No Apologies and No Regrets

On Friday morning Gabe Bowman couldn’t sleep so he went to work at four AM. He wasn’t alone. The regular 24 / 7 crowd was there plus a few more.

  As the sun came up Gabe, Sally and Bart gathered in his office around a small conference table that passed for a desk. Sally was grazing on dry granola and some fruit. A less health conscious Bart had a double mocha latte and a chocolate chip croissant that he’d picked up at Starbucks on the way in. Gabe had only a bottle of Fiji water and a handful of aspirin tablets.

  “The most likely scenario is a glitch in the exchange’s computers,” Sally said without a lot of conviction.

  “I don’t know, Sally. We’ve been inside their system so many times I think we know it better than they do.” Bart grinned and took another bite of chocolate croissant.

  “I’ll assume those visits were all at the NYSE's request,” Gabe said while hastily washing down several white pills.

  “It was definitely in their best interests. That's the same thing, isn't it?" Bart studied the bottom of his empty coffee cup to conceal his impish smile.

  “Sure. Sure it is, Bart.” Gabe frequently chose not to know too much about the expeditions his super stars took into sensitive systems and software.

  Sally shifted restlessly in her chair and fiddled absent-mindedly with her long hair. “I think that, because the market started to stabilize so quickly, the exchange’s program and systems were basically intact.”

  “I agree with that.” Gabe was distracted by his own line of thinking and didn’t say more.

  “What if someone entered an incorrect trade in some unimaginably huge number? That could put the EFTS’s into frenzy….”

  Bart interrupted, “That’s exactly where all the moronic talking heads are going with this.” He was notorious for his visceral contempt of the televised media. “The system has built in ‘circuit breakers’ that should have stopped a fall long before it got to this.”

  Yeah, but they shut off at a certain time of day Sally thought but kept the comment to herself.

  She spoke in a calm clear voice, “What if someone injected a string of code, a virus if you will, and that precipitated the whole thing?”

  “Then I’d say we can find the bugger in less than 24 hours.” Bart looked smugly at Sally.

  “Maybe.” Gabe stared out the window, deep in thought.

  “But what if it was designed to eliminate itself?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sure, Bart. The code could have been instructed to initiate a self-destruct routine when its mission was fulfilled. It wouldn’t be so hard. It’s how I’d do it if I were writing the program myself.”

  “Possible, I suppose, but why do you think that’s what happened here?”

  “Dunno. Maybe just a hunch.” Sally went on eating tiny pieces of granola and staring off into space.

  “Maybe a good one.” Bart seemed indifferent, but Gabe was clearly intrigued by her idea.

  “Look, the “virus” would only have to serve as a catalyst. A substantial percentage of trading volume is driven by program traders and they tend to behave in a predictable way. If they see, or think they see just a few trades that fall well outside their parameters they’ll react automatically. The prices drop, stop loss orders kick in and a train wreck results.” Sally popped one last bit of granola into her mouth as she started to pace the floor. When she was focused on something she tended to move around a lot. According to rumor, she’d paced her cubicle for two days straight while she and Bart were working on a crash project.

  “For argument’s sake let’s assume a false trade was entered by someone who knew the virus would disable the circuit breakers: that could easily trigger a collapse if only for a few minutes. You may be on to something, Sally.” Gabe was fully engaged in the conversation while Bart worked hard to conceal his own interest.

  “Yeah. The breakers only need to be disabled for a matter of seconds. The trick would be to size the fake trade to be large enough to do the job. I think you could even control how far you wanted the market to fall by tweaking the parameters a little.” Bart was getting more enthusiasm for the notion now that he was feeling some ownership.

  “Before you get too excited, guys, let’s not forget that whoever did this needed a digital signature to get in.”

  “If we can do it someone else could figure it out.” Sally glared at Bart as he said it.

  “Elegant.” Gabe reentered the conversation with his mind filled with a vision of how simple the process could be.

  “Bloody fucking brilliant if it actually works.” Bart immediately regretted his word choice. Sally reacted badly to profanity - especially from him.

  “BART! How many times do I have to ask you to watch your language?” Eyes blazing, Sally spun on her new black Gucci stilettos and stared at him.

  “Sorry, but I never worked with a dilettante before. It takes some getting used to for a farm boy like me.” The snarky edge in Bart’s voice didn’t portend good things.

