Cafe Underground Presents
Armando called just after ten o'clock on Saturday morning. "I wanted to touch bases." was his excuse.
Andi sat at the kitchen table helping Lena with the newspaper crossword and trying to decide if wall-papering the kitchen and bath would be worth the hassle. She struggled to click back into business mode. "We've pieced together their corporate structure. I doubt there much you haven’t seen."
"Nothing else new?"
"I expect a call from Francois." Andi stalled. "He's made progress, but I don't think he'd approve of discussing it on an unsecured line. Want to meet?” She was thinking midday Monday morning.
Armando played the voice of reason. "Why don't we wait for Francois...ask him what he thinks of using scramblers?"
Andi groaned. No doubt Francois'd think any idea great. "Where will you be later?"
"The phone goes with me." he assured her smugly. "It's a life style not a job."
There were a half-dozen smart-assed remarks vying for first in line at the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them all and replied, "OK then, soon as I hear, I'll ring."
"Sounds perfect." He had the enthusiasm of a used car salesman--it didn't do his credibility good. "Until then." he offered as a salutation, then the line went dead.
Andi visited her mother, a short visit--much shorter than she'd intended. She let herself with her new key. Mrs. Wicksham was in bed, skin stretched almost transparent across her skull, her ears sticking out from her stringy, thin hair.
"Hi Mom." Andi tried valiantly to smile.
"Hello sweetie." She smiled weakly, then pinched her lips and looked up as if Andi were a waitress. "Will you get me a little water? Just tap water, not cold...squeeze in a little lemon?" She had the physical energy of a spindly thirteen-year old in an iron lung with mononucleosis and hundred and five degree fever, but the demeanor of a drill sergeant.
"Of course." Andi replied, retreating toward the kitchen.
When she returned she had to hold her mother's head up to help her drink and dab then at a dribble with the edge of the sheet.
"I've been thinking about what you asked me." Andi began insecurely.
Her mother weakly shook her head. "Not now." She shut her eyes.
"Mom?" Andi asked.
Her mother's eyes popped open--they were bleary with film and barely focusing. "I'm too tired now, we'll talk later." She shut her eyes and waited. A minute later she murmured, "Goodbye."
Andi felt the floor sinking beneath her. She'd come with every intention of being supportive, but the issue screamed inside.
The little bottle had been moved to the table by her bed, half-behind the bedside lamp. Andi swallowed against the hurt. A steel band tightened about her heart.
A minute or two minutes later, she politely let herself out and drove home cursing.
That afternoon Andi was able to spend a considerable amount of time preoccupied with Riparian without betraying it to Lena. They spent an hour touring the shelves of the local mega-grocery, then Pastaworks and Shawn's Underground gourmet aisles, Lena content to let Andi wait passively, lost in thought. Arriving back home at one-thirty there were two messages, but neither was from Francois.
Lena wanted to go out for the afternoon; away from phones. The options were the Japanese Gardens or Sauvie Island--Andi chose the latter and trailed along, her dark glasses dark hiding her churning thoughts. There were blue herons and egrets and pelicans and swarms of other browner and greyer cousins; it was enough to get Lena vowing a bird book and binoculars.
They gazed out over the river and walked through lush-paths, Andi reviewing Riparian’s environmental problems. Certainly Titan Marine would generate a lot of waste, with their dry docks and pumping bilges and scraping poisonous paint off hulls. The machine works used cutting oils and solvents by barrelfulls. Janus Industrial Chemicals was just a name, but industrial chemicals came with hard core implications. She'd made mental notes to ask for details.
When they returned at quarter to six to change before going out to dinner the phone was ringing. It was Francois, Lena handed the receiver to Andi and retired to the bedroom. There was every indication that it would be a romantic evening.
"Hey, you're back." Francois chirped. "I left three messages. A couple at your office."
"Yeah we're about to go out for dinner." Andi wanted to establish that the call should be short and sweet.
Francois went on at a rate usually attributable to a triple espresso. "Neat. I got a bunch of stuff for you."
Andi closed her eyes, willing the responsibility to go away. "How important is it?" she asked hopefully.
"Significant and sensitive."
"Can it wait?" Andi asked, still hopeful. "How about tomorrow?"
"Uhhh, I guess." Francois wasn’t helpful. "I was going to work through the night, so need to confirm strategy. And, Armando's prodding that we meet tonight."
