Rogue Code (38 page)

Frank pulled the São Paulo city map from his inside pocket. He’d been studying it earlier. “Companhia Cero is about eight blocks from here. The Internet tells me it’s in an industrial area, so this time of night, it should be quiet. I’d like to observe it for a while before doing anything.” He looked over at Jeff. “I can do this alone if you aren’t up to it.”

“No, I’ll come.”

“Good. That’s better, since I’ll need you later.”

Both of them had made efforts that afternoon to access the Exchange’s software but the backdoor was down. “We’re locked out,” Jeff said. “Looks like coming down here was our only option after all. I hope Daryl can find something in the samples we pulled out before the connection went down.”

They’d agreed to a late lunch. Afterwards, Frank said he had more things to buy and suggested Jeff get some rest. He lay on his bed and tried to sleep, but his mind was racing at the pace of events. He wondered how all this could happen, how it could so quickly have reached this state. He tried to devise alternative options, measures that wouldn’t involve possibly going into an ambush but didn’t see any that led to a resolution.

He thought Frank’s intentions here a long shot, always had, but he’d agreed at the time that leaving the United States was a good idea. He didn’t like the thought of staying in Brazil long term if it came to that, but compared with a three-year legal battle that might very well end with a prison term, it was the better choice. He didn’t know how they were going to prove they were innocent, but he was determined they find a way. So long shot or not, he’d decided to trust Frank.

He wondered what Daryl was doing. The loss of the backdoor had to be frustrating her efforts, as it had theirs. Frank had sent her his new cell phone number in the event of an emergency but told her not to contact them otherwise. Even this was a risk as they had no way of knowing how far the investigation had progressed or what level of cybersecurity measures were in place. But they had to keep a channel open.

Her last message to them expressing her concern about the Toptical IPO on Wednesday was disconcerting. The rogue code updates were focusing increasingly on it. With the recent turmoil he really had to question how much more the stock market could withstand. It seemed to have rebounded, once again, from a perceived cyberthreat but with the increased attention on high-frequency traders and their role in the market Jeff questioned if the next flash crash wouldn’t be catastrophic.

For all his concerns Jeff was still recovering from his injuries and was exhausted. At some point he nodded off, his dreams consisted of unsettling flashing images, someone in the distance calling for help, remote accusing voices.

Frank shook his shoulder to awaken him. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

Jeff stirred slowly, sat on the edge of the bed, then went into the bathroom to wash up. When he returned, Frank said, “Seriously now, Jeff, how do you feel? You haven’t been out of the hospital long.”

“All right. I’ve still got some pain where you’d expect especially in my forearm but I’m feeling a lot better. I’ve recovered some of my energy.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Wear dark clothing,” Frank told him. “No reason to make us too easy to spot. And put your new phone on vibrate. We don’t want it going off at the wrong time.”

When Jeff came out, Frank was seated on his bed, carefully inserting items into a black canvas shoulder backpack he’d bought at a store down the street: nylon line with attached large hooks like something you’d use to catch a whale, a pry bar, binoculars, a large hunting knife, various items Jeff couldn’t identify, a revolver, and a heavy semiautomatic handgun. Jeff didn’t ask questions as he put on the darkest clothing he had, a pair of newish jeans, a long-sleeve plaid shirt, and running shoes.

“Ready?” Frank asked. Jeff nodded, feeling anything but.

Outside, the temperature was pleasant, nearly eighty degrees. They left the cobblestone hotel parking area and turned right at the street. The sidewalks were constructed of small flat stones. The pressure of bodies over time gave them a curious undulating effect and made for cautious walking, but they were otherwise in good repair. There were mature trees and shrubbery masking houses, usually well trimmed, but not always. It was not a poor section of the city, but it wasn’t especially affluent either.

