The Nano-Thief: A Lenny D. Novel (Lenny. D. Novels Book 1)

by Michael Lieberman

  None of the three were small-talk types. They were technical guys, numbers guys, make-things-happen guys. Means guys, not ends guys. Faraday and Klastan were a decade older, more seasoned. They had been successful and their strength was their weakness: when you found a formula you stuck with it and exploited it.

  So both were impatient when Barry asked what the excess money would buy. Not our problem, Klastan said. We work with the money, not spend it, Faraday added.

  "Yeah, but the dumbest guy on the planet knows that the building is worth 20-25% of what they are paying."

  "Right, and Barry Weeks and the firm he represents are worth maybe 10% of the fee we're paying," Klastan added.

  "Not an answer."

  "It will have to be. Let's turn to the details. I need your assurance that your routing protocols are secure and opaque."

  "That's done. All I can say it that we're good. What we do is proprietary, and even if I could tell you, it's so technical that it would mean nothing to you."

  "Try us."

  "You know I can't," Barry said. "You have to trust our reputation. Just like you, we have things you can't know. You've done your diligence on us. All we need, when you are ready, is the two sets of account numbers—Tbilisi's and WHV's."

  And that's how it was left: Barry technically on top of his game and in the dark, and Faraday and Klastan more informed, but without all the pieces. When they finished talking, it was too late for the redeye. He stayed over, ran along the Embarcadero the next morning, and headed for the airport.

  What was that about? he wondered on the flight back. A conference call would have worked. Perhaps, they were afraid that their call would be intercepted and monitored. Perhaps they were unsure of him or UVL. Here was one last chance to check him out. As he thought back on last night, he decided he has done well. Maybe he should have ordered something other than Perrier, but everyone was entitled to a night off, and teetotaling was not a disqualification in this game. No, he was okay. He had done well, or well enough.

  Barry arrives at work the next morning to be greeted by his boss, who is sitting in his office. He's a little concerned, he tells Barry. Someone is trying to get past both firewalls. The first is the general one for UVL and the latter is for something euphemistically called Special Projects. Amputation is behind this second firewall, protected by yet a third firewall. As best cyber security can tell, someone has breached the first layer and been into the company personnel records, but not their accounts or their secret stuff. Companies are used to this. Probably, some third party who wants to steal employees or a dozen other reasons. Who knows?

  "You want an update of my meeting with Faraday and Klastan first or my reaction to the breach?"

  "Breach, then update."

  "So, I agree. It doesn't sound serious." Barry echoes what he thinks he has heard his boss say. "I think it's okay, but you tell me. What do you want me to do? Go ahead or put our piece of Amputation on hold till things are checked out in detail?" Effectively this would put the entire venture on hold. The money transfer is an essential next step.

  His boss avoids the question. "Now tell me about the meeting."

  "Nothing to tell. It went smoothly. They wanted to be reassured that we were ready. I told them not to sweat it. That we were good. They'll get the account numbers to us fairly soon, I expect. You worried about the breach? Go or no go?"

  "Go. If things change, I'll let you know."

  On his evening stroll, Lenny happens by the Ben David's house—as he does every night. He is rewarded. N.K. is out with the Dobermans in the front yard. He stops to say hello and to inquire after Naavah's health, which N.K. tells him is good. She needs a little rest, that's all, he explains vaguely. Lenny notices that he is noncommittal about what she has, where she is, and when or if she will return. He doesn't press the issue. N.K. throws a plastic bone across the yard and the sleek animals bound after it.

  He is about to turn away when the front door opens and two men in jeans and T-shirts exit. Each carries a case that looks like it may contain a laptop that Lenny realizes could accommodate anything of a certain size, even machine pistols. N.K. is smooth. He smiles and explains that one of the perks of working for the consulate is tech support. He can't get his connection to Netflix and HBO to function, and they have been a lifesaver.

