Alex O'Donnell and the 40 CyberTheives Page 8

  “I’ll keep it on hand at all times,” Alex promised, pocketing the cloth. Rising to the challenge of managing a hotel was keeping him interested. He just kept hoping Kateri would keep her promise to come back.

  It was a most enlightening trip, and Alex pondered it as the O’Donnell family returned to Northern Virginia the next morning with lists of most-frequently ordered items from the Bhatkas, business cards for the best vendors, including a cleaning supply warehouse that stocked gray flannel cleaning cloths.

  They also brought all the cabinet doors from the hotel. In a burst of energy, Mom had made Alex and Sam remove every one of the wooden cabinet doors, scratched or smooth, from the cabinets in the lobby, breakfast area, and home kitchen. That week, in between packing the house, she made the boys sand them and paint them with several coats of bright green lacquer. She propped them, one at a time, on an easel near her couch, where she was finalizing the finances for home and business. “A decorating project to revive me when I start getting tired,” she explained.

  “I don’t know what Kateri’s so worried about,” Alex grunted to himself as he carried another box out of the kitchen. “You have more energy than I’d know what to do with.”

  His mom looked up at him with a smile. “The painting is to keep me from fretting about all the things I can’t do,” she said. “I think Kateri would approve.”

  Alex could understand fretting about what he couldn’t do—starting with, making Kateri Kovach fall in love with him and come back down here to work with him. Except instead of painting doors, he was coordinating the move.

  Last night, Alex and his dad had picked up the rental truck, and all that morning Alex had kept the boys loading boxes and furniture. Now he was glad Kateri had already de-junked the kitchen. It made that one room so much easier to pack and load. When lunchtime came, the younger boys mysteriously vanished into thin air.

  “Let them off the hook, Mom,” Alex said. “They’re going to crack from all this work.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted. She selected a long paintbrush and dipped it first into red and then white paint. Biting her lip, she poised the brush over the blank green cabinet door on the easel and slowly began to stroke out the wide petals of a cherry blossom.

  Alex watched the petals take shape beneath her skill, and felt the tension inside him start to lessen. “You’re really getting good at this, Mom.”

  “Nothing like a fresh start to give you inspiration,” she said, adding light feathery pink pollen to the flower stamens.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He got a call from a friend who has about a hundred of those key card locks sitting in his warehouse. He’s willing to let them go for cheap. Your dad went to pick them up.”

  “That’s awesome,” Alex said. “Now we just need to get them installed.”

  “Your dad thinks he can do it himself. It’s just some circuit boards. That way, we can save on the installation.”

  “Even better,” Alex said, internally relieved. He’d been worried about the old-fashioned locks on the hotel room doors.

  “Mom, can I ask you what you think about the mystery money?” he asked her abruptly.

  Her eyes remained focused on the brush. “You can ask,” she said. “But I say…” She dipped her brush into the paint again. “I say we should trust your dad.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t do anything illegal? I know Dad sort of likes to push the boundaries of ‘legal,’ but—he wouldn’t steal the money, would he?” The question had been bothering him for a while.

  “I think,” his mother poised the brush again. “I think that if he stole the money, he’d be a little more eager to spend it, don’t you?”

  “Plus he’d probably have covered it up more, tried to pretend he got it some other way.” Alex had to agree with his mom. His dad might be too adventurous with the keyboard for his own good, but he wasn’t a thief.

  Slowly his mother lowered the brush, and began to stroke out another tiny blossom. “I think he’s as mystified as to how we received the money as we are.”

  “But I wonder if he suspects,” Alex said. “Do you think—?”

  “Sitting on the couch all day by myself, I think a lot of things,” his mother said frankly. “But I’m going to trust your dad. And I think we all should.”

  Alex nodded, and patted his mom’s shoulder, being careful to avoid her painting arm. “I’ll get back to work then.”

  Arching his muscles into a full backstretch, Alex caught sight of the blinking red light of the answering machine. “Oops. Who did we miss?” He pressed the button and an angry voice filled the air.

