Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 04 - A Deadly Change of Power (9 page)

“Veronica Oakhurst?” Hollers asked, looking directly at Ronnie seated at the table.

“Yes?” she meekly replied, confused.

“Please stand up,” Hollers demanded.  “You’re under arrest for the production of methamphetamine at your residence in Ramona.”

Jake gaped at the scene.  “Methamphetamine?  That’s ridiculous,” he stated, emphatically.

I handed Craig the warrant and headed for the phone in the kitchen.  I dialed Sam’s number and counted the rings.  He picked up on the third one.

“Sam.  It’s Devonie.  What’s the big idea?” I blurted into the phone.

“Hello to you, too,” he replied.  “How nice to hear your friendly voice.”

“Never mind the nice-nice act.  What the heck do you think you’re doing, arresting Ronnie?” I demanded.

“What?”

I glanced around the corner to see what was going on in the dining room.  Ronnie was being searched for weapons.

“You know what I mean.  There are two policemen in my house at this very moment, frisking Ronnie and getting ready to haul her away,” I hissed.

“Who?  I didn’t order it,” he insisted.

“Pianalto and Hollers,” I said.

“Pian…who?  I never heard of them.  What precinct?”

“You don’t know them?”

“No.  You check their IDs?”

I stepped around the corner into the dining room.  Pianalto had Ronnie by the arm and was leading her toward the front door.  Hollers removed a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and was ready to place them on Ronnie’s wrists.  “Stop,” I said.  “Check their IDs,” I told Craig.

Hollers gave his partner an irritated look.  The muscles in his neck tensed.  I noticed a lightning-bolt shaped scar under his right ear
—
probably a work-related injury.  I could tell Pianalto didn’t want to turn loose his prisoner to remove the identification from his pocket, but he complied.  He motioned for Hollers to show his.  Hollers pulled a leather wallet from his pocket and flipped it open for Craig to inspect.  Jake peered over his shoulder to get a look at the badges.

“What precinct?” I asked.

Craig studied the ID, then looked up at me.  “Ninety-eighth?” he said, his voice unsure.

“Ninety-eighth precinct,” I repeated into the phone.

Pianalto pushed Ronnie toward the door, in a hurry to get her outside.

“Ninety-eighth?  Stop them.  It’s bogus,” Sam blurted into my ear.

I ran toward the front door.  “Stop!  They’re not for real!  Don’t let them take her!” I yelled as Pianalto and Hollers began dragging Ronnie at a full run toward their car.  Craig and Jake sprinted after them.

I watched in horror as Hollers let go of Ronnie’s arm and pulled out the gun holstered under his arm.  He aimed it directly at Craig’s head.

“No!” I screamed.

Craig stood, motionless.  Jake didn’t make a move.  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion from that moment on.

Ronnie, still in Pianalto’s grip, let out a high-pitched scream and kicked her foot up well above her waist, hitting Hollers in the wrist and knocking the gun from his hand.  Before he could recover, she kicked him again, square in the middle of his chest, the blow throwing him backwards a good ten feet before he landed hard on the ground.  She’d managed to free one hand and reached back toward Pianalto’s right ear.  The next thing I knew, Pianalto was flying over her shoulder and landed flat on his back.  She placed her foot across his throat and grabbed for the gun in his holster.  The gun was strapped into the holster so she couldn’t get it out.  She jerked on it, but her awkward position wouldn’t let it come free.  By this time, Hollers was up and heading for his gun.  Jake saw his intentions and dove for the gun, reaching it seconds before Hollers could get his hands on it.  Jake aimed the gun at Hollers.  Hollers put his hands up in a gesture of surrender, then backed toward the car.  He opened the driver-side door and slid in.  Pianalto knew his partner was abandoning him when he heard the engine start.  He shoved Ronnie off balance so her foot came free of his throat.  He jumped to his feet and lunged for the back door of the car as it sped away.  He managed to get the door open and let it drag him a few feet before he was able to jump into the back seat and escape with his partner.

Jake rushed to Ronnie’s side and put his arms around her.  “Are you okay?”

She buried her face in his chest and started sobbing.

