The bullet hit the brickwork above my head. The twanging whine of the ricochet echoed down the alley. These goons meant business. I was up to my neck in it this time.

It started with a call from a local music retailer. “Mr Wright my name is Harold Greene, I am Manager of ‘Music Land’ in Burbank St. If you are available, I would like to employ you to do some investigative work for us. Can you come and see me?”

“Sure, how about Monday morning 9 am.”

“That suits me fine. I’ll see you then.”

Staff at Music Land had spotted a stall holder at the Market Precinct in the City, offering CD’s, DVD’s and other music related products at low prices.

“Many of the products he has on sale are identical to the stock we sell,”  Harald Greene explained. “Our HQ has given me permission to look into the matter further. We want to know if his products are genuine, and if not, locate the source of his supply.”

Micro Taggants, microscopic identification particles on every Music Land product, mark it as a genuine article. The laser pen the Manager handed me activates when near the taggants up to a distance of one metre. No flashing light, no genuine product.

I was certain the job would be straight forward. The technology for duplication of media products is within easy reach of anybody who has a mind to do it, these days. If the products were illegal it was just a matter of finding the amateur impresario and giving Harold Greene the lowdown on the production location.

Tuesday, I hit the Market Precinct. A mid-twenties Asian man with a perpetual smile presided over a comprehensive selection of CD’s DVD’s and Music Video’s. With the laser pen taped to the inside of my wrist, a slight turn of my hand provided a view of the indicator light. I looked at the guy, “Are these all authentic products?” The smile remained but it was obvious that was too much English for him. “These,”  I said sweeping my hand over the display, “not fake?”

“Oh! no! no! not fake. All good All good.”

I smiled and nodded.

I handled various items from different areas of the display under the pretence of interest .The indicator had not flashed once. It was possible the Asian gentleman was the producer as well as the seller of the illicit media. The only avenue to determine that was by monitoring his movements over time.

Late that afternoon I sat in my car watching him pack up the stall and place everything under lock and key in the security lockers provided by the Market Administration. I tailed his vehicle to a small stucco house in an Asian neighbourhood. I knew it would take time. The stall was popular. He was selling items every-day. Hopefully, that meant he would need more stock soon. It required me to stake out his house early morning and the stall at finishing time. If he was not making the copies I would be on his tail when he visited his supplier.

Apart from a two hour visit to a local pokies venue Wednesday evening, my quarry kept to an unvarying routine. An early start at the stall and a late evening return home. Friday morning he caught me by surprise, pulling out of the driveway at the usual time and motoring off in the opposite direction from his usual route. I kept up with him until he turned into a factory car park in an industrial area. It was obviously a distribution centre. The place was a hive of activity. Cars pulling in, people loading boxes into their vehicles and driving off.

This was more than I had anticipated. Way beyond being a small one-man operation. After an hour, my man came out with boxes which he loaded into the back seat of his car. He went back inside twice reappearing with more boxes until the rear seat of his vehicle was stacked to the roof.

To my mind this place was a wholesale distribution centre. It was not the production centre. A few days surveillance here might get me a lead in that direction.

Two men in a black BMW X5 SUV visited the factory daily. A couple of hard looking characters. Both were tall. One lean and hawk-faced, the other large and Muscular with a black beard. Both wore dark brown leather Jackets and dark trousers. After a few days I pegged them as the owners of the business. If an illegal operation can be called a business. Shadowing them would get me to the base of operations.

I had an eerie feeling I was getting into deep water with these two Gorilla’s. They looked like professionals. The type who would spot a tail if I was careless.

The size of the operation puzzled me. I called Walter. My 18-year-old nephew is a University student living at home with his Parents. His computer skills have become an essential part of my business. I pay him for time spent on his computer for me.

“It’s research, this time Walter. Get me some facts on counterfeiting of  CD’s, DVD’s and Video. On counterfeiting in general, and who is doing it.”

“ No problem Uncle Charles.”

“ Email me a summary of what you come up with. And be sure to note how much time you spend.”

