Batteries Not Included Read online

  “Thanks, Mike. I owe you a beer.” He accelerated into the property and parked under a jacaranda tree. He turned off the car and looked at his passenger. “Let me do the talking with Kirra. She doesn’t know you’re joining the team.”

  “Team? We’re two of us.”

  Nick grinned and knocked on the front door. “Yup.”

  Kirra opened the door with a smile that faded as soon as she saw Davie. “Who’s this?”

  “Kirra, this is David Sangster. Davie. He’s an IT brainiac I need to help me.” He smiled. “Out of my own pocket.” He searched Kirra’s eyes. “We good?”

  She nodded slowly and smiled. “Yeah. We’re good. Davie, is it?”

  He nodded, looking nervous.

  “I hope you’re hungry, Davie. There’s plenty of food.”

  Nick winked at him and followed Kirra in. “Plenty of food, Davie,” he said with a smile.

  * * *

  There was plenty of food. They sat at a frosted glass table by the pool, enjoying the view of the harbour. Kirra started with pulled chicken tacos. “I don’t eat beef. Not good for the digestive system.”

  “You’ve never had one of my wagyu steaks, done perfectly on a mesquite barbecue,” said Davie. He chef kissed his fingertips. “Exquisite.” He picked another taco from the serving platter and crunched a mouthful.

  “Mesquite? It’s a weed in Australia.” Kirra sat back in her chair, picking at the salad with her fingers. She popped a half cherry tomato in her mouth. “America, sure. But here?”

  Davie looked puzzled. “You’re kidding, right? You can get mesquite chips almost anywhere. Toss them on a gas Jumbuck and there you go, right?”

  She shrugged. “No beef. Chicken, fish, occasional lamb.” She leaned forward and topped up her glass of wine. “Tell me, lads. What’s your plan of attack? How are you going to find out who is siphoning funds, and how? And how much, for that matter.”

  Nick cleared his throat. “Well, it’s a lot of accounting mumbo-jumbo.”

  “And IT wizardry, Nick. Don’t forget the IT wizardry,” said Davie, smiling.

  Kirra looked at Nick and raised an eyebrow. “No bullshitting me, Nick. Forecasts had Dvorak cash flow positive this last quarter. Barely so, but positive. Yet we were almost $50 million in the red. I could see us missing by a little bit - the economy wasn’t as strong as forecast, but that should have been more than offset by favourable exchange rates reducing our capital costs.” She sighed. “I had a long chat with Brent. He swears ‘nothing untoward is happening’,” she finger quoted, “but I want you to dig deep.”

  “You don’t trust him?”

  She held her hands up. “Brent has been with Andy since the beginning. I’m not saying I don’t trust him. I think he might be a little over his head. He was fine while we were a small company, but we’re big now.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’s over his head and can’t admit it.” She made a small gesture with her hand over her head and a young man with a tray of chicken satay and peanut sauce, slices of cucumbers on the side, appeared.

  He placed it on the centre of the table. “More food, gentlemen? My name is Cameron. You can call me Cam. Let me know if you ever need anything.”

  * * *

  The food was cleared and the three of them sat around the pool as the sun set. Nick and Davie each had frosty Corona beer with lime wedges jammed in their necks. Kirra nursed a chilled white wine.

  “I have a number of guests rooms. Cameron will set you both up. He will give you the house wi-fi password and you’ll have free rein of the kitchen.” She took a deep breath. “I’m tired. It’s been a very long day. Stay and work from here. If you need anything let me know. If I’m not here, let Cameron know and he’ll either get it for you or find me and I’ll get it.”

  Nick slowly placed his beer on the table. “Oh my god. We’re prisoners.”

  Kirra laughed. “You can leave anytime you want, but do you have gigabit fibre in either of your apartments?”

  Davie chuckled. “Nicky here doesn’t even have electricity. I’m happy to stay here.”

  “Hey, I paid the bill. I’ve got electricity. Probably, by now.”

