Rogue Code

by Mark Russinovich

  “That would be nice,” Daryl said, as no other answer was acceptable.

  Once she was satisfied he’d left she returned to the logs.

  71

  GRUPO TÉCNICO

  RUA ADOLFO MOTA

  GRANDE TIJUCA

  RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

  11:23 P.M.

  The streets were largely calm as the four men drove to the Grupo Técnico offices in Carl’s Camry. Still, people were out, though not that many and the traffic was light, mostly small commercial trucks.

  No one spoke. There was a slight mood of tension in the air but nothing extreme or uncomfortable, much like a college classroom just before the big exam. Carl drove by the stadium, then turned down a narrow residential street two blocks from the office, pulled into an open parking space, then killed the lights and engine.

  The men climbed out of the car and shut the doors quietly. In the near distance a dog yapped. Oscar opened the trunk and handed a dark sports bag to Frank. He gave a smaller one to Carl, who swung it from his shoulder while Oscar did the same with a matching one. Then Oscar lifted a small black plastic suitcase from inside the trunk and closed the lid.

  The case held heat sensor equipment that had been mysteriously delivered to the hotel. Jeff hadn’t seen the man, if it had been a man, but been shown the suitcase contents. Frank had explained that with this they’d be able to know exactly how many people were within the mansion and their locations.

  Frank, Oscar, and Carl took three cell phones from their pockets Frank had acquired earlier. They turned them on, secured them on their belts, put their earpieces in, and clipped mics to their collars. Without a word, they set out toward the office building, Jeff following closely. A few minutes later, Frank stopped in the shadows on the opposite side of the street. Oscar and Carl separated from them and, it seemed to Jeff, vanished.

  A small motorcycle buzzed by. Jeff caught a glimpse as it passed. Pizza delivery.

  They were still well down the street from the entrance, out of range of the security cameras. Inside his pocket, Jeff grasped the revolver Frank had given him. It felt heavy, and lethal. Several minutes passed. Frank murmured quietly into his mic, then said, “The boys are in place.”

  “How are they going to use that equipment with the wall blocking them?”

  “They’ve got an elevated location.”

  A short time later, Frank mumbled again into the mic. Then he looked to Jeff. “There’s a helicopter in back of the main building.”

  “Reinforcements?”

  “We’re getting the count now.”

  After ten minutes, he spoke. “There are five guards, four inside the building. We make three on the second floor. One on the ground floor, seated at a table or desk. The fifth is on foot, staying generally near the guard post at the gate.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Let’s move. It’s as thinly manned as we can hope.”

  * * *

  There were more lights here than along some streets Jeff had seen but it was still very dimly lit. It was a narrow street and traffic was sparse. Frank and Jeff went closer to the entrance.

  “What now?” Jeff asked quietly.

  “Just watch,” Frank whispered.

  Oscar approached the front entrance by himself. With his slight build, glasses, and accountant demeanor he looked utterly innocent and a bit confused. He said something through the metal gate. A stout man in a tan uniform and peaked cap stepped toward him. He was wearing a thick black bulletproof vest, had an automatic pistol on his hip, and carried a military-style rifle across his chest, a common look for Brazilian security guards from what Jeff had seen. He moved closer to the entrance, stopping a few feet back. He said something in Portuguese.

  “Oscar’s asking directions,” Frank whispered. “When you follow me in, close the gate behind you.”

  There was an exchange of words; then the guard noticeably relaxed, came right up to the gate, and gestured down the street as if giving instructions. Oscar shot a hand through the gate and almost instantaneously the guard crumbled.

  “Now!” Frank said as he ran to the entrance, Carl sprinting to meet them from the other direction. By the time they arrived Oscar had the gate slid open. The three men squeezed through and shot across the driveway toward the front door to the mansion. Jeff hesitated over the fallen guard but saw no blood. By the time he entered the building the single guard there had his hands in the air. He’d been seated at a desk in front of a computer monitor.

