The Insider

‘I’m done,’ Harry said. ‘Except for the paperwork.’

‘Ditch it. I’ve another job for you.’

‘Right now?’ She was starving and could smell the coffee and bacon rolls from the sandwich bars in Baggot Street. She stood up and strolled towards the canal bridge.

‘Yeah, right now. Send me on the Sheridan details, I’ll get Imogen to compile the report. I want you on another vulnerability assessment.’

Harry could hear the click of his keyboard in the background. Trust Dillon not to waste an opportunity to multi-task. His left hand was probably flexed across his laptop like a pianist’s, while his right hand made notes on a pad.

‘So where to this time?’ Harry said.

‘The IFSC, and the client has asked especially for you. I told them you’re the best.’

‘Thanks, Dillon, you’re a gent.’ Now she was glad of the kitten heels. The International Financial Services Centre was definitely upmarket.

‘Call me when you’ve finished,’ Dillon said. ‘We’ll grab some dinner and you can fill me in.’

She felt her eyes widen. Doubly glad of the kitten heels. ‘Okay.’ Before she could let herself wonder what dinner might mean, she said, ‘So tell me more about the IFSC job. Do we know what kind of systems they have?’

‘Nope, you’ll find all that out when you meet them …’ Dillon paused. ‘If you ask me, I think they want to look you over first.’

Harry stopped in the middle of the pavement. ‘Why would they want to do that?’

Dillon hesitated for just a second too long. ‘Look, maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe I’ll put Imogen on to it.’

Harry stuck a hand over her ear to block out the din of traffic. ‘Okay, what’s going on here? Who’s the client?’

She heard him suck in air through his teeth as he thought about his answer.

‘All right, it was a stupid idea,’ he said. ‘It’s KWC.’

The adrenaline shot out of Harry’s system like water from a burst main. She stumbled over to the canal wall and sank back on to the cold stone.

KWC. Klein, Webberly and Caulfield, one of the most prestigious investment banks in the city, servicing some of the wealthiest individuals and corporations in Europe. It was headquartered in New York, with offices in London, Frankfurt and Tokyo, as well as here in Dublin.

It was also the company her father had worked for before they sent him to prison.

4

‘Give me your worst-case scenario,’ Harry said.

The man across the boardroom table looked at her through half-closed eyes. He was in his forties, with bristly grey hair cut like a US Marine’s.

He shrugged. ‘Someone getting access to our investment accounts.’

‘Worse than that.’

He leaned back and folded his arms, flesh straining against his shirt. ‘What could be worse than some hacker getting hold of our clients’ money?’

‘You tell me.’ Harry sneaked a look at the business card he’d given her. Felix Roche, IT Procurement, KWC. She scribbled a note on the back: hostile.

Her gaze strayed to the window behind Felix. It wasn’t just a window, it was an entire wall of glass that made the quays along the Liffey seem like part of the room. In the distance, she could see the peppermint green dome of the Custom House and the corrugated cap of Liberty Hall tower. Business must be good for KWC.

Felix leaned forward across the table. ‘Okay, I’ll give you a worst case,’ he said. Harry could smell the onions he’d had for lunch. ‘How about someone getting a look at our confidential M&A deals? That bad enough for you?’

M&A. Mergers and Acquisitions. The department her father had worked for before he was arrested. Harry swallowed and fiddled with her notepad. Then she flicked a glance at Felix. His pasty face looked unhealthy, like the underbelly of a dead fish. She was used to antagonism from the technical guys, but this was something different. She’d told Dillon she could handle this assignment, that KWC was just another client. Now she wasn’t so sure.

The door swept open and a man in his thirties strode into the room. He was well-built, with light brown hair and shoulders that belonged on a rugby pitch.

Felix scowled at the interruption.

‘Hi, Felix, I’m sitting in.’ The man frowned at Harry as he pulled up a chair.

Her cheeks tingled under his gaze. What was up with these guys? She squared her shoulders and stood up.

