Armchair Safari (A Cybercrime Technothriller)

by Jonathan Paul Isaacs

  “Really? Hmm. How long before someone figures that out?”

  “A few weeks?” Roger chuckled.

  “And then, I suppose, as word gets around about how to defeat this mysterious and deadly trap, we’ll have new ones ready for purchase.”

  “Exactly. Oh, you are the wise one,” joked Roger.

  A flash of movement outside the office’s glass wall caught Derek’s eye. Lucy entered briskly holding a cell phone to her ear.

  “Hello, there, young lady—” Roger said before abruptly stopping. She appeared almost frantic.

  “Yes... yes,” Lucy was saying on her cell. She looked at Derek and their eyes locked for a moment. Every time she saw him now there was a twinge of fear. That killed him inside. That night... that was a terrible night in so many ways. The shame of being unable to control his nightmares was something that was hard to overcome. It was humiliating that it had led to injuring someone he had come to care about. Derek didn’t know how to repair what he had done. Maybe something would come to him, but so far it hadn’t, not yet.

  Lucy seemed to be trying to interject into the call. Something clearly significant was going on in the phone dialogue they couldn’t hear.

  “Okay... right, look, I’m in Derek’s office, let me... let me put you on speaker, okay? Roger’s here too. They need to know all this.”

  Lucy clicked the speakerphone button. Her expression was grim.

  “Can you hear us?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said a male voice. “Who is in the room?”

  “Derek Callahan, Roger Norling, and myself,” said Lucy. “The door is shut behind us.”

  “Good. Derek—Agent LaRue here. I’ll be brief. We believe that Bermuda Bank of Commerce may be attacked directly by the group responsible for harassing you and your company. A cyber-attack or possibly even a physical break-in. This may happen very soon. We require your assistance to assess the risks and prepare accordingly. I’m asking for Lucy Sonheim to fly down and meet us onsite ASAP.”

  “Onsite? Wait, you want her to fly to Bermuda?”

  “Yes.”

  Derek glanced at Lucy, who stared back at him without expression. Did LaRue say there was a chance of a physical attack? From people who had laundered millions of dollars?

  “Why do you think BBC is a target? Surely there must be other, easier targets if these criminals just want to rob a bank.”

  “Derek, I’m not going to go into the details of any of our investigative methods right now. But you need to understand, the people we’re dealing with—they aren’t after just money. They want your money. As much as they can steal. This has become a very personal vendetta against Netertainment.”

  Derek considered the weight of what LaRue was telling him. He could understand the thinking, the mindset of revenge. He had been there before himself. “Okay, but Roger and I are going, too.”

  “We are?” said Roger in surprise.

  Lucy blinked too. She seemed uneasy about his gesture.

  LaRue’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Mr. Callahan, I don’t think that helps us. Lucy has a specific, relevant expertise here. She knows the systems, what normal transactions look like. The presence of additional people will just get in the way—”

  “We’re going. Period.”

  Silence.

  “Okay, then. I’ll arrange the airline tickets,” LaRue replied. “There is a flight at 6 am tomorrow morning out of Austin Bergstrom. Lucy can help right out of the gate with our digital forensics teams to assess what might have been done electronically at the bank.”

  Derek and Roger exchanged a knowing glance. They couldn’t move the meeting with Bill Tyson tomorrow, and it was important.

  “Lucy, can you leave that early tomorrow?” Derek asked.

  “Yes,” she replied immediately. Her eyes were again locked on his, and for a moment—just a moment—they were together again, united in purpose, the closest possible allies. Then Lucy glanced down at her feet and it was gone.

  “LaRue, go ahead and line up Lucy’s ticket. Roger and I will take a later flight. We have a key investor discussion we have to do tomorrow morning.”

