Dangerous Bet: A financial thriller

by Jack Gardner

  ***

  Gil, the programmer in charge of the program that received the lottery forms on the main Millionaires computers, rubbed his tired eyes after spending hours looking at the screen in front of him. His hand rose to cover his mouth as he yawned, one of many yawns to inflict him in the past hours. He peered at the large clock on the wall in front of him and saw that it was 3:50 a.m. His right hand was frozen in the air above his keyboard, his finger just over the “enter” key, like a pianist who pauses for a quick moment before his hands descend to the keys. Once his hand touched the key, the simulation he started running earlier that evening would conclude.

  It was a program that simulated a large number of terminals randomly calling the central computer, identifying themselves and then sending forms that the computer built automatically. It took him three hours to write the program and another hour to confirm that it worked. After he started it, he let it run five hundred random calls in order to examine whether he could document even one case where the identification details of the sending computer would not be documented by the central computer’s regular program.

  ‘Now it’ll all be clear,’ he thought, as his hand descended and hit the “enter” key. In an instant, the screen in front of him was filled by dense green lines of letters and code numbers multiplying faster than his eyes could follow. He waited for the program to finish running, feeling how tension was building up in him even though he was exhausted. A few more seconds passed and the lines stopped multiplying. He leaned forward and attentively looked at the concluding line that appeared in a small frame in the bottom.

  Under the title “Number of incoming calls received,” the number 500 appeared, just as he expected. Under the title “Identified terminals initiating call,” it stated again, 500. Then, under the title “Identified terminals ending call,” the number 500 appeared one more time, and finally, under the title “Unidentified terminals,” he saw the number zero. Gil sighed with relief.

  Now he had an almost final proof that the program he was in charge of worked flawlessly, just as he was convinced to begin with. He typed a number of letters and the screen lit up again, covered with the details of the identification lines of each terminal to call the computer during the test run. Since in his design he made sure the lines were numbered, he quickly saw that the detailed documentation also showed 500 identified incoming calls and 500 identified ended calls.

  He examined a printed list of access codes and chose random lines on the screen to compare with the list in his hand in order to detect any anomalies in the identification process, but soon discovered none existed. After he randomly and thoroughly examined the access codes for one hundred terminals, he calmed down and leaned back in his chair, shutting his tired eyes, trying to relax.

  But his uplifted feeling quickly transformed into a question that had been ceaselessly bothering him since that one day: If the system worked well, then what the hell were those two unidentified calls?

  He felt another yawn rip through his jaws, pushed his chair back, and straightened his aching back. ‘That question will probably remain unsolved,’ he thought. All he had left to do was report the test he ran and its results to the head of his department. He hoped that that would conclude the matter.

  22

  Eddie located the two numbers listed for Davis Café within minutes and wrote them in a cipher in his notebook.

  The next phase was to get the breakdown of the café’s outgoing calls from the phone company’s database. Their service provider had a Web site that allowed clients to see their bills online. Eddie logged in to the site and filled in a form asking to receive the call logs for both phone numbers listed for Davis Café. He made sure to write the café’s business number, which he had on the receipt from his visit, in case anyone asked. Three minutes later, he received an email confirming that he joined the service to the Hotmail address he provided in the request form. The email address he opened included the name “Davis” in order not to seem suspicious. The confirmation email included a username and a password.

  Eddie logged in to the phone company’s site and within seconds he received the call log for the first phone number. The PDF included only four pages, which meant that the café did not use its phone too often, at least not for outgoing calls. Eddie printed the list and then downloaded the call log for the other number. Here too, only three pages were provided. He printed that second log and disconnected, not before he considered canceling the username he created and deciding against it—this was not a normal thing to do and could have generated suspicion in the phone company, which, obviously, he was not interested in creating.

  Each call on the log had five fields of information: the call’s date and time, the number dialed, the duration of the call, and its cost. Eddie picked up the first printed call log and quickly located the 18th of that month. There were nine outgoing calls, out of which he disqualified six that were made in the morning and the afternoon. The remaining three calls were made between 6:00 and 8:00 p.m., and he copied the numbers in his notebook. He then looked at the second number’s log and repeated the same thing, adding four more numbers to his list.

  He breathed deeply, leaning back in his chair hoping that all this effort was not in vain. The fact that the target made a phone call before the deadly meeting was known. If he can discover where this call was directed, that could prove to be a substantial clue for him. He could think of two options: the first was that the call was related to a certain rendezvous, meaning that the target gave its location in order to initiate a meeting whose result was not what he expected. The second option was that the call had nothing to do with the meeting, but locating it might uncover a new direction that would advance him in the direction of the target.