  “Upstairs,” Frank ordered. Oscar joined them and the three went up leaving the guard with Carl.

  * * *

  Pedro was scowling at the screen. Everyone was so exhausted no one was functioning efficiently, even him. Well, it wouldn’t be much longer. Abílio would need the final Carnaval code in the next three hours so that he could plant it with the Exchange update. Abílio said it was a big one as there were still changes being made to the new IPO software. After that, Pedro planned to sleep a bit to be ready for when the Toptical IPO started seven hours later. He’d be watching that with his father.

  He heard loud steps pounding on the stairs and wondered what that was about. Had his father come back? Then he heard orders barked in the outer office and felt a chill. Before he could react, a strange man entered his office, holding a gun in his hand.

  “Push away from the computer,” Frank ordered in English, sure the boss would speak it.

  “American? What are you doing here?” Pedro said. “Get out!”

  “Move from the computer,” Frank repeated.

  Pedro looked into his eyes, then at the weapon, then stood and backed up, pushing his chair from the desk. Frank came around, turned him to face the wall, then secured his wrists with the type of plastic strip that served police as temporary handcuffs. “Sit,” he ordered, directing Pedro back into the chair.

  Jeff, still near the door to Pedro’s office, looked into the outer office and saw the three coworkers uncomfortably seated on the coach, their hands behind their backs. Renata’s eyes were wide with terror. Oscar was hovering over them, looking ominous.

  Frank shut the door and turned to Pedro. The color had drained from the young man’s face. His eyes bulged and he blinked spasmodically. Still, he managed to speak. “Who are you?

  “Who we are isn’t important.”

  “What have you done with Gustafo and Luís?”

  “They’re fine, for now.”

  If Jeff hadn’t known how much of this was a bluff, he’d have bought Frank’s threatening manner.

  Pedro stared at the two gringos. They were grim-faced, serious men. He gathered his courage. “What do you want?” he said.

  “Let me tell you what we know already so we can save a bit of time here. You and the others outside have written malware and infiltrated the New York Stock Exchange with it. You’ve been stealing money for about a year now. How am I doing?”

  Pedro’s wide eyes grew wider. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “If you expect to get out of this, you’re going to have to get a lot smarter than you’re acting right now.” Frank crossed his arms. “Put your thinking cap on. Just who do you think we are?”

  That, Pedro thought, was an excellent question. Possibilities came to him in a wave. “I don’t know.”

  “Let me give you a hint. The Exchange hired someone to run a test of their trading platform. The people doing that encountered your malware, crudely hidden I might add in a rather quaint rootkit. Any ideas forming about who we are?”

  Pedro looked at Frank with fresh interest, then at the tall man standing to his side and slightly behind him. “No.”

  “This is where it gets interesting.” Frank squatted down. “One of the two guys doing the penetration test went for a run in Central Park. He was attacked and nearly killed. Now he’s really pissed off, so is his friend. How are the brain cells working now?”

  “Attacked?” Could it be? He stared at the men, at one, then the other, ba
ck and forth, as if he could decipher their thoughts.

  “Whoever did it didn’t care if he lived or died. At the same time one of your helpers in New York planted code making it look as if they were stealing the money, instead of you.”

  My God! Pedro thought. This can’t be! “You?”

  “Yes,” Jeff said. “Us. We’re the men you framed and tried to murder.”

  “No, no, not me, I…” Pedro stopped.

  “Now, listen, we have a deal for you. It’s important. If it works out, you get to live.” Frank waited for that to sink in.

  Pedro licked his lips. “What deal?”

  “You stop what you’re doing. Turn it off, take it down, whatever you have to do, but you stop it. Then you tell us all about your operation, most importantly, the name of your helper in New York.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Too late, Pedro. We know you do.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Now, listen, kid,” said Frank. “We can have a talk like adults, you can get back on your computer and stop this operation, or I can hurt you, hurt you in ways you’ve never considered, and when I’ve finished, we’ll still have that talk and you’ll still bring this operation to an end. The only difference is how much and for how long you suffer, and how hard you make me work because when this is over, I have to decide if it’s worth letting you live.”

