by David Faxon
“You may be in luck.”
“Why?”
“Two things. First, I can do the job. I can breach most security systems. I don’t care how good they are. Second, I know a guy. He used to be a partner in one of the Big Eight accounting firms before the Big Eight became the Big Five. Hooked up with the wrong guy, made millions. Now he's here with me. He’s a hound dog. No one can smell cooked books better than him. It’s because he did the cookin’ himself.”
“Good! If he’s what you say he is, I can use him. Meet me here tomorrow. I'll have a thousand dollar advance for you and the name of the company. We're both taking a chance. The FBI wants your ass. Me, because the head of this company is a nasty guy who is, no doubt, looking to cash me in. It’s become personal. I don't have to tell you to keep your mouth shut, because a leak could have bad consequences. After tomorrow, we'll find different places to meet. See you at ten.”
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
Ted's passion and ability when it came to hacking data files became even more apparent during that first week. It was like a chess match. The more renowned his opponent, the more he enjoyed the challenge. The more firewalls to penetrate, the better. Probing supposedly secure files from a remote site was his thing; he was in full control, his genius, the catalyst. Each fracture of a firewall opened a door to a whole new world, a Shangri-La that he explored meticulously for its hidden secrets. It was power; the kind he couldn’t get from the crowd he hung with in high school. They labeled him a nerd.
The airport attack was serious. It could have crippled the nation's airlines for an extended period of time. That may have entered Ted's mind. It didn’t matter. He did it for sport and to show the FAA software engineers he was their superior. Over confidence did him in. On that job, he left a “cyber print.” The Feds were able to figure out the Internet Protocol address peculiar to his computer and traced it to him. The day they found out where he lived. He came home late. Luckily, he hesitated before unlocking the door to his apartment. Someone was ransacking the place. He knew immediately who it was. He vacated with nothing but a few bucks in his wallet. From that time on, they were one-step behind until he fled the country as a stowaway, hitchhiker and whatever else it took. He ended up in Brasilia, partially by design, partially by luck. It might take the FBI and Interpol years to catch him, but eventually he would make a mistake. In the meantime, he was a resource for Connery who needed his kind of expertise. Ted could turn out to be a liability. What he had done made him “hot.” But sometimes, it took a criminal to catch a criminal. It would only be for a few weeks.
Connery rented an apartment, paid more than he wanted to, but it had full utilities, including telephone and Internet access. He didn't have to worry about opening accounts in a foreign country, and cash in advance took care of any requests for credit information. Ted moved into the spare bedroom, bringing his laptop and a powerful server. The only real possessions he had. The laptop contained all the software needed to gain remote access to a database once he identified the targeted file server. He had known for a while that his prey was Companhia do Azevedo Limitada; a firm he never heard of but big enough to whet his appetite. He focused on corporate finance. It took amazingly little effort to learn the names of key people, phone extensions, email addresses, even nicknames. Ted spoke fluent Portuguese and began with several official sounding calls under the guise of setting up computer conference calls and other maintenance requests that sounded legitimate. The third attempt put him in touch with the person who could get the information he needed.
“Hi, this is Jorge from IT. I need your help.”
“Sure, what's going on?”
“Problems with data exchange between you and the Venezuelan offices. They told me to get it straightened out, no delays.”
“How can I help?”
“I need the main server name and IP number.”
“Geez, I don't know.”
“Oh, Senhor Santiago said you could expedite things for me. I can go to his boss if it's a problem. Thought I'd save a little time. Big meeting held up…you know the story.”
Silence.
Ted waited while his words stirred the desired effect. No way did the person on the other end want to be a fly in the ointment or have his boss’ boss contacted. He’d look like an idiot.
“Hello? You still there? I’ve got people waiting. Someone’s going to get his ass fried!”
“Wait! I'll get the binder and look it up.”
A few minutes work and he had the alpha- numeric name of the company's main server and its Internet Protocol address. Now he needed a list of finance people with access to the server. The hard part would be finding the password to access the files. Ted turned out to be not only a computer genius but someone with convincing phone etiquette. A few more calls to the right places, and he’d have all the information he needed. In his unrelenting but low-key way, he discovered that the assistant treasurer was a Star Wars freak who collected every piece of memorabilia he could find about the famous movie series. That could turn out to be an important key in finding the password.
To come up with the correct one required special enumeration software, but that was no problem for Ted. He already had it on his laptop. ‘Freeware,’ readily available for download, if you knew where to look. It was only the second night after meeting Connery that he launched a “dictionary attack.” A technique used to determine a password or decryption key, by testing millions of words and word combinations from a pre-arranged listing called a “dictionary.” Ted had access to very sophisticated dictionaries and high speed computing capability. Usually, he succeeded because people used simple passwords they could easily remember; seven words or less, sometimes with a digit attached after the word. All it took was a little patience and persistence.
