by Jason Dean
‘So what’s the third?’
Wilson gave his half-grin again. ‘The third is what you use if the first two don’t work: a good hacker. You’re now gonna tell me you haven’t got access to one of those, right?’
‘I got one. I just don’t know how good he is yet. He talks the talk, and if actions were words . . .’ Bishop shrugged.
‘I gotcha. He give you any indication he can tell the difference between his rear end and a decent sequencer program?’
Bishop threw the last piece of cookie into his mouth. ‘Yeah. We’re relying on it to get past Go.’
‘That’s something. And it might get you past more than that. Depends how good the program is. And the programmer, of course. None of them are infallible, but your man’ll know more about that than I do.’ Wilson returned the bag to his pocket and stood. ‘So there’s your three options. Was anything I just said worth the half-hour it took out of your life?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bishop said. ‘But I’ve always believed any edge is better than no edge at all.’ He stood as well, and they both began to walk back towards Alice. ‘So what happened to your friend with the career advice?’
Wilson made a harsh sound through his nose. ‘Serving eighteen to twenty at Sing Sing for his third strike; a goddamn two-bit robbery at a gas station. Can you believe that? Full of wonderful counsel for his pals, but ain’t got the sense of a gnat when it comes to his own circumstances.’
‘Sounds like he just made the wrong choice for that particular moment.’
‘Yeah,’ Wilson said. ‘All it takes is one.’
SIXTY-EIGHT
Aleron hadn’t figured on RoyseCorp’s lobby being so open. Once he pushed through the revolving doors there was little between him and the bank of elevators half a football field away. And if the ceiling two or three storeys above him wasn’t imposing enough, they’d constructed the interior floor out of marble to accentuate every footstep. Behind him, a wall of heavily tinted glass faced out onto First Avenue and transformed a sunny morning into a shadow of itself.
He stepped out of the way as more worker bees pushed past him and glanced to his left. There was a chest-high, crescent-shaped counter about two hundred feet away, with a wall of monitors behind it. One lobby guard stood and watched everybody entering and exiting. Two more sat at their stations behind the counter, where he guessed the more sensitive screens were located. Either that or they were playing computer games under there.
Aleron walked towards the station while the upright guard watched his every step. This clearly wasn’t a business that encouraged the casual visitor. As he came nearer he saw, lying atop the counter at one end, three evenly spaced piles of glossy brochures. He angled his approach towards them.
The guard was dressed in a navy-blue uniform and looked to be in his late twenties. As Aleron got closer, he could see the RoyseCorp logo on the man’s right chest pocket. Aleron’s improvised courier uniform felt tawdry in comparison. He wore a black windbreaker over a white shirt and grey chinos, while an ID wallet hung from a chain off his belt.
He said, ‘How you doin’?’
‘Help you with something?’ the guard said.
Aleron smiled and placed a large manila envelope on the counter beside the brochures. ‘Delivery here for a Martin Thorpe that needs your autograph.’ He placed a clipboard next to the envelope and turned it round. He was momentarily distracted by something he’d apparently spotted in the space between two of the piles of brochures in front of him, but quickly put the disarming smile back on his face when the guard came over and picked up the envelope.
As the guard turned to pass it to one of his seated colleagues, Aleron brought his right hand up, laid his palm over the space he’d been looking at and slid it back, putting his hand and whatever it now contained in his pants pocket.
The guard spotted the movement and said, ‘What you got there, guy?’
Both seated guards looked up at the man’s tone. The nearest one looked to be the senior guard here.
Aleron’s expression was as guileless as a child’s. ‘Come again?’
The older guard said to the first, ‘Something up, Deke?’
The one called Deke smiled and said, ‘Let’s see.’ He turned back to Aleron. ‘The item you just took from the desk here and put in your pocket. What was it?’
‘Just my pen.’ Aleron frowned. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
Deke’s smile became a grin as he came round the side of the counter. He stood directly in front of Aleron, reached down to the wallet hanging off his belt and snapped it open. ‘Well, Samuel Arthur Willis of Eastside Logistics,’ he said, ‘either you show me what’s in your pockets or we’re gonna have to make a scene here.’
Aleron didn’t have to look to know the senior guard was slowly making his way round the other side of the counter. The loud footsteps finally stopped about two feet behind him and Deke said, ‘What’s it gonna be, guy?’
After a short pause, Aleron slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out an inch-long flash memory stick with 2GB written along the side. He handed it over.
Deke frowned at it and then offered it to his other colleague, who was watching the proceedings from behind the counter. The seated guard did something out of view and nobody said anything for a minute. Then he looked up and gave a barely noticeable shake of his head. Deke turned back to Aleron. ‘You got a record, Mr Samuel Arthur Willis?’
‘Hey man, I’m just a working Joe, like you guys. No harm done, right? Let me go before I get towed, huh?’
Deke looked over Aleron’s shoulder. ‘Wanna get him checked out, Ham? You still got friends over at the 31st.’
The man behind Aleron said, ‘I don’t know. I’m thinking maybe Samuel Arthur Willis here now understands how idle hands do the devil’s work. And to keep them to himself from now on.’
