Rogue Code (42 page)

“Jesus! That can’t be. I’ve been so careful.”

Iyers hunched down, moving closer to Campos, and lowered his voice. “She’s not certain, Marc. Sure, she can try and blame you, and you and I know how bad that would be, but she needs to be positive before she takes that step. We don’t need a lot of time here, and she doesn’t know that. Toptical goes off tomorrow, in less than twenty-four hours. We’ll have made our haul by this time tomorrow. She’s working from Ann’s old station. I’m sticking close to her, to see what she’s up to, figure out how much she knows.”

“Why would she let you do that?”

“Because I told her I think Aiken and Renkin are innocent and I want to help. She believes me.”

“Why should she trust you?”

“Having someone on the inside will make what she’s doing a lot easier.” Iyers grinned. “And I’ve got a way with women. You know that.”

Campos looked at Iyers and wondered how he could ever have recruited this man. This was supposed to be a cyberjob, computers only. Now because of Iyers, he had a murder and attempted murder on his hands. Only God knew what else.

“I need you to do our job. Carnaval is backed up.”

“This is important too, to keep us out of jail, Marc. I’ll take care of the rest. Don’t worry about it. But don’t you see? This makes it all easier.”

“And how is that?”

“We’re about to be blown. That means tomorrow night we take off. We don’t risk sticking around. I just have to keep her on the string until then, and that won’t be hard. I know what she’s looking for.”

Campos closed his eyes and thought. He swallowed several times, trying to work some moisture back into his mouth. Finally, he said, “Maybe—” He stopped. “Maybe, she needs your special attention.” He couldn’t believe he’d said it, but it was the only way.

“What’s that?”

“We can’t run tomorrow. We need to stay here and cover tracks as the money is funneled. It’s part of the job.”

“I don’t get you.”

“She’s the only one who suspects, right?”

“There’s Aiken and Renkin.”

“They’re being taken care of.”

“Is that right? You never said anything to me about that.”

“We just need to see to this woman.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re giving me the green light.”

“Just don’t be sloppy like you were in the park.”

“No problem, amigo. It’s about time you came around.” Iyers picked up his coffee.

Campos glared at him. “Don’t call me amigo.”

68

SAFE HOUSE

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

5:34
P.M.

Carl and Oscar rapped lightly on the door, then let themselves in. Frank had been asleep on the couch. He roused himself, went into the bathroom, then came out just as the other two retrieved bottles of water and made themselves comfortable in overstuffed, worn chairs. They looked as if they’d been out for a stroll, and perhaps in their world they had. Carl was in tan chinos with a light blue polo shirt while Oscar wore light green cotton pants with an untucked embroidered white shirt, Latin style. He had a cigar tucked in one of the pockets.

Jeff had watched them from over his laptop. He’d been in the safe house for some three hours now. When they’d arrived, Jeff asked if the CIA knew they were using it and been answered with laughter all around, then told not to worry about it. He closed the laptop and moved to the couch.

“What’d you find?” Frank asked.

“It’s a two-story mansion converted into office space,” Carl said. “The street is a mixed neighborhood with businesses and residences. It’s surrounded by a ten-foot wall with the usual stuff on top. There’s a car entrance with an electronic gate, a door for foot traffic, and a guard post. There were four vehicles parked inside. The grounds are neat, grass with no trees or significant shrubbery. In the rear is a helicopter landing pad with what looks like a storage building to the far side. We think the bottom floor is dedicated to security, and the offices we’re after are on the second floor. All in all, not a bad setup if privacy and security are what you want while still looking legitimate.”

“How many?” Frank asked.

Carl shrugged as he pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. “I made three. How about you?”

“Same,” Oscar said. “Just one at the guard station, another on the grounds, a third inside watching the monitors. They all looked bored. It’s possible there’s a fourth on the second floor. We stayed as long as we could but weren’t able to tell how many others are inside. They’ve got security cameras covering the grounds and two along the wall facing the street, which also takes in the entrance. We’ll scope the setup tonight and do another count.”

