Election

by Brandt Legg

  Schueller never even saw the man stumble. He hadn’t looked back for fear of losing precious seconds and his lead. He spotted another down escalator and took it. The man almost missed his escape, but at the last second, caught Schueller’s blur in his peripheral vision and doubled back.

  One level below, everything looked different. Streams of people flowed rapidly in both directions, planes and cabs waiting. For a moment, Schueller was nowhere in sight. Frustration and panic flooded the man, until he caught a break. Schueller appeared, briefly hemmed in by a swelling crowd at a baggage claim carousel. The man tore down the corridor and pushed into the throng of passengers. Ten feet ahead, he saw Schueller work free of the mass and slip around a corner.

  Certain he’d lost his pursuer, Schueller stole a glance and was stunned to witness the guy less than fifteen feet behind as he burst from the sea of people around the baggage area. Schueller’s eyes searched wildly for somewhere to run. Despair overtook him as he realized he’d gone down a dead-end. Schueller kept running until he ran out of space. The only option left was a set of restrooms.

  I’m not going to die like Zackers did, he thought, turning to charge back at the man.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  The big man stood, catching his breath, unsure if he could block the much younger Schueller. He stared down his prey, at once trying to intimidate and perhaps convey an offer. The man hadn’t risked bringing a weapon other than his fists, but they certainly counted. He needed that drive, but also had to avoid attracting attention.

  “Schueller, wait!” the man shouted. “I’m a friend of your dad’s!”

  “Like hell!”

  “I mean it,” the man said, stepping a little closer. “The Wizard sent me.”

  “No way.” Schueller continued looking for a way out, but at the same time he remembered his father giving him the name of the Wizard and wondered.

  “Call your dad,” the man said, looking over his shoulder as if waiting for someone.

  “I would if he wasn’t on live television right now.”

  The man checked his watch. “He’s done. Call him.”

  Without taking his eyes off the man, Schueller pulled out his phone and speed dialed his father.

  “Schueller, where are you?” Hudson asked in a frantic tone. “I just hung up with Agent Pearce. He said you weren’t at the meeting spot.”

  “A guy came after me, says the Wizard sent him.”

  “Who?” Hudson barked.

  Schueller threw the man his phone. “Convince him.”

  The man bobbled, but managed to make the catch. “Dawg, it’s Gouge,” he said into the phone. “Wizard said your security people, including the Secret Service, can’t be trusted. They want something that Schueller has. He needs to give it to me.”

  “Give him the phone,” Hudson said angrily.

  “I’m throwing it back,” Gouge said slowly, before giving it a gentle toss back to Schueller.

  “Do you know him?” Schueller asked.

  “Does he have the word ‘TRUTH’ tattooed across the fingers on his right hand?”

  “Show me your fist!” Schueller yelled.

  Gouge held it up.

  “Yeah, I see it,” Schueller told his dad.

  “Then I know him.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Tough question anymore. I only really trust three people on the planet,” Hudson said.

  Melissa, listening to someone on another phone, looked at her husband and relayed a message. “Hudson, tell Schueller they have the whole airport on alert. Everyone is looking for him.”

  “What do you have?” Hudson asked Schueller.

  “A drive from Zackers. He told me it contained explosive information,” he said, noticing several uniformed officers working through the crowd at the end of the corridor. “The police are coming.”

  Gouge turned around to see them approaching.

  “What should I do, Dad?”

  No response.

  “Dad!?”

  “Damn it! Give the drive to Gouge.”

  “Zackers died to get us this,” Schueller said breathlessly. The police were getting closer, but their view of him was momentarily blocked by Gouge. Ten more feet, and they’d have the right angle to identify Schueller.

  “I know, and I don’t want you to die protecting it. Whoever killed him might go after you next.” Hudson’s voice cracked. “Whatever information is on that drive is our insurance.”

