Overdrawn

By Robert Alls

Random accounts are starting to vanish from the Union State Banks computer systems. What seems at first to be an error becomes a nightmare when the same bank suffers from a complete system failure and all account records are permanently lost.

When the same thing begins to occur at another financial institution, famed television reporter Jonathan Price, begins to investigate. He and his team discover a plot, devised by a madman, to extort millions of dollars from various banks or to destroy them. The implications to the countrys economy, let alone to the worlds financial equilibrium are staggering.

Price begins a race against time aimed at stopping the man, known only as Sebastian, before he can plunge the country back to the crash of 1929.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462855896

Robert Alls

Robert Alls began his writing career in broadcasting over twenty-five years ago. His award winning scripts have been produced and heard over the air in his native Philadelphia, and distributed nationwide by National Public Radio. His first novel, The Committee, was published in 2007.

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Prologue

Philadelphia, March 2012

Maxwell Pendergast put the soldering iron back into its holder, pushed his greasy black hair out of his eyes, and shifted his considerable bulk back in his chair. He looked through a magnifying glass at the apparatus on the workbench before him and checked each trace he had joined together with the hot lead.

Satisfied with what he saw, he felt positively giddy in the knowledge that he was about to have his revenge after nine months of hard work and little sleep. He would show those sons of bitches that they could not get away with screwing him.

Up until a year ago, Pendergast had been the Chief Design Engineer for the Graybow Electronics Company. They had recruited him right out of MIT. They guaranteed him a free hand to create anything he wanted. They lured him with the promise of a state of the art laboratory and oodles of money. He accepted, of course, and spent the next twenty years cooped up in his workroom devising new and improved gadgets that made Graybow a lot of money.

But Pendergast saw very little of it. Instead Graybow’s management convinced him to accept stock options in the company in lieu of cash. He assumed that all the options he had piled up would make him a nice nest egg when he decided to retire.

Then last November after the company was sold, Max was informed that the company had declared bankruptcy. The past directors looted the coffers leaving the new owners no choice. Pendergast’s stock was worthless. And, to make matters worse, he was informed that the company owned all the patents for the inventions he had created over the years.

The new owners gave him thirty minutes to clean out his office, gave him a months salary and threatened to sue him if he violated the non-compete agreement he had signed years ago when he first started, then had security escort him out of the building after searching him for any files he may have stolen.

After being kept cloistered all those years Maxwell didn’t know what to do. His whole world had collapsed in the matter of hours. His parents passed away years ago and he had no siblings. Leading a life of a hermit, he had no friends to console him. He was totally and utterly alone. The only solace he found came in the form of a bottle.

Depressed and angry, he sat in his usual position, the last stool at the bar of Dirty Franks on the corner of 13th and Pine Streets, and was on his fourth Jack, when a man sat down beside him.

You’re Max Pendergast, aren’t you? the man asked.

Pendergast looked up from the world within his glass and turned to stare at the man with bloodshot watery eyes.

Who the hell are you? he slurred.

You can call me Sebastian, the man answered with a smile, extending a hand that remained un-shook, as Max had turned back to his drink.

I don’t know you. Leave me the hell alone, he mumbled.

I heard about what happened to you. Tough break.

Yeah? What do you know? Pendergast grunted, as he raised the glass to drain it of the amber liquid.

I know a lot. I heard you the other night talking about getting back at the people who put you in this position.

You a cop? Max asked, not really caring.

Me? No way! Sebastian chuckled at the question. Here, let me buy you another. He made a motion to the bartender to bring another round.

Thanks. Pendergast responded as the new glass was placed in front of him.

Don’t mention it, Sebastian answered. I just was wondering how you planned to get back at them.

Max smiled into his drink before turning to look at the man called Sebastian. It’s all right here, he said bringing one of his beefy hands off the bar and using a fat finger to tap his temple. I got a plan.

Tell me about it, Sebastian asked nonchalantly.

A wave of fear came over the drunken engineer. I don’t know you. Get away from me. Pendergast said with wide eyes as he backed up almost falling off the stool.

Hey, calm down Max, Sebastian said quietly as he reached out to stabilize the teetering hulk. I may be able to help.

