"There are four or five really big national banks—those with lots of offices all over—and for the present three known aliases for this guy. Once I'm behind a firewall, it's as easy to run three names as one."
Portia has been silent. "You think you can get into the records of the major banks just like that? I'd be surprised."
"Don't be. Some of these systems are 'holier' than thou," she jokes. "Besides, I'm going to do in parallel, not in series. I've got some friends who will help. It's a good cause."
Barry is a little worried. He doesn't want too many people out there knowing what's going on. But this is standard for Barry. His job is to worry. That's what he's paid for. It's always about probability and risk. He decides to let it go. He's got M2 to worry. Her job is to worry. That's what she's paid for, even when the pay is kudos, not dollars. She also knows it's always about probability and risk.
15.
Zhang Li, the senior officer in the Chinese Consulate in Houston, is holding forth. He is explaining to N.K. the importance of West Lake, the famous "Poet's Lake" in Hangzhou, his back to the water as he leans against the rail of a yacht. A wealthy Houstonian is hosting the blowout in Kemah. "We are two very old cultures with long poetic traditions," he is saying as he holds a glass of Chardonnay by the stem. He is as red as a Chairman Mao's book of quotations. Zang's glow interests N.K. more than the story.
He remembers a lecture on imbibing as part of his consular training course: don't try to keep up with the Russians (they'll always drink you under the table); Asians, who flush with drinking, have a genetic change that converts alcohol to a toxic chemical, acetaldehyde, that accumulates in their blood, so they are often irritable and distractible and potentially exploitable; beware of Italians bearing grappa, it can be 120 proof or higher. The reminder is valuable since he is sure Zhang is part of the Chinese intelligence community, stationed in Houston in much the way he is.
He has been staring over Zhang's diminutive figure out into the brownish water of Galveston Bay waiting for an opening. In Zhang's distressed state, he senses his advantage. N.K. warms him up by talking about China's aggressive policies in the South China Sea, especially about their string of artificial islands. Israel certainly understands China's need for security. Zhang nods and smiles, takes out a handkerchief and blots the sweat from his face. N.K. waits. "Do you have the same concerns about the Russians in the Sea of Japan to the North?"
Zhang is breathing heavily and stops to blow his nose. He is cautious in answering this out of the blue question. "What do you mean by this comment?"
"Oh, I'm curious, that's all. I was posted for two years in Vladivostok. Marvelous city and the site of their Pacific fleet."
"Tell me, N.K., what interest is it of yours, of the Israelis?"
"Nothing more than my friendship with you and my belief that Israel and China have common interests. Did you not say so yourself?" He retreats to get Zhang back on the hook. "You know that King David, who wrote many poems, the psalms of the Bible, lived fifteen hundred years before the famous poets of the Tang Dynasty."
Zhang nods agreement, and although the boat is motionless, he reaches back to steady himself with the rail.
"Seems to me," N.K. says, "your government should be figuring out how to trap the Russian bear. Don't you think so?"
Zhang is too well trained to agree with the statement, but N.K. reads the raised eyebrows and the slight opening of the diplomat's mouth to mean how do you know these this, who is feeding you information? Zhang likes N.K. and finds him a fellow traveler, so he does not respond harshly. "We are considering our options," which in diplomat speak means we have a plan. We know what to do, but a few people may get hurt along the way.
N.K. has gotten all he's going to get tonight, which he views as a lot. He backs off a bit. "A interesting city, Vladivostok, if you get the opportunity to visit, you should take it. The Russian girls are real beauties." He excuses himself: he is starved, he says, and is heading for the buffet. Zhang looks as if he will wait till tomorrow to eat.
On the drive home N.K. thinks about Zhang. He was cautious but not surprised by his question. Why should a Chinese consular officer in Houston know anything or care about the Russian Far East? The same reason he does: Houston business is about to play a role in a Chinese operation. The other obvious, but not surprising point is that Zhang had already made him. When had this happened? N.K. wondered, or maybe Zhang came to the post with this knowledge. There are few secrets in this cloudy world. And those that exist have a short shelf life. He surmises that Zhang's reason for being in Houston is to watch over China's plan, to make sure UVL follows through, that they don't drop the ball or go rogue. N.K. and the Israelis will be fine, as far as Zhang is concerned, if the Israelis keep their distance, which N.K. has no intention of doing.
