On the Record- the Complete Collection

by Lee Winter

  “That’ll work,” Ayers said and typed it in.

  “When are we calling the governor and the other three bribe-takers for comments?” Lauren asked.

  “Normally last gasp, Tuesday,” Ayers said as her fingers flew. “Minimizes the risk another media outlet gets fed the story by the government with their spin on it. But given what else is going on, the bigger picture, I’m inclined to give them as much time as possible to maximise how much their fear builds. We don’t know what we’ll flush out. Panickers have been known to do extraordinarily stupid things.”

  “Such as?”

  “You never know. Hand me that booze store invoice. And can you dig out the bus company security footage? I want to improve our description on the two heavies. I appreciate your attempt at color, but I don’t think neckless wonders will get past Frank somehow.”

  Lauren handed both requests over and resumed her position cross-legged beside her. “I’d like to be the one to contact the power lines guy,” she said. “That kid accountant who also got bribed.”

  “Okay, fine. You’re closer in age. Maybe he’ll respond to that.”

  “Well yeah. I’m going to play friendly big sister. I think you might make him soil his pants,” she joked.

  “I’m not that intimidating.” Ayers protested archly, although her eyes glinted with amusement.

  “Yeah,” Lauren said, patting the other woman’s thigh. “You’re a real pussycat.”

  “Well, I have no objection.”

  Lauren shrugged. “Like you said, you never know.” She loaded up her Facebook page, looked up Nigel Masters, and sent him a request.

  “You’re doing it via social media?” Ayers asked, turning to stare.

  Lauren shrugged. “He’s young. This is where everyone hangs out.”

  Five minutes later, her screen pinged. Lauren’s eyes lit with surprise.

  “Nigel sent me a message back. I’m going to open a chat window.”

  Ayers blinked at her. “Can you record what he says?”

  “It’s kept by Facebook, yeah. I can screen grab it as I go.”

  “Tell him it’s on the record.”

  “Already did.”

  “Why are you asking him about power lines?”

  Ayers was peering over her shoulder, and Lauren tilted her phone away with an aggrieved grunt. “Big sister, remember. I’m appealing to his interests. And no backseat interviewing, okay?”

  Ayers nodded and went back to work.

  “Oh wow,” Lauren said softly a few minutes later. She tilted her phone around. “He just confessed.”

  Ayers’s eyes snapped to the words on the screen.

  I didn’t know how to say no to them. They are totally evil.

  Lauren flipped the phone around and typed Then help me bring them down?

  One letter appeared. Y. A few seconds later a mobile number appeared on screen.

  An hour later, Lauren stared up the ceiling and dropped the burner phone to the table.

  “Poor kid. It was just a game to him. A puzzle to solve.” Lauren shook her head. “When he first found the red files, he was excited. He thought he’d get promoted or something. Instead he got the crap scared out of him by Freeman’s chief of staff and bribe money shoved into his account.

  “They told him even if he went to the cops, they’d never believe he wasn’t on the take and that he’d go to jail for decades. He didn’t spend a cent of it. He’s been a wreck for eighteen months with all this dough sitting in his account. He’s given us names, dates, everything.”

  Ayers studied Lauren for so long she wondered if she’d done something wrong. She fidgeted.

  “Well done,” she finally said. Lauren felt the glow warm her chest.

  “Thanks,” she said and cleared her throat. “Nigel told me a bit of background, too. The three other bribe takers had no idea the red files had been cleaned out by Sands until after they’d ordered an internal investigation into why there were local prostitutes at the party.

  “They’d worked out that it was taxpayer funds right away because their internal investigator phoned Athena and threatened her with a police investigation and a series of raids for code violations if she didn’t cough up the invoice.

  “They knew instantly after receiving it that it was government accounts because of the distinctive color-coding pattern on the numbers. But it took a little while before they dug deeper and realized exactly which funds had been used, and the moment they did, there was a panic at the top. The three officials shut everything down, paid off the investigators to disappear, buried all of it, including retracting the press release they sent to us.”