"It really isn't convenient."
"Shutting down my work isn't either." Francois fussed "And then there's Armando."
"How about meeting at..." Andi looked at her watch, "Nine-thirty?" She tried to sound enthusiastic.
"Done."
"Where?" She didn't care, she was wondering how dressed up Lena would want to make their restaurant outing.
"We'll pick you up." Francois replied.
"We?"
"I'll come with Armando. There are things he wants to go over."
Andi took a breath and sighed it out with her eyes closed again. "Sure. That would be fine. Anything else?." She acceded gloomily. Lena would be even less enthusiastic, probably guess she'd set it up to avoid their romantic evening.
She hung up, the walk to the bedroom felt like an inmate’s last steps. Lena accepted the news with silent disapproval, immediately switching her choice from slinky dress to levi's.
Dinner was less than romantic--Lena, disappointed and hurt. Andi was so used to being blamed for being a workaholic that she didn't bother to make excuses, accepting the mantle of insensitive scum and hoping without faith for acceptance if not forgiveness.
When they returned just after eight. Lena went to shower, then emerged, clean and smelling of herbal somethings, head swathed in a towel, body in a robe, settling carefully at the far end of the couch without a direct glance or word. Andi felt doubly grungy as she looked up from her mystery.
She was in an all-time sour mood by the time Armando pulled up in front. Francois shifted to one of the rear seats, the one behind Armando, leaving the passenger seat for her.
"Good progress," Armando announced before he'd even pulled from the curb. "Riparian's choice of encryption left a little to be desired." He flashed a smile and pulled around the corner heading north.
"I got a break at the University of Washington campus...one of their crunchers picked apart Riparian's algorithm.”
Andi pursed her lip and raised her eyebrows in silent reply, but it must have been too dark for the subtlety. "Neat."
"I downloaded everything from Riparian's controller PC they use as a firewall and am picking it apart, went in via a PSU dorm so I left footprints, they’ll think I’m some sophomore geek, screwing off."
"You take me from a romantic evening with my girlfriend to tell me this?"
"There's more." noted Francois confidently.
Armando listened without comment, smoothly wheeling them onto Sandy Boulevard heading north-east.
"Their mainframe is a Digital. An old VAX, running VSM. I haven't even tried busting in but that’s next. I figured we should talk it over."
Andi looked over at Armando.
He shrugged and shook his head. "It's your call." He raised his eyebrows and shrugged then he slowed to stop for a yellow light.
"What's at risk?" Andi asked cautiously. She didn't have experience either, she'd always relied on advice.
"If we fuck up on the mainframe they'll know somebody's broken their security and will shut us down. As it is now, all they know is that the latest punk of an endless line diddled at the gate without getting in. There's probably no trace that files got copied, only a half-dozen unauthorized user accesses. The bulk of their security is focused on barring access. Since there's no vital data kept in the machine they use for a server, they left it’s works with simple no-read blocks a Radio Shack demon-dialer could break. Pretty sloppy of them. Maybe we should offer to upgrade their security." Francois was obviously pleased with himself.
"What precautions do we need?" Andi noticed Francois' shift from I to we, and played along.
"Nothing special...I’ll go in through a Riparian business phone exchange and be invisible after that point. I got passwords, graphed their activity and will try to use two separate lines in while I fiddle around.”
“What of the other satellites?”
“Breaking one, broke ‘em all. They used the same encryption."
Francois seemed to have lost respect for Riparian--it rang warning bells for Andi. She looked past Armando out the window, they were headed toward the airport.
"We've only been on this a few days. We can wait another few. Who knows? There are things still to do." She glanced to Armando for comment. He sat smiling, nodding his head at her decision and that sparked a minor realization; she had a sudden insight; he was side-stepping the decision.
"OK." said Francois cautiously. "We'll copy everything in and out, but it'll take storage I don't have on hand."
There was a moment of silence. Armando glanced over and saw Andi looking at him. "Get him what he needs." he shrugged. "He mentioned something about you needing another computer. Just tell me costs and we'll cover it." He got to the first left down Airport Way and cautiously made a U-turn. "If we're going to put out that sort of overhead, generate an invoice but you can justify it any way you want."
Andi watched his suspiciously, she had more trouble making that sort of decision. He authorized spending as if he'd done it for years.
