Breakout

That MFSOB! If he weren't dead, I'd find him and kill him myself.

2:00 a.m.

I found the combination of 32 characters that, when put together in the right order, make a 512 bit encryption key. If you are interested, it is -1-5-b-4-1-d-1-3- -f-8-e-d-2-d-1-e- -3-6-d-b-0-0-b-5- -e-l-8-d-2-b-m-e-. Here's a bit of advice. If you get hold of this MF thumb drive, don't enter the encryption key!

Fortunately, the damage was limited.

I was just being lazy and too excited that I'd found a possible breakthrough to be careful. Dag had plugged the thumb drive into Simon's computer even though it might have an ill effect on the computer. It was isolated behind a million layers of firewall and protection, so we tried. I decided to take security one level further and did a bit by bit copy onto a new thumb drive. It's just standard. We always work with backups and I anticipated there was probably another in the Vault, but I hadn't looked for it, so it was just as easy to burn a new one. I don't have Simon's computer any more. So I put the new thumb drive in Dag's laptop. Now you've got to understand that Dag's laptop (Lars gave it to me after the hospital gave it up) doesn't have anything on it except the routines he has to execute to connect to the virtual private network. It doesn't connect to anything automatically, so it's a pretty save, clean, computer.

I sat in the office carefully inserting the thumb drive, getting the dialog to enter the encryption key, and trying the next one on my list. These are hexadecimal keys, so there aren't any capital letters. Each character is a number from zero to sixteen. It's pretty common in encryption keys. But you have to be exact, so I worked slowly. I didn't have to try them all, but I hit paydirt about three quarters of the way through the list. The box closed and for a minute I wasn't sure what to think. I launched an Explorer window and took a look at the files on the drive. There was only one, an executable.

Now everybody with an elementary education knows not to launch an unknown executable on your computer. I adjusted the file explorer settings to show hidden files. Voila, I could see dozens of files, but they were all still encrypted!

That's when all hell broke loose.

The screen dissolved into a lot of little dots and resolved itself into a moving message like a screen-saver. The message was juvenile at best.

"Simon says, 'Find me if you can.' All the clues are here. Everything you wanted to know. I never expected you to get this far, but I'm not making it any easier to uncover the secrets that are contained on this drive. It's too bad you are colorblind, Dag!"

You are dead, bastard. And so is Dag. How dare you taunt me from the grave?

The screen dissolved again and a new message appeared. "Press Esc to continue."

It appeared that everything was locked in a hold on the screen and I foolishly pressed Esc. The message that returned said simply "You lose! Simon didn't say Press Esc." What a childish game he was playing. Or so I thought. The screen re-wrote with rolling text. It didn't take me long to realize that it was deleting all the files on the disk, starting with the thumb drive and proceeding with the laptop. It was totally wiped in a matter of seconds. I unplugged, disconnected, ultimately had to pull the battery on the laptop in order to stop the action, but the damage was done. I had to reformat the laptop and start it back from scratch. Fortunately the bios wasn't damaged. The thumb drive, once destroyed was unusable. It had no file directory on it and showed as empty. I ran a few recovery tools and it's possible that I could recover it, but there's no real need to. It was a copy.

I'm going to go home. I'll take Maizie with me and go to sleep. At this hour, no one will know she's there. I've got other things to attend to tomorrow.

2:00 p.m.

Some things have to be done face to face. I had no doubt that if I simply asked Angel how she helped people move money, I would get a straight answer. But I still wouldn’t know. The only thing I could think of was to take a wad of cash into her office and get cash cards. Of course, she couldn’t know it was me.

I used the mustache and spent about two hours getting my hair on. It was important to be perfect because I knew my ID had to exactly match my picture. The hair I was using today was glued on. It is baldpate fringe. When they are looking for a disguise, people always look at the forehead. They figure that if there was any fake hair, there will be a line at the top of the forehead. They don’t see a line at the forehead on me, so they don’t look at the fringe of hair I glue on to look like a man with a really receding hairline. It’s much better if I have Stevie help me with this. She’s a master. She is the most intimately acquainted with my head and my various wigs as my hair dresser and confidant. She’s a former theatrical makeup artist as well, and has helped me get into any number of disguises. Today, though, it was going to be all on my own.

