ONCE THE PAPERWORK cleared, Gallo began probing computers overseas to see if he could snag anything interesting. He sent e-mails to computers owned by people he could track down; the e-mails contained what were essentially viruses that would help him ferret out his prey. It was a bit like fishing without bait, however; it might be hours before the e-mail was even opened.
Bored, he considered going home and getting some sleep—for about five seconds. Instead, he went to the lounge, got two Red Bulls, and came back and started looking through the in-house blog to see what the analysts had found in the data he’d help them compile.
Two things stood out. One, a lot of the people whom he had tracked down in the States didn’t exist—their names didn’t match the Social Security numbers on their bank accounts.
And two, their bank accounts were as empty as his was.
“Their bank accounts look like mine,” Gallo told the empty lab. “They’re all scraping by.”
It was a definite pattern, but what did it mean?
Gallo did what he always did when he couldn’t figure something out—he lay down on the floor and stared at the ceiling.
Maybe they just used cash.
Sure. If they had it.
So many people without money, though?
So many Vietnamese people.
Actually, most of the names didn’t look Vietnamese; they were Chinese: Chan, Wang.
There were ethnic Chinese in Vietnam. A lot of them.
Why would you need so many people in a network to assassinate someone?
Well, they weren’t real people. Or they were real, but their Social Security numbers were fake.
“Oh!” shouted Gallo, jumping up from the floor.