Helen Hanson - Dark Pool (17 page)

No fingerprints.

“Keep the pen with you at all times until we collect it. You record the entire meeting with O’Mara unless you want trouble.” When the ambulance stopped, the other man opened the door and pushed Kurt into an empty alley. “Trouble from us can be fatal.”

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

 

Travis lured Maggie down to the kitchen with the promise of fresh coffee and breakfast. She picked up some paperwork from the table. “You organized all this?” She realized she must look slack-jawed, but Travis had prepped the affidavit she needed to file with the California Department of Education to declare their household a private school. Even for Travis, he was exceptionally thorough.

 

“Javier’s mom printed the form, so I could get it ready for you.” He sat down at the kitchen table wearing only his plaid pajama bottoms. “I filled out everything, but she reviewed it for me to make sure it looked right.”

Dad ate granola while Maggie scanned the paperwork. When did Travis grow up so much? His height aside, he evidenced a man. “Wow.” She dropped the paper to her side and sipped her coffee. “The ball is officially in my court. I’ll file this week.”

“Thanks. Javie’s mom said to stop by some time, and we can pick out the books we want to use. She’s already got his tagged for next year.”

“Cool.” She could tell by the look on Travis’ face that there was more. “And?”

“I’m ready for you to give me the final test for my driver’s ed class. When I pass that, I can take the official test at the DMV and get my driving permit.”

She eyed him over her cup. “It’s a thirty-hour course. You haven’t even had the book that long.”

“I read it.” His foot pawed the ground, and Travis melted back into boy. “I know how to drive. I just didn’t know all the exact rules, like stopping distances or the speed limit when it’s not posted.” He shrugged. “Now I do.”

For the first time since she became everybody’s legal guardian, she experienced a flash of what it must be like to be a parent. She remembered the time she let that crab get too close to Travis’ toes. Even then, she was behind his curve.

“Dial it back. I’m reviewing all your driving lessons before you take any test.” She poured some granola for them both.

“It was worth a shot.” Travis added some milk and grabbed a spoon. “Hey, that guy called for Dad again last night. This time I asked him for his name, but he hung up.”

“Did it sound like Peter from work? I’ve been thinking about it, and he’s creepy enough to do something like that.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. His voice sounded disguised.”

The news left her unsettled. “Maybe, I should tell the police.” She took a sip from her cup.

“How was your date with Frodo?” Travis smiled.

“Fyodor.” She enunciated each syllable. “He asked me out again for this weekend. He’s really nice. We went to a French restaurant down the coast. Le Horizons.”

“Did you apply for a job?”

“Yeah. I asked for an application in between courses.” She swatted his knee. “I may though. The place was lovely.”

Dad dropped his napkin. Travis scooped it off the floor and laid it across Dad’s lap. He dropped it again. Travis and she shared a glance.

Premature role reversal. Everyone suffered.

He picked up the napkin again and tucked a corner under Dad’s leg. “What does Frodo’s security company do?”

Maggie swept her hair behind a shoulder. “High-profile types hire them for personal security, electronic security, and any situation with the potential for danger.”

“Sounds interesting. The dude looks like he can handle himself.”

“Doesn’t he though?”

As she remembered their evening, her skin tingled. Sumptuous cuisine by a flame’s amber glow. Conversation flowing with the leisure of decanted wine. The beguiling warmth of a promising first date. Even now, a kiss that lingered.

“So what do you think, Mag? Weird huh?”

Her gaze turned toward Travis who was now standing in the kitchen. “What did you say?”

Travis clanked a dish into the washer. “I was telling you about the domain name on the receipts we found. Wow, where did you go?”

“I’m sorry.” She picked up her bowl and took it to him. “Start over.”

“Does Dad have a box at the post office?”

“No. When I took over the finances, I got a renewal notice for one. It was empty and Daddy rarely left the house, so I let it lapse.”

“Javier and I checked out the web page for the weird domain name. It’s alive, barely. But, I think maybe he’s got something out there.”

Maggie slumped against the counter. “Define out there.”

“Maybe he’s got some files still at the site. It’d be worth checking, don’t you think?”

“Not if the words ‘accessory to commit a felony’ apply. You’re not supposed to be on a computer. Remember?”

