Helen Hanson - Dark Pool

by Helen Hanson

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kurt loosened the Windsor knot and slipped off his tie. He wiped down the front of his white shirt with his last clean handkerchief. Coffee stains did not go with Ralph Lauren. Today’s meeting with Patty O’Mara kept him a little jumpy. The threats from the fake ambulance attendants also weighed on his nerves. Or maybe it was the three cups of French roast.

  He buzzed Stephanie in the outer office. “Steph. I need a new shirt.”

  “White, no doubt. What size?”

  “Sixteen regular.”

  “Of course you are. I’ll send someone. You want to try Billabong or Hot Topic this time?”

  “Not funny. Need it here within an hour.”

  “This is the financial district where white shirts are a cliché. I can have a dozen here in under fifteen minutes.”

  He surveyed the damage to his tailored poplin. “Buy two. Just in case.”

  “Done.”

  He set the cup on his desk and found some paper towels in the bottom drawer. The mess took six sheets to contain. As he tossed the wad in the trashcan, the phone rang.

  “Kurt Meyers.”

  “It’s Samantha. I’ve got a line on The Rockstag Group.”

  “Didn’t you get my message?”

  “What message?”

  “Patty O’Mara wants to meet with me.” Even saying the words brought new palpitations to his heart. No more coffee. He needed to get some food in his belly to soak up the acid. “Samantha?”

  “Why you?”

  “He won’t tell me until I get there. And you can’t tell anyone before the meeting happens.”

  “Then I want a full statement from you immediately after the interview.”

  “I’ll give you an exclusive. O’Mara must expect it. He didn’t ask me to keep it quiet afterward.”

  Samantha breathed into the receiver. “What time?”

  “Eleven o’clock.”

  “Will you wear a wire?”

  Kurt felt for the pen microphone in his shirt pocket. Penniski’s threats sounded another drum in his chest, but the SEC couldn’t make him do squat. Cooperate, sure. “A wire? No, but send me a list of anything you want me to ask him.”

  “Do you think he has the money?”

  It was the only question that mattered. Kurt thought he knew the answer. But O’Mara could’ve been lying. Again. “I don’t know. You’ll be the first to know.” He let the comment steep. “Aren’t you glad we’re working on this together?” He pictured a crooked smile stretching across her freckled face.

  Muffled sounds came from her end of the call. “Amazing.”

  “So what did you find on The Rockstag Group?” He didn’t expect to learn anything, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Rockstag. Got a file right here.” She cleared her throat. “The Rockstag Group is a tech firm out of Scotts Valley. Consulting engineers. Brains for hire. A couple of their executives had invested with O’Mara.”

  “Poor schmucks. What else?”

  “They had a run-in with a teenage hacker.” Samantha continued. “The kid says he was hired by someone inside the company to test their defenses, run a penetration test on their computer systems.”

  “I’d say that too.” Kurt had heard all this but played along.

  “He copied their customer files, employee files, and their project files. All federal offenses. Their board of directors wanted him to sing in the all-boy choir. Permanently.”

  “I understand their irritation.”

  “Apparently the judge did too. Came down on the kid with a pair of steel-toed boots. Sent him to juvie prison for six months. He lives in Half Moon Bay with his sister and father. The sister’s in charge of them both. The father’s got Alzheimer’s.”

  “What a mess.” The story sparked something in Kurt and made him feel uneasy. He didn’t know why. That kind of talent needed a legitimate outlet.

  “I’ll email the file to you today.”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  “I better be the first one you talk to after meeting O’Mara. If I see your smiling face on the six o’clock, you won’t want to be you.”

  “Threats, again? Not exactly a turn-on, my dear. Don’t you trust—” He didn’t hear a click, but he knew she’d hung up.

  Kurt stood and walked to the window. Wisps of fog obscured the street below. By the time he left for Patty O’Mara’s, the sun will have steamed the city clear. O’Mara’s agenda was anybody’s guess, but Kurt planned to bring his own.

