Blood Money (8 page)

The waiting seemed endless to Mark. It looked like the time was going to be closer to the high end of her estimate. At twenty-five minutes past ten the laptop screen illuminated. A message flashed “YOU'VE GOT MAIL.”

Sue turned to him. “Mark, do you want to do the honors?”

“You mean this is it? No, I think you should. This is your moment, Sue. I'd be afraid I'd mess it up. Go ahead, bring it on in!”

The e-mail, with attachment, was sent from Abbeville, France after having circumnavigated the globe several times. Sue took the attachment into storage and processed it through a program she had prepared earlier. It burned two disc files. The client's assignment was complete. She handed the discs to Mark. “I think this is what your client is looking for.”

“Shouldn't we at least look the data over?”

“It's still in raw form. You said that your client is going to harvest the file. Trust me, this is what he wants.”

“You're right. It just seems that after all the suspense, just to have a small disc to show for it, feels strange.”

“In my world, we sometimes get less than that. I can guarantee you that this is the real McCoy. Should we make any copies?”

“I think we should make at least one copy of the discs for you to store for me off-site. Technically, that will be a violation of the agreement I have with my client, but under the circumstances I think it is justified. That way I can attest that I did not keep any copies in my file.”

“That's probably a wise decision. This is obviously an unusual project calling for unusual action. I have a very safe spot for them.”

After the additional copies were burned, Mark placed the original discs in a special mailer already addressed in accordance with Thurston's directive. “Let's get this over to the post office and put this baby to bed.”

They drove to the Centerville Post Office in her car. The lines were short for a change. He insured the package and sent it “Registered, Return Receipt Requested.” Eventually, when he received the invoice for Sue's services and the postal receipt, he would prepare a final report and invoice Thurston Electronics for his “Consulting Services.” Then the assignment would be officially finished. Or so he thought.

“Sue, how about we celebrate at the best steakhouse in town? We deserve to celebrate. You have the time, don‘t you?”

“I need to get back tonight, but I could go for a nice thick sirloin and a glass of wine right about now.”

“There's a nice cozy restaurant right around the corner from here. Recently they opened for lunch.”

*

Mark deliberately prolonged the meal so he could spend more time with Susan. They lingered over the wine, ordered a crab cake appetizer, cobb salads and really thick juicy steaks that were cooked to perfection, and they topped it off with coffee and cheesecake. Mark insisted on the cheesecake to make up for the dessert he had forgotten the previous night. He would accept no excuses. Two hours later, they were back at his house. Sue gathered up her stuff and he helped her load up her car. As he put the bags in the trunk, he noticed a leather holster and handgun stuffed behind the spare tire.
I wonder why she needs a gun
.
The business she operates shouldn't require her to pack a gun. That's really odd.
He decided to keep his discovery to himself.
It's certainly none of my business.

“Well Sue, I don't know how to thank you enough. This task was insurmountable until you came along.”

“I hope you still feel that way when you get my bill.” She gave him one of her trademark smiles, as she added, “Money sometimes changes people's attitude about gratitude.”

“I don't think that could happen with us. Besides, I‘m just going to pass it on to my client.”

“I am still going to charge you the going rate for an out-of-town job.”

“My client won't care. He will be very happy with our work. It's only been a week. Remember, his guys worked on it for months.”

Mark came around to the driver's side. Sue was about to get into the car. She stopped and gave him a big hug and a soft kiss on the lips. She hesitated for a split second and his hopes soared, but then she slid behind the wheel, started the car and backed out of the driveway. A tremendous feeling of loss immediately came over Mark. As her tail lights disappeared from view, he was tempted to call her cell phone to ask her to come back. But he didn't.
If things are meant to work out for us, they will happen. I'll just have to be a little more patient.