  Kirra clapped her hands. “I won’t be here in the morning. I’ve got some early appointments. Cameron will get you whatever you need.” She tipped back her glass of wine. “Good night, lads. I’ll join you for dinner tomorrow and you can let me know how you’re progressing.”

  Davie watched her walk out and cleared his throat. “Well.” He finished his beer. “Wonder if Cameron has a new toothbrush.”

  Nick left his beer and grabbed his bag. “Where is he and what’s the wi-fi password? I think I’m actually going to have to do some work.”

  “Nah, mate.” He leaned back in his chair. “Sit. Finish your beer. Take advantage of this.”

  “I should get started.”

  “Come on.” He pulled out a chair with his foot. “You don’t get this kind of life very often, and this only lasts for a couple of weeks. Enjoy.”

  Nick nodded. “True.” He took the offered chair and set the laptop case beside him on the patio. He opened a new bottle. “Cheers.” They tapped bottle necks.

  Davie looked around at their surroundings. “What do you think this place goes for? Three storey house, pool and access to the harbour. And what is this? 2400 square metres of real estate in the city?”

  “More than I’ll ever have.” He walked to the edge of the pool. Underwater lights on the walls reflected off the surface. The pump gurgled softly. He kicked off his shoes and dipped a toe in. “Warm.”

  Davie jumped from his chair and gave Nick a push in the back. “Get in, mate,” he laughed.

  The bottle of beer arced into the pool, Nick close behind. He was taken by surprise and inhaled a mouthful of water when he hit and went under. The weight of his wet denims dragged him to the bottom. He struggled to get his feet under him, his lungs screaming. He fought to the surface and gasped, getting just as much pool water as air.

  He was going under a second time when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him to the edge.

  “Jesus, mate. What the hell? Can’t you swim?” Davie held him at the edge of the pool until he got his arms up on the deck. The depth - 3m - was painted on the tile.

  Nick coughed mucus into the water and rubbed the snot from his nose. He took a couple of stabilising breaths and looked at his friend. “No, actually. I can’t. Never learned.” He coughed up a bit more water. “So, don’t do that again, okay?”

  “School swimming carnivals? Surfing? Weekends at the beach? This is Australia, mate. You can’t swim?”

  “Sue me.” Nick lifted himself out of the pool and stood dripping on the deck. “Let’s not bring this up again.” He picked his shoes up and sloshed his way back to his room.

  Davie jogged up beside him. Handed him his laptop bag. “Don’t forget this.”

  9

  Nick’s bedroom was on the second floor of the expansive house. It was large, with a king sized bed, a desk in the corner with a couple of monitors, en suite and a balcony overlooking the pool.

  Cameron handed him a slip of paper. “Wi-fi password. There’s a direct port at the desk if you’re sitting there. Faster than Wi-Fi. There’s a robe in the closet. Get out of those wet cloths and leave them outside the door.”

  “Where you from, Cameron?”

  “Up Galston way.” The young man cocked his head and looked at Nick. “Why?”

  “How’d you get this gig?”

  “She mentored me during my first year at art college. We clicked. I help around the house and the money Miss Roach pays me helps out heaps.”

  “She pays well?”

  Cameron shrugged with a half-smile. “Better than nothing. And look at this place. Better than any flat in Stanmore. Anything else you need?”

  Nick cleared his throat. “I live in Stanmore.”

  “Oh, jeez. Sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  An embarrassed Cameron nodded. �
�Right. The cook has breakfast ready between 6 and 8 in the morning.”

  “I’m assuming it would be in the morning, Cameron. I’ll see you then.” He closed the door behind him.

  He peeled off his wet clothes. He had to admit that the dip in the pool was refreshing, if not terrifying. The robe was a thick, soft terry. With a hood. He shrugged it on and dropped his wet clothes on a chair outside his room.

  The laptop went on the desk, a USB-C cable connecting two monitors through an adaptor. He connected the power and jacked into the ethernet port.

  “So. Gigabit speeds, eh?” He navigated to speedtest.net and checked.

  Latency was 3 msec. Download speed was 983 Mbps. Upload speed was 853 Mbps.

