Unauthorized Access (10 page)

“And I can’t help it if Uncle Stan held out on me. He was only doing what he thought was best for the bank.”

Pearce jabbed a finger. “You see? That’s what I’m talking about. He used you and you’re still protecting him. Any other reporter would be mad as hell and anxious to bury him with his own words.”

“No other reporter can get as many words out of him as I can.”

Pearce shook his head the whole time she was talking. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m taking you off the story.”

Lesley crossed her arms and fumed. Pearce had been the producer of WNWB News for many years and she usually valued his sharp instincts, but this was a huge loss.

“I want to run your uncle’s comments from yesterday again,” Pearce said, “as a counterpoint to the new information.”

Pearce’s abrupt change in approach took Lesley aback.

“What’s the sense in that?” she said. “It’ll just make him look like a liar.”

Pearce looked her straight in the eye. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

Lesley blinked.

When she didn’t answer, Pearce continued. “This has turned into an adversarial situation. The public wants to know how a bunch of cyber-saboteurs managed to penetrate security at an American bank. I need someone who’ll push to find out how the bank messed up and left themselves exposed. This is certainly not information First Malden will give out willingly. Can the bank guarantee this sort of thing won’t happen again? And why weren’t the bank’s customers informed when it happened? Your uncle used you to save his own butt. I need a reporter who wants to nail him, and that’s not you.”

He paused and softened his tone.

“Look, I’ve seen enough of these stories to know how ugly things can get. Believe me, you don’t want this coming between you and a family member. Take my advice and leave it alone.”

Lesley’s mouth was set in a thin line as she tried to control her frustration.

“Fine,” she said.

“Once you think about this, you’ll see I’m right.”

Lesley left Pearce’s office, paused and took a few deep breaths, then headed down the hallway. She heard her cell phone ring so she stopped and dug in her purse.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hi, it’s me.”

She closed her eyes.

“Hi, Uncle Stan.”

“We have a problem,” he said.

“You’re right and it’s all because you lied to me yesterday afternoon.”

“I had to keep our customers calm, buy us some time to fix the problem.”

“Yeah, well, you can see how well that worked.”

“Can we do another interview?” Dysart said. “I’ll say I didn’t know it was an attack until last night. Before that we thought it was just something broken.”

“You knew about the attack on Monday.”

“Come on, it’s worth a try.”

“I have nothing to do with it anymore,” Lesley said. “The producer pulled me off the story, assigned it to someone else.”

Dysart paused, then said, “But you can still influence the direction they’re taking, can’t you?”

“You don’t understand the position you’ve put me in. I had plenty of control until you made me look like a fool. I’m off it, okay? Gone. Out of the loop. I can’t help.”

“Don’t snap at me, young lady. You’re not the only one with problems. I just finished talking with Homeland Security about terrorists attacking the American financial industry. We had a lovely chat. Really made my day. Before that it was the FDIC trying to figure out if we’re going to go kaput and cost them bunches of money. We have messages piled up from dozens of corporate clients who want to know what’s going on. It’s too bad you got caught in the middle but I gave you the only information I could at the time.”

“Fine,” she said, making no attempt to keep the frustration out of her voice, “but there’s still nothing I can do to help.”

Dysart sighed. “Okay. Gotta go.”

Lesley snapped the phone shut, stuffed it in her purse and headed for the elevator. She saw no reason to hang around where she wasn’t wanted.

* * *

Tim removed the key from the lock and pushed open his apartment door. The staleness engulfed him as he carried the grocery bag inside and set it on the kitchen counter.

“I’m home, Dad,” he called out in a cheery voice.

There was no response, but that was no surprise. He rarely received one.

Tim opened the tiny kitchen window, walked into the living room past the armchair that held his father, raised the blind and opened that window as well. On the TV, a CNN anchor looked stern as he dished out the day’s outlook for the Dow Jones.

Tim saw a small plate covered with crumbs sitting on the table beside his father.

“Did you eat?” Tim asked. “I thought you were going to wait and have some brunch with me. I got some bacon and eggs … and those chocolate croissants you like.”

Eldon Whitlock shrugged as he took a drag on his cigarette. He blew out the smoke and said, “I had some toast like I usually do. I guess I’m not used to having you home at this time on a weekday.”

“No worries,” Tim said. “I’ll just whip up some eggs for myself.”

Tim picked up the overflowing ashtray and whistled softly as he headed for the kitchen. Nothing was going to dampen his spirits on this morning. He had spent the last several months feeling like a loser while he hesitated to put his plan into action. But now things were underway and flowing according to plan. Tim was on top of the world.

He expected the clues he planted in Rob’s desk at the bank to be discovered today, which would be followed by a rapid series of events. He played out the scenario in his mind yet again. Rob is hauled into Dysart’s office where he gets chewed out, pressured to provide the keyword, and then fired with as little public fuss as the bank can manage. Tim sends the keyword to the bank with an anonymous text message so the furor can begin to die down. Dysart assumes Rob has supplied the keyword, and tells Lesley about the felony committed by her boyfriend.

That’s where Tim’s crystal ball grew somewhat foggier. He wasn’t sure how Lesley was going to react when she heard her boyfriend was a criminal and had caused such tremendous hardship for a member of her family. Tim grinned as he dropped a fresh ashtray next to his father. He had every reason to expect this revelation to drive an unfixable wedge between Lesley and Rob, which would open the door quite nicely for Tim.

“I seen your bank on the news while you were out,” his father said as he reached for his pack of smokes.

Tim felt a small spike of anxiety flutter through his gut.

“Oh yeah?” he said, trying to sound unconcerned. “What’d they say?”