I leaped over a row of young azaleas and put a hand on Craig’s arm.  “How about you?  Are you
all right
?”

Craig just gawked and pointed at Ronnie.  Finally, he found his voice.  “She’s my hero.  Did you see that?  She took those guys out like they were a couple of Raggedy Andy dolls,” he marveled.

I smiled.  “I know.  I think she may have saved your life.”

“I think you’re right.”

Jake walked Ronnie back into the house.  Craig and I followed.

Ronnie stopped and took hold of Jake’s arm, turning him to face her.  “Are you still sure it’s some misguided lunatic?”

Jake’s face was troubled.

“The question is, how did they find you here?” I said. 

Jake’s shoulders slumped.  He slowly walked toward a chair in the living room and collapsed into it.  We followed him, curious about his sudden depression.

“What is it, Jake?” Ronnie asked.

“I’m afraid they found you because they followed me here,” he said.

“Followed you?” Craig said.

Jake nodded.  “It didn’t hit me until Devonie told us they were imposters.  The one called Hollers looked familiar to me, but I figured he was just someone who looked like someone.  You know?  But it’s not that.  I’ve seen him before.  I can’t remember where, but I know it’s him.”

Ronnie kneeled on the floor next to Jake.  He put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Ronnie.  I led them right to you.  It’s all my fault.”

S
am took a description of the two men who posed as police officers, and also the car they used.

Jake sat close to Ronnie on the sofa and held her hand while we all told Sam our own versions of what took place with the imposters.

“Any word about her brother?” Sam asked.

“Not yet.  Rick and Gary said they’d call us once they got there, but we haven’t heard anything yet,” I told him.

Sam scratched his head.  “Hmmm.  Should’ve been there by now.  Maybe they had phone trouble.”

“Maybe,” I replied, unconvinced.

“She’s probably not safe here, you know,” Sam reminded me.

“I know.”

He closed his notebook and stuffed it into his pocket.  “Want me to see if we can put her up somewhere?  A motel maybe?”

I stared ou
t the window toward the dock and
shook my head.  “No.  I think we’ve got things covered.”

Sam followed my line of sight and gazed at the
Plan C
, tied to the private dock we share with my Uncle Doug, who lives next door.  He nodded with understanding.  ”You be careful.  These guys are serious.”

Craig stood up to walk Sam to the door.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t let anything happen to them.”

Sam gave him a doubtful glance and then let himself out. 

Craig closed the door and turned to face us.  “Okay people.  Let’s get busy,” he said, rubbing his hands together like a magician preparing to pull a rabbit out of a hat.

My first assigned task was to secure a suitable sitter for the puppy.  I loaded his dog crate and a forty-pound bag of Puppy Chow in a wagon.  Then, I heaved the puppy over my shoulder, grabbed the handle of the wagon, and headed for Uncle Doug’s house.  I rang the bell and put on my biggest smile.

“Hi, Uncle Doug,” I said, shifting the puppy to my other shoulder.

“Well, hello there.  Who’s this?” he asked, reaching out to pat the puppy’s head.

“This is
—
puppy.  He hasn’t got a name yet.  Craig gave him to me for our six-month anniversary.”

Uncle Doug gave him one more pat, then peered around me at the wagonload of Puppy Chow I’d tried, unsuccessfully, to hide behind a shrub.  “Are you taking him on a trip?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“No,” I said, lifting the heavy puppy a little higher on my shoulder.

“Can I ask why you
—
”

“I need a favor, Uncle Doug.  It’s sort of an emergency.”

Uncle Doug reluctantly agreed to puppy-sit for me only after Aunt Arlene came to my rescue and insisted.  She has a soft spot for animals and there was no way she would allow that sweet
little
creature to be locked up in a boarding kennel.

Craig, Jake, and Ronnie loaded the
Plan C
with food and supplies while I took care of puppy business.  The sixty-foot sailing yacht
has four double cabins, each with their own private heads.  She also has a fully equipped galley, and every piece of navigation equipment imaginable.  Craig and I have become a pretty good team at sailing her.