Deke tilted his head. ‘That right, Samuel Arthur Willis? You a quick learner?’
‘The quickest,’ Aleron said.
The guard picked up the clipboard from the counter. He scribbled a signature halfway down the sheet and slammed it against Aleron’s chest. ‘That’s the stuff. Now get your ass out of here while I’m still in a good mood.’
‘Thanks, man.’ Aleron took the clipboard and walked towards the revolving doors without looking back. Once outside, he kept pace with his fellow pedestrians until he was out of sight of the building. Then he pulled out his cell phone and pressed some buttons before bringing it to his ear. It took two rings before it was picked up.
‘You’re in,’ he said and hung up.
SIXTY-NINE
Sitting in Ali’s basement, Luke smiled as he placed his cell back on the work desk, and returned to the algorithms on his laptop while he waited for the program to do its work.
Ali’s call meant one of the gurads had just taken the bait and plugged the memory stick into their system. From their end, all they’d see was an empty flash drive. But the malware Luke had put on it last night would already be in their security surveillance server. Right now, it was creating an undetectable hole in their firewall and sending all their previously secure CCTV footage to an internet site accessible only to Luke.
For the next twenty-four hours, anyway. After that, the program would patch up the firewall, close off the connection to the URL and erase itself from their system before they even knew it existed. It was an ingenious little program that impressed with its simplicity. Luke only wished he could lay claim to it, but then Jenna had always been the gifted one.
The thought of Jenna gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Bad enough that he was still in love with her. Worse still was the fact that he couldn’t confide his feelings to anybody. Least of all Ali. Especially not with Bishop around. Thank God he’d taken down the photos of her from his living room a few weeks before. Nothing sadder than a man obsessed with his ex.
Ping.
At the sound of the alert, Luke moved his finger along the touch pad and went to the special URL addre
ss he’d bookmarked. After he’d typed in the username and password he’d set last night, it took a couple of seconds for the page to start loading.
In front of him were two columns of silent video screens showing real-time black and white footage of the RoyseCorp building’s lobby. Each miniature screen had basic navigation controls surrounding it to enable the user to pan the camera left and right, up and down, or zoom in and out. He began scrolling down the page while it continued loading.
He turned at the sound of the basement door opening and watched Bishop descend the stairs for a moment before turning back to the screen.
Bishop came over and saw the feeds. ‘Aleron got us in, then.’
‘Looks that way, don’t it?’ Luke continued scrolling through the screens in silence until curiosity got the better of him. ‘How’d it go with Wilson?’
‘He gave me enough to make it worth the trip. How useful it’ll be it’s too early to tell.’ He looked at Luke. ‘He also said you’d play an important role in getting us in. You and your sequencer program.’
Luke smiled. ‘That piss you off much?’ The front view of a helicopter on top of a roof came onscreen. ‘Ker-ching. There’s our baby.’ He noted the camera number on a pad and then continued on down the page until he reached the bottom. ‘No other rooftop cameras,’ he said, scrolling back up to the chopper, ‘so just this one to worry about.’
‘Can you do anything now?’
Luke shook his head. ‘Once I get within range, I can upload to their server. But until then it’s all look, but no touch. All we can do is wait for your ex-boss to finish another long day at the office.’
‘Not quite all,’ Bishop said. ‘How good are you at digging up information on people?’
SEVENTY
Jenna had no idea of the time. The room had no natural light and although her mute captor was probably wearing a watch, she decided she wasn’t that curious. Thorpe was bad enough, but Danny scared the hell out of her. Jenna remembered the facial bruise she’d seen earlier and smiled. At least she’d gotten in a good kick before she went down.
She’d woken up half an hour ago and decided it was in her best interest not to make a sound. Hazy though much of it was, she recollected some of the events of last night after she was doped up. She also remembered the extra hypodermic Thorpe had left behind. Aware that keeping a clear head was the only chance she had of getting out of this, she hoped that staying quiet might influence whether she got a second dose or not. But who was she kidding? The hypodermic had been left behind for a reason. It would be used.
Her free hand felt along the wall until it reached the plastic bottle of water that had been left within reach. She unscrewed the cap and swallowed a few mouthfuls before putting it back. No food around, but she wasn’t hungry anyway.
She leaned her head back against the cold concrete wall, unable to believe how quickly her life had turned inside out. Or how long she might have left if Bishop couldn’t get what Thorpe wanted by midnight.
Jenna stared straight ahead and frowned. And wondered why she was assuming Bishop was doing anything to help her. Everything had been one-way so far. She’d been the one doing all the helping, not the other way around. And he’d just got out of prison and you don’t inherit many virtues from those kinds of places. So why did she think he’d help? Just because she was good in bed?
She shook her head and forced herself to stop. This wasn’t like her at all. Which meant it must be the drugs talking. Whatever it was they’d given her. She’d only ever smoked the occasional joint in her teens, but each time the grass had made her feel paranoid. Just like now. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a few minutes, like she did before every class. Clearing her mind and focusing on nothing but the sensation of air entering and escaping her nostrils. In. Out. In. Out.
