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

by Michael Lieberman

  He walks past the low concrete cylinders installed after 9-11 to prevent vehicle attacks and up the slight grade to the biomedical engineering building. A posted sign informs the public that this is a gun free environment. Above the warning is a handgun on a white background within a red circle and red slash through the gun. He decides that this does not apply to the tiny six shot Beretta in his computer case. There's a campus policewoman monitoring foot traffic, but dozens of students are coming and going. To her he is just part of the flow. He's sure that if the video recording is reviewed, he will be spotted, but he's already decided that a disguise and attempts to avoid the cameras would attract attention. Again, he'll be long gone before anyone thinks to review the video footage.

  There's a table setup to the right. It's a coffee and bake sale to help fund minority student summer internships. He doesn't recognize the students manning the table. It's safe, he decides, and wanders over to buy a coffee before heading upstairs.

  "Coffee is two bucks. So are the brownies," the guy says, pointing to the small placard on the table, "but anything extra would help."

  Sammy says he'll have a coffee and a brownie, hands the guy a five, and tells him to keep the change.

  "Nice," the guys says. "You an engineering student? What's your major?"

  "Civil." Instantly Sammy recognizes his mistake. Civil Engineering is the next building over. "But I'm visiting a friend." Stay on script and don't get fancy, asshole, he tells himself.

  He takes the elevator to the third floor and opens the door where he has his cubbyhole. Down the hall through the double doors is his lab space. In the other direction is a locked corridor marked Restricted No Unauthorized Access. There is a card reader and a fingerprint scanner. Although Sammy can't locate them, he is sure there are tiny, hidden cameras. He made the decision some time ago not to so much as walk down the corridor. He's sure even mild interest is monitored by NAFRA.

  No one is in the office space he shares. A relief. He wonders if he should log on and check his mail and pull up his thesis work. He decides that's safe. If he begins to probe the NAFRA firewall, even from inside, he'll be in trouble. But to access his own account? No way it's a problem. N.K won't know, and neither will Barry or UVL. It's all within the FDU system.

  The logic seems impeccable, but it doesn't account for the special interest Ephraim Zorante—Zoo, from FDU network security—has taken in his activity. And so the minute he turns on his laptop and enters his password, an alert pops up on Zoo's screen. Holy shit, he says to himself, Sammy is in the building. A certain good-looking redhead will want to know. When M2 picks up the call on her burner, he says, "Guess who has just logged on from the BME building?"

  "I can't even imagine. Thanks, I owe you."

  "No problem."

  Sammy thinks to look at his email, but then changes his mind. No sense broadcasting where he is. You never know. He pulls up the FDU intranet, and there is a message from Professor Bessnager. It's a few days old. It wonders why he hasn't heard from Sammy. The members of Sammy's thesis committee want to know if he has any chapters for them to review. "Pl message me back." Sammy sends back a message apologizing for being hard to reach. Is now a good time to come by? He is surprised when Bessnager writes back that it is.

  42.

  M2 comes out into the living room of the safe house. Barry's off at UVL headquarters. But Lenny and Portia are there. "Okay, Lenny, it's the big time. My friend says that Sammy is at FDU in his office, or at least in the building. What do you want to do, call Barry?"

  "No way, I want this one. I might need some tech support. You up for riding shotgun? You won't need anything but your wits and your Kevlar vest." She gives him a worried look. He checks his watch. It's a little after eleven. If they hustle they can be there in half an hour. He wonders about getting a ride from their minders with the black SUVs, but he figures that will put Barry and his boss in the loop. He's not ready to share, not this one.

  "Get changed and meet me out front in five," he says and does what any self-respecting operative would do in this situation: he goes to his Uber app for a ride. It will be six minutes, his screen says. He gets his computer case and puts in his both his 9mm Glock and his five shot Ruger, a few thumb drives, and the bullwhip that Barry brought from his house. He puts on jeans and a long sleeve blue button down over his Kevlar vest. With the computer case he figures he looks enough like a professor to pass. He finds Samuel Anderson's room number from the FDU engineering website and does the same for Professor Michael Bessnager.

