Armchair Safari (A Cybercrime Technothriller)

by Jonathan Paul Isaacs

  He glanced over at the chat window across the room. It was still scrolling paragraphs of profanity.

  Krystian sighed, and waited.

  When the yelling stopped, Krystian wheeled himself back to his computer.

  “Feel better?” he typed. There was no response.

  “Look, Pr1mal, these bitches actually took a lot more money than eight hundred big ones. I was in the middle of something important and had to go track their asses down. So be thankful that I covered our butts that far. What I want to know is how we got discovered, because I know I sure as hell haven’t talked about what we’re doing with anyone. Have you?”

  Pr1mal: No! Fuck no. Of course not.

  “Well then, who did?”

  How do you know anyone did?

  “Because,” Krystian sighed, “how else would someone know to look where they did? These adventurers didn’t accidentally stumble their way onto us.”

  Look man, I didn’t say nothing to nobody. And frankly I don’t even care. If the stronghold’s location got compromised—well, move the fucker. But YOU better get busy getting that money back.

  “Yeah, moving it is a good—wait, what do you mean? I have to get it back?”

  Pr1mal: This was on YOUR watch.

  Krystian’s lip snarled. “We’re in this together, asshole. Why do you think I’m even telling you all this? It could have happened on anyone’s watch.”

  There was a long pause.

  He paced some more before adding, “Besides, Pr1mal, I already got back what I could. I was even in the middle of getting laid when I got the notification. I had to drop all that and log in to chase down these fucking thieves, because what you don’t know is they had taken more than twice that amount to start. That’s right—twice the amount. Be glad I got any of it back.”

  Okay, fine.

  Krystian took a deep breath for the first time in what felt like ages. He hated having to justify himself, but at least he wasn’t alone in this now.

  “Anyway, I need help.”

  Like, what kind of help?

  “How do we get back the rest of the money?”

  Tell me what happened.

  Krystian related the details around the battle at the rope bridge clearing. When the skirmish was over and the piles of coin disappeared, it had taken him a long time to understand that the full amount of money hadn’t returned itself back to their account.

  Pr1mal: Why is that? All the money didn’t come back?

  “No.”

  You said one of the thieves got away?

  “Yeah. I thought they might have more treasure in a Bag of Holding or something, but there’s way too much gone. I don’t understand it.”

  Did Netertainment take it?

  Krystian blinked. “Huh?”

  Maybe they figured out there was all this money sitting out there where it wasn’t supposed to and confiscated it?

  Turning his head, Krystian considered that possibility. It would explain how so much was still missing. It was missing because it had been removed from the game outright.

  “Those motherfuckers.”

  Do you think that’s what happened?

  “I don’t know,” Krystian said. “But it would explain a lot. If that’s the case... crap. I mean, it’s gone, then.”

  Why do you say that?

  “How are we supposed to get our money back if the fucking company took it from us?” Krystian shouted, despairing.

  The chat window was still for a moment. But when Pr1mal gave his answer, Krystian was stunned at the brilliance of its simplicity. He could feel the tumblers sliding in place as to how they might actually unlock their way to pay dirt and get back what was rightfully theirs.

  26

  Austin, Texas.

  The grocery store was surprisingly busy for nine o’clock at night. Derek maneuvered his shopping cart through the aisles like a video game, imagining different point values should he trample teenage girls in sweats, aged hippies, or fathers ordered out to pick up missing supplies for the baby. There were negative points for morons like him who had run out of food after getting home late.

  This week, he needed to be on his game. Over a million dollars had reappeared on the company’s balance sheet over the weekend through some amazing and unknown grace of God. The significance was twofold: it meant that the money wasn’t really gone, it was just not accounted for properly in the system; and that whatever programming thread or process that had caused the loss of visibility could be reversed.

  A million-plus back on the balance sheet. They would all breathe a little easier when Roger’s team was able to trace back and close whatever hole allowed for the disappearance.

  Derek swung around the end of an aisle and grabbed a large pack of bottled water, then on to the dairy section. A man shuffled past him with diapers under one arm and a twelve pack of beer in the other. Derek smiled. Fifty points.

  Something about the man caught Derek’s eye and he turned to look more closely. He was maybe thirty years old and wearing the dirty blue uniform of an auto mechanic. His name was embroidered in a patch over his left chest pocket. Robby.

  The smile slid from Derek’s face.

  He was supposed to call Robby tonight.

  Fuck.

  It was well past Robby’s bedtime on the East Coast. There wasn’t a lot to do at this point, but Derek finished his shopping at light-speed just the same. He tried not to think about his absent-mindedness as he checked out. How could he forget to call? Jules was going to have a fucking field day with this one. She was going to totally rip him with the proof that their marriage was unworkable and that he made selfish choices instead of thinking of others. It was all crap, but it would be hard to defend against.

