by Arno Joubert
Frydman frowned. “Anything else?”
“Yes, it’s polymorphic.”
“What makes you think that?”
Glist shrugged. “The code morphs. As soon as you try to remove it, it renames itself and changes a couple of lines of its code. More forceful removal procedures cause the program to consume exponentially more resources.”
“What do you mean?”
Glist leaned forward. “It acts like it’s trying to get the searches done quicker. After the first removal attempt, it used double the amount of bandwidth, ten megs. After the second removal attempt, one hundred megs, etcetera.” Glist clicked his pen again. “It does this until the PC becomes unusable.”
“How do we get rid of it?” Frydman asked.
Glist’s shoulders slumped. “We haven’t figured it out yet, Major. I’m sure the guys will come up with something.”
Frydman sighed and leaned back in his chair. “OK, keep me updated.”
Glist stood up and saluted. “I will, sir,” he said and left, closing the door behind him.
Frydman scanned the report and scribbled some notes on a pad. He looked up a number on his laptop, punched it into his cell phone, and dialed. Someone answered after two rings.
“Hello. Is this Colonel Bruce Bryden? Hello, Mr. Bryden. My name is Major Frydman from Israeli Defense Operations Department. Do you have a moment?”
Polana Hotel,
Maputo, Mozambique.
Neil looked uncomfortable as the waiter folded a napkin over his lap. Another waiter poured their drinks, placed menus in front of them, and then stood back. “I’ll be back for your orders in a couple of minutes,” the first man said with a curt bow. They both turned around and left, a study in efficiency.
They were seated in a far corner of the Polana Hotel’s dining area. A man sat at a piano, humming a song in Portuguese. The room was empty, except for an intoxicated couple quaffing expensive-looking cocktails and giggling.
Neil grinned and took a long draw from his beer. “Fancy place, hey?”
Alexa smiled and tucked her long bangs behind an ear. Neil was wearing a T-shirt, faded jeans, and sneakers. Bruce had borrowed him a casual cotton jacket. He was out of his comfort zone, but he looked stunning.
She had opted for a sexy, tight-fitting number she hoped wasn’t over-the-top. She wondered if Neil had noticed. Judging by Bruce’s appraising stare when she entered the room, he probably thought it too revealing.
Neil turned to Bruce. “So, why all this secrecy regarding your source?”
Bruce grinned. “Well, we’re not entirely certain who or where the source is, actually.”
“But how can you trust him? How do you know you aren’t being led into a trap?” Neil asked with a frown.
Bruce examined the cutlery then looked up. “It hasn’t let us down yet.”
“It?” Neil asked, looking first to Bruce then to Alexa.
“Yes, our intelligence is provided by some computer somewhere, we think,” Alexa answered.
Neil chuckled. “A computer?” He finished his beer and placed the empty bottle on a coaster. “This is getting more bizarre by the moment.”
Bruce broke some bread and buttered it. “I first received messages on my GLD. Detailed messages with information about Callahan and Perreira. Location details, voice recorded messages, photos. Later on I received these messages on my cell phone as well.”
Neil shook his empty beer bottle then signaled to the waiter he wanted a refill. He looked at Bruce with a smirk. “Can it be secure? Someone could steal your cell phone and start receiving these messages.” He glanced at Alexa. “What happens if you get a new cell phone? Do the messages stop?”
Bruce nodded. “That’s the thing. I did get a new cell phone. After a week, I received the messages on the new one as well.”
The waiter appeared with a beer and a new glass, which he filled ceremoniously. Neil nodded a thanks then looked back at Bruce after the man left.
“A couple of days after Alexa left the Legion, she received the messages on her new cell phone too. The computer program somehow confirms it’s us and then starts relaying the intel to us.”
“I think it recognizes our voices,” Alexa said. “If I stop using my phone, after about a week, the messages stop as well.”