I suited up in a hounds-tooth tweed jacket with a turtle-neck shirt and a sweater. If you aren’t stacked (as if I’d ever have to worry about that), the easiest way to hide your boobs is with bulky clothes. I’ve got an under-vest that is padded to fill the valleys and give me just a little more breadth in the shoulders. Unless I get strip-searched, no one can really tell they aren’t looking at a man. The final thing is to add my mustache and just the hint of a shadow around the cheeks. Even when a man is clean shaved, the fact that he normally has hair growing on his cheeks affects the color of his face. I needed that appearance of manliness that diverts attention away from the narrowness of my nose. Finally, I added a pair of steel-rim glasses. They are slightly tinted and make it harder to see my eyes.

When I was done, I checked my appearance against the photo that I had on my John Whitcomb passport. I was a match, and even looking in the close-up mirror, you couldn’t tell I had makeup on. It was show-time.

I debated for a while on the amount of money I should take with me. One of the first things I discovered in the Vault was a stash of cash that Dag kept for just this kind of operation. There was a lot more than I would need. I carefully counted out $12,000 in hundred dollar bills. I didn’t want to be too loaded, but from what I’d observed at Angel’s office, I needed to have a significant amount of cash to transfer.

I drove over to Dag’s apartment and let Maizie in through the secret door without going into the apartment. I didn’t need Mrs. Prior asking questions right now. Fortunately she was out and I slipped in and out in no time.

Then I parked in the Macy’s lot and walked the six blocks to Angel’s travel agency. It’s a little mind-boggling to walk naturally through a not-great part of town with $12k in your briefcase. I elected not to use a bag with a strap because that too often signals a woman. I just kept my head up and strode along with purpose.

I felt a frisson of anxiety as I turned onto her block and disciplined myself not to look around for threats. The best defense is confidence. At any rate, I made it to Angel’s door a little before noon.

I was in the lioness’s den. Approaching it from this side of the counter, it looked considerably different than it had when I observed her operation from the other side. But she had taken all requests for cash cards into a private office. I approached the counter. I thought Angel looked stressed, but the moment she looked up at me her expression changed to absolute charm and hospitality. When Angel switches on her sex appeal, it even affects me. She’s that kind of gal.

“Good morning. How may I help you?” she smiled at me.

“Morning,” I said quietly. Bravado is not the right mode for me when I’m playing a man. I pitched my voice a little lower and softer than my normal. Angel instinctively leaned in closer. “I need to buy a cash card for vacation. I heard you sold them.”

“You heard right,” she replied easily. “How much would you like to put on your card?”

“Would $12,000 be all right?” I asked.

“Sure,” Angel said, leaning over and flashing an abundance of cleavage my way. No wonder men drool over her. She came back up with a form and pushed it to me over the counter. She seemed to be looking past me part of the time and it gave me the feeling that I should turn around and look at what was outside her window. Instead, I shifted my focus to look at the surface of my glasses in which I could see the reflection of what was behind me. No one had come up behind me, and I couldn’t see details through the window. I did see the shadow of two or three people pass by the window, but no one stopped.

“You will need to fill out this form completely and I’ll need your ID,” she smiled. I hemmed a little bit as I scanned the form. This was a government form and I wasn’t too enthused about writing down the information they asked for.

“Is there a way to do this without all the paperwork?” I asked quietly. “I really have poor handwriting.”

“Are you now or have you ever been associated in any way with any branch of law enforcement at either local, State, or National level?” Angel surprised me with the question.

“I got a parking ticket once,” I said. “Does that qualify?”

“A simple yes or no is the only answer I want.”

“No.” Angel went from intense to welcoming again. “What’s the big deal?”

