CHAPTER II
Tomas dismissed the message alert on his mobile as he watched Marina zip up her suitcase. Business could wait; it would always wait.
She smoothed her skirt out, a plain blue cotton thing that draped around her ankles. A swath of straight black hair played at her shoulders as she struggled with the latch holding the handle in place. The damned clasp had always been trouble, Tomas thought as he stepped in to help her. She pushed him away with a sly grin. He placed a hand on her bare arm as if to pull it away, feeling her cool coffee colored skin at his touch. He’d miss her, of course; no matter how short her trip was, he would miss her.
“I don’t need your help,” she said through an ivory grin. “Why don’t you go do something useful, like opening the car?”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Tomas laughed. “Just don’t come running after me for help when you can’t get down the stairs with that thing.”
Tomas stepped into the hall and down the stairs, running his hand on the wall beneath portraits of family and friends, their wedding day and subsequent anniversary parties. A graphite colored stain marked the place where he always trailed the path beneath the photos, stuck in an old habit. The banister ran on the opposite side in their previous home, a tiny townhouse in a San Antonio suburb, and he’d not been able to adjust. Marina cursed him for the blemish.
They’d been married for two years, and she’d stayed patient enough to follow him from city to city as he ascended the Four Nations International Bank hierarchy. He guessed that she had a home to be proud of now, and he needed to help her keep it looking nice. He promised himself that he would repaint the wall should he break the habit.
He turned at the bottom of the stairs, and walked into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and sat down at the bar. He thumbed through the morning’s newspaper, still sprawled out on the countertop from when they’d eaten breakfast. A Four Nations advertisement filled the bottom half of the back page.
Ten million users have switched to our new International Mobile Banking application, and are exchanging funds in seven different currencies, it screamed in bold blue letters floating over an image of people standing on a map of the world. Tomas had always found the marketing of the Four Nations mobile software to be cheesy, and dated by at least two decades. He was even embarrassed that Four Nations thought that their software was revolutionary. The concept of mobile banking had existed for years, and the implementation of fast international transactions and currency exchanges didn’t make it any more unique than the next program on the market.
Tomas ignored the sink full of dishes as he finished his juice and pushed the paper aside.
Tomas looked down at his watch. “You need to hurry. I don’t want you to miss your flight.”
He could hear her coming down the stairs, the damaged suitcase tumbling and bouncing from side to side behind her.
“It’ll be fine,” she shouted back to him. “You worry too much. I’ve got plenty of time.”
“But you still haven’t picked out a book to read,” he said.
“And you haven’t opened the car for me; some gentleman that you’ve turned out to be.”
“I never said you married a gentleman,” he said. He stepped around the counter to where she waited in the opening. “I’ll take care of your bag. You go stare at the bookshelf for twenty minutes.”
“Kiss my ass,” she scoffed. Tomas took the suitcase out to Marina’s car, and sauntered back inside, flinching when the security system signaled his entry. He found her in the den, pulling a few paperbacks off of the shelf, and stacking them on the back of the love seat.
“I thought you were only taking one carry on.”
“I am,” she said.
“Well, you can’t put that many books in your purse,” Tomas said in mock frustration. “They’ll throw your ass off the plane for making it too heavy.”
“I’m going to be out of town for a week, and this is how you treat me? I should buy you a ticket, and drag you to Boston with me.”
“No. No, no, no. I love you baby, but that just isn’t happening. Not after what we went through last time.”
“My sister got over it after you paid to have her house recarpeted.”
“And I shouldn’t have done that,” Tomas said. “It was only a couple of drops of wine.”
“And then a whole bottle of wine, and you broke a vase on the floor. You tend to let the littlest things get to you.”
“I’m sorry that she told you that you shouldn’t have married some corrupt politician like me. It was something similar to that, right?” Tomas said.
“She doesn’t know you, and she’ll never get a chance if you don’t get over yourself and just try talking to her again,” Marina sighed. She selected two books from her stack, leaving the rest on the couch, and approached Tomas.
Tomas nodded. “I know. I’ve been working on it.”
“I know…and you’re doing great,” she said, raising herself to the tips of her toes. She kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, don’t forget, you have an appointment with your therapist on Thursday.”
“I won’t. He’s got my number at the top of his call list anyway. He’ll be on my ass even if I’m a minute late.”
Marina walked back into the foyer, and threw the books in her purse. Tomas followed her out to her car, a simple red sedan. She threw the purse in the front seat, and resisted getting into the car, staring back at the house like she’d forgotten something important.
“I’ve got my suitcase, purse, something to keep my mind off of being locked in a giant soda can for six hours…you grabbed the charger for my mobile?”
