Rogue Code (31 page)

Flores closed her eyes for a moment. When had she last slept more than an hour? She couldn’t remember. Two nights, at least.

She was to meet with Alshon later and mentally reviewed what she would tell him. Aiken and Renkin, her targets, had to be part of a much larger operation. She estimated as many as half a dozen software writers were involved, though she understood that such estimates were inexact. What she was sure of was that no two men were doing this.

The success and expanse of the penetration had come as a shock to her. She realized it had been a bit naïve on her part, but she’d honestly believed that it was impossible for someone to hack the Exchange’s trading platform. She found the reality more than a little unsettling.

Her most recent forensics data drop from the trading engines contained an updated version of the malware, confirming that the operation was ongoing. NYSE IT remained unaware of the malware’s existence and as a result they had yet to shut this operation down. She wanted to take her findings to her contacts there, but Alshon had explicitly instructed her not to. He didn’t want to act before he had a clear view of the extent of the infiltration, especially if there was an insider involved. Tipping their hand prematurely could result in the destruction of evidence or, worse, a rash act by the culprits or even the NYSE IT department that could take a bad situation and make it a disaster.

This was a complex and widespread operation, delicately interwoven within the kernel of the trading platform. Even after they were alerted NYSE IT would move cautiously and it would take more than a few days to act as they’d be concerned about disrupting normal operations by committing an error in negating the malware. The law of unintended consequences flourished in just such situations, especially when things were rushed.

The speed and size of the updates was just one reason she was certain so many people were involved. And it was ridiculous to think that two men on the run were making the recent changes from a hotel room somewhere. The scope and frequency of the additions and changes suggested to her an urgency by the hackers, and she increasingly felt a sense of unease that something very bad was about to happen, as if she and her colleagues at NYSE IT were the lookouts on the
Titanic,
who’d just spotted the iceberg dead ahead.

Which only heightened her suspicion. As she’d told Alshon, it wasn’t her place to analyze motives and character but the casual way Aiken had set up his brokerage account shocked her. He was surely cleverer than that. She’d researched his company and saw the rave reviews it received. Renkin was more difficult to research, as his computer career had been in the CIA, but she’d found no hint of concern about him or his work.

Not for the first time did she wonder if Alshon had this wrong. Her suggestion that the two had been set up was slowly turning into an opinion, one she knew would be unwelcome. She reminded herself to stay focused on what the code was doing. That was troubling enough.

Flores returned to her desk, sipped the hot coffee, set the cup down, then placed her face into her hands, her eyes burning slightly. Should she risk a nap? She feared she’d be down for the count if she did.

This high-frequency trading algo malware deeply concerned her. It was manipulating trades across the spectrum, and she suspected it was stealing money from them. She could see how the funds were routed out of the system, scattered about into what she believed were various banks and trusts. It had all the hallmarks of a classic financial fraud operation. The difference was its level of sophistication, its presence within the NYSE trading engines, and the implementation of a HFT algo. It was like multiple bank robberies occurring simultaneously on fast forward and the implications were staggering.

Flores sighed and went back to work. Her job was to tie these two to the operation. Failing that, she was to see where it led and who else was involved, if possible. It was up to Alshon to make the command decisions. She just hoped he knew what he was doing.

46

GRUPO TÉCNICO

RUA ADOLFO MOTA

GRANDE TIJUCA

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

3:55
P.M.

Pedro Bandeira couldn’t recall the last time he’d put in so many hours. Now, with blinding speed, everything was coming to an end. When this was over, he’d decided, he’d start his own computer company, providing legitimate services. Much of what they did was in fact not illegal and would be of use to companies. He’d even take his staff with him.

This idea of assuming the leadership of the Nosso Lugar after his father, something his mother frequently brought up, was absurd. He’d never be a criminal, at least not like his father was. What Pedro wanted was a quiet way out of what he was doing, a way to lead a normal life in the years to come.

Pedro turned his mind to business. What was nagging at him was his concern as to whether or not they could really pull this off. Right now it didn’t look to him as if it were possible. They were being asked to do the impossible.

In his last conversation with Abílio in New York he’d been sure he detected some doubt in his counterpart as well. Pedro might not have liked the subordinate role he’d held for most of the last five years, but he’d never doubted his boss’s expertise. Abílio was on-site. He saw everything firsthand. If
he
was worried, Pedro knew he had every reason to be as well.

Grupo Técnico had the Universal Trading Platform code for the NYSE engines. Obtaining it had been time consuming, and one of Abílio’s jobs was to ensure their version was always current. This gave them an engine core behaving exactly as it did at the New Jersey hub. They ran new and modified code within a simulated framework where they placed bids and offers and observed how their code worked in the complex environment. This allowed them to confirm it worked as predicted before insertion into the live trading engines.

They’d made several revisions to their code in recent days without difficulty but now they’d received a copy of the latest NYSE code drop the Exchange was uploading in preparation for the major IPO on Wednesday. And that had thrown a monkey wrench into their plans because the revised code was now incompatible with their simulation framework. The parameters of the various internal subroutine calls had been changed significantly, and his team was having a hard time understanding their purpose. Their limited goal was to get their own software functioning properly and every few hours, they thought they had it, but each time they ran a test with the latest code the simulator either hung up or crashed. They seemed no closer to a resolution now than they’d been when they’d run their first test.

Renata had given him a progress report earlier that afternoon. Five billion dollars of the Wednesday take was to come from several Casas de Férias operations against specifically targeted companies. They still hadn’t identified enough of them but most troubling was that, in her view, they had too few holding accounts and an insufficient number of exit channels for the money.

“I’m worried that it can be traced,” she’d said. “We haven’t generated enough targets to properly conceal it. There’s another concern as well.”

“What?”