She let two eight-bar phrases pass with the engine soloing to a background of city sounds. Then, on an upbeat, she asked, "Is Armando DeVino an alias?" She came in low, under radar to see what sort of response it would bring.
Armando immediately started chuckling.
Francois coughed uncomfortably and asked, "Where did the cover go wrong?"
Andi looked from Armando to Francois, back to Armando, then again to Francois before responding. "The latest was that Ramirez found out DeVino didn't have a driver's license up until lately."
"No license. Ever? Damn." cursed Francois. "I thought he just hadn't renewed in Milan."
"Milan?" Asked Andi. "So there is a real Armando DeVino?"
"Was." corrected Francois. "He died mysteriously and it was shushed up. Not even an Italian death certificate. So bureaucratically he's still alive."
"But you aren't him?" Andi asked Armando.
"I like to think I am." answered Armando blandly. "For the moment."
"Stupid answer." grumbled Andi. "If I ask who you are, would you lie again?"
"Or you couldn't believe it at this point..." observed Armando insightfully.
"How much more of this story is made up?" asked Andi irately. "The industry group? The budget? The environmental problem?"
"All that's legitimate." Armando glanced up from the road. "A years worth of positive articles and a handful of planted editorials in polluter industry trade magazines, followed with letters, a publicity package and phone calls. It was salesmanship." His voice held a touch of pride.
"The group's legit and the budget's real." Francois leaned forward so she could see the sincerity in his face.
"So's the pollution." inserted Armando flatly.
Andi pondered her position. She hadn’t been given any real leads on the environmental problem she was theoretically investigating, Armando hadn’t given any indication that he was going to send her in that direction either. What was it to her if her clients had things to hide? What was it to her if they lied to others? Ramirez claimed that everyone had things to hide and everyone lied sometime.
Only the sound of the engine, traffic, and a plane taking off could be heard for the next few minutes. Armando drove quietly down 82ed, obeying every traffic law. "We need to discuss phone security." He said without shifting his eyes from the road. His face shifted from neon pink to blue as they passed from one lit sign to another.
Francois spoke up from the shadows. "There's a real good audio PGP, but takes computers and has a delay." He gave a dismissive cough and continued. "Scramblers are pretty goo and unless we're up against somebody with lots of resources, we'll be secure for any short while."
"I think it's a pain." lobbied Andi firmly.
"We're going to be noticed," cautioned Armando. "There's too much at stake." he looked over and gave a toothy smile, then turned west on Glison, heading back.
"Scramblers?" asked Francois, counting the vote.
"Fine with me." Andi conceded sulkily.
"Come up with a cost, say...for four units." Armando said, again without looking over. "Small enough to carry around. Maybe with a few different channels."
"Check." responded Francois cheerfully.
"Anything else on the agenda?" asked Armando.
Andi shook her head.
"No for me." put in Francois.
Armando, smiled and drove, not saying a word until pulling up to let Andi out. "Thanks for making time for this." He said, leaning forward to look clearly into her eyes.
"That's what I'm paid for." Andi said, managing to smile.
"I know you didn't want to." He extended it as if it were an apology.
"It's nothing. We'll talk next week." She waved without looking back and headed up to the porch, cursing to herself as she unlocked the door. Even double time wouldn’t get close to making up for it.
"There wasn't any reason for me to go tonight." she raged as she crested the top of the stairs. "Armando's ineffectual and Francois' more into exploring than slogging through what we got."
A conspicuous silence answered her from the bedroom. Concern gripped her, Andi strode anxiously down the hall and pulled open the door with feeling of apprehension.
Lena lay propped up in bed, her book laying open in her lap, chin to chest. Her heart in her throat, Andi crossed to her side half expecting her to be cold and stiffening, but her skin was soft and warm with life and her breath came in easy sighs.
Andi carefully pulled the book from her hands and slid Lena down to the covers. She half-woke, struggling, then snuggling under the covers, murmuring something from a dream. Andi switched off the bedside light and retreated into the bathroom. Then pulling off her clothes she took a quick shower and slipped on sweats and a pair of socks. In the living room she sat, not even reading, waiting there in the dark for hours, listening to the quiet and wishing thing were different than they were.
Sunday morning, before the blankets were kicked from the bed, Lena was insisting they get away from their phone.
