by Gina Cresse
Amanda removed her hand from the phone and started fingering the locket again. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to hear what she has to say.”
“Thank you,” I said as I unpacked the laptop from its case and booted the little machine up.
I explained to the two women how I came to acquire the machine and briefly described the events of the past few days. Then I opened the first E-mail document—the one that contained the pictures of David Powers and Michael Norris and the direction to Robert Kephart to eliminate them. Amanda read the document silently, then placed a hand over her mouth.
“There’s more,” I said as I proceeded to open the second document.
“No. I don’t want to see any more. I know that David didn’t keep any notes or files from his work—not here at home, anyway. I’m not sure how I can help you.”
Martha finished reading the second document. She studied the laptop. “Wait a minute, Amanda. Remember the CD he mailed here before he left Mexico?”
Amanda gave her a blank stare. “I don’t remember. That was such a horrible time. Wait…I sort of remember something like that, but I don’t recall what I did with it.”
“You didn’t do anything with it. I put it away in David’s desk for you. Have you moved any of his things?”
“No. Everything is still where he left it in his office.”
Martha hurriedly left then returned with an envelope with a CD in it. “Here. See what this has on it,” she said as she handed me the envelope. I inserted the CD. Along with dozens of Word documents, I found one Read Me file in the directory and opened it. It was a message to Victor from David:
Victor: Pay dirt. Here are the documents I told you about. We were able to get copies of all of them. Some pretty big players are going to go down after this stuff hits the fan. Who would ever think one of the biggest problems in America was being financed by the biggest banks in the U.S. What do you think this is going to do to our economy? I predict another bailout. What do think?
Then I opened document after document. I could hardly believe my eyes. Billions of dollars in loans to a company whose major product lines included cocaine, heroin, marijuana, and methamphetamine.
“Wow. This is the evidence we need to blow this thing out of the water. Amanda, please let me take this and give it to someone who can do something with it.”
“Okay. But what if someone asks about it?”
“Don’t tell anyone. Especially don’t tell anyone I spoke with you. For your own safety, just forget I was ever here and that this CD ever existed.”
I packed up the laptop and started for the door, then I realized I didn’t have any transportation. “Can I use your phone to call a taxi?” I asked. I glanced out the backyard window and noticed one of the neighbors on his dock, polishing the chrome on his speed boat.
“Sure. It’s right there, on the table,” she said.
“Maybe I won’t need to call after all. Is that your neighbor out there, working on his boat?” I asked, pointing in the direction of the dock.
Amanda peered out the window to see what had caught my attention. “Oh, yes. That’s Aaron.”
“I’ll be right back if I need to use the phone,” I said as I walked out the door and headed down to the dock.
“Hi,” I said.
He flashed a surprising smile that sent tingles up from my toes to my fingertips. Locks of sandy blonde hair frolicked dangerously close to his piercing blue eyes until he shook them out of the way. The muscles in his bare, tanned arms flexed as he put the final touches on a beautifully detailed speedboat.
The sleek machine looked as though it were travelling seventy miles per hour, just sitting there next to the dock.
“Are you Aaron?”
“That would be me. And you are?”
“I’m Devonie. That’s a pretty fancy boat you’ve got there. Looks like she’s pretty fast.”
“Amazingly fast,” he boasted as he continued to polish the chrome.
“You don’t suppose I could hire you to run me up to the Lace Marina, in Del Mar?” I asked.
“Well,” he scratched his head and thought for a moment. “Won’t be free. You sure you can afford it?”
I pulled a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to him. “Will this be enough?” I asked.
Aaron looked at the bill and smiled. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a six-pack, but this’ll do. Any friend of Ben Franklin’s a friend of mine. Hop in and hang on.”
If that boat could have sprouted wings, I believe it would have flown. Actually, I think we were flying half the time. What a rush it was to feel the power of that engine lift us right out of the water. Quite a different sensation than the relaxing feeling of the Plan B. The warm sun on my face and the cool spray of water felt good. For a short time, I forgot about the trouble I was in and enjoyed the moment.
Aaron dropped me on the dock of my uncle’s marina. I thanked him for the lift.
“Any time—and hey—the next one’s on the house,” Aaron said as he helped me off the boat.
Chapter Nineteen
Uncle Doug was talking on the phone with a yacht dealer on the East Coast when I walked into his office. He motioned for me to take a seat while he finished up his call.
“Yeah, Marv. Sounds great. You get a crew together to sail her over here and I’ll have her sold before she gets through the Panama Canal. Just fax me all the specs and we’ll be in touch. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you next week,” he said and hung up the phone.
Then he turned his attention to me. “Where the heck have you been? We’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Doug. It was too dangerous to contact you. I’m sure the Feds and the CIA are tapping your phones by now. Can we go outside?” I said.
“Sure. Let’s take a walk. I want to show you the new yacht I just got in yesterday.”