  “That also proves the two thugs going around intimidating people were not from the state of Nevada,” Ayers said. “Because they did a personal visit to shake out those invoices. It seems Sands is correct that our men in suits are part of some intelligence agency.”

  “Yep,” Lauren said and glanced at her watch. “Hey, it’s dinner time. I’ve got an idea. Let’s order pizza and drink wine and celebrate our story being nearly done.”

  “Pizza?”

  “And wine.” Lauren grinned. “Because your wine cellar is kick ass, and I’m really gonna miss it.”

  “Ah, it all becomes clear. You just want me for my wine.”

  Lauren leaned back and looked at her playfully. “What answer will get me pizza?”

  “Hmm.” Ayers rose and went to her kitchen, returning with a gourmet pizza menu. “The housekeeper left this here.”

  “Sure she did.”

  “Why so suspicious?”

  “You don’t have a housekeeper.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “You’re a very private person, Catherine,” Lauren answered sincerely. “You wouldn’t have anyone here who you didn’t absolutely have to.”

  Ayers didn’t answer immediately. “If that’s true, why have I let you stay?”

  “You need me.”

  Ayers stared.

  Lauren felt herself redden. “For the story. Obviously.” She gestured at the screen. “It’s done isn’t it? I mean once we feed in Nigel’s quotes, that’s it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Think Frank will like it?”

  “You can send it to him and find out.” She nudged her screen around, showing the opening of the story.

  Lauren stared at her name above Ayers’s. “You gave me the lead byline.”

  “As I said to you two weeks ago, I’ve had plenty, I don’t need another. And besides, you’ve earned it.”

  Lauren gave her a pleased grin. “Thanks. Hmm, I seem to be doing nothing but thanking you lately.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Ayers shook her head. “This is bad for my reputation. Apparently I’m not as caustic as I thought. Now…which pizza would you like?”

  Monday morning, over coffee and reading the paper, Lauren emailed Frank their bribery story. Thirty minutes later, the phone rang. She recognized her boss’s number and picked up to tell him she’d call him right back on the burner phone. She made the call, switched it to speaker, and beckoned Ayers over.

  “This is it?” he bellowed down the line. “Some shitty bribe scandal involving three asses from Nevada and some bean-counter kid caught in the middle?”

  “One of those asses is the governor,” Lauren protested. “Another is his lieutenant. A third his chief of staff!”

  “I know, kid, I can read. But did they have to be from Nevada? Christ, not even a California scandal! You do know we’re an LA paper right?”

  “Frank, they were being bribed by SmartPay to get their product endorsed and promoted all over the country from supposedly unbiased high-level clients. And SmartPay is being rolled out here. Next week in fact.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I suppose. Well. All right. Maybe it’s something we can use on page
five.”

  “Five!” Lauren gasped.

  “Three if you’re lucky. Must say, I’m pretty disappointed. And what’s with these nameless thugs intimidating businesses? You didn’t even get where they’re from?”

  “No proof, so no,” Lauren said. “We can only speculate. Sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t get the Boy King off my ass when this runs. Is this seriously all you had?”

  “No,” Ayers said, speaking for the first time.

  “Ayers? What the hell? King I’d expect wouldn’t know her ass from her elbow when it comes to news, but what’s your excuse?”

  “Frank, high-level political corruption is not some filler story.”

  “Sure—if I was in Nevada, I’d be creaming my shorts right now. But like I said, we’re not. So what else is there?”

  “A story so big we can’t even tell you about it over a burner phone.”

  “And when am I going to see this mythical wondrous story? By tomorrow’s deadline?”

  “You’re not going to see it at all. Because we can’t prove it. But there was a lot more to this than meets the eye. By comparison it would have reduced Watergate to being as newsworthy as an obits page filler. King does know news when she sees it because she was the one who found this. And it’s incredible.”