Andi called her mother, asking if she and Lena could stop by and offering to deliver a bagel or treat and coffee.
“Will Lena? Please...just come after you eat. I don’t want anything.”
Lena and Andi bought a newspaper, stopped by Noah's for lox, tomato, onion and cream cheese on hot, fresh bagels and crossed to Coffee People for lattes among the alternative youth smelling vaguely of incense, patchouli oil and puppy poop.
Mrs. Wicksham held court in her bedroom. She and Mrs. Bronstein fell into and awkward silence as if discussing something too intimate for Andi and Lena's ears. Andi kissed her mother and held her hand, sitting on the edge of the bed ill at ease. Mrs. Bronstein withdrew to the chair by the window.
“We’re go to Saturday Market.” Lena smiled.
Mrs. Wicksham nodded slightly.
“Do you want an audio book to listen to?” Andi tried.
“I have one.” her mother whispered.
“Do you want more company? We can stay or come back?”
Mrs. Wicksham shook her head. “I sleep most of the time...”
“Radio, TV?” Andi asked.
Her mother shook her head. “I’ve a few things to finish with Mrs. Bronstein, then I’ll sleep again. It’s OK.”
Andi stood uneasily, making small talk that dented the floor like lead biscuits before offering awkward goodbyes and retreating with Lena to the car.
They drove down Hawthorne without saying a word, crossed the river and parked to stroll arm in arm along the river-wall to Saturday Market, then took a long walk through the green of Forest Park. Some time around one, they found a stand with polish sausages and an hour later, Andi went off to her band's traditional Sunday jam session, thankful she’d left her drum-kit and had nothing but herself to bring.
Monday morning, the office phone machine had eighteen messages--as if the world suddenly decided that it needed itself investigated and would only accept their work. Two early ones were from Armando, one Saturday, one late Sunday afternoon. Four more were from regular clients wanting employee checks, a new lawyer seeking a witness and another wanting some background material on their opponent’s expert. There were four garbled messages from a drunk looking for Irene, he must have been sitting with a pile of quarters, reading the number upside down. The very last call was from Ramirez, it could even have been this morning--he didn't say.
There were only two blanks beeps where the caller hung up--probably prospective clients going down the yellow pages looking for reasons to pick a name off the page. There was also one who asked for Andi by name, appealing in a nervous staccato that she'd been referred by a friend.
Before anything else except coffee, they attacked the call backs. Andi tackling Armando first.
"DeVino here..." Armando answered on the third ring, it sounded like he was in his car in traffic, there was a low engine roar, street noises, and awkward pauses as if he was steering one-handed to keep the phone to his ear.
"Andi Wicksham, returning your call..." She felt sure he'd have one of those phones with built-in caller ID.
"Yeah Andi. There's been a spill just down river from Titan Marine. I sent our response team last night to map and sample and wanted you to be in the loop."
"Do you want me out there?" After all, that was the official reason he'd hired her.
"Not just yet. We'll get our lab results back soon and I'll need to arrange a boat, Titan Marine won't let you across their property. Your role isn't toxicology--we'll let our science folk do their thing. Knowledge of end of the pipe problems comes too late to do much. If the science boys come up with anything up your alley, we'll call."
"Sure." accepted Andi. Not running off suited her fine.
"I'll fax the map, lab results and an interpretation to fatten your files. We've got this down to pretty much a routine thing." It seemed that traffic was demanding a greater amount of his attention. "I gotta hang up now, OK?" he asked.
"No problem." said Andi. Easy, short and sweet. Click. Log the call in her book and move on.
Her next call went to Ramirez.
"Yo, Ramirez. It’s Andi getting back."
"Wicksham. So kind of you to be responsive. How old would you say DeVino is?"
Andi shut her eyes. If Ramirez was asking he was suspicious of something. Offhand, she'd guess Armando was something under forty. "I don't know, maybe fifty?" she ventured, building in a little error in case it was important--she wasn't paid to be an expert at ages.
"Oh gee." snorted Ramirez derisively. "I would have guessed thirty-eight, but I only met him that once." Disbelief dusted his words like a powdering of salt on a raspberry crepe. "You know he left the country quite a few years ago...twenty seven to be exact. Any idea where he's been?"
Andi spun back over their earlier discussion, "Didn’t I already tell you? The Mediterranean? Somewhere in Italy I think."