  Eddie knew that the key question was whether the number the target called was listed. Had it been unlisted it would not appear at all in the call log Eddie was holding. Still, he thought that if he were the target, and he was acting in good faith, he would have tried to make a call to a listed number. The ability to trace events was like his insurance policy. That is, if the first option is in order. On the other hand, if the target meant to ambush the team, he would have covered his trail and called an unlisted number. Eddie decided that it’ll all be clear in a matter of hours. He leaned forward and started surveying the numbers in the list.

  The problem was that the security services’ phone numbers did not comply with the phone company’s area codes that allowed one to determine the geographical location of the phone. The Bureau, whose heads wanted to avoid any possibility of tracking down their location, requested and received phone numbers with different area codes. So a number identified with one city can actually belong in a different one.

  Eddie quickly saw that none of the seven numbers suggested the familiar series of phone numbers that he had encountered in the different Bureau offices. He exhaled, relieved, but knowing that there was work waiting for him. The first thing he did was run all seven numbers in a tracking software that covered the phone book. What it did was flip the phone book: instead of locating the phone number by giving the name of the subscribers, this software gave a name and an address based on the phone number. Here Eddie was lucky: of those seven numbers, five were “innocent,” listed under private people or businesses, including their full addresses. Later, he might have to check them one by one in order to ensure that neither one of them was a decoy. The remaining two numbers were impossible to locate, and Eddie took note to give those special consideration. He rose from his chair and stretched, made another cup of coffee, and prepared himself mentally for a long night of work.

  ***

  The phone rang on the Assistant to the Head of Operation’s desk. It was the non-secret line, and she picked up the phone and activated the recorder. Eddie identified himself by his code number and heard Judy tell him to go on.

  “Please take two phone numbers.”

  “I’m writing.”

  He gave her the two unidentified num
bers that he took from Davis’ call log, repeating each number twice in order to avoid any mistakes. “I need details as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Call back in an hour,” was the reply. She then hung up the phone.

  23

  John Mitchell was considered a successful businessman, part of an elite group of entrepreneurs and tycoons. His ability to recognize opportunities and decisively promote them, along with his natural level-headedness, were undoubtedly a large part of his success; but he alone knew what others did not know or did not realize—that his success was mainly due to the widespread connections he had developed in the government by being a registered member of the ruling party.

  He was born to conservative right wing parents, who educated their only son to be completely loyal to the party. This was not a passive loyalty: he was active in the party, supported its members, and followed its leaders. He had a great talent for listening and no less so an ability to recognize the undercurrents of politics; he used these talents to implement the values he was raised to believe in, while adjusting these to his own goal of accumulating as much wealth and power as he possibly could. He was part of a small group of powerful and influential people who were willing to do anything in order to see their candidate at the head of the state. He saw himself as an apostle—not only of his beliefs, even though he could have believed that, too—whose role was to help the big guy as much as he possibly could. And he was the kind of person who would stop at nothing in order to achieve his goals.

  He was in the middle of a meeting concerning real estate purchases when his cellphone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the number, politely asked the lawyer sitting in front of him to excuse him, and walked out to the empty hallway.

  “Mitchell,” he said quietly.

  “Sammy here,” was the answer.

  “Yes, Sammy, what’s up?”

  There was a short pause and then, “The budget has been approved. We have a green light to go on.”

  “Okay,” said John Mitchell quietly. “We could meet tomorrow and finalize the details.”

  This was code for Mitchell’s unequivocal demand—to receive two million dollars in cash.

  “We thought about it all again,” said Sammy, “and came to the conclusion that we should probably wire the money to one of your accounts. You surely understand that in these kinds of sums, we should be thorough…”

  “As I see it, you have come to the wrong conclusion,” said Mitchell in a quiet, piercing tone. “I thought what I said in our last meeting was clear. If I was wrong, you can consider the whole thing as cancelled.”

  A few seconds passed.

  “We will keep our agreement,” said Sammy, “when can we meet?”

  “Call me at 9:00 a.m. and we’ll set a meeting,” he replied.

  “I will call at 9:00 a.m.,” Sammy repeated.

  “And as far as misunderstandings go…” Mitchell’s tone left no room for doubts, “the next one will also be the last.”

  ‘What else?’ Thought Sammy, knowing how powerful and well-connected the man was. His lips curved to form a bitter smile.

  Mitchell hung up without bothering to say goodbye.

  24

  When Eddie called back, Judy had news for him.

  “The first number you gave me belongs to an art gallery,” she began, “but the second belongs to us.”

  “I need a name,” Eddie made things harder.

  “It’s a direct line to the Vice Head of Operations’ office,” she said.

  ‘Bingo!’ thought Eddie. ‘Looks like a good day at work.’

