Boston—around the same time
“. . . backward and forward, every which way you can think of and a few I’m sure you can’t. There is no special coding on that ATM card. Zilch. It is no different than any other bank card. Including mine.”
Jenkins pushed the receiver closer to his ear. “What are you saying, Dryfus? We got the wrong guy?”
“I’m saying there’s nothing on this bank card that makes it different than any other bank card.”
“But Chelsea Goodman showed you the string of extra commands.”
“There’s nothing special on the card.”
“How can that be?”
“Well . . . maybe the theory was wrong.”
“Can you access the account?” asked Jenkins.
“Well . . . Technically, I need a warrant.”
“Forget about that. Just access it.”
“Boss.”
“We have a card used in the commission of a crime. We’re investigating the crime.”
“The ATM owner hasn’t reported any unusual activity. There is no complaint. There’s no crime—I can’t.”
“Just take a look at the account.”
“Boss, really. I need a warrant. Otherwise I’m hacking into an account. Even if I find something, until there’s a complaint—”
“Where are you now?” asked Jenkins.
“Our lab.”
“Wait there for me. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
“But, Trev—”
“You want coffee? I’ll stop at Dunkin’ on the way over.” Jenkins hung up without even bothering to hear the answer. He looked through the mirror into the interview room. Tolevi was still sitting there, staring at the table. Every so often he flexed his fingers, but otherwise he was a stone Buddha, without emotion or movement.
“So what are we doing?” asked Hightower. She was leaning against the wall next to the door, eyes drooping.
“I’m going to try to figure out a way to access his account,” said Jenkins.
“How?”
“Maybe he’ll do it for us. He’s cooperating. Kind of.”
“Maybe because he knows there’s nothing there.”
He was so close. It was just a matter of time before he came up with something he could use as leverage to break him. If they could only get the god damn search warrant.
“He told me I could examine the card,” said Jenkins. “That means I can see if it works.”
“You didn’t ask specifically if you could look at the account.”
“I don’t think I have to.”
More importantly, thought Jenkins, he hadn’t been told he couldn’t.
I’ll look at the account, then go from there.
“I’ll be back in a half hour or so,” he told Hightower. “You want something?”
“We can’t keep him forever.”
“We’re not going to.”
“He has a kid.”
“I realize that. But he left her here in the country, right? She’s what? Seventeen?”
“I think fifteen.” They’d used a commercial credit-rating database to look up Tolevi’s personal details, and they’d filled out more of the information with a simple Google search. The information was not definitive, but a girl with the same last name had been pictured in the newspaper the year before, after being elected to the Honor Society as a freshman.
Borya Tolevi.
“We could be accused of endangering the welfare of a child,” added Hightower.
“Come on,” said Jenkins. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll be back.”
He stalked from the room, determined to break Tolevi, break this case. And when he did that, when he finally got the scumbag Buddha in there to talk, he was going to find the bastard who had killed his brother.
Jenkins was nearly to the front hall when his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and saw that the number belonged to Paul Smith, his boss in D.C.
He’d want an update. Jenkins considered putting it off—he had nothing to tell him. But maybe he could suggest a shortcut to getting the warrant. The warrant would make everything much, much easier.
“This is Jenkins,” he said, sliding the answer bar on the touch screen.
“What’s the status of your suspect?” barked Smith. He wasn’t happy.
“We’re still working on him.”
“What evidence do you have?”
“He was at the ATM when the card was used.”
“OK. And the card is definitely tied to the scam?”
“We think so, yes.”
“Think so?”
Jenkins didn’t answer. “It’s just a matter of time now.”
“Release him,” said Smith.
“What?”
“You have nothing to tie him to your case. That’s what you’re telling me. How can you hold him?”
“I’m just questioning him. He’s suspect. And he’s cooperating. Voluntarily.”
“What’s his crime? Using an ATM machine?”
“There was an unusual string of . . . um . . . there was a code in the transaction request that was unusual.”
“That ties him to the ATM scams.”
“I . . .”
“Did that code say ‘Give us all your money’?” Smith was even more sarcastic than usual. “Let him go.”
“But—”
“He’s a CIA asset, and an important one.”
“He’s a thief.”
“You have no proof. You just told me. You don’t even have anything to use a warrant. He could get up and walk out, and you can’t stop him.”
“Some guy calls and claims to be CIA—that’s got to be one of his people, pretending. It’s a hoax. These guys are A-1 hackers, these Russians.”
“The deputy director of the CIA called Lon personally a half hour ago to say release this guy. You think that’s a hoax?”
Lon was Lon Phillips, the executive deputy director for intelligence—two levels above Jenkins’s boss.
“That’s got to be phony,” said Jenkins.
“Believe me, it’s not.”
“You’re telling me the CIA is robbing banks?”
“I’m telling you to release him. Now.”
“I think we need to consider—”
“We don’t need to consider anything. What was this company Smart Metal’s role?”
“Smart Metal?”
“Don’t play more games with me, Trev. I know you involved a local company called Smart Metal. They make robots, right? What did they have to do with this?”
“They were robbed, and they were just trying to find their money.”
“You didn’t have them hacking into accounts, did you?”
“Hell no.” Jenkins hesitated, trying to organize his response. It was barely a moment, but it was more than enough of a hint for Smith to jump to conclusions.
Unfortunately.
“They are off, out, not to be involved,” said Smith. “You are way out of line. Way out of line.”
“I did nothing illegal. They did not hack into accounts.”
“We’re not having this conversation. Take care of things.”
The line died before Jenkins could respond. Which maybe was the best for all concerned.