Hell To Pay

by Andrik Rovson

  “See, USB 2.0 and USB 3.0, firewire, HDMI, everything you need. They did it to jazz up the front, it does make the standard server interface look cooler, set off by the running lights, clean.” He looked at Jabo like he was a elementary kid, come to their facility for a tour.

  “Yeah, like printers, well some of them,” Jabo hoped a printer somewhere had the same bland interface feature.

  “Is that all, I have to go,” he started to leave, then came back, a question in his eyes, “do you think she'd really go out with me?” It surprised Jabo, who rarely worried about what the woman thought about hooking up. They either did or they didn't. Rejection of a friendly offer of companionship meant you went looking for another, more amenable partner. Of all the games and battles he engaged in, sex was the easiest.

  “Hey, no risk, no reward. Do it, she's got the hots for you, mister on his way up since I clearly washed out.” He shook the guy's hand, watched him turn the corner, walking with a new confidence – looking for the woman Jabo had pissed off.

  Certain he was alone. Exactly thirty seconds after he stuck the USB inside the slot he pulled it out, making sure he gave it enough time to insert the hidden program. In thirty minutes it wouldn't matter if they found out what he'd done. His only job complete, he closed the cover that had hidden the empty sockets. Closing up, he hurried back to his original station where he'd left his toolbox, slowing on the way to act like he was returning from the bathroom. As he was closing up, ready to leave the woman stalked by. Jabo gave her a look of fear, like he'd been read the riot act. She smiled then moved on, satisfied he'd been put in his place. Puffed up jerks were the easiest to fool, give 'em what they expect then you can do what you want.

  “I hope that gets you laid by mister nerd. I couldn't have done it without you, asshole,” Jabo muttered, smirking at the turn of events. Making enemies into useful tools was his specialty and he'd scored with both of them. Leaving, he glanced down the hall, sure the gate he'd admitted into first was closed like the high security for LazaRuss servers he'd just left a few minutes ago. Good enough, time for evac.

  He reversed course and walked out in two minutes. While he'd stood at the computer rack he'd crushed the tiny USB memory stick under his boot heel. As he was leaving the building he flushed the broken remains down the toilet. The odd sign beside the door indicated it was unisex, showing how up to date their sexual thinking was at this company. If it was for anyone, of any sexual orientation, why have a damned sign? It was another hallmark of the 'whatever' generation. He got rid of the evidence, as instructed. It was possible he'd get checked going out – as thoroughly as they had when he'd come inside, maybe more. When he checked out at the front of the building he guarded his bottom like a new prisoner in a high security jail. Luckily he didn't have to break any fingers or jaws.

  Chapter Nine

  Who can hope to be safe? Who sufficiently cautious? Guard himself as he may every moment's an ambush.

  Horace

  “What do you see?” the hard faced man, who looked like his face had been roughed out of granite then abandoned before the sculptor could finish. He was not happy, making the two other, younger, very muscular men uneasy. They had it made here, a dream job for someone of their education and experience – very highly paid security guards. They'd been hired to do one thing, watch over a long rows of ten by twenty meter metal cages that housed the very high security LazaRuss's servers in this huge data warehouse. This was done with foot patrols, backed up by the many cameras mounted everywhere inside the building, but not every place.

  Brought in a three years before Missange had talked to the FBI then disappeared into protective custody, the stone faced man had already dealt with another high minded leaker two years earlier. That traitor had mysteriously disappeared a few days after he wrote his congressman about his research job at LazaRuss, taking a dirt nap, thanks to him. He and his small 'special purpose' security team in the server building were also tasked with wider corporate damage control in the San Marcos facilities, which could mean killing the offending party, quietly, or beating him up severely.

  Today's incident made him certain he'd have to do something about this man. With no direct evidence, he nonetheless felt he'd stuck something in one of their very secure servers before left quickly. The supervisor's summary of their conversation about how to find their servers' USB slots had made his heart stop, seeing his worst case scenario coming true – on his watch.

