The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (43 page)

“I’m pretty sure. I overheard conversations to that effect. At least I think that’s what they said.”

“Did all of you use the same keys to encrypt the various files?” she pressed.

“Yeah, Dimitri wrote the encryption algorithm,” Zander said. “He’s really smart, arrogant too, but he knew his stuff.” He looked at Millar and shrugged. “There was an internal server that we’d browse to, similar to uploading a photo to Facebook or whatever. You’d select the files you wanted to encrypt and then click on a button to encrypt them. The server would do its thing and encrypt the files and then copy them onto the USB drive for you. It was pretty simple really. I couldn’t tell you if anyone else created files, though.”

“Were your files always the same name?”

“Yeah. The same name and listed by bank, by its ABA number, only it was backwards. Nothing complicated, just a way to hide them in plain sight in case someone happened onto the files somehow.” He thought some more and laughed. “In fact, the files I created were always the same.”

“What do you mean?” Grayson asked.

“Like I said before, I was trying to figure out how I could screw their operation up without getting caught, so I’d messed with my code in ways I thought I could get away with.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Dimitri didn’t trust anyone. The obvious place to hose up the account file was in the query I wrote that selected the accounts—you know, the accounts that were active—but the owners didn’t bother to check their balances very often.” He started to get animated. “I made sure that part was right, since I knew how critical it was to the operation. Instead of messing with the obvious, I tweaked the code that outputs the results to the file instead. It was supposed to use the data retrieved by the query to create the new file, but I coded it to load the accounts from the old file instead of the updated list of accounts from the query.” He smiled smugly at Millar. “That way the file would always have stale information. I don’t know. I was hoping it would trip them up somehow.”

They continued to pepper the hacker with questions about the various aspects of the operation. He named several target banks in the US that the team was unaware of and explained that the vector of the attack was centered on the browser. They had found an exploit and were able to manipulate the HTML and CSS so that what the user was presented with on the screen was different than the actual transactions that were being processed and sent to the server. The premise was simple. They used legitimate user credentials to post fraudulent transactions.

One other crucial detail Zander was able to confirm was that there was another operation going on in Europe. He didn’t have much detail other than it existed, but was able to provide the name for one of the foreign banks. The news raised more questions than answers, since the bank in question had already come up clean as part of their investigation, but now they knew they needed to dig deeper.

“So how soon do you think they could execute the operation?” Grayson asked.

“It would take some time for sure,” Zander said.

“Good,” Grayson said, her sense of relief evident.

The hacker realized his mistake—time was relative after all—and clarified. “My guess is if they started today, they wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow morning sometime. They couldn’t do it today. That’s what I meant.”

Grayson let out an audible sigh and said, “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Kozlov Bratva compound, Chicago, Illinois

THEY LED HER down the hallway into another room. Her stomach knotted up when she peered through the one-way mirror. The stage was set for something evil, and Victoria Eden realized she would be an unwilling participant. She didn’t want to know what a man like Pavel Kozlov was capable of, but it became immediately apparent that she wouldn’t have a choice.

She recognized the man strung up in a crucifixion-like pose. He was the man from the airport whom she knew as Tony.

She never would have thought the connection they shared would lead to this. Until now Eden had enjoyed their meetings and thought of them as a challenge. Her fun-loving personality and persistence had their good points—and bad. She drew in a deep breath in contemplation. He was the reason she had gotten into this mess, but that didn’t matter. What mattered now was that she paid attention and looked for an opportunity. One of her many qualities was resourcefulness, and she knew, now more than ever, she would have to depend on it.

She turned to the door when it opened and Kozlov walked in. He looked more relaxed this time. He had changed into an Adidas tracksuit and moved with the same swagger as when they’d first met.

“You have a visitor,” he said. His voice was calm but cold.

She watched the Russian set Trent Turner’s clothes down on the table, and then she glanced at the operative on the other side of the two-way mirror. He was in perfect physical condition, and she was sure the series of marks that punctuated his chest would tell a story that, despite everything that had happened, she wanted to hear.

