Rogue Code (44 page)

It was a bluff, Jeff knew. The objective was to make the young man believe it. Then he wondered. Frank might very well be serious. Not for the first time, Jeff considered just how far things had gone.

Frank let the threat linger in the silence. Pedro looked at him, then to Jeff, then back again. He licked his dry lips, suddenly thirsty. “I can’t stop it,” he said finally. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me. I can’t.”

“It’s the only way you’re getting out of this in one piece,” Frank said.

“You don’t understand. I’m blocked out. If I tried to shut the operation down, the man in New York would see it, even if I found a way to do it. He’d just report the effort, and undo what I did.”

“Who would stop you from shutting down this operation?” Jeff asked.

“I … I can’t say.”

Frank reached down and gently touched Pedro’s knee. The young man recoiled as if he’d received an electric shock.

“Abílio. His name is Abílio Ramos,” he said, forgetting in his fear Abílio’s assumed name.

“Where does he work?” Frank asked.

“At the Exchange. I told you.” Pedro was sweating. The acrid smell coming from him was pungent.

“Where? It’s a big operation.”

“I don’t know. I never asked. I wasn’t supposed to ask. Please.”

Frank lifted his hand.

“Who would he report the effort to?” Jeff asked.

Pedro’s tongue darted across his lips. He said nothing.

“You’re going to tell us, Pedro. Trust me in this,” Frank said.

“My … my father.”

“And who is your father?” Frank asked.

“Victorio Bandeira.” Pedro hesitated, then with a rush of pride said, “He is
chefe
of the Nosso Lugar!”

72

COPACABANA PALACE

AVENIDA ATLANTICA

COPACABANA

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

11:37
P.M.

Victor Bandeira looked at Carlos Almeida and made sure to disguise his disgust. The banker sweated profusely, had even used his dinner napkin to wipe the gleam from his bald pate. The third man at their table was Ernesto Dayan, president of the Banco Central do Brasil. Dinner was over, and they were smoking Cubanos and drinking brandy.

Dayan was one of the new breed of technocrats who dominated Brazil’s economic policy. New to the job, he came from a long line of bankers. Bandeira understood there was a family connection with the Almeidas. Dayan’s hairline was in significant retreat, and he compensated with a trimmed beard. He wore rimless glasses on his bland, pasty face and was not amused by the evening. They’d dined well on the finest North Italian cuisine, a hotel specialty, and Bandeira had ordered only the most expensive wines, but he was certain he’d made no dent in the man’s concerns.

The entire purpose of this meeting had been to reassure Dayan. To that end, Almeida had been his backup, and he’d played his part badly. If anything, his nervousness had only disturbed Dayan even more. But the harm was done, business was finished. When Bandeira had assured him that the operation was on track, Dayan had only looked at him with dead eyes. He’d then dismissed Bandeira’s mention of a woman with a noticeable curl of his upper lip, as if he’d just been insulted.

Other meetings had not gone smoothly, either. In the end, it came down to the money. When Dayan’s Swiss account bulged with the Carnaval take, all his concerns would be set aside. It was always that way.

They made their goodbyes, and after Dayan was gone, Almeida remained. “I think it went well.”

“Yes,” Bandeira said, “quite well. Give my regards to your lovely wife and daughter.”

“Perhaps … perhaps you’d care for another drink at the bar?”

“I wish I could, but I have yet another business meeting,” Bandeira said.

“So late?”

“With my son. Tomorrow is a big day for us, Carlos. Remember?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

They parted in the lobby. César had already summoned the car. Sergio, who’d also flown the helicopter, was driving. Paulinho, one of Bandeira’s oldest and most trusted men, sat beside him. The four drove through the streets back to Grupo Técnico.

73

TRADING PLATFORMS IT SECURITY

WALL STREET

NEW YORK CITY

11:43
P.M.

Richard Iyers finished editing a portion of the Carnaval code Campos had sent earlier and moved it into the deployment for later. There was still more to come. He glanced at his watch. Three hours.