‘Harry Martinez.’ She held out her hand.

His brow cleared and he grinned. ‘Sorry, I was expecting a man. Probably happens all the time, right?’ He returned her handshake. ‘Jude Tiernan. I’m an investment banker here.’

His hand was warm and his citrus aftershave perked up the room. What was an investment banker doing at an IT meeting? Then she remembered Felix’s barbed comment about M&A deals.

‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘You work for M&A?’

‘Let’s say M&A work for me.’

Harry sank back down and worked it out. So he was Head of M&A, just like her father had been. One man’s prison sentence was another man’s career break. She felt their eyes on her, invading her. Her father was a legend in this bank. Had they made the connection and come to look her over? She chewed her lip, unable to meet their gaze.

Jude set his mobile phone on the desk and took a silver pen from his breast pocket. He twirled it between the fingers of one hand and gestured towards Harry with the other. ‘Please continue.’

‘I was really expecting someone from IT Security to be here,’ said Harry. ‘Someone who knows the systems.’

Felix snorted. ‘IT Security. I know these systems better than anyone. I practically built the damn machines myself.’

‘I see.’ Harry checked the card again. ‘And now you’re in IT Procurement?’

He glared at her. ‘The career move came up. Security were more than happy to let me handle this initial meeting, believe me. Saves them the trouble.’

Harry took a deep breath. She looked at her pad, although she’d written nothing down.

‘Okay, well, I don’t know how much Dillon covered with you on this,’ she said. Not much, from the looks of things. ‘We need to scope the penetration test, see which approach suits you best.’

Know the players at the table, her father had taught her. Adjust your style accordingly. Trouble was, she didn’t know these guys at all, and they weren’t giving her any clues.

‘A pen test is a waste of time,’ said Felix. ‘Our systems are secure, I can personally guarantee it.’ He glowered at Harry. ‘Anyone who says otherwise is challenging my professional competence.’

Jude ignored him. ‘What exactly happens in this pen test, Ms Martinez?’

Felix sighed. ‘Ah, come on, Jude, I’ve been through this with her already. Besides, we both know she’s only here because her boss is an old friend of yours and he wants the account.’

Harry looked back down at her pad. No wonder she was being fobbed off with someone from Procurement. They weren’t even serious about the business.

Jude raised a hand to shut Felix up and smiled at Harry. ‘Humour me. Tell me about this pen test.’

Harry suspected he was conducting some test of his own. She didn’t smile back.

‘A penetration test is when I use every dirty trick in the book to try and break into your computer systems,’ she said. ‘And once I’m in, I sniff around to see what kind of damage I can do.’

Jude stopped twirling his pen. ‘In other words, you pretend to be a hacker.’

‘Right.’

Felix leaned forward. ‘And just what kind of hacker are you, Ms Martinez? A black hat or a white hat?’

Harry stiffened, and glared at him.

Jude looked from one to the other. ‘Anyone care to fill me in?’

Harry cut in before Felix could take another swipe at her. ‘Black hats are malicious hackers intent on causing damage. White hats aren’t destructive. They’re only interested in the technology and how far they can push it.’

She turned to Felix. ‘To answer your question, Mr Roche, I’m a security professional, not a hacker.’

‘Well, well, a hacker with ethics,’ Felix said. ‘Who’d have thought it?’

Jude scribbled something on his pad and shoved it across to Felix. Harry watched Felix’s jaw tighten as he read the note, and she wondered if she’d passed the test.

‘I’m intrigued,’ Jude said. ‘So how do we do this?’

‘For a straight pen test, we can either do it as a black-box or a white-box scenario.’

‘Everything’s black and white with you, isn’t it?’

Harry looked him in the eye. ‘Pretty much.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’

‘Black-box testing is the closest thing to a real hack from the outside. I start with nothing except your corporate name. I use outside sources of information to snoop around your network, and then I break in.’

She paused to make sure he was getting it. He nodded and smiled.

