The Back Door Man

by Dave Buschi

  James was hugging his girls again and not wanting to let go. He kissed and hugged his wife. It was a tender moment cut short.

  A barn was burning.

  Later, he remembered one of the FBI agents telling him that Mac Hockney was in stable condition. “He sends a hello and a thanks. Good thing you had the guy’s phone. Otherwise we couldn’t have tracked you.”

  Somewhere in the mess, as the fire was being put out and horses being saved, they found Bob. Two men had to hoist him up. He refused to have a stretcher.

  “What happened?” James said.

  “I think I hit my head.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “Just a scratch, guy barely tagged me. Dumbass self did the rest. When I fell I must have hit a rock. The girls?”

  “All okay.”

  Bob smiled. “Let’s go see them.”

  130

  “MOMMY, don’t watch this! Dora is on.”

  “Grandpop, can I sit with you?”

  “No let me!”

  James took his eyes from the family scene in the living room as Sue flipped the channel. They’d watched too much news in the last few weeks. It was good to see the world returning to normal. There was hardly anything today about the Billion Dollar Four.

  That’s what they were calling it.

  A week ago they’d made another arrest. This time in Belize. A Swiss banker who was one of the masterminds. The week before it had been Cairo: a London financier arrested in his underwear trying to flee through a window.

  And the weeks before then were Moscow and Beijing. The Solntsevskaya bratva and Chinese Triad, now household names, each day for weeks were having firefights with each other and Russian and Chinese authorities. The two criminal outfits were being outed just as they tried to go even more underground. Their leaders were known and it was just a matter of time until they were caught. Hundreds had been arrested so far. Their criminal enterprises were suffering setbacks on all fronts.

  The Russian mob and Chinese Triad were turning each other in, in places they didn’t even have competing interests. Rumor was they were in a turf struggle, each vying for what the other had. Each ruthless in trying to take the other out.

  Lo San and Simeon Mihajlovic were being painted as the Al Capones of the computer age. Every watch list had their pictures front page and center. It was a media feeding frenzy. The audacity of a billion-dollar heist. The public loved it. Lo San and Simeon Mihajlovic were bigger than rock stars.

  And that wasn’t even what they almost made away with. The world watched as the global net tightened. Every government it seemed wanted to be the one to find where they were hiding—to make the arrest of the century.

  James was done with it. It was old news. He turned on the TV in the kitchen to see how the weather was going to be today. Later, he wanted to go for a run. He was getting back into working out. He’d even lost ten pounds.

  As the TV came on, he realized perhaps he’d been hasty with his thoughts. There was still some coverage. One of the business channels just couldn’t seem to get enough.

  “…at no point were the companies we protect ever in jeopardy. We kept our eyes on the ball. Finger on the trigger. Investors realized the value of that. In today’s uncertain world a firm, strong company is what people want to see—particularly when it comes to their money. We certainly didn’t get to where we are by being doggone complacent…”

  James clicked the TV off. That was the CEO of ComTek. He was still making the rounds. The man was loving this. Stock was at an all-time high. In eight weeks the company’s value had shot up to $23 billion.

  Six weeks ago that very same CEO had flown James out to his spread in Aspen. The CEO—who’d been on vacation at the time—had fetched him using the company’s private jet. James was treated like royalty. They put his family and him up at a five-star hotel. They spared no expense. A limo had taken James to the CEO’s lavish residence at the top of the mountain.

  The CEO had a million-watt smile. James was called by his first name. Sort of.

  “Jimmy boy, so glad you could make it. Aspen treating you well?”

  The small talk soon segued to the purpose of the trip. The CEO wanted to offer James a promotion. “Really wanted to do it personally. Just to show my appreciation and all. You really stepped up. Company owes a lot to you.”

  The CEO didn’t mince any words.

  “How does ten thousand sound to you?”

  That was to be his bonus. Ten thousand dollars. And his promotion was to be from manager to senior manager with a ten percent raise. “That’s another seven thousand dollars for you. Not too shabby, huh?”

  There was only one small catch. James had to sign a confidentiality form, which in a nutshell said he’d never speak of his role, what had really happened, or what he’d done. The FBI, NSA and all the other outfits knew the full story, of course. But in the interest of national defense and maintaining the integrity of the financial system, they were going along with the spin. All the way down to it being organized by the Russian and Chinese mobs. There was no mention of Rex Portino’s involvement, only that the COO of ComTek was an unfortunate casualty in a nefarious operation that failed to infiltrate ComTek’s impregnable safety systems. Paulson and Enrique were not even brief mentions.

  As for everything James had done, including the last phase he’d initiated before he left The Vault, none of that was being aired. He was privately praised for his actions. The detailed instructions he’d sent out to every ComTek customer telling them what they needed to do to restore their databases and purge their systems of virus threats had essentially allowed the financial markets to return to normal.

  Those instructions were the same that Mac Hockney and the FBI had intercepted. James had single-handedly saved the free markets. Because of him the amount of monies that were lost went from three hundred billion to one billion.

  The few banks that didn’t utilize The Vault were the causalities in this drama. All the other banks and financial funds came out spades—they didn’t lose a cent. The official publicity release was that The Vault had done its job in sterling fashion. And because of those automated systems, “which operated flawlessly” (a phrase repeated ad nauseam by the CEO), ComTek was the latest darling on The Street. Investors were rewarding the company handsomely. The company was on a roll.

  James thought back six weeks ago. Looking the CEO in the eye.