He went to the break room and poured a cup of black coffee. Standing at the sink drinking it, he noticed that his hand trembled slightly. Back at his computer he opened the logs for the jump and deployment servers and for those of his own system. Once or twice he’d seen something that caught his attention in his earlier scans, but nothing that in the long run proved a worry. Tonight, though, he saw that the deployment server was being accessed by another infrastructure specialist who he know for a fact had left work earlier that night for a break, planning to return after midnight. This was one of the systems he and Campos used to access the server, which meant someone out there was being clever.

Someone, like a gorgeous blonde who wasn’t nearly as dumb as she acted. Iyers had hoped to enjoy his time with the woman but there was too much at stake for such an indulgence. And events were moving quickly. He had the green light from Campos and strong evidence she was too close. The only danger was in waiting.

With a growing sense of anticipation Iyers made his way to Daryl’s workstation. Though it was positioned to be largely hidden, he knew this floor intimately. He positioned himself so he could watch her unobserved while he thought about how to do this. He eyed the back of her head and admired her blond hair. There was no doubt it was real. If he ever learned her real name, he was certain he’d discover she was of Scandinavian origin, perhaps German. She moved once to the side and he caught sight of a breast. He felt a stir. He stepped toward her.

*   *   *

Daryl was making progress. As the number of staff diminished, she’d been able to work with greater concentration. Just then, she sensed someone behind her. She closed the log analysis, which snapped up another window with irrelevant logs, then turned.

“Hello, Richard,” she said. “You still here?”

“No rest for the wicked.” He lowered his voice. “We need to talk.”

“Okay.” She waited.

“Not here. Somewhere private.” When he saw her hesitate, he added, “I’ve found something you need to know about. There’s an all-night coffee shop right next door. We won’t be gone twenty minutes. Trust me. It’s worth your while.”

“If it’s that important, let’s go.” Daryl stood, slipping her purse strap onto her shoulder.

74

GRUPO TÉCNICO

RUA ADOLFO MOTA

GRANDE TIJUCA

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

11:56
P.M.

On the ground floor, Carl had tied up and gagged both guards. He’d next gone outside to the gates and confirmed they were in their usual closed position. Oscar had taken the three staffers downstairs, binding their wrists and seating them on a couch, while Frank moved Pedro into the outer office to give Jeff free rein at the computer.

For several minutes, the pair questioned the trio with no luck. It was obvious they were far too frightened of something worse than them to talk. Renata simply lowered her head, shut her eyes, and gently moved her head back and forth. The other two repeatedly exchanged looks at each other but neither spoke a word.

“What do we do with them?” Oscar finally asked. “We haven’t got all night.”

Carl considered their next move. “We can come back to them if necessary. Let’s move them outside for now. There’s a storage building of some kind. Looks like it might have been a horse stable back in the day.”

The men took the five prisoners outside, across the darkened yard to the structure. The door was unlocked. They moved everyone inside and ordered them to sit against the wall. They bound their ankles with plastic straps.

Back in the office building Oscar checked the security system and found it deficient. There were too many blind spots. He went to Carl and took him aside. “I’m setting up visual security. We should assume we don’t have much time.”

Upstairs, Frank told Jeff, “Don’t forget to collect paper and find something to stash it in. Assuming it’s in Portuguese, I should be able to read it with a little help from a translator.” He eyed Pedro who was pretending not to listen.

“Right,” Jeff said. “We’ll also take hard drives. No reason to hang around here longer than we need to.” He went to the office, located a trash basket, emptied it, and then started examining the papers he found neatly piled on the credenza. After a minute spent examining them, he just piled everything into the basket. Then he went on his knees and began unscrewing the hard disks of Pedro’s system. He’d have them out in two minutes; then he’d take the disks from the three computers he’d seen outside.

In the outer office Frank called to Oscar below. “Any luck with the geeks?”

