Betrayed

by Karen E. Olson

  I don’t know if she knows about me. If she knows about me and Ian, back in Miami, in Paris, on Block Island. Did Ian ever tell her about me, or did he lead her on, telling her she was the only one he would ever love? The way he used to talk to me.

  I feel a little empathy toward her, since we were both duped by the same man for the same reason. He got her to provide those bank account numbers and gave them to me so I could steal for him. He ran away with me, but he ended up marrying her.

  She is watching me so intently that she must know who I am. She studies my face, as though trying to see the woman whom her husband loved for a time. I shift uncomfortably, but I am unable to look away. I have the irrational thought that I have a gun in my backpack; that if I need to, I could defend myself. She has that sort of look in her eyes, one that tells me she will fight for what she believes is hers.

  A cab pulls up in front of me. My ride. It distracts me and I look away for a second. When I look back, she is walking quickly in the opposite direction, her heels clacking against the sidewalk, looking cool in her white shift despite the heat.

  Her presence makes me uneasy. No one else is on the sidewalk. This is a business district; it’s morning. Everyone’s at work. But as I look around, I see the logo for the bank where Amelie works. It’s two doors down from the hotel. Relief rushes through me, and I find myself relaxing a little. Betr@yD has me too paranoid. I could also have imagined that she looked at me as though she knew me. My imagination is playing tricks on me.

  I quickly climb into the cab, settling into the back seat, the backpack on my lap. I watch the meter as we make our way along the city streets. I’m going to have to take stock of my cash. I’m not making any money right now. I could take up Zeke’s offer and get a bona fide job with his team, collect a regular paycheck, maybe even have healthcare benefits.

  Those thoughts stifle me even more than being physically closed in a hotel room. I’m not cut out to tether myself to a job like that.

  The palm trees hang over the road, and again I’m struck by how at home I feel. As the cab winds its way around to Coral Gables, I wonder if I could ever live here again. I dismiss the thought almost as soon as I have it. No, when I’m done here, I’m never coming back.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The house where Spencer lives looks a lot less appealing in the bright glare of the sun. The white paint on the stucco looks as though it was dipped in tea and is peeling. I take note, however, that the rest of the neighborhood is tidier, with its green lawns and landscaped plantings, smooth driveways, and pink and blue houses. Spencer’s sticks out like the proverbial sore thumb, and I can’t help but think that the neighbors talk among themselves about the mysterious guy who lives in the shabby home.

  Zeke’s rental car sits in the driveway. I’m not entirely surprised to see it here. I pay my cab fare and get out, leaving me vulnerable, out in the open. I have an unexpected sense of danger, but a quick glance tells me no one is around and I am being silly. Maybe.

  I don’t go to the front door, preferring to use the side entrance as we did last night. I walk swiftly around the house and note again that all the windows are covered. I can’t see anything inside. When I get to the door, I don’t bother knocking, just put my hand on the knob and turn.

  It’s not locked.

  A faint smell of coffee permeates the kitchen, but there’s no sign of a coffee pot or cups anywhere. Again, the strips of daylight that stream through the window are not kind to the house. The cabinets are worn, with gouges in the wood; the laminate floor is full of nicks; the countertop stained with rings that could be red wine or coffee or tea, or all of the above. It looked a lot nicer in the dark.

  I move through the room and into the living room. Spencer has covered the windows with fabric, so it feels like night-time in here. He and Zeke are huddled next to each other, studying source code on a screen in front of them; they each have a keyboard in their laps.

  ‘Come on in, Tina.’ Zeke doesn’t even look around. How did he know I was here? Did he hear the door open? But then, how would he know it was me?

  I hesitate, and he turns. I expect him to ask me to explain my presence, but all he says is: ‘Did you put a back door in the bank site last night?’

  I shift a little, from one foot to the other. ‘Maybe.’

  He rolls his eyes and elbows Spencer, who’s furiously working his keyboard, before saying, ‘You’d better get over here and help, since you’re the one who caused it.’

  ‘Caused what?’ I cross the room and Zeke pulls a chair on wheels over for me.