"Hmmm." stewed Ramirez, there was a pause as if he was taking notes. "You got an idea where Lamar Rasheed is? He had an appointment with Max."
"No. How long he been out of sight?"
"Since yesterday morning, but he was acting more and more squirrely the past couple of days. Less willing to talk each time Max hauled him in."
“That’s hardly surprising." She asked.
"You got any more than you did before?" He asked hopefully.
"Come on. We just got in." replied Andi truthfully. "Wasn't Max satisfied with what you got?"
"What do you think?" Ramirez snorted in disgust. "Right now he's fixated on Lamar Rasheed and trying desperately to get enough gravel beneath his wheels to stop spinning."
"Maybe his fixation caused Rasheed to split." hypothesized Andi neutrally.
"Could be." yielded Ramirez.
"What did the Medical Examiner say about Jimmy Tuft?"
"Twenty-five caliber, low-load pistol round; point blank to the back of the head. Didn't expire in-situ. He was brought to that alley dead. Arms and legs strapped with duct tape for some hours before he died, multiple contusions consistent with being beaten, nothing forensically interesting in his clothes." There was a rustle of paper as he read.
"Physical evidence?" quizzed Andi.
"Top surfaces of the tape were wiped clean. a few partial prints turned up on the underside, but they're just bits, nothing they've been able to match. The tape's a heavy duty stock you don't find in hardware stores--expensive but not rare...professional suppliers and catalogues carry it. He'd broken two teeth while being beaten up, they weren't in his stomach and not in Rasheed's kitchen so it's figured they're still wherever it was he was held. He was last seen in a coat that's still missing...he wore glasses and they're missing too." Ramirez sighed. "Aren't you going to ask how they got his body into Rasheed's without people seeing?"
Andi dropped into an apologetic tone, "I can guess. There's a high hedge beside the driveway, everything's overgrown, there's an empty lot beside and an empty house in front."
"You promised you weren't going to stick your nose into Max's arm pit, Wicksham." He tried to sound ominous, but his heart wasn't in it.
"I didn't stop, didn't even look in a window. All we did was drive by on the way to lunch." Andi didn't bother sounding irate, there weren't real accusations coming down.
"Drove by Jimmy Tuft's place too 'eh?" Ramirez didn't miss much of what wasn't said.
"I can not tell a lie."
"That's one right there, Sherlock."
"Hey." she complained. "Like I said, I haven't the foggiest idea who offed him and my investigation hasn't overlapped in the slightest way...that I know of." Andi felt obligated to tag on that last--if everything turned out to be part of everything, she'd be glad she'd offered the caveat up front.
"Wicksham." he appealed.
"Hey Ramirez, I've got your phone number memorized. If I hear anything I think you should know, I'll pass it on. What else can I do?"
"You don't really want me to answer that do you?" he countered, his teeth gritted.
"Say `so long' Ramirez. We're not getting anywhere." It was time to pull the plug.
"Until then." he conceded cheerlessly. "Ciao, amici."
"Ciao bella, my friend." replied Andi a bit sadly. Their phones hung up together.
Lena had returned the calls of their established clients, employee checks and a summons to serve--keeping the office pot boiling, established accounts faxed particulars and didn't need things explained. The last two calls, the prospective new clients, they split--Andi got the one who claimed she'd been referred.
"Hello?" There was an anxiousness in the greeting, as if expecting news of a tragedy.
"This is Andi Wicksham of Investigatory Services, returning your call."
"Yes. My name is Robin Dubrinski. I've been referred by Janice Thompson, the lawyer?" She paused, as if waiting reassurance.
"Yes, Ms. Dubrinski. What is it we can help you with?"
"I need to find a piece of furniture I inadvertently sold last week."
"A piece of furniture?"
"Yes an oak roll-top desk...it turns out my husband secreted some valuable papers under a drawer."
Andi'd traced spouses and pets, once a storage locker and twice safe-deposit boxes, but this was the first request to chase after furniture.
"You sold the desk last week?" Andi asked noncommittally.
"Yes, that's right."
"For cash or check?"
"Well actually a little of both, they wanted receipt for the check amount and paid the balance in cash..." Robin Dubrinski was embarrassed and little fearful.