  By the time Derek pulled his Audi into his apartment complex, he had settled on sending a conciliatory email to Juliana to at least validate that he hadn’t completely forgotten. Then he would call tomorrow at some point as a surprise—maybe right when Robby got home from school. Derek started working on the script in his head while he walked with his groceries. I’m sorry, lost track of time... definitely, always thinking of you guys... then change the subject, maybe to baseball... how about those Red Sox, did you see the homer that Fuente hit yesterday? After that, maybe to how school was going... how do you like first grade? How many friends do you have now? Do they like baseball too?

  As he unlocked his apartment door, Derek started to feel okay about the situation. It would be all right. Everyone made mistakes. The important thing would be to make sure he connected with him as soon as possible so that the boy didn’t soak in disappointment any longer than necessary.

  Derek dumped the groceries onto the counter and immediately proceeded to log into his laptop on the dining table. Right next to it was the smartphone he had forgotten to take with him. He waited while his new messages downloaded from the server. Nothing from Jules cussing him out, which was good. Derek scanned them quickly, preparing to delete the junk mail before he started authoring his apology, when one email in particular caught his attention.

  FROM: GRX78

  SUBJECT: MISSING MONEY

  WED 9/27 8:54 PM

  Derek stared.

  After a few moments the laptop fan started whirring quietly, breaking the silence in the apartment. Derek didn’t move. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up.

  Finally, Derek moved his finger over the laptop’s touchpad and double clicked on the email.

  MR. CALLAHAN,

  WE KNOW A LOT ABOUT YOU.

  NOW YOU’VE TAKEN MONEY THAT DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU OUT OF THE GAME.WE WILL RETALIATE IF WE DON’T GET IT BACK.

  THERE IS A NEW ACCOUNT IN THE GAME, 6741389451002. THIS IS LINKED TO A SWISS ACCOUNT SO DO NOT BOTHER TRYING TO TRACE IT.

  DEPOSIT THE FULL AMOUNT OF MISSING FUNDS ($1,143,200 USD) INTO THIS ACCOUNT BY 9/29 AT MIDNIGHT US CENTRAL TIME.

  WE KNOW A LOT ABOUT YOU.

  WE CAN HURT YOUR COMPANY.

  WE CAN HURT YOU
.

  WE CAN HURT YOUR FAMILY.

  DON’T DISAPPOINT.

  Derek took a deep breath.

  Christ.

  He got up and started to pace around the apartment. His heart was thumping madly and sweat was beading on his forehead even though the air in the apartment was cool. Visions of being hunted down in the streets swirled around his mind. Robby and Jules, up in Boston—they weren’t in danger, were they? He thought briefly of the pistol he kept in his bedroom.

  The walls felt like they were closing in.

  Derek stared at the ceiling. What was he going to do?

  It was pretty apparent now that the alleged owner, or owners, of the money seemed to have noticed that it had gone missing. Who were they? Criminals? A wealthy player having a bad day and prone to threats? How did they were find out who Derek was and think to contact him? How did they find him?

  It was frightening.

  Derek paced some more and thought about what he had read. We can hurt you. We can hurt your family. Those lines of the email had been aimed at him. The immediacy hit him like a brick wall.

  The idea of being in harm’s way was not new to Derek. He had faced life-threatening situations daily when he had been in Iraq. But periods of high stress always took him back to those dark times—often with vivid and terrifying flashbacks. The years of therapy had helped him build partition against the horrors he had seen up close, fighting house-to-house, killing and being killed. But they were not perfect. At least back then Derek had been part of a military unit that shared the danger with him. He had support, resources, firepower. Other Marines.

  Here in the private sector, he had... nothing. He was alone.

  Alone.

  Wasn’t he?

  An errant memory of a conversation late at night, months ago, popped into his memory. We get a lot of security threats based on the nature of our business model, Lucy had said. That’s the reason I’m here.

  Derek picked up his smartphone from the table and stared at it. He scrolled through the contacts until he got to Lucy’s cell number. He hesitated for a moment before pushing the call button.

  Ring... ring... ring...

  Derek took a deep breath. Would she even answer? Lucy loathed just about everything to do with him. He could reach out to Roger instead, but Roger would send him to Lucy anyway. Derek needed to speak with someone who had experience dealing with security and responses in a technology environment.

  “Hello, you’ve reached the cell phone voicemail of Lucy Sonheim. Please leave a brief message after the tone and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  Shit.

  Derek glanced at his watch and sighed; it was 11:20 p.m. for God’s sake. No wonder she didn’t answer. Derek hit the end button. He didn’t know what he should do.

  He certainly wouldn’t tell Jim. The last call just ended up being a big distraction and a lot of noise. Besides, Jim was spending as much time as possible on the road to court potential investors in their bid to go public. He had left the day-to-day running of the company in Derek’s hands, and should Derek pull him back in, Jim’s involvement now would just consist of a lot of yelling.

  It was looking like Roger was the best resource he had. The only one he had.

  His phone rang. Derek glanced at the caller id and saw Lucy’s name.