“You cannot lie to me about that and use anything that we say or do as evidence in a legal case,” she responded. “Even if it is being recorded on a wire.” My mouth worked of its own accord in one of those stuttering denials. “Just hand me your wallet and identification as if we were conducting business normally,” she said, “and then step through the door over here to my office and we’ll complete your transaction.”

I fished my wallet out of my pocket along with my passport and pushed them through the grate to her, then obediently waited while she went around a partition. If you are going to create a disguise, you have to have foolproof identity papers to go with it. That’s a given. I’d learned in an elementary class with Lars how to get identification. But the big issue in pulling out a wallet wasn’t what was in it, but what it looked like. I’d picked up my wallet at a Goodwill store when I first started pulling this identity together. In addition to the well-worn wallet, there were three credit cards that I’d put through a card reader at home repeated times. You don’t want to have unused cards in your wallet; it is a sure sign that the ID is fake. There were also a few memberships, sports club, grocery store, frequent flyer, and both my own (as John Whitcomb) and from several businesses and people I’d met over the years. Some were tattered and had numbers written on the back. The piece de resistance was my very official-looking photo ID with a reader chip that identified me as faculty at a local university. The card wouldn’t get you through a door at the university, but it was very official looking anyway.

A moment later there was a soft buzz and I pulled the door open and walked through. My identity was apparently sufficient for her.

I don’t know what I expected Angel’s inner office to look like. She’d taken only two of her several customers into it the day I observed and I couldn’t see in. It looked more like a psychiatrist’s office than a banker’s. There was a small table with two chairs and a short sofa and easy chair facing each other with a floor lamp. The room was also dead. Closing the door behind me made it sound like no sound could get in or out. The lights were low, tasteful artwork was on the walls, and a thick carpet felt like you were walking on a mattress. When Angel spoke, her voice barely crossed the room to me and I sat on the sofa where she directed me.

“You are new at this, aren’t you?” she said. I nodded. “Well, I like to bring new customers in here to explain the menu and to counsel my clients. I find that privacy is sometimes required for our dealings. Now, I assume you have cash that you would like to use to buy Cash Cards with.” Again I nodded. “Well, John, there are certain restrictions that we have on dealing with cash. First, any transaction of over $5000 has to be reported on one of those forms you were concerned about. So, somehow we will have to break your transaction down into smaller chunks that I can report without arousing suspicion. Second, there is the small matter of transporting money in excess of $10,000 out of the country. It’s not illegal, you see, but it does have to be reported. Do you understand the problems that we have?” I was determined not to speak unless I had to. For all I knew she was recording everything. I nodded again.

“All right,” Angel said. She moved out of the chair and sat on the sofa next to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “My agency provides a world of special services to important travelers like you,” she purred. “Especially to travelers who need to move money outside the country like you do. I’ll bet this is just a sampling of the kind of money that you want to take care of, isn’t it?” I considered a moment then ever-so-slightly nodded again turning my face away slightly.

“Sometimes you have to travel. What do you teach, Mr. Whitcomb? Or should I say Professor?” she asked.

“Literature. Uhh… just Mr.” I responded quietly. I wasn’t comfortable with Angel getting any closer.

“No tenure, huh? The bastards.” I couldn’t believe the way Angel was playing me. She was seducing me into her web. Becoming a sympathetic co-conspirator. She moved closer to me and I decided I had to get space between us. I was not at all comfortable with the idea of a close-up examination of my disguise. I moved away a bit and turned to her.

“No offense, Miss,” I said softly. “But I’m not that comfortable with women. I prefer… well, you know.” When rejecting a sexy woman, the gay card is the best one to play. Angel got the message immediately. She moved back to her chair.

“Oh, don’t worry, John,” she said. “We can still be friends, and you’ll find I still have a lot of services I can offer you.” There was a subtle change in Angel’s gestures and her coyness. A flick of the wrist. A new tilt to her shoulders and erectness to her posture. Her voice came down a notch as well, and had a subtle feeling of being intentionally softened, as though pretending to be a girl. In that instant she had transformed herself from sex goddess to drag queen. I was learning more about Angel than I ever imagined. But I still needed to know how the money operation worked.

