“It was good,” Lenny responded.
“Yes, I know Abbracci,” she offered. I walked over and kissed her on the top of the head. She had showered and smelled like fresh fruits blended with exotic perfume. I moved to my work area.
“We have work to do. Linda called,” I said to Lauren, but also to keep my mind focused.
“You want me to go out?” she asked with a smile.
“No, Lauren, you’re still under sworn confidentiality,” I joked. It wasn’t very funny. Whatever. I set up the sat phone and tapped in Linda.
“Hey,” she answered.
“Hey. What do you have?”
“You’re going to like this, boss. I discovered what you might refer to as ‘financial assets.’ Sitting right offshore.”
“Bank accounts?” I said.
“Yes. Remember the guy Santo? The guy who handled the Sabra swindle money. He appears to be a kind of financial advisor. He’s just up the road from you at an office in West Palm Beach, but he lives in a city called Stuart. He’s moved some money for them.”
“This is all from emails?” I asked.
“Mostly,” Linda responded. “There was a back and forth between Santo and Lev. Then there were some phone calls, which are now beyond us—they changed their cell phone encryptions. Santo wants to move some money. Lev said not yet, there’s more coming. That’s kind of interesting.” She paused, and we heard some keyboard pecking on her side. “Here,” she came back. “I didn’t print these out. Santo says he wants to move the ‘nine million from the C account.’”
“Go ahead, impress me with what you did next.”
“You know what I did: I ran it all through the ‘Predator 9’ program you created, the one that follows the money.”
“And?”
“C is Cayman. They bank at Cayman National Bank and Trust. There are one hundred and thirty-nine accounts there with million dollars or more in them. The program can’t isolate the Sabra account—they’re almost all anonymous corporate accounts, most from the Fonseca law firm as trustees.”
“Good,” I said. “Hang on for a moment; I want to organize here.”
This was gold. I had deep experience in money matters and following the money. This is the place where my digital and online skills produce real results. I took some notes. “Here’s what I want you to do. Go back to the Katarina file. See how she gets her money, how did they pay her. We might get lucky there. Go back to James and tell him I’ve resolved everything with the FBI—it’s no longer a problem. Tell him we need him to do some stuff, and his fee will be six figures. If he doesn’t agree, see what his number is. Tell him it will be short work. And hack this Santo guy; get into whatever he’s doing. What’s his name?”
“Santo Garcia. His company is Coastal Investment Advisors.”
“Hmm, interesting. Bet I know how some of his clients are earning their money.”
“You’re not being very PC, boss, just because he’s got a Latin name.”
“Just get into his life. And wait, I just had a thought… Hold on.” I stood up, walked over to Lauren, and asked her, “Your application for a loan commitment, the one Sabra did not complete. Is there a question about banking references?”
“Yes. But they left it blank. I think that was the main reason Cathy rejected them.” Just the mention of Cathy’s name hit Lauren, and her face clouded over with pain.
“Okay.” I walked back to the desk. “Okay, Linda, get on that stuff now. I want to talk tomorrow, early, ten here—that’s seven your time. Keep impressing us!”
“Got it, boss. But if James is getting six figures…” I knew where she was going; we’d done this before.
“Don’t worry, your taste will be healthy… You know me.”
“Yes. Thanks. I do. Talk to you tomorrow,” she said, and she clicked off.
Lenny and I looked at each other and smiled. We were vibrating on the exact same wavelength. We’d done this kind of an op three times before—all successful, all lucrative, all in pursuit of justice and our client’s interests. Well, at least that sounded good.
“We got work to do,” Lenny said, standing up. Lauren looked to Lenny, then me, then back to Lenny. I could see in her eyes she had an idea of where we were going—or at least she was not fixated on Cathy. She didn’t know yet that she would be an active part of our plan.
“You two have a good night,” Lenny said as he walked toward the door. “See you early, brother. We start tomorrow at seven.” He closed the door gently.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Lauren asked, standing up.
“Let’s not think about this stuff anymore,” I said.
She started walking toward me. Her robe slipped open. She was wearing a very short Gators T-shirt… but nothing else!
“I wasn’t thinking about business,” she responded as she came next to me, reached up, and took my face in both hands.
Man, life didn’t get any better than this!
11
I awoke at seven a.m., blinked my eyes, and turned toward Lauren. She was lying on her side facing me, blue eyes wide open, staring at me with a gentle smile. We said nothing for about five minutes, just looked at each other, took it all in, and probably thought the same thoughts. In that moment, I realized that our relationship had deepened to a really nice place. I also was mesmerized by what a beautiful woman she was, even with zero makeup. It was a glorious, silent moment.
“Good morning,” she broke the silence, turning and spooning her body neatly into mine, facing away. The fact that we had lost our sleepwear during the night was not lost on me. She felt luscious, a woman toned and healthy. And her hair still had the fragrance of a bouquet of fresh flowers.
“Hey,” I said to her, wrapping my arm over her and pulling her in to me, nuzzling her head and neck, and consciously sniffing her fragrant hair.
