Trojan Page 3
“That was bullshit the prosecutor used,” Gil said.
“Then why’d you take the plea?”
Gil straightened.
“I’ve got several different interests,” he said. “I’d prefer the police not go digging around. It’s easy enough to keep them going, so when I get out, I’ll be able to pick back up.”
Vlad tapped his chin.
There was a loud bang, and Gil jumped, hitting his head on the bottom of Vlad’s bunk. Vlad looked over at the open door.
“Yuri!”
The man in the cell doorway was of average height, a bit overweight, and covered in tattoos.
“Vlad.” Yuri embraced the larger man.
Vlad tried to hide his wince as Yuri squeezed his shoulder, but his friend noticed.
“What’s wrong?”
Vlad pulled down the shoulder of his jumpsuit to show off the craterlike scar.
“Prison doctors aren’t worth shit,” Vlad said.
“If they were, they wouldn’t be prison doctors,” Yuri agreed.
Vlad grunted as he pulled his jumpsuit up. “How are things here?”
Yuri shrugged.
“Same old summer camp,” he said. “We’ve got a few lines outside, a good pipeline of drugs and essentials, and plenty of muscle to keep the Aztec shitheads out of our business.”
“Any word from the boss?”
“Should there be?”
“Just wanted to make sure,” Vlad said.
“Who’s the new meat?” Yuri stepped over and looked Gil up and down.
Despite being several inches taller than Yuri, Gil took a step back.
“Oh, we’re going to have some fun with you,” Yuri said. “Want me to clean him out, so you’ve got your own place?”
“Actually,” Vlad said, putting a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “We’re going to make sure that Gil stays nice and healthy.”
Yuri looked back in confusion.
“Spread the word. No one lays a hand on him.”
“How much is that going to cost me?” Gil said warily.
Vlad’s smile was predatory.
“You just use your skills to help me with a few problems, and we’ll be all square.”
Chapter Four
The artificial sunlight was warm, though she had to squint as her eyes adjusted after the dark gymnasium.
Clyde, in his three-piece suit and fedora, was leaning against a black stretch limousine at the end of the sidewalk.
“Milady.”
She put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him as he pulled the door open and she slid in.
The smell of leather nearly overwhelmed her as she got in.
“The exploit auction went well?” she asked.
“Better than expected,” he said as the car started rolling. “You’ll have a nice little nest egg to start over with. Speaking of which, I really think we should revisit me joining you.”
“We’re not in the clear yet,” Bonnie said. “Let’s get through this and then we’ll figure out what to do.”
The Tailor’s home was a twenty-story building covered in windows, each one containing a high-end suit, elegant dress, or Hollywood grade costume, each worn by a too-perfect model. There were security cameras everywhere, but no other visible security.
“You’re sure this is the place?” Bonnie asked.
Clyde nodded.
“He came highly recommended.”
Bonnie gazed at a window that contained a long-legged blonde in a brilliant-blue evening gown.
“Seems like a big risk for him to do both,” she said. “If he’s this good, why take the chance of getting arrested?”
“Maybe he just likes the thrill,” Clyde said. “Not that you would know what that’s like . . .”
Bonnie glared at him before striding off toward the glass doors at the end of the walkway.
The doors slid open silently when she was a few steps away, revealing a marble foyer. More models strutted back and forth in glass display cases around the room, which was massive.
A man wearing a perfectly cut suit, with piercing green eyes and a shining smile stepped forward to greet them.
“Hello,” he said in a clipped British accent. “Welcome to Edward Grant’s. Can I help you find anything today?”
“We’re looking for a new bikini for him,” Bonnie said.
The man’s smile didn’t falter.
“We don’t carry swimwear.”
“Of course you don’t,” Bonnie said. “Here’s the SKU we’re looking for.”
Bonnie held out a slip of paper, and the man took it and glanced down. He blinked once, and his eyes changed from green to a neon red before refocusing on Bonnie.
“Do you have a promo code?” the British accent was gone.
“Yellow Riv3r TH1rty onE.”
“Please follow me,” their guide said.
Bonnie looked at Clyde, who simply smiled and waved for her to follow the man.
Their guide led them through a maze of display cases until they got to the back wall of the store. The man waved, and two display cases slid out of the way, revealing a white manikin wearing a green and white Hawaiian print shirt that was distinctly out of place among the more refined clothing.
“Through there and down the stairs,” the man said. “The Tailor will be at the bottom. Please do not touch anything.”
He turned back to the manikin and lifted one of its arms. There was grinding sound, and then a crack appeared in the white wall. The gap widened until it was large enough for them to go through single file.
Bonnie stepped past their guide and through the opening. It took her eyes a second to adjust to the darkness, but she saw the staircase right away. She stepped down and saw an oak door at the bottom, probably two stories below.
As soon as Clyde made it through, the grinding sound began again, and Bonnie watched the formerly British man turn and start back for the front of the store through the disappearing gap.
