by R Weir
When entering the room, I found it spacious, with king bed, large sitting area, sofa and chair, and a work area. There was a marble dressing table and a refreshment center mini-bar with a choice of snacks that were a king’s ransom according to the price sheet. Twelve dollars for a bag of microwave popcorn! The flat-screen TV was small by today’s standards, with some cable options and a large selection of pay TV, including of course adult entertainment. The bathroom was huge, with marble floor, walk-in shower, spa bathtub for two and double sink vanity. The view out of the window showed the expansive size of the Caesar’s complex and my feet ached thinking about the steps they would be taking. I unpacked my things into the dresser and lay down on the pillow top mattress and closed my eyes. I was still a little worked up from my flight, so I couldn’t sleep. My mind was going over the last two days.
With her persistence, Mandy had found her way into Logan’s email and began downloading all that was there, caching it so it could be viewed offline. There was no guarantee any damning emails were still there, but still people often forget to remove everything, especially if there had been a long string of replies back and forth. Even when deleting, many users forget to empty that folder, as well as the Sent items. And there were options to recover even permanently deleted emails, which she did, leaving several gigabytes to comb through. She created several search strings to use to narrow the tens of thousands of messages. Once she had the entire mailbox saved offline, which took several hours, she logged off and started running the searches. What she found was interesting, to say the least.
There had been much discussion back and forth about Aaron. He had approached his supervisor in the Denver office, saying he had discovered something within the code of their switches and routers that he wanted to discuss with someone. At first, he thought it was a Zero-Day vulnerability, leaving their equipment open to attack. After reporting it and getting no response, he followed up again, and was told by the supervisor he had run it up the flag pole and was still waiting for an answer. More days passed, and this time he decided to report it to someone in the home office. Because he was making more and more noise, it was getting harder to ignore him. Emails were found where meetings were held to discuss what action to take. Finally, a memo was sent to the head of data integrity in the Denver office, to approach Aaron and talk to him. The memo outlined how to deal with the situation and him. Basically telling him that the company was aware of the problem, but at this time weren’t going to fix the issue, as it would be too costly. And to ask him to keep the situation to himself, or it would expose them to possible liabilities. He needed to be a “team player,” stated one of the memos. If he continued to talk with others in the company, it would be grounds for discipline and even termination. For a while there was no more chatter about the issue. All of that changed about two weeks before Aaron’s death.
Logan starting sending emails to an outside Yahoo account. The emails started mentioning an issue with an internal employee, no name was mentioned, causing problems for WANN. The responses weren’t addressed in anyway so you would know whom Logan was talking with, and seemed to suggest they would do anything for Logan to alleviate the problem.
Logan: He is making waves again. Trying to access items on our network he shouldn’t be.
Yahoo: How do you know this?
Logan: We’ve been alert to the possibility. Tracking what he is doing. Seems he is logging in via an outside IP address.
Yahoo: What can he do that can hurt you?
Logan: Leak information to the tech media. Say we’ve been dragging our feet. Not fixing the security issue.
Yahoo: You have, though, haven’t you?
Logan: Of course. We can’t fix this. It is the key to making us wealthy.
Yahoo: Will the company go under then, if exposed?
Logan: Possibly. We were a dying company before the infusion of capital saved us. Our overseas investors will not be happy. They already have their hooks in me for personal indiscretions.
Yahoo: You know I will do whatever you want me to do.
Logan: Fix the problem for me and I will be forever in your debt.
Yahoo: Will you give me your heart and soul, love and devotion?
Logan: We can see. I certainly can pay you. Give you more of a position in the company you can leverage.
Yahoo: You know I want more than that from you. Those two wonderful nights together in Vegas. Those times in your office. I need more of them.
Logan: We can talk about it once the situation dies down.
Yahoo: Promise?
Logan: Yes.
The last response in the chain was two days later, as if Logan had to think about it. There was no indication of whether it was a man or a woman, in the emails. Since he had a taste for both sexes, it could be anyone. Though it did appear it was someone who worked at WANN, as he promised them a better job. So that at least narrowed it down some. Why he was communicating with them via an outside email address, was a mystery. And it appeared it wasn’t in use anymore, at least from what Mandy could tell. Test messages sent to it, would bounce back saying the address was no longer in service.
My other concern was related to Logan’s comment about “making waves again.” When I checked with Mandy, she explained what they had done.
“We took a break for a while after the threat on his job. We all sat down at first and wondered if it was worth it to continue. But as time went on it became apparent this was a corrupt company. So we got a little greedy, thinking we could profit from it. So Aaron, Wilmar and I started hacking into their software design matrix, going through code, line by line. We were looking for more evidence, since they were dragging their feet on a solution. At the time we didn’t think they were on to us, but apparently we were wrong. We were looking to design an exploit that we could sell to the outside world that would do exactly what they were doing to the users of their software and equipment. Once it was out there, they would have little choice but to fix the issue, as anyone could use the vulnerability. Or we could blackmail them into paying us to keep the exploit quiet. We were close to having it, when Aaron was killed. Some of the work he was doing was on his computer. Parts of it were on my mine and the rest on Wilmar’s. Since they took Aaron’s computer, we lost a chunk of the coding. We then couldn’t chance continuing on the track we were on. We were back to square one. And of course we were in shock that Aaron was killed. We knew deep down it was someone in WANN. And after the grief stopped, the anger took over. That is when I hired you, and Wilmar and I started up again, though more cautiously.”
