by Sofia Grey
“For Christ’s sake.” Marcus shoved back his chair and stood. “I don’t care what methods we use or who does what. Just fucking fix it.”
His abrupt manner was jarring, and Marianne dug to keep her composure. It looked as though the briefing was over. Rico’s thoughts would have to wait.
Chapter Eleven
Marcus was pissed at everything—the loss of another significant piece of work to a competitor; Thaddeus on his back, demanding results; Louisa alternately furious or upset. They spent the weekend tiptoeing around each other, and it was exhausting. He hadn’t slept well in weeks, but even after she went home on Sunday night, he couldn’t relax.
He longed to text Marianne. To have a drink or three with her. The idea of spending time with a beautiful woman who made him feel good about himself was irresistible, but somehow he resisted. Lying to Louisa made him feel like scum. Pretending their marriage was okay, when it was so obviously broken, took every ounce of energy he had left.
By the time Wednesday rolled around and Rico invited him and Marianne for a drink at his apartment, he felt stretched to snapping point. The evening briefing was over, and Pete had left. Marianne didn’t look enthusiastic. All Marcus wanted to do was go back to his apartment and hit the malt.
“No,” said Rico. “You’re not listening. We’re going to my place.”
Something in his tone made Marcus pay attention. Had he found something? A tendril of hope unfurled in Marcus’s chest. “Okay. Give me five to pack up.”
In the privacy of his apartment, Rico poured glasses of a good red wine, and then passed around a sheet of paper. It was a short list of names, job titles, dates, and times. All six were women from TM-Tech. Two were secretaries, two worked in Sales & Marketing, one worked in Training, and the last one was a girl on the audit team—Sylvie Woodrow.
“So,” said Rico, “all these people were attacked and robbed near the TM-Tech office in the past year. You can see the dates and times of each incident. All cases occurred beyond the range of the security cameras, while the security guard was looking the other way.”
Marianne sat beside Marcus, frowning at the list. “This is London. People get mugged all the time.”
Rico gave a little smile. “You’re not asking the obvious question—what did they steal? I’ll tell you. Laptops and bags. The thieves made away with TM-Tech laptops, security passes, and keys to a number of desks.”
“Is this why Pete was so keen on the data encryption?” asked Marianne. “Surely that will prevent this being an issue?”
Rico sighed and took off his glasses. His eyes were bright and alert. “There are a whole bunch of security issues here. The method of attack was the same in all cases. Two people—one to distract the security guard with a supposed courier delivery, the other to do the theft. The incidents were done in daytime, past the range of the security cameras. They targeted young, small women, carrying handbags and laptop bags. Easy targets, who were pushed over from behind, while the bags were snatched. It took seconds, and the victims never saw their assailants.”
He paused and took a sip of wine. “Then we get to the interesting stuff. TM-Tech security passes aren’t unique to each individual; they’re generic. Apart from secure areas, I’d get to the same levels and offices as Marcus, for instance. And the system allows for duplicates. Take that to a logical conclusion, and you potentially have six rogue security passes roaming the building. A number of people could walk into almost anywhere, unnoticed and unchallenged.
“I asked about the statistics of how many temporary passes are in operation at any time, for visitors as well as people who’ve forgotten or lost their own. It can be as many as twenty—and quite often they’re never handed back. So we have any number of potential rogue visitor passes in circulation.”
Marcus rubbed his forehead. He’d gone with Rico because he wanted good news, not even more of a mess. To Marcus’s dismay, it looked as though Rico had plenty more to say.
“Because we only had basic data encryption, those six laptops could have any level of secure data on them, which could now be anywhere. That’s scary. In each case, the victim reported the theft to Security, and the I.T. department, but because they happened over a period of months, nobody thought they might be connected. That’s a concern. It could be a simple case of different departments not engaging with each other, or there could have been a blind eye turned towards them. So the worst-case scenario—our spy has access to six TM-Tech laptops with a variety of data, security passes to get in and out of the building, and the corresponding desk and cupboard keys.
“They can walk into the building with the stolen laptop, and one insecure password later, they hook into the network, and get anything that user had access to. Quickly, easily and unchallenged. Then they walk off site again. As for the keys, they know who they belong to—security passes have names on them—and it’s easy enough to find where someone sits.”
Rico gazed at them. “Quite a series of loopholes, don’t you think?”
“Shit.” Marcus was thinking ahead. “So in terms of damage limitation, what can we do to tighten the holes? Can we find out what data may be missing? What each person had easy access to? And any way of stopping it from happening again?”
Rico nodded. “Already on it. There are a number of things we can do, to tighten the security-card processes, and I’ve made a detailed list of recommendations. Pete Tandy should be able to backtrack, based on the individual asset numbers, to check if these machines accessed the network again after they were stolen.”
“Hang on a minute,” said Marianne. “If a laptop is stolen, surely the priority is to disable that machine on the network? We must do that as a matter of course.”
“You’d expect that to be the case. However, these attacks were all late afternoon, prior to the evening rush. The victims were upset at losing house keys, money, and personal belongings. Notifying the I.T. department of a missing laptop was not their immediate priority. It’s feasible that could provide a window of opportunity of several hours, if not overnight, for the stolen machine to reconnect to the network.”