“Ten billion is dangerous, Pedro. I know this is going to be a big IPO and there will be a lot of action surrounding it but that is a great deal of money. There’s the potential of something beyond our control going very wrong and we’ll get swept up in it.”

“I pointed that out and was told to go ahead anyway.”

“All right. But what if we cause a crash in the market? Something really serious? It could be very bad for us.”

He’d told her that he understood and sent her back to work. She’d raised the very question that most troubled him. An IPO of this size was drawing players who controlled unimaginable sums of money. These HFTs would be using their sophisticated algos to break the IPO their way. He simply couldn’t predict how that would affect Carnaval. He hoped those wouldn’t influence Carnaval at all, but the more he read about the Toptical buzz, the more concerned he became.

Should he talk to his father again? He looked at his staff. He’d have to give them a break. The botched update was a warning. If he continued to demand they work like this, there’d be more mistakes, and he didn’t dare risk that, not with what was on the line.

His Skype program rang. Pedro opened it, then accepted the call. “My son,” Bandeira said, “how are things going?”

“We’re working on the last update. I don’t know if we can get it ready before Wednesday morning.”

“It must be done,” Bandeira snapped, then smiled. “You can do it, Pedro. I know you can.”

“It’s like I told you before, I have too few people for all the work we have to do. If you scaled back how much you plan to take, things would be much easier.”

“That’s not possible.”

“As you wish. The good news is that our IPO algo looks good. We just have to get it working properly with the new code. We’re also having a problem with the other targets. They are scattered and it is more complicated.”

“Pedro, I have made commitments. The figure I’ve given is the one you must reach.”

“I’m doing my best, Father, but you are asking a great deal.”

“Just do it! We’ll talk Tuesday night, and I expect everything to be in place. Now, enough of your complaining. Be a man for once!” Bandeira ended the call.

Pedro sat back in his chair. This was the ugly side of his father, the one he despised. How many times had he been treated like this over the years? Too many. He considered what would happen if he missed the target, or if there was a disaster beyond his control. What would his father do?

Nothing significant to him, he realized. Humiliate him, shut down the operation, force him into a lowly job, but he couldn’t help feeling concern for his staff. He’d heard stories about what his father did to those who disappointed him. Until recently he’d not believed them. He could see the top of Renata’s head from where he sat. Would his father really kill her, a single mother?

There was a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. He knew the answer.

As for the $10 billion, Pedro knew what that was all about. Ego, greed, the pleasure his father took in setting an impossible demand and then insisting it be met. It was to be $10 billion because his father said so. There was no other reason.

47

MIAMI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

MIAMI-DADE COUNTY, FLORIDA

8:19
P.M.

Jeff examined his Canadian passport, wondering exactly how Frank had managed to get one for each of them so quickly. Not only had he accomplished it on short notice, but he also expressed absolute confidence in them.

Jeff wasn’t so sure. He ran his thumb across its surface. It definitely
felt
official. It looked it as well, on the cover and inside. But passports were now linked into vast computer networks. You didn’t just have to fool an individual when boarding the plane or when clearing immigration on arrival; you had to fool a sophisticated database.

He looked again at his new name: Douglas Bennett.

Was he even real? Or was the name simply a creation?

He’d asked Frank for specifics, but his friend had simply smiled, then patted his arm. “Let me worry about details. You just get well and take it easy.”

Easy to say but Jeff couldn’t help but be concerned. And if they were caught leaving the country, he didn’t want to think how badly that would reflect on them. Not one official would believe they were on their way to prove their innocence. They’d interpret this as two fugitives fleeing to avoid getting caught.

What a mess. Jeff slipped the passport back into the inside pocket of his jacket and closed his eyes. Frank was off buying water, snacks, and pain pills. Jeff was feeling better all the time, but right now couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so run-down. And he still had a ten-hour flight ahead of him.

He placed his hands on his head, inadvertently touching the tender spot. He’d removed the bandages before sneaking out of the hotel in Manhattan. He’d not said anything to Frank, but he wondered if he had internal bleeding on his brain, some slow seepage that would send him into a coma and kill him. He’d done an Internet search on the subject. There would be no symptoms until it was almost too late. That’s why patients with head injuries were kept in hospitals until the doctor was certain.

The airport was busy. Planes landed and took off every few minutes. Hordes of travelers moved about, usually in waves going one direction or another, pulling luggage behind them, wearing backpacks, texting and talking on their phones as they went. Not for the first time, he stared in amazement at the clothes people chose to wear on airplanes. The businessmen and women were obvious enough and there were a large number in cargo pants, comfortable walking shoes, and polo shirts. But the others … He had vague memories from his childhood when people dressed up to take a flight because such occasions were special and everyone wanted to look their best. Now the clothes looked pulled from a charity bin.

Seeing Daryl again had been both wonderful and awkward. He’d been relieved to see her looking good. He realized that he’d been worried about her but saw she’d flourished away from him. San Francisco apparently suited her. He’d considered embracing her as a longtime friend, but he’d hesitated, not sure the gesture would be welcome, and by then the moment had passed. From there on the personal aspect of seeing each other went downhill.

Daryl had talked mostly to Frank, only occasionally looking at him. Her departure had been as awkward for him as her arrival. So in the end, he was left with the work she’d done and with that he was very satisfied.

“Jeff! Jeff Aiken!” someone called.

Jeff looked up and spotted a woman in her fifties smiling as she walked up to him. Agnes Capps was wearing her distinctive purple glasses and was dressed in flamboyant Gypsy style, a mauve scarf wrapped about her neck with a flourish. She was a writer who late in life had carved out a niche for herself reporting and speaking on cybersecurity issues. Though not generally well regarded by computer security experts, as she tended to gloss over details and occasionally got things wrong, she was popular with various news shows. She produced a weekly article and a book nearly every year.