  He jabs his finger at the screen. ‘This.’

  I scan the code and every muscle tenses. ‘I didn’t mean to do that.’

  ‘So what, exactly, did you mean to do?’

  I bite my lip and debate how much to tell him. The whole truth or just a portion?

  ‘You can’t bullshit me, Tina. The entire network went down. A botnet got in there. Through your back door. You made it easy for them.’

  ‘Too fucking easy,’ Spencer adds.

  ‘The whole bank network is down?’

  ‘The whole fucking thing.’ Even though Spencer is trying to be angry, I can hear a hint of respect in his tone again. The back door was only supposed to be a place marker for me so I could find my way back in, but I have an unexpected sense of pride in what I did. The feeling subsides, however, when it’s clear Zeke isn’t thrilled.

  ‘Tell us what you did.’ Zeke isn’t being patient, and he’s definitely angry.

  I sigh. ‘OK.’ I pause, uncertain how to say it, and decide I might as well just do it outright. ‘I found the money.’

  The shock is clear in their expressions. Before they can press further, I tell them. ‘Last night, when you weren’t looking, I found the money. But because I was here, I couldn’t do anything about it, so I may have created a little bit of a back door so I could recognize it and get back in later.’

  Zeke is frowning, trying to figure it out, but Spencer gets it. ‘I knew it. Even though they updated their network, accounts just don’t disappear. How did you know it was yours?’

  ‘The account number.’

  ‘You remembered it after all these years?’ Zeke is dubious.

  ‘I created it. It wasn’t a legitimate account, but I tucked it inside the code and made it look like it was. But it was sort of a ghost; no one who was looking for it would be able to find it.’ I nod at Zeke. ‘I really did send you the account number and the code for the back door. I don’t understand what happened.’

  ‘Someone got in there before me,’ he says simply. ‘That’s why there wasn’t any money.’

  I’m confused. ‘But when I saw it last night, the two million was in there. Like it had never been touched.’

  ‘You’re telling me that someone took the money out and then put it back later?’ Spencer said. ‘That’s fucked-up.’ Spencer might be a genius hacker, but he has a very limited vocabulary.

  I turn my attention back to the computer screens. ‘A botnet?’ I ask. ‘Who put that in motion?’

  ‘Could have been anyone,’ Zeke said. ‘It might not have anything to do with you or me or us at all. But your back door let them in.’

  So my little string of code allowed in an army of hacked computers that apparently succeeded in waging a denial-of-service attack against the bank where my secret account lives – or lived – and took the whole network down.

  I should feel guilty. Instead, a huge sense of relief rushes through me. Although it was a thrill to have found the money, I am better off without it, without the knowledge that it’s still out there.

  I wonder, suddenly, why Zeke and Spencer are so interested in this particular bank network. ‘What’s really going on here? Why are you paying such close attention to this particular bank? The one that …’ My voice trails off.

  ‘Tony DeMarco’s got money in this bank. Legit money,’ Zeke tells me. ‘But we’re keeping an eye on it, to see where it’s coming from, where it goes.
And this is not the only bank we’re watching. He’s got his money scattered all over the place.’

  ‘So what have you found?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Spencer says. ‘Guy’s as clean as a whistle. At least on the surface.’

  ‘What if he really is?’ I ask. ‘What if all this’ – I wave my arm around to indicate all of Spencer’s equipment – ‘is a waste of time?’

  Spencer grins. ‘But it’s not.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Zeke says you hacked into a computer at DeMarco’s.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘And that whoever had hacked it was downloading kiddie porn.’

  I am about to tell them about the laptop, but they exchange a look I can’t read. Zeke nods, and before I can say anything, Spencer says, ‘The botnet that took down the bank network? Flooded it with images of kiddie porn.’

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘That’s going around,’ I say.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Zeke asks.

  I tell them about the kiddie porn on the laptop. ‘The hacker we were watching? Betr@yD? I’m pretty sure he’s the one who did it.’ I reach around, pull the laptop out of the backpack, and hand it to him.

  We’re all thinking the same thing. Whoever crashed the bank’s network is the same person who hacked into that computer at Tony’s.

