into the system. When it came right down to it, computers knew only one language—the binary language of ones and zeroes—and it was a language Bogdan Lutrova had become extremely fluent in over the years. He wasn’t about to let this slip out of his hands.
Godunov’s plan had been simple enough, ingenious really—using the embezzled funds from the RBN’s biggest financiers against them. The monies and securities they had buried weren’t difficult to find; in fact, the money was right under everyone’s noses. It just wasn’t easily accessible. The RBN could have attempted blackmail or extraction by more conventional methods, but by doing it in this fashion they wouldn’t draw any attention to themselves.
It would still take some footwork on the part of Yuri and his mercenary team, but Lutrova had decided not to bother himself which such trivialities. His only concern, as his masters in Russia had instructed, was to get the information they needed so the funds could be moved. How the “contributors” dealt with their sudden change in fortune wasn’t anything he needed to concern himself with. His only task was to make sure the transfers took place when Yuri Godunov wanted them to.
In a way, Lutrova wondered why he was so worried. There wasn’t anything they could do to him without ruining their own plans. At this point in the game, the leaders of the RBN had invested a tremendous amount of resources into this operation. The payoff for Lutrova alone would be half a half-million dollars and a place of his own for the rest of his life. He’d picked an estate outside of Geneva for his retirement, a strange choice to many, but one he knew would suit him perfectly. Who would think to look for the RBN’s premier hacker there?
In spite of it all, Lutrova knew he was expendable. Everyone was expendable in the RBN; the organization thrived on self-reliance and survival. When they had something, they took it. When they needed to generate money, they beefed up their pornography sites and sexual slave trading. If they wanted to bring down some high-tech corporation, they would turn to their vast pool of talents, which comprised many like Lutrova, to destroy that company’s information systems infrastructure.
The slam of a door caused Lutrova to jump, breaking his concentration. Or had he been daydreaming? he wondered. His vision was blurry and his eyes itched. He turned in his seat to see Yuri Godunov enter, a newspaper under his arm and a briefcase in his hand. He would look like any other businessman on the crowded streets of New York City’s financial district, but beneath that facade was a heartless killer and taskmaster. Lutrova didn’t really like Godunov and never had; he always acted superior to anyone else. And in a way, Lutrova felt glad that he’d managed to keep his new relationship with the Americans from the man’s scrutiny.
Godunov stepped into the spacious quarters he’d set up. The place certainly was roomy, and Lutrova had to admit he couldn’t complain about his accommodations. He was well fed, and there were plenty of changes of clothes—all in his size and to his discerning tastes—with just about anything he wanted being little more than a request away. Godunov had set him up with an intercom where he could call on the house staff to fulfill every wish.
Of course, heavily armed guards patrolled the grounds day and night. A large wall of thick mortar ten feet high and topped with wrought-iron spires surrounded the estate. The grounds were fully wired, according to Godunov, with electronic motion and sonic monitoring by day and infrared by night. The place was a veritable fortress, and despite his elegant surroundings, Lutrova could not help but feel he was in more of a prison than an estate.
His mind screamed at him to open his mouth and confess his indiscretions, to beg for his life and promise never to be weak again. But his flesh could not bring himself to do it, and he simply looked at Godunov, with a masked expression he hoped would be unreadable.
“How are the operations coming?” Godunov asked as he set his props on a leather couch.
That was just like the bastard—only concerned with business. “The information is being downloaded as we speak. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours before we have everything we need.”
Godunov sat on the sofa, crossed his legs and withdrew a silver cigarette case and matching lighter from his suit coat pocket. He sighed as he chose a slender brown cigarette and lit it. Through a cloud of smoke he said, “You are certain we cannot do this remotely. We must be on-site?”
“There is no way to actually transfer the funds unless we are on-site and able to physically plug into a terminal. The program can only retrieve the information we need, such as the account numbers and balances. We must still be on-site to plug into a terminal, so that the actual transfers can take place. The bank computers will not permit movement of funds of this size without that confirmation. It’s part of the security features.”
“And the time we will have to be inside,” Godunov said. “It will not take more than five minutes?”
“I’ve already explained that three times to you, Yuri. Why do you keep asking me?”
“Because we are running a tremendous risk here,” Godunov said. “We have planned this down to the last detail, and we are relying on you to make good on the numbers you give us. Not to mention that we cannot be expected to hold our position any longer than that. As soon as the transfers start, federal authorities will be alerted and agents will be sent to the New York First Financial Bank immediately. If they catch us while we’re still inside, we will be required to fight our way out.”
“If you already have the money by then, what difference will it make?”
Godunov chuckled, inhaled smoke from his cigarette and shook his head. “Oh, my dear Bogdan, you really have no idea. It is not merely about having the money. Having it does our people little good if we aren’t there to make sure the wealth is distributed. Only you know the locations where the money is going and only you have access to them. If we are forced to do battle with the police, there is little chance that you will survive, since nobody will be able to protect you.”
“I will do my part, Yuri,” Lutrova said, “just as I’ve promised.”
“But of course you will. I never doubted that. Why are you acting so furtive, my friend? You have been as nervous as a cat since you arrived.”
“It is nothing,” Lutrova replied, his mind racing furiously. “My time with that American gangster shook me up a bit more than I thought.”
“You have been around such men before.”
“Yes, men on our side. But there was something about him I did not trust.”
“Well, his references checked out, and he does appear to have some unique talents that I feel we can exploit. However, if it turns out he is not who he says he is, then I can assure you that he will be dealt with accordingly. You no longer have to worry about him.”
“Good.”
“I am a bit curious, though, what transpired while you were in custody of the U.S. Customs.”
“What do you mean?”
“You did not talk to them?”
Lutrova cocked his head. “Talk to them about what? What exactly are you trying to imply, Yuri? Do you think that I would betray you?”
“Did you?”
“Absolutely not!”
Godunov’s eyes flashed as he stared at Lutrova, although he smoked calmly. After a time, he said, “Okay, my friend, okay. I believe you.”
But
