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

by Leslie Wolfe

  “Because we have reached this milestone in our plan, I wanted to share with you our progress.”

  “Mr. Myatlev, if you please,” Javadi interrupted, “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t call it ‘our plan,’ considering how little we all know about it. It’s insulting. It is your plan, and you only feed us crumbs of it when you see fit. I personally find it harder and harder to believe in it. I find it humiliating to be treated like children, when we have put our lives and fortunes at stake for this plan of yours.”

  “I see,” Myatlev answered, unperturbed. “I understand how this secrecy must make you feel, and I sincerely apologize. But today is the day of revelations, so I am hoping you will have more confidence in the plan by the time we finish.”

  Myatlev touched the console in front of him, and the Aquarium walls turned transparent again. They saw a man being screened by Myatlev’s security, just as everyone else had been on their arrival. As soon as the man was cleared, he joined them inside the Aquarium, and Myatlev instantly polarized the walls back to full opacity.

  “Gentlemen, please let me introduce Mr. Warren Helms,” Myatlev said. The stranger bowed slightly and continued to stand, ignoring the open seat at the table. Singh started to extend his hand, but Myatlev stopped him.

  “No further introductions will be necessary, for our own security. Mr. Helms understands and will not be offended.”

  Helms nodded to confirm.

  “Mr. Helms has been helping us for a while,” Myatlev said. “He has been making things happen in the United States. Things, such as getting the right people in the right places, making sure we stay informed with decisions made in political and business circles, orchestrating any actions that needed to be taken.”

  “Could you be any more vague, Myatlev? This is ludicrous!” Javadi said angrily, slamming his palm down on the table.

  “All right, I will then translate for you,” Myatlev answered. “Mr. Helms made sure the current vice president, Mark Sheridan, will want to retire after his mandate expires. He ensured that Bobby Johnson has the best campaign manager on the market. He has placed our ears and eyes inside DCBI, the company that owns the contract to deploy the new evoting system in America this November. Need I say more?”

  Javadi pursed his lips for a second.

  “No. I get the picture.”

  The other members of the council seemed impressed as well, except for Singh, who just continued to look smug.

  “But isn’t DCBI outsourcing the contract to India?” Sadiq asked. “Do we have a finger in that?”

  “No,” Myatlev answered very seriously, “we have our whole hand. Thanks to Mr. Singh, we have control over the facility where the software is being developed. Losing access to the voter database was a blow, but the plan is still viable. If you recall, there was an amendment, recently ratified, to eliminate the scanning of voter registration cards using the devices, which would have placed a database of almost all American citizens, their personal information, and their political preferences in our hands. We lost access to that; it couldn’t be helped. Nevertheless, we are, from all other perspectives, in control of the American presidential elections coming this November, to the point where I can promise you, gentlemen, Bobby Johnson is the new American president. And we own him.”

  He paused for a while, looking around the table to see the effect of his words on the audience. “We, the five of us here, own the future president of the United States of America. I hope this qualifies as a good plan for this council. I hope you will agree and continue to support it as the initiative that will help this council reach its goal.”

  Javadi was the first to offer his support.

  “OK, I am convinced. Still don’t know why you didn’t trust us with the details earlier, but this strategy and the way we are executing it seems to be working.”

  Sadiq nodded, while Singh remained impassible.

  “I would have preferred to be aware of the details sooner,” Shah said, still bothered. His ego suffered, most likely. He had been excluded from knowing all the details, and he probably found that offensive, demeaning, and humiliating. Shah knew how to keep secrets, and he had hoped he would be fully trusted, as a real partner would be. That hadn’t been the case, and it still bothered him quite visibly. Inside every powerful man lies a powerful ego. Shah was no exception.

  “I understand that some of you might be offended by my choice to play this very close, and I have to apologize for that,” Myatlev stated. “I am hoping that what we are going to achieve will help you overcome that. I recognize we haven’t been full partners in the early stages of the plan, but I can promise you right now,” he said firmly, while solemnly placing his right hand on his chest, “we will be full partners in reaping the results of this plan and building the strategic blueprint of tomorrow’s distribution of power in the world. I promise you that.”

  No one spoke for a few seconds; Helms continued to stand quietly.

  “Why is Mr. Helms joining us today?” Singh asked.

  “I will let him explain,” Myatlev said. “Mr. Helms?”

  “There’s something you need to be aware of,” he started to say. “We have only three months left until Election Day, and there is a big difference in the polls between the two leading candidates. Krassner, the Republican, has the lead in the polls at 51 percent, while Johnson, the Democrat, only has 28 percent. The rest is spread across other candidates at much lower values.”

  “Your point? We all know that,” Singh said.

  “We need to be more aggressive in demolishing Krassner’s support. So far, we have focused on building up Johnson, and we didn’t touch Krassner. I need you to authorize the level at which I can intervene.”

  “What are you saying?” Shah asked.

  “We could do many things. Discredit him, play dirty but still engage almost entirely lawful actions, or at the other end of the spectrum, we could eliminate him altogether. Mr. Myatlev had suggested I ask for the council’s guidance before choosing a method.”