  “Proof or it didn’t happen, Ayers.”

  “And that’s the problem.”

  He grunted. “Look, I’m being called into yet another of Harrington’s our-future-is-online meetings. Do us all a favor and prove this legendary bullshit story of yours by tomorrow night or stay the hell out of my sight for the rest of your contract. Okay, Ayers?”

  Ayers’s nostrils flared.

  “Well?” he repeated.

  “We heard you, Frank,” Lauren cut in. “But like Catherine said, we can’t write what we can’t prove—”

  The phone clicked dead.

  Lauren and Ayers stared at each other.

  “Just great. What’s next?” Ayers spat. She flicked her pen viciously across the room.

  “Well, ah,” Lauren said weakly, watching the pen clatter under a bookcase, “I forgot to mention earlier, but you’re my date this evening for this thing I have to go to.”

  Ayers’s eyebrows shot heavenward, and her mood seemed to darken. “What thing?”

  “A retirement party for Mariella Slater’s husband. Ah, Harold. Well, anyway, apparently refusal’s not an option. She told me you have to come, too.”

  Based on the incendiary look fixed on her, Lauren felt exceedingly glad she wasn’t flammable.

  “Sweeties!” Mariella said and air-kissed them at the door. “Oooh my favorite wine, Catherine, thank you! How did you know?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she ushered them inside.

  Ayers stepped forward first, giving Lauren an impressive view of a very desirable ass clad in slim-fitting tailored pants. She moved with effortless grace, and Lauren followed enviously after her.

  Lauren glanced around curiously. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of party noise. Or people, for that matter.

  “Are we too early?” she asked. “We got the day right?” She laughed nervously.

  “Come with me,” Mariella said with a mysterious smile and drew them downstairs into a part of her home Lauren had never before been to.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “The guest wing,” Mariella replied.

  “Um, why?”

  Mariella offered her an indulgent smile. “A couple of nights ago, I had three unexpected guests on my doorstep, looking worse for wear, scared, and feeling very sorry for themselves, seeking somewhere to lay low. Now what am I, if not a humanitarian? Especially when one of said asylum seekers only this month gave me a divine, faux-crocodile, lilac clutch to match my favorite Christian Lacroix.”

  She knocked on a door and opened it.

  Three boyish faces which had been staring at a computer swung around. Snakepit, Duppy, and Josh.

  “Lauren!” Josh said and ran to her and gave her a hug. “Thank god. I thought they were going to start another game of gay warlords.”

  “They’re not gay, dude,” Snakepit objected. “They’re fearsome beast killers.”

  “Loin cloths, leather, and pecs,” Josh countered, winking at Lauren. “I just call it how I see it.”

  She looked at Mariella questioningly.

  “They told me the whole story,” she said quietly. “About finding the red files bribes and the secret spyware built into SmartPay’s dongler thingies. And two men chasing them. It’s a scary thing you’ve got yourself caught up in, sweetie. But knowing you, you won’t care about that. You’ll want to finish it.

  “Joshua here seemed convinced of that too. And Snakepit thought Harold’s retirement party would throw any eavesdroppers off the scent. And this one…” she pointed at Duppy. “Apparently just wanted to look at Catherine’s ass again.” She smirked. “So welcome to research night.”

  Duppy blushed but didn’t bother denying anything. Ayers and Lauren shot him matching glares.

  “So is Harold not really retiring?” Lauren asked in confusion.

  “Oh he is,” Mariella says. “He’s entertaining a few colleagues upstairs. I’ll bring you up later if you want to say hello.”

  “Thanks, Mari,” Lauren said and gave her a grateful hug.

  “Now, now, no rumpling the taffeta.” She tsked, but looked pleased. She met Ayers’s steady gaze. “For god’s sake, don’t get yourselves hurt over this. No story is worth that. I have a guest upstairs for you, who I was just sorting out some drinks for. I’ll send him right in.”

