The Plea, page 19
part #2 of Eddie Flynn Series
We waited in the dim corridor while Tommy checked that the service bay was clear. He half turned and peeked through the steel door. I wondered if he had to go through a lot of doors sideways. Tommy was a former Mr. Universe contestant, a single dad, and one of the finest detention officers I’d ever met. Barry, an ex-cop and a friend of mine who’d spent his last years ferrying prisoners from a van to a cell in the old Chambers Street courthouse, had introduced me to Tommy.
Tommy waved us into the loading area, the secure parking lot where deliveries were made—food, office supplies, and citizens who’d managed to get on the wrong side of the NYPD for whatever reason and got a ride into this area in the back of a prisoner truck. He made his way to the single pedestrian door, which was cut into a block of steel shutters. Checking the security camera on a bank of monitors beside the door, Tommy made sure there were no reporters waiting at the door.
“Go. It’s clear,” said Tommy.
“Thanks, T. I owe you one,” I said.
He patted me on the shoulder as I passed him, and we made our way onto the street and straight into another dark sedan, this one a heavy shade of midnight blue; the last car was too hot to use again. Frankie took off before I could even get my door closed.
We were out. Thankfully, with David and everyone else in one piece. Now I had a little time to think. But instead of running Zader’s moves through my head and thinking about the evidence against David, I was thinking about Christine. Every piece of ground I’d lost to Zader made the hit on Christine and David more attractive to the firm. They would be desperate now. They would take bigger risks to make sure David didn’t talk.
I wanted to hold her so bad I could feel the aching in my arms. Amy didn’t need this. She’d been through too much already. I needed to get them somewhere far away and safe.
“What can we do about this prosecution move?” asked David. “Surely we could get the judge back.”
“I don’t think we will. I think the DA has got his chance at a fresh hearing with a clean slate. And he’s gathering the grand jury as backup. This guy is a serious player.”
“Can you beat him?” asked David.
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” I said.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Holly must’ve left the heater on in her apartment while we were out. When she opened the door, it was like being hit by a blast from an industrial paint dryer. I checked the window and watched the Lizard and Frankie separate and take off on foot, covering loops of our route, making sure we hadn’t been followed. The quavering voice of my wife echoed in my memory—the fear in her throat as I talked her through her cab ride earlier that day. And the sound of Amy crying. I knew her cry—it was my own. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Holly locked the front door behind us, found another key for a dead bolt, and then slid two security chains across the door. David then approached the door, tried the handle three times, making sure the door was locked. He tapped the security chains and, satisfied, he took off his backpack, unzipped it, and spread out his laptop on the little dining table.
“Sit down, David. I need to know more about this flash drive. You want me to pull off a miracle at the prelim tomorrow—I’m not as confident as you are. There has to be another way to get you and Christine out of this. It’s possible I can swing a deal, if I have more to bargain with.”
“I already told you, the software taps into the firm’s accounts system. It tracks down and monitors the money trail. The feds just need to insert it into the firm’s digital network.”
His unlined, peachy face didn’t give an inch. His eyes moved naturally, not deliberately fixed, able to shift, but their intensity never wavered. He was telling the truth. Holly gave him another cold can of his favorite energy drink. He popped the tab and poured himself a fresh glass. Holly poured me a cup from the coffeepot, which had now turned the liquid into a bitter, hot mess. The way I like it. I thanked her. She gave me a tight-lipped smile in return and, as she did so, her eyes lingered on David.
“Did you write this software this afternoon?”
“No. I had it already. Before the firm’s security system went live, we had to test the algo and make sure it worked. This software traces the movement of the cash so that we knew the algo was really working. It was a top-level security job, because of the amounts of money involved, so I was the only one allowed to access the algo once it had been coded.”
“And did Gerry Sinton ask you to design this?”
“Yeah. He wanted a backup security system that takes over the firm’s client accounts if their database ever got hacked. Once a credible threat is detected, the system my company installed starts running a series of checks. Thousands of calculations per second. If the system decides there’s a risk, the security algo kicks in and the money travels for seventy-two hours before returning to one secure account. There are hundreds of dormant accounts in the name of Ben Harland—scattered across five different Manhattan banks. The algo selects one of these accounts at random to be the final destination for all of the money.”
“And by the time the money finds its way home, it’s also been washed,” I said.
“To be honest, at the time I created this algo, that had never occurred to me,” said Child dispassionately.
“Structuring” was the term. Albie, an accountant who worked for my pal Jimmy the Hat, used to employ a similar method in what he called the dirty-thirty runs. Splitting down a cash deposit into sums below ten thousand dollars—so the bank doesn’t have to write a report under the Bank Secrecy Act and doesn’t need to file a suspicious activity call with the Financial Security Task Force.
