Authors: Mark Russinovich
“I will enjoy that,” Pedro said, realizing as he did that he really meant it.
70
TRADING PLATFORMS IT SECURITY
WALL STREET
NEW YORK CITY
7:09
P.M.
Richard Iyers grimaced as he sat at his workstation. When he’d met with Campos and assured him that he’d stay on the woman he’d completely forgotten the meeting he had to attend. The new IPO software was scheduled for the daily upload in a few hours, and the presence of all the senior infrastructure specialists was mandatory. There would be a final triage of the outstanding bugs, and there were more than a few. Not that there was anything much they could do at this point. The decision was made, the timing was set. They would have to hope the bugs wouldn’t impact the IPO or surrounding trade activity. The market would open at nine thirty the next morning, as usual—with the Toptical IPO scheduled for ten o’clock.
Iyers checked and saw three sets of code modifications Campos wanted him to review, bundle, and insert with the next Exchange update. Iyers sighed. It would take hours, and he’d probably get more yet. It was going to be a long night.
But his real concern was the woman. He had no idea what she’d been up to all afternoon. In his experience women were no better than average when it came to this kind of work, so he wasn’t unduly concerned. Aiken and Renkin had impressed him with their calm assurance but this hot chick was something else. Such women liked to talk a good game but lacked the intuition that understanding complex code and network systems like the Exchange required. The only disturbing aspect of their conversation was that she knew he’d used a rootkit. He assumed either Aiken or Renkin had found it.
Still, for now, the Rio code would have to wait.
* * *
Since returning from lunch, Daryl had continued to analyze the logs with the aim of finding the digital trail to Campos. No employees interrupted her at her appropriated workstation. Alerts from Iyers’s e-mail had distracted her throughout the afternoon, but they were all routine Exchange business. But what she did note was the high number of them between Iyers and Campos.
Daryl paused. Something was nagging at her. Something she knew she’d missed. Then it came to her. She hurriedly pulled out her laptop and quickly went to her notes from the previous day. There it was. The Appreciation Trust accounts with Pacific Eastern Bank had been opened in the name of Dick Iver.
Richard Iyers. This was no coincidence. For a chilling moment she recalled the assault on Jeff. These were desperate men. She needed to stop thinking about this as a purely computer problem.
“Kelly,” Iyers said, “hard at it, I see.”
Daryl glanced up from her screen. Her throat caught for an instant. She switched to another screen. “Hello, Richard. Still here, I see.”
“Busy night. We’ve got the big IPO tomorrow, and there’s a much larger update than usual scheduled at three
A
.
M
. Lots to go over. Sorry I haven’t been able to come by sooner to help out. I’ve been in a meeting. What have you been doing?”
“I’ve not accomplished much so far. This is all very sophisticated, much more demanding than the code I usually work with.” She gave him her “I’m only a girl” smile.
“Don’t feel bad about it. We hire the best, and it takes months before anyone can navigate the system with confidence, let alone rework code. Have you tried the logs?” The only real worry Iyers had was if she turned to the logs, found the right ones, and proved good at reading them. He and Campos had discussed them many times over the years because they were the Achilles’ heel of their operation. They’d hidden their trails within the work of others and believed they were covered but if they could create them, someone with enough determination, time, and expertise could trace them back.
“Not really. They’re pretty complicated. I was thinking maybe you could spend some time with them, since you know the system better than I do. It’s hard for me to know what’s legitimate activity.”
“Sure. It’ll have to be tomorrow, though. I’m packed with work before then, probably not surprisingly.”
Daryl looked disappointed. “If you have to. I can’t hang around here much longer though. Someone’s going to ask questions at some point.” She brightened. “What did you think of the rootkit?”
Iyers was startled. He’d not bothered to look at it. After all, he’d planted it and knew it was there. “Really something. I didn’t think it was possible. It’s going to be quite a coup for me when I officially report it.”
“Don’t act too fast,” Daryl cautioned. “Wait until I’m out of here.”
