Triple Team: A Military Reverse Harem Romance, page 11
Bezos Accola was a bad man. A criminal. Granted he was only involved with the money side of things, but he enabled the evil actions of evil men. Who was worse: the out-of-control dog, or the trainer who allowed such behavior?
It was a question for philosophers. Not soldiers like us.
A guard approached Accola and spoke softly. His body language concerned me so I wandered in that direction until I could overhear them.
“How long until they arrange the transaction?” Accola asked in French.
“10 minutes,” the guard replied.
Accola looked at his watch. “I will take care of it now. Tell Amelie to meet me upstairs with the details.”
Upstairs. A transaction. They were about to use the computer terminal. Juliana had only been gone a few minutes. Not nearly enough time.
She was a sitting duck if I didn’t do something. She had surely been joking about me jumping in the pool to warn her, but now…
“Bezos! You handsome son of a bitch!”
A loud man with a Texas accent accosted Accola by the door, wrapping him in a big hug. Accola paused to speak with him.
I made for one of the other entrances and prayed I had enough time.
17
Juliana
Crouching under Accola’s desk, I did a quick inspection of his hardware. A single computer tower with multiple video cards and 120mm fans glowing blue on the front. It was a nice setup.
I reached up to move the mouse. The Windows 10 login screen appeared. I fished out my lipstick USB drive and plugged it in to the front of the tower, then flipped the switch on the surge protector to power it off. After two seconds I powered it back on.
I hit the F10 key to access the BIOS. There was no password, which was a good sign. I changed the boot options to enable USB boot and then saved and exited.
The computer should boot into the USB drive, and then I would have access to all the other drives as slaves. Assuming it took me a few minutes to find what I needed, the file copy itself would probably take just as long—
The screen went black with white text:
WINDOWS BITLOCKER DRIVE ENCRYPTION RECOVERY KEY ENTRY
ENTER THE RECOVERY KEY FOR THIS DRIVE
___ ___ ___ ___
___ ___ ___ ___
“Fuck me with a spatula,” I said. His device was encrypted with Bitlocker. Any change to the boot options or tampering with the drive itself would trigger the protection. I should have checked the BIOS to see if a TPM chip was active before changing anything. Stupid mistake, Juliana.
I stared at the words on the screen. There were two problems. One, I couldn’t access the drive this way. Not without the decryption key. And two, when Accola saw this prompt he would know someone had fucked around with his computer.
Our best option was probably to cut and run and hope they didn’t learn it was us. But that was not acceptable. This was our only lead on Blanco. I couldn’t go home empty-handed.
“Think, Juliana,” I said in the empty room.
Sometimes TPM chips could be reset by unplugging the CMOS battery from the motherboard. That still wouldn’t give me access to the data, but it would reset everything to the normal state so Accola wouldn’t know I had been here.
I went down on my hands and knees underneath the desk. After unscrewing two thumb-screws I removed the side panel of the computer. Two huge video cards hummed like generators inside, blocking most of the motherboard. No water cooling? Step up your game, Accola.
But the CMOS battery was there, just to the right of the big CPU heatsink.
I flipped the switch on the surge protector again, then reached inside the computer. The CMOS battery was shaped like a thick coin, shiny and silver. I pinched my fingers and removed it with ease.
The door to the bedroom opened.
I’m fucked.
That’s what went through my head in that moment: that I was totally fucked. I was on my hands and knees under the computer desk with my ass in the air. There was nowhere for me to hide in the split second before the person walked into the room. Yep, totally fucked. This was how I was going to die: caught in the act by a frail Swiss banker.
I dropped the CMOS battery and fell backwards out from under the desk, laughing like a drunk guest who was lost and hoping it was convincing.
Fortunately, it was a familiar face closing the door behind him. “Michael?”
He looked at me. “What are you doing?”
“I was pretending to be a drunk guest. What are you doing?”
“Accola is coming upstairs to use the computer. We have to leave now.”
“Shit,” I said as I ducked back under the desk.
“Juliana!” Michael insisted.
“I have to reset the TPM chip.”
“The what?”
“Trusted Platform Module. I’m covering my tracks.”
“Hurry!”
I found the battery next to the surge protector and reconnected it to the motherboard. Then I flipped the switch to power it back on, sliding the side panel back into place without bothering to twist the thumb-screws.
Michael grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. “Wait,” I said as I watched the screens. Only when it began booting into Windows did I said, “Okay let’s go!”
Voices in the hallway. It sounded like an argument, and drawing closer. “This way,” Michael said.
He took me by the hand and led me to the door out to the balcony. It creaked loudly as he opened it but we rushed outside anyway, closing it quick behind. The balcony wrapped around the entire second floor. Michael and I darted around the edge of the bedroom windows just as the lights turned on inside.
The shadows of two figures stretched across the floor. I peered around the corner: Accola and a woman approached the computer terminal. He sat down and logged in while she gestured angrily.
“Thank God,” I said. Then, “Aww, shit.”
