Rogue Code (47 page)

After she’d put everything away, she raised her eyes and took a hard look in the mirror. She looked like a hooker who’d just been beaten by her pimp, but it would do. She’d had a hard night, maybe a fight with a boyfriend, but there was nothing she could see that she couldn’t explain away if need be.

She removed her soiled jacket. She dampened several paper towels and worked over it. The worst was the back, where she could do only so much. When she finished, it was dark from moisture but would look better when it dried. She removed her skirt and repeated the process. It wasn’t as bad because it got turned inside out when she’d been dragged, leaving most of the damage on the inside.

With fresh damp towels she cleaned her legs. She took out her compact again and applied makeup to the worst spots. She slipped on her skirt, struggled into her jacket, buttoned it in front, fluffed the blouse collar, then looked again.

You’ll do, she said to yourself. You’ll do.

Outside, she took a seat in an empty booth far from the other customers. The same waitress came up with a menu. “You’re looking a lot better,” she said. “Rough night?”

“You have no idea.”

80

GRUPO TÉCNICO

RUA ADOLFO MOTA

GRANDE TIJUCA

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

12:37
A.M.

Jeff kicked at the window bars again but they refused to give. He kicked, then kicked again. It wouldn’t go.

His lungs were burning and every breath was an effort. He turned away from the window, stepped over the dead man, then went to the landing. The room below was a raging inferno, the heat unbearable.

He was trapped.

But unable to get out from the second floor, Jeff had no choice but to race down the stairs. He dived through the fire at the bottom, hoping he was not diving into a blaze. He rolled, then came to a hard stop, balanced uneasily on his feet and hands. Just ahead, in the dancing flames, he spotted three prone forms. He crawled toward them, gagging and coughing as he did.

Carl and Oscar were overcome by the smoke. Carl had collapsed atop Oscar, shielding him from the fire. A few feet away lay Frank, bleeding and moving ever so slow.

“Frank! Frank!” Jeff shouted. “Get out of here! I’ll get the others.”

Frank looked blankly at Jeff as if seeing an apparition. Then comprehension came to his eyes. He nodded and began to crawl toward the rear door.

Jeff moved over to Carl and Oscar. “Oscar!” he shouted over the roar and snapping of wood. There was no answer. Jeff looked around. Frank was nearly to the door, which was not far away. They’d almost made it.

Jeff took the unconscious, bleeding Oscar by the arms and began dragging him. He knew he had little time but could move only so fast. He’d drag him, stop, then drag. All the while the fire raged, the smoke stinging his eyes and filling his lungs. He coughed until he thought his guts would come out; then he’d coughed some more.

Finally, he was at the door. Frank lay there unmoving. Jeff raised an arm, felt the white-hot handle, disregarded the shooting pain, and turned it. He tried to push it open with no success. He moved, leaned against the door with his back, and pushed.

A draft of cold night air was sucked into the inferno, creating a strong breeze that momentarily drove the flames and smoke back. Jeff drew a lungful of fresh air, staggered to his feet, and with all his effort pulled Oscar out of the building into the night. He kept dragging him until he was satisfied he was clear.

He could hear sirens now. The sound of emergency vehicles. Help was coming.

Then he turned and ran back in for Frank, pulling him to Oscar.

He looked up and could see flashing lights. He looked back at the mansion. The infusion of air had whipped the fire into a frenzy. The doorway was a wall of flames. Jeff turned, and for the last time, plunged into the inferno.

81

TRADING PLATFORMS IT SECURITY

WALL STREET

NEW YORK CITY

1:39
A.M.

Back at her workstation, Daryl was beginning to feel something close to normal. It was as if what had happened in the alley was a bad dream, not an actual event. She’d had three cups of black coffee and forced herself to eat half a breakfast at the coffee shop. When she finally left to return to the office, she’d passed the entrance to the alley, not looking into it, sensing and seeing nothing that told her Iyers’s body had been discovered.