‘For a white-box test, I know everything about your internal systems right from the start. Your firewalls, your network infrastructure, your databases, the works,’ Harry said. ‘In other words, I’m attacking from the inside.’

The door creaked opened and a man in his late fifties eased into the room. His grey hair fluffed out like a pair of wings on his balding head.

Coco the Clown, Harry thought.

‘Please carry on,’ the newcomer said and slid into a chair against the wall behind Harry.

God, how many more people were coming to gawp at her? She eyed up the conference table that could seat twenty people and feared the worst.

Jude watched the older man for a moment. Then he turned his attention back to Harry. ‘So which approach would you recommend, Ms Martinez?’

Harry tried to concentrate. ‘White box. In my experience, insiders are far more of a threat than external attackers.’

‘And I guess you’d know all about insiders, wouldn’t you?’ Felix said.

Every muscle in her body went still. ‘Just what are you getting at, Mr Roche?’

‘Come on, let’s put it on the table here. We’re all thinking it.’ He spread his arms as though the whole room was full of people on his side. ‘Your daddy was the master of all insiders, wasn’t he?’

Harry blinked. Then she dropped her gaze and fiddled with her pad, willing her voice to be steady. ‘What my father may have done is not part of this discussion.’

‘May have done?’ Felix said. ‘He was found guilty of insider trading, wasn’t he? Put away for eight years.’

Harry took in his clenched fists and the angry splotches on his cheeks. She stared at him. ‘You’re taking it all rather personally, aren’t you?’

‘Damn right, I am. Salvador Martinez nearly brought this company to its knees.’

‘Felix, you’re out of order.’ Coco the Clown’s voice behind her made her jump.

Jude shifted in his chair. Felix glared at Harry; it looked as if he had more to say.

Harry didn’t bother turning to acknowledge the unexpected support. To hell with it. She’d had enough. She placed her palms on the lacquered boardroom table. It was smooth and cold, like a mirror. She pushed herself up and stood to face them.

‘Mr Roche, I came here to talk about the security of your IT systems, and that’s all I’m prepared to discuss with you.’

She grabbed her bag and turned for the door. Then a thought struck her. She knew she shouldn’t say it out loud, but she was going to anyway. She swung round and faced them.

‘Who knows, maybe my father wasn’t the only insider trader around here. Maybe his arrest just spoiled the party.’

Felix’s jaw fell slack. Jude drew himself up in his chair, his lips disappearing into a tight line.

Coco the Clown stood and held up his hand. ‘Gentlemen, please –’

Jude cut in. ‘Don’t make accusations you can’t back up, Ms Martinez.’ He clenched the silver pen in his fist. ‘Some of us still believe in the integrity of our profession, even if your father didn’t.’

‘Well, well, an investment banker with ethics,’ Harry said. ‘Who’d have thought it?’

She marched to the door as fast as she could without actually breaking into a run. The damn room was longer than a tennis court. She yanked open the door and slammed it behind her.

She was halfway down the corridor before she realized she was shaking. She blundered around a corner, searching for the way out. Dammit, the lifts must be back the other way. Her sense of direction was dyslexic at the best of times, but this was no time to get lost and call for help.

She doubled back, retracing her steps past the boardroom, and found the lifts. She punched the button, pacing up and down while she waited.

The boardroom door opened, and voices growled from inside the room. She checked the lift. Two floors to go. She scoured the corridor for somewhere to hide. No doors, no closets. Nothing but polished marble floors.

Someone came out. Coco the Clown. He saw her, and bowed his head.

‘Ms Martinez, please accept my apologies.’

He walked towards her and held out his hand. His eyebrows were tilted upwards into his high domed forehead, his expression mournful.

‘Ashford is the name,’ he said. ‘Chief Executive of KWC. You were treated very badly in there and I assure you the individuals in question will be reprimanded for their lack of professionalism.’

Harry ignored his outstretched hand. ‘Since when does the Chief Executive sit in on routine IT meetings?’