Michael’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I should have attached my keylogger to his keyboard. We would have gotten his password that way. But you were rushing me.”
“To avoid getting caught!” he hissed.
“Still.”
“Hallo?” came a voice behind us. “Wer ist da?”
We were trapped. The voice was coming around the corner behind us, but if we walked in front of the master bedroom we’d be seen by Accola. I eyed the iron balcony railing. It wasn’t that far of a drop. Maybe we would break out legs. That was better than getting caught.
Michael grabbed me with both hands, shoved me up against the wall, and planted his lips onto mine.
Alarm turned into surprise, and then surprise melted into carnal hunger. His lips were warm and tart from the wine, and his hands explored their way down my body, one grabbing my ass and the other cupping a breast. The way he pressed his slender body into mine I could feel the outline of his manhood through his thin tuxedo pants. The fabric of his jacket rubbed against my arm as I let out a soft moan in the moonlight.
“Halt!” the guard said. Michael pulled his lips from mine but kept his hands in place.
“Wir entschuldigen uns,” Michael began. He removed his palm from my ass and extended it to the guard. “Wir sind nur liebhaber…”
The guard spoke into a radio, and seconds later the door to the master bedroom opened. Accola strode out onto the balcony with a woman—his wife?—at his side in a dark evening dress. Fury was painted on their faces.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bayern?” he said.
Only now did Michael remove his hand from my breast. “Bezos,” he said with a slight slur. “I am afraid we have had too much wine.”
“Clearly,” the woman said in a thick accent.
“So much wine,” I said in the best drunk-girl voice I could manage.
“You told us to make ourselves at home,” Michael said. He teetered where he stood before placing a hand on the wall to steady himself. “We found a nice, private spot until this man interrupted us.” He glared at the guard. “I demand you reprimand him.”
Accola’s face softened and he laughed. “Young love! It is a beautiful thing, and I cannot blame you.” He wrapped an arm around his wife, who still looked suspicious. “I am afraid the upstairs is unavailable, however. If you need a few minutes you can have the valet retrieve your car…” He smiled, then nodded at the guard. “Please take our guests back to the party.”
“Sorry!” I said as I nuzzled up to Michael’s body. “The wine is very good. Have you had it? You should have it.”
Accola rumbled with laughter as the guard took us back downstairs. Only when we were back among the other guests did we sigh with relief.
“Did they buy it?” I asked. “Or are men with guns going to stop us when we try to leave?”
“Only one way to find out,” Michael said, taking my hand and leading me toward the front of the estate.
“Now what?” I asked. “I didn’t get anything.”
“We may reschedule our flight,” he whispered. “Stay in Zurich longer and attempt to steal the data another time. Perhaps when he is out of town?”
“It won’t matter,” I said. “His drive is Bitlocker encrypted. If I so much as breathe wrong on the hard drive it will lock up.”
“How long would it take to break that encryption?”
“AES 256 encryption?” I scoffed. “A billion billion years.”
“Be serious.”
“Dude, I’m being literal. A one with 18 zeroes on the end is how long it would take a bank of supercomputers to break AES 256 encryption. That’s literally a billion billion years.”
We had to stop talking as we reached the crowded kitchen. Michael slowed down and paused; a gaggle of women blocked our path, marveling at the fancy refrigerator.
“Perhaps we will discard subtlety,” Michael whispered. “Kidnap him and beat the password out of his lips. Not ideal, and illegal…”
I shook my head. “When I checked the Wi-Fi network when we drove up there were 14 connected devices. Guests, maybe? If we can get someone to give us the Wi-Fi password…”
I trailed off as one of the women opened the fridge, then closed it again with a giggle. “It lists the number of eggs! There are six eggs left!”
“Take one out and see if it can tell,” one of the others said.
“That’s what I just did.” She opened her palm to reveal a brown egg.
I blinked. It was a smart fridge.
Just like the smart ovens. And the smart dishwasher. And probably smart washer and dryer too.
Everything in this house was connected to the Wi-FI network. Smart devices galore.
“I’ve got it,” I said. “Follow my lead.”
We went up to the fridge and waited for the women to walk away. I pretended to marvel at the refrigerator, tapping on the touchscreen and clicking through the options.
“Block the view,” I whispered.
Michael stood close to me as I opened the fridge to look inside. On the back of the door, on the other side of the computer screen, was a small access panel with screws. And on the panel was what I had hoped I would see: a USB port for technicians to manually update the firmware in case the internet ever went out.
I plugged my lipstick USB drive into it and closed the fridge.
“We must get one, darling,” I announced loudly. Then in a whisper, “Let’s go.”
Now it was my turn to take him by the hand and lead him outside, then around the front of the house where we had entered. The valet boy rushed to get our car.
“What was that in the kitchen?” Michael asked.
“Our way in.”
“The refrigerator? Are you joking?”
Before I could answer, another voice rang out behind us. “I was not serious when I said to get your car.”
