Darknet

by Matthew Mather

  “And you think they can really spoof people? They can fool people into believing they’re someone they’re not?”

  “Over the phone, even over a video link. You can access voice and data files for anyone. Intelligence agencies have data taps on all the big carriers, thousands of hours of conversations and all your emails are there for the taking. Collect enough data and you can spoof anyone. Like creating a new copy of them.”

  “Takes a lot of money,” Wutang added. “The question is where all the money is coming from.”

  “And why.” Chen took a puff from his cigarette, leaning over to the window to blow the smoke out.

  Sheldon nodded on-screen. “And why, yes, that is a good question.”

  They’d scoured Shen Shi’s databases for evidence of the autonomous corporations’ handiwork. It wasn’t something you could point at directly, but when you knew what you were looking for, you could detect their digital wake like an invisible boat that left waves in rivers of information.

  They found shell companies linked to shell companies, a house of cards funneling money into government contracts, in what they assumed were payoffs to officials. It looked like a shadow organization slowly worming its way into the upper echelons of the Chinese Politburo. They didn’t have access to the same level of records outside of China, but they had to assume it was happening in other places as well.

  Sheldon built a nested model of the autonomous corporations as they spawned, interacted, and grew. Decentralized, but Sheldon was convinced that there was some starting point, some motivating force behind their sudden and explosive growth.

  “Maybe we should go to the police?” Chen suggested.

  “And turn Jin in?” Wutang’s face puckered in an angry frown. “They want to pin Shen Shi’s murder on her.”

  “And we have no proof,” Sheldon added, “just a lot of data that fits an explanation. And everyone involved is anonymous—”

  “So there’s no way of guaranteeing the authorities we go to aren’t already in on it.” Wutang shook his head. “Those people who abducted Jin seemed like government to me.”

  “And we have nobody to point at, nobody to accuse.” Jin hung her head. “Nobody except me.”

  “And the authorities are already trying to stop the assassin markets,” Sheldon pointed out. “It’s not invisible to them, the CIA is actively trying to hunt these things down.”

  “So we wait?” Chen rubbed his face. They were all tired. “If Yamamoto was killed for trying to expose this, maybe we should get in touch with the people he was going to tell.”

  “So you want to contact the chairmen of the Bank of China and CITI Bank?” Jin clearly didn’t think it was a good idea.

  “Do you have a better idea?” Chen sighed. “At the end of the day, we’re talking about banking fraud on an international scale. Banks live and die by data, and they have the money to fight this kind of thing.”

  “Do you think they’d listen to us?” Jin shook her head. “Too risky, and how do we know they’re not in on this?”

  Sheldon agreed, “That strategy already got at least two people killed.”

  He meant Shen Shi and Yamamoto, plus the string of rich people who were dead for who knew what reasons. Jin suggested another angle, “Can’t we find someone working for one of the autonomous corporations, infiltrate one of them?”

  “I’m working on that.” Sheldon put up a screen. “Already into several identity theft autonomous corporations, buying IDs, working my way inside. Thing is, like I said, I bet the people working for the autonomous corporations don’t even know they’re working for machines.”

  This was a new twist to Jin. “What do you mean?”

  “The autonomous corporations hire people to do things they can’t do themselves.”

  “Like kill people?”

  Sheldon nodded. “But also lawyers to negotiate contracts, programmers to help spawn new instances of themselves. Most people work from home these days. Who’s your boss? A phone call, a video chat, a paycheck. Do you really know who you’re working for?”

  “I don’t kill people,” Jin replied.

  “And most of these people don’t either,” Sheldon answered.

  Chen finished his cigarette and flicked it out the window. “But some of them do.”

  Sheldon nodded. “Yeah, some of them do. And that’s the frightening part—they’re opening a rabbit hole for all the psychopaths to disappear down.”

  “The killers you mean?”

  “Not just killers. Look at this.” Sheldon opened up a darknet page called DirtyDeeds.