“What about access rights?” Marcus didn’t like the picture he was seeing. “The women mugged all have different levels of access.”
“Like I said, it’s feasible. This could be why several machines were taken.”
Marcus slapped the document onto the table in disgust. “I can’t believe we didn’t have the protocols in place to detect this earlier. The last robbery was six months ago.”
Rico nodded. “Yeah. I felt all along this wasn’t the work of a single person. This level of leak needs access to different layers of the organisation, at different times and in different places. I’m not convinced it’s so simple. Sure, there are procedures that need to be tightened, but I think there’s more to it. Gaining initial access to the network via the stolen laptops is one thing. I’m thinking our spy is smarter than that.”
He took a drink of wine and paused, as though to collect his thoughts. “I’d like to bring in a virus expert, and I can recommend a couple for you to consider. Trojans are the obvious concern. They collect passwords, do remote access and all manner of nasty stuff, and aren’t detectable by usual anti-virus software. Again in the worst instance, let’s say our spy makes contact with a virus manufacturer—usually Eastern Bloc—to write a new variant. He may have used the stolen-laptop routine to gain access to the network, upload the Trojan, and then sit back and wait for the harvesting software to download. It might be logons, passwords—anything on the network.”
“So what happens next? I guess you and Marianne need to report back to Pete?” Marcus asked.
Rico hesitated. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Marianne snapped to attention. “You think it’s Pete?” Her voice was laced with disbelief.
“No. Not necessarily. But in the whole of TM-Tech, who can be trusted implicitly? From a theoretical perspective.”
Marcus thought about it. “Thaddeus, obv
iously. Myself. You and Marianne. Jordan.” He swallowed. “So we keep it under wraps and only notify people on a need-to-know basis.”
Rico nodded.
“We did security profiles on my team,” said Marianne. “I’m not comfortable with the prospect of one of them being responsible.”
“I think they’re secure,” Rico answered. “I’m sure they are. But this is a good process of elimination. We bring in an external consultant, with no prior history of TM-Tech, and get a number of specific virus checks done. Give as little explanation as possible.”
Marcus couldn’t sit still. Tension boiled inside, and he sprang to his feet and paced. He wanted to hit something. How the fuck did things lapse this far? They were a tech company, for pity’s sake—the organisation others turned to for solutions—and they couldn’t keep a handle on the number of security passes in the building. God damn it.
He turned back to the others. “I’ve resisted so far, but I think we need to bring Jordan back. He knows the European branch of the company better than anyone, including me. He’s ideally placed to come in as a consultant and lend another pair of hands.”
Marianne frowned. “And until then? What happens to my people? My audit?”
“That carries on, and everything continues as planned.” Rico was quick to jump in. “We don’t know if the spy is internal or external. If they’re internal, we don’t want to leave clues lying around, to suggest our lines of thought. And for protocol’s sake, we ask Pete to check out the stolen laptops. That’s innocuous enough, and something he should have suggested anyway.”
Marcus resumed his pacing, his thoughts racing ahead. “How secure is our network? Or, should I say, how vulnerable is it?”
“I guess that’s the million dollar question. We should assume any data may be—or already has been—compromised. Store data locally, ensure we have encrypted laptops, and keep these conversations verbal where possible. In essence, lock down the critical data before it goes any further.”
“Jordan’s hosting a party in a couple of weeks. I’ve promised to go up for the weekend, and I’d like you both to come with me. It’ll give us the opportunity to talk through the options with Jordan, in a secure environment. I’ll have Cassie send you the details.”
****
Thinking about the new issues made Marianne’s head ache. She needed to be positive. They’d uncovered a stinking can of worms, true, but that was what audits were about. She was here to find the problems, and thanks to Rico’s efforts, they were making headway.
She left Rico’s place with Marcus. He looked exhausted. When they reached Marianne’s apartment, at the other end of the corridor, she paused, the door key in her hand. “Would you like to come in for a proper drink?” she asked. He hesitated a long time, and she felt sure he’d refuse. “Well?”
She opened the door, and he followed her inside.
Marianne retrieved the bottle of vodka from the fridge and poured two large shots. She sat at one end of the sofa while he took the other. He perched on the edge, as if he was about to bolt. He took the glass from her, mumbled his thanks, and stared at the floor.
He had to be feeling guilty about spending time with her. She tried to speak lightly. “Things good now, with Louisa?”
“Fuck,” he muttered and took a slug of the vodka.
She took a mouthful and then another, and enjoyed the sensation of the freezing burn on her tongue. “So, that’s fuck-it’s-good?”
He made a snorting noise. “Fucked if I know.”
It made her giggle. One hit of vodka on an empty stomach, and she was relaxed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”
“Gods.” He dropped his head and massaged the back of his neck. “It’s... I don’t know where to start.”
Concern prickled down her spine. This didn’t look like a man who spent a blissful weekend reconciling with his wife. “Start at the beginning.”
He turned to gaze at her, his eyes a stormy blue. “Don’t you have something better to be doing, than listening to me whine? Again?”
