Helen Hanson - Dark Pool

by Helen Hanson

  “I can’t imagine how.”

  “I am sorry. She was here with me yesterday.”

  The wife was merely a sister. Maggie curbed her hair behind an ear.

  “I thought perhaps you met. Anna is not known for staying by the wall as you say.”

  Maggie laughed and touched his arm. “You mean she’s not a wallflower.”

  “Yes. That is what I meant.”

  The sound waves from his baritone laugh sent a shiver to her spine. Maggie was glad she met him when she was cleaned-up, decked in something fine, and ready to dazzle. It happened so rarely these days.

  Right across the street. And single.

  But the gorgeous, Russian stranger would have to wait. “I’m sorry, Fyodor. I’m late for an appointment. But I enjoyed meeting you.”

  “Maggie.” He hesitated. “Would you have dinner with me sometime?”

  “Dinner?” Even tripping through her own fantasies hadn’t prepared her for that question. She just met the man, and he was already asking for a date. She couldn’t get involved now. But he seemed nice. And she knew. Nobody planned these meetings. They just came. Or they didn’t. And right now, she delighted in the handsome change to her luck. “Thanks, I’d love to.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Travis left the house only after Maggie’s car had turned at the end of their street. He cut wide around the back of the Modesto’s apartment building. Most of the renters were still at work. He slipped into the empty apartment without stirring any witnesses.

  The hacker forums allowed Travis entry with his new user name, but the identity meant nothing to the community. The elites in the community were his best hope of tracking Kingphisher. Travis had sent out messages, and hopefully, one of his friends would respond. They all knew he had good reason not to resurface under his original name. He dropped to the floor and fired up the laptop.

  His chest pounded. A message waited for him from AreEff. Travis expected it to be cryptic.

  imposter noob. real bird flew away. have details. double-click me somewhere else.

  He sagged back against the wall. So the Kingphisher stalking these waters wasn’t the one who set Travis up for hard time. Just another newbie taking a name he’d seen on one of the boards.

  The professional hackers didn’t bother with handles or the boards for that matter. For those who made their living via industrial espionage or from governments, anonymity paid too well. There was no incentive to leave a calling card.

  Travis was a seasoned journeyman, but AreEff was a wizard. His contributions, while dubious, were legendary on the boards. Some speculated that he was a composite because no one person could be that proficient. Travis knew otherwise.

  Travis considered himself a white-hat. He hacked for the sake of curiosity, looked for security breaches left by script kiddies, or found system vulnerabilities in dire need of a simple patch. He had even poked the defenses at the Silicon Valley Server Farm at the behest of his father and the owners. Many of their customers knew about it. They figured if a kid could compromise their security, they’d rather have him on their side.

  Travis found several problems at the Server Farm. Routers with incorrect documentation that allowed access to restricted computer ports, a zero-day virus lying in wait on a critical application, and the hairy guy on the night shift with absolutely no discretion. Security threats also came in thirty-one flavors.

  AreEff had white-hat tendencies, but to a select few, he offered up exploits that Travis knew were illegal. Travis kept to his moral boundaries, usually on the legal side of firewalls. Then Kingphisher offered him a thousand dollars to run a penetration test on The Rockstag Group.

  AreEff gave him some advice before he took the job. AreEff said a pen test was like hiring someone to hit on your wife to see if she’d cheat. In this case, Travis wasn’t supposed to do any damage, just access the company financials, payroll, and copy all the customer project files to prove he’d made it in. Easy money when the family needed it most.

  But in the excitement of contributing to his family’s dwindling reserves, he’d forgotten the one thing that AreEff told him mattered most, a get-out-of-jail-free card from The Rockstag Group executives—a document authorizing the penetration test and exonerating him of any wrongdoing. Sure would have been handy during his trial.

  Kingphisher baited him with promises of quick cash and reeled him in bleeding. Whoever-he-was left Travis flopping on the dock in the sweltering heat. The few who really knew the truth wanted Kingphisher to fry. If AreEff said he knew something, then it was as certain as the morning fog.

