by D S Kane
She was behind on writing two papers. She was sure Avram’s “help” would be a disaster for her classwork. But, when the class ended, she had failed to take usable notes. No, this will never do. I have to call him and just tell him to find another resource. Aren’t William Wing and Betsy Brown available?
She keyed Avram’s cell number and placed the call. Avram answered before the first ring finished. “Ach, finally. Ann, I need your help.”
“I have midterms coming up soon. Why not William or Betsy?”
“William and his wife are out of contact. Under deep cover. Jon and Cassandra are also busy, and Lee is helping them. For this type of work, I need you.”
“For what?”
“Cassie has backtraced a text message between two people she was covertly following. She was unable to decrypt the message. We all know you are our best resource in cyphers. I will send you the message in its native format. Please see if it is something you can decode. Yah?”
“Whatever. I’ll get to it after dinner.”
“Good. Good. Message is on its way now. Good luck.”
Ann examined the text. Seemed simple enough. She wondered if this was really beyond Cassie’s skills. After all, Mom was one of my cypher teachers long ago. Maybe Avram thinks if she knows the contents of the message, she’ll take action without Avram’s authorization?
She turned off her cellphone’s screen and walked to the cafeteria for a sandwich. There would be plenty of time in Glen’s apartment tonight. He had been released from the hospital but hadn’t been well enough to work today. She would deal with the Bug-Lok in his head before she started working on Avram’s assignment.
* * *
When she returned to Glen’s apartment, she found him asleep in bed. She roused him.
“Huh?”
“Glen, I want to try and help you. I think you swallowed a Bug-Lok and I can remove it non-invasively. Will you permit me to try?”
“What does it mean? Where would I have swallowed the whatever-the-fuck it is?”
“Bug-Lok. The nanodevice I told you about.”
He appeared to be confused.
She had wanted his permission. Suddenly she realized that if he indeed had one of those nanodevices embedded in his brainstem, it was recording and transmitting everything they said to either Skorkin or his handler, whoever that was. She couldn’t risk letting this go any further. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”
She concentrated on Glen and put her mindspace into his. It took time to settle into him. She sought the spot where it would have nestled and, after several attempts, she could read its serial number and date of manufacture. Underneath those she saw Mandarin characters. She turned the device off, then reached her mind below the Bug-Lok’s molecular connections to his neurons and gently pried the device loose until it floated away into his bloodstream.
Ann reemerged into normal time and sat still, her energy depleted. When she was able to think clearly again, it was dark. She prepared dinner for them and ate everything that Glen didn’t. Then she opened her notebook and opened her Hackertools folder.
It was well after midnight when Ann had finished decrypting the message. In clear, concise language, it was evident to Ann that two parties were behind all of InTelQ’s operations. Alan Skorkin, as had been reported to her by Cassie, was a paramilitary contractor who worked occasionally for the CIA doing cleanup work. But Skorkin was working for Robert Randall, a CIA case officer, and—she read the message for the third time—Randall had ordered Skorkin to murder a long list of startup company execs. Butcher entire teams. Over six hundred names. Midway down the first page, she found Glen’s name, as well as those of his cofounders. Her first reaction was fear for him. Then, fear for both of them. But both faded into a feeling of absolute rage.
She called Avram on his landline to be sure the call wouldn’t roll into voicemail. This would have to be via voice, not text. She had questions and would need answers. Immediate answers. And if Avram didn’t want to involve her, she’d damn well get the answers on her own.
* * *
Avram Shimmel answered his incoming call. It was Ann and she seemed to be quite angry. “Calm down. You’re talking too fast. I’m missing words.”
He heard her sigh. “Avram, Glen is on a hit list. How the fuck did that happen?”
“You mean that guy you’re seeing?”
“Well, duh! Yes. It looks like the CIA wants him dead. We need a plan to protect him. Well, not just him. The list I sent to your phone has over six hundred names of people you have to protect. A case officer named Robert Randall and his cleaner, Alan Skorkin, are both involved.”
Avram now had confirmation of Cassie’s claim that Skorkin was the primary. He thought about what his course of action should be, but realized he’d need a plan and he had none. “I’ll get on this. Now.”
Ann sounded much calmer. “Thanks. Please keep me in the loop.”
* * *
Avram’s first act was to call Cassie, first updating her and then trying to reassure her that he and both the United Nations and the Mossad would work on InTelQ’s plan of mass assassinations. He asked, “Where is Jon?”
He knew he’d need a plan that could work under any level of contingencies that might emerge from unintended consequences they hadn’t imagined. This was Jon Sommers’s specialty.
“Jon and Lee are out right now. I’ll have him call you just as soon as they return.”
“I’ll need you all on a conference call. Get back to me ASAP.” He knew he’d have to speak jointly with Cassie and Jon as soon as he had amassed the paramilitary force necessary for any operation he might have to assemble. And since the Posse Comitatus Act prohibited US armed force operations on US soil, if he couldn’t assemble enough mercenaries, he might need Samuel Meyer’s Israel Defense Force to work with his United Nations Paramilitary Force.