Pendergast looked at the man, seeing him for the first time. His smile was disarming even though his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. The grip on his arm indicated he was a powerful man. His sandy colored hair was neatly trimmed with not a strand out of place. The blue sports jacket and gray slacks were impeccably tailored.

Max felt his fear begin to subside. How could you help?

Sebastian let the Pendergast’s arm go and reached to pick up his untouched glass. You never know. I have resources available to me that might be useful to you.

Pendergast stared at the man a moment before looking around the room to see if anyone was watching them. Satisfied, he leaned forward and motioned Sebastian to do the same.

E.M.P. he whispered before sitting back feeling pleased with himself.

Electro Magnetic Pulse? You need a nuclear bomb to achieve that. Sebastian noted.

Shhhh, Max quickly put his finger in front of his mouth to quiet the man and again looking around the room. Not so loud. A nuclear blast is the most common way to achieve an E.M.P., but there are other ways. In fact I have devised a way to create one using a device the size of a shoebox. In 2006 Graybow did away with all paper files by scanning them into a computer. The entire company now exists solely on magnetic tapes and disks. If I can build my device and get it into the vault where they store the stuff, when it goes off everything on those tapes will be wiped out.

Sebastian seemed unimpressed with the idea. So, they just rebuild.

Pendergast violently shook his head. You don’t understand. They can’t rebuild. No one could. Once companies scan documents into a computer, the paper is shredded. There is nothing left to rebuild from. Everybody is doing it. They are so stupid. They think by backing up data they are invulnerable. You set off a small E.M.P. in the vault where they store these tapes, the company is gone.

Who exactly does this? Sebastian asked.

I told you, everybody. Companies big and small. From the Government to the mom and pop store down the block.

I am sure that there is some sort of security measures these places have put in to effect to prevent something like this. Sebastian stated.

That’s the beauty of this, they haven’t. They assume that if an E.M.P. should happen, it will come from some kind of nuclear blast in the atmosphere, so the vaults are protected. But, they have no conception that one could come from inside.

"What would happen if one were to be set off around say… . a bank?’

Pendergast laughed. I hope my account is not there. All records would be gone. The bank would have a lot of money but no idea of whom it belongs to. Account holders would have to provide bank statements in order to prove they have money deposited there. It could take years to straighten it out. Meanwhile people who did not keep their statements would be out of luck and broke. It would be a financial disaster.

What would it take to build one of these devices? Sebastian asked.

Max looked up to the ceiling and stroked his chin for a moment before answering. A few thousand dollars in parts and a lab to put it all together.

Sebastian stood up. Then let’s go.

Go? Go where? Pendergast protested.

To build you a lab, the man replied helping the unstable engineer to stand.

I… . I don’t understand, Max stammered.

I am going to help you get back at the people who took your life away. I will bankroll your project.

But… . Why?

Sebastian smiled. I have my reasons. Trust me.

The evil grin of the man sent a chill through Max, but he allowed himself to be led away.

The next few months became a blur to the engineer. Sebastian became the best friend he never had. A well-equipped lab and apartment was constructed for him in a warehouse off of Columbus Boulevard next to the Delaware River. His shopping list of parts filled promptly. And an assistant, Paul, was provided to help him in any way he needed.

Paul was a friendly man who stroked Max’s ego. He seemed to hover over the design engineer the way a scrub nurse would dote over a surgeon during a delicate operation. The days faded into weeks and the weeks into months. Each circuit was tested and retested before Pendergast was satisfied with its performance. The device was modified time and time again to optimize both its size and operation.

Now as Max sat back from the magnifier he was pleased with the contents of the box before him. The high voltage flat battery pack would provide enough power to operate both the E.M.P generator and the remote control circuit for over a year before losing energy. The capacitors necessary to build up the required voltage before discharging it into the Vircator, or virtual cathode oscillator were larger than he wanted, but still fit within the necessary space.

The Vircator was the heart of the invention. The microwave generator that is capable providing a tunable, narrow band pulses at very high power levels was focused into a waveguide that fed an antenna.

