Chapter IV

 

He crossed Katondo Street and walked towards the Kulima Tower bus station. It was getting late and he needed to get home before nineteen hours. The day was busier than usual and he did more transactions than ever before. The streets were becoming friendly and lucrative. For the past five years, he made Katondo street his office, though at first he was required to prove himself to those he found. It didn’t take him long, he settled down and made some friends in the streets. Crimes were committed on a daily basis and with time he learnt the technique of eluding the police.

His friends called him Justin Rastaman Bwalya which he eventually accepted as a new middle name though not because he had dreadlocks or smoked weed. Though after a year in the streets, weed was inevitable. He joined the cartel and traded in everything including fake dollars. He had no specific merchandise to trade but considered himself a general dealer since business was dependent on what his hands found. He preferred trading in items that quickly translated into cash like phones, laptops and other electronic gadgets.

The boy had no option but needed to survive the harsh and biting economy. Since his graduation with a diploma in information technology, Justin never got a job. So he found the best way of applying his computer skills in the streets of Katondo especially with the advent rampant cybercrime and cracking of unlicensed computer software.

The streets were a hub for latest technology. Latest hacking methods were devised and invention of latest money printing machines. Sooner than he expected, he became a dependable force to most of the guys around. He polished his skills and gathered more to continue working as a consultant among the street boys. He finally realized his talents were best in the streets and never wished to settle down to work for anybody. A number of street boys came for consultation on a number of issues including unlocking of stolen phones and other software related issues.

He reached Katunjila road and was about to turn right when a smartly dressed stranger stopped him. He looked up and saw a man standing next to a blue Mercedes Benz. He was dressed in what looked like a blue suit and a white shirt without a necktie. Since it was already getting dark he could not see the face clearly. The street boy stopped and stared at the man dipping his hand into his side trouser pocket as though he was removing something. For a second Justin wondered what the stranger wanted from him. A number of reasons flocked his head and could not still come up with a concrete one.

‘Could he becoming for his money? Or a phone?’ Justin thought.

‘My name is Kelvin,’ the stranger introduced himself with a subdued voice. He sounded calmer than a person coming for retribution. He was sure he had never met the man before. All he could do was to wait and hear what the stranger wanted to say. He looked around him, many people were rushing to board the buses to their respective homes as it was getting late. He did not smell danger or harm coming his way. The place was too open for mischief to happen. His long years in the streets taught him to be careful with strangers like him who just appear from nowhere. His friends were all street boys, not people owning Mercedes Benz. He however, gave him an ear. Maybe he wanted directions to some place.

‘Rastaman, how are you?’ the stranger greeted.

‘I’m fine and how are you big boss? How did you know my name?’ he asked stepping towards the stranger’s left hand side. Rastaman knew that most people were right handed thereby rendering their left side vulnerable making it the safest position to occupy.

‘How was your day Justin?’ he asked without bothering to answer his question.

A wave of fear passed in the boy’s spinal cord seeing the stranger knew more than he thought. Instantly Justin allowed his brain to quickly scan his memory for a possible connection, to no avail. The stranger was a real stranger.

‘Could he be my relative? An uncle?’ he wished for an answer. Unfortunately, no one read his mind. No answers came. Justine did not like such moments and he wished the stranger would just cut his story short and tell him what he wanted.

‘I’m rushing for a bus sir, what can I do for you?’ Justin asked without exposing his frustration.

‘I’m also heading towards Kalingalinga, I can give you a ride if you don’t mind?’

‘Wow! Who are you sir? You know my home?’ He could not hide the mixture of surprise and fear from the stranger in front of him. It was clear the man knew him and he stopped him on purpose.

‘But what does he want from me? Am I in danger?’ he thought dropping his hands in despair.

‘I will make my self-known to you as we drive home!’ he said.

‘But how do I drive with a stranger who knows more about me than I know him. Who just pops up from nowhere and vomits many surprising statements about me. I need to ensure my safety is guaranteed because you have already ambushed me.’

‘Tell me what I should do to make you feel free and safe? I told you my name, what more do you want?’

‘I think I want more, I need to know you and you need to tell me where you knew my names from?’ the boy stated the conditions while looking at the man sternly.

‘You just see me coming and you stop me, and then spill out my correct names and you think I can just stand and get in your car?’ he said turning to leave.

‘Are you not Justin Bwalya Junior? You are the third born of your mother, you live with your aunt and a cousin in a three roomed house in Kalingalinga near Friday’s corner?’

‘Shit! What the hell is this? Who are you big man? Are you one of my prodigal uncles?’ Rastaman asked helplessly. Why are you stalking me? Am I worthy of anything from you?’ his voice tense, facing the man in a suit.

‘Omega 23!’ the stranger said and looked away.

‘You know about that?’ Rastaman asked gasping for air.

‘Can we go now?’

‘No! Wait. Omega 23! It had had nothing to do with me? I wasn’t there. Everything was preplanned and I was just caught in the same,’ Rastaman said defensively.

‘You know we can’t discuss this from here right?’ the stranger reminded.

‘Do you really want to take me home, or you have come back for the codes Sir? Those I can generate them for you tomorrow if you give me time?’ he protested.