CHAPTER 11

At 9 a.m. a “Processing Exception” report printed out in the NRBA main computer room. This was a rare occurrence at the center, happening only once or twice a year. The last time it happened was the result of a “hacking” attempt that failed. Two teenage boys got as far as one the final processing runs before it was detected. Their computer ID was traced to an apartment in Detroit, Michigan, and they were apprehended within two hours. They had no real purpose in mind, just had time on their hands that landed them in Juvenile for a year. The time before that, an error in input records from a blood bank was the culprit. Both times, changes in processing procedures were made to prevent them from reoccurring. Of course, they were only patching individual violations. The complete overhaul of their systems security was always on the back burner. That left them vulnerable to Susan's unique brand of skullduggery.

The operator tore the sheet from the printer and hand carried it to the office of Paul Matheson, Director of IT, a post he had held for ten years, during which time he'd seen it all. Paul could best be described as “pudgy.” He was only five-four and weighed over 220 pounds. At his age, as the head of IT at a prestigious company, he was well-positioned career-wise. He received calls from headhunters on a regular basis, but their offers always fell way short of the total compensation package that the Association set up for him. From that perspective, he was set for life. It was not surprising, then, that Paul was totally dedicated to his job; totally absorbed in the company culture. There are some who are of the opinion that Paul lives on the company property, since he always seems to be there in spite of the 24/7 operating schedule. Actually, he is a happily married man with two teenage children. He just happens to have the gift of a sixth sense that alerts him when there is going to be a problem that requires him to be there. Today would be one of those occasions.

He quickly scanned the report, picked up the phone and pressed three numbers. “John, this is Paul. We've had an infraction in this morning's Donor Input run. I want an immediate lockdown. No one is to leave the building until this is resolved. Check with the security desk and see if we have any visitors still on the premises.” He hesitated for a moment. “I want a copy of the visitor's log, a list of all employees in the building today and the name of anyone scheduled for work who did not show. I need it all ASAP.” John Portman is Director of Security for NRBA. He had been with them since their inception. “I'm on it, Paul. Do you think someone has broken into the system?”

“It's too early to tell for sure, but we are over our processing time for the transfer cycle by almost twenty-five minutes. That's a lot of time for what should have been a short run. I don't like the looks of this at all.”

“I'll have what you need in less than ten minutes.”

John was not used to taking orders from a fellow director, especially since all the things that Paul had asked him to do were exactly what he would have normally done himself as the head of security, but this was one of those situations where the ego needed to be subjugated. Only temporarily, of course.

As he waited, Paul made a note on a yellow pad to make a systems change that would immediately suspend all processing whenever the processing time on a run exceeds the estimated run time by ten percent, but the clock would need to be running during the processing so that they had an early warning. Waiting until the processing was complete, which was what they were doing now, was totally inadequate. An override would have to be included that only he, Robby Acheson or John Portman could activate. That was for the future, however, and he was more concerned with the problem at hand. Paul drummed his fingers on his desk while he waited, looked at his watch twice and took a mouthful of water from the bottle on his side table. Eventually, he would have to contact his boss to appraise him of what happened. Paul reported directly to the new National Director, Dr. Thomas Orwell, who had been next in line to succeed Dr. Cartwright. This would be Orwell's first “incident.” He would, no doubt, be very concerned with results and appearances. With the lockdown already in effect, the clock was slowly ticking. He had to get answers quickly.

John stuck his head in the door. He was waved in.

“What've you got?”

“Well, everything looks okay internally. We only had one visitor today, a Professor Dwyer from M.I.T. He got the courtesy tour we give to all academics. One of our customer service managers was with him the entire time. He was never near any operations, and was out of here around ten after nine. As for employees, only one of the laboratory technicians is absent today. He had a death in the family. Human Resources confirms that his mother was in hospice and expected to live only a few days. Aside from that, everyone seems to be where they should be. So as far as I can see, the extra run time must be because a blood bank sent more transactions than they noted on their control record. Input for that run originated from six blood banks. One in Burbank, California, one in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, two in Dallas, Texas, another in Miami, Florida and the last in Mansfield, Ohio. They have all been participating members for at least three years and generate input at least once a week, but not necessarily on the same day.”