  AreEff told Travis to contact him elsewhere. Travis checked the list of on-line users anyway. No AreEff. He logged out and hopped on a different forum.

  The message boards showed nothing waiting for him. He clicked the users-online link and pulled the computer closer. AreEff topped the list. Travis kissed the screen.

  He double-clicked on AreEff’s name and a window popped up for him to enter his message. He typed.

  glad u know me. ready for details.

  He sent the message. The wait pressed heavily on his patience.

  Words flashed on his screen.

  real bird left soon after u. his ip mapped to trg. ur suit didn’t find it because he spoofed a yahoo account. sorry man. couldn’t get it to u without risk. you still breathing?

  No. Travis wasn’t breathing.

  Kingphisher’s IP address traced back to trg. The Rockstag Group. At the trial, the prosecutor said that Kingphisher came in on a Yahoo address, and it didn’t belong to anyone who could approve a pen test. It was an easy spoof to mask an IP address. Kingphisher’s real IP address traced back to a computer inside The Rockstag Group. Travis had told his lame attorney to check this, but the suit didn’t believe Travis either.

  That meant one of the assholes who pressed charges against him for hacking had set him up for the fall. Was it that guy who attacked Dad? Brian Carter.

  But why?

  Travis tried to wrap his head around the facts. He typed a question for AreEff and their conversation volleyed.

  how sure?

  bear in the woods sure. curious. u no. did the research myself. totally bogus rap. watched it come down in news. sucked. glad to see u back tho

  thx

  sorry couldn’t do more. not safe u no

  i no

  gotta bounce. u need help to bag this one. hit me

  will do. thx

  Now what? As far as he was concerned, AreEff’s assurance was pure gold. But he had zero proof and without proof, no one would believe him. Not even Maggie.

  The air in the room suddenly wouldn’t fill his lungs. Travis logged out of the forum and shut down the machine. Outside in the coastal breeze, he inhaled the sharp, briny mixture as if it were his last chance.

  Travis leaned against a cypress until he felt ready to face Javier’s mom. She had long-range antenna that sensed trouble before it arrived. And he really did want to get the paperwork going on the home school. If only he could stop shaking.

  He pulled himself together long enough to avoid the renters on the walk back to the main street. Hearing the rumble of Maggie’s car in their driveway, he ran back to their house. Jogging. Good cover for bone rattling news.

  She flew out of the house as he arrived. “Hey. I forgot my résumés. Everything okay?” Her antenna wasn’t bad either.

  “I was heading to Javie’s when I heard your car. Dad still sleeping?”

  “Yeah. He’s—”

  A small, red car raced down their street at full volume, forcing their attention. It tore down the road as if unaware the road ended on the beach. When the car came near, they saw the contorted face of a woman behind the wheel. She jammed on the brakes, smoking the tires to a stop in front of their house.

  With the engine still running, a large woman spilled out and staggered toward them. Travis thought she might be hurt. He looked for signs of bleeding. “Are you all right?”

  She leaped
on him, clawing at his face and screaming, “You killed him! You killed my husband!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Travis tried to defend himself from the crazy woman clawing at him by blocking the blows with his forearms. But Maggie saw that Dad and Trisha’s admonitions to “never hit a girl” were going to get his ass killed. Maggie lunged at the woman from the side, tackling her onto the sandy dirt. Maggie landed hard, zapping her shoulder with pain.

  Both vying for a hold on the other, they thrashed on the ground. The big woman kicked out as Maggie rolled away. The woman hit air. Maggie dove on her and kneed her way up, straddling the woman’s waist. She snatched at the flailing arms, finally securing the woman by the wrists. Maggie’s knees pressed into the woman’s armpits until she gave up the struggle.

  The woman’s auburn hair spilled over her face. She panted for breath and directed a burst of air with her lower lip to clear the hair from her view. A big woman, maybe five-ten, and about one-eighty. She was soft and weak.