“It’s in your purse so it can charge up during your layover,” Tomas said.
She waited again, going over the inventory in her head.
“I guess that’s it then,” she said with a thin smile.
Tomas took her into his arms. “Give me a call when you land.”
“Of course,” she said, “if I make it, anyway.”
“And if you need anything, let me know.”
“Alright, I’ll see you in a week. I love you,” she said with a toothy smile.
“Love you too, babe. Bye,” Tomas said, stepping back. Marina slid into the car, and drove away as Tomas strolled back into the house.
He walked upstairs, and retrieved his mobile from the dresser. The waiting message was accompanied by three missed calls. He slid the new alerts away, and opened the message. A three page legal document floated in the text space, marked with a Four Nations diamond logo on each page in the right side of the header.
As the words “internal investigation committee” reached his eyes, he skipped the remainder of the document, and swiped down to the message at the bottom.
We’re cancelling everything. Unfortunately, all of the transfer code is buried pretty deep into the app. It’s going to take a few days. Move all of the assets that you’ve collected, and stay out of the office for a few days. I’ll make sure you’re covered. Delete this message, and I’ll purge it from the logs. – Jeff
The mobile was slick from sweat and slipped his palm. He opened the recent missed calls menu. Jeff was at the top of the list, followed by two numbers he didn’t recognize aside from the 774 prefix. That was a Four Nations office number, but not one that had ever called him before. His heart spiraled in his rib cage.
He threw the mobile on the bed, rushed downstairs, and into his office adjacent to the kitchen.
Marina was still in the process of remodeling the cozy room. A few empty frames were propped on one side of the antique stained oak desk. There were paint cans and a roller tray pegging a sheet of newspaper spread to ratty deep pile carpet in the corner.
Tomas stumbled over a rolled up rug that blocked access to his computer. He dragged himself into his chair, shouting “dammit” as he rose. He brushed a stack of folders away from the keyboard with a swipe of his arm.
He hammered in the passwords to his and Marina’s conjoined Four Nations accou
nts. The money was still there; seven figures divided across seven accounts. $17,000 cleared into his account that morning, confirming that the code was still installed, and delivering a daily deposit to his account. He took a moment to look deeper, following the trail from the Four Nations transfer server to his account. It appeared legitimate. Tomas couldn’t figure out how anyone could trace what he, Jeff, and Markus had done.
He rushed to close four of the accounts belonging to overseas banks. He transferred the illegitimate assets over to Marina’s debit account. If Jeff was being honest with him, he would clean up the tracks, and lay the blame elsewhere. It only needed to look good for the moment.
The security system chimed throughout the house.
Tomas paused, watching the transfers clear. His breathing remained thin, quiet. Footsteps echoed in the hall; they were the sounds of hard rubber soles on tile, followed by the clamor of steel and wood; then more footsteps. They left the kitchen.
After closing his accounts, Tomas fumbled with the desk drawer handle. He retrieved a metal lockbox, knocking over a pint of bourbon and three glasses. He unleashed a nervous cackle at the rattling noise, believing the racket would get him killed just a few seconds faster
He punched in the code, and yanked the revolver from the foam cradle. He pushed the cylinder out and back again, and thumbed the hammer.
Tomas switched to the opposite side of the desk, and retrieved a pair of flat SCH-1 drives from the top drawer. He slipped them into a small shielded magnetic container shaped like a matchbox. He ripped the air conditioning vent from the floor beneath the desk, attached the container to the wall of the shaft, and replaced the vent.
He rushed out of the office, and raised the pistol to eye-level. He’d never shot the small weapon outside of training classes when he and Marina applied for firearm permits. He’d never even come into contact with another gun in his life. His finger trembled in the trigger guard, the sights wobbling in and out of focus.
“Marina?” he shouted.
He stood at the opening to the foyer, and stared out the windows surrounding the front door. He couldn’t see a car in the driveway. He hoped that Marina forgot something and that she’d just pulled onto the side of the street, and run in and out with the car idling.
Tomas stepped out from cover, looking up the stairwell, following his silver trail along the incline.
“Marina? Did you forget something, babe?”
He passed the foot of the stairwell, seeing no sign that anyone had gone upstairs. He spun to face the living room, dark but for the light of the early morning sun, draping slivers of dawn across the room.
“Marina?” he called one last time. An abrupt shriek cut his cry, and stole his breath.
Tomas fell to his knees, sucking in a blood soaked breath, stunted by the burning pain in his back. Beige carpet spotted red before him. It dripped from his body, his lips.
The assault continued, and Tomas ceased to sense the steel that cut away his life.
A Ballad of Wayward Spectres: Day 1 Page 3