Fear gripped the street boy. He never thought anyone outside the streets of Katondo knew the complete code of what he formulated and successfully used to subvert the Central Park. In his lonely nights at home in a shared room with two of his relatives, Justin Bwalya created a series of lethal codes in his quest to create a software application when he was recently asked to create an online registration for a private university. It was a challenge he was willing to take, and so he promised to deliver the service. He researched everywhere and everything. He spent sleepless nights learning online programming lessons. Many methods came up until he settled for C++, it was easier to learn and likely to achieve the intended results.

For two weeks the young man dug deeper into the programming method until he found himself in the unwanted zone. At first he didn’t understand the language, until he saw it, he found himself in the bank’s servers with full access to everything. He viewed the security coding of the entire Central Park House. He saw the bank’s establishment, profile, current transactions, current and old asset values. At the bottom left corner, he saw a pop up button prompting him to enter another secret code.

With ease the young man punched the alpha numeric codes which he generated earlier and there he was. He was afraid, he knew he could be arrested if found. But the efforts and unearthing of series encoding motivated him and the temptation was too high, then suddenly a file flashed and a word blanked everything. He didn’t understand where the word came from and how it came. It looked like a virus but its behavior was different. It started bouncing on the screen while flashing red and blue. The young man was confused, for a long time he had mastered how to neutralize many viruses. The codes he generated modified the security systems of the Bank’s main computer, gained administrator privileges, and created a back door access. The created Trojan Horse which could be used for stealing usernames and password information for computers and had the tactical ability to copy and modify data. Silently, the horse monitored and recorded computer activities and then transmitted the information to Justin via a remote server.

The stranger in a blue suit repeated the same word - the Trojan password. Omega 23 was the word that stood between him and the wealth of the entire Central Bank. He knew he had hacked the security systems and could then transfer the funds to any local or offshore accounts. He was going to be a free, rich and famous man. He felt the exhilaration go up his body. He was breaking free and free indeed.

‘Tell me about Omega 23,’ Justin finally managed to ask.

‘Get in we start going, it may be getting late for you,’ the man said walking towards the driver’s seat confident that the young man was also walking to the other door.

 

***

 

The ride was smooth and comfortable and traffic wasn’t a nuisance. Most people knocking off from work had already driven out of town. The stranger appeared calm and at peace before the steering wheel. He wasn’t talking much, but rather concentrated on the road. There was a strange serenity in the automobile, amplifying their breathing rates giving the street boy ample time to think and think hard. The man seated next to him knew so much about him and yet he knew nothing about the man. The stranger mentioned Omega 23 to get his attention and now he had it. He had a bait and knew perfectly well how to use it. Rastaman had a premonition for danger, his instincts told him and for a second he regretted jumping in the car.

Nothing seemed to make sense to the young man. Nonetheless, he pushed himself down in the comfortable car seat. He had dealt with different categories of people on the street, some poor, middle class and some rich. To others he offered a service while to others he deprived them of the same service. Remorse and regret was no longer part of him until now. He couldn’t understand why he felt so uneasy in the car of someone who looked so calm.

They reached Longacres and then turned left past Barclays Bank Branch and headed towards the police post.

‘The Central Park is the birth place of everything and we are all part of it,’ the driver said without paying attention to the young computer boy.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You are the engineer of the deadly code which ate you and your computer software a year ago. You did what you were supposed to do and people were watching until you proved to be an asset to the system. You came up well, we received you with both hands and knew that you could be groomed to the way you are now.’

‘What are you talking about sir?’ Justin inquired.

‘You handle many clients with different items on the streets of which some are friendly forces though you hardly know them. Not everyone who came with a problem to you needed answers. Some simply brought them to gauge your understanding, remember I said we have been watching your progression in the system, ’ the man said joining Alick Nkhata road.

‘Today you had overwhelming clients and you made the highest sales ever since you joined the street war. Three Europeans came through then a Korean followed before a Japanese asked if you could organize him a passport. At exactly midday a woman wearing a hijab came crying that her phone was stolen and she bumped into you! Then she asked if you could accompany her to a house in Ngwerere farm area where she introduced you to her husband.’

‘Yes! Yes that’s true!’ the boy was running out of words. He looked at the man in a suit the way Pentecostal brothers and sisters would look at the prophesying papa. His mouth remained open and his eyes could not believe what his ears were hearing. The man was saying the truth.

‘Then the husband introduced himself with a nickname which even you doubted being authentic. However, he didn’t give you room to doubt. He brought out a laptop with a broken screen and an old phone he asked you to fix. To your surprise the phone wasn’t even locked and only required you to flash it.’

‘Then directly opposite where you were seated was the true reason why the woman came to you and begged you to fix her only phone at home. She just required you to visit the farm and be seen by the retired General. However, she gave you five hundred dollar notes as a way of paying you and the taxi fare back to the streets.’

‘Is it the dollars you want?’ the young man asked.

‘You know those were not dollars?’

‘Who told you? That’s our business and so it should remain our secret.’

‘Not anymore Justin! It’s time to receive the book,’ he said authoritatively.

‘The book is out there, everybody is free to get a copy and read.’

The driver stretched his hand to the back seat, got a copy of Captured in a rucksack, and handed it to the young man.

‘Open page 23,’ he instructed.