  “A guest?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She left them, and Lauren and Ayers perched gingerly on the edge of a long sofa.

  “So,” Lauren said, studying the two hackers. “Can you prove it? The virus on the SmartPay dongle?”

  “Even better,” Snakepit said, just as the door opened again.

  A man entered cautiously. He was in his mid-forties, wearing a suit and tie. He was holding a bourbon and looked serious.

  “This is them?” he asked the trio, eyeing the reporters.

  “Yep,” Snakepit said. “That’s Lauren King, and she’s Catherine Ayers. And this is my MIT professor of computer science, Javed Singh. He can verify everything. He also got shortlisted for a Nobel Prize last year, so, you know, no one can call him a crackpot.”

  “You brought us an expert witness?” Lauren said, stunned.

  Professor Singh shook their hands. “Mrs. Slater explained to Gerald and Simon how newspapers work, that their word alone would likely not be taken seriously,” he said, indicating the hackers who instantly reddened at their real names being used. “So they gave me a call. And I have to say my former protégé was not exaggerating the gravity of what he found. I’m greatly disturbed. I’m here so you can quote me for your story.”

  “But how can we prove it’s SmartPay’s virus?” Lauren asked. “Doesn’t it erase itself off dongles after it copies to a computer?”

  “Yes,” the professor confirmed.

  “So don’t we need a sealed one to test it and prove it?”

  “Indeed.”

  “But we don’t have one,” Lauren said, confused.

  “But we do,” Professor Singh said and studied her. “Did Mrs. Slater not tell you? Her husband donated his dongle to us. He won’t need it since he’s retiring. They only issued them at his workplace last week.”

  Lauren blinked. Harold, as a government worker, would of course be subject to SmartPay.

  “He told us he brought his retirement forward three months,” Snakepit interjected, “when he found out he’d have to use one of those dongles. I guess we pretty much put the fear of electronic god in him over dinner every night this week.”

  “Wow,” Lauren whispe
red. “And now you have a new dongle to test.”

  “Yeah,” Duppy said. “We videoed the professor as he cut open the packaging and then as he tracked and identified the worm in the SmartPay source code. No video edits—so no one can say the virus was added by us later. Then we also got proof of the thing hopping. It’s all here.”

  He handed them a DVD. “Don’t worry, it’s just a copy. But you can put it on your paper’s website.”

  “So,” Professor Singh began, “what would you like to know? How this insidious little spy worm would be the downfall of freedom across the globe if it’s unleashed? Or the worst abuse of governmental power ever witnessed?”

  Ayers reached for her handbag, pulled out a digital voice recorder and a notepad, and then moved to the desk near them. “How about options A and B?” she asked, face lit with excitement.

  Lauren took one look at her and grinned. Then she caught sight of Josh’s knowing look and her smile evaporated. He bounced over to the sofa and plopped down beside her and whispered, “Oh honey, you’ve got it so bad.”

  She shot him a venomous look.

  “Oh don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t breathe a word to a soul—although it’ll cost you.”

  “What do you want this time? I still don’t have tickets to that Wolverine vs Predator film.”

  “I want my designer socks replaced. They were shredded when I scampered out the window when a pair of gorillas burst in on us while we were virus hunting for you. It was terrifying. So much pilling.”

  “I’m so sorr—wait, pilling? The socks getting hurt you found terrifying?”

  “You never did understand fashion, did you? Such a lost cause.” His gaze flicked over to Ayers who was deep in conversation with the MIT professor. “So tell me, what’s it like kissing the Arctic queen? Any frost bite?”

  “Josh!” she hissed. “Cut it out.”

  “I will. So, size eight. Marc Jacobs. Scarlet. Cashmere.”

  “Blackmailer.”

  “No argument. So, any tongue? Soft sighs? Moans? Growls? Boob grabbing?”