The Back Door Man

by Dave Buschi

  The Back Door Man

  Dave Buschi

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, incidents and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Dave Buschi

  Cover design by Carl Graves

  ISBN: 978-0-9839150-0-3

  For Kristi

  Prologue

  ON the tarmac were their private jets. The men had flown in from around the globe: London, Zurich, Seattle, Moscow, New York and Beijing. Only a few details remained to be discussed.

  “When?”

  “Tuesday.”

  “And this man—this James Kolinsky—is the one?”

  “Yes. It’s all been arranged.”

  “Lock it tight. This will be dissected for years to come. We can’t have any holes.”

  “Understood.”

  “The family too, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  One of the men signaled and three girls, each bought on the black market and trained in the art of seductive entertaining, entered the room carrying trays. Champagne was poured and the girls bowed demurely and left the room. The man with the shock of white hair lifted his flute. “Gentlemen.”

  The men raised their glasses.

  “I toast to our success. Three days from now each of us will be sixty-billion-dollar men.”

  Here, here! Salud! Prost! Gan bei!

  1

  Tuesday

  IT was too early in the morning for there to be crowds. James Kolinsky had seen one at an ATM on the way over here, and now this.

  “What’s going on?” a woman said.

  “Someone said they’re locked.”

  James stayed on the fringe and listened to the anxious chatter. People were just standing around. For a brief moment, he caught his own reflection in a bank of windows. His shirt was too wrinkled. It had passed the sniff test when he’d pulled it from his closet an hour ago, but he’d obviously not seen how bad it looked in the light. So much for trying to get a third wear out of it before dry cleaning. As for his hair, that too was looking a little wooly; he was going to need to pull out the shears soon and give it a trim.

  “Everyone please!”

  There was a man up front holding up his hands. James had to crane his neck to see that it was Security. The man told the crowd the office was closed and for everyone to go home.

  James absorbed this change in routine along with everyone else. People just stood there at first, some in shock. The man repeated the announcement and ignored any questions, of which there were several. Some folks were quite demonstrative.

  Not James, though, he took it in stride. At least on the surface. He was the sort that internalized everything. On the exterior he might look unaffected, but that in no way was reflective of what was really going on inside his head. Because right now, under his affable freshly-shaved face, worry and stress had burst right out the gates.

  James followed the second wave of folks back to the parking deck. The elevators were filling up, so he took the stairwell. He got out of breath walking up the steps to the fifth level. He’d gotten so out of shape, he realized. There was a time he could have run up these steps without getting winded. It was like middle age had crept up on him overnight. Not unlike the tire—the one around his middle. One day it was just there. He hadn’t liked it, but he’d accepted it along with everything else.

  Absently, feeling the bubbling onset of mild panic from what had just happened, he looked over the edge of the deck. Computer Tek, otherwise known as ComTek, had a pretty campus with stately buildings sheathed in bronze glass. With the people gone, James could see Security stationed at other entry points. A lone woman in a pantsuit was talking with Security; she soon walked away shaking her head.

  It would have been nice to have an explanation. No such luck, though. Instead, he had to imagine what ifs, and unfortunately, he was very good in that department.

  A few paces away, a colleague was getting in his car. He and James exchanged some words. Neither voiced it, but it was there unsaid. ComTek had had an endless string of bad quarters. The stock was trading at an eight-year low. It didn’t take a genius to know, particularly with the economy as it was, that now was not the time to be looking for a job.

  “Well… see you tomorrow. Let’s hope,” the man said with a nervous laugh.

  “Yeah, see you then.” James forced a smile. As his colleague drove off, he immediately started wondering: what if ComTek had closed its doors for good? Companies weren’t hiring anywhere. Even in the tech sector, which was better than most industries, jobs were scarce. And there were hundreds of software and systems engineers in the office. They’d all be competing for the same jobs. He’d have to move his family to find anything that paid even close to what he was making now, and that’s if he was lucky.

  He was the bread winner. His family depended on him. They’d eat through their savings, and with the cost of health coverage…

  Easy boss—he was doing it again. Jumping ahead of things. They’d just closed the doors; no need to assume the worst. The company wasn’t in that dire straits; least not yet, as far he knew.

  He took his eyes from the dash and started his car. With a residual wince, he remembered he needed gas before his trek home. He’d pushed it just coming here.

  The closest gas station—and only one around for miles—was just outside the ComTek campus, two traffic lights away. That was just a short hop, and he had plenty of gas to make it that far. Unfortunately, once he got there, there was a slight complication. The pump wouldn’t take his card.

  Now that was annoying.

  He walked into the store. The cashier was dealing with another customer.

  “—had fucking cash, think I’d be using plastic?”

  “My apologies.” The cashier bowed his head. “Not working.”

  “Fuck!” The customer stormed out.