The encrypted Wifi receiver, capable of receiving the trigger command through the companies own wireless Internet system, was tucked in the side. The size of the device was three inches wide, ten inches long, and 2 inches thick. It could reasonably be compared to ballast, or the power supply for a fluorescent light.

It’s done. Max exclaimed to both himself and Paul who was close by.

Really Max, he asked. Are you sure it will work?

This was the first time he felt annoyed with the young man. My designs always work. This one is my masterpiece, he said with pride and the thought that revenge wasn’t bitter, but sweet.

I’ll go get Sebastian, Paul told him and left the room.

Moments later he returned with the benefactor in tow.

Paul tells me it’s finished, he said moving to stand beside Max’s workbench.

Max motioned to the box with a flourish of his hand. Behold the instrument of Graybow’s destruction.

Shouldn’t we test it? Sebastian asked not taking his eyes off the device.

It’s a one shot deal, boss, Paul, who was standing a few feet away answered, It will self-destruct after it goes off. The pulse it generates will not only wipe out any electronic equipment in its radius, but it will burn itself out as well. But it will work.

Max was annoyed again that his assistant had taken his moment in the lime light. Yes, it will work, he affirmed indignantly.

Sebastian looked up from the box and back to Paul. Can you re-create it? he asked.

No problem, Paul replied smugly. I made very detailed notes.

Max moved his bulk out of his stool and stood between Sebastian and the invention.

What? he bellowed in shock. This is my design, no one can build it without my permission, let alone some piss-ant gofer.

Sebastian ignored the outburst and nodded to his own engineer. Sorry Max, but the destruction of Graybow is not of any interest to me, but trust me, your box will be put to very good use.

No! Pendergast gasped. You promised. His gaze moved from Sebastian to Paul. The young man whose hand had been behind his back now re-emerged holding a wicked handgun equipped with a silencer.

The realization of his situation now flooded into his head. Wait, you can’t, he shuddered backing up and falling over his vacated stool.

I am afraid we can and will. Thanks Max. Sebastian looked back down to examine the box on the table.

The gun Paul was holding coughed twice and the body of the dead design engineer made a dull thud as it hit the floor.

Sebastian carefully covered the device with the lid on the bench and picked it up. Weigh him down, not that he’ll need much, and dump him in the river. Call the rest of the team and tell them I want this place sanitized before tomorrow morning. Not a trace remains, he looked at Paul who nodded. I mean it, not a trace.

No problem boss. This place will look like it hasn’t been occupied in years when we get done with it.

Good. Meet me at the South Philly location day after tomorrow. We will need at least twenty of these before we can put the plan into operation, and time is short.

Won’t take long. Now that I have the designs and the proto-type, no more than a couple of months, Paul assured his superior.

Good, that’s all you got. Sebastian replied as he departed, Pendergast’s masterpiece tucked under his arm.

Paul watched him go while removing the cell phone from his jacket. He punched the unlisted number into the keypad. It was answered after the first ring.

The cleaners. Site 2 now, and hung up. He then looked at the body of Max on the floor and shook his head. It wasn’t sadness for taking the life of another human. It was how he was going to fit such a fat man through the small trap door in the floor that dropped to the river below. He pondered the problem before nodding and uttering one word aloud.

Chainsaw.

Chapter 1

Philadelphia, June 2012

Richard Davis had been the night security guard in the operation center of Philadelphia’s Union State Bank for twelve years. He liked the quiet and peacefulness of the shift. Only the minimal night shift and custodial staff roamed the building after six P.M. It got boring at times and it allowed him to daydream about weekends when he would travel to the Essington Marina. He would take out his eighteen-foot Boston Whaler Dauntless and fish from dawn to dusk. Both the boat and fishing were his passion.

Banks in the United States are broken up into various categories, but the most basic are State and National Banks. The National banks are overseen by the Office of the Controller of The Currency, a part of the Treasury Department. State banks are generally smaller institutions governed by the individual states Department of Banking. These State banks usually have fewer branches and lower assets. Union State Bank was such an institution.

The console filled with 12-inch TV screens before Davis were connected to surveillance cameras placed around the building covering hallways, entrance doors, stairwells, and the computer center. The main monitor, a larger 20-inch display was run by a routing switcher that automatically changed the picture every fifteen seconds. He had a row of buttons that he could override the automation should he notice something out of the ordinary on one of the smaller displays, and switch it to the larger screen.

