Crash Page 10

  “My ass,” Ladd said, pointing a long-nailed finger at Treadwell. “You smug son of a bitch. Whatever you’re trying to pull, I’m going to find out, and when I do, I’ll cut off your balls and shove them down your throat.”

  “As you told Ashley,” Treadwell said. “Crude, but charming as usual.”

  “Fuck you, Reid!” Ladd shouted.

  Everyone heard her. The headwaiter started to come over from his station but then thought better of it and turned back.

  Treadwell worked to keep his voice even. “Sounds like there’s more to this than BP’s business practices. Like maybe that I broke up with you. Get over it, Betts. That was ten years ago. At least have a little self-respect.”

  “You told me that you loved me, you prick,” Ladd said, trying to control her voice.

  “Ancient history, Betts.”

  “I was a fool to believe you, and an even bigger fool to fall in love.”

  Treadwell finally had his fill. “How could anyone love you? Even your husband took advantage of our little fling as an excuse to get out of a marriage to you. And I can’t blame him, it just took me a little longer to dump you.”

  Ladd shot up. “You fucking bastard,” she said as she headed for the door. “Watch yourself, Reid, because I am.”

  28

  Donni Imani was watching over Cassy’s shoulder as she finished the last bit of coding in her anti-virus program, which she had decided to call My Fair Lady after what Donni had told her many times was his all-time favorite musical.

  “There,” Cassy said half to herself, but Donni heard her.

  “Done?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Now take it to the brass,” he said.

  She looked at him, then glanced over where Masters and O’Connell were in deep conversation across the room. “They’re not going to like it,” she said, visions of Murphy Tweed running through her head.

  “Who cares? You’re going to save the firm. You’ll at least get a raise.”

  Norman Applebaum came over, took one look at Cassy’s screen, and lit up in a goofy smile. “You finally solved it, without my help. Outstanding.”

  “I’d rather be outstanding than standing out,” Donni said with obvious dislike.

  Norman was socially challenged, like a lot of the postadolescent geeks in the business. But Cassy felt a little sorry for him, a feeling that was mixed with awe. The kid was a genius.

  “We have a cure, I think,” she said.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” Norman asked. “Put it into the system. That’s what we’re being paid for.”

  “I need a go-ahead,” Cassy said.

  “From Masters? With the way he feels about you, good luck.”

  “What do you mean?” Cassy asked, but she knew exactly what he meant. Masters had hired her, but in the past few months his attitude had changed.

  She glanced over again to where he and O’Connell were standing. Butch Hardy had joined them, and it gave her a chill. Ever since Dammerman had told the chief of security to keep an eye on her, that’s exactly what he had done. Every time she looked over her shoulder he was there.

  “This morning when Dammerman’s goon broke up the foosball game Theodore and I were playing—you know, to clear our heads—Masters didn’t say a word.”

  “What’s your point?” Cassy asked.

  “He shoulda stuck up for us, but he didn’t. So I reversed his phone; maybe I could catch him saying something stupid and give it out to everyone. But it’s way better than that, and I have it recorded.”

  “The suspense is killing me,” Donni said sarcastically.

  “It’s just like the movies. I’m the spy, and I bugged him.”

  “Okay,” Cassy said. “Tell us.”

  “Only if you go out with me tonight.”

  Cassy was floored. She was seven or eight years older; he had a schoolboy crush on her.

  “Be careful, lover boy,” Donni said, smirking. “She has a boyfriend. And this guy is a Special Ops super-commando, Rambo-killer dude named Ben. The first time they met he stared down a motorcycle gang trying to hassle her. He was just like the Grim Reaper in person, and they bugged out, no questions asked. Capisce?”

  “Never mind,” Norman said, and he turned to go, but Cassy put out a hand to stop him.

  “Let me listen to what you recorded,” she said. “Please?”

  Norman brushed off her hand and walked away.

  “Prima donna asshole,” Donni said. “Now either put your program into the system or walk it over to Masters. With O’Connell standing there you’re bound to make points.”

  “Come with me, I could use the backup.”

  “Not on your life,” Donni said. “Didn’t you know that my favorite color is yellow?”

  “Mine isn’t,” Cassy said, and she turned and started to where Masters and O’Connell were still talking. But Hardy had moved off to the left to where he had a clear line of sight to her workstation, and she felt a little shiver of fear.

  Word was that when he worked as a cop for the NYPD, he’d killed a man who had supposedly accused him of being on the take with a couple of mob bosses. It was a wonder to her why BP would hire a man like that if the rumors were true.

  Theodore Brightman caught up with her, and she pulled up short. “Norman’s pretty hacked.”

  “Why?”

  “You hurt his feelings. He was just trying to warn you that Masters has been shadowing you all day.”

  “How could he know something like that?”

  “He told you. He bugged Masters’s phone.”

  An uneasy tickle traveled up Cassy’s spine. “Tell him I’m sorry,” she said, and she went the rest of the way.

  Masters and O’Connell broke off their conversation. Neither of them looked happy to see her.