He hiked up his jammies. “That’s why I’m coming to you. The domain name looked like gibberish, didn’t it?”

“Mirage Vistas? Yeah, real words, but gibberish.”

“It was AMirageVistasRight dot com.” His eyes widened as if for emphasis. “Now if you take the words A Mirage Vistas Right and rearrange them, you get three names. Guess what names?”

“Moe, Larry, and Curly. Or was it Shemp?”

“Try Maggie, Travis, and Trisha.”

“Okay. That is
out there
.”

“Maggie, don’t you see?”

“I see that Dad had a thing for anagrams.” She added detergent to the dishwasher. “But I’ll humor you. What do you want me to do?”

“I’m trying to stick to the terms of my probation.”

“Like chatting on hacker forums?”

“I need you to access the web-hosting site for the domain name. I want to see what files are there.”

At least he was honest about it. Even if he ignored her snide remarks. Then again, it was generally wise to ignore snide. “Grab the laptop from the family room.”

He slapped the dishwasher shut, set the dial to the shortest wash cycle, and disappeared.

She poured a large glass of water and checked on her father through the window. He sat on the porch with both beagles at his feet. When Travis returned with the computer, Maggie settled into a chair at the table. He eased the laptop onto the surface as if it might contain explosives.

The machine booted to the beat of Travis’ tapping toe. Maggie opened a browser window. “What’s the name of the hosting site?”

As she typed, he spelled the name letter-by-letter from one of Dad’s old bills.

The homepage of the Tesoro Web Hosting contained the usual eye-fatiguing montage of search boxes, menus, and links to confound their newest visitors. They scanned the page for something that might be useful.

Travis pointed to the screen. “Click here. Manage domains.”

Maggie followed his finger with the cursor and clicked. A login page appeared with two boxes titled Domain and Password. Travis slid a receipt to her. She typed in AMirageVistasRight.com.

“Any idea on the password?”

He shot a side-glance at her. “He always used the same one, except at work.”

“What is it?”

“MyDishTrish.”

“Kinda gaggy.” She bobbed her head to the side. “But sweet.” She typed in the letters. “We’re in. Now what?”

“Go here.” He pointed at the screen to a link. “Domain Manager.”

She clicked the link. The new screen displayed only one domain name. AMirageVistasRight.com.

“This is the place.” Travis pulled up a chair and swung a leg over the back. “Now click on this link, File Manager.”

“What am I looking for now?”

He pointed at the screen. “Open the files in this folder.”

She double-clicked the folder, and it opened. It looked like nonsense.

“It’s compiled. Try the next one.”

Maggie tried the other three files, but none of them was readable.

Travis banged a fist on the table. “Why would he go through all this and then leave only the compiled file.”

“What does that mean, ‘compiled’?”

“I can only read the files he created when they’re in their original form. The source files. But he put them through a compiler which converts it to bytecode. That’s hexadecimal. It uses only the numbers zero through nine and the letters a through f. It’s intended to be read by the computer.”

Programming talk always made her temples thump. Can’t you un-compile it?”

“De-compile.” His lips flattened. “And maybe. But it would take a while, and it could be encrypted for all I know.” He leaned over his knees. “I thought Dad was trying to communicate.”

“I’m sorry, Trav, but it confirms what we already suspected.” Maggie placed a hand on his knee. “Dad’s past communicating.”

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

 

Kurt loosened the Windsor knot and slipped off his tie. He wiped down the front of his white shirt with his last clean handkerchief. Coffee stains did not go with Ralph Lauren. Today’s meeting with Patty O’Mara kept him a little jumpy. The threats from the fake ambulance attendants also weighed on his nerves. Or maybe it was the three cups of French roast.

 

He buzzed Stephanie in the outer office. “Steph. I need a new shirt.”

“White, no doubt. What size?”

“Sixteen regular.”

“Of course you are. I’ll send someone. You want to try Billabong or Hot Topic this time?”

“Not funny. Need it here within an hour.”

“This is the financial district where white shirts are a cliché. I can have a dozen here in under fifteen minutes.”

He surveyed the damage to his tailored poplin. “Buy two. Just in case.”

“Done.”

