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Gator began to hate working in this god-forsaken place. Most other venues, the guys could dress up like cable TV workers or DPW. They could rent a white van and get a few high-visibility vests, then hang around on any street corner for as long as they'd like. Not in a place where whales outnumbered people, and they didn't even have cable television.
That meant rocking it old-school. So be it. Gator and Monty on the inside, Flick and Smitty on look out up close, to intercept, Tyrone as the advance warning system. There'd been some excitement in town earlier, so they hung back, waiting for everyone to head to bed, or to the bar. Yeah, just the one.
Slipping up to the door, Gator picked the lock—that was some good news about being in the middle of nowhere, couldn't get much in the way of high-end security, and they didn't bother to secure anyplace that wasn't full of tourist's goodies. Once through the door, they had a few seconds to disable the alarm. He tapped the code Smitty had glimpsed earlier and the flashing panel went green. He and Monty had both seen the interior, so no need for flashlights just yet.
Gator led the way, swift and silent, through the education center to the offices. Took a little longer to pick that lock, then they were in. Gator snapped a few photos to serve as their 'norm': the state to which the office must return when they were done. At his nod, Monty immediately sat at the computer while Gator started searching the file drawers.
"I'm thinking transfers. Take the money from the Alliance account and slip it over to an account for the director—"Gator almost laughed. "No, wait, for Arryo, that guide. I'm sure he's involved somehow."
"Good one," Monty said, his fingers already dancing over the keyboard, the monitor lighting up his face. "Unless you find something with their private accounts, I might need to set up a new one."
"Do what you have to. I'll see what I get." Thanks to Sofia's expert organization, finding the Alliance bank records took only moments. These people were such innocents. "Okay, I've got the Alliance main account. Let me know when you're ready for the numbers."
"See if you have any personnel records, any kind of ID numbers. What's the Mexican equivalent of Social Security?"
"Beats me." While the keys clicked, Gator rooted around until he found what they were looking for. Apparently his Spanish-language lessons were paying off at last. Wouldn't his mother be so pleased. "Here we go."
In one of the files, he located a list of donors to receive thank-you notes, and photographed the list onto his phone—then an alert popped up. "Hey, Monty."
"Mmm?" The tech didn't look up.
"This alert, is that the zombie account?"
"On Rowe's machine?" Monty glanced at him then. "Yeah, you should be able to see when they access it, what files get used. If they have something open, you'll be able to view it. I didn't have time to set up a full system, so it's just open files, but I set up a backdoor in case we need more later."
Gator had one hand in the file drawer, holding his place, the other wrapping his phone as he peered at the little screen, the brightness dialed way down. "Looks like they're uploading a big file. Video."
"Figures." Monty slid the bank paper closer to his screen. "Got it. Made a pair of accounts, one for each of them. I'll make some transfers. Take shots of the papers, I might be able to retrofit later and make it look like they've been skimming for a while. Oh, wait! Do they have any CD's, any longer term investment accounts?"
Setting down the phone, Gator went back to his files. "Was he filming at the beach?"
"Did some intro and voiceover stuff, something with Joe and that thing he found. Beachcombing..."Monty's voice trailed off, his brow furrowing as he worked.
"Time lapse." Gator's head went up. "Joe told me he said something on the ride over about setting up a time lapse of the bonfire or the sunset, maybe both."
Monty's fingers hovered over the keyboard as their eyes met. "You don't think his camera was set up all night."
"How should I know? But that file's taking forever to load, and I can't imagine he usually records hours at a time."
"Crap. I gotta get over there."
Gator's head swiveled, then tilted as he stared at Monty.
"Whoa whoa whoa. Don't look at me like that, Man!" Monty put his hands up. "Without Joe, I'm the closest one to them, right? I get over there, I can interrupt what they're doing and find out what they know. That's all I'm saying. Given what's been going on with me and Jessica, they won't be too suspicious if I show up."
Unless they were already suspicious for other reasons. "Wrap it up." Gator swirled his finger in the air. "Sounds like you've got a date."
Monty gave a sharp nod. "Okay, I changed the ownership on this other account, and set up the transfers. By morning, the Alliance will be down by thousands."
"Then we just need to drop a hint. Nice work." Maybe they'd place a call pretending to be from the bank, questioning the strange transactions, or call up one of the donors with a rumor of financial malfeasance at the Alliance. Gator slid the bank papers back where he'd found them, then glanced again at the phone while Monty backed out of the computer system and shut it down. "The file's at ninety per cent, Monty. Get moving."
"On it." Monty slid from the chair. "Scan for changes."
"Go for rewind," Gator replied, letting Monty know he'd be responsible for returning the office to the exact state they'd found it. Another thing phone cameras made so much easier. As he reviewed the shots he'd taken and ensured that each detail matched, Gator fielded an alert from Smitty that Monty had emerged, then from Tyrone that Monty turned left and dodged a couple walking home. So far, so good. Assuming Monty's allegiance remained with Gator and the crew. Just how bad did he have it for this woman? Was it likely that Joe's removal could shake a guy like Monty?
Gator's natural state was suspicion. Didn't like to turn it on his own people, but how else could he be sure he wasn't getting screwed over the same way they were doing to this Alliance group? He tapped out a reply to Tyrone, an order to follow. Best-case: his suspicion wasn't justified. Worst case: a four-way split, less the Boss's share. And he'd need to hire a new tech.