Ashford dropped his hand. ‘Good point. Very well, I admit it: I was curious. I wanted to meet you.’

The lift pinged and the doors opened. Harry stepped in and jabbed at the button for the ground floor.

‘I’ve known your father for over thirty years,’ Ashford said. ‘Salvador’s a great personal friend and a fine man.’ He smiled. ‘You’re very like him.’

The lift doors started to close. Harry glared at him through the shrinking gap.

‘I’ve known my father all my life,’ she said. ‘And I can assure you, I’m nothing like him at all.’

5

Cameron knew he didn’t blend in well with his surroundings. It was the colour of his hair that did it. Half a shade short of albino, a girl had once called it, as he’d rammed himself into her scrawny body. Afterwards he’d tightened his fingers round her throat and squeezed till she’d stopped moving.

He pulled the black woolly hat further down over his eyebrows and looked at his watch. He needed to get going before someone noticed him, but his instructions had been to wait for another hour.

He’d never been to the International Financial Services Centre before. As far as he was concerned, it was a place where rich people came to get richer. He could remember this part of the city before it had been redeveloped, when it was still the old Custom House docks. He’d preferred it then; vast faceless warehouses spread across bleak tracts of land. Now it was a landscaped city within a city, playing host to banks from all over the world.

Cameron stared up at the multi-storey office buildings, all made from the same green glass blocks that sparkled in the sunlight. Like the fucking Emerald City of Oz.

He leaned against the steel barrier near the edge of George’s Dock. It used to be a real dock that smelled of tar and dead fish. Now they’d transformed it into an ornamental lake. Jets of water crashed down on its surface from five spurting fountains. The noise was deafening, but it was the perfect position for observing the building opposite.

Cameron straightened up as a young woman stumbled through the revolving doors. He checked her out against the description of the Martinez girl. Five foot three, slim, with dark curly hair. Face kind of heart-shaped. She was clutching a black satchel with some kind of silver logo on it. It was her all right. She reminded him of the Spanish waitress he’d had in Madrid last year. He felt himself harden.

Cameron fell into step behind her. It was late on Friday afternoon and the city was clogged with people. He stared at her without blinking, fixing her in his sights.

He’d received his instructions by phone, his bowels clenching as he’d listened to the familiar voice. It was a voice he’d taken orders from many times before. He told himself he did it for the money, but he knew it was more than that. The blood had pounded through his body as he’d listened to the voice on the phone, anticipating the hunt.

The girl moved as if she was on the dodgems, slamming shoulders with other pedestrians, but she seemed not to notice. She walked out of the IFSC grounds and back on to the city streets. The crowd pressed in closer and he burrowed through, closing the gap between them.

‘Will I do it like last time?’ he’d asked on the phone. He’d savoured the memory of last time; the squeal of brakes, the smell of scorched rubber, the sickening crunch of metal and shattered bone. But the voice had cut into his thoughts.

‘Not yet. I need her terrified, but I need her alive.’ As if sensing Cameron’s disappointment, he’d continued, ‘But don’t worry. Next time, you can kill her.’

Next time. Cameron swallowed hard as he gained on the dark-haired girl. Why did he always have to obey orders? He risked a lot to carry out his instructions. He needed gratification, and he needed it now.

The girl picked up the pace, and he lengthened his stride to keep up with her. His first chance would come at the busy intersection marked by the Eternal Flame sculpture, where the cars wheeled past the Custom House at top speed, heedless of pedestrians. It was less than twenty yards away, and she was headed straight for it.

Suddenly, she stopped and swung around. She stared straight at him, and then retraced her steps back towards him. What the fuck was she doing? She couldn’t have seen him. He kept on walking.

She was face to face with him. Her breasts brushed against his arm, and he could feel her warmth.

‘Sorry,’ she said, without looking up, and swept on past.

He ran his tongue over his lips as he watched her walk away.