"That's not my concern, Ms. Dubrinski...if you received his check you can probably trace it through the bank where you deposited it. If you call as a customer, they'll order a photo copy."
"It was a week ago, the check's already cleared."
"Most banks keep photo records of what passes through. They don't encourage digging them up cause it can be an effort to track 'em down. They'll probably charge a fee."
"Will you trace it for us?"
Andi offered a friendly sigh, "Actually, it's the sort of thing you can do better yourself. We'd have to sign a contract get a notarized power of attorney hand delivered to the bank. The bank would probably argue about everything because it's an unusual request. As a customer, you'll get service and a smile with a phone call. Once you have a copy of the check you've probably got an address and phone number. In worse case scenarios, you trace it back through the bank to whoever's account it is."
"Uhhh...sure...." It sounded like she was taking notes.
"If you hit a brick wall at the second bank, ask them to address and send a letter you'll write and stamp. That'll take a bank officer, but it's done."
"You don't want the work?" Robin Dubrinski asked, surprised.
"Actually, I'd rather you do that first part, even if you turn it over to us later. But if you can see it through without us, that's even better." Andi smiled to herself.
"Well, thank you." there was a moment of confusion. "Do I owe you anything for this advice?"
"If you get what you want and are still thankful, drop us a gift. Otherwise just do somebody a favor." Andi rolled her eyes. Demand money for helping somebody out? Only a lawyer would sink that low.
"OK." Dubrinski still sounded uncertain. "Phone my bank?"
"Yes ma'am. Good luck. Andi hung up before another question could leak out. She looked up to find Lena turned in her chair, waiting.
"Mine already found somebody." Lena shrugged. "I can't believe you're turning away business." She gave an decent imitation of shocked amazement.
Andi blinked and pursed her lips impatiently, waiting for Lena to get to her real issue.
"Dr. Snowden at OHSU left an a note asking you to call."
Andi drew a momentary blank.
"Francois. Remember?" Lena dropped her jaw and shook her head, eyes wide.
"Oh yeah." How could she have forgotten the good Doctor? She punched in Francois' number. "Snowden?" she grumbled.
"Hello Ms. Wicksham." Francois affected a posh, faux British accent.
Andi was growing to hate people with caller-ID. "I hear you want to talk." She didn't have very much enthusiasm for people's pretend names.
"Are you free at the moment?" Snowden inquired with what would pass in better American circles as nineteenth century, old world élan.
"No, but if you get your card stamped seven more times you get an espresso drink." Andi let sarcasm bead-up like condensation on a glass of iced tea. "Where and when?" She muttered.
"In a spot of foul mood, are we?" Snowden didn't give up.
Andi refused to respond.
Her silent rebuke worked, Francois returned. "OK, come here...now would be fine. Come by the Division apartment."
"Sure. Five or ten minutes?" She wanted to talk a moment with Lena.
"I'll be waiting."
Francois’ ‘Division’ apartment was a small one tucked within the rangy complex he owned, one of a few he kept as guest rooms stocked with skillet and sauce pan, plates, clothes and struggling philodendrons. As she pulled into the driveway and set the brake, she could see him waiting in the sun, leaning on the porch-rail in a peasant shirt of fawn colored rough silk.
It was a second-story postage stamp of an apartment, one of those strange add-ons you find in continually remodeled areas, patched together of spare parts after redoing more important units. Fifty leftover square feet that was once a hallway beside what once was a pantry beside an office's back room that was never used. Toss in some plumbing and you have an idiosyncratic low-rent student, or grandmother or struggling somebody's apartment with a door opening onto a porch above the refuse bins.
Andi tromped up the steps and stood beside him looking down on her car. "Needs washing, doesn’t it?"
Francois swiveled and gave a questioning look. "Your car? I was thinking Fall was coming early."
"Oh." replied Andi looking down at the street again. The air was clear and cool, a nice day to be outside. a maple across the street had half-turned an eye-jabbing yellow.
He pointed down vaguely without glancing. "No sense washing your car...with winter coming, no one’ll notice."
She nodded, straight-faced, leaning on the rail and stroking her cheek as if considering an issue of weight. "You're right...maybe I'll wash come Spring...one can never can be too careful."
They lingered without speaking as a young couple ambled down the sidewalk enveloped in mutual bliss. Two cars pulled by, then a nervous old woman in too large an overcoat, dragged an empty wire-meshed cart toward Division. "What you want to talk about?"