“I will. Don’t worry.” Iyers stared at her a moment. Was it possible he’d overestimated her even with his reservations? Right now, she didn’t sound bright enough to be a threat. “Well, I’ve got to get back. You know where I’ll be.” He stopped, then added, “At some point tonight, we both need to stop. Let me buy you a late dinner or early breakfast, depending, okay?”
“That would be nice,” Daryl said, as no other answer was acceptable.
Once she was satisfied he’d left she returned to the logs.
71
GRUPO TÉCNICO
RUA ADOLFO MOTA
GRANDE TIJUCA
RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL
11:23
P.M.
The streets were largely calm as the four men drove to the Grupo Técnico offices in Carl’s Camry. Still, people were out, though not that many and the traffic was light, mostly small commercial trucks.
No one spoke. There was a slight mood of tension in the air but nothing extreme or uncomfortable, much like a college classroom just before the big exam. Carl drove by the stadium, then turned down a narrow residential street two blocks from the office, pulled into an open parking space, then killed the lights and engine.
The men climbed out of the car and shut the doors quietly. In the near distance a dog yapped. Oscar opened the trunk and handed a dark sports bag to Frank. He gave a smaller one to Carl, who swung it from his shoulder while Oscar did the same with a matching one. Then Oscar lifted a small black plastic suitcase from inside the trunk and closed the lid.
The case held heat sensor equipment that had been mysteriously delivered to the hotel. Jeff hadn’t seen the man, if it had been a man, but been shown the suitcase contents. Frank had explained that with this they’d be able to know exactly how many people were within the mansion and their locations.
Frank, Oscar, and Carl took three cell phones from their pockets Frank had acquired earlier. They turned them on, secured them on their belts, put their earpieces in, and clipped mics to their collars. Without a word, they set out toward the office building, Jeff following closely. A few minutes later, Frank stopped in the shadows on the opposite side of the street. Oscar and Carl separated from them and, it seemed to Jeff, vanished.
A small motorcycle buzzed by. Jeff caught a glimpse as it passed. Pizza delivery.
They were still well down the street from the entrance, out of range of the security cameras. Inside his pocket, Jeff grasped the revolver Frank had given him. It felt heavy, and lethal. Several minutes passed. Frank murmured quietly into his mic, then said, “The boys are in place.”
“How are they going to use that equipment with the wall blocking them?”
“They’ve got an elevated location.”
A short time later, Frank mumbled again into the mic. Then he looked to Jeff. “There’s a helicopter in back of the main building.”
“Reinforcements?”
“We’re getting the count now.”
After ten minutes, he spoke. “There are five guards, four inside the building. We make three on the second floor. One on the ground floor, seated at a table or desk. The fifth is on foot, staying generally near the guard post at the gate.”
“What do you think?”
“Let’s move. It’s as thinly manned as we can hope.”
* * *
There were more lights here than along some streets Jeff had seen but it was still very dimly lit. It was a narrow street and traffic was sparse. Frank and Jeff went closer to the entrance.
“What now?” Jeff asked quietly.
“Just watch,” Frank whispered.
Oscar approached the front entrance by himself. With his slight build, glasses, and accountant demeanor he looked utterly innocent and a bit confused. He said something through the metal gate. A stout man in a tan uniform and peaked cap stepped toward him. He was wearing a thick black bulletproof vest, had an automatic pistol on his hip, and carried a military-style rifle across his chest, a common look for Brazilian security guards from what Jeff had seen. He moved closer to the entrance, stopping a few feet back. He said something in Portuguese.
“Oscar’s asking directions,” Frank whispered. “When you follow me in, close the gate behind you.”
There was an exchange of words; then the guard noticeably relaxed, came right up to the gate, and gestured down the street as if giving instructions. Oscar shot a hand through the gate and almost instantaneously the guard crumbled.
“Now!” Frank said as he ran to the entrance, Carl sprinting to meet them from the other direction. By the time they arrived Oscar had the gate slid open. The three men squeezed through and shot across the driveway toward the front door to the mansion. Jeff hesitated over the fallen guard but saw no blood. By the time he entered the building the single guard there had his hands in the air. He’d been seated at a desk in front of a computer monitor.
