Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 01 - Flapjack

by Daniel Ganninger

  I was in, all in. The excitement now was palpable and I had a new sense of purpose. I was bringing order to an otherwise chaotic world. Alright, that was a bit dramatic, but there definitely was an amount of fun and interest in my new endeavor that I found, well, gratifying.

  During the rest of March and into May we picked up other cases, examined records, did interviews, and gathered contracts. I was starting to get the hang of things, even the lingo that was spewed out, all under the watchful eye and tutelage of Dan Galveston.

  We had become a well-tuned unit, like Laurel and Hardy mixed with Starsky and Hutch. We received more and more job opportunities. Some were successful, some not, and many times the company that hired us was wrong. Key contract negotiations allowed us to rack up sizable payments and stay, barely, in the black.

  We proved ourselves to be better than other investigators by bringing our cases in under time. Regardless of how long it took we would only get paid one sum. No made up hours or crazy bills for a thirty dollar ham sandwich, or four hours of billing for paperwork. We convinced or clients that they were saving money with us over other investigators. We didn’t have a real office, no other employees, and only a cheap fax machine, so our overhead was nonexistent. This allowed us to get our price below what anyone else was offering.

  By June things were going well. Word of mouth spread and we put our feelers out for bigger fish to fry. We developed more scrupulous and unscrupulous measures, choosing to take a more creative approach to things. We would pose as everything from janitors to handymen to exterminators, with Galveston’s mouth leading the way.

  Galveston said believing you are who you say you are helped ease the pain of, technically, committing breaking and entering, or fraud. We had an almost cavalier approach to our exploits and on our next job, the biggest yet, we would have to pull out all the stops.

  -Chapter 10-

  On a small Mexican airfield across the border from Arizona, activity was increasing at a dirt airfield simply know as Elias North, about 30 miles south of Yuma, Arizona.

  It was a dusty, dirty, and sparse place. Yucca plants and cacti dotted the landscape and a rough dirt road careened its way around rocks and through shallow ravines toward the field. Sitting under the blazing June summer sun were two off-road Jeeps parked under the limbs of a paltry mesquite tree. Five men were scattered about, dressed in army green fatigues with rifles slung at their sides. One man, known as Colonel Espinosa, fiddled with a satellite phone.

  “Vamanos muchachos,” he barked at the rest of the men. The men immediately jumped in their vehicles and bumped their way to the end of the dusty dirt runway, which was rutted and soft, the product of poor upkeep and care.

  The Colonel stood up in the Jeep and turned his gaze to the north. On the horizon, low over the terrain, a dot appeared and grew larger, the sound becoming louder as it approached.

  The outline of a twin engine Rockwell 690B Turbo Commander appeared and began its approach to the runway with its wings wavering in the wind. It was a light transport aircraft, capable of carrying heavy loads for its size, but on this day it was only carrying one piece of important cargo. It touched down, sending up a billowing cloud of dust that floated down the runway and settled over the waiting men.

  The plane’s door popped open and out stepped a neatly dressed man in a long sleeve shirt and pants with dark sunglasses, it was Sergeant Walker. He reached to his seat and pulled out a silver briefcase, larger than what a businessman would carry.

  Walker began to walk toward the Colonel, but stopped midway, set the case down, and held out his hand. With his fingers he flashed a one, four, one and three. The Colonel punched the numbers into his satellite phone and put the phone to his ear, listened for a few seconds, and then put the phone down and waved to Sergeant Walker. Walker set the briefcase on the ground, turned, and got back in the plane.

  The aircraft bounced back down the runway, past the on-looking men, and lifted off, spraying dust over them again. The sound was deafening as it climbed away from the dirt field, staying low to the terrain. The case stood alone at the side of the runway and Colonel Espinosa did not move, nor did his men. They just kept their eyes trained on the silver case while peering at the surrounding terrain. The plane faded from site as he brought the phone back up to his ear.

  “The case, it arrived,” he said in English into the phone.

  “Good, you’ll have your payment when I have confirmation of delivery. Your bonus will be at your hacienda awaiting your arrival,” said the monotone voice on the other end.

  “Excellent,” the Colonel answered.

  He motioned for his men to return to their Jeeps while he walked towards the far end of the runway. One of the vehicles pulled beside him and a soldier handed him a black duffel bag. The Colonel pulled out a radio, spoke into it in Spanish, and walked to pick up the silver case.

  After a few minutes another plane appeared into view and landed just as the first. Colonel Espinosa walked to a Beechcraft King Air as the door to the aircraft popped open. He made his way inside carrying the duffel bag and the silver case and disappeared up the steps as the departing Jeeps left the dirt runway.

  The pilot skillfully maneuvered to the opposite end of the runway and turned around, applied full power, and slowly lifted the plane into the hot air, fading into the blue, cloudless sky. It would be a long journey for the Colonel to his final destination before he could return to his home in Mexico.

  -Chapter 11-

  The jobs since the Rick insurance scam had been much easier, or maybe it just seemed that way. Our next job was going to be our first big game.

