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

by Leslie Wolfe

  “OK, I think I got it. See? Here it invokes the randomizer, which essentially says, ‘override these republican votes, as many as the multiplier indicates, randomly chosen by the randomizer, and turn them democratic, for the next five minutes. Then run routine again.’ Huh...The result of the malware would be a democratic win, but a very inconspicuous one, that respects political color by state and makes only the needed changes to discreetly steal the vote.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You see? Technically, if the vote happens to be democratic on its own, the module does exactly nothing.” She stood and started pacing the room, rubbing her forehead. “Lou, this is the biggest electoral fraud in our history, in anyone’s history.”

  “Fuck me...they’re stealing our elections,” he muttered in disbelief. “I mean, we knew there was something wrong with this code, some form of hacking or electoral fraud, but I didn’t expect this.”

  “I didn’t see it, either. It’s a nationwide, orchestrated, discrete electoral fraud, that’s what it is. It’s a failsafe, in case Johnson can’t win on his own. It’s brilliant.”

  “Holy shit!” Lou exclaimed. “That explains a lot of things.”

  She continued pacing the room, agitated, rubbing her hands against each other.

  “It explains some things, yes, but it raises a lot more questions. By the way,” she added, “just to verify, check the databases and see if the data in them confirms my theory. You should see the states in there, two tables. One should have Maine and Nebraska listed as the exception to the all-or-nothing rule. The other table should have, say, Texas, Oklahoma, and Nebraska listed as republican. See if the tables have the data columns named in clear.”

  “Nope, they don’t. They’re secretive about it, but you’re right, the data supports your theory. I think we got it. Now what?”

  She sat on the bed, thinking. Her heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through her blood. Now they knew what they had come here to find out. They knew what the attack was about, but it made absolutely no sense. She tried to calm herself and think rationally. This was bigger than they had anticipated.

  “Let’s think through this a little. It’s all clear now; they’re stealing our elections. That was indeed worth killing for. It all adds up.” Deep in thought and frowning, she continued, absentmindedly twisting the cap from her empty water bottle, “Let’s just validate my theory. Why would a software company from India give a rat’s ass who the next American president is? Malware or not, the president is still an American, right? In that case, is Ramachandran the UNSUB’s pawn? Or the orchestrator of this entire plan?”

  “There are huge financial gains for India if the future president is pro outsourcing and pro Indian immigration. Billions of dollars worth of American labor goes offshore every year, and India grabs a lot of that dough.” He smiled when he saw her surprised gaze. “Just read an article about it, and I paid attention when Brian was explaining these things to us. So yes, I’d say a major Indian software company could have reasons to give more than a rat’s ass about who wins our presidential elections.”

  “Hmm...You might be right, but let’s just assume there’s someone else behind this plan, just like we had initially suspected. I have no proof. It’s just my gut. It feels more logical to me. This is a fairly complex plan to have been orchestrated by a software CEO. You know how many of these software CEOs are in India? So why would this one be different? It just doesn’t feel right to believe that. Let’s focus on who the UNSUB could really be. This is one area where we’ve made very little progress and have zero leads to follow. Short of grabbing Ramachandran and torturing him, we have no way of finding out who’s behind this.”

  “We could do that, if we really must,” Lou offered hesitantly.

  “Ah, hell no,” Alex replied. “I’m hoping to live my entire life without having to torture someone, anyone, no matter how badly I want to sometimes. No matter how badly he deserves it. Nope, torture’s off the table. Pfft...” She turned her head away, disgusted at the thought. “Sam said the guy in the limo was a known terrorist, right? So maybe there’s a terrorism connection behind this, and that’s it. That would actually make more sense, because we still don’t understand why terrorists would have political preferences strong enough to justify this type of action. It’s simply unheard of. There has to be a connection with interests back home.” She stood and went back to the computer, looking at the code some more. “You have no idea how much I hate being unable to anticipate this guy’s next move. Drives me nuts!”