  “We can’t kill him,” Javadi said, “That’s for sure.”

  “Why the hell not?” Sadiq pushed back. “I’d say time is too damn short to do anything else. Only three months left until November.”

  “We’d generate a shit storm of unprecedented proportions and unforeseeable consequences,” Javadi said. “If this plan of ours is subjected to an unpredictable tornado of reactions, it’s going to fail. We’ll lose control of it.”

  “He could also have a car accident or a stroke,” Helms offered. “With a little bit of work he can have that accident in full daylight, witnesses present, and no room for any doubt.”

  Silence engulfed the room as everyone considered the option.

  “Mr. Helms, I am glad you are on our side,” Singh said after a while. “But can you get near him?”

  “It will take some work. He’s very well guarded; he just received his own Secret Service detail. This only makes it hard, not impossible.”

  “Huh,” Singh said thoughtfully.

  “I am in favor of an accident,” Sadiq said.

  “I have no doubt,” Javadi responded sarcastically.

  “Gentlemen,” Myatlev said, “I’d like to propose a compromise. Why don’t we allow Mr. Helms to work his magic and discredit Krassner to the best of his abilities, lawfully or not. We can offer him a month, maybe six weeks at the most. If that fails, we can always get him to step down, which I think would be better than killing him.”

  “You are soft, Myatlev, very soft,” Sadiq said, contempt filling his voice.

  “And you are nothing but a small-minded butcher,” Singh said. “You are in such a hurry to kill one man, when you could be wise and wait.”

  “I agree,” Javadi offered. “Myatlev’s approach makes sense to me.”

  “He’s got my support as well. It’s just a good business decision, that’s all,” Shah said.

  “Then we’re set?” Singh asked.

  “Yes,” Myatlev confirmed. “Mr
. Helms, you have your orders.”

  Helms nodded and left the room without delay.

  “One thing bothers me,” Sadiq said. “You had the opportunity to gain access to the devices, and you forfeited that in favor of some software deal and stealing a database? Why?” Sadiq asked. “Just think of what you could have done with the devices! Load them with C4, detonate all of them at the same time in a majestic attack of unprecedented greatness and effectiveness, and kill millions! How could you not see that opportunity, Myatlev? How could you give up access to the devices?”

  “I never said I gave that up. Yes, we also control the devices, and at some point in the future, the plan will include them. I promise you will be satisfied, Mr. Sadiq.”

  ...68

  ...Wednesday, August 10, 10:03AM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)

  ...ERamSys Headquarters

  ...New Delhi, India

  Alex opened the main entrance door, bracing for the temperature shock from the intense air conditioning. On her way to the elevator, a lovely receptionist greeted her with a charming smile. She found harder and harder to see value in her presence in the New Delhi office of ERamSys, but she couldn’t leave either. This is where the secret was. This is where she could uncover the conspiracy, or at least a solid lead to it. Yet, her entire plan to rattle their cages had proven very ineffective. Every day she had been more demanding, more insisting, yet she had gained access to precisely nothing. She had been almost rude sometimes, provoking Bal and his team, and had gotten nothing but passive-aggressive bullshit, more PowerPoint presentations on the benefits of India outsourcing and the high quality of their work, and more lies. In short, she had made zero progress. Even Scott and Brent, the other two DCBI representatives onsite, had been unable to offer any useful advice. They were performing their work well, without any hindrances. But then again, their work did not touch the actual code. That simple fact, in itself, was a clue.

  Then she changed tactics. She had approached the issue indirectly, trying to engage in conversations with the smokers on the roof, but everyone turned suspiciously silent at any mention of the code. She had found a sort of a friend in Priya, but even she wouldn’t disclose anything, or couldn’t. Her laptop continued to operate on a network completely isolated from the development environment, and any attempt she made to gain access to the rest of the network raised Bal immediately, no matter what time of day she attempted to penetrate the security. He even showed up immediately if she spent any extent of time behind one of the developers on the floor when they were working, or when she chatted with any of them. She was effectively locked out, and Bal seemed to be on premises 24/7, needing no sleep.

  She looked across the software development floor, wondering what else she could try. While evaluating her options, she let her eyes wander. She continued to be surprised at the differences between genders in India. Men dressed almost like Americans, in shirts and slacks, sometimes wearing suits and ties. Women had preserved the traditional attire almost intact, opting for one of the two main styles, the sari, with its ample draping of colorful, shiny fabric, and the shalwar kameez, with its pajama-like pants that had to be very comfortable to wear in the brutal heat.

  Since she had landed in Delhi, she had learned to appreciate the local clothing wisdom, especially the strict preference for cotton fabrics. In the humid heat, cotton kept her cooler and drier than any Western polyester fiber mix. Smart. Women here were very smart, she had observed, focused more on practical things, while their men were absorbed by their immense egos and illusions of superiority. One time, she had asked Priya why such intelligent, apt women resigned themselves to allow these men to treat them as if they were inferior beings, many times like servants. Priya had been confused by the question at first, but then she had said it was their custom, the way they had been raised. They loved their culture and their men as they were. They knew no other way.