  What Sammy hasn't bargained for is that Zoo is monitoring his in-house activity, and when Zoo sees him look at Bessnager's note telling him to come by, Zoo is on it.

  He catches M2 in her room. "Guess what, he is on his way to Bessnager's office," and he gives her the room number. Emma Meripol has dressed in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, and like Lenny she has put on her Kevlar vest. Deep in the well of her purse, where Lenny's little Ruger was once stowed for their trip to Navasota, is a can of mace. No one is going to stop a woman for that, she thinks. Then Lenny knocks and opens the door. "Life has just gotten a whole lot easier and more complicated" she tells him. "Sammy is on his way to Bessnager's office."

  Lenny does a midpoint correction. "Change of plan," and he reaches into his computer case and hands her the little five-shot Ruger. "Same deal," he says, "drop it in the bottom of your purse. No, hold it." And he reviews with her how to be sure the safety is on or off. "Like your phone, it's a point and shoot. Just in case. I've got my Glock."

  Sammy sits at his desk for a minute, thinking. There is only one way forward. He can't hack the NAFRA site and make off with the data on the nanotargeting of the human prefrontal areas. There's too much protection and too much monitoring of the firewall. NAFRA being NAFRA and the government being the government, he's sure that penetration is out of his reach. There is a faster, easier way. He needs to use some of his non-IT skills to convince the good professor to cooperate.

  He looks around, just to be sure. No one's in the room but him. He reaches into his case and pulls out a vial of ketamine, draws out its liquid into a syringe, puts the needle guard back on, and drops the vial and the syringe into the bag. Next he pulls the Beretta from the bag. Safety on? Check. He slips it into his right front pocket. It's small and the bulge unobtrusive. Two thumb drives go into his left pocket, and his special pill—in case things get rough. He's got easy access to the pliers and the screwdriver in the case.

  Okay, nice and steady. Go in, have a little chat about the thesis, and make your needs clear, and more importantly, make clear to Bessnager why he's better off cooperating.

  At the safe house the UVL security guys eye Lenny and Emma as they head for the front door, but now that the money transfer is over, they are much more relaxed. Lenny explains that they are taking an Uber to the Galleria for lunch. In minutes a black SUV owned by a civilian arrives, and they are off to the BME building. Lenny decides they can't talk his plan through in the Uber. Too risky.

  43.

  It's time for Sammy's meeting with Professor Bessnager. He closes the door to his common office for the last time, outwardly calm, but his heart is in overdrive. He decides to take the elevator one floor up. It's an easy walk up, but he imagines the video camera coverage is better in the stairwells. Knock, knock. "Professor Bessnager, it's me, Samuel Anderson."

  "Just a minute. Be right there." In fact, he won't be right there. Bessnager follows his standard procedure. He gets out of his documents behind the firewall and shuts down his computer. The door is unlocked. "Come in, Sammy."

  Sammy sits in a chair facing Bessnager who is behind his desk. On the wall behind him on a credenza is a large monitor and his computer. Sammy apologies for being out of touch.

  "It's about par for the course. You're always somewhere doing something. Everywhere but here getting your thesis in shape."

  Sammy apologizes again. He has a few small corrections to make. Tomorrow, he'll send the professor a file with
drafts of chapters three through five. "I've just sent you the first two chapters via the FDU intranet. Would you mind pulling them up?"

  Bessnager says that it's not necessary, that he'll look at them tonight, but Sammy is persistent. It's important that they look together at Table 1 and the calculations that went into it. He needs the professor's help. He doesn't want to appear the fool in the eyes of the rest of the committee. This touches Bessnager's human side and he acquiesces. He turns toward his computer and boots it. He types in his security code. And as he does, Sammy reaches into his own computer case, pulls the power cord from it, and from behind, he throws it over Bessnager's arms and torso. Bessnager grunts and tries to push against the cord and stand up. But Sammy has cinched it around the back of his chair. He cuffs the professor hard on the temple with the heel of his hand. He's dazed. Sammy is behind him. Both of them stare at the wallpaper on the monitor.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "I need to enlist your aid in a little project I have going. I'd like a copy of your files on the nanotech project to target neurons in the prefrontal cortex."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Wrong." And he cuffs him again.

