“Why not? You owe Yuri a lot of money, boy. Suppose you can’t capture these rogue players in this game of yours. Then what?”
“Do we... do we have to tell Yuri? I mean, if we can’t get it back.”
Anton actually laughed. “You mean, if you can’t get it back. Oh. Oh, yes. But the manner in which that news gets delivered can be one of two ways. It can be, ‘Look, I’ve overachieved and here is a nice little bonus,’ or it can be, ‘Sorry, I’ve totally fucked you by stealing money from you, which I then lost, so please murder me quickly.’ My advice to you is to choose the former route. Either way, you were committed the moment you decided to work overtime in adding more credit card numbers.”
The Russian lit another cigarette and started pacing. “So... why couldn’t you hack into the bank where the money lives, and just take it that way?”
“The problem with stealing money from a bank, Anton, is getting caught afterward. Banks are notorious in how much time and expense they will commit to bring robbers to justice.”
“Then make sure you don’t get caught.”
Krystian scoffed. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks for that timely advice. Orange really isn’t my color—”
Anton moved quickly and again shoved Krystian back against the wall. The vibration from the impact knocked down a picture of a topless girl that had been hanging to the side.
“Krystian,” said the Russian, “you are going to get that money back. If you want to stay alive—and with everything attached to your body that you were born with—then you absolutely, positively, will recover all of those missing funds. There is no room for failure.”
“Okay, okay!” Krystian grunted. “Look, give me another two weeks to adventure and just try to solve the problem that way...”
“What you do on your own time is your business. I want to talk about this bank.”
“Huh? Forget the bank already, Anton. It’s not that simple. Like I said—”
The Russian punched him in the gut, sending Krystian down to the floor in a sniveling ball of spasmodic thrashing.
Anton took a drag on his cigarette—amazingly, it had been hanging off his lip this entire time, undisturbed by the violence—and walked quietly over to converse with Johan at the doorway. The two men glanced periodically at him. Krystian got an overwhelming feeling that whatever they were discussing couldn’t be good for his health. Krystian took a series of breaths to try and calm down, curled up into the fetal position on the floor of his own bedroom.
This crazy Russian was obsessed with breaking into a bank now. And he seemed intent on forcing Krystian down that path.
Anton was walking back over to him. Krystian involuntarily began to shake. “The bank. Let’s talk about the bank,” he offered quickly.
Anton smiled. “Good! That’s the spirit. You might just yet save yourself a little bodily mutilation. The last punk I got irritated with, I sliced all of the webbing in between his fingers and toes. I don’t think he liked that much.” He sat down on the corner of the bed, still smoking. “So. Tell me how you would approach this.”
Krystian remained sitting on the floor, struggling to concentrate. He really didn’t want to see what disfigurement was like. His muscles were quivering as if from cold.
“First, really, I guess we’d have to uncover what bank or banks Netertainment uses. That’s not exactly common knowledge.”
“Suppose you identify the bank, then what?”
“Then it’s all about access. You have to get inside the bank’s systems. That can be a challenge, depending on the bank. They’ll have numerous firewalls and intrusion detection applications to keep people out and detect for malware.”
“You can get around protection like that, right?”
Krystian scratched his head, thinking.
“It gets harder. Netertainment is an online game company, so they probably use a bank with good internet banking capabilities. You know, to handle all of the electronic traffic. That means they’ll be smart about preventing online attacks. I bet that all the online servers are air-gapped from the bank’s main network—in other words, they’d have the actual servers separated with no physical connection between them.”
“So what does that mean?” asked Anton.
“It means that hacking through the Internet won’t happen. You see, again, it’s all about access. If I can get to the system root, or get someone’s account information, I can pretend I belong there and use the system’s own levers to do whatever I want—like transfer money to a different bank account I’ve set up. But something as simple as an air gap that prevents the systems I can access from talking to the ones that handle the money... and, well, if you can’t actually reach the main systems from the outside, it would have to be an inside job.”
“An inside job? In what way?”
Krystian continued to think out loud. “You’d need an accomplice. Someone who can access the main system. If you can’t reach the core through intrusion from the Internet, then that’s the only avenue that’s left. You have to have someone on-site to provide a way in. And if we got flagged during the money transfer, that’s the first person who’s going to get pinched.”
Anton finished his cigarette and lit another. He sat silently for a long time. Krystian continued to ponder more reasons why breaking into a financial institution was a terrible idea.
Finally, after a significantly deep drag, Anton cleared his throat.
“Krystian, if you could accomplish getting past all of these things you’ve described—firewalls, air gaps, inside access—how much money could you actually steal?”
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. All of it. Whatever Netertainment has in their account. Whatever lots of companies have in their accounts. Tens of millions, I guess.”
“Really.”
“The main limiting factor would be time,” said Krystian. “How long do you put your insider at risk? The longer he’s sitting there moving money into an account we set up, the higher the likelihood of him getting caught. It would be better to take an acceptable amount and then get the hell out. Run to the airport before anyone realizes something’s missing. If it takes the bank until the end of the day to realize there’s a problem, and then a couple days after that to trace where the funds got wired to, we would be cashed out and long gone. The whole trick would be to not push our luck by taking too much for too long.”