Neil scratched his chin. It made a raspy sound. “I guess it makes sense.” He looked at Alexa. “Your dad was a computer genius; it wouldn’t be difficult for him to write some program keeping a tab on Perreira and Callahan. Plus, he had all the resources he ever needed in the Israeli Defense Force.”
The waiter appeared with a notepad and a pencil, bending forward slightly. They scanned the menus and ordered steaks and salads and another round of drinks.
When the man left, Bruce continued. “Zachary wasn’t your run-of-the-mill computer genius. We later found out he held the patents to GPS technology. He invented it.” He grinned. “A royalty is paid to his trust for every GPS device manufactured. Sarah is a wealthy woman.”
“Your mother?” Neil asked, looking at Alexa.
She nodded. “My dad developed the first optical character recognition device. He patented the technology as well.” She counted the inventions on her fingers, trying to remember them all. “He built a device that was able to read words on a page to the blind,” she said, holding up another finger. “He designed a weapon able to fire projectiles using electromagnetic energy.” She looked up at Neil. “The Israeli army is testing it as a potential weapon to eliminate enemy satellites. With no heat signal to trace, the projectile would be unstoppable.”
Neil whistled. “His knowledge would have been dangerous in the wrong hands.”
Bruce looked up as three waiters brought them their meals. “You’re right. The Israeli Defense Force has kept his inventions under lock and key.”
Bruce took Alexa’s hand and gave it a tender squeeze. “Your father was years ahead of the pack. He would design stuff for which the technology hadn’t existed yet; he was a brilliant man.” She smiled and squeezed back.
“And you’re sure it’s him?” Neil asked.
Bruce cut a chunk of rib eye and popped it in his mouth. “Shortly before his death, he told me he was working on a program able to find out anything about anyone on the planet,” he said between chews. “He wanted to use it to do background checks on new agents.”
“OK, we have all the info we need to find and eliminate our targets.” Neil looked at Bruce. “What is the plan?”
Bruce held up three fingers. “A three-pronged attack. I’ll deal with the rest of the poachers.” He nodded towards Alexa. “Alexa will eliminate the threats in Mozambique, including Perreira. You need to take care of Callahan.”
“That’s it?” Neil asked, smirking.
Bruce raised his shoulders. “What did you expect, a thesis on neutralizing targets? I recruited you because you are able to think on your feet, operate independently. Use your training and eliminate the target.”
“Tell me more about the bank account.”
”Ah yes, The Dalerians,” Bruce said, a thin smile on his lips. “They’re making millions. Smuggling, poaching, God knows what else,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “We’ve managed to access the online account details, thanks to another SMS from Zach. The account is extremely active, millions of dollars of transactions a day.”
“Who are the account holders?” Neil asked.
“Perreira and Callahan. Someone else, a third party, but we haven’t managed to pick up any info on him yet,” Bruce answered.
“Do you have access to the funds?”
“All of it. We simply add ourselves as a recipient and wire the funds to our account.”
“When?” Neil asked.
“Now is as good a time as any,” Bruce said with a smile. “I’ll need your bank details.”
Neil pulled out his phone and typed a message. “I’ve sent it to your email address,” he said, grinning at Alexa.
She glanced sideways
at Bruce, who nodded. Alexa removed her laptop from her shoulder bag, flipped it open, and accessed the bank’s online payment portal. A few minutes later, she flipped it closed and put the laptop back in the bag. “Done.”
Neil’s phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up and read the message.
Alexa had transferred eighteen million dollars into his bank account. Neil reread the message, scanning all the zeros with his index finger. He looked up and grinned sheepishly, then he looked back at the phone. He couldn’t tear his eyes off the screen.
“What?” Bruce asked with a chuckle.
Neil handed him the cell phone, an astonished look on his face.
Bruce read the message and handed the phone back to Neil. “Do you believe me now?”
Neil nodded, still dumbfounded.
“We’re going to have some unhappy campers soon. They’re going to throw all of their resources at us. Are you ready for this?” Bruce asked.
Neil was still staring at his phone, stupefied.