  When he started this investigation, he’d called O’Mara purely as a courtesy, a shot over the bow. Maybe he was simply counting coup. But Kurt never expected an audience with the man. Now, the cobra invited the mongoose over for crumpets.

  The invitation wrecked his head and maybe that was part of O’Mara’s game. No one ever accused the man of being stupid, merely dishonest. If Kurt’s audience with O’Mara was destined to be short, he planned to be prepared.

  He sure hadn’t been prepared for Penniski’s goons jacking him in broad daylight. The threat from that conversation still echoed. Kurt took the pen from his pocket. Amazing little device. A USB flash drive housed inside a plain, black ink pen, now glistening with his sweat.

  The guys told him how to operate the pen, but he hadn’t really heard them. Weren’t threats to a man’s life supposed to make a lasting impression? Fortunately, the thing was easy to figure out and simple to use. If he took it with him.

  A knock at the door made him start. He dropped the pen in his pants pocket. “Come in.”

  Stephanie’s spiky hair now boasted a pink streak running back from the hairline. “Your shirts arrived.” She handed a shopping bag to Kurt. “Wow. Trashed that one good.”

  “Thanks for taking care of this. Obviously—” He swept a hand down his front. “—I’m not fit for presentation.”

  “You either need less coffee or about six more colors to make it work.” She stood with her hands on her hips. “Do you have time to talk? I want to show you something one of the guys found.”

  “Give me two minutes to change.”

  She disappeared behind the closed door.

  Kurt took off the stained shirt. The new one had several pins and cardboard stays that he removed before it would shake free from the packaging. He buttoned it up, repositioned his tie, and stashed the spare in his desk drawer.

  Stephanie knocked once before entering with a file. “It’s nothing earth-shaking, but I wanted to make sure you saw this.”

  He pulled down the points of his collar. “Do these look even?”

  “I could get a level and check.” Stephanie’s persistent sense of humor was the yang to her amazing insight.

  “Give me the file.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “What am I looking at?”

  “Along with being the Pied Piper of Wall Street, O’Mara’s background was in programming. When he started his trading company, he ran his own IT department. He hired people to help with the programming, but he managed the software. He rented a cage for his servers at a big data center in Redwood City.”

  “What’s the name of it?”

  “Silicon Valley Server Farm.” Kurt perused some material printed from their web page. “That’s pretty common.”

  “Like I said. Not earth shaking but another facet to the diamond.”

  “How many employees at the data center?”

  “Forty seven.” Stephanie took the file and pulled out the report from Dun & Bradstreet.

  “Has the SEC checked them out?”

  Pink glittered around the heavy black liner as she rolled her eyes. “Government agency. They couldn’t find their own ass with a mirror.”

  She had a point. Even if she didn’t, Spenser Thornton’s cash and Kurt’s own good conscience required that he be thorough. He’d rather waste an afternoon than leave a card face-down. “I’ll head over there this week. Can you find a name for me?”

  “Jack Scarson, their operations manager. You have a meeting with him to
morrow at eight. Don’t be late.”

  “Thanks.” He handed her a note with the name Travis Fender listed. “This kid got busted for hacking into a company called The Rockstag Group. Check him out for me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Travis grabbed a jacket and wandered outside to hang out with Dad. Kind of like they used to do, but then again, not at all the same way. Dad sat in his chair with Belli’s head laid across one shoe.

  When Travis approached, Dad didn’t move. His eyes fixed at some point along the shoreline. There was nothing to see but the surf. Then again, even for Travis, watching the surf was often enough.

  “What are you watching, Dad?” Travis scooted a chair in close and sat down. “Is there something out there?”

  His father turned toward him, but there wasn’t any recognition in his eyes. Some days he appeared vacant. Travis wondered what it was like to be on the other side of that stare.

  “C’mon, Dad. Let’s go for a walk.” He took his father by the hand and helped him up from the chair. The older man cycled a deep breath and followed Travis’ lead down to the beach. This time, both dogs scurried to join the pack.