They passed along narrow streets, then wide boulevards, moving up and down gentle hills. There were tracks laid on some streets they crossed, overhead wires for trolleys not operating at this time of night. Aging single-story buildings and houses were interspersed with five-story office buildings, graffiti marking walls everywhere. Though it was a worknight and in Jeff’s mind getting late, there were couples, young and elderly, strolling, chatting, holding hands. Not for the first time did Jeff realize how much his own country had changed in his lifetime.

Traffic remained busy and aggressive, though a bit lighter than earlier. Auto pollution controls were lax, and when trucks roared by, Jeff and Frank were engulfed in the blue-tinged acrid smoke of diesel.

Frank had memorized the route. The landscape slowly turned more commercial; then after they crossed one street, it became entirely industrial, so much so they were now conspicuous on foot. Frank continued walking at a steady pace for several minutes, until he finally slowed before ducking into the shadows created by the nearly constant walls that abutted the sidewalk. There was just a single distant streetlight. “That’s it there,” he said.

Jeff looked. All he could make out was one more solid wall. “You’re sure?”

“That’s it. Though this part of the warehouse faces the street, this is actually the rear. See the driveways on both sides? Those go to the back, which we’ll find open, covered by a security wall. That will be the entrance.”

“Google Earth, right?”

“That and images. I’m always amazed what’s available on the Internet. If only I’d had these resources back in the day. My main concern right now is finding an observation place.”

“You’ve not forgotten this is very likely a setup,” Jeff reminded him.

“I remember. We’re going to be very careful. This way.” He led them across the street, then up an access drive to an irregular paved expanse. Jeff concluded that it was an area for large trucks to maneuver in and to facilitate their movement between the various businesses away from the public street. It was lit only by ambient light.

Frank walked with measured steps, keeping to the shadows. He slowed and then came to a stop when they could see into the facility. He reached into the bag, searched for something, then extracted the binoculars. Vague illumination glowed behind two windows at the far end of the buildings. Otherwise, the facility looked abandoned.

There was movement in a shadow against the warehouse wall. Jeff searched for it, moved his line of sight slightly to the side, and saw what appeared to be a small animal, a cat most likely, perhaps a small dog.

There was a restless wind, occasionally enough to move the gathered street trash a few inches. The area about them smelled of used oil, diesel, and gasoline. But every few minutes, the wind carried the pungent smells away briefly bringing a floral fragrance, sweet like jasmine.

“What do you think?” Jeff asked a bit uneasily.

Frank lowered the binoculars. “It’s not a fortress, but like everything here it was built with security in mind. We’re going to hang out for a while. Relax if you can. It could be a long night.”

“Do you think it’s a setup?”

“It’s sure got the look. We’re out here away from any interference. The beckoning light in the window appeals to a primeval instinct in us. Even those automatic gates look slightly ajar, inviting as hell.”

“Maybe someone’s working late or it’s a night-light.”

“There are no vehicles, so we’re supposed to assume no one’s working. I’d say it’s supposed to be a night-light.”

“So you think it’s a trap.”

“I don’t know. That’s the beauty of these things. You promise someone what they want, keep it plausible, make it alluring, and even against their better judgment people fall for it. And for all our suspicion this could be exactly what it appears to be. The bad guys could very well be working out of here; it’s sure as hell a good spot for it. The threat to us was just that, a threat, and whoever sent it didn’t know about the embedded GPS code. That’s all entirely likely. So either way, we’ll settle in and watch.”

“I think this is broken glass I’m standing on.”

“I never said we’d be comfortable.”

59

HOLIDAY INN

LAFAYETTE STREET

NEW YORK CITY

10:02
P.M.

Back in her hotel room, Daryl took a shower and then ordered room service. After toweling herself dry, she wrapped herself into the soft hotel robe. She ate half of a club sandwich, then sat at her laptop and examined what she’d downloaded from the cell phone.

Daryl vividly recalled identifying this vulnerability. She and Jeff had made it a game, each seeing if he or she could find more of them, faster. Hers had been the first coup, and she’d made a point to be a poor winner, reminding him repeatedly over the following days of the job that she was not only first, but also remained ahead of him in count.