He would focus on the pictures from six at night until two in the morning five days a week allowing for a thirty-minute lunch and the occasional trip to the restroom. Recessed in the desk was an oversized button covered with a plastic shield. In the years he spent at his job, he had never had the necessity to push the red button. This would set off the alarms and automatically lock down the building until the police arrived. He sometimes wondered whether or not it would even work if ever needed.

Davis’ gaze went from the button back to the monitors. On the screen labeled Lower Level West he saw the janitor pushing his cart down the hall, stopping at each office to open the door, remove the wastepaper basket, empty it in the large bag attached to his cart, replace it in the office and move on.

It was the same routine every night. The guard reached into a canvas gym bag that he brought with him each day. The bag contained his meal and other personal items. He removed the new Bass Pro Shop catalogue that had arrived in the mail that morning. They were having a sale on Shimano Stradio spinning reels, a model he had had his eye on for years.

Had Davis paid a little more attention to his job, he might have noticed that the janitor he had observed earlier was not the usual man, but a replacement the service had sent over. He might have also detected that when the man got to the tape vault room, instead of entering the room empty handed, he removed a small parcel from under his trash bag and carried it into the vault with him. It also took a few minutes longer than normal before the man re-emerged.

What Davis didn’t see was the fake janitor, once in the vault, move a chair to the center of the room and climb upon it. The imposter then moved one of the drop ceiling tiles aside and deposited the package on top of one of the fluorescent lights above. When he was sure the box was secure, he pressed a button on the side, powering the receiver inside. Then he replaced both the tile and chair, and, after making sure that no debris had fallen, picked up the wastebasket and carried it to the hall.

At the end of his shift, Davis packed up his ditty bag and headed home for the night. In his mind it had been just another uneventful night. The custodial staff had finished their night’s work and left hours ago. No record had been made about the replacement janitor.

Another thing Davis didn’t know was that the same procedure had been performed in twenty other state bank operations centers up and down the east coast that night.

He also wasn’t alone in his dereliction of duty; no one else noticed the army of imposter maintenance and custodial workers placing similar boxes in their assigned data vaults either.

Two miles away from the Union State Bank center, at the end of Broad Street, lay the Philadelphia Naval Business Center. Formally, the Philadelphia Navy Yard was officially closed in 1995. The facility still houses many decommissioned and mothballed warships and auxiliary naval vessels. The property had been turned over to the Philadelphia Industrial Development Corporation to convert the base into a state of the art business complex. To date it has had moderate success with a cruise ship line taking up residence as well as several large corporations moving their divisional headquarters onto the property. On Intrepid Avenue one of the old naval office buildings had been refurbished and rented out to various companies. The entire fourth floor of this building was leased to GlobeTech; an upstart company engaged in the design and manufacture of global positioning systems, or GPS units for cars.

Sebastian stood in his control room, hands clasped behind his back, reminiscent of how a captain would have on the bridge of one of the mothballed ships visible from his window. Seated in front of a bank of computer screens, Paul watched indicator lights showing the status of each of the devices that had been planted that night. He had spent weeks hacking into the Internet systems of each of the target institutions. The devices were equipped with a complicated algorithm so they would not show up on any internal audit of the Wifi connections. When the last red light switched to green he turned to look at his boss.

That’s it. We are good to go.

Are you sure that those won’t go off by accident? Sebastian asked.

As sure as I can be. The command to activate is a fifty-character code that contains random keystrokes. There is no way that it could be mistakenly sent to the bank. And, if the guys put them where I told them to, nothing can go wrong. I tapped into each of the banks maintenance department computers, and none have anything scheduled in the vaults where someone might discover the boxes. Besides, if one is found and removed, we will know about it in seconds. There is nothing about them that would lead investigators back to us, so we are golden. Hey what about those guys who planted the boxes and cleaned up the warehouse, you think we can trust them?