  It wasn’t porn as Jin expected. A website that looked like a newspaper classified section popped up. Sheldon clicked one of the links, under ‘domestic’:

  Neighbor dog driving me nuts. Located in Broward County FL. If u willing to kill dog, will exchange tags. Offering 2DC.

  Jin frowned. “2DC?”

  “Two darkcoins—it’s a cryptocurrency—about a thousand dollars at current exchange rates,” Sheldon explained. “It’s a help needed ad for someone to kill their neighbor’s dog. You should see the help wanted section—weapons, child pornography—you name it.” Sheldon grimaced. “The DirtyDeeds DAC started up a few months ago, but already has thousands of users, millions of dollars changing hands. All of it anonymous.”

  “My God.”

  “God’s got nothing to do with this. The US Feds shut down the Silk Road, the famous darknet drug-selling site, only because there was a central point of failure—the founder and owner Ross Ulbricht. They charged him with murder-for-hire and narcotics trafficking, but they only got him because he bragged.”

  Sheldon rolled his shoulders. “With an autonomous corporation, there’s no central point of failure. They don’t boast, they don’t drink, and there’s no way of seducing them. You might catch one or two people who use it, but once they’re started, stopping them is close to impossible.”

  Wutang nodded in agreement. “What are people going to start doing once they realize they won’t get caught? These things are spawning exponentially, growing like a cancer into the human network.”

  The shrieks and cries of the partygoers outside the windows took on a more sinister note to Jin’s ear. Outside, somewhere in that crowd, there might be people hunting other people, on missions directed by machines. Despite the heat, she shivered. “What can we do? This sounds like something the Security Ministry or American NSA should be dealing with, not us.”

  “I agree, but this isn’t going away, and Jin’s name probably hasn’t disappeared from that Assassin Market,” Sheldon observed. “Whatever Yamamoto found hit a nerve. We’re right at the tip of the spike. Something is funding these things with a huge influx of cash.”

  Wutang reached over to squeeze Jin’s hand. “We need to get your name off that list, and we need to get you out of here. You’re an American citizen, so we should get you on American soil.”

  “You think I’d be safer there?” Jin didn’t feel like she’d be safe anywhere. The Assassin Market didn’t recognize national boundaries.

  “Safer than here.” Wutang rubbed his eyes. “I’m being serious. Your family is there. Maybe they could help.”

  “Maybe, but my mother’s on her way here.” The funeral for Shen Shi was planned for Friday. Her mother was on her way to China now. “And I need to find out who killed my cousin.”

  Jin had emailed her family using an anonymized connection into her webmail, told her she had nothing to do with Shen Shi’s death. Her mother was frantic. She’d been trying to reach her for days. Police were calling, reporters, all kinds of people. It shook Jin to realize that whoever was following her knew how to reach her family. She had to stay away from them, and there was no way she could attend Shen Shi’s funeral.

  “Then we have to move forward.” Sheldon paused on-screen to stare at the three of them. Everyone nodded.

  “I doubt this list of wealthy dead people is confined to China,” Jin said. “And I bet that wasn’t the
PLA that kidnapped me.”

  “Then who do you think it was?” asked Chen.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t fit.” Jin rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted and frightened, for herself and her family. “I think we should look into the Sean Womack connection more. He was really close to someone I met once.”

  “Who?” Sheldon asked.

  “Jake O’Connell. He lives in Manhattan. If Sean knew anything, I’m sure he told Jake. And look at this.” On their shared workspace, Jin opened a link to a story about Jake: New York, Aug 17th—Atlas executive Jake O’Connell storms Bluebridge headquarters, accosts founder Vidal Viegas…

  “The same day as Jake stormed Bluebridge, he was arrested on rape charges. Why did Jake try to get to Viegas?” Jin asked the group. “And Viegas was Sean’s thesis advisor at MIT.”

  “And check this out.” Sheldon opened another article on their shared workspace about Jake’s boss: Danny Donovan, former CEO of Atlas, claims Bluebridge executives are framing him for massive fraud scandal…

  “Bluebridge,” they all whispered almost in unison.