“Ok.”

It was afternoon on the day I followed them. I kept five cars behind in traffic. My odometer indicated 40 kilometres, as they turned into an abandoned industrial area, pulling up out front of one of a group of old Warehouses. The place had no windows. Nothing of the building's exterior gave any indication of what went on inside. The one loading bay might have given some view of the interior. For the present, the roller door was down.

It was imperative that I verify whether this was the counterfeiting centre before passing the location to Harald Greene. A brief foray inside was my only choice. My stomach was informing me of the need for food. I had a few hours before darkness. I drove back to the MacDonald’s, passed during the pursuit, for a leisurely meal.

10 pm I left my car half a kilometre from the warehouse and approached on foot. There appeared to be no security cameras on the building. I would have to brave whatever security was in place. My intent was a quick entry, a quick look around and a quick exit. A large padlock secured a side entrance door. I made quick work of that with the Private Investigators friend, a small set of locksmith’s lock picking tools.

Once inside my torch beam revealed what I was looking for. A bench beside a large offset printing press with set up runs of CD and DVD covers. Stacks of clear plastic CD, DVD and Video cases. Machines surrounded by evidence of being product duplicators. Evidence enough.

Loud voices and torch beams erupted from my entry door. I crouched down behind the printing machine. In the dark I had a good chance of getting out. Unfortunately, someone had begun to switch on the lights. My only chance was to make a run for it now. I bolted for the side door. I made it, but more shouts and torch beams told me they had seen me.

The bullet hit the brickwork as I raced down the alley between the buildings. The whining echo of another followed it. They were firing blind into the dark. I plunged ahead. My only thought was to get to my car. They were coming fast behind me. A shout went up each time a torch beam picked me out. Thankfully, I had not locked the car. I slid in behind the wheel, started the vehicle, and put my foot down. The last I saw of my pursuers was torch beams dancing around the rear of my vehicle. Trying for the numberplate?

Walters email that evening cleared up a lot of questions for me. Counterfeiting of media, prescription drugs, car parts, aviation parts, clothes, shoes and much more is a $600 billion industry. The biggest players are the Mafia, Chinese triad gangs, Irish Republican Army, Korean criminals, and terrorist groups. Which of these groups I had upset I did not know. I did know it was way above my pay grade. The battleground of Government agencies.

The sight of the shattered glass panel of my office door the next morning, prepared me for what was inside. Nothing in the office had escaped unscathed. Everything was smashed, slashed or beaten into uselessness. I guess they picked up my number plate. It was a warning. ‘Stay out of our business.’

I was philosophical. I could remedy the situation. Items could be replaced. The office repaired. It could have been much worse. Much worse !!

,

,

Charlie Wright private investigator recruits his nephew Walter to assist him on a Security Guard weekend assignment. Charlie assures Walters mother he will be in no danger. Boredom will be the main problem. Charlie could not have been more wrong!!

A business friend asks Charlies help. His competitors seem to know all his Company secrets. Is it industrial espionage . Charlie wades in to find out.

“Charlie, how are you doing?”

It had been five years, but I recognized the voice. “Johnno! what’s happening?” How are Mary and kids?”

“We’re all doing fine Charlie. I have a problem you might be able to help me with.”

“At your service Johnno. I owe you a few from old times.”

“A question first Charlie. Are you up to speed on technology these days? You know, the internet, computers, all of that?”

“Read and send email, and Google search, that’s about it Johnno.”

“Ah, pity, this requires somebody who knows their way around technology Charlie.”

“You didn’t let me finish boyo. Got someone working for me who is a rock star at that side of the business.”

I saw no reason to mention my IT wizard, Walter, is a student, 18 years old and lives at home with his Mom and Dad.

“The work he has done to date has been impressive. I have a lot of confidence in him. IT is a part of the game now. I had to do something to keep up. So we have all bases covered. What’s the problem?”

