At the end she is pleased. M2 doesn't feel like Miracle Meripol. It's been too easy. Her friend Zoo could have looked at Sammy's material from inside the university system and simply given her the information, but to both of them, it seems better if she "discovers" it for herself. It gives her friend a little more distance and cover, emotionally at least.
It's all pretty standard stuff, and the key, she knows, is her network of friends. It was a piece of cake with a faux web site and Zoo's alert and help. Once she got Samuel/Sammy to click on her faux site it was game over. Not a miracle at all, but the info will be of real use to Barry and his family.
Sammy is in the dark. The hack has been seamless. He has no clue. M2 hasn't tried to get into his thesis work, which is solid, standard nanobiology—though at this stage she doesn't know that—nor has she tried to figure out what else he has been looking at on the general NAFRA site. Zoo has all but told her that there are top-secret projects behind NAFRA's second firewall. She has no idea what Sammy knows about these. Nevertheless, this is exactly what Barry needs to begin to look at Curly/Sammy/Samuel Anderson as the killer of Edie and his son.
Zoo calls her on her burner. "I'd like to run something by you," he says without identifying himself—just in case. "How about today, the usual spot at the usual time?"
"I'll be there."
The usual spot and time are Café Metro in Montrose at five. It's an older place with wooden tables and dim lighting. The blearing heavy metal is perfect for two hackers who don't want to be overheard. They sit over coffees and a large peanut butter cookie that is to be shared, though Zoo eats most of it.
Zoo and M2 are tight, and so he offers to help more with Sammy. "Whatever you need, count me in."
"Out of the goodness of your heart?"
"Ah, no."
"Because you really, really like me?"
"I do, but again, no," Zoo says.
"Because there may be some fun to be had?
"In part."
"Come on, dude, spill it."
"Yeah, there will be some fun to be had, but maybe some real money too. I mean like money you can't imagine."
"Since I can't imagine it, better tell me."
"Not yet, I'll lose my job for sure. Only if we can stop Sammy and the coast is clear."
"You do love your melodrama, Zoo."
"But that's the business we're in." He puts his hand on hers, which is resting on her almost untouched cappuccino. "You really are something. If I'm going to do a caper, I want to do it with you, my dear"
"What kind of deal are you thinking about?" she says.
"Well, we can't move on the big money caper, till we get Sammy out of the picture." The she picks up that he is looking at her like he hasn't been laid in a month. "Would you consider another caper," he says, "a friends with benefit's caper?"
"I thought that's where you were going."
The two are both super geeks, but with pretty good interpersonal skills. And if their relationship feels a little transactional, that's because it is. They are too smart to think it otherwise, but it doesn't get in the way of their real affection and respect for each other.
They're starved and they go down the street to an upscale place. They're underdressed, but, in this part of the city, the restaurateurs are used to it. For all their originality and imagination, their orders are identical: Pinot Grigio, salad, and pasta with butter and shaved truffles. They are both mellow by now. She reaches under the table and tickles him.
"Hey, watch it, kiddo."
"Come on, Zoo, tell me more."
"About what, the dessert menu?" He motions her forward. "Okay, here's a teaser. It's as far as I feel comfortable going now. The NAFRA project will blow your mind when you find out. Sammy wants it, and the best guess is he'll try to peddle it to someone with deep pockets. What I'm suggesting is that if we have the opportunity, that is, if Sammy is out of the picture, we should pounce—whatever the cost."
She says nothing. She looks at him as if she has just heard Queen Elizabeth fart. "Holy shit, right here under our noses at FDU in biomedical engineering. That's a game changer, for sure."
Zoo picks up the check, and in a minute he's following her to her place. They're old hands at this. It's been a while and both are glad to be with each other—and even though they are techies and super intense, they are glad to be putting work aside. The last thing Emma Meripol does before she slips into bed with him is to take out her diamond studs and put them in her small jewelry purse on the bathroom sink.