  Gouge looked over his shoulder again. “We’re out of time,” he said to Schueller, ready to take the drive by force if need be, but knowing the cops would have him in two seconds. As it was, facial recognition software in the airport’s 3D surveillance system would ID him as the one who got the drive. The Wizard had warned him that whoever wanted the drive also had the power to access 3D.

  “You have to give it to him now,” Hudson said.

  Schueller took one last look at the approaching officers, thought of Zackers’ dead body slumped on the toilet, reached into his pocket, walked past Gouge, and made the handoff as if he were a professional spy behind the Iron Curtain during the Cold War.

  The police spotted him a few seconds later. One called it in on his radio, the other jogged over to Schueller. He never looked back at Gouge, who had already slipped into a stream of people heading toward the departure gates. Three or four minutes later, Agent Croft of the US Secret Service, accompanied by one of Vonner’s private security men, met up with Schueller and the officers as they made their way back through the terminal. They escorted Schueller into a room used by customs officials and insisted on a full search.

  “I’m sorry, but we received a tip that the man you were with may have planted an explosive device on you without your knowledge,” the Secret Service agent said. “I’m sure you understand that for your safety, and that of everyone in this airport, and, of course, your father, we need to be sure.”

  There was no point in arguing. Schueller just hoped that the drive was safe, that Gouge had made it out of the building and was heading somewhere out of the reach of the REMies.

  Is there even such a place? he wondered, then asked to call his father.

  Schueller, driven by the Secret Service, reached Vonner’s ocean-front mansion just after Hudson, Melissa, and Florence had arrived. They quickly headed to the beach for a moonlit walk, Secret Service trailing close behind. They spoke carefully and softly as Schueller gave them a full account of the tragic afternoon.

  “Gouge is the man you met that day at Lake Hope?” Melissa asked.

  “Yeah,” Hudson said. “Childhood friend.”

  “Who went to prison?” Melissa noted.

  “Yeah.”

  “And now he has this critical information that someone killed Florence’s friend for?”

  “Right,” Hudson said.

  “Prison?” Schueller echoed.

  “Yeah,” Hudson replied. “It’s okay. He’s a good guy.”

  “Where is he?” Schueller asked. “How do we get the drive back?”

  “Do we even want it back?” Florence asked. “People want it badly enough to kill an innocent . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

  “No, we definitely need it,” Melissa said. “Can you get in touch with Gouge?”

  “I can try as soon as we get back. You all stay downstairs so it doesn’t look suspicious, and I’ll go up and see if I can locate him.”

  “The house is certainly bugged,” Schueller said. “How are you going to talk to Gouge without tipping off Vonner?”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  Upstairs in their suite, Hudson positioned himself on the floor, against a wall in the corner of the room where he believed there was no chance anyone could see his screen. He thrust the flash drive from the Wizard into the USB slot and waited for the matrix screen to clear.

  Congratulations on winning another debate, the Wizard’s words typed across the monitor.

  Forget the debate. Where is Gouge?

&nbs
p; I opened with a neutral statement because this time it’s my turn to test your identity, the Wizard wrote. Where was Wooley Swamp?

  At the confluence of the great creek and small stream just down from the sewer opening, Hudson replied, allowing himself only a brief moment of fond recollection of one of their childhood hangouts named in honor of a Charlie Daniels song. Now where is Gouge? And how did you know about Zackers?

  I told you it’s dangerous looking for the type of data he was after. To find that kind of fire means you’re going to make a lot of smoke for others to see, and then you’re going to get burned. The DarkNet is a minefield of cannibals and snakes, filled with horrors . . . brutally cold, distortedly wild. You leave footprints there, and a vengeful death comes looking for you in a digital blink.

  Spare me your geek poetry. If you knew, you should have warned us. Zackers went to school with Florence. He was just a kid, and he’s dead only for trying to help us find truth.

  I’m sorry, I really am. Zackers found the Augusta30 post. The guy who wrote that is also dead. I’ve been trying to—

  Just tell me where Gouge is.

  I don’t know.

  What do you mean? You sent him.