“Like you and your friend did with the credit card farming,” pointed out Anton, unsmiling.
Krystian remained silent and looked at Anton’s feet.
“Do you listen to any Johnny Cash?”
“Huh?”
“Johnny Cash. The Man in Black.”
The hairs on the back of Krystian’s neck stood on end. That sounded ominously like something out of the movie Pulp Fiction—a question offered rhetorically to a dead man.
“N-no,” replied Krystian weakly.
“The Man in Black is a very insightful man,” Anton said. “There is great wisdom in the simplest of his lyrics. There are a couple lines in particular that strike me as being most relevant here. Would you like to hear them?”
Krystian stared at Anton.
“Good. It goes like this:
“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you’re mine... I walk the line.”
Krystian listened painfully to Anton’s singing. It was barely in tune, and terrifying.
“You’re mine, now Krystian. And you are going to walk the line that I draw for you. You are going to walk it very, very crisply. Do you understand?”
Krystian noticed that Johan had stopped pacing and was standing in the doorway of his bedroom. His overcoat was nonchalantly pulled back, and there was a submachine gun hanging on some kind of sling underneath his armpit.
It was all Krystian could do to keep retching on the floor.
32
The Lost Cont
inent, Armchair Safari.
The beach lay deserted. Megan sat in solitary contemplation with her knees pulled up underneath her chin. Waves crashed onto the shores and inched ever closer to Megan’s feet as the tide gradually came in. The evening sun was creeping down to her left and casting long shadows from the palm trees.
She had never felt so alone.
It had been two days since she had quaffed her Potion of Invisibility and escaped undetected from the battle at the clearing. The entire time had been horrible. On the first day, Megan had strangely been unable to log on. She had paced her apartment convinced her pursuers had done some strange, horrific thing to her in taking their treasure back. The full-on panic attack hit on the second day. Laura nearly broke her bedroom door down to find Megan on her bed, clutching her pillow and sobbing hysterically.
Through it all, no one had shown up to rendezvous at the beach.
What should she do? Where could she go? How would she survive?
Their ship lay anchored out past the breakers, a dark shadow in the failing light of the sky. It represented a tantalizing lure of food and shelter. But the reality was Megan wasn’t even sure she could manage the rowboat past the stiff waves. She was already exhausted, and she hadn’t even done anything yet.
There’s no escape. I can’t sail a ship by myself. There’s no way to leave. I’m trapped.
“I’m trapped,” she said softly aloud, echoing the thoughts in her head.
Megan supposed suicide was an option. She would be reincarnated back home and could resume her life of adventuring again. But to forfeit a million dollars sitting safely inside her Portable Hole would be a nightmare of a penalty. To do such a thing, after months of adventuring and the sacrifice of her comrades—the idea was unconscionable.
My companions are all dead.
She had seen Boris fall. He was now reincarnated somewhere back up in the Haagenan, a bazillion miles away. Would he try to rescue her? No, Megan thought. It was too far—even if he knew where to go. Kalam had been the one with the map. For that matter, Boris didn’t even know that Megan was alive and marooned, needing help.
Could Megan even survive long enough for someone to rescue her? The idea of being Robinson Crusoe frightened her, not because of living in the wild, but because staying put meant she was not making any money. The bills were already stacked up. Tuition was overdue. Laura was covering the cost of her meals and kept going on and on about getting help for addiction. Megan started sobbing again as the pressure of financial ruin pressed in from all sides.
Ultimately, she realized none of her survival calculations really mattered. Regardless of whether Megan the Thief could hold out for rescue from a desert beach, or whether Megan the Student could string out the charity of friends and family, the reality was that the blond captain was surely looking for her right now. She still had his money. Perhaps the gangster had even traced her IP address to Oklahoma and was hunting her down in real life.
Megan buried her head in her hands for the hundredth time. She would have cried, but there were no tears left.
“Oh, what do I do?”
“You could say hello,” said someone behind her.
Megan’s sword rang out without any conscious thought. The figure at the edge of the trees was motionless, watching. Megan’s mind raced to catch up with her ears. That voice, it was familiar. That voice.
“Haas?”
“Yes.”
The tension in Megan’s body vanished. The next thing she knew she was sprinting toward the ranger and flinging her arms around his neck.
“Oh, thank God. You’re alive!”
“So it would seem.”
She clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling into the abyss. Haas hugged her back awkwardly as if he were uncomfortable with the act. Megan didn’t care.
When she finally let go, Megan could tell even through Haas’s usually impenetrable expression that he was troubled.
“Are the others...?”
A moment’s hesitation from the gravity of the question. “Yes. Gone.”
Megan covered her eyes as she wandered away. Her companions were lost. She didn’t know what else she should have expected, of course. She had watched Boris die. She had seen Sameer fall. But the verbal confirmation brought back the depression and bitterness Megan had struggled to fend off for two days.