Did she? Apart from work, she had nothing here. Back in Houston, she belonged to an art group, went horse riding sometimes, and volunteered for a couple of charities. Everything was on hold while she saw out this contract. And spending time with Marcus was her newest favourite pastime. She topped up both glasses, and then snuggled into the corner of the sofa. “Talk to me, Marcus.”
“I think our marriage has been over for ages. For me, anyway. But Louisa doesn’t get that. She wants us to stay together. To have more children.” He gulped at the vodka. “She thinks this is a phase. That we’ll work through it.” His voice was bleak.
“You don’t agree?”
“No. Not any more. It’s not an easy thing to admit. Lou was the first woman I really fell in love with.” He gazed at Marianne, but his eyes were unfocused.
She allowed herself a few seconds to imagine how the future might look if he was single. Her visceral reaction to the idea his marriage was over, came as a surprise. It couldn’t be that simple.
“Truth is,” he said, “I’m confused.” He closed his free hand around hers. “My marriage may be in shreds, and my career falling to pieces, but sitting here with you makes it bearable. Everything is better with you, Marianne.”
She ached at the tenderness in his voice. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I won’t lie to you; I’ve no idea what’s gonna happen with Louisa. But I wish things were different. I wish I were free.”
She wished that too. “And if you were, what would you do?” She stumbled over the words.
“I’d chase after you.” He emptied his glass and stared at it puzzled. “Wow. Too much, too soon, huh?”
Marianne closed her eyes for a second. He was much too tempting, and if he kept saying stuff like that, she’d never be able to refuse him. To cover her confusion, she poured more drinks. Marcus released her hand but moved closer on the sofa. When he placed his arm along the back, it felt natural to lean against him, and before she knew it, she was tucked into his side, with his fingers tracing patterns on her shoulder.
“I think it’s your turn to talk, lady. Who was your first great love?”
It took her a few moments to figure out where to start. “He was one of the boys next door, and a little older than me. He dated my sister Joni all through high school, and they got engaged. Then, when I was eighteen, they split up. He was a mess for months, and I helped him get better. He was a musician—a good one—and we spent the most wonderful summer together before I went to university. We wrote a load of songs together. Beautiful songs. Love songs.” God. She’d been so in love with him. What a fool she was. “I saved myself for him,” she said after a long pause. “It sounds very old fashioned, I know, but I wanted him to take my virginity, and he did. It was amazing. He was everything I ever wanted, and that summer I believed we were destined to be together. But what did I know? I was young.”
Marianne took another sip. She must be drunk, to be telling Marcus this story. She never told anyone. “Joni came back for him. There was an awful row, and I thought she was going to kill me. I’d stolen him—that’s what she said. And off he went to her, just like that. Like I was keeping his bed warm until he had her back.”
“Was that it? Did you see him again?”
Her laugh sounded hollow to her own ears. “The tale isn’t over until the fat lady sings, and I don’t hear singing yet.” Damn. Now she knew she was drunk. “They split again, and he came back and apologised for treating me like shit, but I was furious. I sent him away. The last thing he said was that he’d come find me when I was grown up. He said I was too young to understand, and he promised to come back for me. I was eighteen, for fuck’s sake. I wasn’t a child. And I haven’t spoken to him since. Or Joni. She tells everyone I’m a slut, and I can do without that, y’ know.” She slurped more vodka. “He broke his promise, and I’ve never believed a man since. And that, my dear Marcus, is my story.”
S
he toasted him with her glass and splashed vodka on his leg. “Oops.”
“Are you still in love with him?”
“To quote Rico, that’s the million-dollar question. I don’t know. If he turned up here, today, I don’t know what I’d do.”
With great care, she split the last of the vodka between the two glasses and snuggled closer to Marcus. “My turn to ask you a question.”
“Go on.”
“Do you remember the night we met?”
“Fuck, yeah. Every detail.” He shifted position, and sloshed a few drops of the alcohol. “Logan International Airport. We were snowed in and ended up at the same hotel. There were no rooms left.”
“But you were top of the wait list.”
“I was,” he said. “And I ordered myself a malt, to pass the time. And then this sassy woman sat next to me and said, I bet I can guess exactly what you’re drinking, from one sip.”
She laughed, remembering it again. “And you didn’t believe me, so I asked if you’d forfeit your room to me if I was right. And you said yes.”
He tightened his arm around her, and her pulse quickened. If she lifted her head a fraction, she could kiss him. Properly. Like she always wanted to, but never allowed herself to think about.
“It didn’t matter what you guessed.” His voice was a seductive rumble that reverberated through her senses. “I’d have said yes anyway. I’ve never been able to say no to you.”
Marianne had to look at him. At his beautiful eyes. The blond stubble that was surprisingly soft to her fingertips. She didn’t remember touching him, but now she had, she couldn’t stop. She traced his jawline and up his cheek, and then paused. His eyebrows grew unevenly; one had a tiny little scar in it. “What happened here?”
He laughed and captured her hand. “Treehouse. Jordan and I were building one. He was up the tree, while I was on the ground. I threw him a piece of wood, only he missed it, and it hit me on the face on the way down.”