by Mike Gomes
All of the members of the team indicated they understood what Tyler was talking about without saying a word. Their nodding heads and hardened eyes was clear enough for Tyler.
“Tyler, what are the mission points?” Gabriela questioned.
“I was just about to get to that. Gabriela, you and Falau will be focused on getting Duke alone and then put into a state where he can be taken for trial. How you do that is up to you but he is heavily guarded and has access to take off and go anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat.”
“Why not just kill him? We all know what he did. I could get close and have him dead in a matter of hours.” asked the seductive woman.
“I understand your skills but the judges weighed out all options and they want him alive. I think they want to hear where he has all the money so it can get back in the hands of the people he took it from.”
“That’s where I come in.” said Tim slouched down on the sofa with his black dress socks showing as they were going into the sneakers he wore.
“Very true Mr. McCartney. As these two get access, they can feed you information on how you can get in and do your bit of magic on the computer system. Your job is to find as much money as possible and have it sent to a list of account numbers we have for you. We want to empty all the liquid assets this guy has around the world. We are talking about your best hacking of your life. Banks, securities, financial institutions and you can’t leave a trace that you have been in them. As if that was not enough of a challenge you will also have a short amount of time to pull this off.”
“No problem for a SEAL.” snapped Tim having his voice fall back into a natural military cadence.
“Outstanding!” replied Tyler matching the tone of Tim.
Tyler adjusted the screen and a list of utilities and electronic connections appeared on the monitor. “Hope you all got a good look at the house blueprint. Of course this is just what is listed publicly. Who knows what he had done that is off the record. My guess is weapons closets and some kind of escape route. Be ready for anything at any time when you’re in that house.”
“Does he spend much time away from the house.” inquired Gabriela.
“Very little and when he does he contacts a security group to help him.” replied Tyler making eye contact with the impressive woman. “That’s where you come in Gabriela. With your certain set of skills you should be able to make your way into the house. The hope is that he persues you romantically. Once in you can get Falau in and the two of you can take him down. Falau you’re going to have to remove the guards while she distracts him. You're both going to need some way to contact one another so I was thinking small ear pieces and a microphone built into them. Tim we can tie you in with that as well so you can know just how much time is needed.”
“I can kill a man from a mile away with one shot and despite that you want me to shake my ass for this mocoso.”
“Gabriela, you don’t have to shake anything you don’t want to.”
“I know what men like. No brains and big breasts. I will enjoy the moment when we take him to the ground.”
“I like her.” chimed in Falau with a smirk.
“Nobody asked you, sunshine.” snapped Gabriela turning her icy gaze toward Falau. “Before you start to have fun at other people’s expenses you should learn about their sense of humor. I for one have no sense of humor.”
“Calm down everyone!” shouted Tyler. “Falau cut the comedy and Gabriela for a woman with over a hundred kills you should have thicker skin than that. Both of you get your minds on the mission and cut the bullshit. I have some things for each of you.”
Tyler stood up from his stool and walked in front of the group. “You will find next to the door a small care package for each of you. Inside will be the things I made for you. The mission location is in New York so that is a four hour drive. No planes needed so no getting through security. Your weapons will be what you want to take from here and what you have from your personal collection.”
“I have a simple Smith and Wesson .45 and a hunting knife. I don’t need anything more than that. Oh... and my laptop.” said Tim confidently.
“Looks like Tim is up first. Our intelligence reports tell us that the computer system that Duke has installed is basically impossible to hack from the outside. You’re going to have to be in the house as well. You will have to find some way to link into the main system. There were no records of the security system being installed. They obviously did it in secrecy. So, for you I have developed a small box that you can link to the power system of the house then you will be able to shut down all power of selected areas wherever you see fit. Should speed up the process for you.”
“I can make use of that.”
“Gabriela I have a series of pills that range in their effect that you can slip into drinks or food. Each are designed to melt on contact when they are removed from their pouch so do not get them on your hands or you will be with Duke passed out on the floor or going into shock.”
“I will keep them hidden on myself and use them as needed.” she said in a hard stern voice.
“Falau. I have your favored 9mm bullets that explode on impact but I also have this nice little flash bang. About the size of a fifty cent piece. Just squeeze it hard and throw it. You have five seconds then the flash comes with a bang that will split your eardrums if you’re in direct line with it. Smoke will follow that should fill a ten by twenty room in less than ten seconds. Should be great for disorienting anyone you need to. Hit Duke with one of these and you guys can be on him and have him out of the house before he gets his mind back about him.”
“I love the simple stuff. I think we have the tools we need to take care of this mission.” said Falau reaching out his hand to take the flash bang from Tyler.
“Better let me put it in the case first. You don’t want this thing going off in your pants.”
