The 6:20 Man(48)



“I’m not sure. I don’t think anyone works on the floor. I think it’s just computers.”

“Not so weird. It might be supercomputer trading space. They get millisecond head start on trading at volume. They make millions every day on head start over others who not do this.”

“I know. It’s called high-frequency trading. Buy it a millisecond before the shares or bonds rise a penny, which in the course of a day they all do, and sell it a millisecond later before the shares or bond prices drop a penny. It’s like being just ahead of a wave rising and falling. You have to have expensive and specially designed software and infrastructure. The institutions have that, plus, because they’re licensed brokers, they’re hardwired into the exchanges; it’s called naked access. And it’s not just brokers, but hedge funds and specialty firms.”

“Is smart and is stupid at same time.”

“Why is it stupid if they make so much money off it?” asked Devine.

“First reason, you have flash crash, when computer make mistake because of bad line of code or something. Then it sells when it should buy, or vice versa. You lose billions in snap of finger.”

“That has happened,” conceded Devine. “And what’s the second reason?”

“All eggs in one basket, dude,” replied Valentine. “Ransomware? You hit that one target, what will they pay to get back up and running? Huh? I tell you what they pay. Shitloads. And nobody will know because company will tell no one because they are afraid clients will not trust them and run to other guy. So, a few computer clicks and you are fuckin’ billionaire. They pay in bitcoin now. Cryptocurrency.”

“How do you know that?” said Devine, staring at him suspiciously.

Valentine caught this look and held up his hands in mock surrender. “I hear on street. I do not do this. I am good guy now. I do not fill up my bank account.”

“But with ransomware you have some countries filling up their treasuries,” amended Devine.

“Is true. But for ransomware, North Koreans have nothing to eat and then they throw out little leader in glasses. Others do it, too.”

“Russia?”

Valentine pointed his finger at him. “Ha-ha. Putin loves his money. He buys big horses and rides them without shirt on. He is crazy-ass stud.”

“Can you see if Cowl is doing their high-frequency trading from Area 51?”

“I can see trades if buying and selling is on public markets. I can’t see if they buy and sell through darkpool, not till sale complete. Is how high-frequency traders operate for so long without being found out.”

“But can you tell if it is high-speed trading going on? Based on the activity in the pipe?”

“Will take time. I have other things to do.”

“I thought you liked a challenge. And you couldn’t trace the message. I thought I’d give you a shot at redemption.”

“What is this redemption bullshit?” he asked, frowning.

“It means a second chance to prove that you are a world-class hacker.”

“I am world-class hacker. I know this already.”

“But I don’t, not based on the email fail.”

“You are funny man. Let me think. I get back to you.”

“Just don’t take too long. I have a feeling knowing sooner is better than knowing later.”

Valentine put his headphones on, flipped open his laptop, and went back to work.

Devine climbed the stairs, rinsed off the day’s grime in the shower, and changed into a pair of light brown slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt that he wore untucked. He put his dress shoes back on.

As he was heading back down, he met Helen Speers coming up the stairs. She’d obviously been doing yoga in the dining room again because the woman had on another set of colorful duds and was sweating. And he felt his heart start to race as she approached.

“Going out?” she said.

“Got a meeting.”

She gave him an odd look. “How’s the police investigation going?”

“It’s going. In some pretty odd directions.”

“Need that lawyer yet?”

“Probably any minute now.”

She looked at him severely, then headed off to her room where she would slide out of her yoga clothes and step into the shower . . . And he had to stop thinking about that.

Devine knocked on Tapshaw’s door. “Hey, it’s Travis. Did you eat today, Jill? The dating world of Hummingbird wants to know.”

She opened her door and stood there in red athletic shorts, a white tank top, and crew socks with pink Converse tennis shoes. Her hair was done up with an assortment of bobby pins. “I had lunch,” she said brightly. “And I might have dinner.”

“How’s the fund-raising going?”

“Hey, you work on Wall Street, right?”

“Yeah. Cowl and Comely. Why?”

“Let me show you something.”

She led him into her room and over to one of her giant computer screens. He had been to her office in the strip mall, and it looked like a cyberwarfare command center.

All in the name of love.

She brushed some of the sticky notes off the glass and hit a few keys. Her LinkedIn page came up. Tapshaw scrolled down and pointed to a message.

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