Don’t worry, very soon that last one will leave the country to head back to Eastern Europe. Our benefactor in Russia assured me that each one was reliable, and none of them knew anything more than to put the device where we told them to put it. The orders came through Serge. And to make sure, once they land back home, they will be dealt with in an unpleasant manner. Now, on the subject of our Slavic backer, I have to call him in an hour to give him an update. What about the worm?

That’s been tested and retested. We can get in; made any changes we want and get out without any trace. That’s the beauty of this plan.

Yes, I know, Sebastian, replied looking at his watch. OK we run the first stage tomorrow. It’s after two A.M. let’s call it a night.

No problem. Who’s first on our hit list? Paul asked turning in his chair to look at his boss.

Sebastian leafed through the pages attached to the clipboard he was holding.

I want to keep it close to home, his eyes scanning a page. Union State Bank. I believe they should be our test model.

Paul nodded at the selection. How do you want to play it?

Sebastian walked across the room to look out a window. He could see the silhouetted bridges of the mothballed naval ships against the night sky under a full moon.

At six tomorrow night I want a number of accounts emptied. Not in numbers to create a panic, but enough to cause a major irritation for the bank. They should be kept busy for a week or two rebuilding the records.

Paul mused over the directions just given him. I think a couple of hundred should do it. Especially if they are random numbers.

Sebastian turned back from the window and nodded. Make it happen.

The computer expert grinned and returned to his keyboard.

I am sure glad I don’t bank there, he said with a chuckle as he entered the instructions into the computer.

Twenty minutes later Paul departed leaving Sebastian seated at his desk finishing the Philadelphia Inquirer’s daily crossword. Word puzzles relaxed him and with the call he was about to make, he needed to be stress-free. Serge was not a man who was to be trifled with. He would expect to receive a positive report that the plan was in full operation. The Russian crime boss wanted a substantial return on his investment, and with the sizable outlay he had already made, he wanted it soon.

Failure to provide such assurances was both unthinkable and fatal. Sebastian had been a witness to the brutality of the man when he was not happy with a subordinate.

Once when he was on assignment in the Ukraine, he met with Serge for drinks. While they were seated at the bar, one of his lieutenants had the misfortune to have to report that an arms deal the Russian had invested in had gone sour. The buyer had backed out at the last moment.

The Mafia chief never put down his glass. He simply motioned to one of his security guards standing near by and the underling was quickly and quietly removed from the establishment never to be heard from again. Two days later the Russian newspapers reported that the leaders of a Georgian separatist group, the intended buyers, had all been killed in an explosion of unknown origin. Speculation was that a member of the group had become careless while constructing a bomb. There was no mention of the black limo pulling away from the building just moments before it became a huge fireball.

Sebastian looked at his watch and picked up the secure satellite phone to make the call. He was sure the man would be pleased with the news.

Chapter 2

The television satellite and microwave trucks were parked all along 6th Street outside Philadelphia’s Constitution Center. The meeting of the World Affairs Council had concluded and the keynote speaker, former Secretary of State, Madeline Albright, departed. Her speech focused on her assessment of the bubbling caldron of unrest in the Middle East and parts of Africa.

A jungle of cables snaked up and down the block connecting cameras and microphones back to the transmission vehicles. The small army of reporters and technicians were spaced along the sidewalk seeking the perfect position for filing live shots and pre-recorded packages back to their stations and networks. Each wanted a location where the talent would be in a position where the background, a building or structure, would be identifiable with Philadelphia. In most cases the B-Roll, or extra video of the event, had already been transmitted, so the stand-up was all that remained to be fed.

Robin Gilmore had arrived early that morning. His first task had been to scope out a spot for his talent with the top of Independence Hall in the background. He had always believed in the adage of the early bird catches the best worms, and it again proved to be true. The spot he secured was on the Constitution Center’s patio with an excellent view of Independence Hall in the background.

Now standing behind his camera, he paused a moment from his focusing duties to collect his long brown hair and secure it in a ponytail. The slight breeze whipping across the open area had been blowing his hair into his face. At five foot eight he didn’t have to bend over to look into the camera’s viewfinder. He carefully adjusted the zoom control and focus ring to bring the talent into sharp view.

You know I had to give up a tennis date with a beautiful congressional aid to come here are shoot your ugly puss, he told the reporter without