“I guess he was playing hard to get,” she said sarcastically.

She feared that he was about to get the life sucked out of him. His story, she thought to herself. Making sure she could hear his story was her motivation now. That would give her the determination she needed to make it through this. She closed her eyes, said a silent prayer, and resolved to herself that she would soon know who this man was.

“Ah, Victoria.” Kozlov clasped his hands in mock prayer. “It’s nice to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor in all of this.”

She held her breath for a moment before speaking. “You don’t get it, do you?” The remark wasn’t a question. “I don’t know this man, and whatever you and your Neanderthal cohorts are up to makes no difference to me.” She exhaled in frustration. “Well, correction. I only care about what you’re up to because you decided to kidnap me and lock me up in this shithole of a building.”

The Russian smiled unkindly. “Have you ever watched a man being tortured?”

Eden gave the Russian a dirty look. She decided to answer his stupid question in kind by flicking her middle finger up and leveling it at his face. Kozlov’s stare hardened, and she noticed a change in his demeanor. Her resolve to do something was strengthening by the second. She could see the rage burning in his eyes and her fear began to melt away.

A smile formed on her face as she realized the extent of her insult. The heated exchange reminded her of her teenage years. When she’d sparred with the big boys on the mat and had proven the utility of the martial arts. She didn’t lose often then, and she wasn’t planning to now. She kicked off her shoes as she sensed the big Russian losing control.

Interstate 90 East, Chicago, Illinois

THE TWO MEN had just picked up some weapons from one of Jake Sanders’s contacts in Chicago. They chose Heckler & Koch MP5s with tactical torches, some ballistic-level IIIa SafeGuard vests, and retained their personal sidearms for the operation. There would be no communication devices. They had decided they would stick together. They had no complaints about the quality of the kit, especially on such short notice.

“We’re gonna light those fuckers up,” Rudy Pagano said, his thick New York drawl reflecting his anger. “I still can’t believe what happened in Poolesville.”

Sanders had been thinking about the same thing trying to psych himself up. “Un-fuckin’-believable,” he agreed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all right. It’s just fucked.”

Pagano took his eyes off the road and looked over at his friend. “I hear ya.”

The team was a close-knit crew, and their loss was starting to sink in, especially since they were the only two left.

Sanders shook his head. “And that bullshit with Culder…”

Pagano started laughing. “She must’ve really gotten to you, tough guy.”

“Yeah, fuck off already,” Sanders spat. “This job is getting crazier every year. The shit we do…I don’t know, man.” He realized this was a bad subject to discuss just before the operation. Doubt could get them killed.

Pagano kept his eyes on the road as they neared the Bratva compound and as if reading his mind, changed the subject. “Too bad the locals didn’t have more details about this place,” he said.

“Fuck it,” Sanders barked as he stared out the side window. “We’ve got what we need to do some damage. How long until we’re there?”

“A couple minutes.”

“Cool.”

Sanders smiled. He had just enough time to check his voicemail. Secretly he hoped it had been Cathy Moynihan trying to call him, but he’d never hear the end of it if Pagano knew that. Hearing from her would give him some much-needed motivation. He navigated to his voicemail and put the phone to his ear.

“
Mr. Sanders
,” the message began. “
This is FBI Deputy Director Ivor Hood. One of our agents, Cathy Moynihan, who works out of the WFO, has gone missing, and, according to Ms. Moynihan’s last report, you are the last person she was with
.” Sanders’s eyes glazed over. “
I see that you are a former employee of the bureau, Mr. Sanders, although Ms. Moynihan was under the impression that you were still employed here, based on her communication. Obviously she had been misinformed
.” His adrenaline began to flow as he processed the deputy director’s last sentence. “
Please give me a call as soon as you receive this message. We are very concerned about Ms. Moynihan. She was supposed to check in hours ago and has not yet made contact. Her car was found abandoned on the side of the road near Leesburg, VA, this afternoon. You can reach me at…
” He provided the area code and number for him to dial.