To obtain use of the IDF, he’d need Meyer to enroll the Mossad. He called Samuel Meyer. “Director Meyer, this is Avram Shimmel. We intercepted a message that Robert Randall of the CIA sent to Alan Skorkin, a CIA cleaner. Our original mission has escalated.”
“Your mission was ‘discovery.’ Just investigate and report back. How did it escalate? What the fuck have you done?”
Avram had never heard Meyer lose his temper before. He gulped and reassessed his next move. “Sir, I understand our orders. But we found facts that suggested, using our initiative, we needed to follow up and obtain more data. Now we have answers to questions you very likely would have asked us had we just followed your original orders.”
Avram heard Meyer take a deep breath. “Okay, okay. Tell me what you found in this little message.”
Avram repeated exactly the text that Ann had sent him. “So now we believe Randall wants Skorkin to execute over six hundred of the brightest minds in Silicon Valley. For us to stand by and do nothing would be its own crime. But, we don’t have the resources to stop this by ourselves. Is the Mossad interested in helping? You’re already on the hook for seventeen of the one hundred thirty-nine names since we promised those venture funding if they played the role of ‘pretenders.’ That’s nearly a quarter of the six hundred eighteen startup cofounders on Randall and Skorkin’s list.”
Avram could hear Meyer’s breathing over the phone line. “Okay. Let me review our status of forces and I’ll send you a text detailing what I can offer. Why don’t you also use your covert teams at the United Nations to muster a force? What a joke. Israel and the United Nations working on the same mission. The prime minister will never believe this.” Meyer terminated the call.
But Avram wasn’t finished. Cassie hadn’t called him back so Avram decided to call Jon directly. “Jon, is Cassie with you?”
“Ah, no. But she updated me with a voicemail a few minutes ago. Lee and I are returning to their hotel room. You want a plan to deal with the pending massacre. Yes?”
“Yes. Here’s a sitrep for you. I just finished a voice call with Samuel Meyer. He is willing to conside
r offering us Mossad operatives, but he isn’t sure how much force is available as yet. Nothing available from IDF. We will know soon enough though. Please plan to discover and screen all six hundred eighteen cofounders.”
“It would be lots easier for us to terminate Randall’s cleaner. Terminate Skorkin.”
“Not enough. Randall would send others. But that might be a part of the problem’s solution.”
“What about terminating Randall and his cleaner?”
“Are you willing to bet that Randall is rogue? What if his orders come from higher up the food chain?”
“Good point. Any new plan will need to factor this as well.”
Avram considered how large and complex this new mission might become. Then he remembered one more fact Meyer had told him. “Meyer told me that there are rumors other nations’ intelligence services are now looking into using venture funding to develop weapons projects, just as the CIA has. What can you do about that?”
Jon was silent for more than a minute. “As if it wasn’t going to become a shitstorm with just the United States wreaking havoc on startups. Lemme think. Ah, yes, I just might have a way to stop the entire cleanup. But it would be a combo of kinetic and cyber ops.”
Avram thought about this. “How long until you can refine your plan and call me back to obtain resources?
“Give me a few hours. Jon out.”
Avram wondered if Jon really could craft a double-sided strategy with a tactical plan that could work.
* * *
Jon, Lee, and Cassie gathered around the desk in Jon’s hotel room. Jon pointed to the small whiteboard on the desk. “So, our new mission will be to develop a tactical and operational plan to discredit the process of using VCs to develop weapons tech. And, when this emerges as a news item, we’ll also have to protect the startup cofounders.”
Lee shook his head. “But if the cofounders are alive, won’t it prove your story is a lie? And, if they’re dead, you’ll have no corroborating witnesses. Either way, the cover story is inherently weak.”
Cassie nodded. “Yes. Lee is correct. I think I can recruit a reputable reporter to craft and distribute a news story when the time is right. April O’Toole.”
Lee smiled. “I remember her. Smart woman.”
Cassie nodded. “We’ll have to use the timing of the news release and the timing of where and when we provide protection for the cofounders as our best way to convince the entire startup community to stop working with nontraditional equity providers.”
Jon pulled the cap off a liquid marker and stood ready at the board. “Give me a specific example.”
Cassie placed her fingers under her chin as she thought. “I hate to say this, but we’ll need Ann as one of our resources. How about this: What if…”
* * *
Just after dawn the next morning, Robert Randall sat at his desk, culling facts from the various new threat assessment files to be included in the daily threat assessment summary he was due to deliver to Strumler in about an hour. North Korea, Syria, China, Russia, and several other hot spots were the sources of a few items in his upcoming summary.
But then he saw a new one, labeled “urgent.” As he read it, his eyes bugged. “Oh, fuck me!” The report stated that several of the United States’ adversary nations had considered setting up venture capital firms to fund weaponized technology development. But it failed to directly mention InTelQ.
Randall knew that every item marked “urgent” had to be discussed with the president-elect. None of these was optional. But he worried that if this news was now under the purview of the CIA, they might soon uncover the nasty fact that InTelQ was Randall’s own off-the-books retirement fund. If the CIA did a little digging, soon the head of the snake would swallow the snake’s tail.
Randall was now in an untenable position. He thought about ways to extricate himself from InTelQ more swiftly, but he needed a viable path.