  The steady glow of the morning sun allowed only patches of fog to remain along their stretch of coast. Bailey and Belli ran ahead to sniff out treasures left in the strand. Dad kept even pace with Travis—stopping when he stopped, moving when he moved.

  Three female joggers ran past them. One jogger, way older than Maggie, eyed Travis with an interest that made him uncomfortable. She seemed the kind who would consider his age a challenge. He’d met her type before.

  He met a few guys like that in prison. But between his size and making friends with some Native Americans, a black eye was the worst he’d endured as far as anyone else could see.

  They turned toward the house as they came upon a young couple with small, twin boys building a sandcastle. The woman worked on a moat while the man filled a castle-shaped bucket. The boys patted sand into place around the castle’s prominent keep.

  “It’s safe there,” Dad said to the boys.

  The woman smiled, but the boys stopped working. Travis returned a smile and led Dad away from the area. The Firm ran around the castle and then hied over to Dad’s side.

  Maggie had lectured him on reading substance into Dad’s weird sound bites. But Dad was trying to communicate. Maybe she carried too many burdens to carry any hope.

  “What was safe, Dad?”

  His mouth moved, but he didn’t make any sound. He grabbed Travis’ hand. Frustration flashed across his face.

  “Did you make something safe, Dad?”

  This time, he didn’t try to talk but simply squeezed Travis’ hand.

  Travis didn’t bother asking anything else. Playing twenty questions wasn’t going to reveal the truth. He had to think like Martin Fender.

  When they arrived back at the house, Maggie was standing inside dressed for job hunting. Travis recognized the sadness as she watched Dad. It was the look of loss. When whatever you had was gone forever. He’d seen that same expression in the mirror the day he landed at Cumberton. And the day his mother died.

  Maggie opened the door. “How’s the weather?”

  “Crisp and cool,” Travis said.

  She lifted a chin toward her father. “How’s Daddy doing?”

  “I’m a little tired, Maggie.” He walked past them both with a pair of beagles at his heels.

  Travis clamped his mouth, figuring it was probably hanging open like Maggie’s. Talking to Dad was like talking on a cheap cell phone. They could never count on the reception.

  “So where are you applying today?”

  Her face tinged in pink. “I’m going to the French restaurant that Fyodor took me to.”

  “That nice, eh?”

  “I’ll hit some other places, too, but it’s that nice. The staff seemed to enjoy working there.” She took a hair thing off the counter and worked her hair into a ponytail.

  He knew she didn’t think much of her real mother, but Maggie looked just like the pictures he’d seen. Maggie said her mother was a liar, a cheat, and an emotional manipulator. Travis could add only one thing to that list, beautiful.

  “I’d rather serve live shark on paper plates than work with another bitchy staff.”

  Maggie got on well with the rest of the crew, but that Peter dude did not like his sister. Peter’s dislike was toxic. Maybe he was making the crank calls to Dad.

  “I’ll be back when I get a job or my frail ego succumbs to defeat.” Her teeth flashed, and then her face went gloomy. “You going to be okay?”

  “Go. Get out of here.” He shooed her toward the front of the house. “We’re covered.” He didn’t like it when she got all motherly. He didn’t need it. But mainly, she didn’t do it well.

  Travis cleaned the counters and put out some fresh supplies for The Firm. Javier appeared at the back door and let himself in.

  “Hey. We alone?” Javier glanced around the room.

  “What’s up?”

  “Sorry, man. I had to move the laptop last night. There was a water leak in the apartment upstairs. Pop went in to scope out the place for damage. He gave me full warning before he did.”

  “Your pop’s a good man.” Travis nodded. “Thanks.”

  Javier opened the fridge and got out the iced tea. He caught a plastic cup that Travis tossed. “Is Maggie dating that Russian dude across the street?”

  “One date down. Another on tap. Why?”

  “Saw him on the way over here. What’s he do?” Javie loaded up the tea with sugar.

  “Security of some sort,” Travis said.

  “Know much about him?”

  He tired of dueling. “Spill it.”

