Black Pomegranate Read online

  I never wanted to raise rug rats. That wasn’t me. I decided to change the subject. Quickly.

  “Speaking of Granada Negra, what does your Uncle Carlos do?”

  Cat’s jaw dropped and she looked at me as if I were crazy. “He’s the brother of el presidente.”

  “I’m aware of that. But doesn’t he have a title or a job?”

  “Of course not,” she explained. “In Granada Negra, being related to el presidente is enough. Isn’t it the same in your country?”

  “No, it isn’t. Nepotism has no place in American politics.”

  Cat stood with her long legs spread wide apart and her hands on her waist, in a confrontational pose.

  “Oh, no? What about John and Robert and Ted Kennedy? George Bush and his sons? Bill Clinton and Hillary? Jimmy, Nell, and Lynda Carter?”

  “I get your point,” I conceded. “But I don’t believe Nell and Lynda are related to Jimmy.”

  “So, I got three out of four right,” she shrugged. “Not bad for a Latina who doesn’t even have a green card, right?”

  I gave up. “Right.”

  A curious eyebrow raised. “Why are you suddenly so interested in my Uncle Carlos, anyway?”

  “He called earlier, while you were out. He told me to tell you your father has been captured by one of the rebel bands, and General Villa is trying to get him back.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I should have broken the news more gently. Cat’s eyeballs rolled upwards and she slumped to the floor in a faint. On the way down, her head barely missed the edge of the glass-topped coffee table. I tried to catch her before she hit the floor, but I’d been standing too far away and couldn’t reach her in time. I knelt down and took her in my arms.

  “Cat … Catarina, my love … are you hurt?”

  She opened one eye, wide, but the other remained closed. “I’m fine. Tell me again. Exactamente— what did Uncle Carlos tell you?”

  I repeated his statement, word for word. I’d said it so many times I’ll probably remember it the rest of my life.

  Cat looked me straight in the eyes with her one opened orb. “Think carefully, Alfredo. Did Uncle Carlos say he was absolutely certain?”

  “No. He didn’t.”

  “Are you positive?” she quizzed. “He didn’t use those words?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I’m absolutely certain Uncle Carlos didn’t say he was absolutely certain.”

  She opened the other eye and got to her feet. “Good. Now I know what we must do.”

  “What’s that, pray tell?”

  “I’ll let you know later. Right now, I’ve got to start our dinner.”

  In less than an hour we were seated at the table. Cat made a mixed green salad, Yankee pot roast with buttered noodles, corn-on-the-cob, and the omnipresent habanero salsa, which she spread generously over everything on her plate, the way some people indiscriminately apply ketchup.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Cat. My mother would slave in a hot kitchen all day long to prepare a feast like this. What’s your secret?”

  She looked at me wickedly. “It’s easy. I use Granada Negra black magic.”

  My mind flashed back to the old TV sitcom Bewitched. Could that really be her secret? Was I living with an honest-to-goodness witch?

  “Granada Negra black magic? That’s really true?”

  She laughed mischievously. “Yes. Granada Negra black magic … and a Japanese microwave.”

  “CATARINA, YOU PROMISED to tell me what we had to do about your father’s situation. Do you feel like talking about it now?”

  “Okay. My father has a bank account in The Bahamas.”

  “Yes … go on.”

  “But most of his money is in the First and Only National Bank of Granada Negra. We have to transfer the funds to the bank in The Bahamas before the rebels torture him and make him sign a withdrawal slip. If the rebels get their hands on his money, they can buy weapons and armaments, and then General Villa will not be able to rescue my papa and suppress the revolución. That’s it. Easy, huh?”

  I still wasn’t sure what Cat wanted. “Are you saying we’ll have to fly to Granada Negra to close out the account?”

  She looked at me as if I were an absolute idiot. “Of course not. We’ll make the transfer from here. On your computer.”