“When’s the equipment coming?” Frank asked.

Oscar glanced at his wristwatch. “In about half an hour.”

“Good. What about the second floor?”

“It looked busy,” Oscar said. “Lights were on. We saw movement. Two guys, office types who came out for a smoke break looking pretty haggard. They stood away from the guards. There was no interaction with them. I’d say no more than six work upstairs, maybe less.”

“It looked pretty busy,” Carl agreed.

“I’m thinking around midnight,” Frank said.

“Should be less security at night. We’ll need time to observe before we move.”

“They’re on deadline,” Jeff said. “It could be very busy tonight.”

“So security may stick around, you think?” Oscar asked.

“It’s a thought,” Jeff answered.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Frank said. “Guards are creatures of habit. Unless they’ve got some reason to think tonight is special, they’ll leave the standard night shift.”

“Probably one, then,” Carl said. “Definitely no more than two.”

“Your fracas in SP might have alerted them,” Oscar suggested.

“Maybe they’ve made no connection,” Jeff said. “They have no way of knowing we’ve learned about the Rio operation. Their lure sent us to the other site.”

“Good point, but still, they might increase security,” Frank said. Oscar and Carl looked at each other. “What?”

“I ran a check on the warehouse where you had the trouble and on this location,” Carl said. “You aren’t going to like it. Both places are buried in paperwork, but in some databases, they are identified as belonging to Nosso Lugar. It means ‘Our Place.’ It’s commonly identified as simply NL.”

“And what is NL?” Jeff asked.

“It’s one of the major gangs out of SP,” Carl said. “Slicker than most, well established. The
chefe
is Victor Bandeira. A thug but more enlightened. Big in banking and cybercrime.”

“NL is big locally in banking and a major world operator in Internet gambling,” Oscar said. “It fits what you’ve uncovered in New York to a tee. Apparently Bandeira has branched out.”

“Bandeira, you say?” Frank repeated. “Daryl followed up last night’s text warning with a copy of this address. The e-mail she used to locate it has a Pedro Bandeira listed as president. He seems to be running the operation in New York.”

“A relative,” Carl said. “A key position like that would only be trusted to someone close.”

“What difference does this make?” Jeff asked. “We’ve suspected all along there was a criminal organization behind this.”

“It only makes a difference in that these are very tough people,” Frank said. “If security is increased we’ll have our hands full. Ideally, we need to get in and get out without attracting attention. I’m thinking we go for the computers and skip taking a body.”

“It won’t matter,” Oscar said. “Either way, once we make our move they’ll be after us with a vengeance.” Jeff moved uneasily. Oscar looked at him, the only outsider to their black ops world. “We’ve got this covered, Jeff. Don’t be concerned. We just want Frank here to know what we’re up against.”

“From what you say they’ve made no connection between what happened last night and us. Otherwise, this place would be flooded with security.” Frank stretched. “I’m going on an equipment run for me and Jeff in a few minutes. You two should get some sleep. We’ll bring food in about eight, then do a gear check. Let’s move out at ten thirty, be in place by eleven. Sound right?”

Carl and Oscar nodded. “Sounds good.”

69

GRUPO TÉCNICO

RUA ADOLFO MOTA

GRANDE TIJUCA

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

6:25
P.M.

From inside his office, Pedro heard the helicopter drawing close, but gave it no thought. Helicopters were common in Rio, though this one was lower than usual. But when the volume increased, he looked out the window, wondering what was going on. Seeing nothing, but with the noise even louder he went through the offices to the downstairs.

The guard from the monitor was standing at French doors watching the back corner of the lot. “What’s going on?” Pedro asked.

“
El Chefe
is landing,” he said.

Papai?
Pedro thought. Now what the hell is he doing here?

The Colibri midrange helicopter was in clear view now. The craft was slowing, the engine noise causing the shades to vibrate, the wind storm created by its rotors kicking up leaves from the grass lawn, the craft lowering itself slowly until at last it settled within the walls, some thirty feet from where Pedro stood.