Francois turned away from the street, "I've got a window into their bookkeeping, but it'll probably take a team of CPAs a month to figure it out. My guess is that it’s above board accounting."
"Does it give names of products...contractors?"
"What I've seen is only figures. That stuff'll be coded by products and account numbers...but there must be reports that explain it all." Francois looked down and tapped idly at the rail post with the toe of his shoe. "Might have to hack Riparian to get them though." he glanced up significantly.
"It's a start." Andi shrugged.
"Go in?" He bobbed he head toward the door.
Andi nodded regretfully. It was nice standing outside, not a thing Francois indulged in often.
He locked the door after them, flipping the dead-bolts with a practiced twist. She followed him into the bedroom where the clothes in the closet were already pulled aside. He tugged at a large shoe rack and it and the lower half of the wall swung open. Andi ducked in, waiting for Francois to close the door and slide some of the laden coat hangers close with a piece of wire.
She'd come this route many times. Francois' security obsession hardly seemed surprising anymore. She trailed on his heels through a narrow hallway. Somewhere in the past century the adjoining rooms had been a brothel connected with peek-holes for blackmailing camera or voyeurs. With the holes plastered over, the cat-walk served as part of an elaborate maze through which Francois moved about his city block of adjoining buildings.
Around a few more corners, they climbed a ladder, passed through a couple of attics and eventually descended into his hidden office. The smell of ginger and chilies and rice wafted through the light-well window and Mike Bloomfield's arching guitar intro to Our Love is Drifting filled the room Francois turned up the lights, settled into his chair and swung it around toward Andi. "Coffee, tea, etc, etc?" he offered with a casual wave.
Andi shook her head. "What sort of stuff are they sending?"
"Routine stuff by what I've seen. Hard to believe it's worth the trouble of encryption. By the time you tally up a dozen medium-sized industries, it's a huge chunk of data, but that means that with such bulky files it's probably not kept encoded inside."
Andi nodded, interlocked her fingers and scratched her chin with her knuckles. It always took him a while to get to his point.
"There are a few ways to go about making sense of it. I'm filtering everything for text, but have got piddly results. They use a five-digit account codes for the columns I’m guessing are products a vendors, but that's as far I got." He reached a hand, tapped at his keyboard, and looked up at one of the monitors and smiled. "But all Riparian's companies use the same suppliers and codes, so once we've get the picture we'll follow it like Dick and Jane."
“They use uniform equipment?”
Francois looked over the tops of his glasses. "The subsidiaries got a jumble of computer systems. Typical for a collection of bought-out companies I guess. PC networks, a couple mini's, three UNIX's; one an antique, even a MX PDP-10. I set dead code cuckoo's eggs and over the weekend all but two hatched."
"Explain it in English." Andi prompted curtly.
"They’re different computers mean different operating systems to mess with. I snuck in software that sets up trap doors so I can enter when I want. Most of 'em already kicked in."
He paused until she blinked in understanding.
"They do their thing when somebody runs that section of code." He smiled at her discomfort. "It means all the technical stuff is moving OK.”
“What’s our liability? Are they going to catch them?”
“We’re exposed on the way in and then as we diddle with their native code. I'm using very circuitous access routes and being very careful nesting in their systems. None of it is patched on and looking obvious. The nominal risk is someone asking the properties of the utilities files and noticing they’re now a few K larger. That would take a very suspicious or bored sys-op.”
Andi didn’t follow the detail, but got the gist and nodded.
“I'm setting up phantom executive secretary accounts so I can archive and search on their own systems." He smiled. "They'll look like as regular users. I split my ongoing data-stream into three random phone lines to export to an e-mail account. On that end, I actually never log on because I syphon a copy on the way in that goes to a UofO system accessed through another trap door. Bottom line is, we're as secure as we're going to be."
Andi gave a slight nod. "Find anything?"
"Looking for things in common...besides Riparian, Janus Industrial Chemicals both buys and sells materials almost exclusively to Riparian firms."
"Is that significant?"
"Maybe not, but it's strange for an industrial chemical firm to sell mats and brooms and typing paper...I'm running the lists by Armando." He slowly reached for a dish of almonds, took a handful and offered them, quietly observing her expression.