N.K. left the consulate late that afternoon, walked the Dobermans when he got home, and slumped into his recliner. Oh, Naavah how did we get into this? It had been an impossible decision, but there was no other way. She had become a liability, and in his view what he had done was a personal betrayal. He couldn't run covert ops with an addicted wife. He had seen her bloodshot eyes and flushed face in their kitchen many nights over dinner. She had complained of a touch of flu or sometimes hot flashes, and he had given her a pass, not because he believed her but because he loved her. There were moments when she would stare off into space in the middle of a conversation as if she had an earphone in and was communicating with the heavens.
One night she had opened the window to their bedroom and mentioned how much she admired Peter Pan. She had stood there, staring out. He had gotten up and pulled her back.
He asked for help. When an embassy physician flew down from Washington, his assessment was blunt. "She's addicted to something. We need a urine sample, and then most likely a residential treatment program. All things, considered, (N.K. wasn't sure what all of those things were, or how much Dr. Kaplan knew) this is best done at home." He meant Israel.
After the urine came back positive for PCP, he took her in his arms: "My love, you need treatment and that's best done at home. It's only for a short time. When you're well, we'll be together again." The next day a small, chartered jet took her, a nurse, two Mossad agents, two Uzis, and an array of other small arms to New York, where she and the nurse boarded an El Al flight to Israel.
He knew he could never convince Mossad that he could function with a drug addict, even a former drug addict, at his side. She would need to remain in Israel. Perhaps, when he retired….
Still in his recliner, he picked up his laptop. As a couple, there had been better days, many of them. Somehow his mind fixed on Vladivostok in the Russian Far East. Yes, those had been good days. He pulled up pictures of the provincial city of 500,000. His eyes were moist. His day job was almost non-existent. He was there to keep an eye on the Russian Pacific Fleet. Surprising how things worked, or maybe not. His experience in Vladivostok was proving invaluable in Houston, but at the moment, he skipped over that aspect of his job.
During the long winters, people drank too much, though, he remembered, it had not been a problem for her. And the summers, when there was no fog or rain, allowed them to go to the beaches. It was not exactly like Tel Aviv, but it was close enough to remind them of home. There were outings on yachts and quiet dinners alone. Life had been surprisingly agreeable. A life, he realized, that would not be within his grasp for a long time.
14.
M2 drops by Lenny's and finds him and Portia at home. Barry is out on business. For an instant her face shows disappointment, but there will be other opportunities. Here are the basics, she says without much small talk. "Samuel Anderson is from Fresno."
"No kidding, who would have guessed? Is he really Samuel Anderson? At Starbucks he seemed, well, more Middle Eastern in his looks."
"Don't know. We'll figure it out. He is formally enrolled in a master's program and his thesis work is in bioengineering. It centers on new ways to target drugs, like anticancer drugs to specific sites in the body. The project is sponsored by NAFRA, the government's defense research arm. It does a lot of collaboration with universities around the country. It's not classified, which means Anderson could use the research for his thesis and publish it."
"Then why all the secrecy?"
Lenny wants to know.
"Again, don't know. In theory he only has access to the lowest level of NAFRA clearance. A lot of their stuff is protected behind a second firewall. Oh, and I almost forgot, I confirmed what Barry found out. He was the tenant on the floor below. There's nothing about the Dearborn guy, Sammy Assad, in any university database that I found."
"This is all interesting, but not, what should I say, incriminating."
"Yeah, but I did a little more snooping. First, he is holed up in Navasota. At least that's where he's connecting to the Internet from. So he's out of the city, but close enough to show up. His cell phone is in Aspen, probably as a decoy. I'm not sure why.
"There's one more interesting piece. I did a little extracurricular work. Remember you told me that Sammy came into work all bandaged up. He claimed that his gas grill exploded. So I got into the ER admissions at nearby hospitals and checked for men treated for burns in the early hours after the apartment fire. Bingo, a Sean Abernathy, age 25, was treated at about three in the morning for burns of the face and hands at Waltham Memorial Hospital. It's the only admission that fits."