  “Thank you,” he said, without allowing his voice to reveal his content.

  “Is it going anywhere?” Judy asked in a businesslike tone.

  “I don’t know yet,” he said, even though he started to feel as though he saw land on the horizon, “but thanks again.”

  He hung up.

  The image of Davis Café appeared in front of his eyes, as if he were watching a scene from a movie. He imagined the rows of tables, the café’s window, and the plants on the sidewalk. His mind wandered to the central table in the first row, where his target sat. There is the waiter bringing the cordless phone and giving it to him. The man waits for the waiter to walk away and dials the direct number to the Vice Head of Operations. Had he dialed the extension number, it is probable that the call could not have been located, but he prefers a listed number. That’s exactly what one does when one wants to leave a trace for whoever would want to investigate the case.

  A short call takes place. Minutes later, a Bureau van with three servicemen arrives, and the lynch takes place. There was no escaping the conclusion that the call revolved around the target’s location and a pick up. But there was another option: that the call was about something else, and that in the meantime the Vice managed to locate the phone from which the target has called and sent the hunters.

  Eddie considered this option and ruled it out within seconds. Since the target called a direct line, it takes longer to identify the call’s origin. Eddie did not believe the target would have failed: he was one of the profession’s basics, and he was a first-rate professional. So, Eddie concluded to himself, that left only the option that the target informed of his location in order to be picked up, but something went really wrong.

  The team that arrived at the location had guns with silencers and his reaction was one of surprise. Had they wanted to escort the target to a meeting, they would have probably stopped in front of the café and sent one person, unarmed (or at least not visibly armed), in order to bring the target to the car.

  Now, his imagination returned to that scene: the black car suddenly stops in front of the café. Three team members jump out and disperse in front of the target. They all have drawn guns, two of them with silencers. The target opens fire first and gets a result one can’t argue with. ‘I must acknowledge this,’ Eddie told himself, ‘even if I may not like it.’

  Eddie moved his head glumly from side to side, while his brain was recreating the victory of one versus a team. It was unusual that they would use that kind of team in order to escort a man to a meeting. There is no doubt that it was an assassination team that did not at all plan on bringing the target to a meeting, but to finish the deal right then and there, which explains the target’s behavior. ‘Treason and a trap,’ thought Eddie. If that was the truth, he thought, he could identify with the target’s feeling of disappointment. Disappointment and insult.

  He shook his head and tried not to think about it, reminding himself that he was dealing with a dangerous killer who is also a traitor. He was angry with himself for feeling a momentary sympathy toward the target. Even had the men in charge decided to assassinate him, they must have done so because there was no other option. As long as he didn’t know what those on the top knew, he had no way of judging their decisions. They must have considered the matter with the interests of national security in mind.

  After he shook these operationally irrelevant thoughts, Eddie gave his full attention to his task again. He still had to rule out some options in order to trace his target’s footprints. He spread the map of the city on his desk and looked at the area between the train’s terminus and the station where the meeting with the beggar took place. He used a small pair of compasses in order to draw a big circle around the station where the target got off the train. It measured about two miles in diameter, which was the area he would have to thoroughly examine. There he would start looking for the hiding spot. His notebook rested on the desk as he scrutinized the map meticulously.

  ***

  At about 8:55 p.m., Sammy closed the file he was looking at for the past half hour, quickly glanced in his watch, and headed toward L’s office.

  The long hallway was empty at that late hour. Most of the employees already went home and Sammy allowed himself to quickly look at the oil paintings on the walls while his trained brain was counting the twenty-five steps that separated his office from L
’s. When he opened the door, he was not surprised to see Judy at her desk, wondering in his mind whether she actually had a private life. He waved hello and she immediately gestured him to go to L’s door.

  Behind his impressive desk, L was busy lighting his pipe—an activity he did with the concentration of one who truly loves what he is doing. Sammy was smart enough to know not to bother his boss while the latter was busy with that important mission. He sat in the middle chair and looked at the large landscape painting on the wall.

  Thirty seconds later, which seemed like long minutes to Sammy, the boss succeeded in his mission and extracted blue smoke. He then leaned back, straightened his back against the orthopedic chair, and frowned as he approached Sammy, without any introduction.

  “He called here this afternoon, saying that he is willing to give us the material.”

  Sammy did not need to ask who he was talking about. He waited and listened.

  “This is, of course, nonsense. He is lost and is trying to make us react, he has no idea what is going on.”

  Sammy did not say a word.

  “Assuming that I’m not interested in monologues, what do you say?”

  “I think you’re right,” said Sammy, and then added, “the question is whether or not there is an opportunity here for us.”

  L blew his pipe and his head was lost for a second in a cloud of smoke. “Go on,” he said.