  Lenny smiles in return. He is Mr. Amiability. "Lucky you, when I was working, I had the same thing. Now I'm at the mercy of my son and Portia, who by the way sends her best." He doesn't mention a girls' coffee, nor does he comment on the overkill of two guys with laptops to trouble shoot his Netflix connection. He smiles to himself: he figures N.K. is more than up to the task.

  The next night at dinner he compares notes with Portia and Barry. He has already told Portia about his reconnaissance from his stroll past N.K.'s house, but he goes through it again for Barry. He agrees with the conclusion Lenny and Portia have already come to: that N.K. and the Israelis are up to something. Governments always are, Barry says, even our friends. Jonathan Pollard is the poster child. He spied on the U.S. for the Israelis and landed in jail. Not that it matters, he adds, but the guy was born in Galveston.

  They settle into the more serious issue of Sammy A. and the fire.

  "This guy has to be the guy who's responsible for the fire," Lenny says for the umpteenth time. "Can't be anybody else." He can tell from their faces that they want to dot all the "i"s and cross all the "t"s. "Uncle. In the morning I'll check to see what the police are doing and if there will be an inquest, and I'll see what the fire department has to say. And I'll give Snorri a shout about the chemical analysis of the fire. But I'm telling you. He is definitely our guy."

  "There's one easy piece, the Vespa's license plate. I'll get one of the IT guys at UVL to check it out with Michigan Motor Vehicles. We'll see what comes up."

  "That still leaves us short," Portia said. "We may get past square one with the info, but it won't get us to square two."

  Barry speaks up. "So I'll try the FDU people again and see if they won't release the names of the guys downstairs, now that they know they are alive. And if they give them to me, which they should, I'll get our guys at the office to do a little snooping. I really need closure around Edie and Leon's deaths. And the metal cabinet, it's still on the table. I've asked a friend at UVL to see what he can come up with."

  Lenny swallows and gives his throat a slight clear, more to signal that he has something else to say than to deal with any phlegm. He explains the crazy circumstances under which he has met Emma Meripol, the name with which he introduces her. M2 can come later. "So when I got caught in that jam up at Starbucks last week, there was a young woman behind me. Long story short, one thing led to another and I mentioned my suspicions about Sammy and his dealing. I also told her about the fire and that I thought he might be involved." (He doesn't go through the almost intimate drink they had at Corky's or his procuring for Barry.)

  "Let me guess, she charmed you," Portia said. Lenny could not tell whether her pout was faux or real.

  "She did, but I was up front. That I was spoken for. So to come back to the issue at hand, she is super smart. She does network security for a software firm in town. She said, if I can remember the quote, 'I keep the bad guys out and let the good guys in.' And she has a hobby, she does a little extracurricular hacking on the side…." He let his voice trail off and looked at them. He worried their looks might be dismissive. "She also has a wide network of friends. And so, I told her about Edie and Leon. It touched her, and she offered to help. I said I'd check with you two, but I'd like to fill her in and she if maybe she can generate some leads."

  "So, UVL does a lot of this kind of stuff." Barry backpedals, "Not the hacking, but network security and self-protection. With people like her, I think you have to be careful. You can't always tell what you are getting."

  "I don't know that we have a choice," Lenny says.

  "There is always a choice. I'm not saying no. Let's be cautious, that's all. If you're serio
us, let's meet. Maybe dinner as a foursome. See what she's made of, then make a decision."

  Barry is willing to consider Emma and to go with his father's instincts if she checks out, but he's got a fall back plan, one he has already put into play in a limited way. Still, it would be good, he thinks, to keep his day job separate from his personal life.

  Lenny knows his son does deals for UVL, but in their conversations Barry has presented the firm as a boutique Goldman Sachs or Morgan Stanley. Lenny is beginning to realize that Unlimited Ventures, Ltd. does do straightforward deals, but that's only part of the story. He hopes it's not a black ops company, but UVL may be something he can't quiet define: a gray ops firm.

