The grin left the vagrant's face, and his lips twitched. “You think I am stupid? You call me old man, and yet you talk as though I know nothing? You are a blathering idiot!”
Kent stepped back, surprised by the sudden show of anger. “Relax, man. I don't remember calling you a fool.”
“Might as well have, you imbecile!”
“Look, I really didn't mean to offend you. I'm no better off than you, anyway. There's no need to be offended here.”
“And if you think you're no better off than me, then you're really a fool. Furthermore, the fact that you're not yet even thinking of doing what I would do in your place proves you are a moronic idiot!”
Kent furrowed his brows, taken aback by the vagrant's audacity.
“Look. I don't know what you think you would do, but people like me just don't make that kind of money.”
“People
like
you? Or
you?
How much have
you
made?”
“Well that's really none of your . . .”
“Just tell me, you fool,” the man said. “How much money have you rightfully made in that cement box over there?”
“How much . . . rightfully?”
“Of course. How much?”
Kent paused, thinking about that word.
Rightfully.
Rightfully he had made the bonuses due from AFPS. Millions. But that hardly counted as income. And it was certainly no business of this weirdo, anyway.
A sly grin lifted the vagrant's lips. He tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “Come on, Kent. It's really not that difficult, is it?”
Kent blinked at the man. “How do you know my name?”
“Oh, I know things. I've been around, like I said. I'm not the fool you might think. I say you've made millions, boy. And I say you take your millions.”
“Millions? It's not like I can just waltz into the vault and take a few million.”
“No. But you have a key, now, don't you?”
“A key? Don't be stupid, man. A key to this door has nothing to do with the vault. Besides, you obviously know nothing about security. You don't just walk into a bank and steal a penny, much less a million.”
“Stop calling me stupid, you spineless idiot! Stop it, stop it, stop it!”
Kent's heart slammed in his chest.
The vagrant barely moved now. He glared at Kent, and his voice growled low. “Not that key, you fool. The key in your head. The backdoor to that software. You have the only backdoor code. They don't even know it exists.”
The alley grew still. Deadly still. It occurred to Kent that he had stopped breathing.
“I won't tell. I promise,” the man said through his grin. He opened his mouth wide and began to cackle. The sound of his laughter bounced off the tall brick walls.
Kent jumped back, stunned.
That mouth widened, showing a black hole at the back of the vagrant's throat. His tongue snaked like a long road leading into the darkness. It grew like a vortex and swallowed the alley in echoing chuckles.
Kent bolted upright.
Silence crashed in on him. Darkness met his wide eyes. Wet sheets stuck to his stomach. His chest thumped like an Indian war drum.
He sat in bed, wide awake, paralyzed by the thought that had awakened him so rudely. The images of the vagrant quickly dwindled to oblivion, overshadowed by the singular concept he'd dropped in Kent's mind. Not a soul had known of the backdoor he'd programmed into AFPS that last week. He'd meant to tell Borst in Miami, complete documentation on it as soon as they returned. That was before.
ROOSTER.
That was the code he'd temporarily assigned to the security entry. With it, any authorized banking official could enter the system through an untraceable handle, tackle any security issue, and leave without affecting normal operations. Of course, not just any banking official would be authorized. Only one or two, perhaps. The president and vice president, who would have to guard the code in the strictest confidence. Under lock and key.
Kent swung his legs from the bed and stared into darkness. Outlines of the room's furniture began to take vague shape. The realization of ROOSTER's significance ballooned in his mind like a mushroom cloud. If the bank had not discovered the backdoor, then it would still be open to anyone with the code.
And he had the code. The vagrant's key.
ROOSTER.
What could an operator accomplish with ROOSTER? Anything. Anything at all with the right skills. Software engineering skills. The kind of skills that he himself possessed with perhaps greater mastery than anyone he knew. Certainly within the context of AFPS. He'd
written
the code, for heaven's sake!
Kent pushed himself from the bed, quaking. He glanced at the clock: 2 A.M. The bank would be deserted, of course. He had to know if they'd found ROOS-TER during the program's initial implementation. Knowing Borst, they had not.