  Maggie’s muscles locked. Her fingernails dug into the woman’s flesh, but she wasn’t letting this maniac take another shot. She assessed her own damage. The back of her hand bled. Her interview outfit might survive with dry cleaning and mending. But the thrashing shredded her only good pair of pantyhose.

  Maggie jerked the woman’s arms. “What the hell is your problem?”

  The words seemed to break inside the woman as if she’d been receiving on a different channel. Despair etched her face in furrows. Snapping, brown eyes rumpled to an uneasy close. Her mouth gaped in lament. Beneath Maggie’s relentless grip, she withered like a slug in the sun.

  “Tap out, Mag.” Travis’ voice was behind her. “Tap out. Let her up.”

  Air shot from Maggie’s nostrils. Her diaphragm pulsed. “Are you freakin’ nuts?”

  The woman on the ground no longer resisted. Her tears streamed now, but the sound muffled into the ground. Maggie dropped back to rest on her haunches and loosened her clamp on the woman’s wrists.

  She looked around and noticed a small crowd had gathered. There was snotty Carl Pinkerton who showed up for all their family dramas. Ginger took her usual place by Travis’ side. Javier flanked him. When the crowd was pre-assembled, Javier’s parents always skipped the neighborhood shows. Just the loons at the Fender house again. Nothing new.

  Damn, she was tired of making headlines. Could this get any worse?

  Fyodor the Ripped climbed out of the woman’s car, her engine now quiet.

  Dinner. Yeah. That was going to happen.

  Maggie released the woman’s arms. They fell to the ground as if inanimate. She hovered above the wracking body and stretched to a stand, wiping her hands down the front of her skirt.

  “Are you alright, Magpie?” Travis had her by the elbow.

  “Do want me to call the police?” Ginger waggled her cell phone. The rest of the gawkers dispersed.

  “No. I’m fine.” She looked at her brother. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Her name is Barbara Carter. I checked in her purse.” Fyodor spoke kindly. He helped Maggie to her feet. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Maybe he didn’t think she was a monster. She didn’t start the damn fight, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to walk away from it. “No.” She wiped at her face.

  Travis paled. “Barbara Carter. She said something about me killing her husband. Brian Carter was the guy who attacked Dad.”

  They stared at the woman on the ground. Travis squatted down and held out his hand to her. “Ma’am. I’m sorry about your husband. Can I help you get up?”

  She stayed on the ground. The sobbing subsiding into deep breaths. Travis stayed with her while she readied herself. She wiped an arm across her eyes and turned to look at him.

  Maggie had seen the transformation before. Something about his gaze or the clarity of Travis’ green eyes disarmed the most hostile of enemies. Especially female.

  He kept Barbara’s hand while she rose. “Are you alright?”

  After wrestling her to the ground, Maggie knew she wasn’t packing a gun. Maggie approached. “My brother didn’t meet your husband that day.”

  “He told me he was going to my cousin’s in Redwood City to watch the A’s game.” Her starry gaze wandered over Travis. “The A’s didn’t play that night.”

  Ginger nudged Maggie. “Take her inside.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “The woman is in shock.” Ginger pushed. “Get her some water. Let her sit.”

  “The police told me they found Brian here.”

  Maggie said, “Travis, take Mrs. Carter inside.” Ginger winked her assent.

  As the four of them trudged inside the house, Maggie whispered to Ginger, “Will you make sure Dad is still asleep? I don’t want him involved.”

  From the foyer, Ginger cut right toward Dad’s room while they continued to the kitchen table.

  Barbara let go of Travis’ hand when she sat. Maggie quickly brought her a glass of water.

  “The police told me Martin Fender killed my Brian. I remember you from the trial.”

  “My name is Travis, ma’am. Martin is our father.” Travis glanced at his sister.

  Ginger came around the corner and nodded at Maggie. She stood sentry by the pantry door.

  “You aren’t the one who—”

  “No. My brother and I found your husband after—after it happened. We’re the ones who told the police where to find him.”

