Election

by Brandt Legg

  “In the sixties, we were promised ‘a change is gonna come,’ that ‘the times, they are a changing,’ and during the turmoil of those times, for an instant, it did seem like the truth. Then, something terrible happened. Our hope was stolen, and the dream murdered. A crumbling chaos of despair and near constant war followed. In my lifetime, I have seen politician after politician claim they were going to reform, improve, repair, transform, correct, or fix. They swore to give us change to believe in again, but things only got worse. The truth slipped away in the smoke-filled backrooms of Washington, and, in the glare of the television screen, the dream faded from our memory.

  “You know I‘m not a politician, yet still I hesitate to utter the words; to look into your tired, skeptical faces and plead for your faith; to promise that it is different this time; to ask for your help. But I must. For the most important thing history has taught me is it cannot be done alone. I do need your help. We can find that change, we can push and pull and build it into something real, but first we must bring ourselves together. We need to be strong. We have to believe it. Just. One. More. Time. Because this time . . . WE ARE THE CHANGE!”

  Chants of “We are the change” swept the crowd and built to a deafening roar for three full minutes. WE. ARE. THE. CHANGE!

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Vonner reviewed the data Rex had just presented him. “This can’t happen.”

  “Bastendorff is supporting Newsman Dan,” Rex said. “That changes—”

  “I know what it means!” Vonner barked. Bastendorff, perhaps the most secretive billionaire in the world, richer even than Vonner, had managed to stay so far out of the public view that few people had ever heard of him.

  “We can’t stop it.”

  “Like hell, we can’t.” Vonner smacked a fist into his other hand. “A bullet will stop it!”

  Rex raised an eyebrow and studied his boss’s face.

  “Bastendorff is abandoning Governor Kelleher because he knows Hudson has it locked up,” Vonner said, pacing the plush carpet of his five-room, $80 million jet in flight to London for a meeting which would decide matters even more important than who the next American president would be. Bastendorff would be in attendance.

  “Then why bother with Neuman?” Rex asked. “Bastendorff should know he can’t win.”

  “Maybe he thinks he can.”

  “How?” Rex rolled six small yellow dice on the polished walnut table next to him. “We have AEIO.” Accounting Election Information Operations was the leading company which manufactured and sold touch screen voting machines and election management systems. Its products and services were currently in widespread use—1,700 jurisdictions in thirty-six states, serving forty-eight million people, nearly one-third of all registered voters.

  “You and I know,” Vonner said. His eyes cut into Rex so sharply that he stopped fidgeting with the dice. “Money, my boy. It really just takes money. Obviously AEIO is an advantage, but not the ball game.”

  “Hudson’s an American hero,” Rex said. “Newsman Dan is a former TV anchorman.”

  “And governor of Oregon.”

  “Not exactly a power state.”

  “No, but Bastendorff must have something.”

  “Something bad on Hudson?” Rex asked. “Or something good on Neuman?”

  “Isn’t that what I pay you to find out?”

  “That’s why you’re dragging me to London? I could have gotten more done at my desk in California.”

  “I need you in England because it’s closer to Paris.”

  “What’s in Paris?”

  “AKA Thomas Paine.”

  Rex stared disbelievingly at Vonner. “NorthBridge? They’ve contacted you?”

  Vonner nodded slowly.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s about Hudson.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “What is AKA Paine doing in Paris? I thought this was an American revolution.”

  “The French helped out with the first one,” Vonner said. “Perhaps . . . why do you always roll those damned dice?”

  “It helps me think,” Rex said, carefully checking the last numbers he rolled before scooping them up.

  “Well they’re giving me a headache,” Vonner said.

  “Is that really what’s giving you a headache?”

  Vonner ignored the question. “I’ll get off at Heathrow and meet with Bastendorff. You go on to Paris and find out what AKA Paine wants.”

  Rex nodded. “I can’t wait to hear what one of the most wanted persons in the world has to say.”

  “Me neither,” Vonner said. “Now excuse me, I have a meeting.” He walked two doors away where fourteen staff members, accustomed to meetings at thirty-eight thousand feet, were waiting.

  Alone, Rex pulled out his dice again, but these were orange. He watched almost hypnotically as they landed over and over again. Then he opened his laptop and entered the dark web. “Changing the world is a tricky business,” Vonner had often said. Rex believed this, and knew that it would all come down to two people—Hudson Pound and Dan Neuman. Bastendorff had something, and Rex needed to find it. He considered that piece of information infinitely more important than his pending meeting with NorthBridge.

  It suddenly occurred to him that the two assignments might be connected.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The day after Iowa, Hudson walked onto the debate stage in Houston, Texas, to wild cheers and a standing ovation. The adoring reception happened before the start of the televised portion, but everyone in attendance knew who the most popular candidate was. Even the hometown favorite, Texas Governor Cash, could feel it.

