by Mike Cooper
It had been Kells’s own, in fact, but Nicola just smiled. “It was in a conference room where I was waiting.”
“Fine.” He nodded and leaned back, looking toward the chairman. “I think that’s it. Seems unnecessarily redundant, but the reorg put IT under my department only four months ago, and I wanted to be absolutely sure we’re running a first-class operation.” A nod to Nicola. “Which it seems we are.”
“Good.”
Most of the men at the table were still watching Nicola. An HVAC breeze blew steadily, cooling her under the purple jacket.
“We’re not quite done,” she said.
“Don’t worry, your check’s in the mail.” Kells laughed.
Nicola hit a key on her laptop, and the screen at the front of the room lit up.
A file appeared—a spreadsheet list, abbreviations and numbers, a column of dates. She breathed out, releasing some tension she hadn’t know was there.
The board members swung around, one after another, the chairman last of all as he realized they were staring at something behind him.
“What’s that?” He squinted at the display. “Wait—how did you put it up there?”
“Check out the dates,” Nicola said. “And the dollar figures. Look—I subtotaled some of them on the right.” She flicked her trackpad, and the screen scrolled. “It took some work, but I was able to match them to news reports.”
Muttering from the table, but the chairman got it first. “Holy shit!”
“Someone,” Nicola said, “someone was evidently dumb enough to keep track of all those facilitation payments that have been in the news. In a nice, clear Excel file.”
She was being polite. Facilitation payments—that meant bribes, generally in the six-figures-and-up range, and not just in countries like Romania and Paraguay. Tax authorities around the globe would be very interested in this data.
Very, very interested.
The chairman stood up. “Shut that off.”
“As you wish.” Nicola tapped a key and the display went dark.
“Whose file was that? How many copies are there? Where did it go?” Not panicky, because C-level executives never showed panic. But loud, and fast, and angry.
“I don’t really do forensics. You’ll have to put your own people on the backtrail.”
“Surely you can tell us where you found it.” His voice took on a dangerous edge.
“On the laptop I mentioned.”
“And whose—”
“Tell you what.” Nicola bent to her laptop. “Give me a few seconds here. I’ll show you the obvious clues.”
The room was absolutely silent but for the light clicking of her keyboard. Even the airflow had shut down. The men at the table seemed frozen in place.
“While we’re waiting,” said the chairman, “tell me one thing. Has it leaked? Anywhere outside the company? Anywhere at all?”
“I think you’d have heard if it had.” Nicola paused, watched a file open, then nodded. “Here we go.” She hit one more command, and the room’s display brightened again.
“File metadata,” she said. “Straight from the spreadsheet I found.”
workgroup: acctg
log: ac234454n.bak
author: mkells
It only took a moment. Muttering rose as all eyes turned to Kells.
“Mark?” The chairman’s icy gaze was unblinking. “Is this yours?”
Blustering and denial, but in seconds, the entire room had turned its collective blame on the CFO. Nicola shut down the display again, closed her laptop, and packed up. It took less than a minute. She traveled light.
“Excuse me?” she said. “The check that was mentioned.”
“Don’t worry.” The chairman glared at her.
“Certified, drawn on a major bank. I’ll pick it up on my way out. In, say”—Nicola looked at the Rolex—“four minutes.”
“I don’t know—”
“Four minutes.” She smiled at the table. “A pleasure, gentlemen. May I be in touch about a recommendation? Well, we can discuss that later.”
Outside, she found her own way back to reception, where the woman on the phone held up one finger, then put her hand over the mouthpiece. “One sec, okay, hon?”
“Sure.” While Nicola waited, she dug her phone from bag. A cable got tangled up with it and fell, trailing to the floor. She quickly packed it back in and studied the phone.
“Because the chairman said so. Yes, that’s right. Immediately … Get it up here. To me.” The receptionist paused. “Oh, really? You want me to tell him that or shall I put you through directly? No?”
A minute later she hung up. “Sorry, it’s going to be a few minutes.”
“Not a problem. Thanks for your help.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t ask, but … what were you doing in there?”
“Exactly what they hired me for, as it happens.” Nicola shook her head. “Sometimes they’re surprised.”
“That’s not the word I’d use.”
When the check finally arrived, delivered by a young man somewhat out of breath, Nicola tucked it into her pocket and nodded thanks.
“Must be an exciting job you have,” the receptionist said.
“Every assignment is different. Most are pretty dull.”
“What are you doing next?”
“I’m not sure.” Nicola looked at her phone again. “But this one has some potential.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Six weeks was far too tight a schedule, but Finn still shouldn’t have scheduled meetings with Nicola, Emily, and the real estate broker all the same morning.
The warehouse was much as he had assumed: concrete floor, plain metal walls, dusty and dim. A little light filtered through the bay-door windows, more from the clerestory overhead. The ground shook occasionally as trains rumbled past on the mainline just across the street. The broker was distracted the entire time, thumbing his phone and looking at his watch. Finn had a story all made up—expanding operations, Christmas season overflow, they needed a short-term solution for rail-to-port transshipment—but the broker was barely interested.