  “I don’t know. I’m thinking the ten part sounds good. But you seem to have left a few zeroes off. Don’t you think ten million might be more appropriate?”

  He could still recall the look on the man’s face. That million-watt smile turning the other way.

  “Seems fair, wouldn’t you say—considering the actual value I brought to the company. What’s your personal portfolio now worth with where our stock is? Four billion and rising? And what was it I saved the company’s clients again? Was it three hundred billion? I forget. All those zeroes seem to run together.”

  That had felt good. Not that James thought the guy would actually pony up. He had no intention of talking to the press. But he’d had it with being short changed. It was time he stood up for himself.

  He was no longer afraid. He had options. He didn’t have to just take what they gave him.

  The FBI had even offered him a job as well. The pay was better. Which was funny, he’d always heard the government didn’t pay much. He’d be working for their Cyber Warfare Unit.

  Options. It was a nice feeling. But James had his sights on something else.

  They were called dreams.

  “Honey, if you’re looking for me I’ll be at Best Buy. I’ve got to pick up another router for the computer.”

  He picked up his car keys to his new Porsche and walked out the door.

  Epilogue

  HE emptied from the taxi and walked up the steps of the hotel. In his breast pocket was a passport he’d paid dearly for. Just shy of ten thousand dollars was hidden inside his bag’s liner.
r />   Pocket money. But it would do for the next twenty-four hours. He’d make a more substantial withdrawal from the Banco Bilbao Vizcaya Argenteria tomorrow. Seventeen million he’d squirreled away in various offshore banks. Not exactly the billions he’d been counting on, but considering the lemons he’d been given, he was lucky to have that surfeit of lemonade.

  Three months living on the run had not been easy. It had cramped his style. Nick Paulson was looking forward to getting back…

  His thoughts were interrupted.

  “Sir?” It was the hotel’s concierge.

  “What is it?”

  “There is a package for you.”

  Paulson frowned. “Give me a second. I’ve got to hit the john.” He touched his stomach and grimaced. “Baño. Entiende?”

  “Si, señor.”

  Paulson headed towards the men’s room. Fuck, how had they found him? He quickly walked down the corridor and continued past the dual doors for Senoritas and Hombres.

  There was another door that said No Admittance / Porhibida La Entrada. He pushed it open and quickly went inside. Less than a minute later, he was walking out a rear door into a service dock area.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Paulson turned. There were several men by a van. Two of them walked over to him. A short and tall one. Paulson considered trying to run, but he was boxed in.

  “You’re a hard man to find.” The tall one was wearing a cheap knockoff Tommy Bahamas shirt, jeans and flip flops. He had Fed stamped all over his forehead.

  Paulson raised his hands. “You got me.”

  “Looks like it.” The man took out his gun. “Drop the bag. Hands behind your back. You know the drill.”

  Paulson let the other man, who was short and stocky, put the cuffs on him.

  The men by the van came over. They were dressed differently. Probably the local scouts who’d spied him at the airport. Paulson was thinking about the extradition process. It was one of the reasons he’d picked Venezuela. He just had to get hold of his lawyer.

  “I want a phone call.”

  “Sure,” said the Fed. The man took a drag of his cigarette and flicked it on the ground. “Tell it to these guys.”

  Paulson frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Hold on,” said the man. He spoke rapid-fire Spanish to the men. An envelope was exchanged and he waved his hand.

  “See you later, Nick.”

  The men grabbed hold of him. “What’s going on?” Paulson said.

  One of the guys threw a canvas bag over his head. Paulson tried to yell and was hit in the gut. Umphh.

  Lights out.

  “GOT the bag?”

  Denis mumbled an affirmative.

  Peter lit another cigarette. “Stiff us for twenty-five thou. What a tool.” He started counting the cash in the envelope. It wasn’t exactly twenty-five thousand, but it would make the trip worthwhile. Pay for their expenses with a little extra on the side.

  They watched the van drive away. Some mutual friends had given them the contact. Guys specialized in organs. Livers mostly. But they took everything, down to the eyes.

  “I wonder how that stuff works? You think they kill him first?”

  “Beats me,” Denis said.

  “Ready for a beer?”

  “Sure, but none of that Cuba Libre this time, I got the shits.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Twenty years, seven books and countless half-done projects ago, the loss of one of my best friends, Jeff Cudlip, prompted me to start writing. We all have books in us. While I couldn’t find meaning in why Jeff left us so early, I thank him for the gift he left me. He turned me on to writing.

  Jeff touched many lives. Thank you, Jeff, for touching mine.

  In addition to Jeff, this book is dedicated to those below:

  For my dad. I miss you.

  For my wife, Kristi. For believing in me, for reading all my other works that preceded this one and never once telling me I shouldn’t shoot for my dream.

  For my readers: Nicole Mazzola, Janelle Selembo, Sam Bloom and Jeff Wilson. Thank you for giving me your time and letting me know you enjoyed the read. Your praise and helpful critiques, while you may not know it, kept me thinking I can do this.

  For my technical advisers: Jeff Robison and Jeff Dittrich. Both of you really helped make this book better. Much of the technical aspects are not far from reality. Some are a stretch. You pointed those out to me, and I took some liberties. Any technical gaffes contained in this work are my own.

  For John Talbot, a fine literary agent and an amazing editor. Thank you for seeing this book’s potential and teaching me to be a better writer.

  For Pat LoBrutto. Thanks for your editorial input; you helped me see what I was missing and improved the read.