She’d scanned Iyers’s badge, the sleepy security guard paid her no attention, then ridden the elevator up. She found perhaps a third of the day shift was still at it. Everyone looked exhausted. She’d thought to check on Campos, but there was no reason. The man was busy. With his helpmate out of the way, he would be busier than ever.

Now she turned to the rogue code. She’d had time to think about it and believed she could stop its functionality, but she still had a lot to learn about the deployment system first. Also, she’d have to sabotage it at the last minute, as it landed on the jump server; otherwise, Campos might discover what she’d done and override it.

Her plan was simple enough. Once she understood the key functions of the code she planned to obfuscate them by corrupting the files. She’d didn’t want to delete them, since there might be automated checks for missing files.

But first, she had to find these key files, and she had to do it in just over one hour.

*   *   *

Marc Campos couldn’t understand what was going on in Rio. There’d been no updates for hours. He’d sent work to Pedro earlier and heard nothing back. He’d tried calling with no luck. The call simply went to voice mail. He’d tried Skype and again there’d been no answer.

It was possible the system in Rio was down but that was highly unlikely. He had expressly selected the location for Grupo Técnico with that in mind. The company had the services of two Internet companies. It also had a backup electric generator system. It was important it never be offline or unable to function.

Something was wrong.

He tried calling Jorge César. He’d rather not but it had to be done. No answer.

Did he dare call
el chefe
? It was the middle of the night in Brazil as well. And what could Bandeira do in the short amount of time left? No, he’d make do.

His other problem was that Iyers had vanished. He’d done nothing on Carnaval for nearly two hours. The time for the upload was rapidly approaching and Campos needed him for that. Campos could do it himself in a pinch but it was a job Iyers had always done in the past because it fit his job function. Campos would be running a risk of getting noticed.

He had tried calling Iyers with no luck. He’d sent him secure e-mail and text messages. Again, nothing. He’d finally risked going to Iyers’s workstation. Empty.

Where could he be?

Campos returned to his work. If Iyers didn’t show soon, he’d have to go with what he had. The code was 90 percent there. Carnaval would function as it was. He’d have to do without the other 10 percent. He checked his watch. He’d spend the next hour fixing what he could; then he’d follow up with Iyers. If he still couldn’t find the man, he’d handle the insert himself.

Then a thought came to him: What about the woman? Had Iyers seen to her? That would explain his absence. Maybe he was being too hard on him. He couldn’t be in two places at once. Maybe he’d decided he couldn’t risk having her in the building. That would explain everything except his failure to answer his cell phone.

Campos resisted the impulse to check on the woman. Unless she was already dead—the thought startled him with the ease with which it came to him—she’d be at that workstation. He could drop by later. Right now, he had more important work. Iyers would show. Too much was on the line for him not to.

*   *   *

Daryl was now satisfied she’d identified the files that were key to the function of the rogue code. It was only twenty minutes until the scheduled 3:00
A
.
M
. deployment, so she assumed the final version was already on the jump server waiting to be copied into the trading engine. She doubted the last update would change the structure in any significant way, so she corrupted two of the files. When she merged her changes with the final deployment, she would in effect render the malware inoperable.

She looked at her watch. Less than ten minutes to go. How long could she wait before pressing the Enter button? If Campos was working on or watching the code, he’d see the change. It would take him only a few seconds to replace it with an untainted version.

On the other hand, she didn’t dare wait too long. If the update took place early, she’d miss her chance. Still, she was certain the malware was going to ride in with the IPO and standard nightly updates. She had to have a target opportunity, and that was it.

Her work was nearly done. She ached from head to foot. She wondered if she should go to a hospital. At the least she needed to see a doctor.

And what about Jeff? And Frank? What were they doing in Brazil? Had they acted on the new address she’d given them? She knew Frank had once been a man of action, a super-secret special agent as she’d once called him after too much wine. Everyone at the table had laughed, though Daryl knew it was largely true.

But Jeff was no secret agent. He wrote code. He understood computers. Sure, he was in good shape, and she knew from previous experience that when everything was on the line, he rose to the occasion, but still … how much could reasonably be expected of him? He was barely out of the hospital.