“These days I run a small innovation, design and manufacturing company aimed at various industries. In the past six months one of our competitors beat us to the punch twice with products almost identical to ours. It’s as if they knew our production secrets. We missed out on a lot of money both times Charlie.”

“It might not be as IT intensive as you think Johnno. It sounds like good old-fashioned industrial espionage. Give me a time to come and see you. Make it look like a business appointment. Only the two of us in the room. In the meantime prepare a list of employees with access to vital information, who make a habit of working after hours. Early starts or staying late. And one question Johnno, do you have security cameras in your dumpster rubbish removal area?”

“No.”

“Get onto that quick smart. Cameras and movement activated flood lights. We’ll discuss it when I come in.”

“Ok, Monday 10 am is good for me.”

“I’ll be there.”

I could not do much until the meeting with Johnno. A stakeout of the rubbish removal area might be worth the effort. Many business owners give no thought to the information on all aspects of their business, found in their rubbish. I left my car across the street from the front of the building at midnight. 2am to 4am is the preferred time for the people who make a living collecting, sorting, and selling business rubbish. A vantage point behind a hedge gave me a 360-degree view of the entire area. Right on 2am a vehicle with no headlights rolled to a stop opposite the dumpster area. Two figures with torches exited the car and made a bee line for the rubbish area. Five black plastic rubbish bags leaning against the dumpster disappeared into the vehicle, replaced with similar bags. They had come prepared. Switching to a torch with a stronger beam, one bozo climbed into the dumpster. The other did sentry duty. Over a period of an hour they filled three empty rubbish bags from the dumpster

That was it for the night. I raced back to my car and drove up in time to see them turning the corner. With my headlights on low beam, I tracked them for ten kilometres until they turned into the driveway of a house. I gave it ten minutes before walking up to the house. They had clumped the rubbish bags together on the Veranda. The house was in darkness. It took two trips to get the bags to my car. I left a note stuck to the front door: ‘We have reclaimed our property. Any further interference with our rubbish will result in rigorous prosecution.’ It is notoriously difficult to get a conviction on pilfering rubbish. The knowledge we knew where they lived would be enough to deter them until Johnno installed cameras and lights.

Johnno looked good. He had put on some weight, but then haven’t we all? We reminisced about old times for a few minutes. My small adventure with the rubbish was a wake-up call.

“It never crossed my mind people would go to that extent to get business information.”

“It’s a common practice. A full-time occupation for some.”

Johnno watched as I ran the bug detector over his office. Nothing. While checking the only window, the apartment building next door sparked my curiosity. One window, level with Johnno’s first floor office, had no curtains. The interior behind the window appeared to be unfurnished. I made a mental note to have a nose around over there.

Johnno’s list had three candidates. Two managers and his personal assistant, Judith Preston. I asked his permission to set up a small temporary video camera to take in most of his office. Walter had found it online. 23 mm square, video, night vision, and movement activated. The two managers and Judith Preston had open access to Johnno’s office day and night.

Johnno recoiled at spying on his trusted leaders. Fortunately for me the rubbish incident had loosened him up enough to accept we had to account for all possibilities. I fixed the camera on top of the door frame with bluetac.

10 am Tuesday I was outside the apartment block. With most tenants at work it is the best time to snoop around. The one first floor apartment without a tenant name tag had to be my destination. I climbed the stairs, picked the lock, and slipped inside. Other than the carpet on the floor, the place was empty. I opened the door into the room with the window adjacent to Johnno’s office. As I had suspected, a laser bug, also known as a laser microphone, sat on the carpet below the window. A sophisticated device that picks up conversation from sound wave vibrations on a window. Most spy gadget shops sell them.

The faint click of the front door closing caused me to turn. Two men had entered the apartment. One short, thin, with glasses. The other a Colossus who must have been at least two metres tall. The big knucklehead came at me and swung a roundhouse punch. I was slow in deflecting it and it caught me on the side of the head. I staggered back, shaking my head to clear the double vision. Trading blows with this giant guaranteed disaster. If one more of those connected, I would be out cold on the floor. I raised my fists and shaped up to the lunkhead in a boxing stance. is smile He smiled and prepared      He smiled and prepared to swing again. Dropping my hands I stepped forward and kicked him between the legs, followed by a hard chop across the throat with the edge of my left hand.

