Overdrawn

Prologue

Philadelphia, March 2008

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. Guaranteed him a free hand to create anything he wanted. 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 they 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, he was informed that the company had declared bankruptcy. The past directors had looted the coffers leaving the new owners no choice. His stock was worthless. To make matters worse, he was informed that the company owned all the patents for the inventions he has created over the years.

They 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 he didn’t know what to do. His whole world had collapsed in the matter of hours. His parents had 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 came in the form of a bottle.

He was in his usual position, the last stool at the bar of Dirty Franks on the corner of 13th and Pine Streets, and 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 his bloodshot watery eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” he slurred.

“You can call me Sebastian,” the man answered 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.”

“Yea? 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 man’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 by 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 had never had. A well equipped lab and apartment had been 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, had been 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 low frequency receiver was capable of receiving the trigger command through the normal thickness concrete and steel that normally protect data vaults, was tucked in the side. The size of the device was three inches wide, ten inches long, and 2 inches thick. It could reasonably compared to a 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,” the man 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.

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 fifty 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.”