16.
Jorge has gotten back to Barry. He and his team at UVL have the information he needs. Between the pictures and the model number he is dead certain. "Can only be one thing: a yellow metal cabinet is a safety cabinet for storing hazardous chemicals or solvents or both. The number corresponds to a small manufacturer near Chicago."
"Any chance of tracing the cabinet, when it was made, where it was purchased?"
"Not really, they're sold all over and the model's been out there more than ten years."
Barry thanks him. He's got what he needs. It would be nice to know if Samuel Anderson bought the thing himself or some third party helped him, but you take what you can get. Besides, it's not hard to put the whole thing together, at least the generalities. Samuel Anderson, Curly, his reclusive former neighbor, and Fareed were dealing. They're making it and selling it, and that of course is the intersection of his father in this caper. Sammy had the bad luck to be spotted by his dad selling to his neighbor.
The big question for Barry is the fire: it seems certain that it started in the second floor apartment. Did Curly have an accident while he was making a batch or did he burn himself by accident setting the fire to close down the operation? If it was arson, would he not have doused the building on the bottom floor, say, around the perimeter, and set it? Wouldn't that have been a better plan? Not if destroying the contents of his apartment was the goal. No, concentrate the flammables where the evidence is.
Then Barry decides that the questions of intent and method are not the questions at all. There is no question: the bastard killed Edie and Leon. He needs to be brought to justice. Then he reassesses his position. Intent is the issue. If a jury is to convict him, they need evidence that supports his guilt. Best-case scenario, Barry decides, is proof that he was dealing, proof that he was manufacturing in the apartment, proof that he was there that night and was responsible for the fire.
The evidence doesn't look good. The chemical analysis Lenny obtained was performed offshore by unknowns, and there is no chain of custody. Neither he and his father nor the fire department has found any evidence of flammables or solvents. No one can place Samuel Anderson at the scene. It's true that there is good evidence that he was burned that night, but Anderson is smart, and he'll find people to testify that he was with them and had an accident. Barry is no lawyer but he imagines the strongest charge he could hope for is involuntary manslaughter. A jury would be very sympathetic to a mother and an infant burned alive, but there needs to be more evidence. He can't see where new data will come from.
Barry is not afraid of decisions and their consequences. Seems like plan B is the only way to go, he says to himself. That bastard is going to pay.
The news is better when M2 meets again with the three of them. She has no need to impress them with the details of her methods or the friends she's enlisted. She had thought about asking Bill Collins, UVL's head of network security, to help. Just for fun. But she changed her mind: no, that would be in bad taste, and, hey, eventually Barry is going to come out of his tailspin. No sense screwing with a guy you might want to…. She does not finish the thought. Just a smile to mark the place in her mind.
"So
we checked the Houston and Navasota branches for all the big national banks, and the gods have smiled on us. Guess what, the guy injured by his gas grill, Sean Abernathy, has an account at Angstrom National in Navasota. He's rented a large safety deposit box there. He's got…" she looks down at her notes, "$9,742.57 in a savings account and $4,368.72 in a checking account."
"Bingo," Lenny says.
Barry sees Lenny's angle, but he knows that money in a bank will be impossible to tie to Anderson's drug sales. Even if he can, it still doesn't put him at the crime scene.
"I'm sure M2 won't disappoint us. Where does this guy live?"
"Funny you should ask. I have no idea where Samuel Anderson lives, but Sean Abernathy, according to bank records, owns a place just outside of Navasota. It's a bit isolated. Everything isn't hacking. I went to Zillow. He paid $248,000 for it two years ago. It's eleven acres. The house is on a small rise. Three bedrooms and two full baths."
"I didn't realize graduate stipends were so good these days," Portia cracks.
"Let me show you," and M2 pulls up some pictures on her laptop.
"Not the prettiest girl at the dance, but I guess it works for what he wants."
