by Peter Parkin
David chuckled at the irony of Baxter's CFO phoning to offer him money. How ridiculous was that, considering how much he had already stolen? Yes, Baxter Development Corporation had been one of his more lucrative corporate providers. And there was probably still more that he could take.
David would assess the risks and decide. But even if the well was now dry, the revenge was sweet. But it was not finished. Far from finished. This was where it got personal. His controllers in Beirut did not need to know that. As far as they were concerned, Baxter Development was just a profitable pigeon. To David it was much more than that.
He would look forward to his meeting with Mike Baxter, to see him grovel while handing David an envelope containing $35,000, begging David's forgiveness for his violent outburst. Hah! Begging him for mercy, as if any mercy had ever been offered to sixteen year old Dawud Zamir.
*****
"The handwriting does look the same. But, we're not experts. Perhaps we should get someone who specializes in this sort of thing to look at it." Troy was holding the two cards up to the light over Mike's desk.
"What do you think, Jim?" Mike glanced at his other friend, knowing that committing to decisions was not Jim's strong suit.
This time he didn't waffle. "We don't need a specialist. The same person wrote out both of those cards—no doubt about it."
Mike plunked himself down in one of his guest chairs. "Well, if the handwriting is the same, then I think we know what this means. This Samson dude arranged to have my girls taken from school. And the implicit threats in the birthday card were made to stop me from disclosing the Brazil and Mexico frauds to the Board. Which means that he was Gerry's accomplice in this entire scheme. He was the guy in the bandages."
Mike's buddies nodded solemnly. The truth was settling in.
Jim sat on the edge of the desk. "Mike, he intends to call you directly to set up a meeting, for some time next week. He wants you to bring the payment in cash, and he'll decide on the place to meet. He wants you to come alone."
Mike grasped his hands together and cracked his knuckles. "I have to decide how I'm going to handle this. Giving him more money, knowing the millions that he's already raked in from us on those phony land deals, makes me sick to my stomach."
Jim nodded. "Yes, and remember also that you accused him of being a murderer. Do you think there could have been some psychic truth in that episode you had? If so, you could be in danger."
"Well, who knows if there was anything to that? It could have just been another one of my brain farts. God knows I've had enough of them since the lightning bolt hit. Or it could have been an irrational temper-fueled outburst."
Mike shrugged. "I have nothing at all to go on, guys."
Troy walked over to the window and began talking slowly, with his back to his friends. "Why don't we get our tech boys to wire you up—see if you can trick or provoke him into admitting that he was Gerry's accomplice. Then we just go to the police with the tape and end this shit. Once he's off the street, his threats will be moot."
Mike scratched his chin and smiled. "I like that idea, Troy. Let's do it. Get your best people on this and tell them that we want to test out new technology to protect ourselves in disputed transactions—some bullshit like that. Maybe we can trap this prick after all."
*****
It was late in the day, and Mike was sitting at his desk gazing out the window at Lake Ontario. It shimmered in the setting sun, generating a magnetism that made him imagine being out there on a sailboat forgetting all of his troubles.
However, he did feel good about the day's developments. It was heartwarming to have his two old friends in on this mystery with him and watching his back. He no longer felt so alone. It was bad enough not having Cindy and the girls with him right now, but if he didn't have his friends he wasn't sure he could survive the stress.
And being wired up for his meeting with Samson was a great idea. It felt as if he was now taking over some control of a nightmarish film that was being directed by someone else. At least he was finally going to be doing something—and knowing now who Gerry's likely accomplice was could only be a step in the right direction.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock against his open door. Standing there was his Vice President of Information Technology, Simon Hawthorne. "Come on in, Simon. I see you're burning the midnight oil too, eh?"
"Yeah, Mike. Just a few things I'm trying to keep on top of. Nice and quiet this time of the day. I like it."
"I'm with you on that. So, how can I help you?"
"Well, I've finally finished the detailed tracking to pin down the source of the hacking of your computer. Remember that e-mail that went out to the limo company instructing them to pick up your daughters? The one that went out from your computer?"
"How could I forget? What did you find out?"
"I wish I didn't have to be the one to tell you this, Mike, but the source that accessed your computer to send that e-mail was Jim Belton's computer."
Chapter 22
Mike jumped up from his desk. "Are you certain?"
"Yes. One of my senior analysts ran the trace, and I double-checked it.
It's definitely Jim's IP address." Simon took a step toward him. "I'm sorry, Mike. I'm sure this comes as a big shock."
"That's an understatement." Mike walked to his credenza and poured a glass of water. He took a long sip then slammed the glass down. "Simon, I don't know a hell of a lot about computer technology but if it's possible for Jim's computer to hack into mine, isn't it also possible that his computer could have been hacked from another IP address and then used to access mine?"
Simon scratched the back of his head. "I suppose it is possible—yes, absolutely. I don't know if my guy checked that far. He may have stopped as soon as he found the apparent source."
Mike hitched his thumb towards his office door. "Go check that out— quickly. Make this your number one priority. I need to know for sure whether or not Jim's computer was really the villain here. I want an answer by tomorrow, Simon."