“Just hold me, okay?” she said. I was stirring a little, so that surprised me, but equally surprisingly, I wanted to do what she had asked. It became my want, my gift in an ego sort of way.
We got up, showered, and met Lenny downstairs for breakfast. That he ate so much always surprised me. That Lauren had a similar but scaled-down appetite also caught my attention. She was under emotional attack, was staying with a new man in her life, and would attend her best friend’s funeral this afternoon. I dissolved all thoughts about diet and slowly drank my protein shake while my friends wolfed down their splendid American-style breakfast.
I laid out our agenda for the day. We had a conference call with Linda at ten. We had a meeting at Sabra at eleven with the international spy Katarina Truska. I had no idea what that would produce, but I knew it would be entertaining. I hoped that there was no violence; Ed had assured me of that, but we’d see. Lauren would go with us to Sabra, then proceed with the new security detail to her home, then the funeral, then back home for the night, and finally back to her job at Prime Mortgage Monday morning.
I needed her at her desk Monday first thing; she would have an important call, which was not yet known to her. And we were going to court Monday morning for the Sabra hearing. After that, the case would play out… Events, new information, and developments would dictate our course of action.
We went up to my room. As we entered, I was attacked by the heavy fragrance of perfume and flowery scents and other feminine evidence wafting in the air.
I set up the sat phone at the workstation, neglecting my other equipment—lazy Sunday syndrome? Lenny got a chair and brought it over, while Lauren took a seat on the couch in the sitting area, close enough for her to hear everything. I thought about reminding Lauren on the confidentiality of the situation, but dismissed that thought. Lenny would have said something to me if it was going to be a problem.
Linda picked up on the first ring. “Hey, you guys,” she said, chipper as ever. It was seven a.m. for her.
“Hey,” I answered.
“Hi Linda,” Lenny chimed in.
“Got some damn good stuff for you guys. I think you’re going to be busy,” she said.
“Lauren’s here with us; keep it civil,” I said.
“Sure. Hi Lauren.” She paused for a moment, but Lauren remained silent, so she continued. “Here we go. Santo’s the money man; he moves the money for them. He takes his orders from Lev. This guy Sergi, he’s apparently their IT guy. He was in charge of the theft from Sabra, while Santo gave instructions where to place the cash—an account in Cyprus, then they probably bounced it around, and then it ended up in Cayman National. Santo’s definitely their money management guy. I guess they trust him. But the details must have been verbal, because none of the good stuff shows up in the email traffic.”
“There’s no account number or pass codes at Cayman,” I said.
“Sorry, not yet, boss.” She paused.
“What about James?”
“He’ll help. But he wants to know what’s on the table. I think that little nerd is getting greedy.”
“Right. I’ll deal with that. But we need his help. What about the cell phones and Santo’s business? What did you get?”
“I ran Santo through the Predator programs, Numbers 5, 7, and 9, and got a truck load of stuff. He’s busy. He’s got plenty of clients, and he moves money around like a pro. His business office is in West Palm Beach. He lives in a town called Stuart; looks like it’s just up the road from you. He’s got business lines and cell phones and apparently uses burner phones by the ton. We need James for the dark phone stuff.”
“Okay,” I said, then paused to think. I knew just what she meant by the dark phone stuff.
Just then, there was a blaring sound on Linda’s end. I recognized it immediately as our security system.
“Shit!” she said. “One of those fucking Chinese guys is at the front door!”
“You’re at work!” I shouted as I grabbed my office cell phone and tapped in George Madadian’s number. It went straight to voicemail. Maybe he was in church. That wasn’t good enough.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Lenny said, pulling out his cell phone and punching in a number.
“What are you doing there on Sunday at this hour? Where are George’s guys?” I was a little panicked. What could I do from Florida?
“Howie,” Lenny said. “I know it’s early. We need your help.” He paused; I guessed Agent Ross was putting up some lame excuse. “Knock that shit off, right now! You help us or we’re done with you and you can go fuck yourself, you and your FBI.” You could hear all six-foot-six of his physical force. After a slight pause while Ross re-calibrated, Lenny continued, “Okay. That’s better. Now listen up. Some Chinese guys are at Derek’s building in Palo Alto. His assistant is alone in the building. They know that’s the location where their system was hacked. We don’t have time for more details—this is your case; these are your perps today. We need a SWAT team or some of your guys there… now!” Lenny put the call on speaker.
“What’s the address?” Ross asked, totally retreating.
I shouted the address of my building.
“I’ll be right back to you. Stay there.” He clicked off.
“Linda, where are they? What are they doing?” I asked her.
She was calm. “One guy is working the front door. Let me go to the window.” We heard her footsteps on the polished wood floor. “Three other guys are standing around their car, out on the street. They’re, like… smoking and watching the guy at the door. One’s got a cell phone to his ear. Whoa… Two are walking toward the building.”
Lenny’s phone chimed. “Go,” he answered. Lenny kept the phone on speaker.