  Recognizing it, mother and son exchanged a wry look.

  “Uncle Cass,” Alex said, hitting the “stop” button to halt the stream of profanity. “Uh, when did you say we could pay him off, Mom?”

  CyberThieves She set the brush down and took the checkbook out of her catchall basket.

  “You know, if I delayed the payment on the credit card for just three more days…” She knit her brow, then smiled. “Yes. I think we can do it. Today. Right now.”

  “No time like the present,” Alex agreed. “I’ll drive you over.”

  While his mother called Uncle Cass, Alex jogged outside and located his brothers, who were at the local sandlot playing baseball with the neighbors. He told them to stay put and alive for a half hour.

  By the time he returned, his mother was saying into the phone, “No, the check is not in the mail. I’m bringing it over to you. This minute. You’ll be there? Fine.”

  She attempted a smile as Alex helped her into the front seat of the car. “He didn’t yell quite as much as last time we were two months late.”

  Uncle Cass lived in a neighborhood of McMansions—large stone houses, each on a half acre to accommodate three-car garages and landscaped terraces.

  It didn’t matter that most of the houses were cookie-cutter copies of each other.

  The model alone was imposing.

  “Do you think he’ll be suspicious that we’re paying him back in full?” Alex asked as they pulled up to the smooth black driveway. A Hispanic worker on a riding mower crossed the lawn next door in fast, even passes.

  “I don’t know,” Mom answered, folding and unfolding her hands over the checkbook. “I’m praying he’ll just be happy to have the money at last. You know he’s not as rich as he looks.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Alex muttered, shooting looks at his uncle’s Jacuzzi and elaborate, outdoor kitchen fireplace, used for outdoor parties that Alex’s family was never invited to. Alex helped his mom out of the car, and they both made their way up the long curved walkway to the front door, Alex glancing around warily, in case the dog would come out of nowhere and attack them.

  Aunt Mona answered the oversized white door, dressed in designer jeans and a frothy, turquoise blouse, oversized shell earrings dangling from her ears.

  Even though she was older than Mom, her red-dyed hair and makeup made her look younger. “Why are you here?” was her greeting to Mom, who was still breathless from hobbling up the long paved walkway.

  “I just came to pay Cass.”

  “I’ll tell him you’re here. Come in, if you want.” She peered over their shoulders and walked away, leaving the door open. Alex guessed she had only invited them in because she didn’t want the neighbors to notice her embarrassingly poor relatives on the doorstep.

  Alex helped his mother into the slick marble hallway. She started to sit down on the wide padded bench in the entranceway, but Aunt Mona stopped her. “Oh, don’t sit there—that’s the dog’s place. Persia gets out of sorts if a stranger uses it. Come into the home office.”

  The home office looked barely used—a palace of shining mahogany with massive bookshelves holding two or three volumes artistically interspersed with abstract glass sculptures. The air conditioner was set to freezing, and as they sat down, Alex wished he had taken Mr. Bhatka’s advice and started wearing a suit jacket at al
l times.

  Then there were steps echoing on the staircase outside the door, and Uncle Cass came into the room. He resembled Alex’s dad, except Uncle Cass was tanned and shaven, his bristling black hair was cropped short, and his arms were muscular. He obviously exercised.

  “Well?” he snapped. “Why so late? Another credit card crisis? What did you overspend on this time?”

  Mom rose on her crutches and held out the check to him with dignity.

  “I’m very sorry, Cass. I didn’t mean to set you back. I know you have expenses you have to meet, too.”

  “You’re right,” he growled, sitting down behind the desk and not taking the check. “Look, Kitty, for the eightieth time, I just have to say that I feel taken advantage of. I mean, I think you and Alan know I’m not a bank who’s going to take away your house and throw you out on the street, so you just put off paying me—put me off—put me off—‘Hey, Cass’s rich. He can spare it.’ Well, listen: I’m not going to stand for any more of that.”