“Neil, you need to be ready,” Bruce urged. “We’ll need to get supplies and stock up on munitions.”
“I’ll take care of it, Dad,” Alexa said.
Bruce nodded then looked back to Neil. “Chop the lump sum into manageable pieces. Mauritius is always good. I've heard good things about the Bahamas. Steer clear of Switzerland, they're not what they used to be.”
Neil glanced at Bruce, blinked twice, and nodded.
Bruce grabbed the man’s arm. “Listen to me. Keep enough cash stashed away to last you a month, airfares included. Steer clear of credit cards and traveler’s checks; they are easily traced.” He leaned back in his chair, took a sip of his drink and scratched his chin. “You’re able to live like a king anywhere, but don't. Stick to modest hotels and vehicles and do not draw any attention to yourself.”
Neil nodded again. “Anything else?”
“Yes, Argentina and Chile. Exchange rates are good and facilities are world-class. Keep your primary accounts there. I know some good people I'll hook you up with.”
A wide smile spread across Neil's face. “With this we can buy ourselves a whole damn army,” he laughed.
Bruce shook his head and poured some dressing over his salad. “We are an army.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to freshen up.” Alexa slid her bag over her shoulder.
They both stood then took their seats again when she left. Bruce turned to Neil. “One more thing.”
Neil nodded.
“I need you to go to Israel. Fast.”
“Israel, what’s there?” Neil asked, confused.
“Hopefully the answer to all of our questions.” Bruce grinned. “Oh, and please don’t tell Alexa about the Israel trip. Brief me on your findings first. You may unearth some things that could hurt her emotionally.”
Neil studied Bruce’s face for a moment. “You’re the boss,” he said and attacked his steak with vigor.
Bruce and Neil both stood as Alexa strolled to their table. Neil pulled out her chair and waited for her to be seated before he sat down again.
“Your food’s getting cold,” Bruce said. Alexa knew well the questioning look on his face.
“Sorry, I was held up,” she said with a sweet smile. “So what have you two been talking about?”
Bruce shrugged. “This and that, you know.” He coughed. “Nothing important.”
Alexa raised her eyebrows at Bruce.
He shrugged. “What?”
Alexa shook her head and cut into her steak. “Men. You’re all pathetic liars.”
Bruce and Neil cast furtive glances at each other as Alexa dropped her napkin on the floor. Neil bent to pick it up, but Alexa held up her hand.
“Leave it,” she said irritably. “You two better tell me what this is all about.”
Neil cast a worried glance at Bruce, who sat there with an annoying grin. She bent down to pick up her napkin then slipped Neil’s wallet back into his jacket pocket.
She cut a chunk of meat and popped it in her mouth. “I’ll find out soon enough,” she said pointing her fork at Bruce. “You know I always do.”
Neil examined the nine millimeter Beretta and tossed it back onto the bed. It lay stacked with munitions. “A rocket launcher?” he asked with a smirk, glancing at Alexa.
She shrugged. “When life gives you weapons.”
Neil shook his head. “Make war?”
“I have another crate of ammunition on the way. Where are we going to stash all of this stuff?” Alexa asked.
“I’ll take a couple of rifles and handguns. Ask Laiveaux to safeguard the rest at the embassy,” Bruce said.
He turned to face Neil. “You'll need to source your own gear. Get through the airports first.” He slammed the magazine into a Glock. “Callahan is holed up in his mansion in Ireland; I'll send you the exact coordinates. Anything goes, as long as you get the job done.” He placed his hand on Neil’s shoulder. “He's a slippery customer; make sure he's taken out permanently.”
Neil nodded. “No problem.”
Bruce turned to Alexa. “Alexa, you'll be responsible for the border operation. Find out who is involved. What else they're smuggling. Who they're paying off. And then get rid of them all. I'll take care of Perreira and his crowd,” Bruce said.
Neil hauled his duffle bag onto his shoulder. He stuck out his hand to Alexa. “Good hunting.”
She shook his hand, then she pulled him closer and gave him a peck on his cheek. “Be safe.”