  Jabo's visit had lasted twelves minutes, start to finish. The check-in log at the building entry showed he wasn't even cleared to enter the cage whose door had registered an entry event when he was in the area. Their intruder had only been cleared for a low security server group, fifty meters away, with several other server cages between them.

  It might have been an honest mistake, or a very sophisticated penetration. Without cameras he'd been begging for, they couldn't know what he'd done, maybe nothing. But something didn't feel right. That was all he needed to start looking into the particulars on this technician, one they had no previous record visiting their facility – another suspicious bit of information that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

  “Could be a checkup, everything looks fine,” the youngest man offered after he'd returned from having a nerd run some basic checks for a virus. Lance, the younger security guard, and the one with the most to prove was always ready with a comment, trying to be recognized for his aggressive ideas and intelligence. Grigor, the hard faced, older man who ran their unit graced as he heard Lance's cheery remark with a look that made Lance's stomach curdle.

  Alerted too late, Missange and his family had escaped their poorly planned attack on his house outside San Marcos. Lance had later imagined Grigor holding Missange by his neck, shaking him, laughing and talking to him quietly in Russian as he died, croaking, begging for air.

  “You,” he pointed at Lance, “make yourself useful and follow them, then call me when they stop, don't go anywhere, stay when they stop moving. Check in and wait, like a nice little Durak and don't let them see you.” He waved his arm dismissively and Lance hurried out. Grigor called the parking lot attendant, another man who worked for him, but not key player, not aware of what they really did. A menial like Lance, he was an hourly security guard and nothing else. Lance was paid far more, but to keep his mouth shut, not for any martial or investigative skills.

  Gigor told him to stop their latest visitors for a quick check of their trunk, calling it standard procedure, not sharing his suspicions they were an intrusion team. Intimidated, like everyone else who'd met Grigor face to face, the guard rapidly agreed and hung up, stepping outside his small booth to stand in front of Cathy's car, waving it down.

  “What the heck is this?” Jabo was keyed up, his paranoia working overtime, as it always did when he was on a mission, even one as low key as this one. What they heck would one of those skinny geeks inside the big warehouse done to him if he was caught – whack him with a keyboard, poke him with a pen? He could have reached out and crushed the nuts of the pretentious clown who'd fronted him by the server. Lucky for him Jabo's need to stay invisible was more important than dealing with a pushy idiot. “Don't stop, drive through the damned barrier, its just a piece of plastic.” Used to expediency in combat, the direct solution was always best.

  “They know I'm here, they'd call the cops. We can't have an incident.” Cathy was more intimidated than Jabo. A real straight arrow, she'd never done anything questionable in her life, at least not since she and her friends had livened up a sleepover when she was twelve by taking a bottle of expensive brandy to her bedroom. They'd drunk half the thousand dollar bottle then dropped it in the bathroom, where it broke, forcing her to clean it up, cut her hand and get the riot act read out to her by her angry father. She'd been an angel since then and always wondered if her father was more pissed about losing the rare bottle of booze or her transgression.

  “We're covered if they call the cops, but I agree, let's see what he
wants,” Albert was thinking ahead, flicking through his phone to find the SAC in Dallas, to call in a favor if they were busted or hassled.

  “Sorry folks, new rule, I have to look in your trunk,” he had a goofy smile, but Jabo felt the tension in his voice, alert to micro tics his face was exploding with, along with the way he talked, too urgent, too friendly, trying to lull them so they wouldn't offer any resistance. His hand crept to his hip, then he became aware the 9mm Beretta he wore night and day, normally, wasn't there. Reaching over, he unlocked the door, ready to rush out if things went south.

  Jabo watched the security guard walk around the car and pull open the trunk lid. The back area was empty. Being thorough and taking more time, he checked out the spare under the carpet, lifted to verify no contraband was hiding underneath. A few more seconds tapping around the edge of the trunk liner and he closed the lid, going back to Cathy's side. His hand wasn't on his pistol, but Jabo could see it was hovering, like he wanted to grip his gun but was telling himself not to, so they wouldn't be threatened. It all felt very wrong to him as he looked back at Albert who gave him a 'cool it Jabo' look that pissed him off.

