Free Unauthorized Access by Andrew McAllister Page A

want to handle it?”
    “We need to find out if this email is for real,” Pearce said. “If cyberterrorists really have succeeded in attacking an American bank, we have a huge story on our hands.”
    And Uncle Stan has a bigger problem than he let on, Lesley thought.
    “I already had Jim Brugger call the bank,” Pearce went on, “but of course there’s no one there this time of day except lowly customer service reps. I need you to get back to your uncle and see what he has to say.”
    “I should be able to dig something up,” she said. “I’ll call you back.”
    Lesley closed the cell phone and looked at Rob, who seemed intent on studying the pavement at his feet.
    “Ever hear of the Financial Patriots of America?” she asked.
    Rob lifted his head sharply, his brows furrowed.
    “How did you get that name?” he said.
    “That was my producer. He thinks Uncle Stan lied during my interview, and that your computer problems didn’t happen by accident.”
    Rob just looked at her.
    “I know you’re not supposed to say anything,” she said, “but I’m in a jam here. I’m going to look really bad if I can’t come up with the truth.”
    “And if I say the wrong thing I could lose my job and help put the bank out of business.”
    “So this is more than a technical glitch.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “You implied it,” she said.
    “I’m saying if you want confirmation, you’re talking to the wrong guy.”
    “Okay, but you could at least tell me how to approach Uncle Stan.”
    Rob looked down at the ground. Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
    “Fine,” Lesley said. “Let’s just go.”
    Rob stayed where he was. He bit his lower lip. Finally he said, “You’re asking the right questions, okay?”
    Lesley stood on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
    “But I didn’t hear it from you,” she said with a grin, “right?”
    “Hear what?”
    “Exactly.”

C HAPTER E IGHT

    LARRY’S HAND TREMBLED as he pushed his bank card into the ATM. He didn’t know if he was more afraid of the two goons waiting outside for the money, or of Anne when she found out most of his paycheck was gone.
    Why had he gone into the back room? He had only stopped at the bar for a quick beer after work, but he never could resist a game. And of course when someone deals you a straight there’s no choice but to push all in. He still couldn’t believe it. He had been so confident that he’d pushed more chips into the pot than he had cash to cover.
    Of all the people, he had to lose to Garcia. Anyone else might give him a break, trust him for the money until later. But nobody messes with Garcia, which was why two of his men had trailed Larry through the chilly Boston evening to the nearest bank with an ATM. They said nothing to Larry while they walked—just shuffled along behind him like ominous shadows, sucking on their cigarettes the whole way.
    Larry shook his head in disgust as he punched the buttons. Withdraw. From checking. Four hundred dollars.
    He stared at the screen in disbelief.
    Insufficient funds. Amount available: $7.34.
    The fear started to pool more deeply in the bottom of his belly.
    Maybe his pay had gone into the savings account by mistake. He tried, but found only eighty-four cents in there. Larry and Anne rarely had any use for their savings account.
    In desperation he tried to withdraw a cash advance from his credit card. The card was maxed out, as usual.
    Larry’s mouth was completely dry. He risked a look outside at his two escorts. They stared at him through the window, no longer smoking. Like predators the world over they seemed able to sense when their prey was in trouble.
    Larry realized he wasn’t afraid of Anne anymore.
    * * *
    Stan Dysart leaned forward in the soft leather chair and tried to concentrate on the report lying on the inlaid desk. The only sound in his home office was the ticking of the antique clock on one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined the