by Jim Beegle
He navigated through the password and made sure that he could see all the files contained on the disk on his screen. Satisfied that he could he see all the files, Mark went to the Finder, located, and launched a program of his own personal design. It was an encryption program, also called an encryption engine, that was, for all intents and purposes, illegal to own.
The federal government of the United States was paranoid that drug dealers, organized crime, and indeed terrorists, when they had learned to use the Internet instead of the phones to communicate with their far-flung empires, would be very hard to track. Phones, even the new systems, were easy to tap. At some point, every conversation had to travel through a switch. If you knew where one or the other end of that switch was, all you had to do was tap into the cable and you could hear the entire conversation. More importantly, it could be recorded for use in a possible trial. Those recordings, as several career mobsters had discovered, were admissible in court as evidence.
With even the simplest encryption engine you could make a letter detailing the movement of drugs, guns, people, or terrorist targets virtually unreadable unless the person attempting to read it had the encryption “key,” another software program with the passwords and “distilling” capabilities, to unlock the file. Once encrypted you could move it through the same switch but now, even if someone were to intercept the transmission, all they would have was a collection of letters and numbers, unreadable to anyone unless who didn’t have the encryption key.
However, since 9/11 government organizations worldwide had become very good at cracking those encrypted communications. Even before 9/11, the federal government had passed a series of laws making the manufacturing and the sales of such encryption software illegal.
Mark wrote Find Me If You Can when DECCO was negotiating to buy Micronix. He wanted to be able to move information around within the company so no one but Micronix company officers were able to read it. Mark had written this particular encryption engine based on a complex series of mathematical models called algorithms. As far as he knew it would be hard even for the NSA to crack. To make it even harder to figure out he designed the program to operate totally within the RAM of the computer. Once the program was exited, the files being encrypted as well as the log of the activities was flushed from the computer.
He had freely given his ex-partners copies of files he had encrypted with Find Me If You Can and challenged them to see if they could crack it. No one had so far. He was pretty sure no one, without government resources, ever would.
Mark didn’t much worry about the NSA catching him. As far as has he could tell he was not on a watch list and was not even transmitting the file, simply storing it. The NSA, FBI, and CIA were too busy trying to save their bloated budget of the prior year from getting cut from grossly excessive to merely over-padded in the new round of budget talks racing around in circles in Washington. Mark smiled to himself when he considered this. As long as one side was busy trying to keep their funding and the other side was busy trying to take it away, he knew both sides were too busy to bother him. Some days gridlock was not a bad thing.
He now used the program to encrypt the entire contents of the thumb drive he had gotten the day before from the safety deposit box. Including files he had not even opened. He had not really had a chance to study, in detail, everything on the drive. He knew from a quick inspection the night before that there was a lot more on it. He had, while still at the bank, glanced quickly at the spreadsheets in order to get some idea of where the money was and how much there was. He had not examined them very carefully. He wanted to and needed to at some point he had realized during his walk on the beach.
It took the software about two minutes to accomplish the encryption task. The computer sounded the “all finished” tone indicating the file had been encrypted. Next, he opened his Dropbox account directly from his Safari browser and copied the now-encrypted file directly from the thumb drive to his “cloud” storage account on Dropbox. This way the file was not on his hard drive to leave a “ghost” image on the platens.
He then ejected the thumb drive and took a small pair of toenail clippers to it, reducing it to shreds of plastic that he flushed down the toilet.
Finished with Cecil’s files, he opened his email and wrote a quick note to Sandy telling her that he would be back in his office tomorrow, but that he would still be “officially” gone. Meaning he could sit in his office and sort through paperwork and mail without being interrupted or barraged with phone calls or meetings. When someone would call Sandy would simply say that he was still out of town. In his letter to her, he asked that she pile whatever he needed to do first on the chair next to his desk so he could distinguish this urgent stuff from the other urgent stuff piled on his desk. He told her he would not be in early because he had some errands he still needed to do when he got back, thus the “officially” gone status. Sandy was his co-conspirator. She would understand and lie to the DECCO guys for him with great pleasure.
After he finished and sent the email to Sandy he clicked his incoming mailbox. Just like the day before, nothing important, and he decided to let it wait unread for another day.
He put the computer to sleep and packed it away in his briefcase. He then used the hotel phone and dialed the American Airlines number conveniently listed on the card under the clear cover over the number pad on the phone. He booked himself on the four-forty departure with a change in Miami that would put him back in Dallas around nine the same night. Collecting his briefcase, he once again glanced around the room for missed items and walked out the door into the hall.
He rode the elevator down to the lobby and casino, which was just like the morning before, already in full operation, and went to the checkout desk. He handed over his electronic room key and the key to the mini-bar and asked for his bill. When the desk clerk asked Mark if he wished to keep the charges on his credit card, he said no that he would like to pay cash. The clerk indicated to him that would be fine and told him the amount she needed, in US Dollars, to close out his stay. Mark counted out the money and took the unused credit card voucher and statement in exchange for the crisp one hundred dollar bills. He assured her, when she asked, that his stay had been pleasant and he would indeed visit them again should he ever return to the islands. He once more presented himself to the doorman and requested a cab to the bank. The doorman stuck a hand in the air and like magic, a cab that looked just like the one from the previous morning bumped its way up to the curb.