I double-checked the supplies and made sure we had plenty of fuel.  I also checked the dinghy’s fuel level.  Our dinghy for this trip would be Craig’s nineteen-foot Sea Ray.  I checked that the towline was secure.  Everything seemed in good working order
—
the generator, the navigation equipment, and the radios.

We made one last trip from the house to the boat.  Craig stopped to set the alarm and lock the door behind us.  He’d changed into a pair of green shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a straw hat he bought when we were in the Caribbean last year.  The colorful hat had a woven basket on each side, designed to hold two drinks.  The face of a rat decorated the front of the hat, complete with a cone-shaped nose jutting out over the brim.  A rat-tail hung off the back.  It’s so
hideous,
I laugh every time I look at it.  He turned around and caught me standing there, admiring his Sunday-sailor outfit.  He grinned and winked at me.  “Bet you wish you could achieve this same suave, sophisticated look,” he boasted.

I smiled and patted him on the behind as he walked past me.  “Honey, there’s no way I c
ould ever look as good as you
in that hat.”

We set sail for San Diego and dropped anchor a mile off shore, not far from the marina where I used to live on the
Plan C
before Craig and I were married.

Craig pulled chef duty the first night, which meant he cooked dinner with the help of Jake.  Ronnie and I cleaned up afterwards.

The next morning, while Craig got ready for work, I instructed Ronnie and Jake on the use of the radio equipment, in case they needed help.  Craig left his cell phone with them, and I kept mine with me.  I gave them all the necessary phone numbers to call in case of any emergency.

I grabbed my laptop computer and followed Craig onto the Sea Ray.  “We’ll be back this afternoon,” I called to Ronnie and Jake as Craig started the motor and we sped away.  Ronnie stood on the deck of the
Plan C
and waved goodbye, like a child watching her balloon fly away, never to return.

Mr. Cartwright, my neighbor when I lived at the marina, let us tie the Sea Ray up in his slip.  He even offered to drive Craig to the hospital, but Craig had made arrangements to have one of the other doctors pick him up.

I took him up on his offer for a ride, though.  I had planned to call a taxi, but Mr. Cartwright insisted.  He dropped me off at the Lace Marina, where Uncle Doug owns a yacht brokerage.

Uncle Doug glanced at me over his reading glasses as I walked into his office.

“Good morning,” I said.

“If you say so,” he replied.

I gave him a closer inspection.  He had heavy bags under both eyes, which were a little bloodshot.  “What’s wrong?  You look like you just pulled an all-nighter.”

“What’s wrong?  Let me tell you what’s wrong.  Arlene woke me up every hour on the hour last night to take
your
puppy outside.  He had one accident in the house, and let me tell you, I’ve seen smaller
mistakes
made by elephants.”

I cringed as he described his evening to me.  I felt terrible.  “I’m sorry, Uncle Doug.  Why didn’t you put him in his crate at bedtime like I told you?” I asked.

“Arlene wouldn’t let me.  I’m lucky she didn’t have him in bed with us.”

“Well, tonight put him in his crate.  He’s used to that.  He won’t give you any problem.”

“No, but Arlene will.”

“Tell her he likes his crate.  It’s like his crib.  He has toys in there.  And I’ll pay to have your carpets cleaned.  I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.  How’d you do last night?  Any trouble?”

“No.  Smooth sailing.”  I set my laptop case on the corner of his desk.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“My laptop.  Can I borrow your DSL line?”

“You need to get on the Internet?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you use my PC?  It’s all setup,” he offered.

“I have some special software loaded on mine.”

He frowned.  “Special software?”

I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions.  My conscience wouldn’t let me keep silent.  “I need to get some information from…well, you probably don’t want to know.  I’m not going to hurt anyone.  I just want to take a look at some records,” I explained.

“You’re going to be hacking on my DSL line?”

“Only if you say yes.  If you prefer, I can go back home and use our old-fashioned phone line.  It’ll only take me about a week to download what I need.”

He shook his head.  “No.  No.  Go ahead.  If someone asks, I’ll just claim ignorance.”

“Thanks, Uncle Doug.  You’re a lifesaver.”