Barry keeps his thoughts to himself. In fact, she's a beauty if you know what you're looking for. The bland gray, one story ranch will attract zero attention. Nobody will be able to describe it. Even the paint is invisible. It's well sighted with a view of the road. Easy to defend, if it ever came to that. And if there is an accidental explosion or he has to burn this sucker down, well, this time there will be no collateral damage. He's not sure if other houses have a view of the structure or what his neighbors can hear. Curly is on top of his game, or he has very good handlers—something Barry had no considered before.
"So," he says, "we need a plan. One option is surprise. Hit him when he's least expecting it." Barry's goal is to take this guy out.
"And then what?" Lenny wants to know. "As I see it, there is nothing to bring him to justice for. We'll even the score for Edie and Leon when we know what this guy does, what he is really after. It's not selling drugs to me and Mrs. Babcock, I'll tell you that. His university stuff is the key."
"So here's what." M2 sounds authoritative, but collegial. "We need boots on the ground. Everything isn't in the cloud. There are four loci, places, where we might get firsthand information. One of course is FDU, especially the department of biomedical engineering. For that one, my guess is that at present, hacking is still the best way to go. He's too clever to leave fingerprints out in the open. But for the others—Navasota, Fresno, and maybe Dearborn—definitely we need to see for ourselves."
"Yeah, the ashes of the apartment building where they worked are not likely to yield much else, but Navasota. for sure, and, I hate to say it, Fresno need investigating. Once more about Dearborn."
M2 puts on a thinking face, a ruse. She has already worked this through. "So just a hunch, but I think I know where you're going with Dearborn, that it is likely a low yield site. There doesn't seem to be any back and forth, no information flow. So I agree with Barry, Navasota and Fresno, definitely. We have one more problem. If we agree that the Ferguson St. apartment was a worksite, where does or maybe did he actually live in Houston? And who did he live with? This one could be harder, even if there is a place in his name. If he rented in a large building that's managed, for which there are records, a piece of cake. But everybody and his brother has a garage apartment to let. Or it's in someone else's name, say a roommate. He might be crashing in someone's back bedroom. Not easy."
"Let's do what we can." It's Portia's practical good sense. "How about two teams, one for Navasota and one for Fresno? Hey, we've all seen San Francisco, why not Fresno? Not to be too melodramatic, but I think we coordinate the strikes. Like multicity drug busts and immigration raids—they do it all at once. The real question is who and how. We're not exactly commandos."
"No, but we're smart enough to figure this out," Lenny says.
"I think my dad and I should do Navasota. It's likely to be more confrontational, and I've had a bit of experience." Barry does not elaborate. He looks directly at M2 and is sure she understands. Maybe not the full extent of his experience, but she senses he can handle himself. "As for my dad, once the four of us work out a plan, I can bring him up to speed. So Fresno is a different story, a complete unknown."
"Not exactly. I figured it would come to this, so I did a little Zillow/Google maps snooping. I won't bore you with the details now, but it looks pretty tame. A medium-sized ranch on a quiet street in a good neighborhood. Trees, swings, well-tended yards. More than a solid middle class neighborhood. One more thing, the place doesn't look fortified and it's certainly not secluded."
Barry: "So it doesn't look like an operations center? Never mind. I know you can't tell. But what do you think?"
"Don't think it is," M2 says. "So, I was curious about Mr. Anderson senior. Actually, it's Dr. Anderson and he teaches in the university's B-school there. International business, I think. But get this. I did a search of court records. When they came here almost 30 years ago, they came from Alexandria, Egypt. The family name was Azzar." Everyone murmured. "Almost like Assad, the Dearborn alias. The father seems clean, so I don't think the son is going to do questionable stuff, whether it's making drugs or something more sinister, in his parents' home. Actually, it's most likely the place where he grew up."
"But come to think of it, the whole Fresno thing could be another ruse, like the Michigan license, just a way to complete a form for the university."
"One picture is worth a thousand searches. Once we're on the ground there, we can get a look inside, see if there are any pictures of our guy growing up, him as part of the family or on the soccer team. But you're right, before we go, I'll search high school graduation records and births in the county. One or the other might tell us something."