  The professor is fit for a man of sixty, but bound and groggy, he is no match for the younger man. Sammy pulls the professor's chair from behind the desk and spins the professor around so that Bessnager can get a better look at what is about to happen. Through the haze, the distinguished nanomedicine guru hears the small, curly-haired graduate student explain that the affair can end one of two ways: either he will open up the files and allow Sammy to copy them, in which case Sammy will let him go and leave. Or Sammy will torture him, and if he does not relent, kill him. Bessnager tells him to get a life and go home.

  "Let me show you my little shop of horrors. First, pliers, direct from Home Depot—all the better to flatten your little finger into Play-Doh, or all of them one at a time. And here, this little devil—he pulls the screwdriver from his case—is right-sized for gouging an eye or taking out an eardrum—the good thing is, you get to choose. When we are done with this version of no more mister nice guy, I have additional treats, besides brass knuckles and that paper weight on your desk." He pulls the syringe with the ketamine from the bag. "See this? It's filled with potassium chloride. It's a real heart-stopper. Or if you like, I've got a cyanide pill that will fit into that smart mouth of yours." He pulls the pill out for inspection. "Again, good news, you get to choose. And of course, my sturdy friend here." He places the Beretta on the desk next to him.

  "You're bluffing, young man. You don't have the stomach for this."

  "Try me. No, don't. Just pull up the files, let me plug my pen drive in, and I'll be on my way."

  "Not a chance."

  Sammy doesn't answer. He picks up the pliers and reaches for the professor's hand. When Bessnager pulls it away, Sammy raps him across the mouth with them. Bessnager feels a piece of front tooth loose in his mouth and the surge of warm blood. Now he doesn't resist. Sammy picks up his hand, separates the little finger of his left hand from the rest, and squeezes it with the pliers. Bessnager feels a pain like nothing he has ever felt. He tries not to whimper, but he lets out a small shriek. His eyes bulge in terror.

  "Do we understand each other? You ready to help?"

  Lenny and M2 have arrived at the BME building just as he figured—about 11:30. It's January but a warm day in Houston, and they sit under a live oak on a bench across the street and talk through a strategy. Of course, they have no idea what is happening on the fourth floor.

  "Here's a guess," Lenny begins. "We are already a little late to the party. By now, Sammy has already figured that it's too difficult to hack his way into the NAFRA site. He'll try a frontal attack. If he's gone to Bessnager's office, he'll try to extract the data he wants. Best guess is that he tries to get Bessnager to log on to the nano-brain site, and if the professor gives in, he'll download what he wants. Then it's anybody's guess, either he kills him—he's not worried, he's already on the hook for the murder in Fresno—or he drugs him and leaves. Either way, by the time someone finds Bessnager, Sammy will be long gone. If we miss him, if we fail, we still have a second shot. But if he escapes, we have to intercept him before he gets the data to N.K. The guy will shield Sammy and get him out of the country."

  M2 looks at him, "So?"

  "So what?"

  "So that's not a plan. That's the lay of the land. What do we do?"

  "I'd like to take that…" he pauses, then decides not to censor himself, "that cocksucker alive. So we knock on Bessnager's and we're persistent. It's unlikely the door is locked. You call out that you're from housekeeping, here to empty his trash. If no one comes to the door, we rush in, guns drawn, you to the left and me to the right. And basically wing it."

  "Jesus, Lenny, this is fucking crazy."

  "You in or out? I can do this alone. Just let me know."

  "In, I'm in." She smiles. "I'm no sharpshooter, but what the hell. We'll give it the old college try. But two things, cowboy, you text Barry and I text Zoo for backup."

  "Okay, when we get off the elevator, but not before. I want this guy, and I'm in no mood to share."

  They're off the elevator on four, and across the corridor they see the placard next to the professor's door: Michael Bessnager, Ph.D. Room 414. One calls Barry, the other Zoo.

  M2 knocks. "Housekeeping."

  Sammy looks at the professor. "Make her go away or else," he whispers.

  "Thanks, señora, but I don't need the trash emptied today."

