The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (27 page)

His technology lab had delivered the expected news. The hard drive in the computer taken from Maximillian Soller II’s car was useless; the techs weren’t able to retrieve any data. The lab also confirmed that the other device the forensics team retrieved from the scene had been assembled by Francis Millar. His fingerprints were found on the inside of the system’s chassis. They explained that the device was used to find wireless networks. The system would automatically connect to open wireless networks and scan for vulnerable computers. It was also programmed to exploit known hacks into any secure wireless networks it encountered.

Culder’s patience was growing thin as he waited for a call. When his cell phone finally did come to life, he didn’t recognize the caller.

“Culder,” he answered.

“Director Culder, this is Bart Stapleton calling.”

He recognized the name but couldn’t connect a face or title. “Bart Stapleton?”

“Yes. That’s right. Senator Soller said I should give you a call. He told me you might be able to help me out with a little problem.”

Culder considered how much easier life would be once Soller stopped cashing favors in all the time. He still wasn’t sure who the caller was, so he pulled a browser up on his computer and searched for the name. He was surprised.

“Sure, Mr. Chairman. What can I do to help?”

“Please, call me Bart.”

“Okay. What can I do to help, Bart?”

“To be blunt, I want you to help me crucify someone.”

The director was put off by the comment, until his eyes drifted to the requisite portrait of President Vincent Cross that was hung on his office wall. He smiled. “I see.”

“Rumor has it there’s a particular Island he enjoys. A place that makes the legendary Alcatraz look tame. If the public were to get wind that he’s connected to a group of hoodlums, I think our friends in the media could do something with that.”

There was history between Cross and Culder, and it wasn’t pretty. The president had become aware of an attempt by the FBI director to pry into his private life. The action was done at Senator Soller’s request and, in so many words, the president reminded Culder that J. Edgar Hoover was long dead, and that it wouldn’t be wise to try to follow in his footsteps.

The director was amazed at the president’s reach. He still hadn’t figured out who the mole at the bureau was, but it was only a matter of time before he did. Cross was a man he would happily bring down, given the chance. His thoughts returned to the call he was expecting, and he decided he would take advantage of the opportunity.

“You know, I think there might be a little birdie on that Island that will sing for us.”

“Splendid,” Stapleton said. “I have an important meeting, but I will get back to you directly. If that birdie needs a little incentive to make its music, that is something that can be arranged.”

Culder smiled. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

The Stradivari Society, Chicago, IL

THE HOPE THAT filled her eyes the previous evening had been extinguished. It all started when she connected with a kindred spirit. He had introduced himself as Tony Kalem. He was rugged, mysterious, and Victoria Eden sensed the danger, along with their mutual attraction. He was as suave as he was hard to get, and what began with turbulence on a personal level eventually escalated to something physical once the plane landed.

She had big aspirations for her first major audition, but things had gone horribly wrong. When the virtuoso violinist arrived at her hotel, she discovered her instrument had been damaged. The bombardment of emotions had been overwhelming. The tears came and went, but the emptiness remained. After her father had passed away, she discovered the violin was the only thing that could erase her feeling of being alone. It made her feel independent, like she didn’t need anyone or anything else. Her beauty and attitude made relationships difficult. She was intimidating to most and couldn’t be bothered by the rest.

Every blue moon she’d come across someone who was different—a man like Tony Kalem. Channeling despair into anger was easy for her. It was part of the survival instinct for someone who was alone, but the thought of being eternally lonely scared her. What happened to her mother scared her.

There was one person she could always count on to wipe away any despair that withstood the anger. She would never call him to discuss her problems with men, but he was someone who would always provide sound advice on life. This time she had desperately needed help, or her audition wouldn’t happen. He was able to come through for her, the constant rock she could lean on. Nevin Perlman, her godfather, had a friend in Chicago who he was confident would lend her an instrument.