  I was beginning to get the picture. Cat wanted me to use my skills as a hacker to invade the computer of the First and Only bank and make an electronic transfer to the Bahamian bank.

  I felt a frisson of fear. Did Catarina actually love me, or did she establish a relationship with me just because she knew she was going to need a computer expert to hack into her father’s bank account and transfer funds? Was that all she wanted me for? My old insecurities were starting to come back.

  “I can’t do it, Cat. Besides, that would be stealing.”

  I watched as the color rose to her face. “What do you mean, stealing? It’s my father’s money. We’ll just be moving it from one bank to another. For him.”

  “It’s still against the law. I could go to jail. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you, Catarina?”

  I could see her becoming agitated, perhaps even angry, like a teakettle ready to boil and shoot off a cloud of steam through the whistle. Then, she exploded. For the next five minutes I listened to her berate me (I think that’s what was happening) in nonstop Spanish. She sounded like a tape being played on fast forward. Finally, she paused to take a breath.

  “Cat, please. Hold on. I haven’t understood a word you said. Please tell me again. In English, this time.”

  Her words came out through clenched teeth, one syllable at a time. But, as she became more and more excited, both the tempo and the pitch picked up and soon she again sounded like a tape being played on fast forward; this time, however, in English.

  “Who is going to arrest you? Not the Bahamian police. You’d be bringing money into their country, not taking it out. Not the United States police or the FBI. They don’t care what you do in another country. And certainly, not the legitimate Granada Negra authorities. They report to my father. What are you worried about? Why are you such a chicken?

  “I give my body to you every day and every night, as often as you want, in any way you desire. I buy you nice things and make you good, healthful dinners every night and drive you to and from work when your car doesn’t run and wash and iron your clothes and clean your apartment. I offer to have your babies and when the revolution is over I will have my father make you Secretary of State of Granada Negra, or any job you want in the government—even vicepresidente, if you wish—and you will live like a king in the presidential palace.

  “If you prevent the rebels from stealing my father’s money, you will become a national hero. Every year on your birthday, all the stores will close and there will be parades in the streets in your honor, for saving our little country.”

  She stamped her foot. “But no. You tell me you cannot do this teeny-weeny little thing for me and my poor papa, who is probably tied up and hidden away in a jungle somewhere, starving and being tortured as we speak. What kind of gratitude is that, Alfredo? What kind of love do you have for me that you refuse to help?

  “I’ve asked nothing of you. Absolutely nothing. But I’m asking you now. I’m begging you. Look, I’m getting down on the floor on my hands and knees. I’m kissing your feet. Please, Alfredo, don’t let me down. Don’t let my papa down. Don’t turn your back on the peasants of Granada Negra.”

  Cat had prostrated herself on the floor. Tears were streaming from her eyes and she was wailing uncontrollably.

  I did my best to assuage her. “Catarina, my love, please get up. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do what you asked. I said I can’t. You know I’ll do anything in the world for you. Anything at all. I’ll go to Granada Negra and fight the entire rebel army single-handed, if that’s what it takes to prove my love for you.

  “The truth is, I was never a very good hacker,” I admitted shameface
dly. “A rather mediocre one, in fact. I’m afraid I fibbed to you … er, exaggerated about my hacking abilities. And, even what little talent I once had is rusty. I haven’t hacked in years. Moreover, computer systems are much more complex now than they were eight or ten years ago, and the software is considerably more sophisticated.

  “I’m not sure I could get inside the First and Only bank’s system. And, even if I do, something might go wrong. People used to joke that because of inflation money wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. But, today, money is only a series of electronic zeros and ones. Instead of transferring the balance in your father’s account, I might accidentally destroy all records of his deposits. Then, the money would be gone forever.”

  “Then you’ll do it? You’ll transfer the funds?” She would not take no for an answer.

  “Okay,” I sighed resignedly. “I’ll do it. At least, I’ll try.”

  She raised up from the floor and threw her arms around me. “Oh, Alfredo, my sweet, I knew you were sent to me by Dios. You will not fail. You cannot fail!