  “Why did Brian come here?”

  Even Maggie felt sorry for the woman now. “Mrs. Carter. My father has fairly advanced Alzheimer’s. We don’t know why they met that evening.” She waited for eye contact. “You do know they released my father. They found knife marks on his back. He acted in self-defense.”

  Barbara Carter’s eyelids fluttered. Her upper body started to sway. Maggie thought they might have to scrape her off the floor. Instead, she shuddered as if shaking off a blast of extreme cold. They gave her a moment to regroup.

  “I identified the knife. It was Brian’s.” She stared at Maggie now. “I hoped to make some sense of this. That’s why I came here.” Her face fell. “When I saw your brother outside—”

  “Did your husband ever mention my father?”

  “No. None of you. I confused the names. He never talked about the trial. I read what was in the newspapers.” She lay back in her chair. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Finally, they could agree on something. Maggie checked the clock. By the time she could get presentable, it would be too close to the dinner hour to start job-hunting.

  Dad entered from the family room. Ginger moved toward him. He walked to the table and smiled at Barbara Carter. “Trisha, why didn’t you tell me we had guests?” He didn’t wait for a response before wandering out to the porch.

  Barbara’s eyes followed Dad.

  “He’s rarely lucid anymore. Trisha was Travis’ mom and my stepmother. She died two years ago.”

  Barbara Carter turned to Travis, her mouth quivered when she saw the moisture of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She stood. “I should go.”

  Maggie said, “Mrs. Carter—”

  “Please call me Barbara.”

  “Barbara—” Maggie put a hand on her shoulder. “Look. We’re stumbling too. If we can help you figure this out—”

  Travis came to her side. “I’m sorry about your husband.”

  “Thank you.” Her demeanor seemed sincere.

  “May I ask you something? Did your husband ever mention the name Kingphisher?”

  Maggie wanted to kick his shin but was afraid of hitting Barbara.

  Barbara touched her mouth. “No. Who’s Kingphisher?”

  Travis must have seen the heat rising from Maggie. He moved further behind Barbara.

  “My father mentioned that name the day—the day it happened. I wondered if it had anything to do with your husband.”

  What the hell was he up to now? Lyi
ng to Barbara. Maggie tried to make eye contact with Travis. Dad never mentioned the name Kingphisher. Maggie wasn’t even sure he’d remember it from the trial.

  But the topic seemed to divert Barbara’s mind as she grappled with her loss. Finally, a loose fact to tug. A grip on a motive. A toehold on an answer. A pursuit that might let her forget for a moment that her beloved husband was dead.

  Her auburn hair cascaded back when she lifted her head. “Kingphisher. I haven’t heard the name before. Do you think it might be important?”

  “I do, ma’am.” His foot danced as he spoke.

  She patted his arm. “Then I’ll let you know if I run across it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The stall warning indicator of the Mooney Acclaim intermittently blared. Vladimir eased back the yoke and kissed the numbers three-zero at San Carlos airport. The tires chirped on impact. He cut the power and braked hard but missed taxiway F. He made taxiway E and halted the aircraft before switching the radio to ground frequency.

  He keyed the mike. “San Carlos Ground. This is Mooney seven, whisky, bravo. Request permission to taxi to hangar Juliet.”

  “Roger. Mooney seven, whisky, bravo. Free to bypass. Cleared for taxi.”

  “Cleared for taxi.” Vladimir released the brakes and idled across taxiway J, through the tie-down aisles, to his hangar on the right.

  Anton and Yuri Suslova relaxed near the opening with a game of cards. Maybe gin rummy. They tossed their hands on the table when the Mooney came into view and swept the cards into a deck. They folded the table and chairs, laying them against an inside wall.

  Vladimir turned left in front of the hangar, taxiing forward, well clear of the door. He powered off the avionics, cut the engine, and dropped the key ring on the dash. He slid the headphones off and packed them in his flight bag. After traveling at over 200 kph, the lack of motion felt strange.