  It was clear that LaRue was getting exasperated. “Derek, you say that you insist on participating in this operation, then you come back with considerations about when you’re going to fly in? This is just more reason for you to stay up in Austin and take care of your business there. It’s clear you have a lot going on and we don’t have a way to use you at the bank—”

  Derek cut him off again. “Stephen, I understand your point of view. I’d be telling me the same thing if I were in your shoes. But you’re not going to keep me out of the mix here. These guys threatened me personally. If we need to defend ourselves, I’m going to be there onsite with you.” He paused. “But I need some allowances on timing. Don’t confuse the method with the purpose.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Anything else? Are we booking hotel rooms ourselves, too?”

  “We’ll take care of that,” LaRue said.

  “Fine.”

  “We’ll get things rolling,” LaRue said. “Lucy, call me to confirm when you get the airline reservation in your email.” They finished the call and Lucy hung up her phone.

  “How would these crooks even know about BBC?” asked Derek.

  Lucy cleared her throat. “That’s easy stuff. Believe me, if they can get your email and family info, they can find out what financial institution we use.”

  Derek was still not used to the idea of being electronically stalked.

  “6 a.m. flight,” Roger commented. “That’s fucking early.”

  “Yeah,” Lucy replied. “He’s not asking much, is he? Drop everything and fly eight hours to Bermuda, and be out of pocket for a whole week?”

  Derek raised his eyebrows. “It’s that far? You’ve been there?”

  Lucy nodded. “I have. And you’d be amazed at how many flights go as far as possible to avoid anything that resembles a straight line.”

  They all sat in silence for a few moments. Roger finally spoke what surely was on all of their minds.

  “Helping a bank set up defenses, my ass. The Feds are going to lay a trap. How about that?”

  Derek looked at him. “Let’s hope they don’t bring any baking soda.”

  A wry smile crept across Roger’s face. “Derek, I thought I taught you better than that. You have to suspect that there’s a trap before you can disable it. That’s why we need to move fast.”

  Derek sighed heavily again. There was so, so much to do.

  Morning came. Derek guzzled coffee as he made up his mind on what they had to do with the VC. He didn’t see any other way around it. The irreversible nature of it weighed so heavily upon him that he completely missed the scenic drive until he was pulling into the office of Hepburn, Coffin and Smith Venture Partners.

  Roger was waiting for him in the lobby. “Good morning.”

  “Hey,” Derek replied absently.

  “You just barely made it. Was traffic bad?”

  “Didn’t notice. I mean, no. I just have a much longer drive here from home than you do.”

  “Sure. Well, you ready to give our monthly update to Bill?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” muttered Derek as they entered the elevator.

  The VC offices were on the top floor of a modern office building overlooking a thick Austin greenbelt. Roger and Derek checked in with Betsy, the receptionist, and stood silently together in the lobby. A few minutes went by until Bill finally poked his head around the corner.

  “Hey, guys. How are you?”

  “Good,” replied Derek. “Yourself?”

  “Fine, fine,” Tyson replied as he led them back to the executive offices.

  “How’s Palo Alto?”

  “It’s still there.” Tyson looked conspiratorially over his shoulder. “Actually, I may be relocating down here to Austin in a couple months.”

  “Really?” asked Roger.

  They r
eached Tyson’s office and he shut the door behind them. “David Hepburn is retiring, thinking about moving overseas. I may be taking over as general partner here in Austin.”

  “It’s not like you don’t spend enough time here already, right?” asked Roger.

  “True. My wife and I are a bit torn about leaving the Bay Area, but it would be nice to not have to travel as much.” Tyson sat in his own chair across the desk from Derek and Roger. “So, tell me how things are going with Netertainment.”

  There was an agreed-upon talk track that Derek, Roger, Lucy, and Jim Palmisano had arranged for this update. Everything was fine. The subscriber base was growing. Operating profits continued to improve. They were several months out from a significant capital expenditure for more servers. Programmer retention was strong. They needed more QA headcount. In short—it was business as usual.

  Derek stared hard at the man sitting expectantly across from him. Then he proceeded to ignore the carefully crafted story.