  James stood there bemused. “Credit cards aren’t working?”

  The cashier shook his head. James didn’t even need to check; like usual, he had no money in his wallet. He walked outside.

  This wasn’t good.

  He tried to think where he could get some cash. The nearest ATM was several minutes away and James recalled seeing that ridiculous line as he’d driven by it on the way to work. That would take forever. And since it wasn’t his bank, he’d get dinged with those BS fees. They robbed you blind. Two bucks to use it and two bucks from his own bank. It was criminal when you added it up. Four bucks to take out forty; ten percent. What a freakin’ racket.

  If he could help it he didn’t want to just throw that money away. Better to think of another option. Perhaps a convenience or grocery store? They usually let you get cash when making a purchase. But he couldn’t think of any that were close. This area was an old industrial district, now called tech alley. It had a few fast food joints and sit down restaurants, but that was about it.

  He’d have to get on the highway. And with his gas situation that was definitely a no go. At a loss, he considered just driving. Which of course was another bad option…

  Wait a second. He suddenly remembered he’d started cookie collections for Katie’s Brownie troupe… and that money was at the office.

  The office. Which was shut down.

  Foiled, he worked it through his head. He just needed to get in and out. If he took the back way in, used the back door, it could work and it would save him some aggravation… also a little money… not to mention get him home sooner…

 
All good things. By the time he got to his car he was already ninety percent there. He chewed on his remaining reservations as he started his car; it’ll only take a few minutes… He pulled out into the street and headed to ComTek.

  HE bypassed the campus entrance by taking the service road and parked by a grove of trees. He walked the short distance to the service dock. At the service door, he pulled out an encryption card and typed in a four digit code.

  The door clicked open. He went up some stairs and opened the door to his floor. This area of the building was known as ‘Cubeville’. If you didn’t know your way around, it was easy to get lost. The place was an unending maze of full-height cubicles. It didn’t have any windows or discerning features to orient you. Part of that was intentional. Even signage was limited at ComTek, due to the company’s emphasis on security.

  As he went by doors that looked like all the others, he heard voices. He froze. That might be Security.

  Shit.

  Not wanting to have to explain himself, he ducked behind a cubicle.

  “…incompetence. I know what I said. It was supposed to happen at noon.”

  James recognized the voice. That was the COO. What was he doing here?

  Panic overtook him. ‘Pink slip’ Portino was not a man whose attention he wanted to catch. This would not look good if he was discovered hiding behind a cubicle wall.

  James looked around and wondered what to do.

  2

  HE didn’t have to wonder long. There was a faint ting of an elevator. The voices of Portino and the other man went away. James took a deep breath once he realized they were gone. He hadn’t known what he was going to say if Portino had found him.

  That was just a little too close for comfort. He suddenly questioned his bright idea of coming here. Well… it was too late now. He was already knee-deep in it, might as well get this over with.

  He went to his work area. His was a crammed, but orderly workspace. He’d personalized his cube with mementos and photos. Two framed diplomas, one his mathematics degree, the other his masters, were under his shelving unit. Once upon a time, those degrees had been sources of pride. Lately though, he’d considered taking them down. It wasn’t quite as he’d imagined it. In his mind he’d always thought they’d have a nobler setting than being hung on a flimsy cubicle partition.

  He unlocked his desk drawer and retrieved the money from the envelope. He paused. His monitor was in sleep mode. He hadn’t turned off his computer last night in order to run a static code analysis on a binary executable, which was a time-consuming operation.

  It’ll only take a second. He took a seat and clicked his mouse. His computer took several seconds, but once it came to life, a window popped up that indicated the program he’d run last night had completed successfully. He closed the window and logged onto the system with his password to access the Web.

  He confirmed his personal interface security wall was still active—an add-on feature he’d downloaded to screen his keyboard strokes—and quickly typed in his bank’s IP address. It was a habit of his. Engrained in him due to the nature of his job. Something he did every day.

  The fact that his debit card hadn’t worked at the gas station, irrespective of what the attendant said, worried him. He typed in his user passwords. It seemed to take longer than normal, but finally, after what was almost a full minute, his account information pulled up.

  The balances for his and Sue’s joint checking and savings account displayed on the screen. Sometimes when he was having a bad day, he’d look at those two numbers and feel cautiously optimistic. Their frugality had allowed them to bank a sizeable savings. It wasn’t huge—and least not by rich people’s standards—but it was growing, slowly and surely each month.

  They scrimped and made do with less, but they were working towards something. The house they lived in was modest and while getting a mortgage on it at the time had been a stretch, his salary had grown incrementally in those years. Staying put in that house with their low interest rate and having finally paid off their credit cards and student loans had allowed them to be in a position to save.