  “Cass, I just—”

  “I know, I know. Always something with your health, or with the kids. Don’t know what you were thinking, having all those kids.”

  “All those kids,” Alex muttered. “I’m dating a girl who’s one of eleven.”

  Cass scowled at him. “More crazy Catholics? Environmentally irresponsible. Overpopulation.”

  “I’ll agree, if you agree to be part of the overpopulation,” Alex said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being generous in having children,” Mrs. O’Donnell, who looked a bit pale, said resolutely. “Any more than there’s anything wrong with being generous with money. Speaking of which, I’m happy to say that we’re able to pay you back in full now for your generosity.”

  Cass looked even more startled, and took the check from Mom. “What’s this?”

  “The rest of what we owe you. With interest.”

  Cass stared at the amount, and turned it over in his hands, just as Alex had done with the Sundance Fun Foundation check, as though he were sure it was a fake. “That’s everything?”

  “Everything. I checked it with the payment plan you gave us.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  He stared, and a suspicious gleam came into his eyes, and he gave a barking laugh. “No good.”

  “What’s no good?”

  “You don’t have that much in your bank account. I know Alan’s paycheck and I know your disability payments. Heck, I could hack into your computer and check them if I wanted. There’s no way that check is real. I get what you’re doing. You’re just making a play to put me off. I’ll deposit this, it’ll bounce, you get yourself another week before you have to pay off. Nice try, but I’m not buying it.” He threw the check back at her.

  Alex jumped to his feet, but his mother’s hand stopped him.

  Uncle Cass pointed a finger at him. “Alex, you try anything with your karate, I’m calling the police.”

  His mother spoke quietly, her hand still on Alex’s arm. “Cass. I promise you: that check is good.”

  But Cass leaned back in his seat. “Bring me cash,” he stated. “Cash, or nothing.”

  There was silence, and Alex felt his mother’s patience transforming into cold Irish fury.

  “Okay.” She staggered to her feet with her crutches. “Cash you want? Cash it will be. Alex, take me to the bank.”

  With barely controlled anger, Alex drove Mom to the bank and helped her inside. His mom, a true Irishwoman, was stolid, polite to the clerk, withdrew the money, and hobbled back out to the car.

  But when they reached Uncle Cass’s house, his mother’s reserve finally broke. “Alex. I think I’m going to need you to bring this inside to Uncle Cass for 64 Alex O’Donnell and the Forty CyberThieves me.” She wiped her eyes and handed him the stack of bills in a large manila envelope.

  “That’s fine. I’ll do it.” He got out of the car.

  “Don’t kill him.”

  “I’ll try not to.” He strode up the walk to the door, opened it, entered and went into the home office. Uncle Cass was there, watching TV on his computer screen. He looked up at Alex sharply.

  “You could have knocked.”

  “Here, sir, is your cash.” Alex placed the envelope in front of his uncle, opened it, slid out the stack of bills and counted them out in piles of ten. “And thirty-nine cents.” He stacked the quarter, two nickels, and four pennies on top of the last pile and pushed it towards his uncle. “Would you like to check the bills to make sure they’re not counterfeit?”

  His uncle was staring—not at him, but at the money. Gingerly, he touched one corner of a crisp thousand-dollar bill.

  “What is your dad up to?” he said quietly.

  “Nothing that concerns you. Any more. Fortunately.” Alex gave a slight bow. “Thank you again for all your help. Have a nice day.”

  He showed himself out, jogged down the walkway, and jumped into the car.

  As he pulled out in reverse as fast as he could, he bellowed, “Free at last, free at last!” Their car shot out of the cul-de-sac and he roared, “Thank God Almighty, we’re free at last!”

  His mother began to giggle, and they both laughed for several minutes as they breezed down the highway.

  “Alex,” Mom said, blowing her nose and opening up the checkbook.

  “Where’s the bank receipt? I have to deduct this from our savings.”

  Suddenly Alex’s hands felt cold on the steering wheel. “I left it in the envelope.”

