by Fred Holmes
“Say, Mike, have you mentioned this to anyone?”
“No. It was time for lunch.”
“Well, keep it quiet. I’ve taken care of those who needed to know, and I’m working on a plan that might just trap the hackers. Catching them could be important for both of us, so keep it secret and let me know if there are any more attempts. That’s my job. I’ve already closed the hole. But if I have anything I can’t handle, I’ll give you a shout.”
* * * * *
Lida stopped by the desk of Nina Rains, in charge of research. Nina could find out just about anything about anybody and specialized in infiltrating companies and mining sensitive information. While she used normal research techniques, her expertise was planting sophisticated bugs and cameras. Nina was a little on the plump side, wore thick glasses, and neglected her lusterless, brown hair. She would be considered plain, at least at Dyna-Tyme. But she was like an iceberg. She kept most of her talents hidden along with her beauty. Remove the plain glasses, eliminate the padding, run her through a beauty shop and, where a sputtering VW entered, a Jaguar made a rumbling exit.
Nina learned self-defense at an early age. Abused by a pedophilic stepfather, she bypassed karate school and, instead, selected knives as her defensive weapon. Two years of training later, she paid a visit to her childhood tormentor and left him less of a man, no longer a danger to other children. This experience and other relationships eventually hardened her view of men and changed her proclivity to women. Currently, her sights were set on Rainey, although she was only Nina’s second choice. It was Lida who really turned her on, but it had soon become apparent that Rummy and Ralph had taken Lida’s attention, so Nina knew better than to pursue her.
Lida felt uncomfortable vibes around Nina, but Lida needed her, and after Nina’s ingenious work on the last project, Lida forced herself to develop a friendship with the woman. With the planting of two more important electronic devices, they’d have the entire building bugged. Nina was not at her desk, so Lida used their code to write on a memo pad, “SS&G, Trenton, I’m all ears.” She left it on Nina’s messy pile of memos, messages, and pieces of three days old lettuce.
She dropped the note daintily, being careful not to touch the lettuce. Just before she left, she picked a locket from a small jewelry tree and rotated it so the back faced out to remind Nina that there was a message somewhere.
With that little ball rolling, she returned to her office, shut the door, and opened her desk drawer. She pulled out a photograph of a man, six-foot, and two hundred pounds with black hair swept back and accented gray streaks at the temples. The eyes. The eyes were a piercing dark blue. A blue that paralyzed you and made his request your command.
Lida gave the photo a light kiss as she slid it back in the drawer.
* * * * *
What Lida and Nina didn’t know was that as fast as they planted the devices, Mike found them and tuned them into his network. But events were moving at a rapid pace, too fast for Mike. He liked to tie up the ends before he cut more rope. You might avoid weaving a tangled web if you kept your ends in order. Mike checked out and went through the parking garage to the outside area where his car was parked. On the way, he slapped a tiny recorder on Nina, Lida, and Ralph’s cars. The L&N girls were not going anywhere alone.
Chapter 3
ERIK STENSON leaned back in his ratty swivel chair. Everything was ratty in the small room over a nondescript garage in downtown Trenton. “Man, I thought they had me,” he said.
“Too close for comfort,” DeWayne Sixkiller said.
“Ditto,” added Bunny Grimaldi, the “G” in SS&G, or as Bunny liked to call them, Hackers Anonymous. Each of the three hackers making up SS&G had a specialty that fitted into their newly formed criminal enterprise.
Adept at breaching most firewalls and security systems, Eric could gain access to anywhere, encrypted or not. You could tell when he smelled an opening. His cigar bobbed, his foot tapped, and the heavy rock music coming through his headphones closed him off from the normal world as he entered the realm of bits, bytes, and codes. Alone, Eric combatted the security forces trying to trap him into making one mistake. Perfectionism created all-encompassing pressure and explained his aversion to the relaxed operation of society.