He went for the closet and stopped at the door. What was he thinking? He couldn't go down there now. The alarm company would have a record of his entry at two in the morning. How would that look? No. Out of the question.
Kent turned for the bathroom. He had to think this through.
Slow down, boy.
Halfway to the bathroom he spun back to the bedroom. He didn't need to use the bathroom.
Get a grip, man.
On the bed again he began to think clearly for the first time. The fact of the matter was that if they had overlooked ROOSTER, he could enter AFPS and create a link with any bank on the federal reserve system. Of course, what he could do once he was there was another matter altogether.
He couldn't very well take anything. For starters, it was a federal crime. People grew old in prison for white-collar crime. And he was no criminal. Not to mention the simple fact that banks did not just let money walk without tracing it. Each dollar was accounted for. Accounts were balanced, transactions verified.
Kent crossed his legs on the bed and hugged a pillow. On the other hand, in implementing AFPS prematurely, without his help, Borst not only had inadvertently opened his flank but he had left the barn door open on a billion accounts throughout the world. Kent felt a chill run through his veins. Niponbank's accounts alone numbered nearly one hundred million worldwide. Personal accounts, business accounts, federal accountsâand they were all there, accessible through ROOSTER.
He could waltz right into Borst's personal account if he so desired. Leave nasty messages on his bank statements. Scare the fool right into the arms of God. Ha! Kent smiled. A thin sheen of sweat covered his upper lip, and he drew an arm over his mouth.
He imagined Bentley's eyes when he opened a statement and, instead of that hundred-thousand-dollar bonus, found a notice of an overdraft. He would stiffen like a board. Maybe go purple and keel over dead.
Kent blinked and shook the thoughts from his head. Absurd. The whole notion was absurd.
Then again, everything in his life had become absurd. He had lost his resolve to live. Why not go for a piece of glory, pull off the crime of the century, steal a wad from the bank that had screwed him? It might give him a reason to live again. He'd lost a lot in the recent past. Taking a little back had a ring of justice.
Of course, doing it without getting caught would be nearly impossible.
Nearly
impossible. But it
could
be doneâgiven enough planning.
Imagine!
Kent did that. He imagined. Till dawn brought shape and color to his surroundings he imagined, wide eyed, with his legs bunched and a pillow under his chin. Sleep was out of the question. Because the more he thought about it, the more he realized that if ROOSTER still lived, he could be a wealthy man. Filthy rich. Start a new life. Make some of his own justice. Risk life in prison, to be sure, but life nonetheless. The alternative of plodding along the corporate trail again struck him more like a slow death. And he'd had enough of death.
It was Wednesday. Today he would go to the bank and casually find out if the ROOSTER still lived. If it did . . .
A chill ran right through Kent's bones. It was indeed time to move on. And what of Helen's little guilt trip? This God business? It would have to wait, of course. If the mighty red ROOSTER lived, he had himself a banquet to plan.
KENT DROVE past the bank at eight-thirty, parked on a side street, and walked briskly toward the back alley. It occurred to him that the vagrant might be there, hiding in the dim light. The thought spiked his pulse. He pulled up at the entrance and peered around the brick wall, blinking against an image of a long pink tongue poking through the neck of a bottle. But the alley appeared empty except for that dumpster, which had been emptied. Kent made straight for the rear door and slipped into the bank. He breathed once deeply, checked his tie, and strode for the Information Systems suite.
Betty's eyes popped when he opened the door and stepped in. He smiled and dipped his head, purposefully courteous. “Morning, Betty.”
Her mouth opened, but no sound come out.
“What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Borst in?”
She nodded. “Good morning. Yes.”
“Good morning,” he repeated and walked for Borst's office.
He tapped on the door and stepped in at the sound of a muffled call. Borst sat behind his desk, all dressed up in a new dark brown suit. The toupee had made a comeback, covering his bald spot with slick black hair. Jet black. Bright red suspenders rounded out the look.
