Devil's Move: A Thriller (Political Terrorism Technothriller)

by Leslie Wolfe

  He cleared his throat again and breathed deeply before continuing.

  “We are moving to finalize the selection for two separate vendors for this project. One is for the hardware manufacturing; we have four vendors shortlisted there, all offshore. The other one is for the voting software; there are five shortlisted vendors for that part of the project, with four offshore vendors.”

  Robert paused a little, allowing his team to catch up with taking notes. “We will divide and conquer Laura’s workload. Even if we start recruiting now, we can’t bring in a new director of Vendor Assessment in time to help us select these vendors, so this team will have to compensate. Get organized, book your travels, ask questions, do what you have to do to help this company select the right vendors for this project. We can’t make a mistake on this one.”

  They all agreed, silently. No pressure.

  ...10

  ...Monday, December 28, 9:01PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)

  ...News of the Hour Special Edition Report

  ...Nationally Syndicated

  Stephanie’s welcoming smile filled the screen.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We open tonight’s edition with news and interviews in response to the announcement regarding the voting system overhaul. While the majority of reactions are favorable, proving that America is ready for a change, there is also a wave of unrest and concern regarding the confidentiality of the vote. Guaranteed by the US Constitution and carefully protected since its introduction in 1884, voting secrecy is no longer believed to be safeguarded in the proposed evoting process.”

  Stephanie paused for half a second, widening her smile. “Yes, there’s a street name for the overhauled system: it’s e-vote. The citizens are concerned about the new system’s function to scan voter registration cards before capturing the vote. Feedback shows strong concern is pouring in from all directions, from worried citizens to advocacy groups and constitutional watchdog organizations. We have asked our guest from two weeks ago, the architect and tireless promoter of this overhaul, Senator Sidney Mulligan, to respond to these concerns.”

  The screen displayed a recorded interview, filmed in front of the US Capitol, showing the senator and Stephanie battling the strong wind of a typical DC winter morning.

  “Senator, are you aware that citizens are concerned about the privacy of their votes?”

  “I am becoming more aware of the dimensions of this concern. Let me reassure you and everyone else: there is no loss of privilege here. The vote will remain secret. What the barcode scanners do is retrieve the appropriate ballot information based on the voter’s state and county of residence and display it on the voting console’s screen. The voting software does not associate voter identification data with the actual vote. We made very sure of that. This is a core value of our voting system. We will preserve vote secrecy at all cost, and that will transcend any overhaul we will execute. Voting could not truly be free and democratic without guaranteed secrecy.”

  “Thank you, senator.” Stephanie concluded the recorded interview.

  The screen switched to Stephanie in the studio.

  “Let’s watch some reactions to the voting system overhaul, captured in the streets of Washington, DC.”

  The screen changed to show recorded interviews.

  “This is not good, I’m tellin’ ya,” said a cab driver, interviewed at a city corner stoplight.

  “What’s gonna happen with that information? Big Brother is getting bigger, huh?” remarked a young man with a disheveled look and high cheekbones, giving a crooked smile.

  “I don’t care. I don’t vote anyway. It’s a waste of time. No matter who wins, it’s just as bad,” a middle-aged woman snapped with a look of permanent irritation on her face.

  “You make me laugh. Concerned? Are you kidding me? I might have been concerned twenty years ago when there was still some privacy left. We started as one nation under God. Now we’re one nation under surveillance. I bet the NSA knows what color underwear I’m wearing today. There is no secrecy left,” chuckled an older man, unshaven and hunchbacked, shivering in the cold wind.

  “This is a serious matter that should not be taken lightly. I am all in favor of progress and technology but not at the cost of our democracy. We need to be very careful with this,” spoke a tall woman in a business suit and matching overcoat.

  The image returned to the studio desk, centered on Stephanie.

  “We will keep you posted with the evolving reactions to the voting system overhaul. With less than a year left until the presidential elections take place, there is a narrow window of time left to build consensus. That could jeopardize voter participation. Live from our studio, this is Stephanie Wainwright, with News of the Hour.”

  ...11

  ...Tuesday, December 29, 12:09PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)

  ...Founding Farmers Restaurant

  ...Washington, DC

  Normally, Robert packed his own lunch and didn’t bother going out, especially in the winter months. He preferred to catch up on some emails, or, on quieter days, do some reading while eating in his office.

  He liked his job with DCBI. He was the vice president of Global Sourcing and Engagement, responsible for finding the best deals, wherever in the world those might happen to exist. The job satisfied his wanderlust, giving him the opportunity to travel every now and then and see the world. Throughout the years, he had built a small and united team, who performed well together and caused him little concern. His employer, DCBI, fostered a friendly, open culture, despite its size and solid position in the mid Fortune 500s. Working there had not turned out to be too stressful for Robert. Until now.

  He was nearing retirement age, only two years left. He found himself considering it, especially on cold days like this. Work had always been such an important part of his life that he had not seen himself able to push the stop button one day and just retire. What would he do with his time? Spend more time with Melanie, making up to her for all the business trips and lonely nights? That answer was easy to find, considering how very precious any time spent with her had become.