“Not cautious enough, as Wilmar was killed” I said. “Then attempted to kill you as well and got King instead.”
“I know. And they got Wilmar’s computer, though it was heavily encrypted. So it would be difficult, if not impossible, to crack into.”
“Did you lose more of the work you were doing?” I asked.
“Not this time, I had copies of everything.”
“So they shouldn’t be able to track you. Find out what you are doing?”
“I’m doing all I can to prevent that. I’m good at what I do. But nothing is totally foolproof. But what we have here now, can you use it against them?”
Looking through it all, there was only one answer.
“Yes.”
And now here I was, lying on a comfortable bed in Vegas, with information I could use to bust the case wide open. I just needed to leverage it against Logan. I’d thought how I was going to approach him and what to say. I had copies of the pertinent emails to throw in his face. Now all I had to do was find him in the massive facility that was Caesar’s Palace. I planned on throwing the dice and laying it all on the line.
Chapter 52
I was going to leverage Neil’s friend as part of my plan. I had contacted him before flying out and he was going to meet me for dinner at one of the many Caesar’s Palace restaurants, Café Americano. Many of the eateries here were expensive. This one was reasonable, by Vegas standards,
and provided a choice of meals I’d enjoy.
I took a stroll, admiring the Greco-Roman statues and themes that graced the entire complex. All the buildings were inter-connected, a maze you could easily get lost in. I had a map to help me along, though I had to stop and ask for directions a few times. Probably looked like a tourist from out of town. It took me a while, but I finally found the café and was able to get a table for two, as the place was packed.
I ordered myself a beer, having to yell to the waitress so she could hear me, as the place was noisy, with lots of activity. Kimo Torres walked up to my table, seemingly knowing who I was. He was only about 5’ 10”, strong and muscular for his height. He was wearing a motorcycle jacket, while carrying his full-faced helmet and leather gloves. He draped the coat over the back of his seat, while setting the helmet and gloves under the table. He shook my hand with a powerful grasp and sat down, as he ran his fingers through his black close-cropped hair like a comb. He was in jeans and muscle shirt, which showed his natural dark brown skin. I was amazed he wasn’t sweating, my body challenging the strength of my antiperspirant, for even inside it seemed warm to me, while outside it was still over 100 degrees.
“Good to meet you, Jarvis,” he said.
“Same to you, Kimo,” I replied. “I see you ride.”
“Yep, a Ducati crotch rocket.”
“I have a Harley. Though I’d find it hard to believe you can drive in this heat.”
“I have a liquid cooling vest I wear on the worst days. Didn’t need it today. I wear it when taking a long ride on the back roads. My Hawaiian and Spanish heritage is used to this type of heat.”
“Ducati. Lots of CC’s, I would imagine. Do you ride fast?”
“Over a hundred when out in the desert. Nothing like it. I love the rush.”
“If you are pulled over, you just flash a badge and no ticket.”
He smiled.
“I’m guessing you didn’t ride all the way out here from Denver?” he asked.
“No. Took a plane ride. Needed to get here before someone.”
“Neil mentioned you might need some assistance. Said to help you out.”
“You called him to check up on me?”
“Of course. Like to be certain who I’m helping.”
“How did you and Neil meet? I’m guessing you lived in the Denver Metro area at one time.”
“Yes. Spent my teen and early twenties years in the Mile-High City. Let’s say Neil and I met professionally.”
“He arrested you?”
“Sort of. Since I was a juvenile, and prone to running with the wrong crowd, he kept me from a life that likely would have meant I would be dead by now.”
“Gangs?”
“Exactly. Not sure what he saw in me. Maybe the doubt I had about what I was getting into. I was never comfortable in that lifestyle. Sometimes you have no choice and it’s the only way to survive. He took an interest, since my dad was not there to guide me and my mother didn’t know what more to do. He became a Big Brother to me. When I took an interest in police work, he helped get me the right education and training. I owe him a lot.”
“Are you a detective here in Vegas?”
“Yes. Moved out here a little more than a year ago. I’m low on the totem pole, but I at least have my foot in the door. Seems like a lot of turnover out here. Not really a place people come to put down roots. But it’s never boring. Robbery and murder are pretty common. And of course the drunks and poor losers at gambling keep us busy.”
The waitress brought me my beer, and Kimo ordered one for himself, since he was off-duty. I ordered some beer-brined chicken wings. The prices were about double what you paid back in Denver. My expense sheet was going to total up quickly. The cost of being in the gambling mecca.