  It was a bluff, Jeff knew. The objective was to make the young man believe it. Then he wondered. Frank might very well be serious. Not for the first time, Jeff considered just how far things had gone.

  Frank let the threat linger in the silence. Pedro looked at him, then to Jeff, then back again. He licked his dry lips, suddenly thirsty. “I can’t stop it,” he said finally. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me. I can’t.”

  “It’s the only way you’re getting out of this in one piece,” Frank said.

  “You don’t understand. I’m blocked out. If I tried to shut the operation down, the man in New York would see it, even if I found a way to do it. He’d just report the effort, and undo what I did.”

  “Who would stop you from shutting down this operation?” Jeff asked.

  “I … I can’t say.”

  Frank reached down and gently touched Pedro’s knee. The young man recoiled as if he’d received an electric shock.

  “Abílio. His name is Abílio Ramos,” he said, forgetting in his fear Abílio’s assumed name.

  “Where does he work?” Frank asked.

  “At the Exchange. I told you.” Pedro was sweating. The acrid smell coming from him was pungent.

  “Where? It’s a big operation.”

  “I don’t know. I never asked. I wasn’t supposed to ask. Please.”

  Frank lifted his hand.

  “Who would he report the effort to?” Jeff asked.

  Pedro’s tongue darted across his lips. He said nothing.

  “You’re going to tell us, Pedro. Trust me in this,” Frank said.

  “My … my father.”

  “And who is your father?” Frank asked.

  “Victorio Bandeira.” Pedro hesitated, then with a rush of pride said, “He is chefe of the Nosso Lugar!”

  72

  COPACABANA PALACE

  AVENIDA ATLANTICA

  COPACABANA

  RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

  11:37 P.M.

  Victor Bandeira looked at Carlos Almeida and made sure to disguise his disgust. The banker sweated profusely, had even used his dinner napkin to wipe the gleam from his bald pate. The third man at their table was Ernesto Dayan, president of the Banco Central do Brasil. Dinner was over, and they were smoking Cubanos and drinking brandy.

  Dayan was one of the new breed of technocrats who dominated Brazil’s economic policy. New to the job, he came from a long line of bankers. Bandeira understood there was a family connection with the Almeidas. Dayan’s hairline was in significant retreat, and he compensated with a trimmed beard. He wore rimless glasses on his bland, pasty face and was not amused by the evening. They’d dined well on the finest North Italian cuisine, a hotel specialty, and Bandeira had ordered only the most expensive wines, but he was certain he’d made no dent in the man’s concerns.

  The entire purpose of this meeting had been to reassure Dayan. To that end, Almeida had been his backup, and he’d played his part badly. If anything, his nervousness had only disturbed Dayan even more. But the harm was done, business was finished. When Bandeira had assured him that the operation was on track, Dayan had only looked at him with dead eyes. He’d then dismissed Bandeira’s mention of a woman with a noticeable curl of his upper lip, as if he’d just been insulted.

  Other meetings had not gone smoothly, either. In the end, it came down to the money. When Dayan’s Swiss account bulged with the Carnaval take, all his concerns would be set aside. It was always that way.

  They made their goodbyes, and after Dayan was gone, Almeida remained. “I think it went well.”

  “Yes,” Bandeira said, “quite well. Give my regards to your lovely wife and daughter.”

  “Perhaps … perhaps you’d care for another drink at the bar?”

  “I wish I could, but I have yet another business meeting,” Bandeira said.

  “So late?”