  Lenny doesn't yet grasp the reach of the company. It styles itself as a facilitator of deals, meaning anything it takes to get the job done. It's part bank, part broker, and part "activist" on behalf of its clients. It maintains a crackerjack team of hackers for commercial espionage and occasionally more. Many of the guys and, these days, some gals are full service operatives with good martial arts skills and weaponry training. Some are engineers and ex-military, often Navy SEALs. And UVL has deep contacts. There is not much the company can't do or hasn't done.

  Barry doesn't consider himself an operative in this sense, but he has taken special ops 101.

  12.

  Lenny likes Corky's. It's away from his standard haunts where Snorri or Florentino at Bar Antofagasta might monitor events. He calls M2 to set up dinner and mentions that he did not tell Barry and Portia that they had had a drink together. "I didn't want to give them the wrong idea, so I told them our conversation was in the Starbucks line."

  "Your secret's safe with me," she says. He can almost hear the chortle in her voice.

  Dinner begins amiably. All four are on their good behavior. M2 comes prepared to work with the group. Lenny is courting. He needs everyone 100% in. Portia sits on any residual jealousy. Barry stifles his natural skepticism.

  Lenny watches Barry in amazement. He takes one look at M2 and melts. Lenny has hardly made introductions before he sees his son's face, a look he recognizes, the determined look of a man in pursuit. Barry can't help himself. M2 is a cute, bright-eyed redhead, just like Wendy, Barry's mother and Lenny's old flame. She's shorter and more business-like, but Lenny instantly recognizes her appeal to Barry. She could be Malinche, the Aztec woman who betrayed her people to Cortés, and he would still be interested. Lenny realizes he has won before M2 is asked the first question.

  Barry is impressed with her Ph.D. in computer science from Carnegie Mellon, a great place to train, he says, and that she knows Bill Collins, UVL's head of network security. "Can I ask him about you?"

  "I'd rather you didn't. We've worked together on a few issues, but you want privacy and I don't want my footprint all over things. Let's keep this among us. You have to make your decision based on what you see."

  Her position seems reasonable. In his line of work, Barry has to make decisions everyday based on incomplete data. Whether she will work out or not is a probability calculation, just like the chance of rain. Of course, his dick has introduced observer bias into the proposition.

  "Fair enough," he says

  "So why are you doing this? Why are you offering your help?"

  "I like your father. He seemed very decent when I met him that day in the line at Starbucks, and I can make a difference. I can help your family in a way few others can."

  Her statement is true as far as it goes, but since sitting down at dinner, a new calculus has appeared. She likes the tallish, operative from UVL. If he needs time to get over Edie, well, she'll give him time. The faster this comes to closure, the faster he will heal, she thinks, on the basis of no evidence.

  Portia takes the scene in. Her primary interest, beyond due diligence is to determine if M2, besides being interested in the problem, is interested in Lenny or Barry. As she watches the chemistry develop between her and Barry, she's on board.

  "Okay, M2," Lenny says, "close your eyes." The cyber whiz looks puzzled. "I need to take a count."

  "Anything you say boss. I need this job. I've got hungry children and a disabled husband at home."

  Lenny looks at Portia and Barry. Both nod. "Okay, lady, open your eyes. The job is yours. That's the good news. The bad news is that you have to pay your half of Social Security and there are no benefits, except an occasional sick day."

  She looks at Barry. "That's why I like your father. He has a wicked tongue."

  Portia hopes she doesn't know the half of it.

  They order dinner and more wine, except M2, who again wants her bourbon neat.

  "Fine, you got it," Lenny says, "but I'm cutting off the supply if you start to drift."

  "Hey, buster, I'm an independent contractor. Lean on me and I walk. I can get your deal a lot of places." Poor Barry. He knows it's a light moment, but she really could walk.

  "So I'll do some basic stuff, some easy stuff first, just to see where we are," she says, rolling up strands of capellini pomodoro. "What do we have to go on?"

  "Okay, I finally got the university folks to give me the names of the guys renting the flat below ours. Samuel Anderson and a Fareed somebody or other. I've got it written down. But they won't tell me more."

  "That's a good start."