Neil said good-bye to Bruce then embraced him, slapping his back. “Thank you, Bruce.” He held him at arms-length. “For everything.” He turned around and headed towards the door.
Bruce called Neil. “One last word of advice.”
“Yes?" Neil said, turning around.
“Do not get anyone else involved. Callahan is well-connected.”
“I thought you said I should get this done any way I see fit. I know some individuals who could help.”
“Just be careful,” Bruce said. “And remember what I said about Israel.”
Neil nodded, waved a good-bye, and left the room.
Alexa looked up, a frown furrowing her brow. “Israel?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Bruce said, packing his weapons into a duffle bag.
Alexa put her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest. “Do you trust him, Dad?”
Bruce answered without hesitation. “With my life.”
Perreira heard a knock on the door, paused the porn movie he was watching, and sat up in the sofa. “Come in,” he shouted. He was expecting the visit.
The accountant shuffled into the living room, and Perreira motioned for him to take a seat.
The accountant laboriously heaved his frame onto the leather sofa then took a wheezy breath as he settled down. “The shipment has arrived, boss.” He slipped a toothpick from behind his ear and popped it into his mouth. ”I've saved the best for you."
Pereirra nodded and stretched out his legs before him. “Thanks.” He weaved his fingers behind his head and cast a sidelong glance at his accountant. “When will it arrive in the States? The client is becoming anxious.”
“In two days’ time. It’s being loaded as we speak.”
Perreira nodded again, satisfied. “Keep a close eye on it. We need the cash.”
“Will do, boss,” the accountant answered and pushed himself up in the sofa. “Bring her in.”
A powerfully-built man covered in tattoos dragged a terrified-looking girl in by her arm. Her eyes darted nervously between Perreira and the accountant.
Perreira nodded as he cast the girl an appreciative glance. “She's still young.”
“Fifteen, according to her papers.” He chuckled and pulled his fingers through his slick hair. “They always fall for the offer-of-work-in-another-country bullshit,” the accountant said with a gurgly laugh.
Perreira nodded, attached the prosthetic leg onto his stump, and waddled over, grabbing the girl by her ne
ck. She cringed and let out a frightened sob.
He glanced over his shoulder. “I need some more resources in the Kruger.” He focused on the girl, savoring the fearful look in her eyes. “Get me José and Carlos. Tell them to assemble some men and take out Bryden, permanently.”
“Will do, boss,” the accountant said as he mopped his brow with a dirty handkerchief.
Perreira let go of the girl’s neck and stood up straight. “Leave me with her, I need a distraction.” He clutched his hands opened and closed, like he was massaging a stress ball, then grabbed the girl by the arm. “Lots of things on my mind.”
The accountant nodded and hoisted his bulk from the chair. The girl sobbed and tried to pry Perreira's hand from her arm.
Perreira grinned. “Come here, my pretty. You Filipinos always fight so hard. I can see why your country has so many good boxers.”
The girl whimpered and pulled away, panic in her eyes.
Perreira slapped the back of his stump through her face, sending her sprawling onto the ground, blood dripping through her fingers she held to her nose.
The accountant whistled as he trundled out of the room.
Perreira bent down. “Bitch, you’re going to die today.”
CHAPTER THREE
Dublin, Ireland
Callahan switched on his tablet PC then logged onto his bank account. He grunted, satisfied. He had four million in his personal account.
He logged out and then typed in the access codes to the Dalerian Institute’s account. His eyes widened in shock and he hit the refresh button.
He was greeted by a bunch of zeroes. Bad zeroes. The shittiest kind of zeroes.
He fumbled for his cell phone, punched in a number, and waited impatiently for it to be answered.
“Perreira, did you transfer money from the company account?”
“No, why?” Perreira asked, sounding out of breath. Someone moaned in the background.
“Because the account is empty. Nada, zilch. It's all gone!” he shouted.
“Gone, how? Where?” Perreira asked, his voice sounding panicked.