  Sitting at his favorite corner table at the Founding Farmers and warming his hands around a hot cup of tea, he reflected that retirement didn’t sound that bad; not lately, anyway. His mind constantly vacillated between his wife’s transplant surgery and how that had come to happen and the strategic contract he was working on. Yes, maybe the time had come to leave this game.

  The waiter delivered a small house salad and refilled his teacup. Deep in thought, Robert barely noticed a new presence.

  Someone pulled out the chair next to him and sat down uninvited.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilton, how are you?”

  Robert looked up and met the cold gaze of Warren Helms. His stomach instantly constricted, and blood left his face.

  “Hello,” Robert managed to articulate.

  “How is your wife?” Helms asked. “Recovering well, I am hearing. Congratulations.”

  “Yes, she is fine, getting better, thank you,” Robert said, almost whispering.

  “I am happy to hear,” Helms said with a wide grin. “So happy to hear. Happy to be of service,” he underlined.

  “Yes, forever in your debt,” Robert said, going for the elephant in the room. Whatever it is, let’s have it, he thought and took a deep breath.

  “Well, not forever, no need for that,” Helms said in a reassuring tone. “We just need a small favor.”

  “Name it,” Robert said, looking intently at the steam coming from his teacup.

  “The contract you’re currently handling? The e-vote sourcing? I have the perfect vendor for that,” Helms said, as if he were doing Robert a favor.

  Robert’s blood froze in his veins. “What company did you have in mind?”

  “ERamSys of New Delhi is the biggest software house in India. It has hundreds of top-notch developers and a vast portfolio of American Fortune 1000 clients.” Helms let a few seconds pass, allowing Robert to take in th
e information. “See?” Helms continued. “I told you we wouldn’t be asking for something you wouldn’t normally do.”

  “ERamSys is already on our list of finalists,” Robert confirmed. “Why this company?”

  “Ah, well, you see,” Helms voice gained a decibel or two. “Their CEO, Jeevan Ramachandran, is a man of enormous resources, exceeded only by the size of his ego. He is a self-made billionaire; he has it all. He wants this contract because he wants the prestige, the bragging rights that will come with it when it’s successfully completed.”

  “We have NDAs that all our vendors must sign,” Robert clarified. “He won’t be legally allowed to brag much, even if we give him the contract.”

  “He won’t need to disclose any details. He just wants to be able to say, at the end of the contract, after Election Day, ‘I did this. My company was a part of the American voting revolution.’”

  Robert sat quietly, watching the steam rising from his teacup and thinking hard. Is that it? Am I getting the full picture? Almost sounds too easy.

  “It will be a very lucrative contract for ERamSys; it’s many millions of dollars,” Helms continued to sell the deal.

  “Listen,” Robert said, decisiveness in his demeanor, “DCBI has a process for vendor selection. We assess all bidding vendors; we assign scores by category; and we rank vendors on their qualifications, experience, skills, and so on, based on our assessments. Then we compile the final rank and choose the vendor who ranks the best.” Robert took a sip of tea. “I can’t change this process; it’s not under my control. Your vendor might be on the short list, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to win the bid.”

  “All you need to do is tilt the scale in their favor, that’s all. No one will be the wiser, and we’ll be even. Once this is done, you’ll never see or hear from me again.”

  “Not sure that I can,” Robert said truthfully. “We have processes in place for this exact reason, to prevent biased or corrupt decision making.”

  “It’s a little late to grow a conscience, wouldn’t you agree?” Helms asked, his eyes cold as ice, piercing holes into Robert’s eyes.

  Robert felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Who was he kidding? He was as corrupt as if he had taken a briefcase full of cash.

  “Look,” Helms insisted again, dropping his voice to almost a whisper, “I understand your hesitation. You don’t know this guy, Jeevan Ramachandran. Probably you’ve never heard of him. He’d be happy to have you visit with him, explore his company, kick the tires a little, and spend two weeks of leisure time at his expense, having everything you have ever dreamed of and more. You can leave tomorrow if you’d like. Ramachandran is that sure you’ll love what you’ll see at ERamSys. Why wouldn’t you spend a couple of weeks with one of the world’s biggest megalomaniacs, living it large?”

  “I can’t travel, no, thank you.”

  “OK, I understand, you have to think of Melanie,” Holmes said. “But will you do it? Will you hold your end of the deal?” His gaze was dead cold.

  “It will be difficult. There are strong opponents to even offshoring this contract to begin with, due to security concerns, political concerns, public relations, and overall risk.”

  “You can deploy your people on-site for the duration of the engagement. They’ll be treated like royalty, and they’ll be able to supervise, inspect, and direct whatever you tell them to, however you want. Full access, full freedom to change direction, as long as the contract gets delivered by Ramachandran’s group.” Helms leaned back in his chair. “There’s a bright side to it too.”

  Robert looked up from his teacup. He’d failed to think of any possible bright side about this nightmare.

  “We don’t care where you contract the hardware,” Helms said and winked. “Will you do it?”

