Hacker For Hire (Ted Higuera Series Book 2) (4 page)

“That’s great.
Price Slashers will be one of our biggest clients.” Julie followed Donna into
her office, note pad in hand. “I have a whole stack of messages for you.”

Donna didn’t
believe in voice mail. In a high tech world, in a high tech business, she
insisted a human being answer the phone by at least the third ring.

The personal touch
is what made DigiGuard Security a rising star in the high tech industry. That
and the fact that DigiGuard was the first company with an inoculation for the
Armageddon virus, the biggest, baddest virus to ever hit the Internet.

“You got a call
from Tony in accounting that you should return. He’s a little concerned about
cash flow.” Julie always gave the bad news first. “Then you’ve got a call from
Mrs. Clarke at Millennium Systems. She wants to know how the investigation’s
coming.”

Alison Clarke was
Donna’s biggest and newest client. If they did a good job for MS, it would open
the door for a bunch of new clients.

“I’ll call Alison
first.” Donna compulsively rearranged the fresh-cut daisies on her desk. “We
need to keep her happy.”

The phone rang.
Both Donna and Julie looked at the blinking lights on Donna’s desk phone.

“That’s your
private line.” Julie said.

The caller ID said
“Northwest Janitorial Services.”

“Close the door.
You answer the call.” Donna picked up the remote control and flipped on the
plasma TV on her wall. She quickly switched from CNN to a soap opera and turned
up the volume.

“Yeah. . .” Julie
shouted into the phone. “Who is this?” She did a good job of making her voice
sound old.

Donna smiled.
Julie would make a great old battle-axe someday.

“No, this is her
mom. What d’ ya want?”

Julie listened for
a moment.

“Yeah, she’s here.
She’s in the can. You’ll have to wait for her. Hold on. BEEEEETTY!” Julie
turned and shouted towards Donna. Her face nearly cracked open with a grin.

Betty Johnson,
Donna’s secret identity at Northwest Janitorial Services, was a recovering drug
addict who lived with her dotty mother. Mom nipped at the cooking sherry a
little too often and usually got her messages either garbled or forgot to give
them to Betty altogether. That way, Donna only had to answer the messages she
wanted.

After waiting an
appropriately long time, Donna took the phone from Julie.

“This is Betty.”

“Hi, Betty, this
is Paula.”

Donna’s boss at
NWJ was ninety-percent bitch and ten-percent sweetheart. When she needed
something, she turned on the sugar and honey.

“Listen, sweetie,
I need a favor. Shu called in sick today. Can you cover her tonight?”

Donna couldn’t
work, her son had a play tonight.

“I’m sorry, Paula.
I’ve already got plans. Don’t you have anyone else?”

“Honey, you know I
wouldn’t call you unless I’d already tried everyone else. You’re my go-to girl.
When no one else can make it, I know you’ll always come through for me, so I
don’t ask unless there’s no one else.”

What bullshit.
Donna was the first one Paula would call.

“What would I be
doing tonight?” She usually didn’t work her night job on Thursdays.

“It’s a little
different. You’ll be doing the accounting department. It’s no big deal, except
for Mr. Schmidt’s office.”

Jackson Schmidt
was Millennium System’s CFO.

“He’s pretty
picky.” Paula’s husky, cigarette-scarred voice grated on Donna. “But you’ve
been doing Mr. Metcalf’s office and no one is pickier than Mr. Metcalf.”

Donna thought for
a minute. She needed to get to Schmidt’s office. She hadn’t been in there
before. But Billy’s play . . .

“OK, Paula. I’ll
do it. But I’ll probably be a little late. Can I start at around nine?” At
least she could take Billy to dinner before his play.

“Honey, you can
come in whenever you want. You’re one of the few people I can count on to do a
good job. I tell you, good help is so hard to find now a days.”

Damn.
She
was going to disappoint Billy again. She was a horrible mother.

Donna hung up and
turned off the TV. “Jules, tell Andy that I’m going to need another mini DVR
tonight. And get Bill on the phone. I need to tell him I can’t come home
tonight.”

Well, they were
just going to have to deal with it. This is what paid for the iPhones and
X-boxes.

****

Ted heard
Candace’s Porsche Cayenne SUV pull into the driveway. He took a hit off his
bottle of
Corona
and went to the front room to greet his guests. His guests?
He didn’t live here anymore. Well, they were his dinner guests anyway.

He took a quick
glance at the mirror above the stone fireplace. He pointed a finger at his
image, dropped his thumb like the imaginary hammer on a pistol, made a clicking
sound and winked at himself. “You good looking dog, you, don’t you ever die.”

