Don Pendleton - System Corruption

“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.”

Ordstrom leaned forward, anger blazing in his eyes.

“ You protect me? ” he snapped, jabbing a finger at Mitchelberg. “It’s because of your ineptitude we are in this mess. You were responsible for deleting those files. You made a fuck job of it. Instead of following through you let the computer finish off so you could go home early. You, Clarence, are an asshole. A fucking joke. Right, Arnie?”

Hoekken nodded. “He’s right, Clarence.”

It became very quiet in the room.

Mitchelberg sank back in his armchair, looking as if he wanted it to swallow him.

“I believe we’ve said all we need to. Arnie, would you arrange for Clarence’s car to be brought to the front. I think he’s ready to leave for the day. He seems to have something on his mind. Clarence, go home. Keep out of my sight until I send for you.”

After Mitchelberg had left the office Ordstrom leaned back in his seat. “Early retirement?” he suggested.

Hoekken nodded. “Very early,” he agreed.

The following day Clarence Mitchelberg’s body was found at the side of the road, close to his home. As far as the police investigation could make out, Mitchelberg was the victim of a hit-and-run. There were no witnesses.

“Colonel Stone, Special Agent, Army CID,” Bolan said, showing the holder carrying the badge and his ID card. “Here on official business, Corporal Huston. This is an unannounced inspection.”

The sentry at the gate of the Camp Macklin Texas military base checked the ID and the man sitting at the wheel of the gleaming black Crown Victoria. The ID stated that Brandon Stone was indeed a colonel in the Army Criminal Investigation Division. Carl Huston knew enough about the investigators from CID not to screw around with the man…. On the other hand he also knew they expected professional conduct from anyone who came into contact with them. Huston threw a sharp, by-the-book salute. One look at the grim-faced colonel and Huston knew the guy was for real.

“So you are not expected, sir?” he asked.

Mack Bolan took the ID back, giving the sentry a cold stare.

“If I let everyone know I was coming I’d never catch them in the act, would I, Corporal?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s why it is designated as an unannounced inspection. You go about your duties, Huston. I’ll inform those who need to know that I’m here.” Bolan nodded in the direction of the barrier and waited until Huston pressed the button to raise it. “Carry on, Corporal.”