Devil's Move

by Leslie Wolfe

  She thought for a little while before answering.

  “It feels like we’re playing a chess game with the devil. It’s the devil’s move next, and we can’t figure out what it’s going to be. But until we do, we can’t win.”

  “The devil’s move? I didn’t take you for religious,” Lou remarked.

  “I’m not, not really. Nevertheless, there’s someone brilliant and evil behind all of this, and I couldn’t think of any better moniker to give the man who’s leading this game. Bal and his CEO, Ramachandran, are just his pawns, and so is that other guy, Helms.” She stood and walked to the window, where the yellow lights of the Delhi cityscape were spreading into the horizon. “We need to be able to anticipate his next move, that’s for sure. Can you grab the rest of the code and be sure you grabbed it all?”

  “Sure can,” he answered confidently.

  “How can you be so sure? What kept you from grabbing it already?”

  “I have to spend more time within the ERamSys network, from inside the domain and behind the firewalls, and you know how complicated that can get. Even if I run my sniffer code, I still have to be physically inside the building, logged onto the network, without any cameras facing my laptop’s screen. There are cameras everywhere, and my quiet work time is very limited. They keep badgering us with those damn presentations and all kinds of useless activities. As soon as I figure out where the rest of the modules are housed, I can download them from the hotels, remotely, without any issues.”

  “They’re not useless activities, you know.”

  “Huh?” He looked confused.

  “They’re not useless to them. They keep us busy, stuck in this muck we can’t get out of. They control us, or they think they do. If they stop believing they’re in control, our lives won’t be worth much. They’ll eliminate us without any hesitation.”

  ...Chapter 77: Work Direction

  ...Friday, August 26, 9:54AM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)

  ...ERamSys Headquarters—Jeevan Ramachandran’s Office

  ...New Delhi, India

  Abid Bal let ten minutes pass after Ramachandran’s car had pulled in front of the building, then started his way to his office on the top floor of the central tower. He hated how weak this man was. Ramachandran’s vast fortune irritated Bal, because it had been achieved by a weak man, a nonbeliever with no sacred goals. This man didn’t believe in anything else but his own money and a life of luxury and sin, nothing else. He had not embraced Islam, and that made him a lesser person in Bal’s eyes.

  Bal’s commitment to the values of Islam was absolute, and living his life surrounded by blasphemers was a trying experience for him. His frustration suffocated him. He knew what he had to do to make things right, but he was never allowed to. Especially with that American woman. Bal hated all Americans. He saw them as sinful, menial creatures that should be put in their places, especially their women.

  His younger brother, Raazi, had lost his way and had become one of them, abandoning his Islam beliefs and marrying an American woman. His own brother had betrayed them and allowed himself to become intoxicated by the vile sin those people lived in, enough to forget his heritage.

  The two brothers, Abid and Raazi Bal had been raised together in strict Islamic creed by devout parents and had shared every aspect of their lives until their mid-twenties. Then, one day, his younger brother plainly announced to everyone that he had obtained his visa and was leaving for America to work for a large technology company in the damned Silicon Valley. Bal held his own during his brother’s announcement, even through his mother’s endless tears and sobs. His father had left the room the moment Raazi finished speaking; he had nothing left to say to such a betrayer of their way of life. Later that night, long after everyone had finally fallen asleep, Bal allowed himself to shed bitter tears for his soon-to-be-lost brother.

  A few years later Raazi had called and announced with excitement that he had received his green card, allowing him to stay permanently in America. All hope was lost for the Bal family to see their youngest member come back to their hearth. Two years after that, Raazi sent them an invitation to his wedding. He was marrying an American, and an infidel on top of that, a shlokeh who wouldn’t embrace Islam. His brother had become lost forever, deciding to live the rest of his life in mortal sin, surrounded by blasphemers. No one from the Bal family traveled to Raazi’s wedding; they had spent that day in prayer for his soul.

  Then another year or so later, Raazi had come home to visit, bringing his new wife, Christine. Raazi wanted to reconcile the two parts of his family, and he had hoped that his brother and parents would be able to accept Christine and his new chosen life. But that would have been blasphemy. Bal remembered the woman. Nothing but a whore, showing the skin of her arms and her flowing hair shamelessly, laughing, joking, considering herself the equal of everyone. Displaying no respect. Arrogant, loud, obnoxious, not knowing her place. She had the audacity to ask Raazi to get her things, do things for her, as if she were the man of the house. Bal would have given anything to teach that whore a lesson. When he thought of what he’d do to her, he felt an erection taking over his body’s senses and mind’s focus. It was the strongest erection he’d had in years. That was sinful. That day he saved himself by praying, locked in his small room. The next morning his sinful brother and infidel sister in law were gone. Forever gone, never to be heard from again.

  Bal knew his personal history was at risk to cloud his judgment where these Americans were involved. Yet the facts were the facts, and he needed to take action, even if his weak leader was too limp to acknowledge them.

  He entered the office after a polite knock and an invitation from his boss. He bowed his head in a respectful greeting that Ramachandran barely bothered to acknowledge. Then the CEO looked straight at him.

  “What is it?”

  “It is the DCBI woman,” Bal answered, “I am sure there is something wrong with her. Her eyes are lying.”

  “We have surveillance on every move they make. What does surveillance say? Have they said anything, seen anything?”

  “Nothing yet. She is doing what she is supposed to do, actually not even that. She is busy whoring with that man, Bailey. But almost every night we lose them in the city. That cannot be by accident.”

  “Lose them? How?”

  “Traffic is heavy, you know, and that man, Bailey, drives the car himself now, so there are some nights when we do not know where they go. Our people lost them a few times.”

  Ramachandran frowned and muttered some swear words under his breath.

  “Incompetents. Idiots. Your people should hang for this. When they do not lose them, where do they go and what do they do?”

  “They take very long dinners, then visit the city, spend time in bars, clubs, eat some more, then they go back to their hotel rooms. Just wasteful, sinful, whoring behavior.”

  “Do they sleep together?”

  “Not yet, but that will soon happen.”

  “So, what do you want from me?”

  “I want a couple of hours with the woman, in a room. I will find out what she is up to.”

  “No. We have less than a month before we deliver. I will not screw this up on your hunch.”

  “But, sir, I strongly believe—”

  “And I do not want to hear it. I am telling you what to do, and you will do it. We were supposed to deliver the software by now. We are already late, and it could pose problems, even if we are late on purpose. You have three weeks left until delivery. All you have to do is make sure she continues to visit the city, or whatever else she does, and your people do not lose her anymore. Then everyone goes back to where they came from without any incident. How do you think I could justify the interrogation of a client’s representative? You would have to kill her.”

  “I would not mind that at all,” Bal said, unable to restrain a sadistic smile and feeling a twitch below his waist. “I would actually prefer it. I would get to the truth faster.”

  “Y
ou would cause a lot of suspicion. Do you want DCBI to raise hell and hit the brakes? One American woman dies here and it is in every damn newspaper and TV channel newscast in the whole world. Do not be an idiot. Do as I say. And if your people lose her again I expect to hear about how they died, slowly and painfully.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was nothing else left to say. Bal swallowed his frustration and exited the CEO’s office, walking backward for a few steps. Such a shame he couldn’t have his way with that sharmuta, at least not for now.

  ...Chapter 78: Delivering America

  ...Monday, August 29, 10:32AM Local Time (UTC+3:00 hours)

  ...CANWE Headquarters

  ...Undisclosed Location, Greece

  Vitaliy Myatlev’s hangover had started to subside, enough to make him want to get out of bed and go outside, with his eyes covered by dark shades. A beautiful summer day, and he had a lot of plans for it. He looked over his shoulder at the naked young woman sleeping in his bed. Khorosho, otlichno devushka...She was a good girl, excellent. Didn’t speak a word of Russian, this girl, and he didn’t speak a word of Greek. But it didn’t matter; she wasn’t there for the conversation. He didn’t remember much of his performance from the previous night, his memory faded in the fumes of first-grade vodka, yet he felt really good this morning. The sex must have been great.