  “Huh. That’ll do.” He dug the notepad from the bag and followed the instructions to access the Dvorak accounting systems. Still standard SAP accounting software. Still the same boring rows and columns of numbers. He clicked through to the accounts payable files. Hundreds of suppliers, from silicon grommets to protect the wire harnesses transiting through the bulkhead to the batteries fixed to the frames of the cars. LEDs, screens, bearings, computer elements.

  Fewer parts to account for, he expected, than an internal combustion car producer would need to manage. Nick shook his head. “Still, this is too much to start tonight.”

  He called Davie. “What room are you in?” He closed the lid on his laptop.

  “A couple down from yours, I think.”

  “Where’s the kitchen? I could use a couple more beer.” Nick scratched the back of his head. “Can you find Cameron and grab some brews and come over? I’m in the one at the end of the hall. We’ll sit on the balcony and spit ball some ideas.”

  “It’s late, man.”

  “And we’re working from home. I forgive you. Grab some beers.”

  There was silence for couple of beats, then, “Yeah. Sure. See you in a few.”

  Nick slid the door open to the balcony. The night air was warm. Lights tracked across the distant harbour, following the ferries and pleasure boats as they cut through the water. The Opera House was lit up with the colours of the women’s national football team, celebrating the upcoming women’s FIFA World Cup hosted by Australia and New Zealand. He stretched and sat. Kicked his feet up on the balcony railing and laced his fingers behind is head. “I could get used to this.”

  His room door opened and he heard the clanking of glass bottles. He looked over his shoulder. Davie followed Cameron, who was carrying a large bucket of ice with half a dozen beer jammed in. Nick smiled. “Most excellent, Cameron. Stay and join us?”

  “Love to, guys, but I’ve got an Art History exam I need to study for. Maybe another day.”

  Davie looked at Nick and raised his eyebrows. He pulled a beer from the ice, handed it to Nick, and took one for himself. “Another time, then.” He dropped in the chair beside Nick. “Great view, mate.” He tapped bottle necks with Nick. “What’s up?”

  “I started looking at the inventory, the suppliers, and there’s too much there to start tonight. I want to take a step back. Frame up the problem. Most obvious suspect is the CFO. Brent something or other. Slokow. If, and I really mean if, there’s money missing, he’s the most likely suspect. Right? Has to be.”

  Davie nodded. “Occam’s razor. How do you prove it?”

  Nick looked around. “You think she’s bugged the rooms?”

  “What?”

  “Bugs. Microphones. Cameras. What do you think?”

  “Jesus, Nick. You been smoking weed again? You’re getting all paranoid.”

  Nick placed the beer bottle on the table between them. “I don’t know how to prove it because I haven’t actually found any evidence. None. The evidence needs to come first. That’s the problem. Hang on a second.” He retrieved his laptop and sat back in the chair. “Do you think you can get into Andy’s email?”

  “I’d ask before I hacked. The Missus seems to want to help us. It would make sense that she’d give us access.”

  Nick nodded. “I’ll ask her tomorrow.” He opened his email. “Surprised he didn’t send me any specifics. Just a mail setting up the meeting.”

  “You checked your spam, right?”

  Nick clicked and navigated. “No, I didn’t, actually. Fair call. Just a sec.” He scrolled down a couple of screens and stopped on an email from Andy Goh. “Why did this end up in my spam folder when the other one from him didn’t?”

  “Does it promise four hour erections or to reverse hair loss?”

  * * *

  The activity at the warehouse started picking up once the sun went down. One person stood off to the side in the shadows with a tablet while pallet loads of batteries were transferred from a truck to the holding facility.

  The warehouse was in a decrepit part of southwestern Sydney. All of the lights illuminating the outside were broken, save one, leaving a pale glow near the door. With Dvorak selling over 60,000 cars a month, the number of complete battery sets passing through the company pushed nearly 70,000. At a cost of nearly $2500 each per vehicular package.

  Almost 175 million Australian dollars a month.

  And they wanted a slice.