  “You think it’s just one guy? Behind all this?”

  “Yep, that’s what I think. The plan has a certain elegance to it, a harmony, something you rarely see coming out of collective work. This is someone’s masterpiece, his vision, but we might not know all of it yet. It just doesn’t seem like Ramachandran is that man. He’s just too...superficial.”

  “You still don’t want to confront Ramachandran?”

  “Absolutely not. We play the game just as we did so far, pretending that we’re just minding our business. Then we sign off on the software and go home. But, in the meantime, we need to get the team up to speed and talk action and damage control. You do realize we can’t let this software be used on Election Day, and we have very limited alternatives. Not to mention limited time. Fuck...Just two more months, and these assholes are gonna stall us for another two or three weeks.”

  “I still think it’s a mistake, not talking to Ramachandran directly, just to see what he has to say.”

  She raised her eyebrow at him, and he caved instantly.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want us to spend Labor Day weekend in the Maldives,” she replied and winked at him. “You could tell Ramachandran that we want to explore the beauty of the region, blah, blah, whatever, and we would like to leave on Thursday, the day after tomorrow, and be back the next Wednesday. Ask him to cover for us; he’ll be entertained and less suspicious. Something tells me he won’t mind. Then we meet with the team in the Maldives. We need help. This is too big for you and me, buddy. We have too many questions and too few answers.”

  “Are we done for tonight, then?”

  “Yep, grab our stuff. I’ll make the call to Tom; tell them to pack their bags.”

  They left the hotel room feeling optimistic for the first time in weeks. After all, they had finally made some progress. They had all the code, and they knew what was wrong with it. They had one more piece of the puzzle left to find and a lot of damage control to think about.

  Just a couple minutes later, a man entered the room quietly and started looking around. He took a picture of the undisturbed bed and went through the trashcans, looking for any trace of evidence left behind. Finally, he approached the desk and looked at the notepad. The pages Lou had scribbled on were gone, but indentations remained on the notepad, still visible in the desk lamp’s light. Satisfied, he put the notepad in his pocket and left, just as quietly as he had arrived.

  ...82

  ...Friday, September 2, 10:01AM EDT (UTC-4:00 hours)

  ...Flash Elections: Breaking News

  ...Nationally Syndicated

  “Good morning and welcome to Flash Elections,” Phil Fournier greeted his audience. “We’re opening the headlines this morning with the latest smear campaign against Senator Douglas Krassner, the favorite in this year’s presidential races.”

  The image showed a middle-aged, balding man, an average Joe Anyone, speaking with a reporter somewhere in downtown DC, in the blazing summer heat. Little sweat beads were forming on the man’s forehead, and he was wiping them off every minute or so.

  “I am surprised, no, I am appalled to learn that a man like Krassner, who is very rich, and who keeps saying how he cares about the country’s well-being and all that, has only donated $250 to charity in his entire life. His entire life! Now, what kind of man can sit on such a considerable fortune without finding a single cause worthy of a more substantial donation? Who are we
bringing into the White House? The most selfish man who ever lived?”

  Phil’s smiling face returned to the screen. “Now let’s hear what Senator Krassner had to say in response.”

  The charismatic persona of Doug Krassner appeared, dialoguing with Phil Fournier in a cozy, dim-lit studio.

  “Senator,” Phil asked, “what do you think about the recording we just watched? Is it true you’ve only donated $250 to charity in the past years?”

  “Yes, it is,” Krassner answered without hesitation. “It is also true that I have significant charitable initiatives that I prefer to manage myself, or through my trusted appointees, rather than just donate cash to get tax deductions.”

  “Can you give us an example?”

  “Absolutely. Our family built and endowed the Dallas Medical Haven, a 180-bed hospital and a walk-in clinic, that covers any out-of-pocket medical expenses for families making less than $40,000 a year, regardless of whether they’re insured or not. Last year, we added a dental practice to the Medical Haven, with 23 staff dentists. Same rules, no out of pocket for any patient.”