  I haven’t heard from him since he got to the airport in Miami.

  Is that the truth? Hudson wanted to reach through his laptop and grab the Wizard. Gouge has the drive Zackers gave Schueller just before they killed him!

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Crouched in the corner of an upstairs bedroom inside Vonner’s mansion, Hudson felt as if the walls were closing in.

  I sent Gouge to get Zackers’ drive so the REMies wouldn’t get it, came the Wizard’s words across Hudson’s laptop.

  Then where is it? I want it! Hudson typed back, suddenly unsure about the Wizard’s motives and loyalties.

  Zackers found the truth, Hudson thought. I need that information desperately. What is the truth?

  How is it that you’re an expert on REMies and the CapStone conspiracy anyway? The same stuff that I’m right in the middle of? It’s a pretty big damned coincidence, wouldn’t you say?

  Dawg, you don’t get it? I thought we’ve been through this. I’m into CapWars and REMies exactly because you are in it. It’s all connected, man, it’s all out there. We’ve been on this collision course since we were kids. How do you think destiny works? Woodword and Bernstein were heading toward Nixon forever. Edward R. Murrow and Joesph McCarthey, Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky . . .

  Okay, maybe that last one was about something other than destiny.

  Destiny, huh? Maybe you should get a job with Booker Lipton’s UQP, or the Inner Movement. In fact, maybe we should call the Inner Movement and ask if they have a psychic who can locate Gouge! Hudson said sarcastically.

  Maybe.

  I’m serious. Aren’t you worried? They already killed a guy for that drive. They searched Schueller for it. You know better than I do, especially now with 3D cameras everywhere, that they’ll find Gouge.

  I know, but I can’t do anything about that right now, so I’m not going to give myself a heart attack. He’ll either contact us soon, or we’ve lost this one.

  Lost what? The data or Gouge?

  At this moment, I’m afraid they are one in the same.

  You seem awfully cold when talking about our old friend.

  He knew the risks, Dawg. If he transcends this plain, he’s . . .

  Anyway, Gouge and I are putting it all on the line for you.

  For me? You guys are doing this for Rochelle!

  No, Dawg. I’ll admit, it’s a great bonus that Rochelle might go free after all this time, but we’re doing this for you.

  Why?

  Because we love you, man. And because we believe you might be able to wrestle control of the world back from the REMies.

  Hudson sat there for several moments, contemplating the shadows on the far wall. Am I smart enough to handle this? Is the Wizard smart enough to protect the data? Can I really trust him? Can we even trust this thing? he wondered, looking down at the tiny device sticking out of the usb port in his laptop.

  Is this little drive that enables us to communicate really safe even with all the hacking? Hudson typed, as the Wizard’s last lines were automatically deleted.

  Completely safe.

  Where did you get it?

  I invented it.

  Really? And you live in a storage shed? You could get rich off this.

  Rich? You mean in money? But don’t you understand? Money isn’t real.

  Then what is?

  Friends you can trust. I thought you knew that.

  By the next day, Hudson and Florence were in Illinois, while Melissa and Schueller campaigned separately in Ohio. There was still no word from Gouge. Even though it wasn’t discussed in the media, officials across the country were looking for him. After 3D tagged him at the airport, and instantly matched his criminal record, Hudson’s old friend was an easy mark.

  So far, though, he’d eluded arrest. Vonner, Booker, Bastendorff, NorthBridge, the FBI, CIA, and NSA all had people searching for Gouge. Even Interpol had been notified, although they didn’t expect him to flee the country. Using the DarkNet and back doors, the Wizard picked up and tracked what he could about the race for Gouge and Zackers’ data, but he couldn’t do anything to help. Gouge was on his own.