  "It's not the señora, it's her supervisor. I've got to check. I have to do her evaluation."

  "I already told you. Not today."

  Sammy senses trouble. He moves the professor's chair forward, grabs his Beretta, and crouches behind Bessnager, who is still cinched tight.

  Lenny and M2 don't wait. He pushes the door, and they race in. He, Glock in hand, to the right. She with the little Ruger to the left.

  Lenny sees Sammy's gun and the wild look on his face. He can't tell about Bessnager. He doesn't raise the Glock. There's too much danger that he could hit the professor. "Look, Sammy, be reasonable. Put the gun down and we can talk."

  "No fucking way."

  M2 is crouched in the shooter's posture she remembers from TV. "Freeze, Sammy, or you're dead."

  Sammy turns, and she tries to fire, but the safety is still on. As she looks down to release it, he empties his magazine at her. She seems suspended for a split second, cries out, and falls to the floor. He turns and heaves the gun at Lenny, then reaches down, and fumbles in his bag. He pulls out the ketamine syringe. Lenny has dropped his gun. There's no way he can take the chance of hitting Bessnager. He has pulled out the whip from the computer case and now holds it unobtrusively at his side.

  "The girl's dead, and I'm giving you ten seconds to scram or I inject the professor here with potassium chloride and you know what that means. One, two…"

  "Put it down, Sammy. There is no way out. Put the syringe down."

  "Leave now, or I'll kill this guy. I've got nothing to lose."

  As Sammy looks down to find a neck vein or his deltoid, he say's "I'm going to count to…"

  And before he can say "three," he feels a sharp sting of Lenny's whip across his face. He drops the syringe. "Shit." The pain feels like a knife has sliced his face. "Jesus H…" there is no "Christ." Lenny has struck again. He has maneuvered the whip's leather tongue over the professor's head and shoulders and torn Sammy's ear from his head. The stump is teeming with blood. His ear is on the floor halfway between them. Sammy brings his hand to the side of his head. His face is contorted, his teeth are clenched, the vessels in his neck throb. He howls and snarls like a wounded jackal. There is no way out, and he knows it.

  He ducks down, Lenny thinks, to avoid his whip. But Sammy has extracted the pill from his pocket. Into his mouth goes the cyanide capsule. He bites down breaking the glass. Before the cyanide can kill him,
his mouth puckers at the bitter taste. He seems to consider something, then rises up, syringe in hand, and plunges the ketamine between the ribs on his left side. It's not a long needle, but long enough to penetrate the heart. Glassy eyed and reeling, he tries to form words, but froth bubbles through his twitching lips. He staggers, his head turns upward and then down, he slumps and falls over unconscious. He will be dead in a moment or two.

  Bessnager looks as if he's about to be pushed over the brink of eternity.

  "Professor, try to stay calm. I will be there in a moment. It's over."

  The professor isn't sure. His eyes ask if Lenny and the woman are two operatives who are also after his technology.

  Lenny turns from the terrified professor and Sammy's sprawled body. He goes to M2 and kneels. He can't tell where she's hit. He feels for a carotid pulse. Thank God, she is alive. "Can you hear me?"

  "I think so. Yes, where am I?"

  He looks, there's blood on the floor behind her. She's bleeding from her head. "Don't move." He calls 911, tells them it's an emergency, to come at once. He asks them to call building security. "What hurts? Lie still. Don't move, just in case." The just in case is to prevent further injury. If a shot has pierced her spine, he is afraid movement could make the injury worse or even paralyze her.

  "What hurts?"

  "The back of my head, and my chest."

  Lenny surveys her. He is starting to get it. She's been shot. He unbuttons her blouse. There is no blood, none oozing out from beneath the Kevlar or from the two holes where bullets have entered. She has not been hit, he decides. She has no wounds to the chest or stomach. The Kevlar has done its job. He looks at her head. The blood's in a pool on the floor, but there's no entry wound on her face or forehead. She has banged the back of her head when she fell. If she has no fracture or concussion, she's going to be okay. He breathes in deeply and lets the air out slowly. He feels thankful for his son.