“Maybe he would like it.” quipped Gabriela looking out the corner of her eye at Falau.
“Alright Gabriela! You do have a sense of humor. I like it.” joked Falau in return to his new teammate.
“When you leave there will be a Mercedes Maybach in my driveway. The keys are on the driver’s seat. It’s yours for the taking. Oh, and there are no little trick things built into that car. It is more than enough all by itself.
Chapter 10
“This is fucking madness!” screamed Tristan Duke into the cell phone as he held it in front of his face. The young man’s eyes were red from crying and he had yet to take himself out of his bathrobe from when he woke up in the morning. His hands shook as he paced back and forth stammering into the phone attempting to get some assurance from his attorney that he could come up with the money for Wyatt Houston. “I have no idea who this guy is but he is not screwing around. If you could look in this guy’s eyes you would see that he would have no problem killing me or you or anyone. He is going to be back here in two days and if I don’t have the money things will be very bad. Get me that money!”
“Tristan, it is not that easy.” said the voice of his attorney on the other side of the phone. “Your money is wrapped up in places all over the world. We just can’t go to the bank and get it. You’re talking about trips to places with offshore accounts making physical withdrawals. If we could wire it here we would be hard pressed to find any place that could hand us ten million dollars in cash. Most banks don’t have that much on hand.”
“I don’t care how you do it just do it. What the hell am I paying you for anyway.”
“Well you’re not paying us anything right now. You have little to no money in the United States. If anything gets wired in the FBI will be on it and take it before you can think. We are still setting up that fake mortgage company for you so we can launder the money through that. So you can cut it with all the theatrics. I have more than enough to put you away for life and if not for me you would be away for life.”
“Who the hell do you think you're talking to? You still work for me. Get me the money!�
�
“Cut the crap Tristan. We are in this together. You’re the one who got in bed with the Russians to begin with not me. But my problem is that after they kill you they are going to come looking for me to get the money. They know you're hiding it.”
Tristan’s chest heaved up and down in anger and fear. Sweat had built up on his forehead and neck. He knew that his attorney was right. He knew that no matter if he were alive or dead if would make no difference to the Russians and their cowboy debt collector. They would kill him and continue killing people until they got their money. He would just be the first to go unless he could find the money somehow.
“Tristan,” continued the voice on the other side of the phone. “These men are business men when it comes right down to it. Explain to the man that we can’t just pick up the money here in the United States and that it will take a week to get it all. Offer to throw in another 5 million for making them wait. It’s peanuts when compared to your life and all the cash you have hidden. They should see the sense in a deal like that. Tell them it is a win and they are getting their money as fast as possible under the circumstances.”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if he tells me to fuck off and puts a bullet in my head?”
“Then you die. Either way you’re out of the situation.”
“They are not going to wait. Even if they do they are going to want to see action and me sitting around this house is not going to do any good.”
“Then you personally take him around the world and get the money. Offer him that. He will have to see you’re serious about things then. Tell him the locations and tell him to make the plans so he knows he is not being double crossed.”
“That might just work.” said Tristan perking up for the first time in the conversation. He raised his free hand and pointed up as if the idea had been all his. “Take him with me. Maybe we could arrange for him to have some kind of accident while he is with me. We have some friends in other parts of the world don’t we.”
“No! Give the man his money and we move on from the situation. Taking him out will not help you one bit. The Russians will just send another person and this time they will not start with questions about getting the money.”
“I don’t want to give one dime to that steer screwing Neanderthal. He walked into my home and started to dictate what I will and will not do. Maybe I should take that money and just jam it down his throat and make him choke on it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! A kid at the high school could take you in a fight. The only way you could ever do that to him is if a team of people were holding him down and I don’t advise that. Don’t get the guards involved or you’re looking at murder. No matter how many connections I have I cannot get them to give you a soft sentence for murder. You need to give the cowboy his money and wish him a good day. Then hope he does not turn around and shoot you.”
“Trust me, if he gets the money it will be in an airport and I will be getting on a plane within minutes and hopping around the world. No chances for him to shoot me.”
“Good. Just don’t be stupid. There is just way too much risk in this whole thing. Hand over the money and move on with your life. Be smart this time.”
Chapter 11
The computer screen flashed on and off on the old terminal before a hand banged against the side of it.
“Come on you pig. Work!” snipped the grumpy older man as he banged the monitor again. The computer was far past its prime like its operator. The letters on the keyboard had been worn off and anyone who typed by sight would be in for a shocking surprise if they were to try to send an email on this keyboard. The tower hard drive lacked significant memory and had to be supplemented with attached systems and cords that made it look like it was an attempt to make an operational cyborg of some kind. The operator was wrapped around so many twisting and turning cables that only he knew where they all went and what they were for. But now his problem was with the monitor. A sweet little number straight out of 2003. A bulky and white one that was large on the back. No flat screen or thin profile. It sat on a little pedestal that was on the bottom and made it so it could be swiveled back and forth or up and down. To most it looked like the dark ages of computerization but for Tim McCartney is was all just fine.