Strumler. He’s a business man. Randall’s grin was ear-to-ear as he prepared for a different kind of threat assessment meeting.
Chapter 33
51st Floor, Strumler Tower Capital Hotel,
Washington, DC
November 13, 1:37 p.m.
Due to Strumler’s emergency appointment with his hair stylist, Randall’s next briefing session with the president-elect was delayed from early morning until midafternoon.
Randall sat fuming in the hotel’s lobby as the clock drifted past their rescheduled time. He swallowed an extra cup of coffee, then realized drinking the beverage was a mistake. He now suffered from indigestion combined with a need to visit the restroom. And just when he decided that he had to get up from the sofa in the lobby, his cell buzzed. “Randall here.”
“The president-elect can see you now. Please come up to the suite.”
The call ended as abruptly as it had started. Randall was torn between the restroom and the elevator. He chose the restroom. He knew it would work out better for him. Late, he arrived at the huge door to the suite on the top floor of the hotel.
The man whose voice he had heard before on his cell now asked him who he was.
“Randall.”
“Sorry, sir. You will have to wait. An urgent matter has arisen.” The man, who Randall now saw was either a private service bodyguard or Secret Service, pointed to a couch. There were several others sitting in the area. And, to Randall’s surprise and consternation, the others were called, in some order that he couldn’t discern. It appeared to Randall that he was fifth on the list.
By the time it was his turn, the acid leftover from the coffee was burning through his stomach wall. He marched into the suite, trying to disguise his rage. But the president-elect was not present. After what seemed an eternity, Randall heard the toilet flush. The bathroom door opened and the president-elect emerged, trailed by a noticeably foul odor.
“Mr. Randall. What have you for me today?” Strumler sat on the couch and motioned his hand toward the spot next to him.
As Randall sat, he accidentally inhaled some of the vent cloud that had followed Strumler from the toilet. He tried and failed to keep from gagging. “Ah, sorry. Bad food at breakfast.”
Strumler’s nose sniffed and wrinkled. “Yeah. Well, what’s going on in the world today?”
Randall began his report, starting with the Middle East. Then he covered North Korea. He now had two items left, neither of which would be easy conversations. He decided to let the worst of it sit until the end. “Intelligence services of three of our closest allies have reported to the CIA that the Russians hacked our electoral process. They claim our voting machines and tally databases were—”
“It’s fake news. I don’t want to hear it. Next?”
Randall took a deep breath. Now was time for the item that could lead directly to him. “There’s also a report that several unfriendly intelligence services have been impersonating venture capital firms and investing in high-tech startups that are developing products easy to weaponize. The report claims that when the products are ready for market they dispose of the startup personnel. Sir, I can’t claim there is any validity to this one, but I was told to include it in your daily briefing. Ah, we’re finished now. Do you have any questions?”
Randall was sure the dolt would not have understood anything he’d been told, let alone have any thoughts about it. But still, he hoped—
“Wait a second. I want to know about the investors that your report claims are foreign intelligence agencies.”
It took Randall all his self-restraint not to smile. He almost choked on his own saliva. “Uh, sure. What?”
Strumler sat for a few seconds, thinking. “You know, I’m a businessman. I’ve invested in lots of companies. Do you know how many startups get funded in the average year?”
Randall tried to recall the briefing notes. “Not sure but my guess is many hundreds.”
“No. Thousands. Do you know how many fail?”
“I don’t know. I have to believe that most do.”
; Strumler smiled. “About one-quarter achieve any level of success. Fewer than ten percent become publicly traded. But most are either business-to-business or business-to-consumer. Do you know how many produce military products?”
Unfortunately, this was one fact Randall knew all too well. “About one percent.”
“Yeah, I’d already guessed it would be a tiny fraction. But the military pays tons more in total for its products than any commercial product could earn. This is a no-brainer. If I was a venture capitalist, the military sector’s products are the market I’d go for.” Strumler smiled at Randall. “Okay. Thanks, Mr. Randall. You can go now.”
Randall couldn’t understand what had just happened. But he thought he might have succeeded in setting up Strumler.
As he left the suite, he heard Strumler humming.
* * *
After the CIA minder left him, Strumler couldn’t stop thinking about this new devious method of weapons systems development. He sat at his notebook computer and researched venture capital and startup funding. He even cancelled two appointments he’d looked forward to.
As the afternoon ended, he made a decision. Strumler picked up his cell from the coffee table and dialed a number in Russia. “Please let me speak to Nikolai Puchenko.”
He waited nearly two minutes. Then he heard Puchenko’s voice. “Da?”
“Mr. Puchenko, this is Daniel Strumler. I may have something for you.”
“Ah, Mr. President-Elect, I was hoping to hear from you soon. What do you have?”
“I’ve just been told that there are a number of countries that are using their intelligence services to act as venture capitalists, to develop new weapons technology. Are you aware of this?”
“But of course. Our SVR and FSB services both have reported this. Do you have anything else? I’m busy right now.”
“Er, no. That was all.”
“Then, goodbye. Call me when you have something interesting. And remember, we have a file of information on you that the press in the United States would make a—how you say—field day out of. Goodbye.”