  This big break came from a strange late night call from, of all things, a toy company. It was a case that would push the boundaries of our Boy Scout behavior.

  The company was called Playcom Educational Products, Inc. We were told it was a small upstart in Burbank, California that made interactive toys for kids, the learning ones that we all should have used when we were young to mold our minds into well-adjusted, intellectual young people.

  We managed to wrap our minds around the crux of the case which had to do with a project called Happy People. It was a slightly inane, or insane toy that brought the cultures of the world to the fingers of your child. Galveston and I thought of it as a steaming bowl of cultural stew. It consisted of music, geography, language, and bouncy little cherubs dancing across the screen in their country’s native garb while calling out things in French, Spanish, even Dutch and Swahili. We didn’t really understand the hubbub about such a product, whose sole purpose seemed to be to give your child the wonderful experience of an acid trip, but apparently it was a feat of magical engineering.

  Playcom had a prototype and employed the help of a software development company called Genesis Solutions, Inc. to complete the software for the project. The COO of Playcom, Stanley Clostine, had informed us that Genesis was supposed to complete the software for the product, but somehow they couldn’t finish it. Clostine found out through some informants that Genesis had been secretly marketing the Playcom product to the heavy hitters of the youth toy market, especially Hasbro and Mattel under a different name called Global Kids, codenamed Adamanthea. Both of these companies showed some interest in purchasing the rights and design of the toy.

  Playcom wanted us to essentially go into Genesis, steal back the plans, and make sure they couldn’t continue production. Genesis actually designed software for defense contractors, security companies, and the government. It wasn’t in their mission plan to market kid’s toys, but we figured they just saw the dollar signs from the potential of the product. We came to realize that the toy business was not so fluffy and cuddly. It’s a billion dollar industry, sometimes more brutal than any other business sector. Elmo and SpongeBob Squarepants aren’t usually hugging and shaking hands. Many times they pull out weapons and have a good, old-fashioned street fight. For us, however, it was going to be a big fat payday.

  Genesis would have the plans securely hidd
en away and we needed to become much more creative to get them. We were going to need a little outside help.

  -Chapter 12-

  Galveston had a few contacts in the area of computer geekery, but only one person he felt could handle a job of this size with the discretion it would need. Galveston considered him a super geek, but only in the nicest of terms.

  Alex Jubokowski had a resume a mile long. He was a former computer programmer with the National Security Agency, had designed software for missile defense systems for Northrup Grumman, written security software for giants Microsoft and Bank of America, and implemented tracking and distribution software for FedEx, just to name a few. He did this all before the tender age of thirty.

  Boredom set in, however, and Alex set his sights on Las Vegas, that wholesome city in the desert. He developed an algorithm to predict the next sequence of numbers on slot machines, a hobby he started back in his days at MIT, and a once thought impossible task. He got caught of course, not using the algorithm, but trying to purchase a slot machine on the black market. He somehow escaped prosecution, but the word had spread about his impropriety and his job prospects dried up. He was just the guy we were looking for.

  Upon meeting Mr. Alex Jubokowski, my stereotypes got the best of me. I expected to meet a thirty-something, short, nerdy guy of Polish descent with little to no personality, wearing glasses and a pocket protector. Instead I met a tall twenty-something man of Indian descent wearing a black Pantera t-shirt, black leather jacket, misplaced earring, and riding a Kawasaki Ninja ZX-10R crotch rocket motorcycle. Along with that he had one hell of a gregarious personality. I liked him from the beginning and I knew why Galveston had him in mind the whole time.

  We met him at our palatial rolling estate, which disappointed him when he found out it was Galveston’s apartment.

  “Judo!” Galveston quipped, thrusting out his hand.

  “You know I always hated that nickname,” Alex responded.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Galveston smiled, slapping Jubokowski on the back, “Judo, Roger Marshall.”

  I offered my hand, “very nice to meet you. I’ve heard very little about you,” I laughed.

  “Nice to meet you too, Roger. I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you,” he agreed dryly.

  “I’m glad I could be of such importance.”

  “How in the world did you let this guy talk you into anything he’s involved in?” Jubokowski questioned, smiling and pointing at Galveston.

  “Actually, I’m an escaped mental patient,” I quipped back.

  “You would have to be, wouldn’t you? I tell ya, this guy has gotten me involved in more things than I care to say. Half-cracked schemes, touting of federal laws, you name it,” Jubokowski explained. “More than once I thought I was insane.”

  “That’s the way I feel everyday with this guy,” I retorted. I finally had someone who felt my pain.

  “If you guys are done with your warm fuzzies, I’d say it’s time to get down to business. We have a lot of work to do,” Galveston said as we all walked up the steps to our glorious headquarters.

  “Jubokowski?” I began, “can I ask you how you got that name?” He looked me squarely in the eyes.

  “Well you see, when a man and a woman…,” he started, gesturing with his hands.

