The Gold Club: A White Collar Crime Thriller
Page 25
“The guy’s habit personified. He’ll go to my machine, I’d put money on it. He won’t use his own, ‘cause he’ll think we’ve got it bugged by now. And he won’t come up here either, this is just in case that Klein woman gets any ideas.”
“What about Phil Caldorian’s computer?”
“He wouldn’t. Caldorian might, but that’s why we’re going to arrest him before we move in. That guy’s the wild card. Once he’s taken care of, the rest of them’ll fold up like cheap suits.”
Judy nodded, not in the sense of agreeing with him, but just to let him know she was still listening. She wasn’t the sort to dismiss any adversary until they were beaten. She appreciated Hank’s confidence, but considered it to be a failing at the same time. She didn’t say so, though. She wouldn’t challenge him on how to do his job, even if she did know better. Better to let him take a few knocks, then he’d be more likely to listen to her in future.
“How are you going to arrest computer geek, then, if he’s always one step ahead? Don’t you think he’ll know you’re on to him?” she asked, using the unflattering term for him they’d been batting back and forth since he’d first come up.
“Oh, he will,” Fangue replied, “But it doesn’t matter, he’ll screw up sooner or later. In fact, I want him on the run. On edge. More likely he’ll make mistakes, and we’re going to need a few slip-ups to round up the whole gang of them. He falls, they all fall.”
Once they realized that the gold club had an Infotech geek on their side, it had all come together. The fact that they were always one step ahead, the wealth of knowledge about Sahara systems. Even the hierarchy made more sense once they realized it was a nerd at the top of the pyramid. Everything they did made more sense now, including the fact that they weren’t overly aggressive and didn’t behave like the money hungry criminals they really were.
* * *
Judy ran the backs of her fingernails along the desk, then sat down in Hank’s chair without asking. He stood with his back to her, staring out the picture window onto the workfloor below.
“She’s back in the loft again,” Judy said, pointing to a live-feed.
“Who is?”
“Marjorie Klein, the one I told you about.”
“The go-between? What are you still watching her for?”
“Because she’s watching us, that’s why.”
Hank, sighing, abandoned his window and moved over to see what she was so concerned about. “So she’s checking up on us, so what? I already know about her. Any real leads I should know about?”
Judy knew what he was fishing for, but she wasn’t about to hand it over for nothing. “No, she never communicates with them from down there. She just watches the security teams, and her own people. That’s why I went to surprise her, I thought maybe she’d give them up. But no dice.”
Fangue shook his head. “Too bad.”
“Yeah.” Too bad you don’t know what I know. She reminded herself to keep quiet a little longer, until he was ready to give her something of value in return. She still wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, unsure of how he would react, and still wondering what this was all worth. Best to keep him in the dark, for now, string him along with little hints. Keep him interested until she knew what she wanted in return.
* * *
“I’ve got to go,” Hank Fangue said, “one of my contacts just tipped me. Caldorian from Info-Tech was spotted a couple days ago. Going into a church, of all places. Maybe he thinks prayer’ll get him out of this.” He chuckled to himself, while Judy felt her pulse begin to race. This was the cue she’d been waiting for.
“This is the first time any of them have poked their heads out since we caught on,” continued the security chief, “so I’m going over there to ask some questions.”
This was happening too fast. She didn’t have enough time, Hank would have this thing wrapped up and the accounts frozen before she could act. She had to think of something, but there was no reason to keep Hank from doing what he intended to do.
She had to try and bring him in. “Look, Hank. There’s something else I’ve been working on. Something you’re going to love.”
“Oh?”
“They put all their cash in one place, to pay off their workers.”
Fangue stared at her like she had three heads, then a wicked smirk crossed his face. She couldn't tell if he was just missing the point, or if he got it and just didn’t like where she was going.
“I can get it, Hank! Give me a little more time, and I can get it all.” She was imploring him to listen to reason, but he was having none of it. “You can have half,” she added in a shrill voice, desperate to entice him. “It’s walking away money for both of us!”
This stopped him. He looked her over like he was just seeing something for the first time. Like she was a complete stranger to be wary of, rather than the trusted associate she'd worked so hard to be. Then he laughed. That had to be a good sign, he liked the idea. Smiling, she moved in closer.
He pushed her away, laughing still, enough to make him double over. She shrank back out of shock. “I don’t understand. You won’t? You don’t want—”
The laughter turned cruel, mocking. He took a long breath, and wiped his eyes. “You seriously think that I would,”—still chuckling between the words—“that I would steal company assets in some scheme, with you?” He laughed harder. As the sound of his amusement assaulted her ears she began to shake, the humiliation of it welling up like a dark wave.
“Listen honey,” he said, the mocking tone stoking her even further, “I don't know where you got the idea that I'd be interested in any of that shit, but you are very much mistaken. Besides, I always knew you were shifty, but this?”
She felt like screaming, but held back. “Hank, don’t be too hasty,” she pled, feeling her opportunity slipping away, “we’re looking at seven figures each here. There’s a fortune just sitting there, they haven’t split it up yet. You’d be crazy to pass that up.”
