unglamorous like a utility closet or a shitty van. But today Luca and I are both working at the same time, which gives us almost no ability to improvise and absolutely no room for mistakes.
We all know the score: once I start my discussion with Cyrus, there’s no going back. He’ll figure out what I know and how I know it. He’ll move to protect his data trove, which we know now is in a safe next to Randolph’s office downstairs.
It was surprisingly easy to discover where Cyrus keeps the data cache from his family’s vast holdings. The Eaton is wired into a standard cable company fiber optic network, and it only sends and receives encrypted data. Contrary to movies and television, encryption is nearly impossible to break. It’s one of the reasons the U.S. government spends so much time pressuring tech companies to put hidden backdoors in its products. But finding where someone’s keeping that shit isn’t difficult at all.
All Jack had to do was splice into the network hub for the block the Eaton hotel sits on to confirm our theory that the company’s flagship hotel is more than just that—it’s where they’re storing their dirty laundry. Massive amounts of data are being routed there from IP addresses all over the world.
If I wasn’t so close to this, I might be impressed. The complexity of the operation is worthy of a foreign intelligence agency. The potential for blackmail is staggering.
What happens when Eaton Hotels wants to open at a prime piece of real estate next to Red Square? Well, it definitely helps to have dirt on a number of government officials. It also explains the Eatons knack for cutting through red tape. How else could they manage to own hotels in the heart of Moscow?
“It’s a quarter to one,” Luca says through the headset. “Are we go?”
“Go,” Jack says.
“We're go,” I agree, checking my watch. Cyrus is meeting me in fifteen minutes, but he might arrive early. If he follows his usual daily routine—stopping in the main office as soon as he enters the building—everything will be fine.
Powerful people have a tendency to be paranoid bordering on superstitious. Accessing sensitive information comes with its own routine. The simple fact they’ve never been compromised before tells them their routine is working, so they almost never change it. That’s the flaw in his system. It tells us more than he could ever imagine. Like the fact that the name he’s made for himself in the stock market is probably built on the information he gathers from the illegal surveillance. Why else would he keep an office at the hotel when he’s hardly involved in its management at this point?
First, he goes to his office as soon as he sets foot on property. Then he reemerges ten minutes later, sometimes stopping to talk to the manager, Mr. Randolph. The amount of data being sent is too vast to decrypt for the ten minutes he’s on site—it would take hours or even days—which means the computer in his safe must be storing the data in its decrypted form.
Get in the safe, and the data cache is ours. Sutton will be safe, and so will my family.
Through my comms, I hear a knock on the door. Luca’s appointment has arrived.
“Ah, Mr. De Angelo, right on time,” says Randolph.
They exchange pleasantries, and then I hear a door close.
“Why did you want to see me again, Mr. Randolph?” Luca’s smooth tone is designed to comfort prospective clients, help them talk about difficult things. People are lulled by his effortless, almost bored bastardry.
“Trouble at home, I’m afraid,” says Randolph, his quavering voice betraying his nervousness.
“The wife?”
“You always get married with good intentions,” Randolph says, “but yes…”
“I’m sorry to hear it’s not working out,” Luca says, sounding anything but. “I’ve always found that an ending is also a new beginning…”
“I’m hoping,” says Randolph.
It must be hard to solicit the execution of your wife. Even for someone like Randolph. He just can’t bring himself to be more explicit. But we need him to say it—if I don’t start scratching Noah’s back, he might end up being my second shadow for the rest of my life. A money launderer hiring a hitman is just a big enough fish to satisfy him for a bit.
“I might be able to help you. We’re talking because you recognize my family name, no?”
That’s good, Luca, keep him on the hook.
“I—I’ve heard of the De Angelos, yes. And you indicated you help all kinds