“What do you think?”
“I’ll confirm it with corporate, and we should be good to go this week,” Finn said. “Maybe as soon as tomorrow.”
That got a moment’s full attention. “Two months’ advance, right?”
“I’ll have a check in hand.”
The broker grinned and even pocketed his phone long enough to shake hands. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
Nicola was next. Finn had barely seen the broker off when she drove up. He stood by his truck, giving a small wave to let her know she was at the right place. The weather had warmed but not much. Shifting winds carried diesel and oil fumes from the train yard across the avenue.
“Nicola?”
“Nice to meet you, Finn.” She slammed the door of her silver econobox, presumably a rental, while he looked her over.
Heavy boots and a watch cap. Her handshake was hard. Short but blocky, like she’d be more at home swinging a shovel than sitting at a keyboard. Not pretty, and that was probably all to the good. He imagined her sitting between Asher and Corman, and it almost worked.
“Thanks for coming.”
“It was a lot warmer in California.”
Some who-do-you-know? and have-you-heard-from? confirmed bona fides. Jake had asked around, and though the guy in jail might not be reliable on his own, several other contacts had confirmed her ability and discretion. Finn assumed she’d done the same on him.
“So that’s the target over there.” He explained the project in broad terms.
“Uh-huh … Got it … That’s interesting.” She paid attention, asked a few questions.
“What do you think?”
Nicola smiled. “It’s
freezing. Can we talk inside somewhere?”
“Sure.”
They ended up at Karl’s Lunch, a few blocks away. Typical workingman’s diner—Formica tables and a luncheonette bar, ESPN on the screen and a counterman by the fryolator. They took a booth in the back, alongside a wall-mounted heater that seemed to be running at max. It was plenty warm inside, and the heater’s buzzy hum made their conversation private.
“Deniability,” said Nicola, holding her coffee cup in two hands but not drinking. “You want to know what’s most important to me on a job, that’s it. I operate from cover.”
“How does that work?”
“We figure out what needs to be done, coordinate schedules, draw up a plan. Then we split up. You go do your thing. I take care of my end on my own.”
“Fair enough.”
The waitress brought over their order. “Ham, eggs, and biscuits must be for you,” she said to Finn, setting the large platter down too quickly for him to correct her. Nicola got a half grapefruit. When the waitress had gone, they switched plates.
“I already had breakfast,” Finn said.
“Me, too.” Nicola shook hot sauce over her entire dish. “Doesn’t mean I’m not hungry again.”
Finn watched her eat with some admiration.
“Here’s my problem,” he said. “I’ve worked just about all the trades, one time or another. Heavy equipment, electrical, carpentry, whatever. I started in the mills, back before they all closed, and I’ve probably still got seniority with the pipefitters, somewhere.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So when I’m running a job, anything I tell someone to do, I know how to do it myself, right? What’s possible, what isn’t. How long it’s going to take. What to do when the compressor breaks, how many Sawzall blades we’ll need to go through a wall. I’ve done it all.”
“Yup.” Nicola had already finished all the ham and most of the eggs. “But computers, they’re a big mystery, right? You kind of know what needs to happen, but it might as well be wizards and vampires.”
“Yes.”
“So you’re not sure about me.”
Finn nodded. “I can’t even ask the right questions. Have to just take it all on faith, basically.”
“You’ve got a single-point-of-failure problem, too. Say we’re at zero hour, and I get hit by a bus. You’re fucked.”
“Exactly right.” Finn sipped his coffee. “Is this how you sell all your jobs?”
Nicola grinned. “Let me ask you something. Way back at the dawn of time, when you got your first paying employment—”
“It wasn’t that long ago.”
“I know, the big comet had already killed all the lizards. Anyway. I’d guess what you mostly did was, there’s a big pile of shit here that needs to be over there. And here’s a shovel.”
“Well … that’s pretty close.”
“But after a while, you got good with the shovel, so they let you pick up a pipe wrench now and then. Maybe the hammer drill. Even drive the truck on occasion—go get cigarettes or a load of two-by-fours.”
Finn looked at her. “Hammer drill?”
“Nothing I’d ever use.” Nicola scraped her last biscuit across the plate, scouring it clean. “But see, that’s exactly the point. I did the same damn thing. Started out fixing computers for the Geek Squad. Remember them? Stupid fucking cars, clip-on ties? They didn’t think I was legally employable, I had to bring in a birth certificate.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t go to college to learn this stuff,” Nicola said. “I taught myself. Mostly by fucking things up and then having to fix it while everyone yelled at me. But just like you, I’ve done it all. I’ve coded injection scripts in fucking assembler, which is about as mind-numbing as you can imagine. I’ve gone to war with Belorussian gangs launching DDOS takedowns from a quarter-million-node botnet. For five days, I owned a Dutch certificate authority—I heard Google called the NSA in on that one. You can imagine.”
“Actually, no,” Finn said, “I can’t imagine. I didn’t understand a word of that.”
She shrugged. “Let’s see. Do you know Jonesy Malloy?”