  It quickly became evident that several of the candidates, including Celia Brown, the African-American Senator from Illinois, Professor Pete Wiseman, and the Governor of Oklahoma, had decided not to go after Hudson directly. They knew it would be awkward to be seen attacking a man who had just survived such a brutal assault, particularly when he had simultaneously risked his life to save three downed Secret Service agents. Just prior to the debate, hospital officials in Colorado had announced that all three, including Agent Bond, were expected to make a full recovery. Florence had already received a thank you note from Bond’s wife, and crayon-colored pictures from his two kids, aged five and seven. She was elated.

  Governor Cash, General Hightower, a Florida Congressman, and especially Thorne, were not going with the gentle strategy of the other candidates. Cash had too much at stake. He’d have few chances before the Iowa caucus and the New Hampshire primary to go after Hudson one-on-one. Due to the threat from NorthBridge, there would be far fewer debates this year than usual. For Thorne, however, it was personal. He’d never stopped hitting Hudson. Even the morning after the Colorado attack, Thorne’s syndicated radio show went all out on criticizing the novice front runner.

  The debate moderator chose that radio harassment as her first question to Thorne, citing his specific comments from that morning saying that NorthBridge is no different from the Founding Fathers, who, faced with no other way to throw off the chains of a tyrannical government, chose force.

  “They showed us the way,” Thorne had said. “Is trying to assassinate yet another puppet of the same elites who have controlled the government for decades such a bad idea, when voting hasn’t worked? I don’t know. What would you have them do?”

  “Are you saying it’s okay to assassinate presidential candidates, the president, senators? Is there anyone it’s not okay to murder, if you decide they are unworthy in some way?”

  “Thank you for that question and allowing me to set the record straight,” Thorne said, smiling at the moderator before turning to the camera. “The American people know that something is wrong when they keep voting for hope and change, desperate for something new, and yet nothing happens. In fact, it continues to get worse, and worse, and wooooorse!”

  The moderator tried to speak, but Thorne talked over her.

  “And
here we go again,” the shock-jock continued, motioning to Hudson. “Now it’s Pretty Boy Pound, a hardware store owner, who claims to be the agent for change this time, yet he’s anything but. He’s an agent for the banksters and corporations who control the government.”

  “Please answer the question, Mr. Thorne,” the moderator said. “Do you believe it is okay to assassinate Mr. Pound and others, even yourself?”

  “First, it’s just Thorne, no ‘mister’ necessary.” He smiled as if he’d just given her a gift. “Second, I’d prefer to see people like Pound, the current president, most members of congress, and a long list of other politicians, arrested and tried for crimes against the people. You can see the list of those who should be investigated, arrested, and convicted at ThorneInTheirSide.com, by the way.”

  “I still don’t believe you have answered the question. Would you like me to repeat it?”

  “No, thank you. Let me see if I can help you out. If there is no other way to rid the henhouse of the fox than to shoot the fox, then sometimes that’s what you have to do.”

  A murmur went through the crowd.

  “So that’s a yes, then?” she asked, exasperated. “It’s okay to kill political opponents, people you disagree with?”

  “Look, the system is so corrupt that it may be impossible to arrest them and have a trial. In that case, our Founders made it clear, by their words and their example, that a revolution would be necessary. And in a revolution, people are killed.” Thorne looked straight into the camera and said, “Ramener la guillotine.”

  “If I remember my high school French correctly, you just said, ‘Bring back the guillotine,’” the moderator said.

  The audience gasped.

  “Mr. Thorne, are you now, or have you ever been, a supporter or member of NorthBridge?”

  “Is your last name McCarthy?” Thorne asked, squinting at the moderator and then turning back to the camera. “Is our country still free? Is the First Amendment still in place? I will not remain silent while our once great nation is returned to the descendants of the very monarchs our forefathers fought to free us from.”

  Hudson closed his eyes briefly, stunned that a presidential candidate would be so reckless as to align himself with a terrorist organization.

  I’ve got to win, or this might end up being our nation’s last election.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Once again, after Thorne’s controversial opening, Hudson dominated the debate, easily winning. Combined with the governor’s endorsement, he now led in Iowa by more than twenty points. A surprising result of the debate came when Thorne vaulted to number three in the polls in Iowa and New Hampshire. Although the Secret Service briefly detained the shock-jock for his “threatening” statements, ultimately, he was released, and continued daily rants on his radio show.

  A few days later, Fonda Raton created another stir by posting a story alleging that Arlin Vonner, through a series of shell companies, actually owned United Days Network, “UDN,” the nation’s largest radio syndication company. UDN aired the “Tangled Vine,” Thorne’s wildly popular daily show.

  “Is this report for real?” an outraged Hudson asked Vonner once the billionaire answered the communicator. “Thorne works for you?”

  Vonner, on his jet, finally returning from London—a trip that had gone on days longer than expected—was not in the mood “to hold his rookie candidate’s hand.” The “quick London meeting” had turned into a marathon of negotiations with Bastendorff, or, as Vonner would characterize it to Rex, a chess match to determine the next half-century of world affairs.

  “Fonda Raton can make anything into a thing,” Vonner shot back. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Then it’s true?”

  “I own a lot of things,” Vonner said, trying unsuccessfully to not sound as annoyed as he felt.