She politely took a handful, popped one in her mouth and said, "My guess is that Snowden wouldn't have called me here to fill in background."
Francois' eyes narrowed and he sat back in his chair, crow's feet appeared and a smug smile creased dimples into his cheeks. He could have be a slim Ho Tai if wasn't for the flashy clothes. "In running the background's of Riparian's executives I came upon a guy personally paying the bill for twenty-two cellular phones."
"That's interesting." Andi allowed an expression of restrained pleasure, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips.
Francois shared a self-satisfied smile bordering on a leer. "I thought so too. One, maybe even three or four phones might be plausible if he had a couple of spoiled teenagers and an on-the-go wife. Twenty-two's a little over the top--it got my attention."
"And?"
"He's had them over a year and almost all the billings are to numbers among that group of phones."
"And." she felt she could tell from his almost electric intensity that he was leading into something significant.
"That was as far as I felt I should go without bringing you in. We haven't discussed phone tapping." Francois' eyes held Andi's in a hard stare.
"Aren't cellular phones legal to listen to?" she asked carefully. "I thought tapping laws don't apply."
"Wireless frequencies straight out of the phones are fair game...airways are public places. But we'd have to follow all twenty-two phones around and pick them up out in the open. Technologically easy, but it’s a cumbersome way to go. Hardware-wise, what we can deal with is tapping. And that's a federal crime."
"Big time." Andi stared into his golden-brown eyes--they sat that way a long while wishing there was an easy answer. This was the stuff he didn't want to mention over the phone or even outside on the back porch.
Francois was the first to speak. "Not that I've scruples about it. I'm already that far along collecting their data."
It was obvious he was anxious to do it and was trying not to over-sell. She didn't interrupt him.
"To me it looks obvious, but I didn't want to start without talking it over." He blinked and sat back in his chair.
"Talk me into it." Andi sat back and forced herself into a neutral state of mind.
"In for a dollar, in for a dime." He shrugged and tossed an almond in his hand. "Left on my own, I'd have already done it."
"Legality aside...you have other thoughts?" stalled Andi. She should probably ask Armando, but he'd no doubt put the decision back on her.
"On ethics? On one hand we have to fight fire with fire, on another I'm pissed when I think somebodies taping me. Anti-hacker cops have been trying to bug me for years and that’s lowered my threshold of shock--it's a pretty passive action considering that murder’s involved and there's no evidence in sight that would get Ramirez a court order. If it's going to get done, it'll be done by us." He popped another almond into his mouth. "Call me cynical, but I consider it a public service."
Andi chose to put off the decision. "Set it up. Highest security you can, but don't switch it on. I'll pass it by Armando and see if he approves."
"This morning he said wire-taps were your decision." noted Francois as he chewed his almond.
Andi rubbed her cheek with a finger. "That figures." she snorted sourly. "What else?"
"I put together a wish list...with prices. We'll buy used when we can. Snowden already faxed it to Armando and Lena." He smiled contentedly to himself. "The idea of more toys cheers me up."
"What sort of time-line?" Andi spoke slowly, trying to remain objective.
"I already looked around and ordered. Bobby Soxx and Lena got me keys to put your attic computer in tonight, so tomorrow we go encoded. More gear's coming tomorrow. I'm choosing scramblers and will get a special/rush delivery. I'll have 'em tomorrow afternoon, you can repay me my cost."
Andi felt resentful. She didn't mind technology as long as her personal involvement was limited. Once they started using phone scramblers Francois was likely to insist on them--just for the fun. "Is there more we need to go over?" she asked calmly.
"How about an OK on hacking Riparian's VAX?"
"Not yet." Andi restrained him. "We don't have their outside system figured and your spy gear isn't in."
Francois smiled. "I didn't figure you'd go for it." His eyes flicked up toward the hatchway to the attic. "Ready to go?"
Andi nodded and rose to her feet. "Did you work through the weekend?"
"The equipment's on round the clock since Wednesday. I take cat naps." He nodded toward the neatly made bed as he reached to turn down the light.
Andi didn't comment. He was donating a lot of time--but even if it was a labor of love he should be paid. She'd bring it up, but now wasn't the time. She climbed the ladder and waited until he joined her, thinking of the wire taps she ordered set-up but kept on hold--hoping Ramirez never learned of the depths she sank to at times like this.
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