For the next few nights, until the early morning hours, the room was lit only by the glow from Ted’s monitor. He lived on fast food Connery picked up himself. He watched in amazement at Ted’s dogged determination. By the third night, however, he began to wonder if Ted could do as advertised.
Next night, at 2:00 am, he woke to a loud shout, and a chair tipping over.
“Bingo!”
Ted went with his original hunch, using a dictionary focused on Hollywood films. “Wookie3” was a direct hit. The assistant treasurer was indeed a Star Wars fanatic with three children. He now had full access to the most private financial information of Companhia do Azevedo.
“All I’ve got to do now is find the application software this stuff runs on, and we’ll have what you’re looking for in a minute.”
True to his word, his keyboard strokes flashed from income statements to balance sheets to cash transfers to bank balances; then to acquisitions, stock issues, vendor payments. All available at the push of a button. Gigabytes of data Connery was certain held the key to Castelo Branco’s collapse. Ted was worth the investment. All that stood in his way now was a careful search of records to mine the gems of information he sought. That would take a financial wizard- someone with a high level of forensic accounting background. Ted’s friend, maybe. There was no reason to believe it wouldn’t work out. The two opened a bottle of Black & White, lit cigars and talked until falling asleep around dawn.
At 10:00 am Connery awoke, his eyes squinting as they adjusted to sunlight filling the room. Ted was in a corner easy chair, snoring.
“Ted! Get up! We've got work to do.”
Within an hour, they were showered and dressed, still trying to shake the cobwebs from the near empty bottle of scotch. Coffee and a late breakfast would help. They chose one of the fine hotels in town and ordered the buffet. The place was crowded. Connery was sure no one had followed them. They filled their plates from the wide assortment of colorfully displayed food, then sat at a corner table. Ted glowed with success and the high he achieved by cracking the security system. Connery heaped more praise on him.
“Now I need the name of your accountant friend. How soon can you arrange for us to meet?”
“I'll have him here by tonight. He keeps out of sight like me, but I know where he hangs out.”
“I expect this guy to be at the top of his game.”
“I haven't disappointed you yet, have I?”
“Nope- and that reminds me. Here's an envelope with the rest of what I owe you, nine grand. You were the right guy for the job. You'll be there tonight, right?”
“I will. Let's make it 8:00 pm. I won't call unless something unexpected happens.”
“What's your friend's name?”
“Call him Conrad. He can be trusted, but he may try to work you a bit. ”
With that, Connery threw four twenties on the table and left. Ted to find Conrad; Connery to map his next move.
A good portion of that afternoon Connery spent on the Internet gathering more information about Companhia do Azevedo Limitada. Publicly traded on American and European exchanges, its public filings and financial statements were readily available. The ones they wanted the public to see, that is. What he would soon have in his possession were records that pointed to off balance sheet transactions and other data that held the true story. Where the cash came from and where it went. They just needed to be deciphered. The stock was enjoying an impressive run, closing that day at more than $43.00 per share, up from $32.00, a gain of 34% in less than two months. Shareholders were happy, and Connery thought Castelo Branco must be extremely happy. The public saw a company with revenue growth and solid financial underpinning. Debt was low, cash resources and liquid investments high, projections all favorable. The company was being pumped in the market, and he guessed that would have been his role in the fraud if he made it to Brasilia that fateful day.
Three companies held major holdings in stock. Connery recognized none of the names but did a web search on each. He came up with information, but it was sterile, vague. Then he did an industry comparison showing how Azevedo ranked among its competitors. The industry, except for Azevedo, seemed to be muddling along. Why was Azevedo doing so much better than its competition? Something was amiss that even stock analysts hadn't uncovered.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
It was ten after eight when Connery heard a knock on the door. Standing before him was the most unlikely “financial wizard” he could imagine. The exact opposite of the stereotype accountant; disheveled, overweight, hair too long, horn rimmed glasses that should have been rimless. He extended a beefy hand.
“Hi, I'm Conrad!”
He rudely brushed past Connery, went straight to where the computers were set up and sat down.
“Ted tells me he's tapped into this company's data files and you want to know what makes it tick. It will cost you.”
Ted’s warning proved accurate. Connery was ready.
“Slow down, champ. The only reason you’re here is because Ted said you were OK. By the way, where is he?
“Don’t know. Said he’d meet me here. That was this afternoon.”
“Okay, tell me about yourself. Make it short and convincing.”
Conrad turned the swivel chair around, hand folded over his considerable girth.
“For six years I was a managing partner for Putnam & Gilsworth, Chicago branch. You’ve heard of them. No one there had a larger book of accounts than I did. The reason was simple; I knew my stuff and how to get around auditors. I’ve seen some pretty creative ways to keep books that made a lot of people rich. I know, because I used every trick invented to set up foolproof systems. I was making plenty doing it. Then I got greedy. One of my clients, a multi- billion dollar company that retained Putnam’s services, was sort of a conflict of interest you might say. Anyway, if they wanted it done, I made it happen. But they pushed the envelope too far. I was nervous and wanted out, but the money was too good. Then the whole freakin' thing crashed. I beat it out of town. Left it all, the house, the Jaguar. You may have read about the indictments. Then I met Ted. We have a lot in common, except he’s a techie. We're sort of partners down here, look out for each other. He tells me you pay cash.”
