?” Landry said.

  “Nothing that can’t sit in the waiting room until we’re done. What’s up?”

  “I need some help.”

  “Name it.”

  “Three watchers, each for a different location.”

  “Local?”

  “Yeah, Boston area.”

  “When?”

  “I need them in place within the hour,” Landry said. “Have you got the manpower available?”

  “I can get it. What are they watching for?”

  “I’ll fax you a photo of the guy, plus the three addresses and my phone number. If he turns up they’re to call and say so. If he leaves again they should trail him and report in, but nothing else. No one touches him until I get there. After that, your guys are done. I’ll take it from there.”

  “How good is this guy they’re after?” Gourley asked.

  “No worries there. He’s not in the business and he doesn’t have a clue anyone’s interested in him.”

  “Any idea how long it’ll take for the guy to show up?”

  “Before the end of the day would be my guess.”

  “I’m going to have to charge you,” Gourley said. “I hate to do it but there’s rent to be paid. You know how it is.”

  “No problem. Expenses are all taken care of.”

 
“Then fax me the information and I’ll get the guys on the ground right away.”

  * * *

  Lesley held a couple of napkins wrapped around her paper coffee cup as she and Shayna walked slowly along the downtown sidewalk. Once in a while they paused to take a drink. The warmth seemed to leech into the top few inches of her throat but advanced no further.

  “Are you as cold as I am?” Lesley said.

  Shayna shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  Lesley took another sip and shivered as a chilly October breeze shifted a Dunkin’ Donuts bag on the sidewalk.

  “Well I’m not,” she said.

  “No shit,” Shayna said. “What was your first clue?”

  Lesley sighed and stared at the sidewalk as they sauntered aimlessly along. “You want to know what bugs me worse than anything about this whole mess?”

  “Hit me,” Shayna said.

  Lesley drained the rest of her coffee and dropped the cup in a nearby trashcan.

  “How could I have read Rob so wrong?” she said. “If he was the kind of person I thought he was, then he couldn’t have done what he did.”

  “This isn’t your fault, you know. You’re not the one who went whacko and attacked a bank.”

  Lesley jammed her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders.

  “When I first met Rob,” she said, “I knew almost right away we were going to end up together.” She looked sideways at Shayna and grinned ruefully. “Sounds corny, right? But it’s true. And it scared the heck out of me. I was in a new town, a new school, and here I was feeling like I’d just met the guy I was going to marry. That was the last thing I wanted right then. So I kind of ignored him for a while, hung with the girls, went out with other guys. But there was no denying it. When we started going out it was like, yeah, this is the one.”

  Lesley kicked a pebble on the sidewalk in disgust. “So if I’m so pathetic at reading people, how can I ever trust anyone again?”

  “Not every guy is a nutcase,” Shayna said.

  “But apparently I’m no good at figuring out which ones are.”

  “You’ve got to stop beating up on yourself.”

  “I just can’t see doing this all over again,” Lesley said. “If Rob and I were to get back together, I’d always be waiting for something like this to happen again. And if it was someone else, I’d always wonder when their hidden side was going to show itself.”