“Neil says you are trying to track someone down here,” said Kimo. “A high-roller who comes to blow his money. Lots of those here in Vegas.”
“His name is Logan Albers. Comes one or twice a month for four days. Likes to play poker and some blackjack. Generally, hangs with some twentysomethings, male and female. Likes the taste of young flesh, no matter the gender.”
“I’ve not heard of him. Not surprising, as there are literally tens of thousands of people rolling through here daily. Many of which as you describe Logan. It is named Sin City for a reason.”
“I need to find him. He is coming in tomorrow around noon and will be staying here. I want to observe what he does and who he is with. Then I plan on talking with all of them, separately, if I can. I have some evidence I want to show him, and see what type of reaction I get. Any connections here at Caesar’s I can leverage?”
His beer arrived and he drank down about a third, along with devouring a chicken wing, which also arrived by a second server.
“These wings are awesome,” he said, while licking his fingers. “There is a girl who works the front desk. We get together on occasion and enjoy each other’s company. She is a hot one, who takes my breath away with her physical prowess. She is normally working that time of day. But I know they have self-check-in, so he could bypass the front desk.”
“He seems the type where he wants everyone to handle his affairs for him. He is a high-level executive in a worldwide tech firm. I imagine he will go to the front desk and want someone to lavish him with praise and bellhops deliver his luggage for him.”
“I’ll see what I can do. At the very least we ought to be able to get the tower and suite number he is staying in.”
“That would be helpful. What’s it like living in Vegas?”
“Exactly what you see. Glitz, glamour, entertainment, food, booze and gambling. This place is one giant orgasm for most people coming here.”
“Don’t forget shopping too. Spending money is better than sex for some.”
“The Forum Shops are a crowded place. Some said it wouldn’t work, but it’s a gold mine. I could retire on the sales tax alone they collect there.”
“I see a lot of security people mulling about,” I said.
“Yes. Those are the ones you see. There are plain clothes ones as well walking around. They have short fuses and little tolerance for even the slightest hint of trouble. With all the money being exchanged, they don’t take any shit from anyone. I assume you aren’t packing a weapon?”
“No. I didn’t think they’d allow one in.”
“No, they aren’t legal for private citizens. Security and police are the only ones allowed.”
“Hopefully I won’t need one. This guy is a tech geek, and doesn’t travel with security, so I think I can take him. Or least I hope so.”
“If you have any problems, you can call me. I will do what I can to help.”
“Always good to have an officer of the law on your side. Shall we have some dinner?”
He nodded yes and the waitress took our orders. While looking over the menu and seeing the prices, I wondered if I would look cheap asking Kimo to share a meal. I then wondered if they’d let me order off of the kids’ menu.
Chapter 53
The next day, shortly after noon, I was parked outside on a bench reading the paper and a couple of magazines I’d picked up at the gift shop. There was shade, thankfully, but little breeze, as the heat was sweltering. I had on beige shorts and a white Dri-Fit T-shirt that was wicking away the sweat as fast as my body could produce it. I watched people coming into the hotel, of which there were many, giving little time to read. I had Logan’s face burned in my memory, so I doubted I’d miss him, even with the masses coming and going. He was tall and skinny, with a receding hairline of blonde curls. Lyndi had told me he was a casual dresser, with light-colored slacks and cotton polos, normally in red or blue variations being his most common attire. He wore thick glasses, as he couldn’t wear contacts, and had a lumbering stride in canvas shoes when travelling. It was possible I’d not see him, but if I did I hoped to catch those he brought with him. I had my phone handy to take snapshots, as stealthily as possible.
The front drop-off
area was as large as some airport terminal passenger-departure zones, with multiple lanes, the cabs and Uber drivers jockeying for a spot to gather and leave their riders. I had Logan’s flight information, so I knew he had landed on time. Judging time to unload, pick up luggage, get transportation and make the trek to the hotel, I had a pretty good idea of when he’d arrive. Right around one I saw him getting out of a yellow Vegas cab. He had a carry-on bag and large wheeled luggage the driver retrieved from his trunk. He lumbered towards the entrance, alone, dressed almost exactly as Lyndi had said, other than the San Francisco Giants ball cap he was wearing.
I followed him at a safe distance, through the foyer with cathedral ceiling and marble pillars, to the massive curved check-in counter. He went to the first open space and I tried to stay as close to him as I could so I could hear what he said, while trying not to look out of place.
“Checking in,” he said, while handing over his driver’s license and credit card.
“Yes, Mr. Albers,” responded the male guest-services employee. He looked at his screen. “So glad to have you back here again.” He was typing away and swiping the ID and credit card. “Your two connecting rooms are ready to go in the Octavius Tower.”
“Have my guests checked in yet?”
“Ms. Sun and Mr. Pittman have not arrived yet.”
“If you can give them their key cards and send them right up when they do.”
“I certainly will. Do you need any assistance with your bags? Do you know where you are going?”
“Help with my bags would be wonderful. And yes, I know where I’m going. Come here every few weeks. Like a second home to me.”