  There was silence as his words sank in.

  “Maybe he won’t notice it,” Mom said at last, trying to sound hopeful.

  “Maybe he’ll just toss it, without looking at the amount.”

  But Alex knew they were both fooling themselves.

  It took less than two hours for Uncle Cass to show up at the house.

  Alex’s dad pulled up shortly after they got home, followed by his friend with a vanload of the new keylocks. The boxes were the size of a PC and felt like they were made of bricks. And there were a hundred of them. Not to mention some oversized circuit boards in boxes the size of small refrigerators.

  Transferring them to the moving van took an hour and involved unpacking and shifting around nearly all the boxes that Alex and the boys had packed that morning. So it was after five o’clock by the time the keylocks were all in the van, the friend had shaken hands with Dad and said goodbye, and the family could all go back inside the house.

  No sooner had Dad wearily settled himself on the couch next to Mom to admire the six green doors propped against the wall, displaying a spray of cherry blossoms stretching over them, when the doorbell rang. Alex went to answer it.

  Uncle Cass stood on the doorstep, hands balled into fists on his hips. His eyes were snapping with suppressed energy.

  He barely glanced at Alex. Instead, he just looked over his shoulder and yelled into the house. “Alan? I want to talk to you.”

  Slowly, Dad rose and came outside. Feeling a mixture of guilt and suspicion, Alex stood behind his father on the roofless porch, both to back him up and listen in.

  Uncle Cass spoke low, but his voice was charged with excitement. “Alan. I think you have something to tell me.”

  “Do I?” Dad shifted his weight to one foot, and looked at the ground.

  Despite being the older brother, Dad had always deferred to his younger sibling.

  Maybe because Cass always acted like the older brother.

  “Yeah. We hackers know each other. The fact that I went legit and started working for the Federal Banking Commission just means that I’m really good at picking up scams. And I know one when I see one.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You should know.”

  Dad looked confused, so Alex murmured into his ear, “Mom paid Uncle Cass the rest of what we owe him today. I guess he thinks we have a money printer in the basement or something.”

  “She did? Why did she—?” Dad st
arted to explode, then bit his lip as Uncle Cass laughed.

  “Yeah, a money printer. Wouldn’t surprise me, but I know these bills are real. So, where did she get the money from?” Uncle Cass prodded.

  “We took out a loan with a better interest rate,” Alex attempted to put his uncle off.

  But Uncle Cass went for the jugular. “A loan for over one million dollars?”

  He leered, dangling the left-behind bank receipt in front of his brother’s face. “I don’t think so.”

  It was all there. The savings account clearly showed the balance as well as the withdrawal. A balance of over a million dollars.

  Uncle Cass leaned in closer. “Now, quit lying to me and show me how you got this money. Or I’m making a call to the office, and you’re behind bars.”

  Alex was suddenly aware of the crickets, the cars, the hundreds of sounds dotting their neighborhood as the two brothers stared at one another in silence.

  Cass, arms folded, standing in his designer golf clothing; Dad, sweaty in his rumpled shirt and tie, beard messy, shoulders slumped, eyes defeated.

  “All right,” he said at last, putting a hand to his beard and stroking it. “You win, Cass. I’ll show you.”

  There was an intake of breath from Cass. “Right now?”

  “Right now. But not here.”

  “Fine by me. We’ll go to my house.” Cass looked at Alex and addressed him as though he were a dog. “You stay here.”

  “Dad?” Alex tried to meet his dad’s eyes, but his father had turned to follow his brother to his car. He looked caught, beaten.

  Secret or no secret, Alex didn’t like leaving Dad at this moment. Thinking quickly, he darted back inside. He grabbed his keys from the rack and said to his mom, “I’ll be back.”

  “What’s going on?” Mom was starting to struggle to her feet.

  “Can’t tell you. Not now. Pray.” He gave her a quick kiss and sped back outside.

  Dad and Uncle Cass had driven off together. Alex got into his own car and followed them.