  Shit, here we go again Gabe thought.

  “You mean debutante,” Sally said tartly. Her tone was equally testy. Sometimes, where Bart was concerned, she could be sensitive to references to her privileged upbringing. More than one of the town’s tecchies grew up rich, but Sally tended to be more obvious than most. Along the way she had embraced her family’s culture of wealth and high-end consumption and typically made no apologies.

  “They’re synonyms, aren’t they?” Bart, who had scored 1600 on his SAT’s, was needling her in a way that was guaranteed to get under her skin.

  “Feigned stupidity is much worse than real stupidity, Bart.” She clicked the sharp heel of her shoe on the floor for emphasis.

  “So is feigned moral superiority, Sally.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m just sayin’. According to you I have a reprehensible foul mouth, but you have your ménage a trois going with Mr. Jack Daniels and whoever. We’re all sinners one way or the other.”

  “You always have to go there, don’t you Bart?”

  "And you never deny it, do you?"

  A persistent rumor had been circulating that, after marathon work sessions, Sally liked to blow off steam with bourbon and non-stop sex. Her partner or partners had yet to be identified though Bart had given it more thought than he would admit to. So, maybe the rumor was true and perhaps it was wishful thinking, but mention of it always got her wound up.

  Gabe decided to jump into the middle of the fray. These were two of the most brilliant misfits on the planet and he needed them to stay on point.

  “Look, children, let’s not loose our focus here. See if you can form a cogent hypothesis and try to advance to the next level, huh?” Even though it was his own office he headed for the door. It was soundproof and a good place to contain the combatants.

  “Yeah, sure, Gabe.” Bart said without taking his eyes off Sally who nodded affirmatively in Gabe’s direction.

  “Bart, one day I'm going to file a complaint against you with HR.”

  “Oh give me a break, Sally. You won’t.” Bart dropped casually into a chair. “You won’t because then I might be forced to stop.” He leaned back comfortably and smiled smugly at Sally. ‘Checkmate’ he thought to himself.

  “Might have to stop? You’d be lucky to have your job!”

  The company’s co-founder, Jack Button, was walking by as Gabe emerged from his office quickly closed the door.

  “Those two again?”

  “Yup. The inter-tribal mating ritual is in full tilt.”

  “Ever wish they’d just get a room and get on with it?”

  “Nah. This is much more entertaining.” They both laughed.

  “Has she thrown a shoe at him yet?” Somehow the inane act of throwing a shoe had come to symbolize the end of these childish confrontations.

  “No, but soon, I hope. I have real work for them to do.”

  Jack just laughed. “I’m going out. You c
an use my office if you need one.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mess it up,” Jack said over his shoulder jabbing jovially at his lifelong friend, the legendary clean freak.

  Gabe walked across the floor and into an office even less traditional than his own. The room had no desk or conference table. A low glass coffee table and four Barcelona chairs sat on a Persian carpet at its center. In a corner stood sleek, black leather reclining chair close by a sixty-inch high def screen. The recliner was Jack’s ‘work station.’

  Gabe plopped down on one of the Barcelona chairs and pulled out his cell phone. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see an incoming call from the McLean, Virginia law firm that represented one of Digital Integrity’s largest and most secretive clients. Gabe could only guess at the client's true identity as the engagements and billings were processed through the firm. Payments were wire transferred from a New York branch of Bank of America. Sally and Bart wanted to hack the account, but the relationship was too lucrative. Gabe threatened termination or worse if anyone tried and everyone knew he would have made good on the threat. Of course, he’d have to find out about it first.

  He dialed voicemail and switched to speaker mode so he could take notes. A familiar voice came on the line without salutation or introduction.

  “I have a client who has lost a substantial amount of money due to the recent market volatility. I’ve suggested that we engage you to investigate and report back to me. I’m authorized to approve one hundred hours at your standard rate. Please acknowledge.”

  He immediately broke the connection then punched some numbers into his phone and waited. As expected, his call went directly to voice mail.

  “Acknowledging acceptance.”

  He ended the call and leaned back with a smile on his face. You had to love those guys. He was going to get paid over a hundred thousand dollars for doing something the team had already started on their own.

  7.

  The Saddle Peak Lodge

  Malibu, California