This morning Mark did not notice much of his surroundings. He was lost in thought. Planning what he needed to do once at the bank and beginning to make tentative plans for the things he needed to do in Dallas. One thing at a time he cautioned himself as his mind jumped from on location to another. Mark knew that he had a bad habit of going off on tangents and considering problems of possible futures while the fires burning from the current problems licked around his feet. He was constantly having to force himself to finish one project lest he have several open at once, all in some form of incompletion. The taxi driver bumped into the curb announcing with a jolt that they had arrived at the bank and back into the here-and-now. As he got out and paid the man Mark wondered if, in an effort to save wear and tear on the brakes, it was a habit to use the friction from contact with the curb to help slow the cab. He thought better of asking and instead just got out of the cab with bag and baggage in tow.
When he got to the lobby of the bank Mark did as he had been instructed and asked for Qurral. Just as she had done the day before the receptionist asked him if he was expected and indicated where he could sit and wait. Qurral turned out to be a richly brown twenty-something woman who was dressed in a very business-like suit. She greeted Mark warmly before asking him to follow her into the bowels of the bank. They went straight to the vault and, with her key and his, opened the door to what he now accepted as his safety deposit box. This time, in deference to her sex, Mark hefted the box onto the cart himself. She led him t
o the same hall and, in fact, put him into the same room as the day before. She opened the door and while he moved into the room she asked him if he would like some coffee or tea. Mark declined politely. Qurral told him that Mr. Roddy would stop in shortly and that if he needed anything to dial extension, 121 and ask for her. He thanked her for her help as she left, pulling the door closed behind her.
Unlike the day before, Mark was not the least bit tentative in his actions. He opened the box and picked up the envelopes he had opened the day before. There were some others in there he had not yet touched. Now he had a pretty good idea of what was in them. He tore them open a quickly and examined the contents. Just as he thought, Cecil’s—David Albert Cameron’s—passport, credit cards, and other identification, along with an assortment of other personal effects and papers. He did not have time to go through all this stuff with the detail he would like to, but he at least wanted to confirm to himself that he had not overlooked anything either. He put them all back in the box and turned back to his briefcase.
After opening it he removed the will and the other papers he had gotten the week before from Winston Lawton. He was adding the last of these items from his briefcase into the metal box when there was a knock on the door and Mr. Roddy entered, head and shoulders first, into the room. Mark walk to him and extended his hand.
“Good morning.” he said, while Jon shook his hand.
“And to you sir, a very good morning.” Mark loved the crisp proper English accented voice that identified Mr. Roddy. “How are you? Did you rest well?” Mark assured him he was fine and that he had rested well. He did not bother to tell him that it had been a rest of quality and not quantity.
“Anything you need, Mark?” he asked. “Any manner in which the bank or I can be of service to you today?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Jon extended his arm palm opened indicating they should sit. Once they were settled Mark looked down at the table before speaking again. “This is a little embarrassing.” At this the manager leaned forward to indicate that in this bank, especially with deposits on hand as large as Mark now controlled, nothing was to be an embarrassment. “You see, Jon, I have an awful time keeping up with keys. I am afraid that if I take this back to Dallas with me,” he put the safety deposit box key on the table, “I will lose it inside of a week.” Mark had concocted that particular lie on his walk on the beach that morning.
The truth of the matter was that he was now into the full mode of protecting, at least for the time being, any reference to the money. He wanted not only to cover his tracks but, as best he could, not leave any. This included not keeping the key to the safety deposit box with him. Jon smiled with relief when he realized that Mark’s embarrassment would not involve calls to the American Embassy.
“That is quite easily solved, sir. You can leave the key here.” Jon said a smile coming to his dark face. “We will have you fill out a signature card before you leave. Upon your return to our facility, you will simply tell whoever is assisting you the number to your box and that your key is on file here. They will ask you for your passport, to establish identification, and ask you to sign the card. They will compare the signatures and as long as they match you will be given access to the facilities.”
“Thank you,” Mark said. “That is one less thing I will have to worry about.”
“Our pleasure. Anything else?” Jon asked.
“No, sir. Do you have any questions for me?” Jon was taken aback by Mark’s statement. He was not used to being addressed with respect, despite the fact that he was president of the bank and a director. His bank serviced the rich and the rude of the world. It was a very pleasant surprise to meet someone who was not demanding and arrogant. His pleasure registered on his face in the form of a smile that revealed perfectly white and straight teeth.
“Only this, when will you visit with us again?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Mark answered truthfully this time. “I was not expecting to find what I did. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t sure of what I would find here.”