She approached the building on South Michigan Avenue on foot. The air was crisp, and she once again carried a hopeful attitude. The audition later that morning meant the world to her. She would be showcasing her talent with a heavy heart. This, she thought, would be the key that would unshackle her from the past. She knew it would make her mother and father proud, albeit in their absence.

The Stradivari Society occupied the entire fifth floor of the large building dedicated to the fine arts. The bell chimed, and she stepped out into the reception area with her violin slung over her shoulder. An aging woman with kind eyes returned her timid smile from the reception desk.

“Hello, dear. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Dr. Becker, please.” Her voice was nervous, but hopeful.

“Dr. Becker?” The receptionist’s tone didn’t hide the fact that she was ready to play traffic cop.

“Yes. Dr. Nathan Becker, please. He’s still here, isn’t he?”

The receptionist laughed. “Of course he is. The Stradivari Society wouldn’t be here without him.”

She realized she needed to draw on her usual confidence to get past this one. “Nevin Perlman sent me.”

The receptionist dropped her chin and fired a look of surprise over the top of her glasses. “Nevin Perlman?”

“Yes.”

“My goodness. Isn’t that a name from the past? Tragic what happened.” She shook her head grievingly. “We’ve all wondered what had become of him.”

Eden knew the woman was referring to the death of her father. Mentioning his name would be a mistake, but it was something she hoped she could do in time.

“He sent me here to see if I could borrow an instrument. Mine was damaged on the flight over, and I would greatly appreciate your help.”

The receptionist held a warm smile. “A friend of Nevin’s is a friend of ours. One second. I’ll get him.” She picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Honey, Nevin Perlman sent someone to speak with you. Can you come upfront? Wonderful.” She looked up at Eden as she returned the phone to the cradle and said, “He’ll be right here, dear.”

Thirty seconds later a dapper elderly man in a brown tweed suit appeared from behind the reception area. He had short white hair and thick brown-rimmed glasses and was wearing a flashy orange bow tie. He lowered his chin to the side and approached with his hand extended.

“Nathan Becker. Pleased to meet you,” he said.

She smiled. “Victoria Eden. Nice to meet you too.”

He had a firm handshake that showed strength for his age.

“Rumor has it you’ve been sent by Nevin Perlman.” Becker lowered his chin again as though he wanted a rumor confirmed.

“Yes. He said you might be able to help.”

“Help?” He frowned. “Why I sure hope so. He’s a very kind man. One of the best teachers the violin has ever known.” His voice was soft, and his appraising look picked up the sadness in her eyes. It was as if he knew to leave the subject of her father alone. “Do send him my regards,” he said with a curt nod. “And what can I do for you today? Are you here to request admission for this evening?”

The evening’s annual black-tie performance commanded fifty thousand dollars a head to raise money for the society. They put the world’s best classical instrumentalists on one stage in the same evening, and the gala event always sold out.

“Oh heavens no. I wouldn’t want to trouble you with that,” Victoria said. She slipped the case off her shoulder. “My violin was damaged on the flight over. I have an audition with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra later this morning.” She shrugged sheepishly and showed her discomfort for the imposition. “I was here to see if I could borrow an instrument.” She offered a hopeful smile.

Becker didn’t answer immediately, so she added, “And possibly practice with it here for a little while first. So I can get used to how it plays.”

She opened the case and showed him the damage from the flight over.

He let out a long exhale as he considered the question. “Hmm. Victoria Eden? I beg your pardon, but I don’t recall hearing your name before. That’s unusual considering for whom you will be auditioning.” He raised his chin and pursed his lips curiously. “Is Nevin your teacher?”

“No, sorry. He worked with me for a couple years when I was a young girl, but it’s been quite a long time. We’re just old friends. He set up the audition for me.”

“Then who, may I ask?”

She smiled weakly. “Nobody in your circles, I’m sure,” she said, thinking of her father.

His expression softened when he met her eyes. “Interesting. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re being given such an opportunity.” He raised an index finger and said, “It mustn’t be wasted. Nevin wouldn’t send just anyone here.” He smiled and gave a series of eager nods. “Let me see if I can get you set up with something to suit your needs.”