My attention turned to the small guy. His hand had gone into his coat at chest level. Going for a gun? I had to take that as a yes. I smacked him in the face with a straight left and grabbed his lapels to hold him up as his knees sagged. I don’t advocate violence. But I am big on self-preservation. My hand in his coat found a gun in a shoulder holster. Taking the shooter with me, I got out of there. Knowing I had the gun would make them think twice about following me.

Johnno was aghast at my report of the incident. “They have been listening to every word we speak in my office with that thing?”

“Pretty much, yeah. You need a laser bug defeater gadget. An inexpensive gizmo with suction cup for mounting on the window. Most spy gadget retailers sell them.”

I asked Johnno to take the camera down on Friday morning and leave it in an envelope with reception. Walter and I would look over the contents after download to Walters computer.

At Walters House, the reception was always chilly. His Mom had been dead set against him working for me. Dangerous and unsavoury work was the reason. She was right. I did not want Walter exposed to the repugnant people and places I inevitably come across in my work, either. Walter and his Dad wangled her reluctant agreement with the assurance I would confine the work to his computer at home.

Friday afternoon I watched over Walters shoulder as he downloaded video from the camera. The two managers made brief appearances in Johnno’s office amounting to only a few minutes. Judith Preston had come in at 6am on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. On all three days the footage revealed her taking files from a cabinet, photocopying them, then replacing the originals in the cabinet. It looked like hanky panky. Walter pulled up the ladies home address for me, and I asked him to do a previous employment check on her, over the next day or two. He tells me the big social media sites are ideal for unearthing details on people and their lives.

“It won’t take me long Uncle Charles.”

“Ok, give me a buzz on Saturday night.”

Watching the comings and goings of Miss Preston was my intention for Saturday. Equipped with my Canon EOS 1300D Digital camera, a thermos of coffee, and five energy bars, I was in place at 9am. 11am the lady left her apartment carrying a briefcase, hopped in her car, drove to the CBD, parked,  and walked to a Starbucks coffee outlet. Within fifteen minutes a middle-aged man wearing casual clothes joined her at the table.

My telescopic lens recorded clear shots of Miss Preston passing a thick folder of papers from her briefcase, to her companion. He in turn handed her an envelope. She checked the contents before placing it in her briefcase. Considering everything arrayed against him, I marvelled Johnno was still in business. Later I followed her confidant to his car and recorded his number plate on film. I placed a quick call to Walter asking him to get all he could on the number plate, and to include it in his report Saturday night.

The plate belonged to a Company car at Parkway Holdings Ltd. Walters employment details regarding Judith Preston held no surprises.

“She has worked as a personal assistant at four different firms in the past three years Uncle Charles. Leaving each time after six months. What does that tell you Uncle Charles?”

“Well Walter, it points to her being what you might call a professional industrial spy. She works for six months at a Company, receiving a salary, all the while stealing Company secrets and passing them to the highest bidder.”

“Wow.”

Dismayed and crestfallen best describe Johnno’s response when I presented the evidence. He confirmed Parkway Holdings was the competitor he mentioned earlier.oldings was the competitor  Blatant betrayal is a tough pill to swallow. Seeking his lawyers advice on how to precede was the next task. On the positive side, he was still in business, and delivered from the naïve belief people will always do the right thing.

“Charlie, how are you doing?”

It had been five years, but I recognized the voice. “Johnno! what’s happening?” How are Mary and kids?”

“We’re all doing fine Charlie. I have a problem you might be able to help me with.”

“At your service Johnno. I owe you a few from old times.”

“A question first Charlie. Are you up to speed on technology these days? You know, the internet, computers, all of that?”

“Read and send email, and Google search, that’s about it Johnno.”

“Ah, pity, this requires somebody who knows their way around technology Charlie.”