  “I will make a large pot of Granada Negra coffee to keep us awake while you’re hacking.”

  Eight

  The Money Transfer

  I PULLED THE SWIVEL chair up to my computer and sat down. Cat stood behind me, massaging my shoulders. She knew long sessions in front of the computer give me a stiff back and neck. The woman has a nimiety of talents. I wondered how I managed to survive before she came into my life.

  “Watch closely and you’ll learn how to become a computer hacker,” I said facetiously. “The next time you want to embezzle money, you’ll be able to do it yourself.”

  Cat ignored my feeble attempt at humor. Preventing the rebels from getting their hands on her father’s money was far too serious a matter for her to make light of.

  “I’m hoping there won’t be a next time, Alfredo. Perhaps when we move to Granada Negra, father will appoint you to be his Secretary of Finance. Then, you can use your talents to protect our country’s treasury from other computer hackers.”

  After tonight, I thought, I might have to flee this country to avoid prosecution. I wondered if Granada Negra had an extradition treaty with the United States.

  Then a terrible thought crossed my mind. Perhaps the bank did its data processing at night. “Do you know if any employees of First and Only work nights or on weekends?” I asked.

  Cat shook her head. “Never. Over half of them don’t work at all. They just show up on Friday to collect their paychecks.”

  “You mean the bank has people on its payroll who don’t have any duties?”

  “Yes. That’s our country’s system of welfare. Granada Negra has no unemployment. All employers are assigned a certain number of people to support. Of course, during peak periods, the companies have the right to call the idle employees in to work, and the people are always more than willing to pitch in and help. The policy gives everyone a sense of dignity and worth.”

  I was amazed. “What a terrific idea.”

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it,” she grinned proudly. “It was my father’s.”

  “Since this is Friday night, we have all weekend to try to tap into the bank’s computer system and crack their code. I would never attempt this stunt if I thought anyone might be working on the bank’s computer at the same time I was hacking. If a programmer or computer operator saw our activity and realized an outsider was trying to access the bank’s account files, he’d only have to pull the plug and we’d be disconnected.”

  I looked at Cat expectantly. “Well, Catarina, shall we start?”

  “Yes. Vaya con Dios, my love,” she said, giving me a kiss on the nape of my neck.

  An obstacle I hadn’t considered raised its ugly head. The First and Only National Bank of Granada Negra’s computer system wasn’t connected to the Internet. The only way I could connect my computer to the bank’s computer was the old-fashioned way—that is, dial in, using a modem. But at that moment, the telephone lines between the United States and Granada Negra were tied up. We kept getting a recorded message: “All international circuits are busy at the present time. Please place your call later.”

  “The rebels may have cut the international phone lines,” Cat postulated. “But if they have, the wires won’t be down for long. A repair crew will be sent out immediately, accompanied by a platoon of soldiers, to make sure the telephone linemen won’t be captured by the rebels and held for ransom.”

  “Isn’t Granada Negra’s phone company on a satellite system?” I asked incredulously.

  “Not yet. Perhaps someday. As in most small Third World countries, our telephone system is antiquated and overloaded.”

  “If that’s the case, we might have a serious problem—assuming we eventually get through. Static on the line or a weak signal could turn the data into meaningless garbage.”

  “What can we do then?” Cat worried.

  “I know a number of techniques that should minimize the problem, but they’ll slow down the transmission considerably. And time is of the essence. It might take me hours—even days—to find the right passwords. I’ll have to work by trial and error. If I can’t break the code and finish with the transfer of funds by Monday morning, when the bank employees arrive for work, we’ll have to shut down and try again Monday night.”

  Cat got a long face. “By then it may be too late.”

  “From what you’ve told me, it may be too late already, but we won’t know for sure until I get inside the bank’s computer and see if there’s any money in your father’s account.”