  “A massive source of funds. Isn’t that what we’re looking for?” A creeping sensation tickled Jin’s neck, the hair standing up on her arms despite the heat and humidity. The answer was staring them in the face the whole time. “What about the world’s richest hedge fund, founded by one of the leading artificial intelligence experts?”

  “And you’ve met Jake O’Connell?” Wutang turned to Jin. “In Manhattan?”

  “No, I met him here, in Guangzhou, but we stayed in touch.”

  “Bluebridge earned fifteen billion dollars last year.” Sheldon whistled. “That could do it. We need to get in touch with your friend .” He pulled up an image of Jake’s face. “The billion dollar question: Is he still alive?”

  21

  Bear Mountain

  Northern Quebec

  Flat on his back, gasping for air, Jake came to his senses.

  He tried to look down at his body.

  Was stopped short by a searing pain in his chest.

  Pulling himself onto his elbows, he leaned against the wall, panting. Spots of blood flecked his fleece top, and Jake ripped it open, expecting to see a gaping wound.

  Instead he found a gash across the left side of his chest.

  He prodded it with a finger.

  No sucking chest wound.

  Whatever hit him had glanced off.

  Something dripped onto him. Blood poured in a steady stream off the table above his head. Jake propped himself up another inch. Max wasn’t so lucky. There was a gory hole in the side of his head, with chunks of flesh and bone strewn across the table and floor.

  Jake scanned the room. The window next to them, facing east toward the lodge, had two neat holes in it. Tiny fragments of glass littered the floor beneath it.

  A sniper.

  What had Max said about assassin markets?

  Jake braced himself up higher. The pain in his chest so intense he could barely breathe.

  Must have broken a rib.

  Before, the danger had all seemed abstract, one step removed despite his arrest. Though he suspected someone had killed Sean, a part of him hadn’t been quite convinced. Now the prospect of imminent death was close. Someone was trying to kill him. Now. White-hot fear wrapped its fist around his brain.

  Push it away, don’t panic, he told himself.

  Their attacker must think he killed them both. Jake went down like a sack of potatoes. The sniper would be waiting and watching. Glancing over at the kitchen countertop, a large knife handle stuck out of a butcher’s block. Across the room, the two rifles rested against the window where Max left them. He didn’t know if Max’s gun was loaded. His backpack was in the entranceway downstairs, and he knew there were bullets in there.

  Jake knew a thing or two about guns; had learned to use them as a teenager. But did he stand a chance at winning a firefight with a trained assassin?

  He could barely breathe through the pain and panic.

  On the counter next to the knife block was a pack of matches, and next to it was a bottle of lighter fluid. At eye level, the rubber hose stuck out of the back of the stove.

  An idea flashed into his mind.

  Reaching onto the countertop, he pulled the knife from the butcher’s block and sat upright. Leaning over, he hacked at the rubber hose, managing to cut through it in three hard swipes.

  A blast of propane whooshed out, filling his nostrils with the smell of rotten eggs.

  Gagging, he grabbed the matches and lighter fluid from the counter and crawled to the basement door on the other side. Over his shoulder he glanced at the rifles at the window. Too risky. He paused, then glanced at the stairs leading up to the bedroom. Max had a copy of the Bluebridge core up there, but going up would expose him. Swearing under his breath, he dismissed the idea.

  Someone was here to kill him. That trumped everything else.

  Inching the basement door open, he slithered through it and knelt on the stairs, grabbing a pair of sneakers and closing the door behind him. He crept down in the semi-darkness, gasping for air as pain lanced through his chest. He pulled a tarp over himself and crouched against a pile of wood in the corner, away from the stairs.

  And waited.

  The killer would come and check, wouldn’t he? This was the only entrance into the cabin. What if there was more than one attacker? Did assassins come in pairs?

  Jake calmed his breathing.

  Quiet. Stay quiet.