Simon sheepishly headed for the door, saying on his way out, "Okay, Mike. Be back to you tomorrow."
Mike went over to his couch and stretched out. A million things were running through his mind, not the least of which was the possibility that not one, but two, of his best friends may have betrayed him. But his instinct told him that was impossible—he couldn't believe it. Aside from just how well he knew his friend, he also knew that this just wasn't in Jim's character or personality. Jim was a decent-living guy, honest to a fault and as conservative as they come. Taking risks was just not in his nature. Most people drawn to the accounting field had that in common—they generally weren't risk-takers.
However, he wouldn't have predicted Gerry doing what he had done either, but at least Gerry was in the risk-taker category. He could at least see that Gerry would be capable of it, even though it was hard for Mike to believe that with Gerry's strong character that he would have been sucked into such a scheme.
Bottom line, was there anybody he really knew, or could really trust?
*****
David Samson pulled out his calendar and looked at the month ahead. He had a hectic schedule, but he would make sure to squeeze in time over the next few days to meet with Mike Baxter—for the money drop. David chuckled to himself. The stooge, the big tough guy, who was accustomed to winning all the time. Mike was in for a surprise.
Yes, David would phone him shortly, but first he had to go over plans for the event that was coming up in two weeks. The five men he had selected were already briefed, the timeline had been studied by all of them. Under his direction disguises were dress-rehearsed, the sites had been reconnoitered. David was happy. It was going to be a rewarding evening and the only regret he had was that he wouldn't be there to enjoy it in person. But he would read all about it in the news, and see it online of course. This time around that would have to suffice.
*****
"Jim, I want to ask you a question. Have y
ou ever let someone else use your computer?"
Jim looked puzzled by the question. "No, of course not. Naturally, my secretary has proxy from her computer, but only to read my e-mails. Why are you asking this?"
Mike answered Jim's question with another of his own. "Have you ever given out your password to anyone?"
"Never. Mike, what's this all about? These questions are making me uneasy."
Mike shook his head. "I'll tell you once I know more."
They were sitting in Mike's office. It was the day after the shocking discovery that Mike's computer had been accessed by Jim's. Mike still couldn't believe that Jim had done this, but he wasn't going to allow himself to be naïve either.
Jim stood up. "Hey, what happened to our agreement that there would be no secrets? I demand to know what you're getting at with these questions— now!"
Suddenly Simon Hawthorne appeared in the doorway. "Mike, can I disturb you for a second?"
"Sure." Mike nodded his head in Jim's direction and Simon caught the cue.
"Jim can stay, Mike. He'll want to hear this too."
Mike motioned him in. Simon sat down in the guest chair beside Jim.
"I've got good news and bad news."
"Give us the good news first."
"Jim's computer was indeed hacked from an outside party."
Jim opened his mouth in shock. Mike explained, "Simon's department discovered that my computer had been accessed by your computer to send that e-mail to the limo company ordering them to pick up my girls from school."
Jim gasped. " Oh my God, now I understand your questions."
Mike nodded, then turned his head toward Simon. "The bad news?" "We can only trace the location of the IP address which did the hacking.
The RIR, or Regional Internet Registry for the location, typically assigns IP addresses in blocks to their local Internet Service Providers, or ISPs. The RIR involved in the hacking of Jim's computer handles the Africa region—the internet name of the RIR is 'AfriNIC.' The location is as far as we can go. The IP address, or the owner's name, will not be disclosed by the RIR or the ISP without a subpoena. And there is a zero chance of getting a subpoena served or recognized in that area of the world."
Mike and Jim were speechless for a few seconds. Then Mike broke the silence. "Africa? What the fuck? Jim's computer was hacked from Africa?"
Simon just nodded solemnly. He wasn't used to hearing the CEO use the 'F' bomb.
Jim jumped in. "Africa's a big continent. Do you know whereabouts in Africa?"
"Yes, I do. Brace yourselves. The IP address is based in Tripoli, Libya."
*****
David Samson picked up his phone and dialed, finding it hard to wipe the smile of satisfaction off his face.
"Mike Baxter here."
"Good afternoon, Michael Baxter. This is David Samson. I am surprised an important man like you still answers his own phone."
"Skip the crap, Samson. When and where do you want to meet?"
"As usual, you are very impolite, no? Fine then. Have it your way. We will meet next Wednesday, 1:00 p.m. at the MetroCafe on Queen Street West, corner of Spadina. You will buy me lunch and of course you will bring me my gift, no?"
He could hear Mike leafing through the pages of his calendar. "That works for me."
"Good. I will see you then. You know of course what I look like, but I do now have a swollen, purple chin. It might still be present next Wednesday, so you can enjoy the vision of your work."
David heard the click of the phone. He guessed that Michael Baxter was not too delighted with him right now. He chuckled to himself.
Okay, that step was done. And two weeks after that, there would be the other event that David could look forward to. He opened his desk drawer and took out the printout of his e-mail invitation. He had given his regrets as he usually did when he got these invitations—they came every five years and he had never attended one of these yet. What would be the point? No one would care if he was there, and probably wouldn't even remember him. He had been the faceless geek, a toy to play with, just a tool to make others look cool and tough.