“Shall we?” Clyde said.
Bonnie nodded and started down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, a small keyboard popped out of the wall by the door, and a screen flickered awake with a single text box containing the words “Promo code?” in a flowing yellow font.
She typed the code in again, and the keyboard and screen faded. There was another grinding sound, and the door swung open on creaking hinges.
Bonnie wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been the room beyond.
The walls, floors, and ceiling were all a sterile white, lit by invisible fluorescent lights. A gray conveyor belt split the room in half. Robotic arms were lined up along each side of it, and it led into a colossal metal chamber that looked like a kiln.
“You must be Bonnie and Clyde.”
Bonnie stopped gawking at the room to look toward the source of the voice.
The man was short and squat, with a large belly contained by a plaid vest and gray slacks. His face was round, and a pair of round spectacles looked like they were half absorbed into his eye sockets. His hair was white, nearly a perfect match for the color of the walls, but was styled like a man several decades younger.
“You’re the Tailor?” Bonnie asked.
He nodded.
“A pleasure,” Clyde said, holding out a hand. The man looked at it, then put his own hands in the front pockets of his vest.
“What can I do for you?”
“Everything,” Bonnie said. “Completely clean identities that can’t be traced or tracked.”
“Nothing is completely clean,” the man said.
“You mean you can’t make anything completely clean?” Clyde said. “Should we be talking to someone else?”
The Tailor shrugged.
“I’m not selling counterfeit goods,” he said. “The charlatans that peddle fake driver’s licenses and whatnot can only go as far back as the actual issuances. I have been cultivating identities for years.”
“How?” Bonnie asked.
“If I’m going to live the life of one of these ‘cultivated identities,’ I need to.”
The Tailor shrugged again.
“You’re what, twenty-five?”
“Something like that,” Bonnie said.
The Tailor walked to a writing desk at the side of the room and picked up a photograph, which he tossed over his shoulder. It stopped in mid-air, and Bonnie saw it was a smiling little girl, about three years old. She had a pink bow in her dark-brown hair and a deep-brown eyes that glimmered in the light. It could have been a baby picture of Haley if the skin had been a bit darker.
“Twenty-three years ago, a poor little baby named Ana died of pneumonia. Her parents mourned her, and then she was buried in a small unmarked grave somewhere east of Philadelphia.”
Bonnie felt the blood drain from her face as he continued.
“Eighteen years ago, she and her parents moved to Los Angeles,” he said, throwing another photo over his head. This one was of a girl around eight, but her skin was a bit darker, closer to Haley’s natural skin tone, and her eyes were a lighter brown.
“Five years ago, she graduated from the University of Southern California, barely, and now works at a small computer firm in the Bay Area.”
He pulled up another picture, and Bonnie saw that this time, Haley’s face stared back at her.
“Anyone looking will believe that you have been alive as Ana Gomez for the last twenty-five years,” the Tailor said. “And if anyone does question you, there will be an entire paper trail to back your story up.”
“That’s . . . sick,” Bonnie said.
“But necessary,” the Tailor said. “Unless you have a Social Security number issued by the government, you’ll never be able to get a job. At least not a legal one. It’s too risky to use a stolen or fake one. So I use the dead. They don’t mind.”
“What about my son?” Bonnie said.
“I have an identity for him as well,” the Tailor said. “Not as mature, obviously, but it will still pass. With the proper faked adoption papers—”
“You can’t make him my real son?”
“Do you have an extra hundred grand?”
“It can’t be that hard,” Bonnie said. “Just say Ana had a kid.”
The Tailor rolled his eyes.
“What part of ‘real Social Security number’ was unclear?” he said. “The only way to make it hold up would be to find a mother and son that died together and keep both identities alive. I don’t get enough clients wanting that to make it worth my time.”
“But you had a price, so you must have at least one?”
The Tailor bit his lip and looked from her to Clyde.
“I feel for you,” he said.
Clyde shrugged.
“This is her on a good day.”
“Do you have one or not?”
“Sunshine, we can’t afford it even if there is one,” Clyde said.
“We’ll find a way,” Bonnie said. “He’s my son. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want there to be any doubt.”
“Adopted sons are just as much sons,” the Tailor said.
“And we can’t afford it,” Clyde repeated. “We spend it here, and we’re back to having new ideas and no money for anything else. So unless you want to find another bounty, we need that money.”
Bonnie stared into Clyde’s eyes.
“I’ll do whatever I have to if it means Jacob is safe,” Bonnie said slowly. “If that means we have to go black hat again, we’ll figure it out. We’re already in over our heads, so one more won’t matter.”
She turned to the Tailor.
“What’s the price?”
Chapter Five
Yuri slid into the seat opposite Vlad, setting his tray down and pulling a small tablet from his waistband.
“What’s that?” Vlad asked.
“A new way for the pigs to take money from us,” Yuri said. “You can rent one of these things and send an email or watch movies. Costs more than blow though.”
“Porn?”