  His pulse banged in his ears. His chest burned. Grabbing a rag from the side of the wood pile, he soaked it in lighter fluid and balled it up. His hands were soaked as well, so he wrapped the rag in another, first using the clean one to wipe his hands. It was the best he could do.

  He checked his watch. 1:10. His legs ached. He checked his watch again. 1:11.

  Calm.

  He saw the downstairs door through a hole in the tarp.

  1:14.

  Was there a candle burning upstairs? Jake couldn’t remember.

  1:16.

  What was taking so long?

  The downstairs door finally creaked open, spilling light into the half-basement against the rock wall. Someone stepped into the doorway, a gun in his hand. The man scanned the basement, then looked up the staircase. Jake couldn’t see him clearly. The man entered and started up the stairs, gun pointed forward, limping slightly.

  At the top of the stairs, the door creaked open. Shaking, Jake slid out from under the tarp and struck a match, igniting the rag soaked in lighter fluid. Stepping out from under the stairs, he tossed the burning rag through the open door up top and sprinted for the door.

  “Shit—” Jake heard behind him, but he didn’t stop moving. He ducked and crashed through the door. A whomping concussion flattened him.

  The massive explosion shattered the cabin above his head. The heat seared Jake. Glass and fragments of wood showered down all around him. Catching the smell of burning hair, he rolled onto the grass out front, trying to put out any flames.

  As the roar subsided, Jake sprang to his feet. Smoke poured out of the shattered windows above him. Staggering, he jogged over to where Max had parked an ATV, then jumped on and started it up, jamming it into gear and skidding down the trail in a spray of gravel and dirt.

  Don’t shoot me in the back, please don’t shoot me in the back.

  Jake struggled to stay on top of the ATV, adrenaline the only thing keeping him upright. The trail was steep and littered with rocks and tree stumps. It was more of a hiking trail than a road. Somehow he managed to keep from spilling over as he made his way down, but as the lodge came in view from between the trees, he lost his balance and jumped off. Jake danced into the underbrush while the ATV rolled and crashed down the trail.

  “Hey buddy, you okay?” It was a hunter, staring wide-eyed at Jake.

  Four of them ran up the trail, with more coming behind. They must have heard the explosion. “I’m fine.” Jake stepped acro
ss the pine needles and out of the trees, still dressed in his boxer shorts and the fleece.

  “What happened up here?” asked the hunter.

  “I don’t know.” Jake stepped onto the trail. He recognized them from the night before. They’d been sitting at the bar at the lodge, drinking. “I was out taking a leak, and whoosh, the friggin’ cabin exploded. I got the hell out of there.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  Jake glanced at his shirt. A dark stain spread all across his left side.

  “You should get down to the lodge. I think there’s a medical tech on staff,” the hunter said, offering a hand to help Jake.

  “I’m fine, I can get down myself.” Jake shrugged him off. “But could you go up and check on my friend? I’m worried he might not have made it out.”

  The hunter retreated, frowning and looking up the trail. Jake stepped toward the four men, and three of them stepped back, giving him space to pass.

  “You sure?” The hunter and his friends watched Jake.

  One of them held a phone. The fourth hunter didn’t move, but stared right at Jake.

  He looked scared.

  Why would he be scared?

  Jake noticed the rifle in the fourth man’s hands. The man raised it.

  Reacting without thinking, Jake lunged forward and grabbed the muzzle of the fourth man’s rifle as it fired, the crack of the bullet deafening his left ear.

  The other hunters all hit the ground, one of them swearing, “What the hell?” as he jumped into the pine needles at the side of the trail.

  The speed of Jake’s reaction surprised the shooter, so Jake managed to wrench the rifle from his hands. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the stock and brought it up, crunching the weapon into the man’s chin. The guy dropped to the ground like a sack of wet cement.

  Panting, Jake stepped over the man, pointing the gun at his head. His face was a mass of blood where Jake hit him. Not moving. Swinging the gun around, Jake turned his attention to the other three men. They held their hands up.