As the rotors slowed César climbed out of the craft, holding his suit jacket close to his body, looking out of place with his dark sunglasses. Paulinho came out next. He was followed by Victor Bandeira who stepped from the craft clutching a briefcase. He lowered his head and came directly to the door. The guard all but snapped to attention. Seeing his son, Bandeira embraced him with a wide grin. “Caught you by surprise, I can see.” He laughed. “Show me what you are doing.” He stepped off for the stairs leaving Pedro to catch up.

In his office Bandeira took Pedro’s seat. The young man closed the door and sat in front. “What’s going on?” his father asked. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

For other men of Bandeira’s age and in other companies his presence would have been ludicrous, an aging manager pretending he understood the complexity of the sophisticated code Pedro’s team produced. But Bandeira had worked with computers from the start and understood the basics of software, the demands of good code, and the creation of stable architecture. He’d required at least weekly briefings from Pedro during the development of Casas de Férias.

“Abílio stopped automatically forwarding our drops into the trading engines late yesterday. With our increased output, it was the only way to get the job done. Now we’ve been denied direct access.”

“He told me. He said your code wasn’t ready to upload and he needed to clear everything first.”

Pedro wanted to take offense but what his father said was correct. “We’ve been under enormous strain, as I’ve told you. Increasing the take to so much in such a short time period has been more than we could handle with the same safeguards we’ve had. Not to mention the frequent trading engine code updates as the Exchange readies for the IPO.” His father shot him a look but didn’t interrupt. “I’ve got the team reworking code. Then it comes to me for review. When I think it’s ready, I send it along to Abílio. The quality is better, but we’re going too slowly. I’m concerned.”

“What’s the main problem?”

“The IPO module looks good. Even Abílio seems happy with it. Our test runs were largely glitch free, with just a few bugs. He’s working on cleaning those up and plans a final upload later tonight.”

“It’s not already in place?”

“No, we held off as we didn’t want to risk attracting attention in New York. If we’d uploaded earlier, we’d have to have done several updates and with the controversy over the bot their security level is heightened. We also have only so many opportunities to piggyback on the normal software updates. Abílio says there’s a final Exchange IPO software update scheduled at three tomorrow morning. The Exchange, even with its vast resources, has been having many of the same problems we’ve got. We’re riding in on it.”

“Abílio says it will be ready?”

“As ready as we can make it. Our primary problem is in setting up the targets for the Casas de Férias aspect of Carnaval, the account module. Half the money will come from it. We’ve managed to identify a sufficient number of targets, companies and funds we know will take part in the Toptical IPO. Our difficulty has been in writing the configuration for each one and in securing enough routes to get the money out of the United States quickly. I’ve had to make some compromises.”

“What compromises?”

“This past year, as you know, we’ve limited our take to around five percent. In some cases, when the trade was small-time enough that the players didn’t have enough clout to have their complaints acted on, we’ve increased the take significantly. I am using those increased parameters now with essentially the same account module.”

“Good. It’s proven software. This is the final operation. How much is the increase?”

“Depending on the action and our ability to hide within it we are programmed to take as much as half of any trade.”

Bandeira’s eyebrows shot up. “You think we’ve got cover?”

“We think this will be the most confused IPO in history. Abílio says the new IPO code is simply not ready. He expects all kinds of problems including interruptions, signficantly increased latency, and volatile volume as the high-frequency algos kick in. God knows what they’ve got up their sleeves. We think our action, big as it is, will be well concealed. In time, of course, months from now, after the inevitable SEC investigation into the IPO, our take will stand out, but by that time the money will be long gone and the electronic trail erased or so obfuscated, they’ll never be able to follow it to a meaningful end.”

“You’ve done well. You look tired. Well, in a few hours, you can rest.”

“Why are you here,
Papai?
”

“I told you. This is important. I’ll be here through the IPO. I’ve got an important meeting tonight but will be back later.” He smiled. “We can watch the operation unfold together. This is a great moment for NL and for us.” He rose, came around the desk, and placed his arm across the young man’s shoulders.