  “That’s amazing, senator. I bet there are long lines in front of the Dallas Medical Haven, aren’t there?”

  “There are, that’s true, and we’ve noticed that. People travel from other cities to gain access to our care. Consequently, the Houston Medical Haven is scheduled to open its facilities next April.”

  “Any other initiative you might want to share with us today, senator?”

  “My wife is the architect and sponsor of the Smart Girls Center for Development, where girls with an IQ in the 95th percentile receive support to access suitable levels of education, regardless of family income, all the way through college. We all win when smart people are well educated and can lead the nation in business, economics, or medicine.”

  “Thank you, senator.”

  The screen shifted again to Phil’s in-studio setting. His smile was almost sarcastic.

  “Krassner’s support gained another four percentage points after this interview was released yesterday. Now at 46 percent, Krassner is leaving his main opponent, Bobby Johnson, a little further behind. If those who started the most recent smear campaign had done a better job researching the facts, they might have chosen not to consolidate Krassner’s ratings any further. Johnson’s ratings also picked up a couple percentage points, due to his strong religious beliefs, now at 37 percent in popular support. From Flash Elections, this is Phil Fournier, wishing you a great Labor Day weekend!”

  ...83

  ...Friday, September 2, 6:18PM Local Time (UTC+5:00 hours)

  ...Royal Island Resort and Spa

  ...The Maldives

  “Jeez, Alex, you stink,” Steve said, hugging her tight and rocking her left and right.

  She laughed.

  “I guess I do, but I can’t smell it anymore. The nose protects itself. It’s the curry that’s in everything. Can’t help it. Although a long bath wouldn’t hurt,” she said with an embarrassed smile.

  She moved away from Steve and gave Tom a hug.

  “Steve’s right, you know,” Tom added, “you do carry a bit of exotic flavor. How have you been?”

  “Curryfied, I guess, considering how you all say I smell. And mad as hell. I wasted a month and a half of my life down there and got very little in return. I feel defeated.”

  “I disagree,” Sam said. “I don’t think you are defeated, or any of us, for that matter. We know what they’re up to, at least partially, and that’s more than we did before you came here.”

  “Where do we go from here?” Alex asked. “That’s what keeps me up at night. What options do we still have?”

  “Before attempting to answer your question,” Tom said, “let me tell you what we’ve learned about the heart.”

  She looked confused for a split second, until she remembered Melanie Wilton’s transplant. So many things had happened since then, it seemed like eons had passed.

  “We are confident the heart came from a homeless Army veteran in Nebraska. We were unable to find any gray-market connections with respect to this transplant, so Brian had an idea, to search for any homicide victims around that timeframe who were missing organs. The only match was this poor vet in Nebraska. The heart was harvested under anesthesia, perfect surgical conditions, and then the body was dumped in the Platte River, west of Omaha. It was found a few days later, but the coroner was unable to determine the precise time of death.”

  “Was this vet missing any other organs? Or just the heart?” Steve asked.

  “He was only missing his heart, leading us to believe this was a targeted hit, rather than an organ smuggling ring of sorts. Brian’s assumption was that they must have hacked the VA database, looking for people who were a perfect donor match and had no family to miss them,” Tom clarified.

  Silence engulfed the hotel room, which overlooked the paradisiacal view of the Maldives: white sands, lush forests, and green waters. No one paid any attention to the blissful scene right outside their hotel; they were all troubled by the same thoughts.

  “All right,” Alex broke the silence, “let’s talk next steps. We know they’re stealing our elections and we know how. Is this the extent of their attack? Or are we missing something? That’s my first question. Then, second, how do we contain this mess? What’s our damage control strategy?”

  “I think it’s time to call the feds,” Steve suggested.