You could spot him in a crowd by looking for a tall, totally bald man in grungy clothes, with the equation “E=mc2” tattooed on the back of his skull. But you wouldn’t often get that chance because agoraphobia was high on his list of societal weaknesses and he rarely ventured outside. He stayed inside, nibbled on gourmet oatmeal cookies washed down with sugar and caffeine-laden sodas, or he lay back in his recliner and puffed on imported Cuban cigars while his latest problem twisted and turned through gray matter powered by an IQ of one- hundred and eighty. In spite of all his problems, Eric assumed leadership of the trio. His brilliance led to the formation of SS&G, though Eric’s sociopathic brain fostered only criminal ventures with no thought of consequences or damage control.
Eric selected the other two for their abilities, with the prerequisite that their skills be easily adapted to his underhanded methods. They weren’t as smart as Eric, but they didn’t have to be; they just had to carry out his illegal plans.
Erik’s weakness just so happened to be DeWayne Sixkiller’s strength. Cherokee, Scotch-Irish and Creole ancestry made up a genetic cocktail that gave DeWayne, Dee for short, a short fuse and amazing strength and agility. At six foot one, Dee hid a wiry 170 pounds of catlike speed and strength with a demeanor that told nothing.
His primary responsibilities were outside on shadowing duties, or making himself invisible when someone was tracking him or the other two. He had long black hair that, when loosened, hung to the middle of his back. Bunny vowed that with his hair down, Dee could track a feather in a tornado. No stranger to security, he could crack most surveillance systems, especially those with DNA, retinal, and or print-recognition systems. Stolid and fearless, he regularly backed up Bunny, the most visible of the three. And when Erik had to go out, Dee was his shadow. If you met Dee, these attributes would not be obvious, as he was the model of Indian stoicism. Patience and careful observation revealed much to him that others missed.
Bunny, the third wheel, was a short, curvy Italian with black curls cut in bangs. She had a beautiful olive-tinted face that made a perfect background for brown eyes rimmed with long, often-batted lashes. She lacked the Roman nose because she had it remodeled to complete the college girl look. When amped, she had men knee-walking for her attention. But attention was all they’d get until she obtained her information. Then, they could deal with Dee, and that would not be pretty.
Bunny liked to deal with banks, individuals with lots of cash, and companies that kept large amounts of money stashed. She loved lawyers; attorneys kept plenty of bail money on hand and their egos made it easy for her to play to their self-importance. She left them naked, and they’d often wake with a blinding headache from the roofies she was adept at using.
Not all of her talents were sex related. Trained in martial-arts to the level of a black belt, she would not hesitate to disarm and disable someone caught off guard by her stature and looks.
Together, they had brains, brawn, and beauty, a combination of skills that made them adept at hacking into companies and individuals. Thus far, they had successfully tested their skills on four small contracts. When prepared, Erik planned on taking on some small governments. That was assuming the price was right, and the risk was proportionate to the reward. ‘Hackers for hire’ was their MO, and COD were their terms.
Currently, they had a contract with some local hoodlums that wanted SS&G to break into a company in Beernersville, Virginia. The program they wanted was called Remote Temporal Synchronous Link, and they represented a client who was willing to pay half a million for the complete system.
Dyna-Tyme Genetics would be their biggest score so far, and Erik was making some exploratory probes to see if it was doable. Dyna-Tyme was clearly in their sights, and t
he three sat down over coffee to plan their next move.
Erik reached over and picked up the box that held his supply of Cuban cigars, then grew irritated when he found it empty. He picked up his phone and hit three on the speed dial, rattled off some Spanish, and then said carefully, “No, not one box, dos cajas … two boxes … Pronto.” He simply couldn’t concentrate as well without a Montecristo.
* * * * *
Nina Rains picked up and rifled through her messages. She stopped at the one from Lida. “SS&G, Trenton, I’m all ears,” it read.
“SS&G” was the target. “All” meant she needed it quickly, preferably today, and “ears” indicated that she wanted the place bugged. She committed Lida’s message to memory then ripped it in pieces and dropped it in a trash can.
Just before she departed, she picked up the locket, touched it to her lips, sighed, and then rehung it on the tree with the front facing toward her. She entered a taxi number into her smartphone, and in a few minutes, a Cadillac picked her up and took her across town. The driver stopped in front of a storefront advertising “Beauty Plus.” She refused the driver’s offer to wait and sent him on his way.