  He looked up from the tablet. “Good work. We just unload the truck tonight. Finish the rest tomorrow. A few more hours and we break.”

  He watched the two workers move the pallets with the practice of a team who had been doing this for months, and getting paid well for it. He scrolled through his contacts and made a call. “Shipment is being unloaded. On schedule. No problems, boss.”

  “Excellent. Thanks. Let me know if anything untoward happens, otherwise I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Nick read through the email from Andy in his junk folder. “What do you think he means by this? ‘I’m of two minds whether I should get you involved in this or not. I’ve got a gut feeling there’s about three to four million a month disappearing, and that kind of money invites drastic responses from those taking it, if interrupted. The breakfast is still on. I’ll explain more in the morning and you give me your thoughts, but don’t feel obligated to take this case. I’m putting together a summary of everything I know. I’ll share it with you over coffee. You come with excellent references from my friends at the AFP. I value your input.”

  He looked up from his screen. “Huh.”

  Davie tipped the last of his beer down his throat. “Sounds like he valued your input and wanted your opinion. You get a copy of that summary from Kirra?”

  Nick shook his head and closed his laptop. “First thing I ask her tomorrow. Kicking you out,” he yawned. “I need sleep. And to recover from the trauma of my friend trying to drown me.

  10

  A beam of sunlight inched across Nick’s pillow, hitting his eyes at a little after 6:30. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head as he did. His mobile phone vibrated and wandered across the bedside table. He flailed for it, not looking, until it fell to the floor.

  “Shit.”

  He swung his legs out of the bed and sat. Moved his phone around with his feet until it was in front of him and peered at the screen on the floor. A missed call from Davie. It took him a second to get his bearings. The bed was a king — the one in his apartment was a twin. The sheets were at least double the tread count he was accustomed to. And the view out the window wasn’t the brick wall of the apartment building next to his.

  He leaned down and snagged the phone and returned the call. “It’s six in the bloody morning, Davie. What?”

  “Pool. Breakfast. It’s — it’s beautiful.” The call ended.

  * * *

  Nick found his way to the pool, freshly showered in yesterday’s now clean and dry clothes. Davie had a piece of melon on the end of a dessert fork.

  “Hey, Nick. Sleep well?”

  Nick eased into a chair at the glass topped table. “What. In the hell. Are you doing up so early?”

  Davie cleared his throat, then popped the melon piece in his mouth. �
��Well,” he chewed, “we’re on a job, right? No rest for the wicked and all that shit. We’ve got analysing to do.”

  Nick yawned and pulled a bowl of berries close. He spooned them into some yoghurt and gave it a stir. Poured a cup of black coffee from a carafe into a clear mug. He sniffed. “That is the best smelling coffee…” He smiled. “I could get used to this. But in about three hours.”

  Kirra strolled onto the pool deck in shorts, t-shirt and sandals. She placed her hands on the back of a chair opposite Nick. “Good morning, gentlemen. You’re up earlier than I expected. What’s your plan of attack?”

  “Well,” said Nick, “as soon as I’m finished this yoghurt I’m going to have a ham, cheese and rocket omelette and a second cup of this fantastic coffee.” He ate another spoonful and smiled. “And then we’ll get into the financial records and start collating any anomalies we find.”

  “You’re good at this accounting stuff, right?” Kirra leaned forward. “Don’t let me, or Andy, down. Got it?”

  Nick nodded. “Absolutely. After I left the AFP I set up shop as a forensic accounting PI.” He smiled wryly. “Kind of a niche market, to be honest. Migrated to divorce and missing cats.” He frowned in thought for a second, holding up a finger. “Something else…” He snapped his fingers. “I got an email from your husband — it landed in my junk folder — where he said he was putting a summary together to go over with me. Can I get a copy of that?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t know anything about it.”

  “Ah, well. If you run across something along those lines, can you get me a copy?”

  Kirra nodded. “Anything you need, let me know. I’ll give you as free rein as possible.”

  Davie looked at Nick, then back at Kirra. “Both of us, right?”