It was a simple enough plan that he had to devise, to get the parts he needed.
The fact that his parts weren't actually legitimate removed them entirely from the books, and after his hired goons intercepted the secret shipment - for that was the plan, a simple bit of muscle to take the boxes - the investigators would find nothing missing onboard and, with his urging (and hopefully Alexander's), they would disregard the case entirely as "nothing" had been stolen.
Come to think of it, nothing was stolen at all. Aliester had designed the parts, and he was only taking from Ageira because they could not possibly understand why he needed them, or even what they could accomplish when linked together into the prototype. Ageira couldn't trust him enough - he couldn't tell them who he was, he realised, or he'd have LSF at his room in an hour and he'd likely never be heard from again. Many things died with the Dallas, and many who knew what they might have been wanted it to stay that way. He had to keep hidden if his mission was going to succeed, regardless of what the LSF or Ageira or the Navy or DSE or anyone at all in Liberty would think. It would all pay off in the long run, this skullduggerish piracy. Aliester didn't like it, but it had to be done. They'd all see in the end, it would pay off - in spades.
That had been perhaps one of the most risky moves of his entire life, the piracy upon the Ageira transports.
Once the Large Transport's cargohold had been penetrated and the unmarked, untagged boxes stolen, the pirates escaped with their lives - barely. The Ageira transports turned back to Pueblo Station, and Aliester watched the security check's progress through his Ageira database account. Nothing was found to be stolen - Ageira believed that the pirates had been scared off by the fact that it was Ageira supplies (notoriously and obviously all tagged and bugged) or that one of their compatriots had been shot down right before the Mule released its clamps from the cargopod. It was all going perfectly so far.
That is, until Aliester met the pirates he had hired in the location on Manhattan they'd agreed on. "We didn't know it was an Ageira hit, see," they said. Or "they got Nails!" Or even "They're tracking us now, you set us up!"
Yes, it was rather unpleasant. Almost as unpleasant as their body odour or lack of intelligence.
As much as Aliester found the situation one that he didn't like, he was rather certain by the time he walked out of the warehouse, the pirates liked it less, as they were liberally riddled through with reactive shot, leaving mangled bodies and on the concrete floors, surrounded by blackish smears and streaks from the disintegrated shots blasting straight through their flesh.
Not too clean, but it was satisfying and got the job done.
That was how he liked things.