He already saw
some of Sarah’s influence making its way into the house. A pair of pink yard
flamingos flanked the fireplace.

“Ted-meister, look
what I found.” Sarah burst through the door and tossed her tan rain jacket on
the couch.

“Lookin’ good,
hermanita.
”
Ted continued to be amazed by Sarah’s transformation. It was hard to believe
that this was Chris’ Goth little sister. A petite brunette, she turned out to
be quite a looker.

She was followed through
the door by Chris in his wheelchair, pushed by Harry.

“Hey, dude, good
to have you home.” Ted bent down and gave his friend a big
abrazo
.

“What’s this shit
about you moving out?” Chris winced, then sat rigid at Ted’s hug.

“I thought it was
time, dude. Sarah wanted to move in, and after all, this is your Dad’s house.”

“You could have
talked to me first. You couldn’t have let me know? Didn’t I get a vote in this
decision?”

Before Ted had a
chance to respond, Oscar bounded across the room and leapt into Chris’ lap with
a loud meow.

“Hey, it’s good to
see you too, little man.” Chris ran his hands through Oscar’s silky fur and
scratched his ears.

“Meeoooow.”

You little
whore.
Ted heard the loud purrs.
You’ll go with anyone.

“Teddy, I hear
you’ve got a treat for us.” Candace embraced Ted.

She was at least
an inch taller than Ted, but with her ever-present heels, she towered over him.
The hug felt good, her breasts pushed into Ted’s collarbone. She was one hell
of a woman. Ted felt a tingle where he shouldn’t have. He pulled away before he
hardened too much.

“Anybody hungry? I
got
tacos al pastor
on the grill.”

The crowd moved to
the kitchen where Sarah grabbed beers from the ancient white Frigidaire for
everyone.

“Man, I haven’t
had a home cooked meal since I can’t remember when.” Chris rolled up to the
heavy old kitchen table. “Even if it was cooked by my EX-roommate.”

“Be cool, dude.”
Ted stepped out to the porch and lifted his masterpiece off the grill. “Check this
out.” He had trimmed the spitted meat as it cooked, each time applying a new
layer of
adobado
sauce. The aluminum drip pan was piled with little
pieces of meat, onion and pineapple. The meat remaining on the spit was only a
few inches around.

“It smells
amazing, Ted.” Harry twisted the lid off of his
Corona
and reached for a
lime slice from the bowl on the table.

“This is my
specialty. For special occasions.” Ted removed a pottery dish from the oven and
set it on the table. “
Frijoles refritos.
Vegetarian-style for Candace.”
He poured Mexican rice from a saucepan into another pottery dish. “Mama’s
special
arroz
, also meat-free. And here,” he took a round Styrofoam
container from the Formica-topped counter, “are the tortillas.”

The group crowded
around the table. “You make your tacos like this.” Ted grabbed a four-inch corn
tortilla from the Styrofoam container. “Put a little meat on it, then some
cilantro, then a little onion. If you like, there’s guacamole, salsa and sour
cream.”

“Ted, this looks
delicious.” Sarah spooned the pork onto a tortilla. “I’ve never had anything
like this before.”

“Okay, so I get
that you’re moving out.” Chris said. “At least tell me how things are at your
new job.”

“I’m starting at
the bottom, but the pay’s good.”

“What do they have
you doing?” Harry helped himself to another tortilla.

“It’s highly
confidential. I had to sign non-disclosure agreements and all that, but I can
say that I’m doing a series of penetration tests for a local business.”

“At least you’ve
been doing
something
since we got back from Canada.” Chris stopped in
mid-bite. “It beats the hell out of lying around a hospital room for a month.”

Was Chris actually
jealous of him? For their entire relationship Chris had always been the have.
Ted was the have-not.

“Not really. It’s
a low-level task for a junior employee. They’re paying me to hack into some
sleaze’s system. That’s me, Hacker for Hire.”

“Some sleaze?”
Chris raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, this jerk
owns a chain of strip clubs.”

“Strip clubs?”
Chris slammed his
Corona
bottle down on the table. He winced at the
movement. “Jesus Christ, Ted. You’d complain if they hanged you with a new
rope. How do I get that assignment?”

“It’s not that
glamorous, dude. I’ve been locked in an office for two weeks trying to hack his
system. I’ve probably said too much already.”

“I can understand
that.” Harry said. “In a law firm, it’s all about trust. We have to guard
attorney-client privilege all the time.”

“So tell them about
your new apartment.” Sarah broke in.