  "What else. I don't know if my dad mentioned it, but the barista—Sammy, Samuel Anderson—had a Vespa with a Michigan license plate. We managed to get the plate number, and through some contacts, I found out that the owner is a Sammy Assad from Dearborn. And one more thing," he says, and he tells her about the metal cabinet. "I'll send you the photos." He leaves out that he has enlisted Jorge at UVL to help figure out what the cabinet is and where it came from. He figures he can do a head-to-head comparison and see if she's as good as she seems.

  "I know you guys have already gotten there, but someone with two identities is up to something. I don't know that it will help with the death of your partner or your son, but there's definitely something here."

  "Two more small things," Lenny said, "as you predicted when we talked at Starbucks, the police and the fire department have no interest in this. There will be no inquest. They ruled the deaths accidental. The fire department does not believe arson is involved."

  "Good to know."

  "When Barry and I visited the site, we collected samples for chemical analysis. We have some out-of-the-country friends who are good at this sort of thing. They came up with nothing. Not surprisingly, they found no evidence of drugs of abuse in what we had. There was a suggestion of solvents you might not ordinarily find in a residence. Possibly benzene, ether, and n-heptane. But it was only suggestive, they couldn't say for sure."

  "It doesn't matter. We can get what we need. It's not rocket science," she said. "I'll try to get organized tonight." She caught the eye of their waiter. "I'd like a double espresso and a grappa, please." She looked at the rest of the table. Lenny and Portia figured they needed their rest and pass. Barry thought, what the hell, "the same for me." A pleased look came over M2's face.

  13.

  Sammy is on his couch in Navasota using his personal laptop to check the news—especially any additional information about the unfortunate fire in university housing. There is nothing. The news for the rest of the world is the same old, same old: A nightclub fire kills twenty-four young people in Istanbul. Investigators suspect terrorists. The Japanese economy is struggling. China is flexing its muscles in the China Sea, and so on.

  Then a message pops up from university security. In view of the recent fire at his residence, he is requested to change his password. It's a standard precaution, the note says, and it is always better to be over-careful than run risks. Sammy agrees with this. There is a phone number if he has any questions about the authenticity of the email. He looks at it. Always better to be over-careful runs through his brain. Normally he would go to his iPhone to cross check the number, but it is either dead at the Aspen Inn or moribund. He consults his contact list on his laptop, and
the number matches.

  Always better to be over-careful, he repeats and calls the number on a burner. "University security. How can I help you?"

  "This is Samuel Anderson, I got a message to change my password because of the fire at my place. I'm verifying that you guys sent it."

  "Give me a moment to check.…" The man is back in a few seconds, "Yes, that's right. So give me about five minutes and then go ahead and change it."

  Sammy thanks him and hangs up. He'll pour himself another cup of coffee while he waits.

  "Hi, it's your friend," Zoo says from a burner to the woman on the other end. "It's all set."

  "Thanks for the help," and she hangs up. M2 has many friends in the IT community—including Zoo, her FWB—and for a good cause most are willing to help.

  When Sammy clicks on the look-alike website she has set up, he finds a perfect match for FDU's. Now she has his email address. He types in the password, and she has access to his account. She calls her friend back on his burner and reads him the 18-digit string of random numbers Sammy has chosen. She knows that if she sends it to her friend via email, there is some small chance she will be discovered.

  "Thanks," he says and he updates Sammy's password.

  "No, thank you. You did a good thing."

  She uses an IP tracker and determines that Samuel Anderson is in Navasota, Texas. Then she uses a work-around to route her entry to his account through Navasota so that it won't be obvious that someone has hacked him. She gets his cell phone, his home address in Fresno, California, his major, his courses—it turns out that his degree will actually be in biomedical engineering, not Chem. E.—and the various clearances he has, including the general NAFRA site within the university. When she locates his iPhone—miraculously it's still transmitting—Aspen, Colorado comes up. Interesting, she thinks. She is not at all puzzled. She knows she is dealing with a clever dude. Just what the dude is doing will become clearer with time.