  “There’s a group of hackers trying to steal money from the company.”

  Dead silence.

  Derek thought he could hear Roger’s heart beating.

  Tyson leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. “Is it serious?”

  “It could be. If they’re successful, it will cripple us financially. So far, our security and infrastructure has kept them out. But they’re determined. The FBI has agents assigned to us, working through the threat.”

  “The FBI?” said Tyson.

  “Yes.”

  Roger inhaled deeply, and then slowly let it out. Tyson’s eyes darted between the two men.

  “Tell me. All of it,” said Tyson finally. His tone wasn’t angry or upset. It was just matter-of-fact.

  Over the next thirty minutes, Derek related the entire string of events. He did a recap of how he had authorized the changeover in the banking structure to capture the interest on a large base of cash. He explained the circumstances around the money disappearing and the subsequent extortion attempt that led to opening an investigation with the FBI. How it turned out an Eastern European gang had been using Safari to do money laundering. That a group of their own customers had adventured their way to a very large deposit of the gang’s money and somehow managed to grab it—all apparently within the rules of the game structure. Then Derek went into detail around the gang’s response, the extortion attempt, the Denial of Service attack, and ultimately the upcoming attempt at a sting down in Bermuda. Bill Tyson listened intently, only interrupting to ask an occasional clarifying question. There was no judgment or moral platitude. Roger remained silent the entire time, possibly the greatest stretch ever without offering some sort of comment.

  “So there you have it,” finished Derek. “I’ll be honest with you. We’re conflicted about whether you should be burdened with all of this. It’s our situation to fix.” He paused to glance at Roger. “But I thought you should know.”

  Derek leaned back in his chair and took a breath. He realized he was sweating; he could feel the dampness in his armpits and down his back. He knew Roger was probably about to explode with all of the expletives that were bottled up.

  Palmisano had always been very careful about what was disclosed to the VCs. He had often advised: keep everything oriented toward the financials—they don’t need to know everything that’s done to produce those numbers. Usually, they don’t care. That’s why they’re investors instead of executives or consultants. But even if they did care, sharing too much would basically invite them to intervene, and having meddlesome directives from the money men was universally not helpful. Without the proper experience or context around why a company was being run a certain way, the risk was that well-intentioned hands would utterly disrupt the management’s team to do the things that needed to be done by the experts on the ground.

  It was all fine for a normal start-up. But as he had stared at the ceiling the night before, Derek had had his own epiphany about where his obligations were. He had gone through many, many thoughts about his own identity. He was not a nurturer—that was why his marriage had failed. And he wasn’t a yes-man or sycophant who just said what people wanted to hear, or think they wanted to hear.

  Derek was a Marine.

  He was trusted. He was reliable. He was loyal. He was a protector, someone willing to fight the hard fights. There was a great sense of duty that came with those things.

  That extended to the investors and VCs who had entrusted Netertainment with their money.

  Bill Tyson was quiet for a while, taking it all in. He alternated between staring at the pen in his hands and looking Derek in the eye. Finally, he cleared his throat.

  “How can I help you, Derek?”

  Derek squinted. “I’m sorry?”

  “Some piece of shit out there threatens you, your operations, your company?” said Tyson. “What can I do to help catch them?”

  Derek and Roger looked at each other in surprise.

  “Guys,” Tyson continued. “You’re worrying me. What sort of reaction did you think I was going to have?”

  “Uhh...” they said together.

  Tyson leaned forward. “Look, gents. I’ve been at this a long time. Most investments in the high-tech industry are busts. One company in every ten, in every twenty maybe, is that winner that keeps the VC dream alive. But most are failures—in hindsight, well-meaning but misguided, speculative adventures. And that’s okay. You know why?’

  Roger was the one that replied. “Why is that?”