As she entered, the receptionist greeted her.
“Hello, Grace. The usual? Would you mind signing in for me?” Nina signed the register as Grace Dodson, and the receptionist buzzed her into the backroom. It’s amazing what women could do with an hour, a couple hundred dollars, and a good beautician. At the end of the hour, the door opened and Grace Dodson stepped into the street, hailed a cab and sped away.
* * * * *
Mike nearly missed Nina’s metamorphosis but saw enough to convince him that Nina was taking pains to carry out an important mission. Turning from an ugly duckling into a swan had to be for a secret mission. At least one that Dyna-Tyme needn’t be involved with and one to which Nina couldn’t afford to be connected. Incognito was best. Mike followed Nina’s cab as it made a fast stop at Miami Imported Cigars and from there directly to the nearest one day delivery store. She kept the cab running and in a few minutes re-entered the cab and left.
Mike put on his best nonchalant look and wandered into the Speedo Delivery Store looking for the outgoing packages. He was in luck. They were stacked up on one section of the counter. About six, in two layers. Good luck: the labels were on the top of each package Bad luck: the labels on the top layer of boxes were not from cigar companies. Mike called on his FBI training again. He needed a disturbance of some kind that would let him see the bottom layer of boxes. He scanned the store and there it was: a perfect decoy entered the store and engaged the clerk in discussing rates. Mike approached the man and hooked his foot around the man’s ankle. With a loud, “Oh, my Lord” Mike fell forward and reached out with his left arm, and in what looked like an attempt to help, pulled down all the boxes on his side of the counter.
Mike exclaimed, “I’m so sorry. Here let me pick them up for you.” He picked up the packages quickly and set them on the counter. There it was: SS&G, Trenton, New Jersey, same-day courier service. He picked up the package and said “Gee, courier service. That must be pricey.” In a loud voice, he read off the label. “Wow, a hundred and thirty-five dollars.” By then, he had memorized the address and zip code. Once everything was back in place, Mike apologized, said goodbye, and left.
Later that day, a courier pounded on the garage door of the SS&G Company.
“Just leave it,” Erik yelled.
“Can’t, need a sig.”
Reluctantly, he came down, cracked the garage door, and signed for the package.
The label on the box read, “Miami Imported Cigars.” As Erik climbed the stairs, he noticed that the package was larger and heavier than normal. He opened the package and removed two boxes of imported Cuban cigars packed over a heavy object with a note saying, “Mi amigo, gracias por su negocio, este cenicero era un favourito de Fidel.” He unwrapped a large glass ashtray and in the bottom was a photo of the head of Che Guevarra, complete with his cap. That was so cool. He was a big fan of Che, as well as Fidel. The ashtray would be his favorite also.
Opening the box, he pulled out a Montecristo and snipped off the end. Using a special cigar lighter, he held the cigar just above the flame and rolled it until it was lit perfectly. He sat back in his chair and took a long pull while inhaling the sweet smoke.
He had been out of Cubans for a few hours and, addicted as he was, he was ready to sit back and enjoy the cigar. Then he remembered an important task, shuffled to the safe, opened it, and took out an electronic bug-detecting device. He had built it himself and scrawled the word “Foolproof” on the top.
After whirring for a few seconds, a yellow light blinked a few times and then turned to a steady green. Erik smiled. His beloved Cubans were clean.
He had just finished copying the RTSL files. Apparently, all they needed now was the appropriate ancient DNA, and they’d be ready to collect the half a mil’. He sat back and relit his cigar. Life was good.
* * * * *
Nina was starving. After her makeover into ‘Grace,’ she dropped into Maisie’s, a little bar where she was known as Delilah. She started her sandwich and a possible attachment with a young lady, new in town, when her cell phone rang.
“Yes?”
“Turn on your recorder. The next voices you hear will be coming to you from New Jersey.”
“Thanks, Burt! I owe you big time.”