"So he has to be our guy, too," Lenny says. "And if you think about it, all the aliases follow a pattern; all have the initials S. A.: Samuel Anderson, Sammy Assad, Sean Abernathy, even Sammy A., the barista."
"Did Barry find out anything more about Dearborn?"
"Not that he mentioned."
"So here's a best guess," M2 says. "Our guy is hanging out in Navasota. He still needs on-the-ground information in Houston or he would have skipped, and he'd be working remotely. He really wants to cover his tracks. That's why he has three aliases. I think the drug thing is real, but it's a sideline gone bad. I'm thinking Edie and Leon are innocent victims of a lab accident. He may be guilty of manslaughter or murder, but so far we can't prove it."
"So what do we do? We're still stuck."
"Well, no, not exactly. I can monitor what he does online, especially at the college of engineering, maybe even detect any hacking that he does. That's the first thing. Second I can check around, see if anyone knows what's behind that NAFRA firewall. We may get lucky."
"What else?"
"Well, as I said, Dearborn might help. One more thing to consider. You know the old saying: follow the money. With drugs, there is always cash. Even small time stuff can generate surprising amounts of money. It's got to be somewhere. Unless it all went up with the apartment, it's in a storage locker, another house, even a gym locker at the university. It's not likely to be buried someplace, because he's always adding to it."
"If we get our hands on it, whose money is it?"
"Let's just say possession is 9/10s of the law. But if they know who took it, you can be sure they will come after us. This is not a route to riches. Okay, let's quit." M2 could be abrupt. She had delivered as promised. "I've got stuff to do. Be patient, something will happen. Sammy is still in play in Southeast Texas. I'll figure out where's he's holed up."
She was about to leave when Barry showed up. "Sorry, I had a meeting that ran late."
After the three filled him in, he said, "Good deal, sounds like we're making a little progress here. So I have some news on Assad. My contact says that Sammy Assad really did register the Vespa from a Dearborn address, and the address is a real one. And, yes, there is an Assad family there. But here's the deal breaker: there's no Sammy Assad associated with the address. I'm trying to see if he has any other footprint in Dearborn."
Emma could be abrupt. Her extroversion tank was empty. She stood up. "More to follow," she said without warning and made for the door.
Sammy finally gets up the courage to call Biggie. The call's been overdue. Biggie is a hands-on manager. They talk on two burners, no sense in having even one side of a conversation monitored. He has thought through what he's going to say, knowing his goose is cooked if the boss gets even the slightest whiff of drugs. He changes his story a little. He tells Biggie that he has been laying low in the safe house in Navasota, that the university thinks he's skiing in Colorado, that he thought it best not to be available for interviews or even statements to the police or fire department.
Biggie ignores the slight discrepancy between this and the earlier version and comes straight to the point. "I want to know what the fuck happened. And no bullshit."
"So I was trying to get a leg up on some of the synthesis protocols we may be needing. I was making sure I could still do a Grignard reaction. We'll need it to make some of the chemical intermediates we'll need."
"Come to the point."
"Long story short, I had opened a small can of ether which I needed for a solvent, and then there was a flash and a few seconds later a small explosion. Fareed wasn't there. A fire started and it soon got out of control. I couldn't put it out by myself. So I scrammed."
Biggie considers his options. He doesn't raise the issue of Sammy going rogue or counterinsurgency against his operation. For the moment he trusts his loyalty, but maybe not his judgment. He decides a tongue-lashing will do. "Around here, we follow protocol, nothing unauthorized, no wildcatting, no matter how honorable your intentions. You screw up again and the explosion is going to be much larger. You hurt?"
"No, a few superficial burns, hardly took the hair off my arms. Got some Noxima at a Walgreens." He leaves out the ER visit and using one of the identities Biggie has provided. He's hoping Biggie won't check. He wants to keep Mr. Abernathy unsullied.
Biggie decides on a midcourse correction. "So let's do this. I'll find the parts, the explosives and all that you need. Either we'll provide you with the bombs already assembled, or there will only be a few simple steps, mostly electronic. I need you to concentrate on NAFRA. The other stuff is just chicken feed compared to it. Clear?"