He knew however who all would be attending. His skill at hacking enabled him to know virtually anything he wanted to know. Nothing could be hidden from him.
And his men were ready. David had already assigned them new names for that night—the names of men long dead, but who were still on the list of invitees. It was amazing how records were never updated properly. Made his job easy. He had decided on the number of men he would need based on how many dead men he discovered had been invited in error. This way they would have free access when they registered as they would already be on the guest list.
One man would be dressed as Al Capone, wearing a long coat and a sinister 'Big Al' mask. Another would be going as "the man with no name" from the famous western—again with a long coat. The other three men would be hauntingly real as 'Grim Reapers' with long capes and horrifying masks.
The timing for this year's event was wonderful as it was close to Halloween—the affair would be a costume party. The costumes of his men would be perfect for concealing their olive-brown skin—and their weapons.
Chapter 23
It was Wednesday morning. Mike, Jim and Troy were behind closed doors. Mike had his shirt off, while his friends examined the small microphone and transmitter, the wires of which were taped around Mike's chest. They had to make certain they were tight—any slackness would be visible under his shirt. The microphone and transmitter were fastened up where his shirt collar would be so that the thicker material of the collar would conceal the subtle bulge. Everything had been applied expertly by Simon Hawthorne's senior tech staff, who were under the impression this was simply an experiment to test the covertness and effectiveness of the device for future business transactions.
The tech girls also gave Troy and Jim their marching orders—they weren't getting off scot-free in this exercise. Due to the limited range of the transmitter, the two of them would have to be parked in a car no further than one hundred meters from the café, with the receiver up on the dashboard. Mike was advised to try to get a table on the outdoor patio of the café. The weather was still warm even though it was mid-October, so the patio would be open. Outdoor reception would be far better for this device at that distance.
Mike started buttoning his shirt. Troy cracked, "I saw Melissa eyeing those sissy little nipples of yours. I think she wanted to tweak them—God knows why." Troy and Jim both laughed.
"Not funny guys. Just be glad she didn't have to look at your big gut, Troy, or your ugly little outtie belly button, Jim."
"Hey, no need to be nasty, now. You're about to pull off a 007 and you need us to watch your back."
"You're right—just shows you how low I'm stooping, to be relying on Frick and Frack to protect me!"
The three friends laughed—it had been quite a while since they had trash-talked each other, and it felt good. Only real friends could get away with that.
Mike sat down and looked at his watch—12:00 noon. "We should head out in a few minutes. Traffic on Queen West at lunchtime can be a bitch. We don't want to keep our friend waiting."
"No, he might get spooked." Jim picked up the briefcase containing the $35,000 in cash. "Don't forget to take this. And Mike, for God's sake please don't lose your temper. We need to get this asshole on tape admitting that he and Gerry embezzled us."
Troy smacked a fist into his palm. "We're going to outsmart this prick. We end this nonsense today. This is going to feel good."
"Damn right, Troy. I'm looking forward to getting this over with once and for all." Mike got up from his chair and put on his jacket.
Jim jangled his car keys. "We'll take my car, Troy. Mike, you take your own. We obviously can't be seen together—just in case this guy is watching when we get there."
"Right. I'm a novice at this espionage game!"
Troy held out his hand in a stop sign. "Before we go, I'm curious—what are your thoughts a
bout that Libya connection, Mike?"
Mike grimaced in reaction to the question. "I don't know what to say about that. It's weird. Why would Libya be involved in something like this? It's a real puzzle to me, and kind of makes me worry that there's something bigger involved here. Libya's been a hotbed for terrorism going back decades, but it seems to have cooled off since the U.S. brokered an agreement with them to destroy their nuclear arms projects. They seem to have an almost friendly relationship with America now; probably due to the billions of dollars the U.S. paid them to be good ole boys. But a 'tiger doesn't change its stripes' that easily. I don't feel good about the Libya connection at all. I hope we're not getting in over our heads here."
Troy frowned. "You're not getting one of your visions are you? Is this you talking, or Gerry?"
Mike laughed, shaking his head. "No—no visions. This is me talking. By the way, I don't just get those feelings at will, Troy. They just appear at random and I can't predict when they're coming." Mike poked his finger into Troy's chest. "And buddy, quit making me feel like a freak."
"Sorry, I'm not trying to be a smartass. I just get a little concerned when you express fears. You're usually the fearless one."
Jim jumped in to break the tension. "Nah, we're dealing with simple embezzlement here—large dollars, but still just embezzlement. The way I understand it from what Simon told me yesterday, geeks can route their hacking throughout the world via numerous IP addresses. This makes it almost impossible to track down the original source sometimes. So there may be no significance at all with the Libyan IP." Jim patted Mike on the back. "We're going to be fine—and this is going to be kinda fun. Just like hazing way back in our university days!"
Mike smiled and squeezed the shoulders of his two friends. "You're right. Let's roll."