“Thank you,” I said. “You are an Angel. How can I get this money to Europe without arousing suspicion. There’s nothing illegal about it,” I hastened to add. “An inheritance, you see.”

She cut me off.

“I don’t need to know where it came from,” she said. “I’m not complicit to any source of your income, no matter what you do. But I’ll help get it to a different place for you. Now here’s what we’re going to do to solve your little problem here. When there is a lot of money, everyone wants a piece of it,” she continued. “I’m not a bargain-basement deal, but I am high quality. I can move the money for you and give you access to it. When you get to Europe, voila! It is waiting for you. Once there, you can transfer it to any account you want. And you are not limited to Europe. If you decide Asia is better suited to you, or South America or even Australia, we’ll make sure you are well-taken care of. And you get all my services for just 20%. Of course if you want me to arrange traveling companionship or special transportation, that is extra. Doesn’t 20% sound like a good deal to you?” She barely waited for my nod before she went on.

“What I’m going to do is give you two $5,000 cash cards. You are going to pay me $2,000 for them. Oh! Look at that. It comes out to exactly $12,000! That will be convenient. I’ll report it as three separate transactions. No paperwork. I’ll even report it on different days so that there is no indication that you were here with a lot of money on one day. All you need to do is key in your PIN on the card reader so I can program your card. Now, you know all the rules about PINs, right? Don’t make it your birthday or an obvious pattern. But be sure you remember it, because we aren’t going to write it down anyplace. Future transactions—you will be back to do business with me again, won’t you?—will be much simpler. You’ll come to the counter, tap in your PIN, I’ll take the money and slide a new card through the printer. When you travel, any card will work in the vast network of ATM machines around the world that bear any of these logos.”

I was pretty overwhelmed by the time I walked out of the store, $12,000 lighter in my briefcase with two new money cards—one in my wallet and one slipped into my briefcase on Angel’s advice. I didn’t understand quite why, but she indicated that I should carry my cards too close, even though they had different branding on them. Who was going to find out?

That question was answered quickly. I was walking up the street from Angel’s agency when a red-haired man stepped out from a doorway in front of me, flashed a badge and said, “I’d like to speak with you for a moment, sir.”

I was facing Silas Grant in his official capacity as a FINCen officer.

“Did I do something wrong officer?” I asked quietly.

“We don’t think so, but we are investigating the agency you were just in. Would you mind telling me the nature of your business there?”

“Should I have a lawyer present?” I asked.

“Well, we could go through all that,” Silas answered, “but I haven’t even asked for your identity. At the moment, I’d prefer to keep our questions friendly and off the record. I’d just like to know what kind of business is conducted there.”

“Well, that’s easy enough,” I answered. “It’s a travel agency. I’m going to Europe this summer after the school year ends. I’m a teacher,” I added hastily.

“And the woman in the agency is making your travel arrangements?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied respectfully. “Italy is going to be magnificent in July. Hot, but magnificent. When you are on a school-year calendar you have to go when you can go,” I added confidentially. Silas, I knew, required a little more male-to-male bonding than I could get away with Angel. It is funny. I have a much easier time being a male around men than I do around women. The time with Angel was exhausting. This was a breeze.

“And does she charge a lot for travel arrangements?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” I said frankly. “I thought for a while she wanted to go with me, but frankly, you are more my type.” Silas took an automatic step backward. “But, really, I hastily continued on. If she puts together a whole trip package for me based on what I told her, gets me into the Vatican Library, like she said she could, and arranges a private tour of the major sites with a native Italian speaker, that should be worth 20%, don’t you think?”

“Sounds like it will be a good deal for both of you,” Silas answered. His attention was already distracted by someone down the street, and when I turned I saw Angel leaving the agency and heading out for lunch. I definitely didn’t want to be seen talking to Silas.

“Is there anything else?” I asked.

“No,” he answered. “You’ve been very helpful. Thanks.” With that he simply turned and walked away in the direction Angel had gone and I continued back to my car.

Whew!