“And only you have access to this algo, outside the firm, I mean.”
“Yeah, the firm insisted on it. I did, too. I added my own little touches so no one can access the nuts and bolts of the program but me. An algo like this is beyond any standard security tech on the market, and it has to be secure, and that means only one pass. The system is designed to run by itself. It doesn’t need updates or maintenance. The firm can use it, but I’m the only one who can pop the hood and access the code that runs the program. But I can only do that from their office, with their knowledge.”
“The firm knows this; that’s why you’re a target. How would the FBI come by that information?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging.
“What does it take to set off this algorithm?”
“A threat or a command.”
“So, somebody in the firm could push a button to set this off?”
“Sure. It has to have that ability; otherwise there’s nothing to stop a physical robbery. You see, in a threat situation, it’s perfectly legal to move or freeze assets to avoid them being stolen. If the firm is using this as a new method of washing their cash, they’re using my system. So it doesn’t matter what your wife did. As long as she’s not the one operating the system, she hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“But she witnessed documents that authorized the share transfers. That effectively covers up the laundering.”
My coffee had reached that perfect temperature, and I took a mouthful and leaned back in my chair. David suddenly noticed that perspiration from his glass had dripped onto the table. He pulled a napkin from his pocket, dried the desk, and placed his drink on top of the napkin.
“So you can access the algorithm and find out where the money’s headed?”
“No. Can’t be done from here. It has to be done on their system.”
We couldn’t get in and out of Harland and Sinton alive. Too damn risky.
I swept my hair back and locked my fingers behind my neck. The pain in my head had been getting worse every minute, the pressure building again ever since I’d left the courthouse.
“You got any painkillers?”
“Sure,” said Holly, and began searching cupboards.
“I need this, David. My wife’s at risk. The firm tried to kill her today, just to take me off your case. I don’t want her harmed, and I sure as hell don’t want her to end up in prison just because she got conned by her boss into signing something that she shouldn’t have signed.”
“I feel for your wife. I don’t want anyone to hurt her. But if I’m cleared of these charges, the firm will stop wondering if I’m going to cut a deal with the FBI. That takes the threat away from your wife.”
His eyes moved rapidly, and I could almost see his pulse hammering a techno beat through the vein in his neck.
He sniffed, produced another napkin, and blew his nose.
He didn’t deserve to be sacrificed for Christine. Of course, I would do the time for her, if I could. She’d trusted her boss and had gotten herself into something big and nasty. Zader would never blow the charges on David given the choice, but I wondered if I dangled a full trace history of the money in front of Dell’s face, might he be able to swing something with Zader? And buy Christine immunity? I had to believe that. Right then I couldn’t see any other way out.
“Get me the data, David. I’ll make sure the charges get blown away. Either the FBI drops the charge, or I do it in court. Either way I’ll guarantee you walk away from the murder.”
Right then I wondered how I would be able to deliver on the promise. I couldn’t even see a plan of attack on the prosecution evidence at this stage. David flopped against the back of his chair, looked at Holly, looked at the screen, and then looked at me.
“That would be a deal, but I already told you, I can’t access the system from here. It has to be done on the Harland and Sinton server, and I can only access that if I’m in their building and I have their Wi-Fi access code. Their mainframe access point is in their conference room. All of their computers, including that one, run on secure Wi-Fi. If I can hack that computer remotely through their Wi-Fi, I can get the data. But we can’t go to their office. We’d never make it out.”
Harland and Sinton occupied eight floors in one of the premier skyscrapers in Manhattan. Once we went in there, chances were we’d never been seen again. Unless there was some way to make sure the firm’s security team wouldn’t make a move.
“I think I know someone who can help us,” I said.
I dialed a number from memory and waited. My call was answered by a female voice that sounded like silk being dragged over smooth pebbles.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I’ve got a job.”
“Well, hi to you too, honey. It’s great to hear from you, but I thought you’d gone straight. Big-shot lawyer and all. You still in the game?”
“Always, Boo. Always.” Boo was a former hooker, and very active con artist, who’d been a friend for many years. I’d had an idea about how to get in and out of Harland and Sinton.
“Say, you still friendly with the guy who used to park his van outside your apartment?”
“I always stay friendly with those kinds of people.”
“Great. I need him, his equipment, and his van. You, too.”
“Sounds exciting. What’s the cut?”
“Call it a favor, but I’ll make sure you’re compensated. I should tell you, it’s dangerous.”
She paused, her breath quick and expectant.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
25 hours until the shot
Holly drove a car that was smaller than my briefcase. A little Honda that smelled of makeup and bubble gum. The Lizard followed behind us, David sitting low in the passenger seat of the Lizard’s new black Transit. We pulled in at the pier and waited for Boo. Clouds spoiled the full moon. It was past eight, and I’d called Gerry Sinton from a pay phone on Ninety-eighth Street and told him I was bringing the file and the client to their offices at seven thirty for a strategy meeting.