We walked down the dock toward a beautiful vessel tied up at the end of the landing. It had to be one of the most exquisite sailing crafts I’d ever laid my eyes on. She was an absolute work of art. Her lines were as appealing to the eye as a painting by any of the great masters. Every detail, down to the hatch handle, showed evidence of impeccable care. At one time, she was someone’s pride and joy. I wondered why she was on the market.
“Wow. What a beauty,” I said as I admired the luxury sailing yacht, appropriately named, The Jewel. “Why would someone want to sell such a lovely boat?”
“The man who had her built passed away recently. He owned a small winery up in the Napa Valley. His widow didn’t share her husband’s love for sailing. The business he left her was struggling, so she decided to sell.”
“Have you got a buyer for her?”
“Not yet. Won’t be hard to find a buyer. Sixty feet of pure joy. She’s got four double cabins, each with their own private heads. Fully equipped galley—every piece of navigation equipment you can imagine. Even has an auto pilot. Take a look at this deck. Isn’t that teak gorgeous?”
I ran my hand along the railing, remembering the feeling I had the first time I saw the Plan B. “She’s exquisite,” I said as I daydreamed about sailing somewhere in the clear blue waters of the Caribbean.
Then I remembered why I was there, and I was hurled out of my sweet daydream into the cold reality of my life. “Uncle Doug, can we go meet your friend at the Los Angeles Times? I’ve got some new information that’s really incredible. I think we can blow this thing out of the water—pardon the expression.”
“Right now?”
“If we could. It’s urgent.”
“Let’s go. I’ll get George to watch the office for me. I’ll meet you in the parking lot. I’m in the Ferrari today.”
Peter Cunningham, a veteran reporter with the L.A. Times, listened intently and took notes as I described the events of the past few days to him. Then, with amazement, he read the documents I brought on the CD. He looked like a gold miner who’d just struck the mother lode.
“This is re
markable. Where did you get it?”
“Is it important for you to know? I mean, I don’t want to put any more people in danger.”
“It would help if I had some sort of witness. Of course, the identity of that person would be kept completely confidential.”
I thought for a moment. “Can I use your network connection for this laptop, Mr. Cunningham?”
He looked a little confused. “Sure. I guess so. What for?” he asked.
“I think I might have a witness for you—if we can convince him.”
I made the connection and signaled for a response from my newest chat room acquaintance.
He came on line and requested my identity.
“It’s Devonie,” I typed.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“I found the evidence we need. I’m at the L.A. Times. The reporter’s convinced this new evidence—along with the copies of E-mails I had sent earlier—can launch a full-blown Senate investigation, provided you agree to be a witness in the case.”
“What kind of evidence did you get?”
“I found documents that implicate major U.S. banks and investors in the Mexican drug trade. Powers and Norris had copies of the documents with them when their plane crashed, but Powers made a backup and mailed it to his wife before he left Mexico. I got the backup from her. The reporter wants to meet you.”
There was a long pause. Finally, a response came across the screen. “What assurance do I have that my identity will be kept concealed?”
Peter asked if he could respond. I slid the computer in front of him. “This is Peter Cunningham responding to your concerns,” he typed. “You have my personal guarantee that your identity will be held in the strictest confidence. If you know anything about me at all, then you know I have gone to jail on several occasions for refusing to reveal my sources.”
Again, there was a pause. Finally, a response appeared on the screen. “I’ll have to think about this. I’ll contact Mr. Cunningham within twenty-four hours with my answer.”
“Good enough,” Peter entered.
I took the computer back and closed down the connection. “Before I give you this CD, I want to copy it to my hard drive. It shouldn’t take too long,” I said to Peter.
“That’s fine,” he said as he continued making notes in his notepad.
Uncle Doug was watching the file copy procedure with interest. “One of these days I’ll have to get myself up to speed on these computers,” he said.
Peter laughed. “I know what you mean, Doug. These young hotshot reporters—running around with their little notebook computers, downloading their stories right from the scene—are going to put me out of a job one of these days. I’m still getting by with a notepad and a pencil.”
I closed down the laptop and put it back in its case. “You’re wrong about that. All the computers in the world will never replace the talent and skill people like the two of you have.”
“Thank you, Devonie,” Peter replied. “Let’s keep in touch on this. I’m sure I’ll have more questions for you once I’ve gone through my notes. Hopefully our mystery witness will come through for us and we can bring a whole lot of people to justice. I realize I won’t be able to contact you at my convenience, but if you can possibly check in with me daily?”
“Sure,” I replied.
Back at the Ferrari, Uncle Doug pulled a small key from his pocket. “Here. Harv down at the bank had a replacement key for your safe-deposit box made for you.”
“Great. Thank you,” I said as I took the key from him. “Uncle Doug, do you still have that vacation house up at Tahoe?”
“The Incline Village house? Sure. Arlene and I go there at least four times a year. Say, that wouldn’t be a bad place for you to hide out for a while.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Let’s stop back at the house and pick up the key. We can get you some transportation while we’re at it.”