  It hadn’t always been that way. It had taken them a long time to get to that point. James could still remember the 300 square foot flat they used to live in, and when their savings was what remained on their cards before they got maxed. They’d come far from those ramen noodle days. It was nice to be in a position where they didn’t have to worry about money every day.

  He blinked as he looked at the numbers. A sudden chill came over him. What normally should be a healthy five digit savings balance, was now zero.

  $0.00.

  He looked at his checking balance. Instead of having about two thousand dollars in it, it showed a negative number. Feeling like the floor beneath him had just opened, he clicked on the transactions page. He looked at the transactions. The names, which said where the purchases were made, were all over the board: Berlin, VT; Tucson, AZ; Dade County, FL. There were other purchases that appeared to be international transactions: Espana; Ukraine.

  James clicked to open the details of when the purchases were made. All of them were done in the last 24 hours. Their status was listed as pending.

  This wasn’t happening...

  In a state of shock, he clicked his mouse. He had to go several pages back to see transactions he recognized. His positive balance was quickly eroded by transactions he hadn’t made. Multiple transfers from his savings into his checking account were also shown. Those transfers were quickly drained by more debits. He went to the tabs at top.

  He had to notify the bank.

  He scanned for the number to call. He had to stop the pending transactions; tell them they weren’t his and for them to stop payment immediately before they were permanently debited from his account.

  As he scanned the Home page for the telephone number to call, or a tab to take him there, his screen froze. His computer had locked up. He couldn’t get the cursor to move. He wanted to scream. He pressed Ctrl Alt Delete.

  Nothing happened.

  No. No, no, no…

  He pressed the keys like a man possessed. Finally, the cursor broke free and darted across the screen. The web page still wasn’t responding. After several tries with his blood pressure spiking with each error message, he was able to close the web browser down. He restarted and frantically typed in the bank’s IP address again.

  He waited. Waited.

  A timed out message appeared on the screen. He pounded his fist on his desk and yelled in frustration.

  He clicked his mouse. His vision was getting blurry from his unblinking concentration. He typed in the bank’s IP address again. It wasn’t responding. A busy message appeared: Please try again; the website you are trying to access is currently experiencing very high volume.

  Goddamnit!

  “Hello, is someone here?”

  The voice almost didn’t register. James broke his manic focus from his screen.

  “Hello?” The voice again; male. It was coming from across the room. In horror, James realized that was probably Security.

  He stayed in his seat and looked at his screen. He tried moving his mouse. He typed on his keyboard. In disbelief, he looked at his hands.

  What was he doing? He took his hands from the keyboard. He looked around, expecting to see someone behind him, but no one was there.

  “This building is closed. You are trespassing by being here.”

  The voice this time was amplified. The man was approaching.

  Oh my God. He had to get out of here.

  He ducked down. His glowing monitor was going to give him away. He quickly reached up and turned off his screen.

  He looked out of his cubicle. There was no one either way. The voice had come from the left, or had it?

  Not sure, but knowing he couldn’t stay where he was, he went right, keeping bent down. This direction, unfortunately, took him further from the stairs, not towards them. He moved as quickly as he could in his bent state, taki
ng a series of turns in the cubicle maze.

  He heard a sound and immediately froze. The sound was close. It was the crackle of a radio. A man’s voice, so close it gave him goosebumps, started speaking into his walkie-talkie.

  It sounded like he was just over the cubicle wall. If the man turned the corner, James would be in full view. James backtracked, holding his breath, praying his shoes didn’t squeak to give him away.

  His mind raced. He was cut off. If the man kept coming, James was toast. The man would find him and with Portino here it was only a matter of the man bringing it to Portino’s attention, which he certainly would.

  Desperate, James considered running. Running as fast as he could. He realized that was insane; he had to do something else, but what? As his eyes scanned frantically for an answer, he thought of the cubicle space he’d just passed. It was at the end of a dead-end aisle.

  Heading back that way, he went into the cubicle. He could still hear the man’s walkie-talkie crackling. James took a deep breath and pressed the button to turn on the computer. The computer emitted its low whirr noise and began to boot up. The monitor blinked to life. James quickly left the cubicle. Moving as fast as he dared, he went three cubicles down and inside it for cover.

  He crouched and listened. He couldn’t hear the computer from this far away, but he heard the man’s footfalls. The man seemed to be moving quickly. He must have heard the noise.

  James took another breath. Okay… now.

  He looked out into the aisle. There was the man with his back to him. He was holding something in his hand that almost looked like a gun.

  Jesus.

  It was a gun.

  Fear threatened to overwhelm him. With supreme effort, James refocused. He knew there would not be a better time; he had to do it now. Now! He left the cubicle and quickly darted down the aisle and took a right. He didn’t risk looking back. Wanting to run, but knowing his footfalls would be heard, he went in a fast walk.