  We sat up all night drinking strong Granada Negra coffee to keep awake. Every time I dialed, we heard the same recorded message. Finally, I jury-rigged a routine that automatically redialed the number once a minute and was set to play reveille on the computer’s speaker if the call ever went through, and at five in the morning we went to bed.

  We awoke about noon on Saturday. The computer was still attempting to place the call, but the phone lines were still tied up.

  As the day wore on, Cat became increasingly anxious and had taken up nail-biting. I was in a foul mood. I’d had too little sleep, too much coffee, and nothing to eat all day. Cat had spoiled me. I’d become accustomed to having a full stomach.

  “Cat, would you mind starting dinner?” I implored. “I’m getting terribly hungry.”

  She gave me an exasperated look. “What do you want? I really don’t feel like cooking.”

  “Anything,” I shrugged. “Whatever’s easy.”

  “Okay. I’ll make some spaghetti. Will that do?”

  “Sure. That sounds great.” I pretended to fuss with the computer. I suppose I should have offered to help with dinner, at least set the table, but I didn’t feel up to it. Instead, I lit a cigarette.

  At six in the evening, Cat put dinner on the table. A plate of spaghetti, no sauce.

  “Why didn’t you make any spaghetti sauce?” I groused. “Did you forget?”

  Cat’s voice had a sharp edge. “No. I didn’t forget. I asked if you wanted spaghetti, and you said yes. You didn’t say anything about sauce, or I would have made some for you. I’m not a mind reader. I thought all you wanted was spaghetti. Put some of my habanero salsa on the pasta. Or peanut butter. Or your favorite, sardines in mustard sauce.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll use ketchup,” I muttered, stepping to the refrigerator. I could tell that Cat had become very short-tempered. I was testy, too. Neither of us had had enough sleep. I decided to go easy on my criticism. After our run-in the previous night, I knew I never wanted to witness her histrionics again.

  We ate in silence. Until I discovered the long, dark brown strands of hair mixed in with the spaghetti.

  “Catarina my love, I hate to complain, but there are hairs in the spaghetti. They look like yours.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she shrugged. “I’ve been tearing my hair out all day.”

  I pushed the plate away, my appetite ruined. I must have had a disgusted
look on my face.

  “I don’t understand why you’re making a big fuss because you found a few of my hairs in the spaghetti,” she snapped. “You don’t have to eat them. Pick them out.”

  Cat and I were well on our way to having our second argument, but just then the computer started playing reveille. We both jumped up and ran towards it, knowing that, at long last, the international call had gone through.

  It was embarrassingly easy to break into the system. Apparently, the First and Only National Bank of Granada Negra used an old Commodore 128 computer. I found the password on the third try—ARGEN ADANARG—and was into the files within minutes.

  “Do you know your father’s account number?” I asked. “If you do, we can save a lot of time.”

  “One.”

  “One what?”

  “Just one. He’s el presidente of the country, remember?”

  That made sense. “How much do you want to transfer, Cat?”

  “Transfer everything except ten thousand nuevo pesos. I don’t think we should clean out the account completely.”

  “I agree. A closed account might send up a red flag that someone had been tampering with the data files. But, your father’s account is in US dollars. What’s the value of ten thousand nuevo pesos?”

  She started counting on her fingers. “About three dollars and twenty-four cents, more or less. It depends on the exchange rate.”

  “What do you say to leaving five dollars in the account?”

  “Sure. That’ll be okay.”

  For the first time, I looked at the figures. “HOLY COW! Do you know how much money your father’s got in the bank?”

  Cat shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  “There’s two hundred thirty-seven million dollars here,” I yelped.

  She thought for a minute and nodded. “That should be about right.”

  “How did your father get to be so wealthy?” I asked. It was really none of my business, but I was curious.

  “Bribes and graft and secret insider deals. That sort of thing. He’s el presidente of the country, remember? It’s the same in the United States, isn’t it? Don’t your presidentes leave the White House with much more than they had when they took office?”