This time, transportation turned out to be Aunt Arlene’s more conservative Camry. I stopped at a branch of my bank and made a deposit of five thousand dollars into my checking account. Then I drove all night and rolled into Tahoe at nearly three in the morning.
Chapter Twenty
I followed the directions on the map Uncle Doug drew for me and found the house without too much trouble. I was there once, as a teenager, for a family Christmas vacation. Doug and Arlene invited the whole family for a week of fun in the snow. We skied and sledded and rode for miles on snowmobiles. We had a contest to see who could build the world’s ugliest snowman—a competition in which I won. We had snowball fights in the afternoons, and at night we roasted marshmallows in the fireplace. It was a really good time. I missed Christmas’s like that—when the whole family got together and didn’t worry about anything except whose turn it was to split wood for the fire.
I let myself into the house and turned on some lights. Uncle Doug called ahead and had the kitchen stocked with food and supplies for me. I made myself a sandwich and sat down at the big desk in the den. I was dead tired but I had one more job to do before retiring for the night. The time difference in Switzerland dictated that I take care of that business right away. I booted the laptop up, connected to VideoService, and noted the phone number of the Swiss Bank Corporation—the institution that housed Robert Kephart’s account. I dialed the number then waited for an answer.
“Hello. I’d like to find out about opening an account with your bank,” I requested.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t too difficult to open the account. I had to make a minimum deposit, which I made using an electronic funds transfer from my account in the States. I provided all the necessary information over the phone, and I was faxed a form to fill out, sign and fax back. I was informed I could begin making deposits immediately, but of course, there would be a seven to ten day waiting period to complete the assignment.
Then I connected again to the VideoService program and logged into Kephart’s account. When I tried to generate a payment order, a dialog box appeared in the center of the screen. Please enter secondary confirmation password:
I stared blankly at the screen. Secondary password? I wasn’t prompted for that when I inquired on the account earlier. The additional security must have been in effect for any transactions other than inquiries. I tapped my teeth with my fingernails and ran the options through my head.
I dialed the bank’s number again. “Hello. Can you please connect me with your Information Services Manager?” I requested.
“One moment, please.”
“Hello. Conrad Kobl speaking,” a voice with a thick accent responded.
“Hello, Mr. Kobl. I wonder if you have a few minutes to participate in a brief information technology survey my company is conducting. I promise I’ll only require five minutes of your time.”
“I’m very busy. Can you call back later?” he replied.
“I absolutely guarantee you’ll be no more than five minutes. The responses to our questions will be published in ComputerWorld magazine. We may even want to visit your site and shoot some photos for the issue. I’ve been given the authority to send you a wonderful free gift if you agree to participate.”
“Free gift?”
“Yes, Mr. Kobl. If you agree to answer my questions, I’ll send you a discount coupon good for fifty dollars off any Microsoft software product you choose.”
“Well, okay. Go ahead.”
“Thank you. First of all, what hardware platform are you currently on?”
“We’re running on NCR servers now.”
“And what operating system?”
“UNIX. We are experimenting with a WindowsNT network, but it’s for in-house use only, at this time.”
“Very good. Tell me, Mr. Kobl, what is your application software platform?”
“We operate under a very popular banking package provided by an outside vendor. We do have two in-house software developers who write specialized applications specific to our business.”
“Does your banking package include a payroll module?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Do you use a relational database?”
“Yes. We use Oracle.”
“I see. Thank you very much, Mr. Kobl. That’s all the questions I have for you. Watch for that discount coupon in the mail.”
I pressed the hook on the phone then redialed the bank. “Hello. Human Resources, please.”
“One moment,” the receptionist said, then transferred me.
“This is Caroline. How may I help you?” the woman from H.R. said.
“Hi, Caroline. My name is Trisha Yerington. I’m from Microsoft. I’m calling to confirm the attendance of two of your employees at our upcoming software Developers’ Expo next month. Let’s see, I have their names listed here, somewhere. What did I do with that list?” I fumbled with some papers on the desk.
“That would have to be Raul and Marie. They’re our only programmers,” she said.
“Yes. I believe those are the names I have noted here. Gee. I can’t seem to make out the last names. Could you confirm the spelling for me?”
“Sure. That’s Raul Napoli and Marie Marcos. I’m checking our records, but I don’t see anything about them being off-site for any conferences next month. Marie isn’t here today, but I can check with Raul to see if it has just fallen through the cracks. Are you sure about this?”
“You know, you’re right. It looks like they only requested information about the conference. I’ll be sure to get that in the mail to them right away. Thank you for your help.”
I hung up, then called the bank back. “Hello. May I speak with Raul Napoli, please?”
“One moment.”
“This is Raul,” the voice announced.
“Hello, Raul. This as Connie from Oracle Worldwide Support. I’ve been assigned to troubleshoot a problem with your payroll system. Let’s see, I have TAR number 455399-0d. Are you aware of the problem?”