  ‘He must have known it was me on the other side of that conversation,’ I say.

  ‘If he’s shadowing that laptop, compromising it, then he knows what’s on it. He knows that the data is yours.’ Zeke confirms my suspicions.

  ‘He played us for fools.’ Saying it out loud makes me extremely anxious. Zeke’s expression is dark. He’s thinking what I am: that Betr@yD also knows who he is.

  ‘He asked specifically about p4r4d0x, too,’ I remind him. ‘It’s like he was telling me that he’s behind everything: the shadow, Tony’s hit.’

  ‘And he feels betrayed.’ Spencer’s voice is low, but his words ring loud.

  I think again about Ian. But he was busy with Tony DeMarco’s homecoming right before Betr@yD showed up. If he were even capable of this, would he have had the time to do it?

  ‘Who’s keeping an eye on the kids while you’re here?’ I ask Zeke.

  ‘I don’t think it’s Daniel.’ He’s not talking about keeping an eye on everyone. He’s talking about who perpetrated the botnet, who compromised the laptop.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’ve been monitoring his computer ever since he started.’

  Spencer and I both roll our eyes at him.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ he says, trying to defend himself. ‘I’ve been shadowing him. I can see everything that everyone on my team is doing at all times.’ As if to prove it, he puts the laptop down and hits a few keys on Spencer’s keyboards. The screens in front of us change, and we’re looking at the screens for each team member. At least that’s what Zeke thinks.

  ‘Any of them could be on to you, you know. We were watching the laptop and someone still downloaded kiddie porn into it right in front of us, without us knowing it was happening.’ I can tell he’s not thrilled that I’ve thrown this in his face, but I need to make the point so I don’t feel as guilty about the back door.

  ‘She’s right, dude,’ Spencer says. ‘Any or all of them might have their own laptop stashed somewhere.’ He gives me a sidelong glance. ‘Sometimes I think he’s been with the feds too long. He doesn’t remember the shit he used to do, in case someone hacked him.’

  ‘Someone did hack you – and me,’ I say to Zeke, and I’m not talking about the laptop last night. ‘Someone landed in that laptop at the bike shop, knowing where I was. Knowing that our names would be linked. How, exactly, did that person know where I was? You were the only one who knew, right? You didn’t tell anyone?’ I glance over at Spencer, then back to Zeke.

  ‘He didn’t know,’ Zeke says. ‘I really didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘What did you do when you left me? When I gave you back the laptop?’

  ‘You mean when you kicked me out?’

  ‘Now this is getting interesting.’ Spencer grins, leans back in his hair, and puts his hands behind his head. Zeke kicks the chair so he falls backward. ‘What the fuck—’

  I ignore him. ‘Who knew you were coming to the Cape? Someone had to know I was there. Someone who knew what our relationship is.’ I don’t give him time to answer. ‘You’ve been working with Ian, with his son. Did you make a flight reservation online? What about a car rental? Not when you came this time, but the first time.’

  Zeke is uncomfortable now. He sees what I’m saying. That he wasn’t careful.

  But I’m not done. ‘We may have hacked the hacker in DeMarco’s house,’ I say, ‘but it’s very possible that Daniel’s been hacking you all along. And was still in that laptop even after you got your hands on it.’ I have another thought. ‘It’s even possible that while we thought we were watching him through the router, he already knew we were there and set us up. He might not even be at Tony’s house. He could be anywhere. He could be at the apartment.’

  He pulls the keyboard toward him. As he tries to find out what Daniel’s been up to, Tony DeMarco fills my head. Someone was ‘hired’ to kill him, but didn’t succeed. The only thing he succeeded in was framing me – or my screen name – and Tracker. Someone’s been impersonating Tracker and having conversations with my screen name. Whoever it is could have done it to pit me against Tracker. To make me fear him, to lose trust in him, to feel betrayed.

  Betr@yD might be after revenge. Maybe he’s getting it.