The frustration began to show on Paul's face as he said, “Get someone to contact each of the blood banks and have them check their records. I want them to resubmit their control records right away to check with ours. Make sure they verify by fax or e-mail. No verbal messages. We'll need a paper trail in case we do have a problem. I need that information quickly. Thanks for your help, John.”

John used Paul's telephone to contact Customer Service. After he communicated what they needed to do, he continued his update. “I have an operator printing out a summary record of the input and output files for the run. It'll take a while. They'll bring it up when it's done. I expect it to be voluminous, but at least we'll be able to see in print exactly what took the extra time.” He thought for a minute, then added, “In fact, Paul, why don't I run down there myself and see if I can speed things up.”

“I'd really appreciate that, John.”

“No problem, glad to help,” he said leaving the office. So far, this was still what John would have done on his own. He came back in about eight minutes struggling with the weight of a stack of computer paper over a foot high. His face was without expression. “You're not going to like this, Paul.”

“Why? What did you find?”

“The listing shows that disbursement records for the past two years were set up to be output. That's what took the extra processing time. This is only a partial printout. That is one of our larger files. Apparently, the records were processed along with the normal outputs for the six blood banks. The reports to the six banks went out as usual. But here's the weird thing. Even though we did not have an output address record for the file, somehow an address was created for it within the system, and it was sent to, of all places, a web site in Burma. Now, I'm certainly not a communications expert, but from what I have ever heard about situations like this, once records start bouncing around the globe like that, the final destination is usually untraceable.”

“My God, John, how is that possible? How could that happen with all the firewalls we've built in?”

“I don't know. I was expecting you to know the answer to that. It looks like we've been hacked by professionals.” John picked up the phone and dialed his secretary. “Any word yet?” He listened for a few minutes, took a small pad out of his jacket pocket and jotted down a note. He hung up and turned solemnly back to Paul. “The blood bank in California and the two in Texas check out. Nothing yet on the remaining three.” He waited about five minutes and called again. “Are they sure? Okay, thanks Joan.” He hung up the phone. His face was emotionless. “They all check out. Not only have we been hacked, but there is no trail. I hate to say this, but this is beginning to look like an internal job. It's the only plausible explanation I can come up with at the moment.”

“I guess I can't wait any longer. Dr. Orwell has to know about this,” Paul said as he buzzed for his secretary.

This was one of the reasons John was willing to play second fiddle to Matheson, at least temporarily. He didn't want to be the one to break the bad news to Dr. Orwell. There was no way of knowing how he would react. From experience, he knew that quite often the messenger gets shot. Seconds later, Paul's secretary opened his door.

“Kathy, will you get Dr. Orwell on the phone for me? If he isn't in his office, will you please find out where he is?”

“Right away, sir.”

A minute later his phone rang. “I have Dr. Orwell for you on three.”

“Dr. Orwell, Paul Matheson. John Portman and I need to see you right away on an urgent security issue. Yes, sir, it is about the lockdown. Thank you! We'll be right up.”

Dr. Orwell knew about the lockdown. The call from Paul came as no surprise.

“Paul, John, please come in,” Thomas Orwell said as he motioned them toward a conference table in the center of the room. “Have a seat, gentlemen.” He looked directly at Paul and asked, “So, what's this all about?”

“Doctor Orwell, we've had a hacking incident and it looks like it may have originated within our ranks. It happened between nine and ten twenty this morning. A segment of our financial file was extracted during normal Blood Bank transaction processing and was somehow sent out to a fictitious Internet address. John made an initial check of the blood banks involved and they seem to be in the clear. It is possible that an outsider may have hacked in at the exact time the transaction processing was inputting, but that would have taken very precise timing and a thorough knowledge of our processing and passwords. I suspect that the infraction occurred inside the company, probably in our Operations Department. We need to find out who is responsible, and why and how the file was sent to an address in, of all places, Burma.” Paul took a deep breath and waited for Orwell to respond.

Orwell's voice was calm and his words were measured.