When the message ended, Sanders was left frozen, the phone still held to his ear. His head spun as he processed what he’d just heard, and everything around him faded out. He was in denial. He pressed the button to replay the message. His eyes were still glazed, and he hoped somehow that the words would be different this time. When it finished playing for the second time, he slowly turned toward Pagano and took a deep breath.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Sanders said. He passed the phone to Pagano so he could hear the message.

Now everything had changed. Their world had been turned upside down.

Pagano parked the car out of sight from the Bratva compound and turned to Sanders.

“Man, I don’t know,” Pagano said, the confusion evident. “I mean, I guess it’s possible that Hood wouldn’t know about us, but shit, it’s not like I’m feelin’ all warm and fuzzy about it, if you know what I mean.”

Sanders squirmed in his seat before breaking the uncomfortable silence. “He’s prick-arrogant enough to think he’s above it all. I mean, shit, if you’re on his good side it’s a happy day, but we both know what happens when Culder’s got a serious beef.”

Pagano’s thoughts turned to the incident on the plane. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Good thing you didn’t waste her.”

Sanders’s eyes narrowed, and Pagano thought better of the comment.

“Sorry, man. I know you dug that bird.” He saw his friend’s reaction to his use of past tense and quickly said, “She’s probably fine. Culder couldn’t have brought someone else in to do the deed that fast.”

Sanders felt like shit. “What if she’s not? I’ll have a hard time explaining that I had nothing to do with it, based on the circumstances.” He shook his head. “What the fuck do we do now?”

“We do what we’re paid to do,” Pagano said. “We won’t let Culder know Hood called us, and we’ll sort that shit out tomorrow.” He looked down at the picture of Trent Turner on the seat between them. “That fucker took out family,” he reminded him. “That’s what matters right now.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. He deserves a little payback, and so do the assholes he works for, that’s for damn sure.”

They had checked their gear and were headed toward the compound when gunfire erupted.

Kozlov Bratva compound, Chicago, Illinois

A LOUD GROAN signaled the air leaving his lungs. The blow was as devastating as it was unexpected. Victoria Eden had put Pavel Kozlov in an unfamiliar situation—a situation where he wasn’t in control. She had delivered a direct hit to the Russian’s solar plexus from her seated position and followed it up with an elbow to the temple as he doubled over in pain. Kozlov was unconscious by the time his head smacked the ground. He lay motionless on the concrete floor. The surreal moment of silence and indecision was broken by the cracking sounds of gunfire. It was distant, but the soundtrack heightened her adrenaline rush.

Eden ran to the door and latched the deadbolt. She stepped to the side, her palms and back to the cold cinder-block wall, and tried to think. The only person who could possibly help her was restrained on the other side of the glass. She took inventory of the room, her eyes darting between the motionless Kozlov, a metal chair, and the one-way mirror. Victoria picked the chair up and threw it against the glass. It bounced back and made a loud clatter as it slid across the concrete floor.

Frustrated, she picked it up again. When her eye caught the industrial metal table it was positioned in front of, she decided to change her strategy. The table was extremely heavy, but determination gave her the strength to lift it. The clothes slid off its surface to the floor as she backed herself up to the wall, her bare feet unsure under the unevenly distributed weight.

Using the wall to leverage the weight, she bent her legs so the table could rest on the top of her thighs. She nervously looked down at Kozlov as her limbs began to shake from the strain. She took in a deep breath, focused on the mirror, and ran the table toward the glass like a linebacker with a quarterback in her sights. The glass shattered into a crystalline shower that exploded into the other room.

Their eyes locked. Trent Turner smiled, obviously impressed with her effort.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

“Getting you out of here,” he said. “Amongst other things.”

Trent Turner was hopelessly shackled to the wall in his boxers.