“Upstairs,” Frank ordered. Oscar joined them and the three went up leaving the guard with Carl.
* * *
Pedro was scowling at the screen. Everyone was so exhausted no one was functioning efficiently, even him. Well, it wouldn’t be much longer. Abílio would need the final Carnaval code in the next three hours so that he could plant it with the Exchange update. Abílio said it was a big one as there were still changes being made to the new IPO software. After that, Pedro planned to sleep a bit to be ready for when the Toptical IPO started seven hours later. He’d be watching that with his father.
He heard loud steps pounding on the stairs and wondered what that was about. Had his father come back? Then he heard orders barked in the outer office and felt a chill. Before he could react, a strange man entered his office, holding a gun in his hand.
“Push away from the computer,” Frank ordered in English, sure the boss would speak it.
“American? What are you doing here?” Pedro said. “Get out!”
“Move from the computer,” Frank repeated.
Pedro looked into his eyes, then at the weapon, then stood and backed up, pushing his chair from the desk. Frank came around, turned him to face the wall, then secured his wrists with the type of plastic strip that served police as temporary handcuffs. “Sit,” he ordered, directing Pedro back into the chair.
Jeff, still near the door to Pedro’s office, looked into the outer office and saw the three coworkers uncomfortably seated on the coach, their hands behind their backs. Renata’s eyes were wide with terror. Oscar was hovering over them, looking ominous.
Frank shut the door and turned to Pedro. The color had drained from the young man’s face. His eyes bulged and he blinked spasmodically. Still, he managed to speak. “Who are you?
“Who we are isn’t important.”
“What have you done with Gustafo and Luís?”
“They’re fine, for now.”
If Jeff hadn’t known how much of this was a bluff, he’d have bought Frank’s threatening manner.
Pedro stared at the two gringos. They were grim-faced, serious men. He gathered his courage. “What do you want?” he said.
“Let me tell you what we know already so we can save a bit of time here. You and the others outside have written malware and infiltrated the New York Stock Exchange with it. You’ve been stealing money for about a year now. How am I doing?”
Pedro’s wide eyes grew wider. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If you expect to get out of this, you’re going to have to get a lot smarter than you’re acting right now.” Frank crossed his arms. “Put your thinking cap on. Just who do you think we are?”
That, Pedro thought, was an excellent question. Possibilities came to him in a wave. “I don’t know.”
“Let me give you a hint. The Exchange hired someone to run a test of their trading platform. The people doing that encountered your malware, crudely hidden I might add in a rather quaint rootkit. Any ideas forming about who we are?”
Pedro looked at Frank with fresh interest, then at the tall man standing to his side and slightly behind him. “No.”
“This is where it gets interesting.” Frank squatted down. “One of the two guys doing the penetration test went for a run in Central Park. He was attacked and nearly killed. Now he’s really pissed off, so is his friend. How are the brain cells working now?”
“Attacked?” Could it be? He stared at the men, at one, then the other, back and forth, as if he could decipher their thoughts.
“Whoever did it didn’t care if he lived or died. At the same time one of your helpers in New York planted code making it look as if they were stealing the money, instead of you.”
My God! Pedro thought. This can’t be! “You?”
“Yes,” Jeff said. “Us. We’re the men you framed and tried to murder.”
“No, no, not me, I…” Pedro stopped.
“Now, listen, we have a deal for you. It’s important. If it works out, you get to live.” Frank waited for that to sink in.
Pedro licked his lips. “What deal?”
“You stop what you’re doing. Turn it off, take it down, whatever you have to do, but you stop it. Then you tell us all about your operation, most importantly, the name of your helper in New York.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Too late, Pedro. We know you do.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Now, listen, kid,” said Frank. “We can have a talk like adults, you can get back on your computer and stop this operation, or I can hurt you, hurt you in ways you’ve never considered, and when I’ve finished, we’ll still have that talk and you’ll still bring this operation to an end. The only difference is how much and for how long you suffer, and how hard you make me work because when this is over, I have to decide if it’s worth letting you live.”