“It's difficult to conceive of one of our employees doing such a thing. Has anything like this ever happened here before?”

“We've had a few cases of hacking, but they always left a trail, and we eventually caught and prosecuted them. No one has ever tried to extract whole files. Usually they just try to plant bugs and screw up our processing; just mischievous stuff. Usually it is done from the outside. Occasionally it's a screw-up in the input records. We have never had anything quite like this. In the past, we've always been able to find the culprits and handle things quickly and quietly. This one has me baffled.”

“You said a file was stolen. What was on the file?

“It looks like it was two years worth of disbursement records.”

Dr. Orwell's face drained of its color. He turned to Portman. “What do you make of this, John? This has the appearance of being more than a nuisance hacking.”

“I agree with Paul, sir. I hate to say it, but I think you're right. This has all the earmarks of an inside job by someone with a thorough knowledge of our systems and procedures.”

“What have you done so far?”

Paul replied, “We did the lockdown about half an hour ago while we checked on employees and visitors. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, as far as we can tell. I don't see how it can be anything but an inside job. As a precaution, all processing has been suspended. I need your advice as to how to proceed with this.”

“I think we need to have a group meeting of operating and software people,” he said, directing his reply to Paul. “I don't think we need to involve anyone else right now.”

“What should I tell them?”

“Well, we owe them an explanation for the lockdown and suspension of processing. Let's start with that. We'll address the group in the auditorium in ten minutes. Attendance for those two departments is mandatory.”

*

The auditorium was about one quarter filled. The back door was closed and manned by a security guard. Paul checked to assure that everyone was in attendance. He motioned to Dr. Orwell that he could proceed. The Doctor stepped up on the stage and adjusted the microphone; the buzzing came to a stop. “I'm sure you all want to know what is going on.” He hesitated, cleared his throat and continued. “We've had an incident this morning that is extremely serious. It involves the theft, via the Internet, of a section of our financial records. We don't know all the details yet, and we haven't determined the ramifications, but I can assure you of one thing. We will get to the bottom of this, and anyone found to be complicit in this crime will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Our work here carries with it a trust. One that we take very seriously. Any action that violates that trust will be severely dealt with.” He hesitated for a minute, scanning the audience of curious faces. “I'm sad to say that everything so far points towards this infraction originating within our ranks.” That caused a stirring among the employees. He continued, “John Portman, our Director of Security will be in charge of the investigation. I expect each of you to give him your cooperation. Anyone who has a problem with this should be prepared to sever their employment at the NRBA immediately.” He turned towards Paul. “Now, I want to turn the microphone over to Paul Matheson.”

Paul stepped up on the stage. He didn't bother adjusting the microphone, he just tilted his head upward as he spoke. “Dr. Orwell expressed the same feelings I have regarding the integrity of the NRBA and everyone who works here. The quicker we resolve this puzzle, the sooner we can put this unpleasantness behind us. What occurred today will not be tolerated. Something happened during the processing of our daily transaction run that we can't trace, or at the moment even figure out the cause of. We know that one of our financial files was copied and sent out over the Internet to an untraceable address. We also know that the blood banks aren't involved, so the only logical conclusion is that the processing was tampered with, either from the software or the operating side.” Again, the audience buzzed among themselves. He added, “I hope to God I'm wrong; that there is another explanation. We need to get back into production as quickly as possible, so as a precaution, until further notice, all employees involved in operations will be teamed with someone from software development whenever they are involved in a processing operation. Also, we will be changing our control programs so that any time a processing run exceeds the control time by ten percent or more during a run, that processing will be halted at once and an incident report will be sent immediately either to me and to Robby Acheson, our IT Operations Manager. I'm sorry we have had to meet today under such unfortunate circumstances. I know that as professionals you'll understand that in situations like this the shadow of suspicion falls on everyone, regardless of who they are. When this is behind us, we must go on without any hard feelings. That being said, we want to be up and running in thirty minutes, but first John Portman and I want to meet with Robby and his staff in the executive conference room in five minutes.”