Yuri shook his head sadly.
“Only big-budget stuff and even those have all the good bits edited out.”
“Why’d you get it then?”
“Beats just staring at a wall,” Yuri said with a shrug. “And lets me talk to the boss.”
“He’s been here, what, two months?” Vlad said. “I can imagine he’s getting annoyed with the warm weather.”
Yuri nodded.
“How long did he say he was staying?”
“Until he’d taken care of the loose end,” Vlad said. He shoveled a fork full of mashed potatoes into his mouth. He chewed carefully and swallowed.
“The important thing,” he continued, “is that he sees us as an asset. Fortunately, I think we’ve already found one new recruit.”
He waved his fork at Gil, seated three tables over.
“You really think he can come through?”
“Don’t know,” Vlad said. “He talks a big game when it’s just the two of us.”
“If he doesn’t, and we’ve pitched him to the boss, we could have issues.”
“I’ve already got issues,” Vlad said. “I’m willing to take a gamble. What’s the worst that happens now?”
“I have to eliminate you,” Yuri said.
“You can try,” Vlad said, though they both knew that if the boss actually ordered his death, it would only be a matter of time.
“Gilly,” Vlad called out.
The other man looked up from his book in annoyance.
Vlad motioned to the seat next to Yuri.
Gil sighed but loaded his silverware on his tray and stood.
“Already trained like a good little bitch,” Yuri said in Russian.
“Even old dogs can have sharp teeth,” Vlad warned.
Gil set his tray on the metal table and slid into the seat.
“What?”
“Tell Yuri what you told me last night,” Vlad said.
“You know what I told you,” Gil said. “Why’d you want me to get up?”
“I’m not as good with the technical details,” Vlad said. “You explain it so much better.”
Gil regarded Vlad warily, unsure if he was being mocked.
“Go on, they’re about to send us back to our cells.”
“Before I surrendered myself last week, I did a bit of recon. I was able to get into the prison network and got about half the prison staff’s credentials.”
“How?” Yuri said suspiciously.
“Sent a couple emails.”
“Bullshit,” Yuri said.
“Wait for it,” Vlad said. “This is where it gets good.”
“It’s called spear phishing,” Gil explained. “I created some really authentic looking emails and spoofed the Department of Corrections email addresses, so when they got my email, they thought it was an internal communication telling them to reset their passwords. Then I just directed them to a website and collected their credentials.”
“No one is that stupid,” Yuri said.
“Or maybe I’m just that good,” Gil said.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“What else did you get?” Vlad prodded.
Gil glared at Yuri a second longer.
“The prison emergency procedure manual,” he said. “Which details what they will do in the event of everything from an earthquake to a power outage.”
“How useful,” Yuri said. “You wouldn’t happen to be able to cause an earthquake, would you?”
“Yuri,” Vlad said, his tone sharp, “if we know how our enemies will react, that is very useful.”
“And especially when you pair that with access to their systems,” Gil said. A smile started to creep across his face. He held up his own tablet. “And since they gave us these babies, I have a way in.”
“So you can send an email. Who cares?”
“Because a few keywords to the right email address will trigger a s
cript that sends me all my tools to jailbreak this tablet,” Gil said. “And when that happens, I get all my toys back.”
“Gil is going to give us a playbook for how to get out of here,” Vlad said. “But we need to get him close enough to the guard’s wireless network to connect. And the only place to do that is in the commissary. Do we have anyone working there?”
This time Yuri smiled.
“I’ve got two men, but I can get one sent to the infirmary so Gil can take his place temporarily.”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Gil said quickly.
“They’ll be fine,” Yuri said. “When do you want to do it?”
Gil frowned at Yuri but then shook his head.
“Maybe a week,” he said. “I don’t have any more computer time until Friday.”
“We’ll be ready,” Vlad said. “This time next week, I want to be out of here. I’ve got a few debts to settle.”
Chapter Six
“I liked it better when you two were at each other’s throats,” Bonnie said.
“That’s just because we’re right,” Rogue said with a smile.
“I’m always right,” Clyde said, looking at Rogue. “You’re just now realizing it.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes.
The three stood and walked under the red-and-black balloon archway to the bounty board.
The wanted posters were still tacked up on the bulletin board with strips torn from their bottoms.
Bonnie waved a hand over the board, and the flyers started rearranging themselves, with the highest bounties at the top. The Volkags were still the highest paying offer in most cases, so she started looking at the ones that weren’t sponsored by the Russians.
Most were similar to what they’d seen the first time. Locations for snitches, card dumps, and the odd bit of intellectual property from high powered corporations.
And several of the targets Vlad had wanted her to hit were back on the board. Her lip quirked up as she saw those.
“Hale . . .” Rogue’s voice was strained.
Bonnie turned to see what she was looking at, and her heart stopped.
She’d expected her own picture to appear on the board at some point. After all, the Volkags didn’t like loose ends, and she was a bit flattered by the price tag they’d put on her head.