  Mixed thoughts raced through Robert’s mind. Gratitude, for having Melanie’s life extended, for having a miracle happen in their lives. Deep shame for being corrupt, for taking, essentially, a bribe. The thought made him sick. He had never done that, nor had he thought it possible. Then fear. Deep-rooted fear of what this man could do if he didn’t hold up his end of the deal. Would he come after him? Or Melanie? Or both?

  “Yes, I’ll do it,” he heard himself say, “I’ll find a way.”

  ...12

  ...Wednesday, December 30, 9:01PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)

  ...Flash Elections: Breaking News

  ...Nationally Syndicated

  The red, white, and blue opening credits of Flash Elections rolled through, immediately followed by the “Breaking News” transition screen. The colorful image faded, making room for the professionally attired, very popular political news anchor Phil Fournier.

  “We were all expecting it, and now it’s out. Republican Senator Douglas Krassner of Texas has officially announced his intentions to seek his party’s nomination for president. During a press conference that ended an hour ago, Krassner, now sixty-four, made a statement naming a few of the priorities the new administration should address. Let’s watch.”

  A recording of Senator Krassner’s press conference replaced Phil Fournier on the screen. The senator was elegant, charismatic, and visibly comfortable in the limelight.

  “Good evening, and thank you all for coming. I am excited to announce my intention to seek the Republican Party nomination for president of the United States. I am excited and humbled at the same time by the immense opportunity I’ve been presented to take a step forward and not sit idle while our country is facing ruin. Our families are facing devastation, fighting to survive in an economy that has stopped making any sense. We bleed our jobs overseas, and then we’re amazed there are no jobs left for our mothers, fathers, and children.

  “While the American spirit still thrives in every one of us, our leadership needs to change its views about how to lead this nation back to the greatness it once knew. Our country’s leadership needs to set goals and strive to achieve them and be held accountable. I don’t mean political goals; by all means, no. I am talking about financial, economic, standard-of-living-for-the-average-American goals, measurable and executable.

  “It is my strong belief that the American people will gladly reunite when presented with such goals and decisive, action-driven leadership. We need to restore the strength of our currency. We need to restore the health, wealth, and well-being of our families, cities, communities, and society overall. We need to restore the American dream and open access to it for the younger generations who, sadly, don’t even know what it is anymore. With 27.5 percent of our children living in poverty, that’s no surprise. With 750,000 homeless Americans, we have a national crisis on our hands.”

  Krassner took a sip of water from a glass on his lectern.

  “If I am elected, I will consider the people’s vote of confidence as a mandate for me, as president, to achieve these goals and restore the greatness of the American dream, the greatness of America.” He smiled and nodded in acknowledgment of those in the audience. “Thank you. I will take questions now.”

  A roar of applause and cheering took over the press conference room. The screen shifted back to Phil Fournier in the studio.

  “It was one of the shortest candidacy announcements in the history of presidential elections, yet conveyed a very meaningful message. We will keep you informed with comments, polls, and reactions to this announcement. From Flash Elections, this is Phil Fournier, wishing you a good evening.”

  ...13

  ...Saturday, January 2, 10:32AM PST (UTC-8:00 hours)

  ...American Shooting Center

  ...San Diego, California

  “Open your eyes,” Lou said with frustration. “How hard can it be?”

  “They’re open,” Alex said, then turned toward him and stared at him with eyes wide open, in a demonstration worthy of a toddler with attitude. “There. See? They’re open. How much wider would you like me to open them?”

  “Not now. When you pull the trigger,” he said, unable to control a chuckle. “Keep your eyes on
the target and keep them open. Otherwise you’ll miss.”

  “Ah...that. Well, that is hard, ’cause it makes a loud noise, and it’s a reflex.”

  “A reflex is when you close your eyes after pulling the trigger. You’re shutting them before.”

  “That’s ’cause I know it’s gonna pop. I’d still call it a reflex. Of sorts.”

  “OK, we’re gonna shoot until you get used to it, and you keep your eyes open and focused.”

  “Ugh...maybe they’ll run out of ammo, or you’ll run out of money, ’cause that will take a while.”

  “Tough chance. Tom gave me one of those limitless gold credit cards, and this range’s marketing slogan is ‘got ammo.’” He laughed. “We’re not leaving here until you’re comfortable handling your gun.”

  “But can you at least give me a gun that makes less noise?”

  “Alex, you’re handling a brand new Walther PPK: reliable, quiet, low recoil, semi-automatic, concealable, sleek, and exquisite. Excellent performance. Great for what we do. Plus, it’s James Bond’s gun, perfect for a spy,” he added and winked.

  She looked at the gun in her hand with renewed interest.

  “OK, show me again,” she said with determination.

  Lou corrected her grip on the gun’s handle.

  “Right hand grips the handle and index finger rests on the frame until you’re ready to pull the trigger. Left hand stabilizes from underneath, like this. Expect the sound, the loud bang, and decide to anticipate and welcome it. Bang means the bad guy is down. You wanna see that happening.”

  They put their earmuffs back on.

  She squeezed the trigger, fighting hard to keep her eyes open.

  “Keep on going!” he shouted to make himself heard over the earmuffs.

  She shot the entire clip, getting more used to it with every shot.