Tim cracked his hand hard off the side of the monitor again casting a distinctive plastic hollow sound. Despite the size of the monitor if you took the back off there was little to be found so the plastic just echoed when hit. The strike of his hand made the screen flicker again and come to life. A plain “C:” in green flashed in front of his face as he let a smile develop. For Tim the need for fancy graphics and internet flashiness was nothing that he wanted. He preferred to work out of the old DOS system. Most of his work was done under all the visuals that most people see on the web pages they visit. Tim was skilled to slip in underneath and get to the inner workings of things. He could change or manipulate anything you like with just a few keystrokes or by developing a piece of software that could take care of the issue for you. If he met a woman down on her luck with credit card bills that were too high he could simply drop the balance to zero. A family not able to make ends meet could find their bank account filled. Prominent entertainers and politicians would find they had made contributions to charities and sent out press releases for it without ever finding out who authorized such a thing. Considering himself a kind of Robin Hood taking from the rich and giving to the poor had him feeling like he was putting his skill to good use. Working with the judges was just an extension of that. He had the chance to make changes that were sometimes life altering for people who were screwed by the systems that sat in place.
His fingers pecked out a sequence of numbers and letters onto the keyboard causing another flicker on the screen. A line of plain green text flashed over the screen saying “Federal Bureau of Investigation”. Tim smiled entering in the dummy account he had been using for over five years when hacking the FBI. Nobody had any interest in finding out who Special Agent Lennon was or why he was always looking up deep details on various people.
“Hey Tim. Any luck yet?” said Falau walking up behind his new teammate and looking over his shoulder.
“Just started.”
“FBI! You don’t waste any time do you?”
“Why would I waste time?” said Tim dryly.
“You wouldn’t...” stammered Falau taken aback by the comment.
“Tim, you do have a sense of humor. No need to hide it from me.”
“What makes you think that an ex-Navy Seal like me would have a sense of humor?”
“Well the fact that your name is McCartney and the fake name you use to get into the FBI is Lennon.”
A small smile started to pull across Tim’s lips as he refused to turn his head to Falau and give him the satisfaction of seeing it.
“Guess you could call this a Lennon, McCartney collaboration.”
A small puff of air shot from between Tim’s lips knowing he was caught at his personal attempt at levity. He turned slightly in the swivel chair and looked up to Falau with sobering eyes. “I am a big fan. Saw them at Shea Stadium August 15, 1965 with my dad.”
“That must have been awesome! Bet they sounded incredible.”
“Couldn’t hear a goddamn thing with all the screaming but I could see them. Kept my hair in the Moe Howard bowl cut until I went to basic training at eighteen years old.”
“Good for you. I am I fan, too. Some night we will have to just hang out and play our top ten for each other.”
“Sounds good, but for now I need to get back to work and wreck the life of Mr.Tristan Duke.”
“Sounds like a nice way to spend a few hours.” said Falau letting out a small laugh that was returned by Tim.
Navigating his way through the various screens he entered a series of pass codes and user information that he had specially made up for Special Agent Lennon. The fabrication was a profiler who worked remotely. He was wrapped up with several supervisors and commanding officers who a
ll had been given information that he was reporting to someone else. Tim’s history working with these groups told him that anything this complicated would be given up on and that the person looking into it would assume that the reason things were so convoluted was on purpose and directed from someone higher up in the chain of command. No mid-level agent would have any desire to rock that boat on something that could cause significant problems for the system as a whole.
Typing in the name of Tristan Duke the computer came alive listing hundreds of possible contact information. News stories on TV, newspapers, online, and radio. Extensive lists of financial holdings at home and abroad. Relationships starting as a child and throughout his life. Teachers, girlfriends, enemies, and friends. All of Tristan Duke’s life was recorded in this one small place on the main server of the FBI.
Tim inspected the numbers of the various files and started with number 5, Criminal History. Opening the folder a string of violations for Duke came up. Mostly driving infractions and speeding. Seemed that the young billionaire had a taste for driving his sports cars over 100 mph on public highways with a disregard for the safety of others. It seemed also that he had no use for his license since it had been taken away by the state. He still took out his cars and occasionally would run from the police for a short distance thumbing his nose at the New York state judicial system. He behaved like a man who knew that he would never be sent to prison for any of these infractions and the press played them up like the roguish behavior of a billionaire playboy.