"Yes," and he decides to gild the lily a bit. "Yes sir, it's clear. You can count on me."
"I hope so."
Sammy thinks this is okay. Biggie seems if not happy, at least resigned. He'll have a chance to get back in if he can secure the NAFRA nanotechnology data. He realizes he's out of the drug business. It was much too risky a sideline. He is happy too. Sean Abernathy has a little money, actually a sizable amount of money, in the bank in Navasota. Soon he'll need to make a little withdrawal, but for the moment he is fine. Cash is king, he reminds himself.
More good luck. His hands are starting to look much better. He looks in the mirror and is not 100% thrilled with what he sees. The right side of his face is still red, not Red Lobster red, but red. No problem, he thinks. He'll grow a beard, explain that he's wind burned from skiing in Colorado. It's too tender to shave and he's grown a little beard.
He sends an email from his laptop to Dr. Bessnager, his thesis advisor, says that the skiing has invigorated him, and he's ready to charge ahead with his thesis. He wants to spend a few days doing data analysis and then maybe they can talk.
What he gets back is crisp: "Roger that."
Is Bessnager miffed, annoyed, or distracted? He decides it doesn't matter. He's off in his own la la land, oblivious to Samuel Anderson's interests.
Sammy has Biggie at bay for now, but he worries. Biggie carries a big stick, and without warming he could break it over his head. Best to make sure his university accounts are good. At first, everything seems to be okay, but what's this? It looks like some of "his" queries are not his, nothing much, only a few searches that seem a little off. Sammy is not infallible, but he thinks he remembers correctly.
He calls FDU engineering web security and gets M2's friend Zoo. He says that he worries that someone has hacked his account, that he has nothing to hide, and nothing has been tampered with, as best he can tell. But would they look into it? Sammy gets back a very polished, professional response. He doesn't like what he hears. It's university admin speak, not nerd speak, which is what he is used to. Okay, Sammy says, but he thinks he should change his password. The voice on the other end agrees. Zoo tells him to stay on the line. It will take a minute. Zoo comes back on and tells him to go ahead. Zoo has m
ade sure he will be shunted to M2's faux site.
Like the last time, M2 captures the change and gets back to Zoo with the new password. In a minute Sammy will be able to use his FDU BME account seamlessly and M2 will continue to have access to it.
Sammy has no way of knowing who is hacking him, but he takes a guess: this guy Barry Weeks. He has motive: his girlfriend and child have died. He has means, for Christ's sake, this guy works for UVL. He and UVL can certainly figure out how to hack his account.
He has a short conversation with Biggie. "You know my old upstairs neighbor in the apartment was a guy from UVL, right?"
"Remind me."
"Barry Weeks."
Silence. "So?"
"So, I've done some diagnostics on my web addresses, and I think I'm being shadowed. Someone has been into my university account. It's Weeks, I think. To be on the safe side, I've changed my password. But send me what you know about this guy. I may need it."
"On the way, my friend. Next time don't keep me in the dark so long."
"So here's what I'm thinking," M2 begins in Lenny's living room. She has the complete attention of the three of them. "So we were talking about drug dealing and money. We'll need a little luck, but I'm thinking follow the money, which, as a byproduct, will give us, if we are lucky, his address in Navasota. There are other ways, but with this we'd know how much moolah he has and where it's stashed. Sooner or later, he's going to want it. I'd like not to have to rule out every storage facility, bus depot, and two-car garage in greater Houston. So if I put myself in his place. I need two things: access to my cash, at least some of it, and a place to store the rest unobserved."
"Of course, you're right, a bank, brilliant," Barry says.
"Yep, very good, a full service bank," M2 confirms. "That way, if he's on the move, he can get it anywhere."
Lenny looks at his son. How did he get there so quickly? Am I aging out already?
The Nano-Thief: A Lenny D. Novel (Lenny. D. Novels Book 1) Page 8