  Alex opened the door to her office and sat down in front of her desk phone. An idea was starting to form in her mind. What would an employee in her situation do? The answer was simple. Call her boss.

  She dialed Robert’s number from her desk phone, as anyone in her position would do. She hoped Robert would notice the call coming in on his business cell instead of the encrypted phone and be careful with what he said.

  “Wilton here,” he answered.

  “Good evening, Robert, sorry to bother you at this hour,” she said.

  “No bother, how’s it going?”

  “Well, that’s what I’m calling about. I can’t gain access to see the actual code, and I don’t know how I can do my job like this.”

  “You still haven’t seen the code?”

  “Nope, still haven’t. They’ve been showing me a mountain of PowerPoints but not a single snippet of code. You must help me find a way to get them to show me the code. How can I sign off on it like this?”

  “I understand,” Robert said. “Are you sure you’re not having communication issues? Scott’s been sending us reports every week; he seems to be doing just fine.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I could have not been any clearer about it. And I hope you do understand, I cannot sign off on the quality of the code without seeing it or testing it myself. This is how this job is done, and you know that very well, Robert. This is too important to let it slide.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Robert said in a pacifying tone. “You seem to be a little overwhelmed by this; why don’t I send you a quality analyst who can help?”

  This call was not going as she had hoped. An analyst? How the fuck was an analyst gonna help? There was no code to analyze! How the hell was she going to be able to do anything with yet another person watching her every move? Had the UNSUB got to Robert again? Bal had threatened her life, but nothing had happened to her yet, despite her relentless pressures. They must have done something to Robert instead.

  “Robert, listen, I really don’t need an analyst. I’m fine on my own. The only thing I need is access to the code.”

  “Alex, please don’t argue. The team was discussing it this past Monday. This project is too big for a single individual to be asked to sign off on its quality. The burden is too big. The analyst is arriving tomorrow, and we’re not discussing this further, please.”

  “But what’s he going to do without access to the code? He’s just going to sit in the same damn PowerPoint meetings as I do, until the deadline comes, and we’re screwed. What’s he going to do that I can’t?”

  “He’s a very experienced DCBI quality analyst; give him a chance, Alex. You’ll still be running the show. He’s just going to be there to help you.”

  “All right,” she said and hung up, so preoccupied she didn’t even remember to say goodbye.

  She stood and went to the window, looking outside at the New Delhi city landscape against the permanently yellow sky. What the hell am I gonna do? Alex thought, leaning her forehead against the window and hiding her face from the omnipresent cameras. Now I am really screwed.

  ...69

  ...Monday, December 14, 9:02PM EDT (UTC-4:00 hours)

  ...News of the Hour Special Edition Report

  ...Nationally Syndicated

  The anchor’s charismatic smile had a trace of excitement in it, making her look eager to share the day’s top news story with her audience.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Stephanie opened. “After Doug Krassner’s ratings had reached more than 50 percent support in electorate polls, today they took a hit, and for a reason that caught everyone by surprise, Democrats and Republicans equally.”

  The screen showed images from an old interview with Krassner, back then significantly younger, speaking with a reporter on a busy city street and pointing his hand in the direction of a billboard with an advertisement for a Baptist Church. His voice, young, yet just as charismatic then as it was now, was saying, “I honestly think some of these churches should pay taxes.”

  The image shifted back to Stephanie’s in-studio layout.

&nbs
p; “This single phrase, that I am sure Mr. Krassner regrets, has already cost him thirteen percentage points in the polls, leaving him at 38 percent. His main opponent, Bobby Johnson, picked up a good 7 percent of the fallout. Now at 35 percent, Johnson is following closely behind Krassner and could overtake his position in the polls as Krassner’s comment continue to penetrate the audience. Doug Krassner has been unavailable for comment. He is currently on a business trip to Europe. We will keep you posted with his response to this revelation.”

  Stephanie’s smile widened a little before her end-of-show greeting. “Live from our studio, this is Stephanie Wainwright, with News of the Hour.”

  ...70

  ...Friday, August 12, 9:23AM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)

  ...ERamSys Headquarters

  ...New Delhi, India

  Priya opened the office door just wide enough to stick her pretty face through the opening.

  “Alex? Your new colleague is here,” she said.

  “All right, bring him in,” she answered, trying to hide the discouragement she felt.

  Priya opened the door fully and let the man in.

  “Miss Hoffmann?” A familiar voice with a hint of ill-disguised humor. She looked up in disbelief, then covered her mouth briefly so she wouldn’t scream with joy.

  “I’m Lou Blake, your new analyst,” he said, shaking her hand warmly.

  Alex grabbed her laptop bag and said, “Grab your stuff and follow me.”

  She led him to the elevator and from there to the roof of the side building. The roof was deserted; it was too early for anyone to be on a cigarette break yet. She led him behind the elevator equipment tower on the roof. In that spot, they were hidden from anyone looking at the rooftop from the main tower’s terrace, rising two stories above them. Once they reached that blind spot, she bear-hugged him.