  “Because you learn how the managers react under duress. And that’s critical, because they become your management team for the next venture. You know what you’re getting. You’ve seen the execs when the companies fall apart and you know that they don’t fall apart themselves.

  “You guys are in a bad spot with these bastards who have stolen your money—our money—and seem focused on bringing in the right resources. And you trust me enough to share with me what’s going on. You’re showing me your colors. Those are the types of people I will put my faith in, regardless.

  “So,” he finished, “tell me what you need to bring these guys down.”

  Again, Roger and Derek looked at each other. Derek leaned forward. “Thanks Bill. I think we know what our next step is, meeting up with the FBI onsite at the bank. No action right now. But if that changes... well, we’ll let you know.”

  The three men finished their conversation and Derek and Roger stood up to leave. Bill stopped them at the door.

  “Guys, remember how I said maybe one in every twenty companies in a VC’s portfolio ends up being a success?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Derek said.

  “I really do believe that Netertainment is one of those.”

  “Thanks, Bill.”

  “Now go catch those fuckers and let’s all get back to business.”

  “Will do, Bill.”

  They left the offices and didn’t speak until they were standing on the front doorstep, outside the lobby.

  “Well there, chief,” began Roger. “Talk about pulling someone’s fucking pants down. When were you going to let me in on that little disclosure of yours?”

  Derek sniffed. “Wasn’t. That one was on me.”

  “Yeah, no shit. You know, I’m on your side too. You can tell me these things.”

  “You would have said not to do it,” countered Derek. “Anyways... it’s done. Let’s go see what we can get done.”

  “I’m still waiting for my heart to start beating again. If it does, I’ll see you back in the office.”

  “See you, then,” said Derek as he walked to the parking garage.

  There was so much to do. It seemed crazy to take off an indeterminate amount of time and fly to Bermuda on some kind of sting. How was that going to work? Was Derek going to wear a wire? Were they going to ask Lucy to seduce a spy? It was a bizarre thing to do, but that was what he was going to be doing tomorrow—riding a plane out over the Atlantic to a foreign country to protect his company’s bank account and l
ay a trap for a bunch of international criminals.

  He couldn’t sleep again that night. The memories wouldn’t leave him alone. Lucy kissing his neck. Manmeet thundering by on his motorcycle. Ricks bleeding out as Derek ripped off his body armor. The phantoms swirled around him, keeping him full of fear that if he closed his eyes, he might be dragged away by the wrong one.

  45

  The La Grange Coast, Armchair Safari.

  Beaumaris appeared very old. Walls that had stood for centuries loomed overhead and threatened to crumble at the slightest disturbance. Great round towers on the corners commanded the approach. As they entered the gatehouse, Megan noticed the missing outer doors and wondered how that would affect their defense, though the murder holes and arrow loops that had once been used to decimate attackers were still ominous. As they rode into the inner courtyard, she saw the ruined inner keep smashed open before them, with one of the walls torn down and exposing broken wooden beams and rubble. The courtyard was tight and claustrophobic. Megan found it to be the most imposing ruins she had ever seen.

  But they were still ruins.

  “I thought you said Beaumaris was a castle?” Megan said.

  Haas, who had also stopped his mount, turned around in his saddle to stare at her. “I did. This is. What do you think you’re looking at?”

  Megan shook her head. “This place is a wreck, Haas. There aren’t even any doors to keep out the enemy. There’s no way to defend this place—we’ll just end up trapped. What good is a castle if you can’t defend it?”

  Haas dismounted and headed for the inner keep. It took a moment for Megan to realize he was ignoring her.

  “Stupid ranger,” she hissed. God, he pissed her off. She hated all the emotional jerking around. Nonetheless, Megan dismounted to have a look. This was not what she had envisioned. Beaumaris is a castle, Haas had said. Any normal person would take that to mean an intact refuge for protection from attackers. So what was this place? Ancient stone walls arranged in a rectangle. There was no way to keep out an enemy, and that meant they’d be dead by the end of the day.