  What experience did Albert have in the shit? He was the type that flew in after all the shooting stopped, no different from the other rear area tourists who wanted some 'action'. Fuckheads to a man and woman. Come with us when we're going out, loaded with seventy or eighty pounds on our backs, dropped somewhere to hump up a few mountains, party with the bad guys where we have a chance to pick up some shrapnel from a mortar round or two that lands so close it makes your body jump up like the earth's a trampoline. Fight back your fear so you can think clearly then figure out how to beat the murderous assholes who are trying to kill you. Win by a hair's breadth, then look at your best friend's blown off leg as he tries to not show any of the tremendous pain and fear he's feeling, trying act manly for his buddies, to make it easier for them. Keep yourself together when he looks off, dazed by his morphine shot, telling everyone he's fine, he's okay – a lie nobody believes for a second. His life is over, different forever. That's action and there's nothing glamorous or exciting about it. It's never easy – never.

  “You can go,” the guard looked at Cathy then his eyes flicked back into the parking lot, fixing on something that Jabo had to wait until they'd pulled out onto the street to search for. He saw it too, a late model sedan pulled out behind them, racing up to roll past, trying to make the light they were approaching, blowing through the intersection on a yellow that turned red the moment the car got there.

  “Damn!” Cathy hit the brakes and nearly pulled in front of a car in the lane beside them, swerving to avoid the man who'd sped past them. “Must be from California, those jerks drive like idiots!”

  It was the first time he'd seen her angry, blowing off steam like he would if another driver cut him off or weaved through traffic, making everyone else compensate for his selfish actions, acting like he owned the damned road. It focused everyone's mind on the car they saw speeding off as they sat at the light. Behind them, Lance was two cars back, as he'd been trained, never too close while staying near enough to parallel their course so he wouldn't lose them. He didn't think they were a threat, but Grigor called the shots and he wanted to stay on the team. Hired as a replacement for a man who'd been promoted and left, at least that was what they'd told him. Now he'd had seen what they did, why they paid him over a hundred thousand a year for a job that had been defined as Corporate security, he understood they were there to make sure nobody found out what LazaRuss did, which was clearly illegal, not that he cared. Money settled his conscience, turned it off completely at this pay level.

  They'd explained it as cut throat competition in a rapidly evolving field where all the major players were fighting for dominance. LazaRuss intended on winning with an emerging technology – genetic products. Cloning was only part of it. People, 'bad people' as Grigor explained it, would do anything to steal their technology. Lance had received his real briefing after he'd been hired, confidential, special training for his position, 'technology branch, security guard, level one'. He wondered what HR would call the guards at Auschwitz – human processing technicians?

  The story he'd heard from Roger, the previous level one guy, had initially scared Lance. The previous guard drove the company the car as two supervisors, Grigor and Ben, had held the previous leaker between them. Sharing the lurid tale, the guard who Lance replaced had told him the story when he'd trained him. The duo of muscular men had disappeared as their prisoner struggled and begged for his life. They'd returned without the leaker an hour later. Word was they'd given him a scare and left him, beaten and terrified, in the woods. Pure bullshit. Lance was certain they'd killed and buried him, like the fucking mafia, probably the Russian mafia, given Grigor's accent.

  The more he thought about it, he liked it. It made him see himself as a player, a real bad guy. He'd dabbled in the life, sold some cocaine in community college, messed up a guy who made a drunken pass at a girl, idiots hassling a girl, taking advantage – not that Lance was some kind of saint in that arena. He'd used his karate training to jump kick him straight in the guts with a nice followup to his head, Bruce Lee shit, putting him down for the count.