He mentioned his fee, and it took all Nina had to stop from exclaiming out loud. Ten grand, plus her five, put another dent in her stash, but Lida always managed to come up with it. She could see no reason why it would be any different this time. She headed back to Dyna-Tyme, reversing the earlier cosmetic procedure until the original Nina Rains stopped by Lida’s office.
Dropping a travel drive on Lida’s desk, she then made her way back to her office, where she picked up the lettuce with the tips of her still manicured fingers and dropped the nasty stuff into the waste basket. Nina started chewing on her nails. After all, she had an image to uphold.
* * * * *
Lida listened to the tape twice. It disclosed SS&G’s plans for Friday night. She got on the phone and called Vinnie in New Jersey. Familiar with these amateurs, as he called them, Vinnie offered to take care of them, permanently.
Lida emphatically told Vinnie to limit his activity to mild roughing up, with no blood. He reluctantly agreed on the terms, including his fee of five thousand.
This ‘caper’ had to succeed. Her outlay topped twenty thousand already, but her clients, the North Koreans, would pay a couple of million. If she could add Rummy to the negotiations, he might well get it up to three or four. Now that she had competition, she needed Rummy’s boardroom skills more than ever. She wasn’t sure who SS&G were working for. She suspected the Chinese. Unfortunately, they had plenty of money, more than the North Koreans. There was a possibility of combining forces, but that would be tricky and irritate one or both prospective clients.
She looked at her watch. There was still plenty of time. Happy hour wouldn’t start for a few hours. She looked out the window to see a deserted visitor parking area. On her way to the elevator, she stopped by Mike Beasley’s office and, with a sigh of relief, she saw that the janitor hadn’t been there. She took a clean tissue out of the box, scooped up several wet tissues, and put them carefully in a plastic bag. She didn’t know if they’d work, but for now, they’d have to suffice.
There was one more piece to the puzzle, and she would have that soon.
She stepped into the elevator and hit “1” for the lobby and first floor. “Hold on Rummy, hold on,” she muttered. The door opened to the lobby just as she remembered that she parked in the recently opened parking garage. Irritated, she stepped back into the elevator and depressed the “P” button, descended one floor, and exited into the new parking garage.
It was a Friday night, silent and nearly devoid of cars. But if the night air and the asphalt could talk, they could warn Lida and stop an event that would
change the lives of several people. But parking garages don’t tattle. As Lida opened the car door, a cold breeze wafted across the garage, wrapped around her back, and blew on by. A chill ran down her spine, and she shivered.
Chapter 4
THE LAST thing Rummy vaguely remembered was the confrontation with his wife, Ginger, culminating in taking a drink of bourbon. After the last swirling feeling, he found himself in this cesspool of inhumanity. He was in a Confederate POW camp, but he didn’t know where. He lay on a stinking bed of straw, covered with a thin blanket, his body wracked with diarrhea. He wasn’t a soldier even while wearing a tattered gray uniform, he knew that much.
How he got there, or when, was still a mystery. But it was a moot point because he knew he was going to die. Soon, he would be carted off to wherever they took the dead. He felt like he had dropped at least twenty pounds. With this last thought, the darkness overtook him again.
When he woke, someone was holding his head, spooning lukewarm soup into his mouth. It was another soldier, wearing the same gray uniform as himself.
“What’s your name?” asked the soldier.
“Dixon,” Rummy replied.
“Dixon what?”
“Rumfeld Dixon … Rummy.”
“Outfit?”
“Huh?”
“You know. Who did you fight with?”‘
The only Civil War outfit he could remember was the Stonewall Brigade. So that was the name he gave the soldier, who seemed to accept his guess. He introduced himself as Washington “Wash” Traweek, probably the leader. The other fellow was John Putegnat. Both were Confederate prisoners of war, incarcerated in the Federal Stockade at Elmira, New York.
They gave Rummy some laudanum and covered him again with the thin blanket. Eventually, the cramps subsided, and he fell asleep.
* * * * *
While Rummy slept, John “Fox” Maul joined Traweek and Putegnat. All three were members of the Jeff Davis Artillery, captured at the “Bloody Angle” during the Battle of Spotsylvania.