  “Absolutely not,” Alex snapped. “Nothing changed from the last time we argued about this subject; what the hell? Robert would still go to jail forever, Melanie’s life would be in danger, and the government would pull back on the e-vote reform. Let’s say all of that is acceptable, although it isn’t, but I’m not even sure we have all the details of what the attack is going to be. More important for me, we cannot let these bastards get away with it. If we call the feds now, the UNSUB will go underground and disappear. Don’t know about you, but I want to nail these bastards. They just can’t get away with it, not while I’m still alive.”

  Tom nodded quietly. Steve’s expression was impenetrable, but Alex knew he was hurt. She had no choice. This was not about her safety. It had never been.

  “Additionally, I would personally prefer,” she continued in a more subdued voice, trying to appease Steve’s feelings, “if I, and all the people in the world I care about,” she gestured toward all of them, “would not have to be imprisoned for the rest of our lives. If we call the feds, don’t kid yourselves...that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Or worse. And the devil, whoever he might be, wins the game.”

  No one said a word for a while. There was nothing left to say after her disturbing reminder of what their reality looked like.

  “What if we rewrite the software?” Lou asked. “Without the malware?”

  “We can’t possibly rewrite in a few days what tens of programmers took weeks to code,” Alex protested. “I haven’t written a line of code in years, don’t count on me.”

  “I wasn’t,” Lou stated. “I’m a hacker, you know. We, hackers, know people.”

  “What? You’re saying you could get the software fixed? Rewritten?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, giving a military salute. “I’m fairly confident I can.”

  “If you can pull it off, Lou, then we’re good on the software side,” Alex replied. “We give the signoff to the Indian vendor and swap the software without them even knowing. That would work really well. That would be so cool!”

  “How about the hardware?” Sam asked. “How confident are we that the hardware is clear? If I were a terrorist, I wouldn’t let that opportunity go to waste. I’d rig a few to explode or something.”

  “Yeah, but wouldn’t that jeopardize what they’ve worked so hard to achieve in the software?” Steve asked. “The democratic win?”

  “You got a point,” Lou said.

  “I’m confident that Taiwan was clear,” Alex said. “Not confident for any of the subsequent processes the devices go thro
ugh after delivery from Taiwan. Where are the devices now?”

  “The NSA vendor in Utah, InfraTech, took ownership and is holding them at its warehouse,” Tom replied. “The hardware is ready to install the software via cloud as soon as the vendor’s ready and DCBI has signed off. It has test stations equipped to check the tablets for malware. InfraTech, and everyone else for that matter, is freaking out because the software is not ready yet. It should have been signed off on last month.”

  “Wow, Tom, look at you,” Alex commented, “using words like cloud and software installation. That’s awesome!” She felt the exhilarating joy only hope brings, especially at the end of a trying time.

  “You see these new gray hairs?” Tom pointed at his head, almost entirely gray. “These gray hairs are all because of technology,” he laughed.

  He looked just as Alex had remembered him from a few weeks before. Nothing had changed, other than a few neologisms added to his vocabulary.

  “OK, so how do we contain the hardware risk? Even if it makes no sense to think it’s rigged to blow up?” Alex asked. “Sam, if you were the terrorist, what would you do?”

  “Oh, God, let me think. So Taiwan’s out, that leaves transit and InfraTech. Transit is done already; the devices are there. We cannot control transit anymore. If we are to assume the devices came in clean from Taiwan, then it must be InfraTech. Because it’s a big-shot vendor for the NSA, I can’t think of the company being the culprit. More likely a rogue employee, who could place C4 and timers in a few tablets at random.”

  “So, if you were the terrorist, you’d rig a few to explode, huh?” Alex asked.

  “Yep, that’s what I’d do.”

  “Even if you had a bigger agenda?”

  “Hmm...Maybe, because I’m a terrorist, I can’t think straight unless I think explosives. It’s in my blood. I just couldn’t let the opportunity pass.”

  “Dogs could sniff that in a second.” Alex pushed back.