Cameron waited till she had put ten yards between them and then set off after her again. She headed back towards the river and crossed over the bridge. He followed her as she turned left along the cobbled quays. He could smell the rotting seaweed that hung like a fringe of oily hair along the river walls.

The girl turned down a narrow street lined with poky cottages and grimy blocks of flats. Cameron dropped back. There were fewer people here, less cover. He kept his distance until he heard the familiar whine of speeding traffic. They had reached the intersection with Pearse Street, where cars thundered in and out of the city centre.

The girl joined the knot of pedestrians by the kerb and he slipped in close behind her.

An old woman in a raincoat swayed in front of him. She was carrying a plastic bag full of old tennis shoes, and smelled like a urinal. He elbowed her out of his way and edged into position behind the girl. He could see the logo on her satchel more clearly now. The word DefCon was engraved in silver, the letter ‘O’ framing a black skull and crossbones.

It meant nothing to him, nor did he care.

He shot a glance at the lights and then back at the whirling traffic. Cars and motorbikes sped along Pearse Street. The lights changed from green to amber. A red truck barrelled on through. Behind it, a black BMW gunned its engine and prepared to make a run for it.

Cameron’s scalp prickled. He raised his hand.

Now.

An elbow jabbed at his arm and threw him off balance.

‘Look at that speed. Should be locked up.’ The old woman shoved her face into his. He could smell the stale wine on her breath.

The BMW roared past. The pedestrian lights bip-bip-bipped as the crowd spilled out on to the road.

Cameron glared at the stinking bag lady who had robbed him of his climax. The old woman widened her watery eyes and took a step back from him. He jerked away and strode across the street, squinting through the crowds.

There was no sign of the dark-haired girl anywhere.

He weaved his way through the bodies, straining for a glimpse of her. Then he stood still and dug his nails into his palms, ignoring the crush as he watched the flow of commuters, looking for patterns. They were scurrying past like rats, flooding from different directions. But they surged as one into the cavernous entrance on the left.

Cameron smiled and relaxed his fingers. Of course: Pearse Station.

What could be better?

He barged through the queue of people blocking the entrance and scoured the area. She had to be here. Trains rattled overhead and the air was a mixture of dust and sweat. Then he spotted her, on the other side of the ticket barriers. She was stepping on to the escalator for the southbound platform.

He checked the ticket queue. Ten bodies deep and it wasn’t moving. He could vault over the ticket barrier, but that would get him noticed. He had to get to her before she boarded the next train.

Narrowing his eyes, he inspected the ticket barriers more closely. They were automatic turnstiles, all except for the one on the end. Passengers poured through it past a middle-aged man in a sloppy blue uniform, who flicked a glance at every second ticket.

It was Cameron’s only chance.

He searched the crowd, looking for cover. Two Japanese students strolled past him, heading towards the barrier on the end. The taller boy held a large map of Dublin out at arm’s length, as if he was reading a newspaper. Cameron ducked in behind them. They stopped in front of the ticket collector and wrestled with the folds of the map as they fumbled for their tickets. Cameron slipped unnoticed behind them through the open barrier.

He raced up to the southbound platform, taking the escalator steps two at a time. He reached the top and held his breath.

The station was huge, like an aircraft hangar. People were lined up on both sides of the tracks, staring into the open mouths of daylight at either end.

The girl was near the edge of the platform, twenty yards to his left. He exhaled, and a familiar ripple of heat licked up his body. He basked in it.

He slunk over towards her, glancing up at the display that counted down the time until the next train.

Two minutes.

He sidled up behind her. Other commuters staked out their space on the platform beside him. He edged forward so that no one could get between them.

He was close now. Close enough to touch her. He could smell her flowery scent. He inhaled deeply, and was aware of his own musty sourness mixed in with her fragrance. He longed to press himself against her. He thought about what he’d whisper to her, just before she went over the edge.

The air moved. The rails clacked. Something small scuttled across them.

He looked up at the display. One minute. He raised his hand.

Any second now.