“A team will be there in five minutes. Can she hold?”
“I hope so,” Lenny said.
Linda heard the conversation. “Five minutes? No problem. Hey,” she continued, “how about if I video this for you?”
“Yeah, do that,” I said, “and conference in Agent Ross.”
“I’ll get a video feed in real time,” Ross said, “as soon as the team arrives. I’ve got my own phone for this. Let’s stay on this line.”
I set up my laptop, booted it up, and got the video feed from Linda with audio from the sat phone. She panned back and forth between the security screen in our office that showed the front door, the one man standing by a black Escalade, and the two walking alongside the building. I asked Linda to focus in on the car, and sure enough, it had diplomatic plates. They’re probably carrying diplomatic weapons too.
Within two minutes, a black Chevy Suburban pulled up and parked sharply next to the man at the car, and four agents exited, guns drawn, wearing flak vests with FBI stenciled on the chest and back. Impressive response time. Our government in action… as long as you have leverage!
Ross put his phone on speaker so that we could hear the agents on his official phone.
“FBI! Hands up!” one of the agents yelled. “Don’t reach for it… Hands up! FBI!”
We saw the action playing out on the street below through Linda’s video. The man standing by their car raised his hands. Agents corralled the two stragglers and guided them to their car. Then the agents placed the three men against both cars; collected their weapons, cell phones, and pocket litter; and efficiently cuffed them.
The man at the door came running toward the agents and was confronted with drawn weapons and serious FBI attitude. He was waving his wallet and yelling “Diplomatic status!”
Two agents moved in on him; put him on a car; checked him for weapons—he had none; took his wallet, cell phone and pocket litter; and cuffed him too.
“What do you want us to do, Howard?” we heard.
I jumped in. “Agent Ross, give their cell phones to Linda. She will only be five minutes.”
“Why?” Ross asked… naively.
“Don’t ask. Just give the phones to Linda,” I answered with a little attitude.
“You guys are really pushing me.”
“Howie, it’s national security!” Lenny barked. “We both know you have all the leeway you need… Remember 9/11?”
That did it. We heard him give the order to the lead agent, who gathered up the phones.
“Linda, go down, get the phones, copy the SIM cards, and put in the Predator 2 bugs. Be fast.”
The video feed went dark as Linda went down, opened the door, took the phones, and got to work. I had developed a program for cell phones that would create a parallel tracking monitor plus a parallel real-time call to a number we had set up with a digital recording process and unlimited storage, which was accessible to us at any time. It was connected to a cloud account, through which we could hear everything these assclowns were saying and texting over their phones. All we would need would be Chinese auto-translate. Who knew where this would lead?
Linda took fifteen minutes to complete all four of the phones. When she went out to give them back, the agent handed her a piece of paper, a cease and desist order from the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China, attached to the letterhead of an attorney in San Francisco, for “electronic trespassing.” Obviously a cover for this reconnaissance and intimidation operation. Trespassing… like the Sabra hack? Was this some kind of diplomatic joke?
“The other team is here,” we heard someone say from Ross’ side.
“Okay, Ted, take them to the SF office. I’ll call Special Agent Sartrelle; he’ll take it from here. Good work.” We heard Ross click off his official phone. “You owe me, Lenny!” he said, then clicked off the connection to us in a huff.
“Well, that was fun,” Linda said, coming back on. I could visualize the smile on her face. This had been just a little Sunday morning adventure for her.
“Just one of the many perks of working for me. Are you okay?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“
Sure! No problem. Where were we?”
“Santo. What do you have?”
Linda explained that she had not been able to get critical details, like account numbers or passcodes. But she had uncovered a document between Lev and Santo that gave Santo power of attorney over any account Santo established at Cayman National Bank and Trust. And it was addressed to Mr. Horatio Gonzalez, Vice President.
Santo was the guy who had the power at the bank. We were fairly certain that nine million dollars were sitting there, a short flight away. The bank official in charge was known. And I could see immediately that a lot of their relationship was verbal, not documented—why power of attorney from a man who had no documented connection to an account? Because Mr. Gonzalez knew whose money it was and who was fronting for it. This was critical information. I started to salivate, figuratively speaking.
“Good work. Send me the file on Santo, his company, and his clients—whatever you’ve got, especially that power of attorney. Where’s James?”
“How would I know? It’s Sunday morning. He’s probably home, asleep… I’m sure he’s alone.”
“Try not to be catty. We need James. I’m calling him next.” I paused; she was silent; we were thinking. “One more thing. Where are the security guys George put on you?”
“Probably at my house. I slipped out through the back yard. No need to disturb them.”
“Linda, you will have security! Don’t leave the office until they get there. That’s it. Don’t argue.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And stay available.”
“Yes, boss. Wait. Something else: that DNA sample came back. I ran it through all the databases, and the result is a little strange. It doesn’t connect to anyone named Lev Lavorosky. But it does connect to someone named Nikola Karadžić. Who’s that?”
Downward Dog in Miami Page 15