  At the same time his people were hunting Gouge, Vonner had another unit working on digiGOLD. Vonner, like many REMies, had his fingers in various cryptocurrencies, especially Bitcoin, which, after a rocky start, was already a threat to many pillars of the establishment-economy, particularly the central banks. While the REMies’ dual efforts to control and thwart Bitcoin resulted in slow adoption, fueled by confusion and government interference, it had also given rise to alternatives. The REMies had made inroads to all of them, but digiGOLD, which had gone about things differently, not seeking mainstream acceptance, seemed to thrive on not being accepted.

  Now, his team was after more than infiltrating digiGOLD; they wanted an answer to what Vonner termed the “critical mystery,” the method NorthBridge used to convert micro-fractions—siphoned-off transactions conducted with legitimate currencies—into digiGOLD.

  “Somehow, they are able to move digiGOLD in and out of dollars, euros, and yen without a trail. Who’s helping them?” Vonner asked Rex over a communicator. The fixer had been in Hong Kong meeting with a financial hacker they’d hired to trace digiGOLD and solve the critical mystery.

  “It can only be a government or a central bank,” Rex said. “We’ve gotten that far.”

  “That makes no sense. DigiGOLD undermines governments and central banks. Why would one of them help establish it, help to crack the economy which gives them power?”

  “Exactly,” Rex said. “Who?”

  “Someone opposed to the REMies’ control. But, like I said, the banks and governments powerful enough to assist and conceal digiGOLD have more than a vested interest in the status quo—they are part of it!”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Rex said. “Perhaps someone is going rogue.”

  “Who? Why?” Vonner slammed his drink down hard, spilling it. Immediately, he pressed a button to alert someone to quickly bring him another.

  “We don’t know yet, but eventually we will find them. Digital footprints are impossible to erase. They may be able to hide for now, but not forever.”

  “I’ve put our task force on it,” Vonner said, referring to his equivalent of the National Security Council, who worked every single day in his organization’s “war room” looking for advantages in the CapWar.

  “We don’t have much time. Bastendorff, Booker, and several other REMies are moving on digiGOLD,” Rex said. “If they crack it first, we’re in a mess. Not to mention they could now beat us to Gouge, which opens up another can of trouble.”

  Hearing the name Gouge caused Vonner to grimace. The situation infuriated him. Hudson had put the presidency, and fate of the CapWar, in jeopardy with his “Zackers-Schueller-Go
uge stunt,” and therefore the fragile stability of the world was at extreme risk. Hudson, his own man, the guy he’d chosen, had set in motion events which could lead to complete worldwide anarchy.

  “I’ve got a hundred and fifty people after this grunge, Gouge. He’ll be dead by midnight!”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Schueller walked into the all-night diner knowing that more than just his usual Secret Service detail was watching him. Yet they couldn’t have known in advance that Schueller would stop for a late-night snack after the long day of campaigning at several colleges.

  “Hi there, honey,” the pretty waitress, probably his father’s age, greeted him. “What can I get you?”

  “Chocolate shake, fries, and a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit.” He looked up at her nametag, and smiled. “Kelly, do you sell cigarettes?’

  “No, honey, we sure don’t. Hope that doesn’t ruin your healthy meal.” She laughed. “But there’s a mini-mart around the corner.”

  Schueller thanked her.

  About ten minutes later, she brought out his order. “Enjoy,” she said with a smile, and then disappeared.

  He casually ate a few fries while the two Secret Service agents assigned to him had coffee at a booth by the door. Schueller stopped eating when he came to what appeared to be a single fry wrapped in foil. Carefully and quickly he palmed it, and then in one smooth motion, slipped it in his coat pocket. Fifteen minutes later, he took a last suck on the milkshake, left a five-dollar tip, and headed back out into the cold.

  Schueller bought a pack of cigarettes at the mini-mart, lit one in the parking lot, then called Hudson. An hour later, he boarded a flight for St. Louis, and was asleep before the plane reached its cruising altitude. On arrival, he hung around the airport, surfing the net on his laptop until Hudson’s plane came in.

  “Did you look at it?” Hudson asked his son after they hugged hello.

  He nodded. “Sorry, Dad, it seems encrypted.”