Peter Spiegelman - Thick as Thieves

“Unless you’re you-I get it. So what’s changed?”

Dennis drinks more coffee. His fingers beat a droning drumroll on the tabletop. “A few things. They’ve upgraded their routers; they’ve implemented better filtering on inbound and outbound packets; and they’re scanning their servers better. Still textbook, but at least a more recent edition. In fact, if I was going to mount a denial-of-service attack on them, I might actually have to spend more than ten minutes planning it.”

“I didn’t think we cared about that stuff.”

“We don’t.”

Carr counts to ten and struggles to keep the impatience out of his voice. “What’s changed that we care about, Dennis?”

“For the moment, nothing-at least from what I see. The network access protocols and authorization layers are the same. The out-of-band component, to the user’s cell phone, is still in place. Last night, I walked through video of Chun as she was logging in yesterday, and I synchronized it with the sniffer logs. Everything looks the same.”

“And our gap?”

“From what I see, it’s still there. Once you pass through the authorization layers-the password generator, the thumbprint scan, the call back to the cell phone with a second password-and you get onto the network, access to Isla Privada’s processing system is by password alone. And there’s still no cross-check between the network access and processing system. So if I’ve got Curtis Prager’s processing system password, then that system thinks I’m Curtis Prager, and it lets me do everything Curtis Prager can do, even if I’ve gotten onto their network using Amy Chun’s ID.”

Carr sighs. Something loosens in his chest, but it tightens again when he looks at Dennis. “There are a lot of qualifiers in what you said, Dennis-‘for the moment,’ and ‘from what I see.’ They’re not particularly reassuring.”

Dennis’s fingers drum faster on the table. “They shouldn’t be. I can’t see too far into their network without hitting trip wires, but I’ve seen enough to know that their environment is changing. They haven’t fixed the hole that we want to climb through yet, but I’d say it’s just a matter of time.”

Carr sighs again, but there’s no relief in it. “How much time?”

Dennis shrugs. “Ask Kathy Rink.”

Tina’s hotel room overlooks a garden, with lavish beds of jacaranda, frangipani, and hibiscus massed around a weathered stone fountain. The garden is empty and the flowers are limp and restless in the humid breeze. Carr turns from the window.

“You should be smiling,” Tina says from the sofa. “It’s all good.”

“You call it good; I call it fucked up, though maybe not completely fucked up. Maybe not. There’s a difference.”

“Semantics.”

“Call it that when it’s your ass hanging out.”

Tina chuckles and unfolds herself from the sofa. She wears a simple gray skirt and a short black T-shirt, and her white-blond hair is pulled into a short ponytail. She pads barefoot across the room to refill a glass of ice water from a pitcher.

“Come on, Carr-the system stuff hasn’t changed, security’s tighter but still manageable, and your prints came back to Kathy Rink with Greg Frye’s record attached-and only his record: that’s good news.” Carr looks at her and raises an eyebrow. “What?” Tina says.

“I’m just wondering how you managed it-the fingerprints, I mean.”

“ I didn’t.”

“Boyce, then.”

“I don’t ask, and he doesn’t tell.” She smiles at Carr but he doesn’t return it.

“This is more than just ordering off-menu-more than calling in a favor here and there. This is pulling some serious weight, and I have a hard time believing you don’t know shit about it.”

Tina returns to the sofa, folds her white legs beneath her, and smooths her skirt. “I know about gift horses, and where not to look.”

“I’m serious, Tina.”

“So am I. I’m not talking about this anymore, and if you’ve got half a brain you won’t either.” Her eyes are flat and icy and unwavering, and finally Carr turns back to the view of the garden. “How’s Bessemer holding up?” Tina asks.

“He’s pickling himself in gin.”

“He going to keep his shit together for Prager?”

“Mike was worried about the same thing. He will.”

“And Mike, and the rest of your crew-how’re they doing?”

Carr takes a deep breath and turns around. Tina’s eyes have lost some of their chill, and that makes it easier. “I found out what happened to Bertolli’s money,” he says, and he tells her about Bobby’s confession, and about the afternoon he spent in Miami, walking up and down Brickell Avenue. Tina is perfectly still; her face is without expression while Carr speaks and in the squirming silence that follows. Finally, she clasps her white hands together and puts them in her lap. Her voice is soft.

“Well, they’re busy beavers, aren’t they? Maybe you’re not giving them enough to do. Too much time on their hands.”

“I’m sure that was the issue.”

Tina frowns. “There’s plenty here for me to be pissed at-like the fact that I’m only just now hearing about this-but I’m doing my best to rise above it, and so should you.” Carr nods and Tina continues. “Assuming Bobby’s not full of shit, this explains where some of the money went-though not all of it.”

“Bobby said Declan had the rest. If he did, then it went up with his van.”

“Maybe. You buy that Bobby and Mike had only half the cash?”

“Why lie about that? He’s no more of a shithead for walking off with the whole take than he is for walking off with half of it.”

“Maybe,” she says again. “And what about tipping off Bertolli? You don’t think those two had anything to do with that?”

“I think Bobby was telling the truth about that.”

“And you’ve proven to be such a good judge.”

Carr bites back his first response and rubs his chin. “They sell Declan to Bertolli, they sell themselves in the bargain. They were all getting shot at together.”

“If you buy Bobby’s version of events.”

“What about your witness-Bertolli’s runaway gunman-did he have orders to shoot at only two out of four guys?”

Tina shakes her head. “Maybe Bobby and Mike were willing to roll the dice-warn Bertolli and take a chance that in the ensuing shit storm Declan would get iced and they could split with the cash.”

“That’s a hell of a chance, Tina. Takes large brass balls to make that bet, or a tiny little brain.”

Tina shrugs skeptically. “Mike and Bobby don’t fit that profile? Well, you’d know better than I.

“But what about Fernando-what the fuck is he doing with these guys? Last I heard he was slapping up condos in Cabo or something. Guess the real estate market’s driven him back to a life of crime.” She shakes her head. “And Valerie in on it too-who’d have guessed she couldn’t be trusted?” Tina looks at Carr and smiles thinly.

“I don’t know what she’s in on, or since when.”

“Ask her-I’m sure she’ll give you a straight answer.”

Carr looks at the garden again. The wind has picked up and the flowers are shaking their heads at the darkening sky. “You don’t think she would?”

Tina’s laugh is like a blade. “It’s what you think that matters. Do you trust her-do you trust any of them-to do their jobs? This late in the game, that’s what it comes down to: honor among thieves.”

“Fuck trust-I’ll have their money. They need me if they want to get paid.”

“Now that’s a working relationship,” Tina says, nodding. She shifts on the sofa, stretching out her legs. “And speaking of which-what about our little project down south?”