“You didn’t let me finish boyo. Got someone working for me who is a rock star at that side of the business.”

I saw no reason to mention my IT wizard, Walter, is a student, 18 years old and lives at home with his Mom and Dad.

“The work he has done to date has been impressive. I have a lot of confidence in him. IT is a part of the game now. I had to do something to keep up. So we have all bases covered. What’s the problem?”

“These days I run a small innovation, design and manufacturing company aimed at various industries. In the past six months one of our competitors beat us to the punch twice with products almost identical to ours. It’s as if they knew our production secrets. We missed out on a lot of money both times Charlie.”

“It might not be as IT intensive as you think Johnno. It sounds like good old-fashioned industrial espionage. Give me a time to come and see you. Make it look like a business appointment. Only the two of us in the room. In the meantime prepare a list of employees with access to vital information, who make a habit of working after hours. Early starts or staying late. And one question Johnno, do you have security cameras in your dumpster rubbish removal area?”

“No.”

“Get onto that quick smart. Cameras and movement activated flood lights. We’ll discuss it when I come in.”

“Ok, Monday 10 am is good for me.”

“I’ll be there.”

I could not do much until the meeting with Johnno. A stakeout of the rubbish removal area might be worth the effort. Many business owners give no thought to the information on all aspects of their business, found in their rubbish. I left my car across the street from the front of the building at midnight. 2am to 4am is the preferred time for the people who make a living collecting, sorting, and selling business rubbish. A vantage point behind a hedge gave me a 360-degree view of the entire area. Right on 2am a vehicle with no headlights rolled to a stop opposite the dumpster area. Two figures with torches exited the car and made a bee line for the rubbish area. Five black plastic rubbish bags leaning against the dumpster disappeared into the vehicle, replaced with similar bags. They had come prepared. Switching to a torch with a stronger beam, one bozo climbed into the dumpster. The other did sentry duty. Over a period of an hour they filled three empty rubbish bags from the dumpster

That was it for the night. I raced back to my car and drove up in time to see them turning the corner. With my headlights on low beam, I tracked them for ten kilometres until they turned into the driveway of a house. I gave it ten minutes before walking up to the house. They had clumped the rubbish bags together on the Veranda. The house was in darkness. It took two trips to get the bags to my car. I left a note stuck to the front door: ‘We have reclaimed our property. Any further interference with our rubbish will result in rigorous prosecution.’ It is notoriously difficult to get a conviction on pilfering rubbish. The knowledge we knew where they lived would be enough to deter them until Johnno installed cameras and lights.

Johnno looked good. He had put on some weight, but then haven’t we all? We reminisced about old times for a few minutes. My small adventure with the rubbish was a wake-up call.

“It never crossed my mind people would go to that extent to get business information.”

“It’s a common practice. A full-time occupation for some.”

Johnno watched as I ran the bug detector over his office. Nothing. While checking the only window, the apartment building next door sparked my curiosity. One window, level with Johnno’s first floor office, had no curtains. The interior behind the window appeared to be unfurnished. I made a mental note to have a nose around over there.

Johnno’s list had three candidates. Two managers and his personal assistant, Judith Preston. I asked his permission to set up a small temporary video camera to take in most of his office. Walter had found it online. 23 mm square, video, night vision, and movement activated. The two managers and Judith Preston had open access to Johnno’s office day and night.

Johnno recoiled at spying on his trusted leaders. Fortunately for me the rubbish incident had loosened him up enough to accept we had to account for all possibilities. I fixed the camera on top of the door frame with bluetac.

10 am Tuesday I was outside the apartment block. With most tenants at work it is the best time to snoop around. The one first floor apartment without a tenant name tag had to be my destination. I climbed the stairs, picked the lock, and slipped inside. Other than the carpet on the floor, the place was empty. I opened the door into the room with the window adjacent to Johnno’s office. As I had suspected, a laser bug, also known as a laser microphone, sat on the carpet below the window. A sophisticated device that picks up conversation from sound wave vibrations on a window. Most spy gadget shops sell them.