  Lucy stared into the bathroom mirror and thought about the conversation she had just had. She had been brushing her teeth when the phone rang. She almost ignored it—she was exhausted after a long day and had just taken a long, steamy shower. When she saw Callahan’s name in the phone history, she couldn’t help but smirk at the inconsiderate timing.

  She had called him back anyway. She wasn’t smirking anymore.

  Right off the bat, Lucy had to slow Derek down so that she could understand what he was saying. He didn’t sound like himself at all, the normally condescending calm that made her crazy replaced with a confused and anxious babble. Lucy quickly found herself playing a role she had been often forced to assume when living with her mother—acting as the adult and trying to keep things calm and orderly when Mom was hysterical and too drunk to focus on anything.

  Then she had Derek read the email to her. She asked him to forward it to her and she read it again herself.

  The message was chilling. Threats in cyberspace were often empty, but something told her this one was hardcore. How could it not be? Netertainment just didn’t have players with million dollar balances. The money at stake was a scary amount, and if someone could accumulate that much in a computer game, what other means did they have to follow through on a threat?

  She started quizzing Derek around the email. “Why would someone think you had anything to do with their money going missing, Derek?”

  “You got me. Maybe because I’m the CFO and am supposed to know about all the money, all the time.”

  “And they think you took it?”

  “I... I guess so. They’re telling me to put it back. Maybe they think we misplaced it irresponsibly.”

  Lucy wasn’t so sure. “I get a different read from it, I think.”

  “What, that I’m embezzling?”

  Lucy sighed. Another example of our communication issues, Derek. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Read the email again. It’s very accusatory. To me it’s sort of like they’re accusing us of confiscating their winnings.”

  There was a pause while Derek considered this.

  “Confiscation usually implies taking something away from someone who wasn’t supposed to have it.”

  “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

  “Stolen money? Do you think that’s why they reached out to threaten me?”

  “Maybe,” said Lucy.

  They thought silently on the phone together for a minute.

  “The person who wrote it says they’ve opened a new account,” Lucy continued. “If they were trying to fix some sort of mistake, why wouldn’t they just ask us to put the money back in their old account? The one where the missing funds came from?”

  “Maybe they don’t want us to look to closely at that old account, and any of the information associated with it. Not that it matters, since we can’t find the account anyway.”

  “Maybe there’s a reason for that, Derek.”

  “Maybe. They’re hiding something for a reason and don’t want to tip their hand.”

  “Right. I mean, there’s not even a combination of accounts that could account for that two million dollar dip—ever. That’s why Manmeet and Dave have been looking in different places for clues as to what happened, places like the banking interfaces and all that. They’ve been thinking it must be a system issue, not anything related to player balances.”

  “Yeah... that was the only thing that made sense.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense, Derek, not now,” Lucy chided him. “A player is threatening you. Netertainment isn’t missing our money. We’re missing the player’s money. A single player’s money. This isn’t some programming glitch or faulty interface. Something significant happened to this person’s account balance. A very fishy and suspicious account balance.”

  “But if that’s the case, why can’t we see the account?”

  Lucy thought some more. “I don’t know. We’ll have to figure that out. But this email tells us a lot.”

  “Okay,” Derek said at last. His voice wavered.

  Lucy had never seen Derek be anything other than supremely confident. The quiver in his voice was unsettling. It suddenly dawned on her how harsh she sounded.

  “Derek.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t... don’t worry. About you and your family, I mean. Whoever this person is, they made a mistake in sending you that email. They’ve shown us that they’re out there. It gives us something to work with. There are things that can be done to find out where it came from. I know people that can help. This is an important clue.”

  “All right.”

  There was another extended silence.

/>   “Have you told your wife about this yet?”

  “No. We’re not exactly on good speaking terms. We’re probably getting... you know.”

  Oh. That made more sense now why Derek’s wife was never down in Austin. Derek must feel very alone in the middle of this. She had known that feeling before herself.

  She heard him take a deep breath on the other end of the line. It sounded uneven.

  “Derek,” she repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “I will help you.”

  Silence. Then: “Okay, yeah.”

  “Look, this might be nothing. It might be hackers trying to pose as something bigger than they are and trick you into doing something foolish. It happens all the time. Get some sleep and we can tackle this in the morning.”

  “I will. Thanks, Lucy.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And thanks for calling me back,” Derek added. “I appreciate the support. Really.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Good night.”

  Lucy hung up. She was surprised with how she felt about the call. Normally, just about any conversation with Derek made her boil. The rational part of her brain kept yelling at her that this had been an avoidable problem, that if they had kept all of the players’ financial transactions as pass-throughs, none of this would be happening right now. It would have been BBC’s problem. It was Derek’s fault for not listening.

  Then again, maybe bad things had always been going on right under their noses in what was a complex and opaque game environment. Ignorance did not equate to an absence of danger. Derek’s strategy had at least put them in the position to have some visibility to a very adverse event.

  Perhaps it was her fault for not securing their environment enough.

  To hell with that, Lucy grimaced. It’s the crooks’ fault.