“Mr. Lawrence did mention that you might be a bit bewildered after your first session. He also said you would bounce back quickly, and I see that you have.” Jon said, the smile on his face growing just a little.
“We’ll see about that I guess” Mark said with a laugh. He was pleased that Cecil had taken Jon, at least to some degree, into his confidence. “I have no plans to move the money at this time.” He said trying to put the man at ease. “I really have no plans at all short of going home this afternoon.” He nodded to his luggage dumped in one corner of the room. Mark’s statement concerning the movement, or more to the point the lack of a plan to move, the money pleased Mr. Roddy and it was hard for him to hide his relief.
“Before you leave, I will give you some of my private numbers so that should you have need, at any time, day or night, you can reach me.” Mr. Roddy said to Mark.
“I appreciate that, really I do. I think I will do the same for you.” He relaxed leaning back in the chair. “Anyway, I doubt I’ll be back before Thanksgiving at the earliest. I have a lot to do in Dallas. To be real honest with you, I had a lot to do before this.” He pointed to the safety deposit box. “So, as you can imagine, things are starting to stack up a little.” Mr. Roddy nodded and smiled while Mark looked at his watch. “On that note, I better get moving toward the airport too.”
Jon helped Mark put the box back into the vault. They collected his belongings and went back to Mr. Roddy’s office. The first order of business was to complete the signature card and surrendered the key to the box to Jon. While they exchanged phone numbers Mark asked if someone could arrange a cab to the airport for him. Jon smiled and told him that something could be arranged he was sure. He picked up the phone and spoke into it while Mark tucked the cards he had just been handed into his briefcase. They began walking to the door to the office when Jon stopped and turned to face Mark.
“Mr. Lawrence told me that you had were a man of some means but they were not vast.” Mark guessed this was a polite way to say “middle class.” He just nodded in reply. “Although he told me that you had turned down a chance once not long ago to make a sizable fortune.”
“Well, there was a nice job offer and it came with some stock options, but a lot of other things would have had to go really right for it to be a lot of money,” Mark answered.
“Of course, and I don’t mean to pry,” Mr. Roddy lied in a polite way. “But I was just wondering how it felt to be suddenly so very wealthy.” For the first time, Mark came face to face with the fact that millions of dollars were now under his control and he supposed belonged to him, at least for the moment anyway. He thought about it for a moment before answering.
“Numb,” was all he could say.
They walked to the front door and Jon went with him outside. To Mark’s complete shock a black, highly polished Rolls Royce complete with driver was waiting for him at the curb. The driver rushed to take Mark’s bags and stow them in the trunk.
“I will have my driver take you to the airport.” Jon said casually. Mark could say nothing. His mouth would not function so great was his surprise. They shook hands again and said goodbye. As Mark walked to the car the driver open the back door and tipped his hat. Mark did not actually think he sat down on the seat. It was more a gentle descent into the soft and ample padding. The driver got in behind the wheel and immediately pulled the large car away from the curb. They had only gone a few blocks when Mark noticed that people on the street stopped as the car approached and tried to see who was riding in the back. He let this go on for two more blocks before tapping on the glass and motioning for the driver to pull over. The driver instantly jumped out and went to the back. Mark already had the door open and was climbing out.
“Is there something wrong sir?” the driver asked.
“Not really. What’s your name?” Mark asked. The man was in his early fifties Mark guessed. He was very proper in manner and, like th
e car, spotless and polished to a shine. The man braced immediately, worried that he had committed a transgression.
“Walther, sir. Obya Walther” the driver answered. Mark stuck out his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Walther. My name is Mark.” Obya shook it with a look on his face that communicated to Mark that this may not be a total breach of the divisions of the classes, but it was something very close to it. Mark began to walk to the other side of the car. “If it is all the same to you, I would just as soon ride up front the rest of the way.” He said opening the right-hand door of the car and climbing in. So quick were his actions that Mr. Walther could say or do nothing to prevent it. He walked back to the left side of the car and got behind the wheel once again. They made the rest of the trip to the airport with no more delays. Mr. Walther was noticeably uncomfortable with the new seating arrangement the whole trip. Mark, on the other hand, felt much better.
When they stopped at the airport Mark would not allow Mr. Walther to carry his luggage to the check-in at the American terminal. Instead, they parted on the curb shaking hands again. Mark was relieved to be on his way home. Mr. Walther was equally relieved to have Mark on his way home.
He strolled through the crowds that always gather at the door of any public building. He got in line with other American passengers and waited his turn to approach a ticket agent. When he finally did he told her his name and flight number and, just as with the flight from Dallas, he offered his debit card in exchange for a ticket and boarding passes. He moved through security, this time without being asked to start his computer, and off to his gate. He looked at his watch when he reclaimed his luggage from the other side of the X-ray machine and realized he had plenty of time before his flight to Miami. He was just beginning to wonder what he should do with his time when his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten since lunch the day before. Obeying the needs of his body, he struck off to find food.