Lenny is feeling a little to the side and in need of reasserting his leadership. He was the guy who set the caper in motion, and he's not about to give up control. "I'll do Navasota with Barry. He's right on that score: if the viper is in a nest, it's there. M2's tracking of his computer all but confirms that. You mentioned following the money, brilliant work you did. We know a lot more about this guy because of your sleuthing. For the time being, though, let's leave Angstrom National out of the picture. If we're going to figure out this guy, surprise is critical. No matter how much he has in the bank, we're not going to cripple him by lifting it.
"I think it's clear," he goes on. "It's not without risk, but it's straightforward. Simply put, we'll head up there and have a look see. Like all craftsmen, we'll take the proper tools along." He looks at Barry, no need to elaborate. He thinks he knows what Barry's got, and although he and Barry have never compared notes, he senses Barry knows he is not a complete amateur. "As for Fresno, I think Portia and M2 can do a little sleuthing of their own. They only have to figure out a suitable ruse to get inside the Anderson home, or, if caught, to get out."
'Right, boss," M2 smiles sweetly. "You can count on us. Think of the two investigations as one of those TV shows, a battle of the sexes thing…but with real stakes. And as for the hardware you've been alluding to, we ladies won't be showing up naked. I can promise you that." She's not sure how she can pull this off. It's mostly bravado, but she'll lean on Barry for help if necessary.
"So do we have a plan? Is everybody in?" Lenny says.
"Well, yes and no," Barry says. "There is no way we can let M2 and Portia go off alone to Fresno. It's not about being smart or fast on your feet. It's also about training and experience. It can't happen."
No one challenges him. "In fact," he goes on. "Think about what we've done. We've allowed bravado to overtake us. Look, if we are right, Sammy is a drug dealer, probably an arsonist, and a hacker, trying to gain access to secret NAFRA files, maybe working for a large powerful organization. What is completely unknown is what measures Sammy has taken and who might be helping him. We can't use hype to build courage. They
could be dead twenty minutes after knocking on the door in Fresno."
17.
Portia is a practical, no nonsense woman, so she cannot imagine what is about to happen. And why should she? She has concluded a very successful sales call, her last of the day, in a suburban shopping mall. She is striding along, briefcase in one hand, her big, floppy bag slung over her other shoulder. She's practically skipping to her white Audi. These days her life is more focused on Lenny's world than work. She's thinking about stopping at Whole Foods on the way home and fixing dinner. As she moves between the parked cars, the fob in her handbag unlocks her car. She reaches back to stow her briefcase in the rear seat, and that's when her life changes.
Out of nowhere she feels a sharp jab in the deltoid region as the needle pierces her dress, then her skin, and enters the muscle. Then pain as the liquid is discharged. She turns to see a short curly-haired man with an emerging beard looking at her. He's holding an empty syringe. She reaches for the cell phone in her bag, but the man's arm blocks her. She tries to run, but her heel catches in a crack, and she twists her ankle. He grabs her by the waist from the back before she falls. This can't be happening, she thinks, not sure what "this" is. She struggles again to run, but she is already feeling woozy. She wobbles. Her legs are untrustworthy. "What are you do…" is all she can get out.
The sky and parking lot roll around in her vision. She feels the man push her against the car and then a cord around her arms and torso. Curly pulls it taut and knots it. He winches in pain as the rope cuts into his burned hands. For good measure he throws a second cord over her and cinches it. Portia looks around, but she cannot make out any details. It's as if she's underwater.
He slaps a generous piece of duct tape across her mouth. Stupidly, she thinks the gray tape clashes with her brown suit. She tries to move her mouth to speak. Nothing happens. She seems to be riding up, up to the clouds. At once she feels a sharp bump as she lands. Suddenly it's dark. She's disoriented. She's no longer on her feet. It comes to her that she is tied up in this guy's trunk. The last things she remembers are the bounce of the Taurus as it leaves the parking lot and lands on the street and the swerve as it turns into traffic.
The Nano-Thief: A Lenny D. Novel (Lenny. D. Novels Book 1) Page 9