“I rented a place
in one of those new buildings in South Lake Union. It’s not much to get excited
about. It’s just a studio-loft.” Ted sprinkled cilantro on his taco. “The whole
neighborhood is changing. Everywhere you look they’re putting up new
buildings.”

“That’s one of
Paul Allen’s new buildings,” Harry said. “He and Jack Metcalf are transforming
that neighborhood. Metcalf is obsessed with building a bio-tech corridor
there.”

“Jack Metcalf?”
Chris asked. “That name sounds familiar.”

“He’s on Forbes
list of the 10 richest men in America. He’s the chairman of the board at
Millennium Systems, and hopefully a new client.”

“Dad, you’ve got
to see Ted’s view.” Sara bubbled over with excitement. “He got a top floor
apartment that looks out over the lake. You can see the Space Needle and Queen
Anne. At night you can see all the lights reflecting off of the water.”

“I’m pretty
pleased with it.” Ted took a pull from his long neck. “I’ve never lived in a
new building before.”

“And Teddy’s
thinking about a new car.” Sarah picked up the dirty dishes and carried them
over to the sink. “It feels like we’re all starting new lives.”

“What kind of
car?” Harry asked.

“Oh, I’m just
thinkin’.” Ted pushed back his wayward lock of black hair. “I’ve been patching
that old Mitsubishi together for so long that I don’t think it has any original
parts left. It should have a “Made in the USA” label on it.” Ted paused to down
a swig of Corona, then said in a low voice, “I was kinda lookin’ at a Beemer.”

“A BMW?” Beer
spewed from Chris’ mouth. “First a fancy new apartment, now a new car. What
happened to the poor kid from the
barrio
?”

Ted shot him an
icy look.

“You must be
making pretty good money at YTS,” Chris continued.

“The pay’s good
enough. Somehow it just doesn’t feel right though. I want to do more than
protect some strip club owner’s data.”

“That’s just a
load of bullshit to make you feel better about your job.”

Ted looked at his
friend. This wasn’t good. Nothing had ever come between them before.

“Hey, bro, I’m
just thinkin’.”

The
Pegasus
slid easily through the waves. The mega-yacht was performing beautifully. Yves
Bohier sat in the sky lounge, put his feet up on the teak coffee table and
stared off into the blue. They were two days out of Manila on a passage to LA.
Captain Evans assured Yves that it would be a smooth voyage. The Pacific high
was expected to hold for at least another week.

“Mr. Bohier,”
Captain Evans shouted back from the bridge deck. “We’ve got something on
long-range radar.”

Yves walked
into the pilot house. “And this is an issue because?”

“It looks
funny. Two bogies. Coming in hot and fast. That’s not an airliner.”

“Bring the
defensive systems on-line.” Yves scanned the sky to the west.

Evans took a
key from his pocket and unlocked a locker next to the steering wheel. He
flipped a red switch and a series of green lights came on. Alarms rang throughout
the vessel. Men grabbed life jackets and helmets and scrambled to their action
stations.

“All systems
are hot.”

Evans was a
good man, a former US Navy Seal. Like all the rest of Yves crew, a good man to
have in a pinch.

“Yves, what ees
it?” A tiny French woman, wearing a steward’s uniform entered the pilot house.

“We have
company, Elise. Fighter jets.”

Yves had always
known that this would happen someday. He had lived this long because he was
always prepared.

“Go to top
speed.”

Evans touched a
starter button. A whine emitted from deep within the bowels of the ship as the
gas-turbine engines wound up. The Pegasus surged forward. Evans cut the diesels.
At the speeds they would be traveling, propellers were totally inefficient and
added drag. Aqua-jets now drove the Pegasus, the props folded up into a
hydrodynamic shape.

“Jean-Paul,”
Yves noticed that his security chief had taken his station at the weapons
console without a word. “What is the status?”

“They’re a
hundred and ten klicks out and closing fast.”

“Prepare to
take evasive action. Jean-Paul, are you ready?”

“Roger that.”

Evans rotated
the wheel. The one hundred and forty-foot yacht spun on her keel. It flew
through the water at seventy-five knots. The turn was so sharp that the lee
rail dipped under water.

“The bogies are
changing course to intercept.”

“We can’t out
run them and we can’t out maneuver them.” A menacing grin spread over Yves face.
“It is a pity we are going to have to destroy them. Jean-Paul.”

“I have
ignition. The lead jet just fired two missiles.”

“Kindly return
the favor.”

Jean-Paul
pushed a red button. The fiberglass cover blew off the afterdeck and two SAM
missile launchers popped into position.

“Fire.”

A burst of
white smoke blasted from each launcher and the missiles took off like homesick
angels.