  “I mean, it’s an original name, not usual with someone of your, ah, appearance,” I said cutting him off mid sentence, “I think I know about the birds and the bees part. I’m curious to know your heritage.”

  “Why, because I look like I just got off the boat?”

  “Well, yeah,” I replied.

  “Fair enough,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “It’s pretty simple. My Dad is a Polish Jew and my Mom is an Indian Hindu.”

  “That’s quite a match.”

  “Yeah, it’s hell on dates. I guess you can consider me a, ah, Hindjew,” Jubokowski laughed.

  “Oh that’s good, and I guess you can’t eat pork or beef,” I retorted. Galveston turned his head as we walked in the front door.

  “I’m sure there’s a large Hindjew contingent in the U.S.,” Galveston joked.

  “You know, not as many as you would think. We’re not a real strong demographic group,” Alex replied.

  I bet Alex had received this question a few times and I liked him already. He would fit in well as part of our merry band of misfits.

  “I can’t believe all the fuss about a kid’s toy,” Alex started. “But hey, it’s not for me to question. Dan I got that information for you.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. Galveston read over it quickly and placed it on the table in front of us.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said shaking his head.

  “What is it?” I inquired.

  Galveston looked over the paper again. “Genesis is one heavy hitter. They’re going to be a tough egg to crack. Roger, remember rule 107, never, ever, underestimate your opponent,” Galveston said to me.

  “He’s filling your head with those silly, nondescript rules, huh?” Alex said.

  “Yeah, since I met him,” I replied sighing.

  “I hate to admit that they’re good rules. I learned more in two months from this joker than my full term at the NSA,” Alex said to me smiling. “You know Gal,” Alex continued with a wink, “These guys have serious computer security as well as physical security. It’s going to be virtually impossible to get into the system from the outside. They have two or three layers of security before you can get to their internal servers. They have watchdog programs, high level encryption, the works. The only real way is from the inside.”

  “You know, I’ve thought about that and I have a plan.”

  “And how, pratel, do you plan to pull this off,” I asked.

  “Simple,” he said, “We’re going to find out who is in charge of the product and he’s going to give us the password to the plans.”

  -Chapter 13-

  Dan laid out his plan and Alex added the technical parts. I acted merely as a waterboy. My part had essentially been done. I had secured the finances and the contract rate if we succeeded. The rest was up to these two, ah, team members. The plan was actually ingenious and simple, as hard as it was for me to stomach saying that.

  Clostine informed us that an executive named Dart McLeod was in charge of the Adamanthea product. Why anyone would name their kid Dart, I’ll never know, maybe he had a pointy head at birth, but none the less, that was his name.

  We needed to get Dart’s password and the easiest way Alex could think of was through a simple process called keylogging. A program installed on the computer would record the keystrokes on the keyboard and send the information to us. The problem was Dart needed to install the program on his computer and then log into the internal server of Genesis. If we could accomplish that, we could roll in, access the designs, and get rid of them. It was a vital step in our plan.

  We solved this problem with a simple email message to Dart. The message was daftly written by Galveston with a keen eye on juicy morsels of information. It had to be believable enough that Dart would open the attachment we sent with it and not ask questions. It would be a lucky break for us, but knowing human nature we knew Dart would have to look.

  We disguised the email as a consultant to Genesis named Charles Tanqueray and sent it late in the day. Hopefully Dart’s knowledge of 19th century liquor distillers was poor, or he didn’t like gin. Mr. Tanqueray was of course the namesake for Tanqueray gin and a man who came from three generations of clergymen. He didn’t go the religious route, however, and began to distill gin in 1830, shipping it to the colonies of the British Empire where people began to develop a taste for Tanqueray and tonic. Despite this bit of historical information the email read as this:

  To: Dart McLeod, Project Engineer

  Subject: Sensitive and Confidential, Problems with Adamanthea

  Product

  My team has identified and modified key design flaws in the original

  design of the Adama
nthea prototype product that would have

  increased production costs dramatically and not allowed ample

  physical computing space for safe and effective operation of the

  product. We have made modifications to the product’s internal

  design. The updated schematics have been included as an attachment

  to this email. These modifications will reduce production costs by 50

  to 75 percent of the original estimates.

  You are to immediately implement these new design changes into

  development by order of the Genesis CEO Frances Drake. This

  information is highly

  sensitive. Please review these plans in the attachment to this email

  ASAP. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.

  Sincerely,

  Charles Tanqueray, Sinclair Consulting Associates

  The email was so completely far from the truth that we were bordering on a Nigerian money email scam. We hoped we hadn’t written too much fiction. If our calculations were correct, and they seldom were, Dart would open the attachment and unknowingly install the keylogger program while looking at a mess of useless computer schematics. Alex insured us it couldn’t be picked up by any of the spyware or anti-virus programs Genesis was running.

  We now waited to see if Dart would take the bait and access his Genesis account after reading our email. This is where we would get his username and password into the Genesis system. If Galveston’s knowledge of human behavior was correct, we would soon have our answer.