She exhaled in relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Downtown hotel, Chicago, IL

TRENT TURNER AND Etzy Millar had worked through the night with The Shop’s CDWG Division from their hotel room. The pair had shared the single desk available. Turner sat on the chair, while Millar used one of the two single beds for his seat. One of the largest financial institutions in the country, Nations Bank, had agreed to grant The Shop access to its computer systems.

Within a couple of hours they had managed to discover an infected computer in the wild. The team had quickly confirmed it was a surgeon bot, one of the systems that would carry out the most critical aspects of the operation. It represented an opportunity to uncover the attack vectors being used, but it was a job that would take time.

There was no way to know what the owners of the botnet were monitoring, so until they had more details about what they were dealing with, an intrusive large-scale search for the malware wasn’t feasible. If the owners of the botnet found out they had been compromised, it could set off a destructive chain of events. Since they were now confident the operation was going to impact banks, and they had no idea to what extent, that risk wasn’t one they were willing to take. All conversations between the bank’s technology assets and The Shop were confined to private cell phones.

Etzy Millar exhaled in frustration and leaned back, supporting himself with his elbows on the bed. “We’ve got to narrow this down,” he said. “An attack could start any second, and we don’t even know what it’s going to do.”

“Any thoughts, Finger?” CDWG Director Cynthia Grayson asked, her voice coming through a connection over the computer.

Trent Turner had been deep in thought and was ready to chime in. “Okay, let’s do it then,” he said.

“Do what?” Millar asked.

“Narrow down the purpose of the botnet,” she said. “We know that Nations Bank is a target, so let’s start there. Let’s talk out the likely targets inside the bank.”

“They could be trying to bring all of the systems down,” Millar said.

“Possibly,” Grayson replied. “But if that was the purpose, they certainly didn’t need something this elaborate to accomplish their goal.”

“Sure,” Millar agreed. “Why wait if that was the case? They designed it so you could plug in different modules, which wouldn’t be necessary if that was their end game.”

“I think there might be something more obvious than that, when you consider how the technology side of the banking systems works,” Turner explained. “There are—what?—ten, maybe twenty banking systems that run the majority of the world’s banks?”

“Probably. Go on,” Grayson said.

“We know Nations runs its transactions through a banking software platform developed by Allegiance Financial Systems. It’s called DataBank.”

“Right,” Grayson confirmed. “They know what they’re doing, so let’s assume they’re targeting a specific banking platform.”

“Exactly.” Turner punched the keys on his laptop, and when he pressed Enter the search results displayed on the screen. He pulled up a sales presentation for the company and began reading. “DataBank is running in more than thirty percent of the world’s banks. Eighty percent of the banks with assets over three hundred and fifty billion use it and—get this—ninety-five percent if you narrow it down to the United States.”

“Nations is one of the largest banks out there,” Grayson said. “If this is about transactions, we can split it down even further… Only look at banks big enough to move a significant amount of money without immediately raising eyebrows.”

“The modules would come into play there,” Millar added. “They might have a module that gets the money out somehow. Maybe they have another one set to wreak havoc on the systems to buy them some time afterward.”

“That would be a solid plan,” Turner said. “Cyndi, do we have anyone on the inside at one of the other major banks that uses DataBank?”

“Give me a sec,” Grayson said. Mouse clicks and keyboard strokes could be heard in the background. “Here we go. Okay, say over fifty billion in assets. Here’s one, Spartan Bank. They’re almost one trillion. I’ll have my analysts focus there and try to identify a pattern.”

“What have you managed to dig up on the Federal Reserve?” Turner asked. “That’s definitely going to be another common thread. All of these banks will be connected to the Federal Reserve system.”

“We hacked into its network through a system that was downloading security updates,” Grayson confirmed. “We hijacked the session and managed to look around and set up a couple more backdoors, but we haven’t found anything yet. We’re still in there poking around and wading through their traffic logs.”