  The morning hangover was almost a given these days, and he knew just how to deal with it. His staff knew too. One of his bodyguards, Ivan, approached him with a tall glass of spicy tomato juice, generously christened with Stolichnaya, and an aspirin bottle.

  “Spasibo,” Myatlev said, swallowing the pills with the Bloody Mary, “thank you, Ivan.”

  He sat on the lounge chair in the shade of the big oak trees and dozed off for a minute.

  His encrypted cell startled him, but he answered immediately when he recognized the name on the caller ID.

  “Misha,” he greeted the caller, “how are you? How is Russia?”

  “Vitya, like you care,” the caller answered.

  “I do care, Misha, I care deeply. And I am working hard on our business arrangement,” he stated, shifting on the lounge chair to find a more comfortable position.

  “I hope that’s true. We have a lot riding on your word, and Abramovich is losing his patience. He’s not a very patient man, our president, you know that very well.”

  “I need a little bit more time,” Myatlev replied, rubbing the headache away from his forehead. “I am very close to delivering an amazing gift to you both. I just need more time.”

  “How much more time, Vitya? We’ve been waiting for months to see something happen, and we have nothing other than your promises.”

  “I need precisely two-and-a-half months,” he pleaded. “Ten weeks, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “Ten weeks to deliver what, Vitya? You never bothered to tell us and make a commitment. Right now, I am not sure I can continue to trust you. It is my head if you disappoint the man. Maybe yours too, but I care about mine a lot more.”

  Myatlev considered his options. The caller, his lifelong friend Mikhail Dimitrov, sounded less like his friend and more like Russia’s minister of defense. A very powerful and dangerous person to have worried about his ability to deliver. Myatlev had a sound respect for anyone who could throw him into the depths of Siberia and forget him there. He decided to trust him a little more than he had planned.

  “Misha, what if I tell you that in ten weeks I will deliver America?”

  There was no answer for a couple of seconds.

  “America? How can you deliver America, Vitya?”

  “In ten weeks, our mutual friend, President Piotr Abramovich, will have America under his control. That is my promise to the both of you.”

  ...Chapter 79: An Invitation to Lunch

  ...Tuesday, August 30, 11:02AM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)

  ...ERamSys Headquarters—Fifth Floor Conference Room

  ...New Delhi, India

  They were almost done enduring another PowerPoint presentation. Priya had talent, and her engagement and style of presenting made it almost enjoyable. The topic was “Steps in Scope Validation and User Acceptance,” instructing the DCBI team what to expect in closing the contract with ERamSys. All DCBI representatives were attending, including Scott and Brent, while Bal supervised from the most distant corner of the room without saying a word.

  The contract was late in delivery. They should have taken ownership of the software by now and be long gone, back to their homes stateside. They were all eager to leave, yet they were told that at least two more weeks of testing and bug fixing were necessary. Very disappointing news. They all wanted to be gone, and Alex more than anyone wanted to get her hands on that software once and for all, to get to the bottom of whatever the hell was wrong with it. This constant delay, stonewalling, and passive-aggressive responses to everything they were asking for was driving her crazy. She wanted to scream. Instead, she topped her coffee cup from the machine, smiled toward Priya, and said, “Very interesting.”

  Lou gave her a quick look, as to say “Really? At least don’t encourage them!” She smiled at him briefly and sat back in her chair, purposely ignoring Bal’s hateful gaze. Damn that guy, Alex thought, I am looking forward to the day I never see him again. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll end up in a very dark and forsaken place. Just maybe...A girl can dream, can’t she? Lost in her thoughts, she had let her eyes wander toward Bal, smiling widely, deep in her fantasy of never having to see him again because he was doing hard time in some horrible Indian prison somewhere. Bal grimaced in anger, and she turned her eyes away promptly. Now that was stupid, she admonished herself, a little self-control would do you a world of good.