She heard footsteps in the soft sand behind her.
“How did you survive, Haas?” Megan asked hollowly, staring at the moon’s reflection on the surf.
“I ran.”
A surge of water flowed over Megan’s ankles. Her mind went numb and for a few seconds she found it difficult to make words come out of her mouth. “Tell me. Please.”
“It was down to me, two Kenzen, and that blond bastard. It was just going to be a matter of time. I managed to shove one of the Kenzen off-balance into his companions, and it bought me a moment to run across the rope bridge.”
“But I’ve seen you fight three at a time before,” Megan said.
“The brigands? Different situation.”
Megan thought she understood. “The captain was better than you.”
Haas frowned. “I don’t know that I would say he was better. But he was controlling the pace and tempo of the fight. He had the initiative and that made it difficult to win, all other things considered.”
“What happened when you ran away?”
“I cut the bridge down, of course. It took a Kenzen into the gorge with it. Added bonus.”
Megan nodded an empty twinge of satisfaction.
“So we’re safe now?”
There was a slight pause. “No, I don’t think so. That blond guy, he’ll find us. We still have quite a bit of his money.”
Megan suddenly realized how dirty the ranger was. Mud caked his armor. Dried blood covered the right side of his face. Yet there was no acknowledgement of any injury, no anger at having been defeated. He remained as stoic as ever.
Megan didn’t feel so strong. She shook her head, wiping away a tear from the thought of the others. Of Boris.
Haas suddenly took her by the shoulder and said softly, “Come with me.”
The pair walked the beach in the moonlight. Megan still had a hard time processing that her friends were gone. Who was the blond fighter? How did he amass millions of dollars in an online game? Megan shuddered at Haas’s comment about still being followed. How was he not afraid? The two of them could be in danger—real danger in the real world, not just in Safari.
Haas stopped next to the rowboat they had beached on the sand. He gently turned her to him. Those eyes. They were so intimidating, the pale crystal-blue irises that seemed to magnify a penetrating gaze into something unearthly. Yet for a moment, Megan thought she saw the ranger’s face soften in the dimming light, exposing the truth that there was a human being under there after all.
It was only a moment. The warmth, the compassion, the reassurance was gone in a flash.
“Get your head back in the game, Megan. We’re not done yet,” he said, and hauled her into the rowboat.
Anchored past the breakers, the schooner was pretty much in the same condition they had left it. Megan helped Haas use the winch to raise the sails and soon they were cruising back out into the open ocean. She found the return trip far less terrifying than the first leg. For one thing, they were headed back to known dangers in a familiar world. Megan knew how to survive in that place versus the dangers of a Lost Continent filled with gangsters. She also found herself brooding less on the loss of her companions and instead looking forward to meeting their reincarnations. The agreement had been for anyone killed during the quest to rendezvous in Silverton upon respawning. What would Boris look like this next time? Would he dress up his character in anticipation of his newfound wealth? What was their relationship going to be like after this adventure was finished? Lastly, every step closer to home meant cashing out. The idea of paying off college made Megan smile at the warm sunshine glinting off
the deep blue sea.
Megan was dozing in the dark early one morning when a firm hand grasped her shoulder and gave her a start.
“What is it?”
“Shore.” Haas pointed out at the water.
Were they really that close already? Exhilarated, she stood up and peered off to the horizon. Megan could barely see what looked like mountains in the blue of the predawn light.
“Is that home?”
“Well... Bangor is there,” Haas said, moving his finger to the left. “But we will put in over here, straight ahead, then make our way into town.”
“Why don’t we just sail into Bangor? Wouldn’t that be safer than braving the wild?”
“We stole a ship from them, remember?”
“But that was weeks ago. Do you really think the city guards will remember—”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Haas angled their schooner so that they would stay far away from curious eyes. Over the next few hours, Megan began to think about what they would need to do once in town. Horses and provisions for the overland trip to Silverton were an easy requirement to remember. Perhaps hire some protection? Megan had never retained mercenaries before, but she had heard of close battles decided by just a couple extra men. Disguises? Probably not necessary if they were fast-tracking back into the wilderness. All these things cost money, but would be well worth the investment if it helped get their treasure back up to Silverton.
The shoreline was very close now, with rocks and thin strips of brown-sand beaches a few hundred feet away. Haas pointed the schooner into the wind to kill their speed. The mainsail flapped loudly as Megan carried her duffel to the edge of the deck.
Haas had hauled the rowboat to the side of the ship. “Ladies first.”
“Don’t you have anything to bring?”
Haas shook his head.
Of course. He’s a ranger, Megan thought.
Megan climbed in. Haas jumped in behind her, cast off the line, and started rowing. The schooner fluttered in the breeze as they pulled away. She supposed that someone would find it eventually, but they certainly had no more use for it. It had served them well.
Armchair Safari (A Cybercrime Technothriller) Page 31