The faint click of the front door closing caused me to turn. Two men had entered the apartment. One short, thin, with glasses. The other a Colossus who must have been at least two metres tall. The big knucklehead came at me and swung a roundhouse punch. I was slow in deflecting it and it caught me on the side of the head. I staggered back, shaking my head to clear the double vision. Trading blows with this giant guaranteed disaster. If one more of those connected, I would be out cold on the floor. I raised my fists and shaped up to the lunkhead in a boxing stance. is smile He smiled and prepared      He smiled and prepared to swing again. Dropping my hands I stepped forward and kicked him between the legs, followed by a hard chop across the throat with the edge of my left hand.

My attention turned to the small guy. His hand had gone into his coat at chest level. Going for a gun? I had to take that as a yes. I smacked him in the face with a straight left and grabbed his lapels to hold him up as his knees sagged. I don’t advocate violence. But I am big on self-preservation. My hand in his coat found a gun in a shoulder holster. Taking the shooter with me, I got out of there. Knowing I had the gun would make them think twice about following me.

Johnno was aghast at my report of the incident. “They have been listening to every word we speak in my office with that thing?”

“Pretty much, yeah. You need a laser bug defeater gadget. An inexpensive gizmo with suction cup for mounting on the window. Most spy gadget retailers sell them.”

I asked Johnno to take the camera down on Friday morning and leave it in an envelope with reception. Walter and I would look over the contents after download to Walters computer.

At Walters House, the reception was always chilly. His Mom had been dead set against him working for me. Dangerous and unsavoury work was the reason. She was right. I did not want Walter exposed to the repugnant people and places I inevitably come across in my work, either. Walter and his Dad wangled her reluctant agreement with the assurance I would confine the work to his computer at home.

Friday afternoon I watched over Walters shoulder as he downloaded video from the camera. The two managers made brief appearances in Johnno’s office amounting to only a few minutes. Judith Preston had come in at 6am on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. On all three days the footage revealed her taking files from a cabinet, photocopying them, then replacing the originals in the cabinet. It looked like hanky panky. Walter pulled up the ladies home address for me, and I asked him to do a previous employment check on her, over the next day or two. He tells me the big social media sites are ideal for unearthing details on people and their lives.

“It won’t take me long Uncle Charles.”

“Ok, give me a buzz on Saturday night.”

Watching the comings and goings of Miss Preston was my intention for Saturday. Equipped with my Canon EOS 1300D Digital camera, a thermos of coffee, and five energy bars, I was in place at 9am. 11am the lady left her apartment carrying a briefcase, hopped in her car, drove to the CBD, parked,  and walked to a Starbucks coffee outlet. Within fifteen minutes a middle-aged man wearing casual clothes joined her at the table.

My telescopic lens recorded clear shots of Miss Preston passing a thick folder of papers from her briefcase, to her companion. He in turn handed her an envelope. She checked the contents before placing it in her briefcase. Considering everything arrayed against him, I marvelled Johnno was still in business. Later I followed her confidant to his car and recorded his number plate on film. I placed a quick call to Walter asking him to get all he could on the number plate, and to include it in his report Saturday night.

The plate belonged to a Company car at Parkway Holdings Ltd. Walters employment details regarding Judith Preston held no surprises.

“She has worked as a personal assistant at four different firms in the past three years Uncle Charles. Leaving each time after six months. What does that tell you Uncle Charles?”

“Well Walter, it points to her being what you might call a professional industrial spy. She works for six months at a Company, receiving a salary, all the while stealing Company secrets and passing them to the highest bidder.”

“Wow.”

Dismayed and crestfallen best describe Johnno’s response when I presented the evidence. He confirmed Parkway Holdings was the competitor he mentioned earlier.  Blatant betrayal is a tough pill to swallow. Seeking his lawyers advice on how to precede was the next task. On the positive side, he was still in business, and delivered from the naïve belief people will always do the right thing.