  “You should’ve been the politician,” Hudson said. “You’re so good at evading questions.”

  “Last time I checked, I owned UDN,” Vonner finally admitted. “But it’s not a big deal.”

  “Really? This is the guy who’s made it his mission to destroy my campaign, the snake that suggested killing me is probably a pretty good idea, and ‘it’s not a big deal’ that he’s on your payroll?”

  “Calm down, Hudson. As I said, a lot of people are on my payroll—hundreds of thousands. Democrats, Republicans, Christians, atheists, Muslims, black, white, brown, yellow, I really don’t know or care.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “What do you want me to do? Talk to him? Ask him to go easy on you?”

  “Fire him.”

  “I can’t fire him.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one, he’s under contract, and for another, his ratings have never been higher. He’s making us a fortune.”

  “Don’t you already have a fortune?”

  “You have no idea how much it costs to run the world,” Vonner said reflectively.

  Hudson couldn’t tell if Vonner was being serious or sarcastic, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “You’re playing in the big leagues,” Vonner said. “I’m sorry if all the meanies are hurting your feelings, but get used to it. Even when you win the election, half the country will hate you.” The billionaire went on to assure Hudson he’d have people talk to Thorne, but cautioned that he didn’t want to do anything that would give Thorne—or Fonda Raton for that matter—anything they could use to further embarrass Hudson.

  After the call ended, Vonner turned to Rex. “Raton is a menace. This is dammed lousy timing.”

  “Yes, extremely,” Rex agreed. “Making Thorne more important at the same time that NorthBridge has made their offer—”

  “It boggles my mind that they actually think we’d withdraw Hudson from the race,” Vonner interrupted. “Any indication as to why they fear Hudson so much?”

  “None,” Rex answered, while calculating how long until he could smoke. “But, these aren’t stupid people who are running NorthBridge.”

  “Obviously not.” Suddenly the plane lurched and dropped. Turbulence, Vonner thought, unless NorthBridge is making a very big mistake.

  “Right,” Rex said, as if he hadn’t noticed the turbulence. “My guess is they want Pound out for the same reason you want him in.”

  Vonner scoffed. Nothing upset the billionaire more than knowing there was something he didn’t know . . . something he knew he needed to know.

  “I did manage to discover something very interesting this morning,” Rex said, absently pulling out two clear dice, but after catching Vonner eyeing them, put them back in his pocket. “I probed AKA Paine for the source of their funding. I thought perhaps Bastendorff or Booker.”

  Vonner nodded. The subject and Paine’s responses were of extreme interest to him. He double-checked to make sure the door to the rest of the plane was still shut.

  “Of course, Paine denied it was either of them, and I’ve been digging ever since.”

  Vonner leaned forward. He knew Rex could find things, even transactions meant to leave no trace, even deleted, erased, rerouted, encrypted things. “What did you discover?”

  “They are getting their funds from Bastendorff—”

  “I knew it!”

  “—and Booker, and . . . ” Rex hesitated.

  “And?” Vonner pressed, leaning closer.

  “And NorthBridge is getting funds from you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Vonner asked angrily.

  “I’ve still got lots of work to do in order to flesh it all out, but I’ve found enough to know that NorthBridge could not only bring down the US government. They could bring the entire world to its knees.” He fidgeted with the dice again. “It’s incredible. Pure brilliance. They’ve found a way to shave a few fractions of a cent off every major financial transaction.”

  “Every?” Vonner asked, his eyes widening.

  “Every. Single. One,” Rex replied. “At least the ones over one hundred thousand dollars.”


  “But even fractions would be missed. Any instant audit built into the programs would catch it the moment it happened.”

  “You said the key word: ‘program.’ They created a program that does it and covers it up. At the same time, it moves the money into a digital currency.”

  “Like Bitcoin?” Vonner asked, referring to the leading form of encrypted digital currency, meaning it operated independently of central banks or government control. Bitcoin was controversial, but had grown incredibly popular, and many other forms of digital currency were trying to establish themselves.

  “Similar,” Rex responded. “As you are aware, Bitcoin is the best known, but several others, including digiGOLD, have been gaining traction. Not only does NorthBridge’s little shaving scam convert the stolen funds to untraceable digiGOLD, making it impossible to know how much they’ve taken—no doubt billions—but it also appears that NorthBridge may actually be the ones behind digiGOLD.”

  “But digiGOLD started up four or five years ago. Now it’s about to overtake Bitcoin. Are you telling me that NorthBridge has been planning all this for four or five years?”

  “Almost six years,” Rex said. “They haven’t even begun to show the world their power.”

  “What do they want?”

  “In the long run, that’s hard to say, but any answer you can come up with is damn scary. Right now, they want Hudson out of the race and Thorne to win. Even before Fonda’s piece connecting you and Thorne, they knew that you could make it happen.”

  Vonner looked at Rex. The fixer knew many of his secrets—a great many of them—but not all. “You know,” Vonner began, “Thorne was always an option, but near the bottom of my list. He’s too hard to control, impossible to predict, and way too polarizing.”

  “Too much like NorthBridge.”