“None. They won’t talk. They’re much too scared of what will happen to them. We put them outside with the guards. Given a bit of time they could be persuaded but we’ve got the big guy’s son, right? Let’s take him. It’s simpler and he’s running the show. Why waste time on the little guys?”

“My thought exactly.” Frank looked to Pedro and grinned.

*   *   *

On the street outside, Sergio slowed before the gates and waited. After a moment, Paulinho said, “Where’s Luís?”

“What’s that?” Bandeira asked, looking up from his iPhone.

“Luís, Chefe,”
César said. “He’s supposed to be at the gates or very nearby at night. Should I honk?”

Bandeira looked toward the mansion. Nothing seemed out of place but … “What do you think, Jorge?”

Jorge’s keen eye swept the yard and building. He’d seen it many times at this time of night, and it didn’t look the same. “Maybe last night wasn’t what we thought. We should be cautious.”

“Yes, I agree,” Bandeira said. “Pull up here on the street. We’ll go in on foot.”

Once they’d parked, the men exited the vehicle, closing the doors quietly. “The trunk,” Bandeira said. Sergio opened it and removed two IMBEL MD97s, Bandeira taking one, Paulinho the other. The others pulled heavy automatic pistols from their waists as they all went through the pedestrian doorway, then made their way silently across the driveway toward the mansion entrance.

FINAL DAY

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19

TOPTICAL IPO LOOMS

By Lawrence F. Gooden

September 19

“Unease” is the best word to describe today’s Toptical initial public offering. Touted as the biggest public offering of all time in some quarters with figures in excess of $100 billion being bandied about, insiders have sought to downplay expectations for weeks, asserting the IPO will not exceed $30 billion. The reality is that there is no way to know where the valuation will land as expectations often dictate outcome.

For nearly two years, Toptical has been the hottest social networking platform on the Internet, attracting users because of its seamless interface and perception of control. Businesses like the clever way marketing has been designed into the system. This has addressed the most serious problem social networking sites face upon going public—they have to make money or at the least demonstrate the path to it. Now payday has arrived for the company’s founders and early investors. And that’s just one of the problems.

The Toptical IPO is heavily skewed in favor of insiders, that is, those who have been invested with the company from early days. As many as half of the shares being offered come from them. This is far more than is common and suggests to some observers that those in the best position to know have no long-term faith in the company. Others argue that there are just a lot of players looking to profit and that the big percentage of total stock coming from them is not all that out of line when applied in each case.

The sheer volume of stock being made available raises serious questions as to whether or not the stock is oversubscribed. If it is, and it may very well be, too much stock will dilute share value. This will put the price into a nosedive initially and no one will be able to accurately predict at what price it will settle. This uncertainty is causing many principal clients of Morgan Stanley to reconsider their position.

The tip-off came a few days ago, when Morgan Stanley issued a last-minute revised prospectus. Readable between the lines of what was ostensibly an upbeat report was the suggestion that institutional investors exercise caution today. It is unlikely such caution will be demonstrated by the average investor for whom Toptical is often considered a close digital companion.

Looming over today’s IPO are two issues not commonly appreciated by the investing public. The first of these is the fact that the NYSE is employing new software to handle this IPO. Reports indicate it is still buggy. Given the track record of special software for IPOs there is legitimate concern. You need look no further than the disastrous BATS offering, and it was in the business of IPOs. A major meltdown by the software isn’t even required. A single glitch at the wrong moment can send a tremor through the marketplace that could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. We’re told there are no problems but that’s what they always say.

The second major issue is the role the high-frequency traders will play today. It is estimated that as many as 80 percent of the trades will be their creation. HFTs have come in for a lot of criticism of late, and deservedly so. The problem for the public and for Toptical is that most of the abuses HFTs engage in have not been eliminated. We can be certain that at least some stock price manipulation and false volume will be solely their creation. This alone will cause uneasiness and hesitation on the part of big players.