Deal Gone Bad - A Thriller (Frank Morrison Thriller Series Book 1) by Tony Wiley
Authors: Tony Wiley
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have no place to hide. Inside, a long accordion
door fenced off the bank’s public area so that you would only be able to access
the three ATMs sitting there. Purely out of habit, Morrison peered at the ATMs.
Then a broad smile illuminated
his face.
Sons of bitches , he thought.
He went to the heavy glass
door, pulled it open and got in.
Chapter 11
The three ATMs faced him. Standard
Wincor Nixdorf models. At the time of his arrest, they were still fairly
recent. But now they were four or five years old. The industry would consider
them old trusted hands. Morrison scanned them. The three machines were
identical. Their left-center section featured an oversize screen with two rows
of buttons on either side, a keypad underneath and a cash dispenser squeezed in
between. On the right side, the receipt printer headed a column also comprising
the card reader and the deposit slot. Nothing fancy. Just sturdy and reliable
equipment. Time tested. Proven. Cheap to operate. Exactly what all the banks were
looking for. Keep your fixed costs to a minimum so that you can maximize your
profit margins. Since all three machines were identical, Morrison picked one at
random to have a closer look. He went for the one in the middle.
He had read somewhere that
when faced with a similar choice, more than eighty percent of human beings
would make the same one. The study had been conducted on three continents among
a diversity of age and socioeconomic groups, but the end result was the same.
There seemed to be some deeply embedded reason for choosing the option in the
middle, like a kind of self-preservation rationale. The farther you were from
the edges, the farther you were from outlying dangers. It’s almost as if the brain
instinctively perceived the middle as safer and therefore opted for it in disproportionate
ways.
Up close, the keypad
looked a bit worn out. On heavily used ATMs, they were changed regularly so
that they always appeared fresh and crisp. This one would probably be done soon
as part of the maintenance cycle. But the slightly polished and glaring keys were
not what stood out the most about the ATM. At least not to him. For the average
customer, that would definitely be it. But the eyes see what the brain knows.
And his eyes were well trained to recognize this.
The card reader. Its front
surface, where you inserted the card, sat exactly flush with the rest of the
apparatus. Usually, you would find it slightly recessed, two inches or so below
the rest of the interface’s surface. Morrison stared at it for a moment. It was
very nicely done. The ATM’s color was a half shining silver. The card reader had
been done in the same exact color. A professional job. With serious research.
You rarely saw a match that perfect.
Morrison retrieved a
tissue from his pocket and covered his hand with it. It wasn’t time to start
leaving prints everywhere. He squeezed the tip of his fingers in the crease on
top of the card reader and did the same with his thumb underneath it. Made sure
he had a firm grip. Then he pulled. At first, nothing budged. The card reader
was set firmly into place. He repositioned his fingers to gain more leverage,
then went at it again. He felt the reader give way a bit. Kept pulling. Then it
popped right out, all at once, like a tight cork from a good bottle of wine.
Morrison turned the device
around in his hand. The shape of its back portion was a perfect match for the
ATM’s real card reader recess. It had been put in place with strong double-sided
adhesive tape. Two strips: one at the top, one at the bottom. Across all its
width. There was also a tiny fiberoptic camera embedded in the reader on the
left side, where the ATM keypad was positioned.
Morrison grinned.
Classic ATM skimming
equipment. A purpose built card reader installed in front of the real ATM card
reader so that unsuspecting customers would have to slide their debit card
through it. The counterfeit reader would skim the precious codes found on
door fenced off the bank’s public area so that you would only be able to access
the three ATMs sitting there. Purely out of habit, Morrison peered at the ATMs.
Then a broad smile illuminated
his face.
Sons of bitches , he thought.
He went to the heavy glass
door, pulled it open and got in.
Chapter 11
The three ATMs faced him. Standard
Wincor Nixdorf models. At the time of his arrest, they were still fairly
recent. But now they were four or five years old. The industry would consider
them old trusted hands. Morrison scanned them. The three machines were
identical. Their left-center section featured an oversize screen with two rows
of buttons on either side, a keypad underneath and a cash dispenser squeezed in
between. On the right side, the receipt printer headed a column also comprising
the card reader and the deposit slot. Nothing fancy. Just sturdy and reliable
equipment. Time tested. Proven. Cheap to operate. Exactly what all the banks were
looking for. Keep your fixed costs to a minimum so that you can maximize your
profit margins. Since all three machines were identical, Morrison picked one at
random to have a closer look. He went for the one in the middle.
He had read somewhere that
when faced with a similar choice, more than eighty percent of human beings
would make the same one. The study had been conducted on three continents among
a diversity of age and socioeconomic groups, but the end result was the same.
There seemed to be some deeply embedded reason for choosing the option in the
middle, like a kind of self-preservation rationale. The farther you were from
the edges, the farther you were from outlying dangers. It’s almost as if the brain
instinctively perceived the middle as safer and therefore opted for it in disproportionate
ways.
Up close, the keypad
looked a bit worn out. On heavily used ATMs, they were changed regularly so
that they always appeared fresh and crisp. This one would probably be done soon
as part of the maintenance cycle. But the slightly polished and glaring keys were
not what stood out the most about the ATM. At least not to him. For the average
customer, that would definitely be it. But the eyes see what the brain knows.
And his eyes were well trained to recognize this.
The card reader. Its front
surface, where you inserted the card, sat exactly flush with the rest of the
apparatus. Usually, you would find it slightly recessed, two inches or so below
the rest of the interface’s surface. Morrison stared at it for a moment. It was
very nicely done. The ATM’s color was a half shining silver. The card reader had
been done in the same exact color. A professional job. With serious research.
You rarely saw a match that perfect.
Morrison retrieved a
tissue from his pocket and covered his hand with it. It wasn’t time to start
leaving prints everywhere. He squeezed the tip of his fingers in the crease on
top of the card reader and did the same with his thumb underneath it. Made sure
he had a firm grip. Then he pulled. At first, nothing budged. The card reader
was set firmly into place. He repositioned his fingers to gain more leverage,
then went at it again. He felt the reader give way a bit. Kept pulling. Then it
popped right out, all at once, like a tight cork from a good bottle of wine.
Morrison turned the device
around in his hand. The shape of its back portion was a perfect match for the
ATM’s real card reader recess. It had been put in place with strong double-sided
adhesive tape. Two strips: one at the top, one at the bottom. Across all its
width. There was also a tiny fiberoptic camera embedded in the reader on the
left side, where the ATM keypad was positioned.
Morrison grinned.
Classic ATM skimming
equipment. A purpose built card reader installed in front of the real ATM card
reader so that unsuspecting customers would have to slide their debit card
through it. The counterfeit reader would skim the precious codes found on
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