“No.”
“Bull Hauer? Tim Creed?” Nicola grimaced as Finn kept shaking his head. “How about Mick Tresfort?”
“Okay, sure.”
“Well enough to call him up?”
“Probably. He still owes me two hundred bucks on a Steelers game.” Back before Finn had gone to jail, that was.
“Right. So when you’re talking, ask him about Alderville. Three years ago. He brought me on for alarm bypass while his guys went into a pharma warehouse. Eight million dollars of hospital narcotics—a good payday, even at black market discounting.”
“And what will Mick tell me?”
“The fact he’s not in prison is all you really need to know. I had the security systems totally under control, but, you know, bad luck—some neighborhood watch asshole noticed the truck back in at three a.m. and called the police.”
“High-end pharmaceuticals,” Finn said. “Real money there, I’ve heard. What did you do?”
“The warehouse cameras were monitored by a central office a hundred miles away—a contract agency, and they had dozens of other facilities on watch. Of course, I’ve got local 911 and the emergency frequencies on the scanner, just in case. When I hear the call, I know we have like three minutes.” She raised her eyebrows. “In two minutes and seventeen seconds, I trip every single circuit the monitoring company has open. Screaming alarms at three dozen companies all over the Atlanta metro area.”
“Nice.”
“It was chaos, of course. Mick got away in the confusion.”
Finn decided to be impressed. He’d check the story, but what the hell, he liked her.
“Good,” he said. “What’s your availability in the next month or so?”
“Oh, I’m free.” Nicola frowned. “But that’s not much time.”
“Really? Weren’t you just telling me something about two minutes and seventeen seconds?”
“Ha ha.” Nicola drained her coffee. “It’s not like the movies. What you’re talking about isn’t just the alarms. I’m going to have research the systems the railroad uses—proprietary, probably, but even if not, I’ve never dealt with this industry. There’s a learning curve. The software is the easy part. Figuring out what to attack, and how, that’s what you’re paying me for.”
“Hmm.” Finn studied her face. “Did we just start negotiating?”
Nicola laughed. “I’m not trying to jack you. I get the same as everyone else, right?”
“Sure.”
“Sometimes—what do the firefighters call it when they can’t just point the hoses from outside, and they have to go into the building?”
“Inside attack.”
“That’s right. Sometimes, jobs like we’re talking about, the guys doing inside attack figure they should earn more than the girl sitting in a comfy chair outside.”
“Nope.” Finn leaned back in the booth, more and more comfortable with her. “We’re like pirates here—everyone gets an equal share.”
“Good.” Nicola pushed her plates aside. “Okay. Let’s talk about some details. Do you know who’s in—”
A ringtone sounded from her jacket pocket. She pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen, then swiped it a couple times.
“Sorry,” she said, tapping the screen, then again, with increasing annoyance. “The damn thing just ran out of battery.” She looked up. “Hey, do you think … ?”
“What?”
“Could I borrow your phone? Just for a sec? Terribly rude, I know, there’s this call I was waiting for.”
“Sure.” Finn handed over his. There was nothing on it he had to worry about—no contact list, no emails, no website shortcuts. He used it for phone calls and noth
ing else.
“Thanks.” Nicola took a moment to familiarize herself with the screen, tapped a few times, and dialed. She held it to her ear. “And … no answer. Shit. Sorry about that.”
She handed back the phone. As Finn was putting it away, someone stepped up to their booth—not the waitress and coming in on his blind side, surprising him. For a moment, he went into reaction mode, swinging around fast.
“Hi, Finn.” Emily, smiling at him, but cautious, seeing Nicola. She was carrying a laptop case over one shoulder, a scarf still wrapped around her neck and chin.
“Em— Uh, hey.” He looked from one to the other. “Didn’t we say eleven?”
“Not as much traffic as I expected.”
Well, it wasn’t like she was unaware of what Finn was up to. He gestured an introduction. “This is … ah—”
“Nicola.” She stood, accidentally knocking the table with her hip. Plates and cutlery rattled. She glanced down but ignored it and held out her hand.
If she was intimidated by Emily—taller, beautiful, immaculate—it didn’t show.
“Emily.” No last names. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No problem.” Finn pushed his finished grapefruit aside. “Nicola, can we take a break? You could get another coffee. Emily and I have some, ah … paperwork to go over.”
“Sure.” Nicola leaned over to pick up her coat. “Take your time.”
Emily watched her walk to the counter and sit down, politely choosing a stool with her back to them.
“Sorry,” she said again. “Weren’t we going to meet at the warehouse?”
“Never mind.” Finn gestured to Nicola’s side of the booth. “Have a seat. It’s a lot more comfortable inside.”
The waitress came by and cleared the plates. Emily ordered tea. The heater cycled off, then on again. Condensation had slowly built up on the plateglass windows along the front, diffusing the day’s light.
“There’s a problem,” Emily said.
Uh-oh.
Finn sighed. “What’s going on?”
“Heart Pine is being flooded by redemption requests. Rumors, bad luck, I don’t know.”