“Now, fire the
chaff.”

With the SAMS
launched, Jean-Paul fired two canisters into the air. They exploded at two
thousand feet, raining down aluminum chaff to distract the incoming missiles.

Evans didn’t
need to be told to alter course. The Pegasus again leaned into a sharp turn and
made as much distance between herself and the chaff as possible.

The incoming
missiles flew through the chaff and struck the water harmlessly.

A fire ball
exploded in the sky above them. Pieces of the fighter jet rained down.

“Splash one jet
jock.” Evans smirked.

Too soon.

The other F-16
roared out of the fireball and climbed vertically. Yves could see the red Maple
Leaf on its side as it passed. The jet wheeled over into a dive. Two missiles
launched.

“Fire chaff,”
Yves screamed.

It was too
late. The jet was too close. The missiles streaked through the chaff and right
at the mega-yacht.

The Pegasus was
engulfed in a ball of flames. A dark mushroom cloud erupted from the ship.

The jet resumed
its course, by itself.

****

After several
weeks of rain, Ted was grateful to see the late afternoon sun. Seattle was enjoying an Indian summer. He pulled on his light jacket and slipped out the
office door. The baby blue sky was dotted with puffy white clouds. He had to
grab all the vitamin D he could, it was only late September and already the sun
was setting earlier. In a couple of months, he’d be going to work and coming
home in darkness.

YTS’ offices,
located in a refurbished brick building on Yesler Way, were only a couple of
blocks off of Pioneer Square.

Ted loved Pioneer Square. This was the heart of Old Seattle, built after the Great Fire back in the 1800’s
sometime. The place was now a tourist attraction alive with restaurants, night
spots, comedy clubs and tourist traps. This was where the twenty-something
yuppies hung out.

Tonight was not a
hangout night for Ted though, tomorrow was a work day. He walked two blocks to
First and Yesler and waited for his bus. In a few minutes the MT66 pulled up to
the stop.

“Hey, Hero.” The bearded
bus driver wouldn’t let Ted forget.

“Hey, right back
atcha, Garry. How’s the wife?”

“Doin’ better,
thanks.”

Ted made his way
to the back of the bus and pulled the sports page out of the
Seattle Times
.
His Huskies had lost their second straight game to open the season.

He let his mind
wander. This was the first fall since he was nine years old that he hadn’t
donned his pads and helmet. Football was his game. A football scholarship at
the University of Washington had been his ticket out of the
barrio.

Ted finished the
sports page, neatly folded it and put it back in the paper. He hadn’t played a
starter’s role, but at least he’d graduated. His BS in computer science had
been his entré to the job at YTS.

Traffic was heavy.
The bus stopped and started. People got on and off. A large black woman took
the seat next to Ted. He felt like he was being crushed by an avalanche of
flesh.

He opened the
front page and scanned down the international stories. Then it caught his eye.

“French Yacht
Disappears at Sea” the headline shouted. He read the article. The
Pegasus
had disappeared off the coast of the Philippines. There was no trace of
survivors. The owner of the mega-yacht, multi-millionaire French businessman
Yves Bohier, was presumed lost.

Yves. That
dirty bastard.
Bohier was the arms dealer that sold the missile to the
terrorists who attacked the
Star of the Northwest.
It was his fault that
Meagan and Jack were dead.
I hope he rots in hell!

His head felt like
it was going to split open. His breath came in short gasps, he felt sweat
breaking out on his forehead. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

He saw the
Pegasus
,
pushing their sailboat into the giant whirlpool. He was sure that they bought
it that time. Then the gun fight. Automatic weapons fire riddling Chris’ boat.
First Jack went down, then Chris.

Then the
explosion. Flying through the air. Ted found himself floating with the other
bodies in the water.

****

“Hey, Hero, where
you gettin’ off today, man?” The big bus driver shook Ted’s shoulder.

Ted came out of
his trance, his hands shaking, his palms wet. His shirt stuck to his skin.

“Hey, man, you
OK?” Garry shook Ted’s shoulder again. “Should I call 911? You havin’ some kind
of attack?”

“No . . . I’ll be
fine. Where are we?”

“We’re all the way
to the University Hub. We’re way past your regular stop. This big black lady just
gettin’ off told me that your eyes were glazed over and you were breathin’
funny. She thought you were having a seizure.”

“You loopin’ back
to South Lake Union?”

“No, I'm headed
back downtown. If you want to ride, just stay on ‘til we come back on the
northern run.”

“Thanks, Garry.”

“Nothin’s too good
for our hero.”

Ted sat back in
his seat and breathed deeply. Would it ever end?