  Scott’s voice brought her back to reality.

  “But my reports don’t indicate that,” he was saying. “Compilation time is off for software this size. It should be at least 50 percent lower.”

  “Based on what?” Bal asked.

  “Based on what software with this type of specification is supposed to do, if it runs in a stable environment, without issues writing on the database. It’s just taking too long to complete the step. I think we need to examine the software modules. Alex, can you help with that?” Scott asked, turning toward her.

  “I’d be more than happy to,” she replied, “as soon as Mr. Bal’s team gives us access to the code.”

  Bal’s jaws clenched.

  “The software is not ready yet. We’re still working our quality assurance and bug fixing. We cannot open access for you while the software is still being worked on,” he answered.

  “What if you wrote us a copy of the complete software package on a separate server, so we can test it without stepping on your toes, would that work?” Alex asked. It wasn’t the first time she was asking for access. But if they could be passive aggressive, so could she. At some point in time, no matter how badly they were trying to avoid it, they had to hand over the software anyway. They were running out of time and options. They needed to find out what was hidden in it as soon as possible.

  “That would be perfect,” Scott intervened. “That’s exactly how we were instructed to proceed and why Alex and Lou are here. They need to inspect the software line by line before we can sign off on it.”

  “I understand,” Bal answered, “and I will make sure the DCBI team receives all needed support to be able to sign off on the code per your company’s procedures. Right now, we are simply not ready yet. Our reputation as one of the best software houses in the world is at stake here, I hope you understand.” Bal looked at Scott firmly, yet friendlier than how he usually looked at her.

  Scott held Bal’s gaze, shrugging apologetically.

  “I do, but I have to do my job. I have no choice.”

  “Scott, it is almost lunchtime,” Bal said, sounding almost friendly, “will you do me the favor of joining me for lunch? I want to introduce you to the tastes of Dakshin, one of the best restaurants in our city.” He turned towa
rd Alex and said, “I understand you two prefer to dine on your own?”

  “Yes, we do,” Lou said, “thank you.”

  ...Chapter 80: Man Down

  ...Tuesday, August 30, 1:57PM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)

  ...ERamSys Headquarters—Main Entrance

  ...New Delhi, India

  Alex and Lou arrived at the office building to find an ambulance pulled in front of the main entrance. The marked van had its back doors open, and the crew was exiting the building carrying someone on a stretcher. Alex jumped from the car before it had reached a complete stop and ran to the stretcher. She barely recognized the man writhing in pain, tied to the stretcher with crossties.

  “Oh, my God, Scott, what happened?” She reached for his hand and held it tightly.

  He gasped and tried to say something intelligible, but he couldn’t articulate. He moaned with pain, holding his belly; he wanted to curl up, but the ties wouldn’t let him. He mumbled some words she couldn’t understand. She turned to the crew.

  “What’s wrong with him? What happened?”

  “Seems to be a violent attack of cholera,” the young paramedic replied. “It can be very painful, but we’ve administered something for the pain, and we’re hydrating him. He’s got hemorrhagic diarrhea. We’re taking him to the hospital.”

  Scott’s grip on her hand turned tighter, and she leaned over, trying to understand what he was saying.

  “Arghhh...don’t...let...me...die...here,” he managed to say before passing out.

  “I promise,” she whispered, holding his hand for a few more seconds. “I promise.”

  “Please, ma’am, we have to go now,” the paramedic said in heavy-accented English.

  “Where are you taking him?” Lou asked.

  “To the Sir Ganga Ram Hospital,” he answered. “It’s the best in New Delhi,” he added, seeing how the hospital name didn’t mean much to them.