Borst's eyes bulged out, and he bolted from his seat as though an electrode had juiced him there. The suspenders pulled his slacks snug into his crotch when he straightened. He looked like a clown.
“Good morning, Borst.” This would have to go smoothly. Easy now. Step by step. “I'm back. I assume that I do still work here, right?”
The man blinked and licked pink lips. “Good night, Kent! You scared me. I had no idea you planned on coming in this morning. We didn't hear from you.” His lips twitched to a grin. “Yes. Sure you still work here. Have a seat. How are you?”
“Actually, I'd like ten minutes to get situated. That okay?”
“Sure. I leave for Phoenix at noon.” The man's eyebrows lifted. “You here to stay, then?”
Kent turned from the door. “Give me a few minutes. We'll talk then.” He pulled the door closed and saw that Borst was already reaching for the phone. Reporting in to Bossman, no doubt. Kent's heart pounded.
Did they know?
Of course not. How could they know of a dream? He had done nothing yet.
Kent nodded at an oogle-eyed Betty and slid into his office. He locked the door. The exotic yellow fish still grazed placidly on his screen. His fingers trembled badly when he lowered them to the keyboard, and he squeezed them into fists.
Okay, settle down, man. All you're doing is checking on a piece of your own code. Nothing wrong with that.
The plan was simple. If ROOSTER remained intact, he would go in there and suck up to Borst. Buy himself some time to think this out. If they had closed ROOSTER down, he would resign.
A touch on the mouse made the fish wink off. A dozen icons hung suspended against a deep blue underwater oceanscape. Kent drew the mouse over the red-and-blue AFPS icon to an explorer icon. Entry into the system would be trackedâat least any entry through the doors of which they were aware. And if he was lucky they had not expanded their security measures to cut off his terminal completely.
His heart thumping loudly in the room's silence, Kent flew through the menus to a hidden folder requiring his own password for entry. He punched it in. The contents sprang to life. He scrolled down and scanned for the file in which he'd placed ROOSTER. The list ran by too quickly, and he repeated the scan, reading more methodically.
Come on, baby. You have to be here.
And then it
was
there, throbbing in his vision: MISC. He dragged the mouse over the name and double-clicked.
The screen snapped to black. Kent caught his breath, aware that his legs trembled slightly now. He was on his toes under the desk, and he lowered his heels to settle the quaking.
Come on, baby.
The monitor flashed white, riddled with black letters and symbols. Code. Kent exhaled loudly. ROOSTER's code! A living, viable, untraceable hook into the funds processing system, right here at his fingertips.
He stared at it without moving for a minute, awash with relief that he'd had the foresight to add this final whistle to the package. It wasn't pretty. No colors or boxes yet. Just raw code. But now another question: Would it still link to the system? Kent suddenly felt the heat of panic wash down his back. What if they had found it and left the code but removed its hook into the system?
He hit a key and entered a single word: RUN. A new line immediately appeared, asking for a password. He entered the name. R-O-O-S-T-E-R.
The screen darkened for a second and then popped up with the familiar blue menu he'd worked from for so many years. Kent blinked at the screen. He was in AFPS! Beyond security. From here he could do what he wished without the knowledge of another living soul.
In the right hands, it was a security measure in itself, designed to deal with sabotage and viruses. In the wrong hands it was a way into the bank's vaults. Or worse, a way into every account tied to the bank.
Kent backed out quickly, handling the mouse with a sweating palm. He watched the menus retrace their steps to the deep blue ocean scene, then he lowered his hands to his lap. Even now, short of dusting for prints, Borst could not discover that anyone had even touched this computer, much less peeked up the bank's skirt.
He breathed deeply and stood. It was insane. These crazy thoughts of stealing money would be the end of him. Preposterous. They would bury him. He thought suddenly of Spencer and lifted a hand to his brow. It was all madness.
Either way, he now had his answer.
A fist pounded on the door, and Kent bolted a full foot off the carpet. He spun to the computer and scanned the keyboard. No, there was no trace. Relax.
Relax, relax!