“Crazy?” he replied, ignoring her plea and staring out the window into the warehouse instead—a complete dismissal. “Maybe I am. But at least I’m not a criminal.”
Here we go. She braced herself, wondering offhand if there was anything in the office that could serve as a weapon. Probably nothing that isn’t under lock and key, she answered herself with an inward laugh devoid of humor.
“Now I’ve got to go, before it’s too late to track that hacker down. And you’re lucky, because I’m going to take your service to the company into consideration. If you pack up and get out before I get back, I won’t press charges.”
She took in a sharp breath, but stared defiantly back at him.
“Don’t act surprised, you’re damned lucky I don’t add you to the gold club hit-list while I’m at it. Now get out of here!”
Too shocked to move at first, she stood there a moment longer. Then, with a quick, sharp breath, she turned and hurried out, not looking back. Fangue took one more look out the picture window, then closed the curtains and headed off to apprehend his suspect.
* * *
It took less than an hour for Phil to learn, through one of his alerts, that he was the next target for investigation. He would have found out sooner, if not for his new habit of shutting down the machines once a day. Guess I picked the wrong week to go primitive. He wasn’t particularly surprised, but he knew enough to take it very seriously. With the added pressure of lost time, he got right to work, methodically setting up a counter-strike.
Phil had a good idea of what he needed to do, but the timing was tight. He wasn’t sure he could take care of it all, so he began prioritizing the steps in his head just in case.
Taking care of the Sahara security team was most important, and that meant getting Hank Fangue out of the way. Using a personalized onion routing technique, he set up a secure link with the temple. It was the second-in-command who answered the call—that unpleasant, paranoid fellow—and Phil proceeded to feed him a pack of lies.
“There’s no time for that. The alert just came up on my early warning—”
“You didn’t see it because it’s not installed on your system. It’s on my kilo-quad interface module...”
“That’s right. I’ll send you the details...”
“I agree. The sooner you take care of this the better. If they try and hit you now, I’m not sure if I can protect your servers...”
“Just run the script. I’ll send out a message for them to intercept. With any luck it’ll lure them over—”
“Well, how else are you going to stop them?”
“It’ll work. I’m sure you can handle it.”
Phil called up the script, along with the fake message. He ordered his patsy to read the instructions back to him, making the man was clear on what his responsibilities were. Then he disconnected the dark web and moved on to priority number two—setting up the CEO.
For that he needed access to the temple computer, so he called back and left a message that he was on his way after all. Then he dashed off a text message to those who might try and contact him, indicating that he was going to the shore where coverage might be spotty. With that done, he hefted his phone with a sigh, and smashed it against the wall. Then he snapped it in half for good measure and tossed it in the trash. Thinking better of the easy-to-spot oddity, he fished it out and stuffed it into a paper bag. He’d dispose of it somewhere along the way. He switched on his monitor, and set a script in motion to erase all traces of his recent activities. Satisfied the situation was in hand, he grabbed his custom designed, GPS-free portable, and dashed out of the office.
~ 35 ~
Advances
She had honestly hoped, even believed, he would take her offer. But she should’ve known better. Now she had to do something drastic, get him out of the way, long enough to do what she had to do. He should’ve listened. Should’ve taken the offer when he had the chance. This is his own fault.
The phone rang a number of times. “Temple of the Celestial Healers,” came a gruff but bored voice.
“Hi, I need to report...well, I need to report something. A crime. Involving your group, I mean.”
“Hang on...”
She tapped the receiver while she waited. Come on.
Someone else came on the line, an older voice. “Hello? Lady, what’s this about?”
“Listen, this is important,”—she talked fast, keeping her voice just this side of hysterical, the way one of the faithful in distress might sound—“I’m a friend of the cause, and I thought you should know—there’s a man on the way to your temple. He’s on his way right now, and he aims to arrest your leader.”
“What? I’m sorry, did you say arrest our leader?” The man didn't sound confused so much as plain incredulous. But he did stay on the line.
“That’s right, arrest him. And then they’re going to cyber-attack the church, bring down your whole system. They've been working with your computer expert Philip Caldorian. He gave you all up, fed information to the cops. That’s why they sent the guy out, you can’t let him make the arrest.”
There was a long pause. She hoped the man was processing what she was saying, deciding whether to take her seriously, though it seemed more likely he was just trying to decide if she was a crackpot. Surely they got more than their share of those, why should this one be any different?
“I’m sorry, who did you say you were again?” he asked. His tone betrayed suspicion, while his manner was curt, just on the cusp of rudeness.
“I didn’t. I’m just a friend. If you let that cop come in and start making arrests, it’s going to be a very bad day for the faith. You don’t want to be the one who could have prevented it but didn’t, now do you?”
“Okay, look. I’ll look into it, and thank you for calling. But really, if I could just get your name, I could send someone—”
There was no sense in continuing the conversation, so she ended it, listening with amusement to the still-speaking man fade away until the receiver was down. If she were lucky, those fanatics might buy her enough time to pull this off, but either way she had to hurry.
* * *
“Whaddaya mean he’s out of reach?” Fangue seethed, trying to hold back from tearing into this Infotech manager. The man had no idea the kind of thin ice he was on.