  “I’ve figured out how to neutralize the worm from our system,” Cassy said.

  “Good for you,” Masters said, but he didn’t sound sincere. “Send it to me, and I’ll beta test it myself before we go any further.”

  “I think that we should do it right now. This thing could go critical at any minute.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Masters said.

  “Well, at least let me be part of the test. It’s my program.”

  O’Connell offered a weak smile. “Francis is right. It’s better if upper management takes over from here. But we want to thank you for being on the ball. This is not going to be another Murphy Tweed, I promise.”

  “If this worm kicks in, it would crash trading not only for us, but for every trading desk on the planet. Including the NYSE.”

  “If your program pans out, which knowing your abilities I’m sure it will, we’ll input it after the closing bell. If we did it now, it could have some unintended consequences.”

  “Believe me, this thing I found is super-toxic, and I saw what something like this can do to a firm. It destroyed Murphy Tweed in less than a year.”

  “And we appreciate that you want to make sure nothing like that happens to us,” O’Connell said.

  “As I told you, I’ll take care of it,” Masters said. “Now get back to your station and send me the goddamn program.”

  Cassy wanted to tell him to go screw himself, but she held her temper in check and turned back to O’Connell, whom she’d thought of as her mentor from the beginning. “With all due respect, Julia, I should be in on the beta test.”

  “We’ll take care of it,” Masters said, his voice rising.

  Cassy had her fill. “You’re shadowing me, Francis,” she said sharply. “Why?”

  “You cloaked your station to block our access. That’s against company policy, and you damn well know it.”

  “I isolated my station because I didn’t want whoever is behind the worm to watch what I was doing to defeat it.”

  “You should have come to me before you started screwing around,” Masters said. “That’s what I’m here for, to help my people do their jobs.”

 
; O’Connell was saying nothing, and Cassy didn’t understand.

  “All right, I’ll give it to you. But I’ll put it on a flash drive, instead of sending it through the network, in case anyone else is shadowing me.”

  “Good,” Masters said.

  “I’ll personally handle the beta test,” O’Connell said. “And both of you can get back to work.”

  It wasn’t what Cassy wanted, but it was better than she expected. “It’ll take a little time to get it onto a flash drive.”

  “Just send it up to my office when you’re ready,” O’Connell said. “And believe me, Cassy, I appreciate what you’ve done and continue to do for the firm. You’ll get full credit.”

  “If it works,” Masters said.

  “It will,” O’Connell said. She patted Cassy on the shoulder and left.

  “Well, get to it,” Masters said.

  * * *

  Back at her workstation Cassy was fuming, trying to get her temper in check.

  “That didn’t go so good,” Donni said without looking away from his screens.

  For just a moment she wanted to bark at him, but then she had to laugh. “I don’t think Francis likes me, but at least Julia listened.”

  “So what’s the upshot?”

  “They want me to put the program on a flash drive and send it upstairs.”

  “I think I hear a but in there,” Donni said.

  “Listen, I’m going to need your help.”

  “Okay,” Donni said after a hesitation. “With what, exactly? Just remember that my favorite color is still yellow.”

  “I’m going to make two flash drives. One with some junk on it that will take time to decipher. And the other with the real anti-virus program we cooked up.”

  “No need to guess which one you’re going to send to O’Connell,” Donni said. “But what about the real one?”

  She glanced over her shoulder in time to see one of Hardy’s security people, this one a tall, beefy woman who looked like another ex-cop, join him.

  Cassy took out her phone and scrolled through the contacts list, finding the number of a friend of her parents that they gave to her when she first moved to New York. She’s someone you can trust, they’d told her. She’d never used the number, and she didn’t even know if it was still active, but she hoped it was.

  “We’re going to have lunch together, and you’re going to carry the real flash drive out the door.”

  “No way I’m putting my ass in a sling.”

  “I need your help, Donni. They’re bound to search me when I try to leave. That’s why Butch called in the woman next to him.”

  “They might search me.”

  Cassy couldn’t help but smile. “I seriously doubt it. It’s me they’re after.”

  Donni nodded. “I’m going to regret this, but maybe’ll Ben will let me be his best man at your wedding.”

  Cassy laughed, though her insides were roiling. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”

  “Deal,” Donni said.

  29

  Bykov stood behind the apartment door, his Glock G26 subcompact pistol raised shoulder-high, as Kolchin looked through the peephole. “It’s a woman, carrying an attaché case.”

  The buzzer rang again.

  “Anyone else in sight?” Bykov asked.

  “No. But the concierge would have let us know if she brought someone with her.”

  “Unless the man had a gun pointed at his head.”

  The buzzer rang a third time.

  “Let her in.”

  Kolchin unlocked the door and opened it. “May I help you, miss?” he said in decent English. His accent was the least heavy of the four of them.

  “Your concierge called to tell you that I was on my way up. I have something for you from Mr. Hardy.” She was of medium height and compactly built, but she looked and sounded like a cop.

  Bykov nodded, and Kolchin stepped aside to let the woman in.

  Once she had cleared the doorway, Bykov pushed the door closed.