  “Nothing to spill. Neighborhood watch, you know. Couple of bulky suits rolled by his place in a big sedan early this morning. Dudes were all speaking Russian.” Javier shrugged a shoulder. “I guess. They were looking and pointing at your house, and they sure didn’t need any security.”

  “You think they were up to something?”

  “Maybe they wanted to know if your sister is hot. I don’t know. But they were checking out your place, and I thought you should know. You’re the man of the house now.”

  Man of the house. The thought hadn’t occurred to Travis until Javier gave it voice. “That’s all I need. Trouble with bulky Russians.”

  Javier swept his bangs toward an ear. “Been a rough week since you got sprung from the big house. It was quiet before you got here, man.”

  “Frodo seemed like a nice guy. Maggie likes him.”

  “Frodo from the Shire?”

  “Fyodor. From Moscow.” Travis sat up on the counter. “Would you know these guys if you saw them again?”

  “Sure.” Javier turned toward the back door. “You up for a board meeting later?”

  “If the surf looks good. Hey, don’t say anything to Maggie.”

  “Nah, man. I won’t. Gotta jet,” Javier said.

  “See ya.”

  Travis filled the sink with hot water and added ammonia. He grabbed the mop from the pantry and went after the floor. But Javier’s comment lingered.

  It was quiet before you got here, man.

  It all started when he got home from Cumberton. Dad knifing the dude from The Rockstag Group. Maggie losing her job. Carter’s wife landing on their lawn. AreEff confirming Kingphisher as a Rockstag insider. Russians invading the neighborhood.

  Dad leaving clues.

  But about what?

  When Dad set this all up, he only had moments of bad. Why would he set up the domain to last beyond his ability to communicate and then lock out Travis? Travis couldn’t shake the belief that the domain was important. He leaned the mop against the refrigerator.

  Maggie’s laptop sat on the desk with the power cord plugged into the wall socket. What he needed to do wouldn’t take longer than fifteen minutes. Travis stepped out of the room and went down the hall to check on Dad.

  Asleep.r />
  He fired up the machine and waited for access. Then he navigated back to the website and logged in. Even if the files were compiled, he might as well download them. Maybe he could make sense of them. Probably not.

  After saving the files, he opened the Email Manager at the domain. But Dad hadn’t created any email addresses for that domain. If Dad wanted to send or receive messages about this domain name, why not use email? It was easy, fairly reliable.

  How could Dad get a message through with no email account?

  Travis had to think like his father.

  He clicked the button to create an email account. He didn’t have to make an email account with a specific name. He could make a catch-all account for any mail coming to the domain. This way, any email address ending in @AMirageVistasRight.com would be delivered.

  Travis@AMirageVistasRight.com. Delivered.

  TwoLegalBeagles@AMirageVistasRight.com. Delivered.

  IWasSetUpBySomeAsshole@AMirageVistasRight.com. Delivered.

  Maybe it was a waste of time, but he had nothing else to try. It felt good to take a step, any step, in any direction. Dad was holding onto something. That much was certain. But like anything in Dad’s mind, it took effort to pry it loose.

  Maggie thought the domain name was another of Dad’s last throes before slipping into the abyss. He was so centered on Trisha back then—they all were—they didn’t appreciate how deeply he’d already sunk.

  Anything that showed up to the catch-all account Travis would forward to his gmail account—Viagra ads and all. He didn’t need to tell Maggie about the idea because she’d think it was lame. He’d already broken his promise to stay off the computer. A promise and a condition of his parole.

  Chapter Thirty

  Kurt rode the elevator to the subterranean parking garage of the Transamerica Pyramid. Stephanie arranged to have his black Audi A8 washed, waxed, and waiting before his meeting with Patty O’Mara. Important meetings necessitated a gleaming auto.

  A skinny, white kid with bleached blond hair slid out from behind the wheel. Wearing black leather pants like a second skin and a charcoal gray shirt, the kid radiated car thief not valet. He came around to the passenger side of the car and offered to take Kurt’s briefcase. Kurt waved him off and opened the door. He dropped his briefcase onto the passenger seat and passed the kid a twenty.