  “With my son. Tomorrow is a big day for us, Carlos. Remember?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  They parted in the lobby. César had already summoned the car. Sergio, who’d also flown the helicopter, was driving. Paulinho, one of Bandeira’s oldest and most trusted men, sat beside him. The four drove through the streets back to Grupo Técnico.

  73

  TRADING PLATFORMS IT SECURITY

  WALL STREET

  NEW YORK CITY

  11:43 P.M.

  Richard Iyers finished editing a portion of the Carnaval code Campos had sent earlier and moved it into the deployment for later. There was still more to come. He glanced at his watch. Three hours.

  He went to the break room and poured a cup of black coffee. Standing at the sink drinking it, he noticed that his hand trembled slightly. Back at his computer he opened the logs for the jump and deployment servers and for those of his own system. Once or twice he’d seen something that caught his attention in his earlier scans, but nothing that in the long run proved a worry. Tonight, though, he saw that the deployment server was being accessed by another infrastructure specialist who he know for a fact had left work earlier that night for a break, planning to return after midnight. This was one of the systems he and Campos used to access the server, which meant someone out there was being clever.

  Someone, like a gorgeous blonde who wasn’t nearly as dumb as she acted. Iyers had hoped to enjoy his time with the woman but there was too much at stake for such an indulgence. And events were moving quickly. He had the green light from Campos and strong evidence she was too close. The only danger was in waiting.

  With a growing sense of anticipation Iyers made his way to Daryl’s workstation. Though it was positioned to be largely hidden, he knew this floor intimately. He positioned himself so he could watch her unobserved while he thought about how to do this. He eyed the back of her head and admired her blond hair. There was no doubt it was real. If he ever learned her real name, he was certain he’d discover she was of Scandinavian origin, perhaps German. She moved once to the side and he caught sight of a breast. He felt a stir. He stepped toward her.

  * * *

  Daryl was making progress. As the number of staff diminished, she’d been able to work with greater concentration. Just then, she sensed someone behind her. She closed the log analysis, which snapped up another window with irrelevant logs, then turned.

  “Hello, Richard,” she said. “You still here?”

  “No rest for the wicked.” He lowered his voice. “We need to talk.”

  “Okay.” She waited.

  “Not here. Somewhere private.” When he saw her hesitate, he added, “I’ve found something you need to kn
ow about. There’s an all-night coffee shop right next door. We won’t be gone twenty minutes. Trust me. It’s worth your while.”

  “If it’s that important, let’s go.” Daryl stood, slipping her purse strap onto her shoulder.

  74

  GRUPO TÉCNICO

  RUA ADOLFO MOTA

  GRANDE TIJUCA

  RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

  11:56 P.M.

  On the ground floor, Carl had tied up and gagged both guards. He’d next gone outside to the gates and confirmed they were in their usual closed position. Oscar had taken the three staffers downstairs, binding their wrists and seating them on a couch, while Frank moved Pedro into the outer office to give Jeff free rein at the computer.

  For several minutes, the pair questioned the trio with no luck. It was obvious they were far too frightened of something worse than them to talk. Renata simply lowered her head, shut her eyes, and gently moved her head back and forth. The other two repeatedly exchanged looks at each other but neither spoke a word.

  “What do we do with them?” Oscar finally asked. “We haven’t got all night.”

  Carl considered their next move. “We can come back to them if necessary. Let’s move them outside for now. There’s a storage building of some kind. Looks like it might have been a horse stable back in the day.”

  The men took the five prisoners outside, across the darkened yard to the structure. The door was unlocked. They moved everyone inside and ordered them to sit against the wall. They bound their ankles with plastic straps.

  Back in the office building Oscar checked the security system and found it deficient. There were too many blind spots. He went to Carl and took him aside. “I’m setting up visual security. We should assume we don’t have much time.”

  Upstairs, Frank told Jeff, “Don’t forget to collect paper and find something to stash it in. Assuming it’s in Portuguese, I should be able to read it with a little help from a translator.” He eyed Pedro who was pretending not to listen.