Bishop had told her he was coming for her, so she had to believe in him. No doubt he’d bring Ali in to help, too. Maybe Luke as well, if he could raise himself from his pool of self-pity.
The sudden pressure of a hand gripping her right arm forced her eyes open. Danny was kneeling before her, syringe in the other hand. Before Jenna could react with coherent thought, Danny inserted the needle into the same vein as before and depressed the plunger. There was a brief stinging sensation and Jenna brought her free hand up to pull the needle out, but she didn’t reach it in time. Her reflexes were far too slow. Within seconds, the drug was coursing through her system and she dropped her hand back onto her lap like a dead weight.
She leaned back and looked at her tormentor’s face as it swam in and out of focus. And before surrendering herself to the narcotic entirely, she offered up a silent plea that if her time was really coming, she would at least be allowed the opportunity to take Danny with her.
SEVENTY-ONE
On the thirty-fifth floor of RoyseCorp Tower, Martin Thorpe sat at his rosewood desk in his spacious office and finished his last duty of the day. He saved his most recent report on the situation in Kabul – where three RoyseCorp contractors currently languished in jail after killing a local taxi driver and his two passengers – as a PDF file and then emailed it to the man upstairs.
Not the man, of course – nobody at his level reported directly to Royse – just his immediate superior, Woodfield, who’d use it to brief his boss, Geller, head of Foreign Operations. Royse might get to hear about it, but only if Geller deemed it worthy of his attention. Knowing Geller, probably not.
Thorpe found it hard to care one way or the other. Especially when he was now so close to achieving his aims. When you were a kiss away from being richer than Solomon it made all other day-to-day problems fade into insignificance. He had absolutely no doubts Bishop would succeed in penetrating the vault five floors above him. The man was nothing if not inventive. That’s what made him so dangerous and the whole situation so exhilarating.
He walked over to the window and looked down at East 66th Street. Watching the New York minions scurrying about on their little errands. Thinking of ways to deal with Bishop once he had the file. And Jenna, of course.
The vibration of his cell phone lying on his desk interrupted his thoughts. He walked over to pick it up and smiled when he saw the caller’s number. ‘I expected you to call back sooner,’ he said, sitting down again.
‘I am here now,’ the familiar voice said simply.
‘With positive feedback, I hope.’
‘You guess correctly, although I was not sure they would agree to such an amount. One hundred million is a vast sum, even for us.’
Thorpe forced himself to stay cool, but it was difficult. He’d just doubled his money in the space of a few hours. Doubled it. Straining to keep the delight out of his voice, he said, ‘That’s excellent news. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. And the money . . .’
‘Be assured the money is, at this moment, waiting to be wired over to an account of your choosing at the appropriate time. Now it is your turn, my friend. It will cause much consternation if you do not follow through with your promise. Hopes have been raised in certain people whose emotions it is unwise to meddle with.’
‘I’m sure they have. And with good reason. Once I have it in my hands, sometime in the early hours of the morning, I’ll contact you with the meeting point. Satisfactory?’
‘Satisfactory,’ the man said.
Thorpe put the phone down and leaned back in his chair. Happy with the world and his place in it.
He looked up at the ceiling and wondered if kids felt like this on Christmas Eve.
SEVENTY-TWO
Bishop and the others arrived at the darkened Metroblade building at 20.14, where Mandrake was waiting for them outside the front entrance. All three were wearing black. Shirts and sweaters under nondescript windbreakers, dark combats, and rubber-soled boots. As Bishop emerged from Aleron’s Jaguar, he glanced over at the Honda in the parking lot without comment. He knew without looking that the others were doing the same. He hefted his knapsack and went inside.
Luke went stra
ight for Art’s office upstairs, while Bishop stayed downstairs and forced Mandrake and Aleron to go over their part of the plan with him again. And again. And again. Strictly speaking, Aleron didn’t need to be here at all, but Bishop wasn’t entirely convinced of Mandrake’s commitment. He felt the presence of Jenna’s brother would dissuade Mandrake from getting the jitters at a critical moment.
Once Bishop finished rechecking his and Luke’s equipment for the sixth time, they all made their way upstairs. On Art’s monitor they watched the static image of a helicopter. Now and then the radio scanner transmitted brief exchanges between the air traffic control tower at La Guardia and nearby aircraft.
At 20.52, Bishop saw a man come into view on the screen. He was carrying a slim briefcase as he walked towards the copter under the glare of the floodlights surrounding the helipad. He moved with a military bearing and his profile showed an aquiline nose and a full head of close-cropped hair.
Aleron leaned in closer. ‘That’s definitely him, right?’
Bishop nodded. ‘It’s him.’
He watched Royse get in and place his briefcase on the passenger seat before fastening his seatbelt and slipping on his headset. Then Royse leaned forward and adjusted various controls before sitting back again.
‘Air Traffic Control, this is Helicopter November Romeo Charlie One. Do you read? Over.’
Bishop closed his eyes as he listened to the voice coming from the speaker. It sounded the same as he remembered. The tone was clipped and precise. There were traces of New Jersey in there, too. The pitch was a little deeper than Bishop’s and contained a grating quality you’d find in a heavy smoker. Or maybe one who’d just given up.