While we waited, I thought over the evidence against David and wondered how the hell I was going to challenge it the next morning. I put it out of my mind by calling Christine. She said she and Amy were fine. They’d ordered pizza and hadn’t left the hotel. I could tell it was bullshit. Amy was crying softly in the background, even with the TV turned up to drown out the noise. My jaw worked at the anger building inside me. Eventually, Christine relented.
“Of course she’s terrified, Eddie. I am, too,” she said, the timbre in her voice wet with tears, her throat hoarse.
“I’m going to make this okay. I’ll make sure the police don’t come looking for you.”
“And what about the firm?” she said.
“The FBI are going to take them down. I can help with that, but I have to make sure you’re out of it first. There’s something I need from you. It’ll help. What’s the Harland and Sinton Wi-Fi password for today?”
“Why?”
“I need it. I told you I’m going to fix things, so I need the password.”
“You can’t do anything illegal, Eddie.”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. Password.”
“It’s chimera87. But they’ve probably changed it by now.”
I swore under my breath.
“Child says he can probably break in, as long as he’s in range. How do you get the password? E-mail?”
“They send a text. Look, you don’t have to do this, Eddie. I got myself into this. I should just go talk to the FBI and hold my hands up.”
“No, do not do that. I can fix it…”
“Sometimes there are things you can’t fix—”
“Like our marriage? That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”
Silence.
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Amy misses you. I … I miss you.”
Neither of us could speak for a time. We just listened to each other’s breath.
“Don’t get yourself killed. If I go down … Amy needs at least one parent,” she said.
“I’ll be all right, but if something does happen, don’t go to the FBI. Run and take Amy with you.”
Headlights came up behind us. I could tell they were from a van, so I got out and waited for Boo. Boo Johnson was the toughest woman I’d ever met, and one of the smartest. A born con artist. I couldn’t make out the livery on the van from my position, not in the dark. So I moved toward them, meeting them halfway up the lane to Pier 39.
The van came to a slow, gradual stop, the passenger door opened, and out stepped a freakishly long pair of pale, muscular legs. She closed the door to the van and, careful to avoid injuring her ankles in her tall stilettos, she strode toward me.
When I’d first met Boo I was a con man. She’d worked a couple of jobs with me, mostly light work, setting up fake car accidents. Boo had that look about her, like she was a movie star; it was a glow, almost. She wore a bright fire-engine-red blouse, cut to her stomach, and a tight black skirt. Her bleached-blond hair had been cut short and held at an impossible angle by a half bottle of hairspray. The sun had gone down long ago, but Boo always wore her shades. Behind those wide oval glasses were a set of eyes that could throw a priest off the top of a tall building.
She cocked her hip and said, “Good enough?”
For a second I couldn’t connect the question. Then I saw the laminated pass in her hand. I took it from her and examined it. There was no doubt that it looked authentic.
“Not bad for an hour’s work. Who’s the artist?”
“Little guy in Queens, goes by the name of Georgie,” said Boo.
“Tell him I like his work. I might have need of his services one day.”
The Lizard shook hands with the van driver, a big guy in a blue sweater, leather jacket, ripped jeans, and a baseball cap. He looked handsome. She introduced him as Roger. We shook hands and then he went back to his van.
“Roger and I are just friends, for now,” said Boo, with a smile.
“Will he hold up?” I asked.
“Definitely. As far as he’s concerned, it’s like any other work night. I’m more concerned about Hansel and Gretel,” said Boo, as she peered at Holly and David.
“Leave them to me,” I said.
Both of them looked nervous as hell. David was staring out at the water, lost. Holly tapped her feet, her hands stuffed into her pockets. They both snapped to attention as I approached.
“Holly, you don’t need to do this,” I said.
“He’s right,” said David.
“No, I’m his PA. They’ll be wondering why I’m not there if I don’t show.”
In spite of her obvious anxiety, there was a determination in Holly, and it was something more than loyalty. David was at home in front of a computer or in a business meeting, but I got the impression that when it came to the real world he needed a guide, and that was Holly. He was damn lucky to have her.
“Okay, you know the setup. Gerry Sinton needs you in the ground, David. In fact, they’ll kill all of us given half a chance. This is a con. It will ensure that they can’t make a move on us tonight without implicating the firm. As much as they want us dead, they’re only doing it to protect themselves, so they won’t take a chance if they think taking us out can be traced back to them. The con protects us, but it will only work if we all absolutely believe it. You have to live it. If you look nervous, if you look like someone walking into a building full of people that want to kill you—guess what? It’s over. We’re going to your lawyer’s office to discuss your defense, David, nothing more.”