She wished she had a message from Jeff and Frank telling her everything was fine. In a few minutes, she planned to send one telling them that she had the evidence to clear them and that the rogue code had been stopped in its tracks.

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

*   *   *

Campos had still heard nothing from Iyers or from Pedro, so proceeded on his own. He would check on the woman when he was done.

He completed his work fifteen minutes before 3:00
A
.
M
. He went through the steps to make the insert, steps designed in part to conceal the fact that he was doing it. Then he copied the rogue code onto the jump server. The master stroke was in position, all that was needed for Carnaval to be in place when the market opened was the last Exchange update.

*   *   *

The hallways were largely empty as Campos made his way to Daryl’s workstation. She’d picked it carefully as he recalled.

There she was. Her arms were crossed and she looked asleep. He was amazed at her audacity, simply insinuating herself into the offices of Trading Platforms IT. In theory this should have been impossible, but he’d long noted how lax security had become. He and Iyers had obviously taken advantage of it many times over the years.

He looked at her monitor and was shocked at what he saw. It was a core part of Carnaval, files essential to its operation. She’d done something to them, he knew. That’s why she was here. He stepped toward her.

*   *   *

Daryl jolted awake, experiencing an instant of vertigo as she did. It took a moment for her to realize where she was. She immediately checked her watch. 2:57
A
.
M
. Time to go to work.

Just then, she sensed movement behind her. She turned and there was Campos, looking wild-eyed and angry. “What are you doing?” he demanded as he barged into the small work space.

“I don’t know what you mean. Just a second and I’ll be right with you.” She reached for the Enter button.

“Stop! Stop!” Campos shouted as he lunged at her.

The two toppled off the chair onto the floor, Daryl experiencing a sense of déjà vu. But Campos wasn’t the psychopath Iyers had been, nor was he as strong. The two wrestled on the floor, grunting in effort. Daryl struggled to get to her feet, Campos pulled and tugged at her to keep her away from the keyboard.

Finally, Daryl rolled on top, briefly pinning Campos. She struck him in the face with her fist. An image of Iyers flashed in her mind, and she struck the man again and again, no blow enough to knock him unconscious but the flurry momentarily dazing him.

Still, Campos was both bigger and stronger than Daryl, and her superior position didn’t last long. He heaved her up and off him, then moved to place himself between her and the computer. “I’m calling security,” he said breathlessly. “You should leave.”

Daryl reached onto the desk beside her and grabbed her purse. Fumbling inside she removed the pepper spray and before Campos could react, she sprayed him, right to left across the eyes just as she’d practiced. He screamed, grabbed his eyes, and all but fell to the floor.

She leaned around him, reached for the keyboard, and pressed Enter.

She stood back as Campos danced in a circle screaming for help and looked at her watch. 2:59
A
.
M
.

82

MITRI GROWTH CAPITAL

LINDELL BOULEVARD

ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI

10:00
A.M.

Jonathan Russo stood with most his employees, watching the giant monitors arrayed across the wall of the office. Everyone was tired, but they’d made it. The new algo was in place. Over the next two or three hours, all the recent losses would be recovered and Mitri Growth would earn upward of $100 million. It was the most exciting day in Russo’s life.

He looked around. Everyone was sitting at their desks or standing and watching the screens. In fact, they’d not know the outcome for at least an hour, but they would be able to confirm the algo was functioning properly. It had worked in the tests, but the sting of their failure the previous week was still with them. Nothing was certain.

“Here we go,” someone said as the IPO trading began. No one said a word for some minutes.

Colored graphs arrayed across the displays grew in height as trading volume surged. The Toptical stock best bid and offer prices, known as National Best Bid and Offer, or NBBO, which were displayed in a large font on the primary wall screen began to change. The initial Toptical price had been set at thirty dollars. Speculation was that too much stock was being made available and that the price might very well fall at first. And that’s what happened. But not for long. The Mitri algo was designed to take a large position at the start of trading. It responded at once to the drop by executing thousands of small sales, a process called quote stuffing.