“What’s that?”
“What if the reporter doesn’t believe me? I mean, that’s gonna be a lot to remember.”
“I’ll coach on what you need to say,” Monika assured CeCe. “And when you talk to him, you’ll be wearing a wire and an ear piece. Me and Black will be someplace close by listening and we’ll help keep you straight.”
“You in?”
“I already told you yes, and a deal’s a deals,” CeCe said.
“Travis. The money-”
“Like Black said, the money is in offshore accounts in different banks. So we can just roll in there and take it at gunpoint. In order for us to get it, I gotta access the network and get past a 128-bit encryption. Now accessing the secure cluster has to be done on a computer at a bank on the backbone of the network. I have a friend who works in investment and special services at a Bank in the Cayman Islands, which is part of the network.
“By placing a packet sniffer on a network I can capture and analyze all of the network traffic. Then I use a hydra which, for lack of a better definition, is a login cracker. I go in, pop the firewall, drop in the hydra and transfer the money into another account.”
The next morning Travis left for the Cayman Islands to wait for my call.
For the next two days, Monika and I drilled CeCe on what she would say to the reporter. By the end of the second day she was ready. I was impressed, but I knew I would be. There is much more to her appeal than the physical.
That night CeCe met the reporter at One if by Land, Two if by Sea, a restaurant on Barrow and West 4th Streets. Monika and I were seated at a table near the one where New York Post reporter James Fremeno waited for her to arrive.
After Monika did a sound check on the equipment, CeCe went in. “Mr. Fremeno?”
Fremeno sprang to his feet when he saw CeCe coming. “I’m Cameisha Collins. Sorry I’m late. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long?”
“Not at all, Ms. Collins. Please have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, tell me what I can do for you?”
“Well, a few months ago my boyfriend Steven was murdered in my apartment.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know who did it?”
“DEA agents.”
“That’s a very serious accusation, Ms. Collins. Do you have any proof that it was the DEA?”
“Yes, I do. My boyfriend Steven was a drug dealer who went by the name Cash Money.”
“I understand.”
“Do you remember a couple of months ago a DEA agent was killed at a parking garage and a few days later, another agent was found dead at his house outside of Philadelphia?”
“Vaguely.”
CeCe took out the pictures we gave her and pushed them in front of Fremeno. “That’s them,” she said, and told Fremeno about the meeting. For the next half-hour, Fremeno took notes and sat fascinated by the story CeCe was telling to him.
When she was done with her story, CeCe made one request. “I know that you need to verify what I told you, but before you go to print with the story, I know you have to call the DEA to ask if they want to comment on the story.”
“That’s right. It’s more of a courtesy than a requirement, but yes. ”
“All I ask is that before you do that you call me.”
“I can do that,” Fremeno readily agreed.
It was two weeks later when CeCe got the call from Fremeno. As soon as she hung up with him, CeCe called Kevon and he handed the phone to me. “It’s on.”