System Corruption

“You’ve got my home and cell numbers?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t take too long coming up with your master plan.”

“I won’t.”

Carella completed the call. He stood with the phone in his hand, wondering whether to call his girlfriend. In the end he decided against it. Ryan’s news about the way Francis Nelson had died rang warning bells. If Francis had been murdered to silence him, OTG would employ the same strategy if they discovered what he had walked off with. The very thought terrified him. He admitted that outright. Frank Carella was no hero. Just a man who had unwittingly been presented with information he could not, in all conscience, ignore. The accidental discovery of the hidden files on the OTG computer system had most likely made him a marked man.

4

Jacob Ordstrom’s office covered enough floor space to house an average family. Ordstrom was ultrawealthy and liked to surround himself with the full set of trappings. A tall and classically handsome man in his mid-forties, his thick dark hair starting to streak with gray, Ordstrom considered himself to be above ordinary people, indispensible and existing on a higher plane. That he was disliked by most of the people around him was common knowledge to Ordstrom, but his wealth and position afforded him the ability to stand above the criticism. He walked in hallowed circles, being on first-name terms with leaders in the government and military. Ordstrom played on his popularity, used his imperial clout to gain favors and was never behind the door when it came to exploiting his influence.

OTG ranked high when it came to assessing companies who supplied the U.S. military. The products offered by OTG were sought after by the procurement arms of the military. And often there were inducements that went from hand to hand. Inducements went in both directions. Ordstrom had his own mouths to feed. He was, by nature, a highly competitive animal. He would, and did, deal with anyone, foreign or national, who came up with the finances. The word scruples did not exist in Ordstrom’s world. He went after business opportunities with single-minded dedication. He had no equals when it came to the chase. Ordstrom had an innate capacity for seeing problems and dealing with them before they were fully formed.

Dealing with them. Crushing them. Whatever was necessary.

When Arnold Hoekken walked into his office, crossing to confront his employer, Ordstrom smelled potential trouble. He recognized the look in Hoekken’s eyes. The South African security specialist was not known for his sense of humor, or his laid-back attitude. He was a consummate professional and he took his responsibilities seriously.

“Arnie,” Ordstrom said—he was the only person Hoekken allowed to use the abbreviated name—as the six-foot-six blond-haired figure neared him. “Arnie, you’re giving me that ‘I’m pissed about something’ look.”

Hoekken towered over the desk, and glanced briefly beyond Ordstrom, taking in the wide view of the facility from the large picture window dominating that wall of the office.

“I need your permission to act immediately on a security breach. If we don’t come down on this fast we are all going to be in serious trouble.”

“Well, it must be serious if you’re asking my permission. Haven’t we established that as security head you work on your own initiative?”

“This goes beyond my purview.”

The hard edge to Hoekken’s voice alerted Ordstrom to the gravity of the matter. He pushed forward from the comfort of his soft leather executive chair.

“Christ, Arnie, now you are worrying me.”

“Frank Carella was working at the hub. There was a minor spike in the power and the computer initiated a safe mode to grab his input. When Carella went back into his file it had imported the entire ASP22 document.”

Ordstrom didn’t react. He simply stared across the desk at his security head. Hoekken waited until his chief spoke.

“That’s impossible. The file was deleted after Clarence adjusted the format.”

“It should have been deleted, but it wasn’t. Now Carella has seen it. The security cameras showed him working at the computer. The access log shows what he was looking at and also that he made copies. He was clear of the building before his intrusion was spotted. We need to find him before he gets religion and uses that information to bury us.”

Ordstrom slammed his fist down on the desk. “The last thing we need is negative publicity with the oversight conference coming up in the next couple of weeks.”

“Agreed,” Hoekken said. “We need to clean this up now.”

“Reading my mind again, Arnie?” Ordstrom grimaced as streams of thought crowded his mind. “That fucking computer. You know what we did wrong? We let the suppliers make that damned thing too smart. It should have completely erased all traces of ASP22. Instead it puts the file in a dark corner and sits on it. I’ll sue that company for every penny it’s got.”

“We can do that later,” Hoekken said, dismissing the notion and moving on. “Right now Carella has that file. He’s out there running free. We have to corner that little shit and stamp him into the ground.”

“You came in here asking for permission to go after Carella. Okay, you have it, Arnie. Find him. Do whatever it takes but make sure he doesn’t get the chance to get righteous on us.”

“Whatever it takes?”

Ordstrom nodded. “Wipe out his family if you have to. As long as it doesn’t point the finger back at us. Use whoever you need. Hire whoever you need. Any problem there?”

“No. I have my contacts.”

“Open checkbook on this, Arnie. Use the special fund. Christ, if this goes public it won’t just be us going down.”

Hoekken understood.

The suppression of ASP22 was crucial. Ordstrom knew the project encompassed both government and military individuals. Money, favors and promises of continuous cooperation with OTG had brought in more members of the illicit maneuvering. Any disturbance would quickly expand to bring down the entire house of cards. He did have protection from high levels, but any hint of scandal that might taint them would be frowned on.

Jacob Ordstrom, who had started his monolithic empire in a tin shed, meant to remain in his current position. There was too much to lose. He had used violence and double-dealing during his rise to power. It would lose him no sleep to have to use them again.

“Do you think Carella will turn the file in?” he asked his security man.

“No doubt there, sir. Carella is a decent man. That won’t allow him to ignore what he’s found. It’s why he made those copies.”

“Maybe he’s going to blackmail us. Ask for money.”

Hoekken shook his head. “Not Carella. Not his style.”

“Fuck his style, Arnie. Make his new one dead . Get it done.”

Before Hoekken had reached the door Ordstrom was reaching for his private phone. He had to make some calls. The sooner he alerted certain people, steps could be taken to keep the situation under wraps.

He heard the phone ringing, heard the soft sound as it was picked up. Ordstrom swiveled his chair around so he could stare out through the window.

“Morning, Clarence,” he said. “We need to meet. Right away. Fine, I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

I N HIS OWN OFFICE , down the hall from Ordstrom’s, Arnold Hoekken was making calls of his own. He had contacts who were on retainer. Now was the time they could start to earn that money. Hoekken’s calls were to disposable, unregistered cell phones presented to the contacts against the day their services would be required.

Like now .

He finished his calls and received one of his own. Ordstrom summoned him back to his office.

“C OME ON IN , A RNIE ,” Ordstrom said.

Hoekken stepped inside and closed the door. He acknowledged the pudgy-faced man sitting in front of Ordstrom’s desk.

“Clarence is the reason for the problem we have. He was supposed to delete ASP22. It was one of your assignments, Clarence, but you made a mess of it and now we are in trouble.”

“Why?” Clarence Mitchelberg asked.

“Why?” Ordstrom smiled at the other’s naiveté. “Because if the data falls into the wrong hands and we find ourselves being investigated they might uncover our other activities. Like the backdoor arms sales to unfriendly regimes. The financial deals we’ve handed out to foreign undesirables. Oh, let’s not forget the money laundering operations we run through OTG’s books for our foreign customers. All extremely lucrative and all of them fucking illegal. As well you know. Plus the manufacture of below-specification protective plating.”

“It won’t happen, Jacob,” Mitchelberg said. “This can be smoothed over to protect you.”