It had been fun, more a game than work. When they were together, she recalled almost everything had been fun. The problem was that they weren’t together often enough, or long enough.

So now she had Campos’s digital world. She first checked his photos and found almost nothing, just three street scene shots: a juggler, a tree-lined lane that didn’t look like anywhere in Manhattan she knew about, a plate of food at a restaurant.

Next his call history. It came as no surprise that he’d placed no calls to Portugal. There were calls to the same local number but far more to one in Brazil, often more than one a day. She noted that the frequency had dramatically increased recently.

She called the number herself, using his phone. After several rings, a recorded man’s voice came on the line in Portuguese. “You have reached the offices of Grupo Técnico. We are not available. Please leave a message, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

Grupo Técnico. That was not the name Frank had used in São Paulo. She opened her browser and typed in the name along with the word “Brazil.” There were a number of hits as the name was so generic, but nothing that looked right. There was no Web site for the company.

Next she checked voice mail and found one pending, also in Portuguese. “Abílio,” a young man said, “I need you to get back to me. I know you are busy but so are we. Call as soon as you get this, regardless of the time.”

Abílio. Could that be Marc Campos’s real name? Probably.

So … just where was Grupo Técnico? Was it part of the company Jeff and Frank were going to in São Paulo, Companhia Cero? Or was it somewhere else altogether? The thought brought her up cold, because if it was somewhere else, then São Paulo was a trap.

60

COMPANHIA CERO

MOOCA DISTRICT

SÃO PAULO, BRAZIL

11:14
P.M.

Jorge César shifted in his seat and fought off boredom. He scanned the security screens again. Nothing.

From time to time, he said something to Paulinho to confirm he was alert, but they both knew from long experience that real conversation was a distraction. The rooftop snipers—Didi, Zico, and Cafu—checked in every ten minutes, their familiar voices coming into César’s earpiece. He was out of cigarettes and Paulinho didn’t smoke. “I’m making coffee,” César said. Paulinho nodded, the fingers of his right hand caressing the IMBEL MD97, the Brazilian Army semiautomatic assault rifle.

A few minutes later, with two cups of black coffee, César returned from the small kitchen and handed one to Paulinho. He sat and scanned the screens again. Still nothing. Too late he’d realized he should have placed two cameras with infrared capability to cover the public street. He had considered the idea but dismissed it as risky, since they could be spotted. Now, though, he’d rather have taken the chance. He was blind out there.

Anxious, the hot cup grasped in his hand, he stood where he knew he couldn’t be seen from outside. The loading and parking area was empty. He sighed and returned to his seat, bored as ever.

*   *   *

Frank lowered the binoculars. “Someone’s inside.”

“You’re sure?”

“Reasonably. He didn’t go to the window, but there was a slight change in the light.”

“Maybe they’ve got a watchdog.”

Frank turned to face him. “Now, there’s a thought.” He resumed scanning the structure. “But I don’t think so. The change was from higher up in the room. The roof appears clear, or if someone’s up there they are very, very good.”

“How long do you want to wait?”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to keep an eye on that window for a while. I’m pretty sure you’re wrong about a security dog, but better a dog than a guard, especially one making such an effort not to be seen.”

61

HOLIDAY INN

LAFAYETTE STREET

NEW YORK CITY

11:22
P.M.

Next were the e-mails, since it was possible Daryl would find a physical address in one of them.

Nearly all she saw were from or were sent to [email protected]. She quickly read through the messages with a growing sense of excitement. This was it. There was no doubt at all. This P. Bandeira was sending code to Campos in New York. Most of the messages were tied to a previous message and lacked a signature. She searched for an original message from P. Bandeira. Finally, taking longer than she’d thought, she finally found one with the company signature located just below the telephone number and e-mail address:

Pedro Bandeira

Presidente

Grupo Técnico

Rua Adolfo Mota, 108

Tijuca – Rio de Janeiro – RJ