  Kolchin took the attaché case, handed it to Bykov, then turned the woman around. “Hands on the door, please.”

  She did as she was told, and Kolchin quickly and efficiently frisked her, running his hands over and between her breasts, then under her skirt, front and back between her legs.

  “Clean,” he said, stepping back.

  The woman turned around. “Get your jollies off, asshole?” she asked.

  “I’m sure he did,” Bykov said, sticking the pistol in his belt at the small of his back. “Would you care to join us for a drink?”

  “No. I was told to wait for you to count the money and acknowledge that it’s correct.”

  Bykov handed the case back to Kolchin, who took it to the dining room, opened it, and counted the money. It took several minutes.

  “Five hundred thousand,” Kolchin said.

  “Photographs?”

  “Several, some of which we’ve already seen, but a couple of new ones.”

  “You may go now,” Bykov told the woman, and she started to turn. “One question first. Are you a police officer?”

  “I used to work with Butch, but that’s been a couple of years now.”

  “Fly then, little bird.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope to fuck I never see you guys again,” she said, and she left.

  “She was sweet,” Kolchin said. “I would have fucked her.”

  “You would have fucked a goat if it spread its legs,” Bykov said, as the others laughed.

  * * *

  Bykov phoned Hardy’s private number, and the man answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Dugan,” Bykov said.

  “Did my courier show up?”

  “She just left, and everything is as it should be. Is our subject still there?”

  “Yes, but something is going on, and I don’t know how long I can keep her without arousing some suspicion.”

  “What something?” Bykov demanded.

  “It’s about the program she’s working on. She’s sending it upstairs to management, and there’s a good possibility she won’t be carrying it out of the building.”

  “You said it could be contained on a flash drive, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  Bykov couldn’t imagine how a man as stupid as Hardy made it through a normal day without getting lost. “Maybe she made two, one bogus and the one she will keep in her possession, the real thing.”

  “We’ve considered just that, but whatever the case may be, our deal still stands. I’ll call you when she leaves, hopefully not until lunch, and I want your people to pick her up and dispose of her.”

  “Assuming she leaves the building with something damaging to your company, where is she taking it?”

  Hardy hesitated for a beat. “I don’t give a shit, because you’re going to stop her.”

  “What door will she come out of?”

  “Nassau Street,” Hardy said. “Are we clear?”

  “Yes,” Bykov said, and he hung up. But the real question in his mind was why were they willing to pay two million dollars to blow up a building, and another million to assassinate a woman? And he was a man who’d never liked unanswered questions.

  30

  The concierge called, and Bykov answered. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Olsen and an associate are here to see you, sir. Shall I send them up?”

  “Please do.”

  A couple of minutes later the two operators from Brighton Beach showed up, and after identifying them through the peephole, Bykov let them in.

  Anosov was short, lean, and dark, originally from the south in Uzbekistan, and Panov was much larger, with a barrel chest and the look of a Far Easterner, either from Mongolia or Siberia. Both of them were dressed in laborer’s clothes—jeans and loose-fitting khaki shirts, the tails out to conceal pistols.

  Anosov and Bykov hugged. “Good to see you again, my old friend. Life is treating you well?” Anosov said.

  “Tol
erable.”

  Anosov introduced Panov, and Bykov introduced his team members, and after they’d all shaken hands and sat down at the dining room table, Anosov went immediately to business.

  “Are we late?” he asked.

  “No,” Bykov said. He spread out the photographs of Cassy. “This is your target. She works for an investment firm, so she shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

  Anosov studied the photographs and showed them one at a time to his partner. “Good-looking woman. What’s the problem, is she stealing from the company or something?”

  “She may be carrying a flash drive that contains information the company wants returned to them.”

  “Why don’t they just ask her for it?”

  “They want her to disappear. Permanently, I’m assuming, because the information they want is on a flash drive, but it’s also inside her head.”

  “Why don’t you handle it yourself?” Anosov asked. “You have the muscle.”

  “We have a second op.”

  Anosov took a photograph of Cassy peering over her shoulder from what looked like a workstation with several computer monitors. People were standing at similar stations on either side of her.

  “Where is this place?”

  “Burnham Pike; it’s on Nassau Street, not far from here.”

  Anosov looked up, a faint smile on his narrow lips, almost as if he were getting ready to enjoy a nice meal. “We will have a free hand?”

  “I want the flash drive today as soon as you’ve secured the woman. Send one of your people over with it. How you proceed after that is your business.”

  Anosov started to say something, but Bykov held him off. “Our deal stands as it is, Leonid. We’re old friends, don’t fuck with me.”

  31

  An unmarked Lincoln Navigator driven by a stern-looking FBI special agent took Spencer Nast from his Tribeca hotel to the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building on Foley Square in the Civic Center district in Lower Manhattan.

  The beefy man in a plain blue blazer with the Bureau’s insignia on the left breast had met the president’s economic adviser in the hotel lobby, and without a word had chauffeured him over and escorted him to an unmarked door on the forty-first floor that was equipped with a retinal scanner.