Lester still wasn't entirely comfortable with his new identity, so he steered clear of outside appointments. Late that week, he just trotted in the front door of Wardleys Merchant Bank, and used the "possible new account" story.
The girl at the Enquiry desk clearly wasn't thrilled with blow-ins, but that flaky story got him an interview anyway. She'd obviously talked to people worth a lot more than his supposed $25,000, maybe even today, but he felt comfortable staying near the truth.
Once he was at a relatively private desk, though, he felt he could open up. His father in Great Britain was interested in avoiding Death Duties, and wanted him to take charge of about $1.4 million. He had almost no experience of investment, he said, and wanted to make sure the money would be in prudent hands while he got on his feet.
The bank officer took it from there, with dignity and panache. Certainly, he couldn't depend on the normal Australian banks: they were too conservative. They were quite flummoxed by the daily fluctuations of interest rates on the short-term money market, whereas Wardley's worked all the time in that field. Leave it to them, he was assured. He could take two days, a month or ten years to make the next step. As long as his bank contacts were aware of his plans, they'd ensure his funds earned a real rate of interest on top of inflation. That was their function in the scheme of things.
Why didn't he try them out, the officer encouraged gently? Put the twenty-odd grand in a working account, and get some experienced of how a REAL bank could manage funds. They'd work out, with his help, what his day-to-day needs were, and sweep the rest into a fund on the short-term money market.
Not two weeks ago his own bank manager had talked to him about 10% interest, available on 30 days' notice; last week, his lecturer had spoken of Merchant Banks offering 15% annual, calculated daily, and this bloke had 16% up his sleeve.
But yes, it was their system. He thought of his twenty-five thou, collecting cobwebs these last few years, and he silently cursed. It could just as easily have been fifty by now. The only thing that stood in the way was his ignorance.
Why didn't he jump right now? ...not lose another day?
Because he wasn't sure yet what other demands there would be on those funds. The man was very persuasive and this looked to be highly attractive prospect, but he had two months to go.
So, he procrastinated. The twenty-odd could stay where it was until he was sure he had the whole plan together, and then he really ought to "launder" the rest before he put it in the hands of somebody like Wardley's. Once those hurdles were past, though, Wardley's (or their ilk) would be very useful.
So he promised the adviser he'd give it some serious consideration, and walked back out into the crowded city streets. Another chapter of the investigation done as he settled into the drive back to Mulgrave. He'd be there by 11.20, normal late-ish Lester hours, no cause for anyone to take particular note.
There was a phone message on his desk, though, that had been there for a few hours when he arrived. Auditors: were they trying to keep tabs on him? No, course not, no need to get paranoid. They worked business hours, whereas his work demanded night owl habits. They just wanted his help, and he wasn't the most predictable attendee. It felt rather good, really. Intent as he was on taking home a massive paycheck someday soon, the EDP Audit group had cast him in the role of good fairy. He was confident he'd covered his tracks well - not forever, nobody could do that, just for a week or two - and during that time his name should be well down the list of suspects.
"So," he commented flippantly as the phone was answered, "what can I do to ruin your day, Mr. James? And why don't you send Jenny over for me to give her some more intensive help?"
"Because it's business," James grunted. "I wanted to talk through the approach we've planned to reclassifying the security surveillance system. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes, if you can keep your one-track mind off its favourite dirt track."
"Right," Lester said, momentarily checking he had no urgent commitments on the desk-top. "What are you up to, Alf?" It would surely take more than ten minutes.
"Let's start with the programs that need top security control. I think we can identify those that handle money, records of money, records of transactions that may be financial, and that's about all we have to put in the top security group."
On they went, working through the various levels of protection and risk for half-an-hour, until Lester began to feel the pressure of other work again.
"Well, how much do you think we've cut the report size down by now, Alf? Must be having some impact with all this activity."
"I'm not calculating anymore," Alf said, "I stopped a couple of days ago when it was certainly reduced to less than a tenth of where we started. Don't know how we managed."
"You know perfectly well, Alf" Lester cut in. "You bloody well didn't manage at all: you were buried. Truth's known, you will be, still, for a couple of months, till you get the new regime operating. Anything else I can screw up for you?"
There wasn't: that had been a long call, but it had doubtless helped to preserve his image as helpful, incorruptible Security guru, a worthwhile investment, Lester judged.
It was time to do something constructive; that growing discomfort was his internal clock, suggesting it was time for lunch. Off he went, being unwilling to start something he'd probably have to break off in an hour or so, just to satisfy a bodily need. Wonder if there are any vacancies for a human computer, he wondered as he headed off down the corridor for the Cafeteria.
The afternoon was one to look forward to; nothing taxing, just the tail end of the integration details on the Statistics package. The Applications Programming team, a couple of people whose names he had not recognised, were due to start next week on an important development. They bought the series of statistical routines, a big group of distribution, correlation and probability programs, a year ago, and installed it for general use after years of complaints from various marketing, planning and engineering eggheads. But now, after twelve months, nobody was using it. Tom Varney had had a look at the programs, found ways to make them a lot more user-friendly, and two months ago had won his case. The job was accepted and scheduled.
So here they were, and the task was definitely "on." The only thing changed was Varney; he saw the whole affair as a battle won, and had no further interest. Lester was welcome to work on "consultant" duties for the two Application Programmers who were to do the improvement work.
It meant a nice quiet afternoon in a book, interrupt-free, for Lester. He felt privileged, actually, because there were plenty of interruptions for other people that day.
He noticed Henry Chu, then Bill Nicholson, then Rod McAllister called out to talk to the Internal Audit pair, and wondered why they were taking that system crash last weekend so seriously. Finally, Fred Hart spent half-an-hour or so with them and he heard that they were expected to visit the lofty heights of Ken Murray's office before they left.
Had something really happened? It wasn't actually his affair, but it would steal his thunder a bit, if there really had been some malpractice. Worse, it might cause a tightening-up of security, and that would make things harder for him around Christmas. The security around ACM's computer operations was pretty lax, really. He wouldn't get near the operations areas on other sites he knew; it was annoying to get his own tapes from the library, even worse to book them in and out himself. He shouldn't have access to data files. His work should be checked, by a randomly rotated group of peers.
At the core of the problem was ACM's attitude, he was sure. It couldn't happen to us, they'd say. They had a national network wide open to wiretap, no separate computer security function, a woefully inadequate EDP Audit group, and high staff turnover in several areas of the EDP activities. The Audit guys had taken one small step, but the whole place needed a good dose of salts before real change was possible.
Wonder whether the big boss, Murray, knows how far things have slipped. The PR blurb on the notice board a month ago had said he came from the Merchant Banking field. Chances were he would put data encryption facilities on some of the network branches first. Insiders were too tough a problem compared to wire tapping.
On the other hand, Lester theorised, he might just be taking the whole incident too seriously. The Audit team might have fastened on it as a good way to practice their new skills. They probably loved the idea of seeing how much they could find out, after their tutor of the previous week had given up.
Nevertheless, he decided as his concentration went back to the Stats package and the hefty manual, this had to be regarded as a timely reminder. Audit were no longer as thick as they had been, he'd had a few anxious moments this last month or so, and he needed to stay careful. His first mistake might be his last. Might be a good idea to clean up the Plan A tape tomorrow. It had served its purpose.
And he did.
He logged a job that claimed he'd run the master tape against the backup tape of the Accounts Payable program. The report said he'd found they differed by a couple of misspellings - obviously caused when the Master was hurriedly repaired over the weekend, he suggested. He'd repaired the errors (in the master, he said) and everything was OK now. He noted in the report that this checking gave no further indications about the cause of the crash. It was still a mystery.