  What sticks in my head is that the hit man did not kill Tony. Again, I wonder if this is because he wasn’t supposed to. What if Tony DeMarco set this whole thing up himself, manipulating Ian – and, thus, Daniel? My father and Tony were master manipulators in their day. Even though he’s now an old, sick man, Tony DeMarco’s reach is as long as ever.

  I’m not paying attention to the screens. I walk across the room, pull back the curtain over the front window, and peer outside. Spencer’s car is still in the driveway; Zeke’s rental is catty-corner to it, parked across the sidewalk. But something else catches my eye. A black car sits across the street, idling. It’s a BMW.

  I quickly let the curtain drop, hoping the driver of the BMW didn’t see me.

  ‘We’ve got company,’ I say.

  Zeke and Spencer look up at me, Zeke’s fingers frozen over the keyboard. He jumps up from his seat and comes over. ‘Where?’

  ‘Across the street.’

  He goes to the other side of the curtain and does exactly what I did, then lets the fabric fall back.

  ‘It’s Ian,’ I say. ‘It’s the same car that was outside my room.’

  ‘The same car that almost ran us off the road,’ Zeke adds.

  Spencer’s eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Do you think he followed us? And he followed you here?’ I ask.

  ‘Possibly. Probably. How else would he know where we were?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, that can’t be it. He was on TV. Right after you left.’ I tell him that Tony DeMarco came home. I remember Amelie, though. ‘She looked right at me. Like she knew me. I think she does.’

  ‘So maybe she told Ian.’

  ‘How would she know where I was going? I got in a cab.’ I am confused. ‘Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s one of Tony’s other guys. Maybe he’s been watching us ever since we got run off the road.’ It would be like Ian to have someone do his dirty work for him.

  ‘We can check the cell number, see where he is,’ Zeke suggests.

  I can’t use the laptop with the cell phone locater program because it’s been compromised. But that’s not a problem for Spencer, who has a more sophisticated program at his fingertips. I look in the disposable phone, where I stored Ian’s number, and rattle it off.

  After a few seconds, a map appears on the screen, and a small dot begins to blink, but to my dismay, it’s not here. It’s back at Harbo
r Point. Back at Tony DeMarco’s house. Then who is outside right now?

  ‘Tina, where’s my gun?’

  I fish it out of the backpack and hand it to him, as though this is the most natural thing in the world. Spencer’s gaze is fixed on the screen that shows where Ian’s cell phone is.

  ‘What do you see?’ I’m mimicking Tracker by asking; the question came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  Spencer jabs at the screen, at the blinking dot. ‘It’s not really there,’ he says, back to the keyboard, and suddenly he’s in the source code of the site, searching for IP addresses. I’m trying to follow what he’s doing, but my head is not in the game in front of me, but outside, across the street.

  ‘Holy shit,’ Zeke mutters, and I force myself to focus on the screen.

  The map flashes back on the screen. Spencer leans back in his chair and threads his fingers together behind his head. ‘Whoever’s cell phone it is, they’re clever,’ he says. ‘But not as clever as me.’

  He’s waiting for the pat on his back.

  Because he’s managed to trace the phone’s signal – and it’s not where it appears to be.

  It’s across the street.

  ‘So it is Ian?’ I’m still uncertain how he managed to pull this off.

  ‘These programs have a lot of glitches,’ Spencer says, downplaying his find. But then reality sets in. ‘Maybe it’s this guy you’re talking about, maybe it’s not. Either way, I don’t know who’s watching you, but I really don’t need the attention.’

  ‘It’s not the agency,’ Zeke assures him, although the alternative is not attractive, either.

  ‘I don’t really care who it is; I need to maintain my anonymity, and you two are threatening that right now.’

  ‘So what, exactly, do you propose we do?’ Zeke is asking Spencer. ‘We can’t just go out the front door and go about our business.’

  ‘Why not?’ I ask. Both heads swivel toward me. ‘I mean, whoever is out there knows we’re in here. But he doesn’t know that we know about him.’

  ‘Tina’s right,’ Spencer says. ‘Maybe you could go out and get in the car and leave. Take your friend with you.’ He really is squirrelly for some reason. I need to ask Zeke more about what he’s up to.