“Something about terrorists,” Eldon said. “Some kind of attack.”

Suddenly it felt like all oxygen had been sucked out of the room. The small spike in his gut mushroomed into a tsunami of adrenaline.

Eldon squinted at him through a fresh tendril of smoke. “You feeling okay?” he asked. “You’re looking kind of pale.”

“I’m fine,” Tim managed to choke out.

“Hey, here it comes again,” Eldon said.

Tim watched in disbelief as CNN cameras panned outside a First Malden branch while a voiceover described the breaking story of what was apparently the first known case of cyber-sabotage at an American bank.

When the piece ended, Tim turned and floated back toward the kitchen, unaware that his feet were moving. He dropped slowly into a kitchen chair, planted his elbows on the table and held his swimming head in his hands. How had this happened? Yesterday Dysart had made it clear he had no intention of letting the truth become public.

But then, Tim realized, it didn’t really matter how it had happened. He had to figure out what it meant for him. After all, Tim had always known there was some chance the news would leak out. He had just managed to convince himself through months of self-argument that the chances of such a leak were negligible. All his scheming had been based on the assumption that the bank would handle everything internally. But now the authorities would be involved.

Which meant a much more intensive and sophisticated investigation.

And the possibility of criminal charges.

And jail time.

Tim’s heart pounded as his mind raced back over all his actions, through the evidence he had left behind, both intentional and otherwise. Was the trail leading to Rob convincing enough? Thank God he had gone beyond just leaving clues in Rob’s desk at work. And Rob’s fingerprints. Tim had felt a bit on the paranoid side when he collected them, but suddenly they seemed like an inspired idea.

An involuntary groan escaped Tim’s lips when he thought of his plan to text the keyword to the bank. Would that cell phone really be so untraceable when FBI agents started interviewing the sales staff at the store where Tim bought it? Should he use snail mail instead? Or would they find some way to trace that back to him as well?

Tim buried his hands in his hair as the paranoia settled in for a long stay.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

THE HEADLIGHTS OF Stan Dysart’s Lexus swept across the interlocking bricks of his doublewide driveway in the deepening gloom of twilight. He hit the garage door opener and slipped the car inside.

Yelps from Elke and Kara greeted him as he walked into the back yard.

“Well hello there. How are Daddy’s girls?”

Dysart crossed a strip of lush grass and put one hand against the wire fence that enclosed the dog run. Two Siberian huskies milled up against the fence, whining and yipping in excitement.

“I know,” Dysart said. “I’ve been busy for a few days and you need some attention. Let me get out of this suit and we’ll go for a walk.”

Kara tried to move closer to where Dysart stood but Elke shouldered her out of the way, asserting her role as the more dominant. As always, Dysart found himself amused at Elke’s insistence on being the leader. He knew it helped maintain peace in the family. Two doghouses stood at one end of the run, but the dogs often ignored Kara’s, preferring to curl up together in Elke’s.

He found a pot of pasta sauce simmering on low heat in the kitchen. The dirty plate beside the sink meant Sheila had already eaten. He found her in the living room reading a book and ignoring the TV, which was tuned to a medical drama with the volume turned off.

“I think the dogs need a walk before I can eat,” he said.

“I expected that,” she said, looking up from the paperback. “I’ll cook some linguine for you when you get back. And we won’t be playing tennis tonight. Daniel called to cancel.”

Doubles tennis was one of the few activities the Dysart’s did together. Stan’s long hours at the bank made it difficult to fit in much else.

“Just as well,” he said. “I need a quiet evening, see if I can forget about the zoo I ran around in all day.”

“I’m sure the dogs won’t want to talk about money problems.”

“They’ll be the first ones today.”

The dogs could barely contain their excitement when Dysart returned to the back yard holding two leashes. Elke barked and put both front paws up on the gate, while Kara bounced back and forth behind her.

“All right, all right,” Dysart said.

Soon the dogs were pulling him around the side of the garage. The threesome made it as far as the other side of the street when the dogs stopped for an intensive inspection of a telephone pole. Then they headed on to the next pole and repeated the process. While they sniffed, Dysart saw a small car squeal around the corner at the end of the block and head toward him.

He barely had time to frown at the speed of the car when it made a wide turn into his own driveway. The passenger-side wheels missed the edge of the driveway and bounced up over the curb. Dysart recognized the car as Lesley’s. He saw her swing the steering wheel sharply while at the same time the brake lights came on. The Toyota ended up parked at an angle, barely a foot from his garage door.

Dysart started to head toward her. The dogs, however, were intent on continuing their walk and milled around the pole, pulling hard in the other direction. Both leashes ended up wrapped around the pole. He sorted them out, turned back toward the house and was surprised to see Lesley still in her car. She appeared to be slumped over the steering wheel.

A cold dread washed through his body. Had she been in an accident? Was she sick? He rushed across the street, shooed the dogs away from the car door and pulled it open. He found Lesley leaning her head against her hands on the steering wheel and sobbing. She looked up at him. The wetness on her face glistened in the streetlights.

“Oh Uncle Stan they took him you have to help I don’t know what to do I was going to call but then I couldn’t so I—”

“Whoa, hold on,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

“You have to tell them it’s a mistake it has to be I mean—”

“Lesley. You have to calm down. I can’t understand you.”

Elke tried to push her snout past Dysart to get a closer look, but he grabbed her collar and pulled her back.

“Are you hurt?” Dysart asked her.

She shook her head and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Can you stand up?” he said, grasping her upper arm gently with his free hand. “Why don’t you get out and we’ll go inside.”