I’d called Spencer, my computer-hacker friend, last night to see if he had any advice on how I could get the information I was after.  I’m convinced Spencer can hack into any computer on earth, given enough time.  He e-mailed me a Trojan horse program
he’d written.  He was so proud,
you’d think he’d just written an Oscar-winning screenplay.  I scrolled through the code and shook my head.  Spencer is a genius, but he’s a sloppy programmer.  He strings lines of code out for miles and doesn’t line anything up for easy reading.  Once, I made a passing comment about his sloppiness, and you’d have thought I called his baby ugly.

Uncle Doug watched with guarded curiosity as I logged into the Internet and began navigating to the web sites of most of the major oil companies.  I looked for links to contact names, or better yet, e-mail addresses of employees within the companies.

“What are you doing now?” he asked.

“I’m compiling a list of e-mail addresses.  As many as I can.”

“Why?”

I continued clicking on the links, writing down names.  “I’m going to send them a message.”

“A message?” he asked, confused.

“Yes.  And attached to the message will be a special program.  A Trojan horse.  I’ll disguise it as something else, so they won’t be afraid of it.”

“Disguise it?” he continued, taking a seat next to me.

“Yes.  I’ll make it look like a harmless text file.  Maybe some warning not to lick envelopes, or sit in movie theater seats, or talk to strangers in shopping-mall parking lots.  Doesn’t matter.  I just need them to open it.”

“What happens once they open it?” he asked.

“The Trojan horse will install itself on their computer.  It’ll give me backdoor access to their system.  I’ll hunt around for the files I need, download what I want, then remove the Trojan so they’ll never even know they’ve been hacked.”

“Won’t a virus checker stop it?” Uncle Doug asked, looking more concerned than ever.

“Not this one.  It’s a scrap file.  Most virus checkers don’t scan for these,” I explained.

I finished compiling my list of e-mail addresses and began my fishing expedition
—
casting out the message and hoping a good percentage of the recipients would take the bait by double-clicking on the file attachment.  I used the name of the United States Surgeon General as the sender, and the subject line read: Urgent warning about health risks and exposure to petroleum products.

Employees from four of the major companies were curious enough to at least open the file attachment I sent.  I was able to gain access to General Oil, Chevport, Extan, and Shoal.  Once in their system
s
, I simply had to locate the accounts payable and payroll tables.  Since all the companies I’d targeted used one of three major software packages available for large process manufacturing plants, locating the tables was not difficult.  The table names were intuitive, to make system maintenance manageable.  I copied the vendor master tables, accounts payable history tables, employee tables and payroll history tables to my laptop. 

The whole process took most of the day.  I checked my watch as I packed up my laptop.  “I better hurry.  Craig will be waiting for me at the marina.”

“I’ll give you a lift.  I’m ready to close up shop here.  Just let me lock up,” Uncle Doug offered.

This time, it was Ronnie and Jake’s turn to fix dinner.  They’d spent the morning fishing, so their catch became our meal.  Craig stood by in the kitchen to help direct them to the utensils they’d need.

I got busy transferring the data I’d downloaded from the oil companies’ servers into my own database.  I converted the data from the various formats into common schemas so I could perform comparisons on each of the columns.

After dinner, Craig took Ronnie and Jake out on the deck to look at the stars.  I went back to work on my project.  I started by comparing the employee tables from all the companies.  I wanted to know if any of them shared a common employee
—
someone on the payroll to do their dirty work.  I compared names, addresses, birth dates, and social security numbers.  I found a few employees who’d worked for several of the oil companies over the years, but their employment dates didn’t overlap.  It looked like they left one company to work for another.  Not unusual, I thought.

Ronnie, Jake, and Craig came in from outside when their jackets were no longer able to fend off the chill.

“Any luck?” Ronnie asked as she plopped down in a chair next to me and gazed at the computer screen.

“Not yet,” I answered.  “But I still have to check the vendor and accounts payable tables.”

“What are you looking for?” Jake asked.

“A common denominator.  Something they all share,” I explained.

“How do you do that?” Ronnie asked.

I felt somehow proud that I actually knew something that Ronnie didn’t.  She was a genius in my eyes, and up until now, I felt rather dim in her presence.