Accola stood at the edge of the balcony above us, gripping the railing with his arms spread wide. His skeletal smile sent a shiver down my spine.
“We were leaving anyway,” I said in my slurred voice. “Early flight tomorrow.”
Michael put his arm around me. His fingers rested against the top of my ass while he held me against his tall frame. “Thank you for inviting us. This has been a splendid evening.”
“Indeed it has. Are you certain you are in suitable condition to drive?” He frowned. “We have car services on standby if anyone needs a ride home.”
“I am quite fine,” Michael said, looking down at me. “I must admit I was more intoxicated by my wife than from your wine. The fresh air is clearing my head.”
Accola regarded me with a smile that touched his lips but not his eyes. “I understand what you mean. I am looking forward to your business, Mr. Bayern.”
We didn’t speak until we were in the car and driving away.
“Pull over,” I said halfway up the driveway.
“I’ll stop as soon as we are on the main road.”
“No, it has to be close,” I said. “There! That cut-off road. Do it!”
We pulled into an area hidden behind hedges next to the driveway. Less expensive cars were here and a building like a guest house rose three stories. Probably where they made the caterers park.
I reached into the back seat and pulled out my laptop, tapping my foot impatiently while it booted up.
“What did you do in there?” Michael asked.
I opened my special software and started typing away. “The whole house is full of smart devices. Those things are never updated with security patches. There are lots of exploits, especially for someone with physical access. Hah! There it is.” I pointed at the screen. “I’ve got back-door access to the fridge through my USB drive.”
“Are all smart devices vulnerable in this way?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “It’s one of the biggest problems in our industry right now. Dozens of vulnerable devices on every network in every home. A lot of the newer botnets utilize these IoT devices for DDOS attacks.” I looked sideways at him. “That’s why I was alarmed by all the IoT devices in your apartment in Richmond. One of these days I’m going to hack all of them to prove my point.”
Michael snorted. “Will they not see the USB stick in the refrigerator?”
“If they look carefully behind the panel, sure,” I said. “But as long as they don’t find it in the next 10 minutes it won’t matter.”
My connection to the device was spotty since we were a few hundred feet from the house itself. A couple of TCP/IP port scans later and I was connected to the Wi-Fi network through the compromised fridge. From there it was child’s play to find Accola’s computer, and then access the file system through an unsecured folder.
“Boom goes the dynamite,” I said, fist-pumping in the car. “All of Accola’s documents.”
The folders were all random alphanumeric names, hundreds of them. I opened a few at random. They were filled with Excel spreadsheets, scanned invoices, and PDF reports of investment returns.
I backed up to the root folder and hit CTRL+F to search for “Blanco.” Folder G7A8214SA came back with a dozen hits.
“Here it is,” I said. “All of Blanco’s financial information!”
“Hurry up and copy it,” Michael said as he looked over his shoulder. “We can examine them when we are safe.”
I started copying the folder. It had to go from Accola’s computer to the fridge to my USB device to my laptop, so it was dreadfully slow. I expected the connection to suddenly drop as someone discovered what we were doing but it finished without a hitch.
“Done,” I said. “While I’m here, want me to grab the data on Accola’s other clients?”
Michael bit his lip, took a deep breath, then said, “Do it.”
I checked the root folder size. 14.5 gigabytes. It would take all night to transfer everything. I compromised by sorting the folders by the last modified date and grabbing the most recent 15 folders. Watching them transfer was the longest 20 minutes of my life.
The hedges shifted outside our car. “What was that?” I said. “The wind?”
Michael was deathly still as he stared out the side window. “Open the glove compartment,” he commanded.
I hit the button in front of me. The glove box fell open, revealing a black handgun.
“Oh shit,” I said.
He grabbed it, verified that a bullet was in the chamber, and switched the safety off. “Stay here.”
He opened the car door and slipped out into the night.
I squinted out the window but it was too dark to see anything. One minute remaining on the file transfer. The extra data was worthless if we got caught. We should have fled the moment we had what we needed on Blanco. We’d gotten greedy.
Too late to do anything about it now.
I thought about what Michael had told me earlier. Accola had been working for JGB for six years. He was part of the entire drug operation when my father was gunned down on the Bogotá tarmac. He was complicit. And I’d flashed him a fake smile and let him kiss my hand like it was no big deal.
In the moment, it had been easy to focus on our primary mission. But now that I had the data I wanted revenge.
I copied a special little surprise from my laptop to his computer, burying it in the C:WindowsSystem32 folder. The file transfer finished before Michael returned.
“Come on, Michael,” I whispered. “Come on…”
He returned to the car like a ghost in the night. “Two caterers having a smoke,” he said as he closed the door. “They did not see us.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
18
Juliana
Another car happened to be leaving around the same time we pulled back onto the driveway. Michael continuously glanced in the rear view mirror until the car turned down a different street. Only then did he relax. Even still, he drove with one hand and held the gun down along his thigh as we returned north to Zurich.
“Are we okay?” I asked. “Are we safe?”
“I believe so.”