“Just what I said,” mumbled the manager, “Out of reach. Can’t be reached. Incommunicado,” He sounded like he was chewing on something off to the side of the receiver.
Fangue tried another tack. “Look, I don’t want to have to go over your head, but since you can’t seem to keep track of your workers...”
“Go ahead and try, if you want,” the man said. The chewing and smacking sounds forced Fangue to pull his ear away in disgust. “Nobody’ll care. As long as we keep the systems up and running, nobody cares what we do.”
Biting his tongue to keep from cursing, Fangue considered the troublesome idea that the man might be right. This could make things more difficult. He’d just assumed he would be able to call this Phil character in like all the others, but under the circumstances he might actually have to go out and look.
“I take it you did try and reach him?” Fangue asked. “This is the third time I’ve called you people.”
The manager made a swallowing sound before he spoke again. “I tried his cell. No dice. But he said he might be out of range.”
“Seriously?”
“It happens.”
“So what if there’s an emergency?” Fangue asked. “What then?”
“Look pal. Caldorian handles a portfolio twice the size of any other techie I’ve got. He don’t wanna deal with headaches, and I don’t want to piss him off. It’s a win-win.”
Screw this, Fangue thought, squeezing the receiver so tight he felt the plastic threaten to give way. He relaxed, realizing this guy wasn’t worth it, and simply made a mental note to open up an investigation on the whole department at the next possible opportunity. That put a smile on his face, so he was able to reply with a cheerful, “Alright then. You will let me know when he checks in?”
“Yeah. Sure will...” The manager had already lost interest in the conversation. As Fangue detected the faint crinkle crack of a snack-bag getting worked over, he hung up without leaving a number.
* * *
Phil received a second alert. This time it was unregistered movement in the field by security personnel—they were moving in. Probably on him. Time to abandon his responsibilities at the temple and find an earlier flight. Just as he was about to skip out, his gaze fell upon the wall of guns. So ripe for violence, these lunatics. Just in case, he hacked into the local first responder network and assigned a few extra crews to the area.
Two hours later, with the Sahara, Gold Club, and Celestial Healer drama well behind him, Phil Caldorian leaned back into his seat and waited for the anxiety drug cocktail to kick in. He had a vicious phobia about enclosed spaces, which included planes; ‘flying sardine-can deathtraps’, as he put it. He’d not taken to the skies in his adult life, and wouldn’t have started now if not for the fact that they were under the gun. He spent the flight in a xanax-induced haze, but even that powerful medication didn’t relieve him entirely.
It was a full five minutes past arrival before he was able to unclench and deplane in Portland; home of the Sahara world headquarters, and more importantly the SDC supercomputer he'd come to sabotage. Having built fifteen hours into the itinerary in case of delays, he still had fourteen and change once he got out of the airport, so he set out to find a hotel.
Downtown and disoriented, he was reluctant to ask for advice, particularly not from the locals who were already giving him the predatory eye. Ted insisted he pay with cash only, so he'd left all his credit cards at home. After being rejected five times for lack of credit, though, he felt like going back home to strangle Ted. He downgraded his expectations and got situated in a sleazy overnigh
ter. It was far too dirty for his taste, but he'd brought his own bedding, so after a thirty minute cleaning session he was able to breathe normally again.
He checked in with Ted to make sure everything was on schedule. It took him a long time to respond, setting Phil even more on edge. He'd never been to the west coast before, never travelled so far alone if he wasn't on business with a firm itinerary and a plan for every movement, and he'd never stayed in such an unsanitary place. His stomach was already beginning to flip out, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to use this room for his business when it came time to push. He'd finally managed to go on the train, once, in his private berth after an exhausting cleaning session in which he sanitized every surface he could reach. He supposed he'd have his next shot on the way home. Just the idea of it produced a painful cramp, and he grabbed at it as he checked his phone for the fifth time, looking for Ted's reply. Finally, the answer was there—all systems go, everything on schedule.
* * *
Phil quickly tired of the filth, but he stayed put until the appointed hour. He didn’t even move from the desk chair. Germophobia prevented him from trying more comfortable options. His stomach was growling, but it seemed doubtful that delivery would be easy to come by in this neighborhood. Finally it was close enough to eight o’clock for him to venture out.
After dark, the surroundings took on a sinister tinge. Girls in heels were hanging around the corners, alongside what Phil could only assume were drug dealers. He gave the shady locals plenty of leeway, pulling up his collar and turning to look for a taxi. He would've preferred a decent car service, but there was little chance of that here.
He felt like the street people were closing in, and he resisted the urge to break into a run. Only then did he realize carrying hundreds of dollars in cash might not have been a great idea. With a growing panic, he scanned the street for cabs. One of the ladies hollered something at him. He ignored it, spotting a taxi one block down. Throwing caution to the wind, he ran for it, managing to grab it just as it was was pulling away. He jumped in and yelled, “Max’s Bistro!” recalling an advertisement on the back of the weathered phone book laying atop his hotel room desk. He glanced upward to check his whereabouts; the first sign read Sandy Blvd., and he turned to catch sight of the cross street, which was 82nd Avenue. He committed them to memory as they sped away.