“Sure, but when you get back, let’s make plans for tomorrow. I want to see the bishop as soon as possible.”
Paul nodded, then walked to the bar. He flagged down O’Hagan and ordered two more beers.
“Where are you from?” asked O’Hagan, filling mugs from the tap.
“We’re Americans. We met in Boston.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Damn. You’re lucky, lad. She’s dead sexy.”
“That she is.”
The bartender set two mugs in front of Paul along with his business card.
THE TWO GODS TAVERN, ST. JULIAN’S
IMHAR O’HAGAN, PROPRIETOR
“Just call if you need anything. I can set up tours, car rental, scuba diving, you name it.”
“Cool. Thanks.” Paul pocketed the card, flipped O’Hagan a five-euro coin, and took off with the frothy beers.
Gabe’s pride finally succumbed to his insatiable curiosity. He simply had to know how durmdvl snuck a message through to the satphone undetected. Humbly, he sent an e-mail asking for the inside dope. A lengthy response arrived almost instantly. In it, durmdvl reminded Gabe that his phone bots had detected reverse-transmission probes from two entities. One probe was relatively crude. Gabe’s defensive software blocked it before it could access his phone’s memory. The other, originating within DeMaj Corp’s notorious crypto section, was a sophisticated spy program. The DeMaj probe tried to clone Gabe’s phone. It would have enabled DeMaj to read new text messages (incoming and outgoing), record calls, and download anything (photos, movies, texts) saved in memory. The program monitored the target phone continuously, alerting DeMaj anytime it sent or received a call or text.
Assuming DeMaj had used similar tactics to snoop on Ava, durmdvl simply hacked into DeMaj’s computer division and used its monitoring program to access the satphone’s memory. Once inside, it was easy to locate the text message Gabe sent a few days ago, rewrite it (telling Ava to call from a landline, etc.), and alter its status from “saved” to “new.” It was perfect. From DeMaj’s perspective, no outsider had accessed the phone. No new messages were sent or received, but from Ava’s perspective, a new message appeared. She wouldn’t know or care that technically it was an edited version of an old message, and as long as DeMaj’s spies didn’t reread the satphone’s saved messages, they’d never see the altered version. Sure, it would be visible if they looked, but there was no reason to look. They’d long since downloaded and copied the saved-messages file, so they could view that data much faster by opening their in-house copy. Unless DeMaj’s spies took possession of Ava’s actual phone, durmdvl reasoned, it was very unlikely they’d ever read the new text. Even if they did, all they’d get from it was a 919 phone number registered to a fictitious Panamanian limited partnership. If they tried to snoop that number, their network would acquire a virulent little file durmdvl had nicknamed sno-krash.
Impressed, Gabe began typing a reply asking for technical specs. Then he stopped and wondered: How could durmdvl have written such a long explanation so quickly? Seconds later, it hit him. durmdvl was being polite! Anticipating (correctly) his forthcoming inquiry, durmdvl had prepared a thorough response, but not wanting to bruise his ego, durmdvl had waited to be asked before providing the details.
Gabe shook his head in disbelief. He’d met a lot of hackers. Most were very smart, some were even brilliant, but almost all were rabid egomaniacs. They lived to brag about sick hacks, and none was polite about it. For some reason, durmdvl wanted to avoid hurting Gabe’s feelings. What kind of hacker would care about that?
The casino was full to capacity. Resplendent in his white tux and tie, Nick drifted from table to table, conferring with his pit bosses. Any other night he’d have been scrutinizing the action, ensuring that no player or dealer was cheating the house. In addition, his responsibilities included congratulating big winners, welcoming regulars, and issuing comps and perks to big spenders. It was an important job. Nick’s reputation for his quick wit and garrulous personality was a key reason that many whales gambled exclusively at this casino.
Tonight Nick was filled with none of his customary joie de vivre. Every few seconds his eyes drifted to the threatening men Ahmed had left behind, ostensibly waiting for Paul and Ava but actually watching Nick. The sheik believed Nick’s story. Therefore, Ahmed refrained from killing him on the spot. Yet he didn’t trust Nick completely. When Ahmed and his lieutenant departed to check the vessels’ passenger manifests, they left these uniformed thugs behind to guarantee that Nick stayed put.
Thinking of the manifests, Nick grinned. The sheik would find no mention of Paul and Ava on those. Even if Ahmed had the perspicacity to demand air-transport manifests, he’d still find nothing. Sinan’s flight plan listed no passengers, just cargo. Despite all the clever misdirection, though, eventually Ahmed would uncover the truth. “And when he does,” Nick thought, “I’m as good as dead.”
He skirted a blackjack table and congratulated a boisterous Italian on his sharp decision to split eights. The gambler made 18 and 17, the dealer busted, and the table erupted in cheers. While they celebrated, Nick watched Ahmed’s men. Moments before he’d sent Jill, a popular waitress, to offer them complimentary drinks. The leggy California blond made a small fortune in tips, bringing refreshments to the casino’s elite clientele. Bending low before Ahmed’s goons, she coyly asked what they’d like. For a moment the two men stared, mesmerized by her dećolletage. They mumbled apologies, explaining that they were forbidden to drink on duty. Flirting, the sexy waitress pouted and asked if they were allowed to drink coffee. The younger of the men smiled, stole a glance at her cleavage, and admitted that coffee would be okay. Then she knelt close to him and whispered that she could bring coffee cups filled with cognac or whiskey. He laughed thanked her for the generous offer but reluctantly insisted on actual coffee. Jill giggled, bounced to her feet, and promised that she’d be right back. After watching her sashay to the bar, the men looked toward the blackjack table.
Nick was long gone.
Chapter 11
Gabe put the finishing touches on his latest long e-mail to durmdvl. He’d written effusively of his respect for durmdvl’s inventive method of circumventing DeMaj security. He included the original code for an Internet spider he designed the previous year and recommended that they infect DeMaj’s network with this information-gathering program. Gabe stopped typing, took a deep breath, and reviewed his work. It was littered with typos and other errors. He rubbed his eyes. He was dead tired. Worse, he was out of cash and couldn’t afford caffeine. At the bottom of the e-mail he added another line: “Sorry for crazy typos. Need slppe. Out of money. Suggestions?”
durmdvl quickly wrote back, suggesting he go to the nearest hotel and rack out. “Negative. Can’t use a credit card or ATM. I think the bad guys are watching my accounts. If they broke into my room and penetrated my system, they can access all my info.”
durmdvl concurred with Gabe’s bleak assessment and recommended that he crash with a friend, someone trustworthy. Then durmdvl asked a shocking question: “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
Gabe’s immediate reaction was: “None of your damn business!” He was flabbergasted by durmdvl’s lack of respect for his privacy. How was his relationship status relevant to the situation? Annoyed by the breach of protocol, anxiety churned inside him. Though he’d never admit it, Gabe was a hopeless romantic. He fantasized about love affairs, but in reality he had difficulty communicating with women. The objects of his affection never reciprocated his awkward advances. It wasn’t easy. He and these women had little in common. Sexy girls seemed to inhabit terra incognita. Gabe questioned: “Is it my fault they like dim-witted TV shows; read idiotic gossip mags; and listen to insipid pop? durmdvl of all people should understand,” thought Gabe. “His tastes are even more rarified than mine.”