“How much for the job?”
Conrad popped a miniature candy bar in his mouth, chewed and talked at the same time.
“Depends on how complex they've made it to cover their asses. I can usually smoke out any chicanery in two or three days, but it could take up to a week, depending on the volume of data I have to work with. Some of these guys are pretty good. Don't know about Brazilian accounting rules, but if they're listed on an American exchange, they've got to comply with what is called generally accepted accounting principles. That's what you get for your dough. I know the ins and outs. If they've violated these, I'll find out. Five grand for the first three days. Could be fifteen if it goes beyond that.”
“What makes you think you can do it in that time frame?”
“Like I told you, I'm good.”
He had the kind of confidence Connery liked. Besides, Ted recommended him.
“Two up front, three after three days. By that time, I’ll know if you’re any good. We can discuss it from there. But I want something solid. These guys are connected. I’m not looking for any petty, contestable violations of so called general accounting principles. Get me stuff that will hang them. It’s out there, believe me. Understood?”
“Deal! I have to work from here though. I’m a little behind on my rent. Besides, you’ve got everything set up. Do you mind?”
Connery couldn't imagine being holed up with him for a week or more. Ted he could take, but Conrad was a bit more than he bargained for. The two of them could have the place. He'd go to an out of the way hotel.
“Don't forget, if any of this gets out, all three of us could be dead. Keep your mouth shut and you’ll live to enjoy the money. You can start tonight. I'll have an envelope for you tomorrow. Here’s a key. If anyone calls, it will be me. Answer it. I’ll be back in the morning.”
With that, Connery left for the hotel district. He wasn't entirely sure about Conrad. He talked a good game, but Ted had come through, and if he recommended him, he must be OK. He showered and was at the hotel bar by eight, drinking Black & White on the rocks, when his cell phone rang.
“It’s Ted.”
“Ted! Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to be at my place at eight.”
“I know, I know. Listen! I think your boys are a little too close.”
Connery stiffened. Everything was in place. He was about to pull the trigger. He didn’t need a misfire now. Somehow, they were on to him, and he thought it began at Franco’s.
“I got to my place but noticed the little piece of paper I slipped into the door jamb when I left wasn’t there. Something I learned when the Feds almost caught me. I heard noise coming from inside. Second time it’s happened. Someone was tearing the place up, so I beat it. Haven’t been back. I’m calling from a pay phone. Where’s Conrad?”
“I left him at my place and checked into a different hotel under another name. Look, can you do this with your laptop and what you know?”
“Yeah, I think so. The hard part’s done. What about Conrad?”
“I’m going to call him now. It’s only a matter of time before Castelo Branco’s guys get there. I’ll have him come to the hotel. Meet me in an hour at the Ponce de Leon, downtown, room 1438. There’s heavy security here, so they’ll call from the desk to let me know when you arrive.”
He hung up and called Conrad.
“Yeah.”
“Listen carefully. Take the laptop, get the hell out of there now! Take a cab to the Ponce de Leon, downtown. Ted will meet you at the desk in an hour. Don’t waste any time. Oh, and Conrad, tuck your shirt in, they’re kind of particular at this place.”
“I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
Connery rang the front desk and told the clerk he was expecting two friends. He just found out they were in town- been to a party and may not be dressed appropriately, but he would vouch for them. Would he please notify him when they arrived? Just before midnight, both men were
escorted to Connery’s suite on the fourteenth floor. They were impressed by the surroundings.
“This is where you’ll be for a while. There’s an extra bed and a cot. You can’t leave until I get what I need. I’ll take care of everything at the front desk. Get some sleep. I’ll have breakfast delivered in the morning. I’ll be in a room down the hall if you need me.”
Ted got into the company’s database every evening, looking for new information or anything that would compromise Castelo Branco. By week's end, Conrad dissected the financial records and came up with startling information. Someone without his capabilities may have overlooked the true story. Conrad, however, caught every subtlety. He dug through the layers to the rotten core. Another two days to type a lengthy report, and he was ready to meet with Connery, who stayed out of his way for three days. They were pros. He didn’t see any sense in interfering. Ted called and said they were ready. A half hour later, Connery arrived. Ted let him in. The once pristine suite reeked with cigarette smoke, littered with crumpled papers, half eaten sandwiches, empty beer cans. He was glad to have taken refuge somewhere else. Conrad was a slob. What he had, better be good.
“Sorry the place is a mess, but Conrad really hit it big.”
Conrad, talking with his mouth full, piped in.
“Yeah, some of this was hard to follow, but… once I had the thread… the whole thing unraveled. Sit down. I've got it all here.”
The folder showed coffee stains but was more than an inch thick with at least one hundred typed pages. He paused to swallow.