This was vital for several reasons. First, an algorithm had been introduced into a number of the major financial markets via a computer within that building. She felt the algorithm was the main contribution of their new allies. It caused financial institutions to think the market was crashing and pushed them to sell immediately. Second, the man she had paid to do that was still in the building, and third, the bank stood for everything she was against. It only dealt with the wealthy, ignored the plight of the poor, and worst of all was hypocritical to its core.
She watched silently as the rising moon reflected off the top-floor windows. Her hand slid across the table and slowly picked up the cell phone. Compared to what she had done the last few days, this was easy. She flipped open the phone and looked up at the building again.
Fannie paused and picked up a pair of high-powered Zeiss binoculars. She focused on the front of the building along the sidewalk and saw a young woman pushing a stroller with a small child dressed in a green all-weather jacket walking alongside.
This was no time for sentiment, but she hesitated just the same.
Still in the Seventh Precinct, Walsh followed Stratford along the busy corridor, and when they paused in a small waiting room with a dozen metal chairs, one of the cops looked at her and said, “Is this the asshole who caused all this?” The statement and the emotion behind it made Walsh realize how much shit he was in. This was not a game, and he was not about to talk anyone out of arresting him. He was the only suspect, and there wasn’t anyone who could help him if he was locked up. He needed to get out and somehow get that plug into a computer hooked into the Thomas Brothers network.
The crowd pushed harder and forced them into the main lobby, where he could catch glimpses through the front door of the chaos erupting outside. Then the doors seemed to explode, and a metal garbage can tumbled into the lobby, making more noise than a politician filibustering a bill.
The clamor startled the two FBI agents, who instinctively put themselves between the front door and Walsh. He appreciated the sentiment, even if it only meant they didn’t want him to make a run for it.
A burly young man with blond dreadlocks forced his way through the front door holding up a garbage can lid. A cop at the front door tried to pull the lid away from him, and while they were struggling, a second cop swung an ASP collapsible baton and struck the young man in the leg. As soon as he went to the ground, two more men forced their way in. All of them had the dingy look of Stand Up to Wall Street protesters. Now there were more pouring through the door, and the cops were starting to back up. Gunshots echoed from outside, and for the first time Walsh was starting to worry about their personal safety.
The FBI agents slowly edged back and pushed him into the corner of the lobby. His view was obstructed, but it sounded like more and more protesters were floating through the front door. Then he noticed the plastic evidence bag sticking out of the side pocket of Tonya Stratford’s jacket.
This might be an opportunity.
Fannie Legat watched the front of the bank building. There were more people than she’d expected at this time in the evening, but the only one she really cared about was the woman with the two small children. Then she considered the area around the bank and realized there was a pastry shop on one side and a park near the other side. This was just a night owl who was giving her kids a chance to play before bed. Maybe burn up some energy.
She couldn’t allow children in front of the bank to affect her judgment. It was her job to act and act right now. She gave little thought to the thirty or forty people working inside the building. She had already written them off as casualties of war. Some of them might be innocent, at least of crimes against Muslims. But certainly some of them would deserve to perish in the fire and rubble that the bank building was about to become. It would also make any subsequent investigation into the computer hacking and the transfer of money that much more difficult. In addition, it would be just one more thing for the Western media to focus on.
She chewed on her lower lip, a habit she had developed in primary school. Her mother said it would ruin her beautiful smile and used to make her suck a lemon when she did it. But Fannie still reverted to the old habit when stress started to rise in her.
The woman seemed to be lingering at the front of the building for no particular reason. A man walked by, and she chatted with him briefly. Fannie couldn’t wait any longer. She let the binoculars drop slightly and focused on the face of the child next to the woman. She was too far away to make out much detail but saw that it was a girl with blond hair that danced in the wind.
She set down the binoculars with her right hand and picked up the phone with her left. She started her countdown. Three … Two … Before she could consciously think of the word “One,” the woman started to stroll farther down the street, and Fannie took a deep breath to clear her mind. Within twenty seconds the woman was on her way past the bank building and toward the park. There were several others who had now entered her view, but none of them were children. She could see a heavyset woman with a blue coat and more than one man in a business suit. This was it. She pressed the SEND button and leveled the binoculars at the gaudy building.
At the sign of the first flash she knew this would set back investigators looking into her transactions for weeks.
Derek Walsh looked in each direction and realized no one was paying any attention to him. Everyone was focused on the danger at the front of the room. The sound of gunfire from outside only intensified people’s attention, and several of the uniformed officers pulled their service weapons.
He lifted his right hand slowly and edged it toward the plastic evidence bag sticking out of Tonya Stratford’s jacket pocket. He had no idea what he was going to do with it if he even reached it, but someone had to take control of the security plug. He couldn’t fathom a conspiracy that reached inside the FBI, but they weren’t there to help him, either. The idea of fleeing the scene to reconsider his options had a certain appeal that grew every minute he was in the police station. But before he did anything he had to get hold of the plug.
Just as he was about to put his fingers on it, the FBI agent moved to her left and dropped her left arm.
Walsh had to snatch back his hand. He stood up straight and took a breath just as Agent Stratford turned around to look at him. She was just making sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid. For the moment he provided her with the illusion that he was not.
Then he took another shot at the evidence bag. This time his fingers closed on it, and he started to pull back slowly at first, then a little faster.
She shifted to one side, and he pulled the bag completely out of her pocket, but then it slipped from his grasp, bounced off the FBI agent’s leg, and ended up on the ground. There was no way he could reach it without drawing attention to himself.
Walsh tried to ease the clear plastic bag closer to him with his foot. Now there was a surge forward as the protesters were pushed back out of the lobby. He followed Stratford and Martin while casually leaning forward and scooping up the evidence bag. He jammed it into his left front pocket, then shifted slightly so he was off to the left of the FBI agents. Then an opportunity hit him square in the face. One he couldn’t ignore. It fueled his idea to flee.
Just as several protesters forced their way back inside, Walsh turned and walked into the hallway they had come from. It was not as crowded as before, and, dressed in a clean white shirt and acting official, he looked like he belonged there. He walked with his head held high and nodded hello to a couple of the cops who were coming from the rear of the building. The biggest vibe he got was that the cops thought he was some kind of coward running away from the action. Walsh could live with that.