He set the cup on his desk and found some paper towels in the bottom drawer. The mess took six sheets to contain. As he tossed the wad in the trashcan, the phone rang.

“Kurt Meyers.”

“It’s Samantha. I’ve got a line on The Rockstag Group.”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“What message?”

“Patty O’Mara wants to meet with me.” Even saying the words brought new palpitations to his heart. No more coffee. He needed to get some food in his belly to soak up the acid. “Samantha?”

“Why you?”

“He won’t tell me until I get there. And you can’t tell anyone before the meeting happens.”

“Then I want a full statement from you immediately after the interview.”

“I’ll give you an exclusive. O’Mara must expect it. He didn’t ask me to keep it quiet afterward.”

Samantha breathed into the receiver. “What time?”

“Eleven o’clock.”

“Will you wear a wire?”

Kurt felt for the pen microphone in his shirt pocket. Penniski’s threats sounded another drum in his chest, but the SEC couldn’t make him do squat. Cooperate, sure. “A wire? No, but send me a list of anything you want me to ask him.”

“Do you think he has the money?”

It was the only question that mattered. Kurt thought he knew the answer. But O’Mara could’ve been lying. Again. “I don’t know. You’ll be the first to know.” He let the comment steep. “Aren’t you glad we’re working on this together?” He pictured a crooked smile stretching across her freckled face.

Muffled sounds came from her end of the call. “Amazing.”

“So what did you find on The Rockstag Group?” He didn’t expect to learn anything, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Rockstag. Got a file right here.” She cleared her throat. “The Rockstag Group is a tech firm out of Scotts Valley. Consulting engineers. Brains for hire. A couple of their executives had invested with O’Mara.”

“Poor schmucks. What else?”

“They had a run-in with a teenage hacker.” Samantha continued. “The kid says he was hired by someone inside the company to test their defenses, run a penetration test on their computer systems.”

“I’d say that too.” Kurt had heard all this but played along.

“He copied their customer files, employee files, and their project files. All federal offenses. Their board of directors wanted him to sing in the all-boy choir. Permanently.”

“I understand their irritation.”

“Apparently the judge did too. Came down on the kid with a pair of steel-toed boots. Sent him to juvie prison for six months. He lives in Half Moon Bay with his sister and father. The sister’s in charge of them both. The father’s got Alzheimer’s.”

“What a mess.” The story sparked something in Kurt and made him feel uneasy. He didn’t know why. That kind of talent needed a legitimate outlet.

“I’ll email the file to you today.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“I better be the first one you talk to after meeting O’Mara. If I see your smiling face on the six o’clock, you won’t want to be you.”

“Threats, again? Not exactly a turn-on, my dear. Don’t you trust—” He didn’t hear a click, but he knew she’d hung up.

Kurt stood and walked to the window. Wisps of fog obscured the street below. By the time he left for Patty O’Mara’s, the sun will have steamed the city clear. O’Mara’s agenda was anybody’s guess, but Kurt planned to bring his own.

When he started this investigation, he’d called O’Mara purely as a courtesy, a shot over the bow. Maybe he was simply counting coup. But Kurt never expected an audience with the man. Now, the cobra invited the mongoose over for crumpets.

The invitation wrecked his head and maybe that was part of O’Mara’s game. No one ever accused the man of being stupid, merely dishonest. If Kurt’s audience with O’Mara was destined to be short, he planned to be prepared.

He sure hadn’t been prepared for Penniski’s goons jacking him in broad daylight. The threat from that conversation still echoed. Kurt took the pen from his pocket. Amazing little device. A USB flash drive housed inside a plain, black ink pen, now glistening with his sweat.

The guys told him how to operate the pen, but he hadn’t really heard them. Weren’t threats to a man’s life supposed to make a lasting impression? Fortunately, the thing was easy to figure out and simple to use. If he took it with him.

A knock at the door made him start. He dropped the pen in his pants pocket. “Come in.”

Stephanie’s spiky hair now boasted a pink streak running back from the hairline. “Your shirts arrived.” She handed a shopping bag to Kurt. “Wow. Trashed that one good.”

“Thanks for taking care of this. Obviously—” He swept a hand down his front. “—I’m not fit for presentation.”