  His shady police record, a few disorderly conducts and one driving under the influence, stoned out of his mind on some killer weed, had been a gold star to Grigor, making him a prime candidate. He'd demonstrated he could keep his mouth shut and follow orders, as well as being capable of operating outside of the 'box'. His record made him loyal, scared he'd be let go if he made any waves.

  Now he was tailing a car, chasing people who were potential corporate spies. Is that cool or what? Not a small or weak man, Lance might have to step up, beat up the people in the other car, show them not to mess with LazaRuss. He was ready, certain it would mean a bonus and a promotion. Fuck working in an office, kissing ass, waiting years for that next step up in pay, taking more courses at that fucking community college hell hole. That was for losers. That had been the siren call, hearing Grigor say their top pay scale was twice what they'd started him out at, a cool hundred K. Fuck me, playing James Bond for a big high tech company was the best thing that had ever happened to him and man did it pay well. Bring it on.

  What did it matter if LazaRuss and Grigor did stuff that was illegal? That justified the high pay and the onerous demands for secrecy that had been pounded in his brain since he'd started working for them. It was serious stuff that required serious people, like Grigor and now him, people who were willing to take things to the next level and fuck the law, if it got the job done and protected the company. Talk about a dream job, this was it!

  Following the Lexus sedan was easy, the most expensive one they made, it seemed to make the traffic open up around it, as people wondered who was inside the shiny gray luxury car that exuded money. They pulled into the Hilton, the newest hotel in this once backwater town that was now growing like crazy, the next Austin. The State Capital had turned into a high technology mecca, a process started by Dell years ago. Now it was home to hundreds of cutting edge companies and software startups.

  The Lexus disappeared into the hotel's parking garage and he slid into an open parking slot on the street where he could keep an eye on the garage exit. Lance tapped the app on his phone that let him pay the parking meter directly over the web after he'd entered it's ID. You gotta love technology. Lance didn't consider it also created a record that identified his car's location and time, freely available to anyone who paid the parking App for its customer information, a secondary sale most programmers were happy to fold into their application. It's all money.

  After a few minutes Lance was sure they weren't doing a quick in and out to throw off any tails, like him, He got out and quickly walked across the street, entering the lobby, worried they'd go up to their room before he arrived. Lucky for him, Cathy took her time at the front desk. They were easy to spot and verify, two men and a woman he'd looked over when he pulled up beside them
temporarily as he tailed them, looking inside then dropping back, as a car in front of him slowed, right on time, as he'd hoped it would, timing it so his peek inside so his car would blend into traffic. He felt proud of his subterfuge skills, ready to tell Grigor later, if the hard ass would listen to him. Lance had ability and drive. In this job that meant more money. Maybe they'd let him bury the next corporate spy.

  As soon as he saw them he decided to take some pictures with his phone. A slick move like that would earn him even more brownie points and verify he'd followed them to their final destination. It would show he could take the initiative, not only tailing them to the hotel but going inside to get a clear set of individual pictures of all their intruders. It was far beyond his simple orders from Grigor, showing he was on the ball – someone who could think on his own.

  Jabo caught the young man's look at them as they stood talking to each other. They were exposed, in his opinion, acting casual in the lobby, all so Cathy could check if her father had left her any messages. A daddy's girl, she'd made sure he knew where she was every time they checked into a hotel, keeping him informed, sensing he was still nervous about his only child who'd married a soldier, not his first choice for a husband, almost the last person he'd ever dreamed of for her.

  He looked over to Albert, expecting him to operate like one of his men, keeping his eyes on the leader, Jabo. All his soldiers had stayed in touch, visually, ready to respond to anything he saw. They oriented on his actions and eyes, responded silently to the slightest hint his body was giving off a signal, telling them to focus on something that might be a threat or an opportunity. But Albert didn't notice Jabo's urgent body language. The slightly older man was a computer fighter who searched web pages and printouts, not a soldier of the real world like Jabo. Jabo shook his head, snorting unconsciously, pissed he was once again in the shit, but this time alone, having to fight the battle for all three of them.