by Fiona Quinn
“Yes, I’ll be touching on that. But for now let’s stay here on the concept of artificial newsworthiness.”
Rowan knew all this. He fought this in his day to day work. He knew, for example, that a cartful of influencers had already been purchased, and they’d pushed the first song for Taylor Knapp’s The Uprising. As soon as the influencers pushed the videos of the band playing, Sergei’s bot farm started to spread its menace. Some of the bots thought this was marvellous, other bots thought that the new song was terrible racist rhetoric. The people who were working at the bot farm would sit in a circle, and one after the other, pick a side and push it, fighting with each other, using emotional language, quickly and emphatically entering into an argument. Boom! Up the algorithms it went, and the song ended up in the mainstream media being mentioned on EntertainmentPM that evening as newsworthy. Cheap. Easy. Effective.
That was just the start of what was to come when the video game dropped and then the novel.
Sergei Prokhorov’s bots had learned a lot since The Unrest, Taylor Knapp’s last game was released. From the chatter Rowan had been following, this upcoming campaign was based on much better data. Rowan couldn’t figure out where they were getting their data, and how they knew what they knew about micro-targeting the players.
The Russian bots used this micro-targeting to bring violence to American streets. Rowan needed to stay out in front of this. He needed to find a way to shut it down before more innocent people were run down and killed or gunned down in their yoga studios.
Foreign influence creating domestic terror.
A new brand of terror.
A terror that started with a spark in an American citizen, that fire was fanned with the fear and anger of like-minded Americans in their artificial communities, and then blown into an inferno by our enemies abroad.
A conflagration that could wipe out the united part of the United States of America.
Chapter Twelve
Avery
Friday Evening
Falls Church, Va.
The sound of hymns filled the air, but only the stray high note filtered through the ear protection Avery wore as she frosted her cake. Her mother had been singing since Fanny and her family had left.
Her phone vibrated in her back pocket, and Avery pulled one side of the muffs free so she could hear her friend. “Hi, Lola.”
“I called to see if you wanted company, but I can hear your mom’s feeling musical. So I’ll just ask how your day was instead.”
“Can’t blame you.” Avery licked the side of her icing spatula, smearing chocolate across her cheek.
“So what started her up?”
“Fanny was here. She came by with her family. The kids had the day off school.”
“Blessed Joseph. Did Curtis try to convert her again?”
“Not this time.” Avery opened the cupboard and pulled out a wine glass and a dessert plate, which were stored side by side for convenience’s sake. “This time it was my soul on the precipice.”
“Yours? Why? What did you do?”
“Oh, you know the usual—first I broke Old Testament law. I wore a cotton polyester blend. I got a tattoo. I served shellfish for lunch. Then I admitted I worked on a Sunday.”
“Four sins. And I bet your hair is uncovered.”
“Yep. If I’m heading for hell,” Avery cut a giant piece of cake and plunked in on her plate, then shoved the cutlery drawer shut with her hip, “might as well go all the way.” She shovelled up a bite of cake as a high note sounded overhead and held long and sharp in the air. “Curtis doesn’t like that my publishing house is working on the Taylor Knapp project. He thinks I should find a way to tank it.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s self-sabotage.” Her friend’s voice bristled with indignation. “Wait. Did you tell them that it’s your project?”
“Of course not. I’m not a masochist. Besides, NDAs and million dollar fines help me keep my lips sealed tight. But Curtis says I'm an instrument of the Lord," Avery continued, walking to the dining room.
"As long as the instrument isn't a drum, and he's trying to bang you."
"Lolly, that's gross. Don't say shit like that to me.” Avery set her cake and wine on the table. “Ew, now I have to go wash my mouth out with vodka."
Lola snorted. "Yup, me too. Better make mine a double. Ach. Kid’s got a bloody nose. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Avery sat down, pulling the sound cancelling muffs back into place. She opened her laptop, took a deep and satisfying slurp of wine, then draped a napkin across her lap. Avery was re-tweeting a haiku when a smile crossed her lips.
LisaWrites was in her message box telling her Rowan’s account got hacked. She said that he was going to follow Avery as LeGit.
Avery tapped on her followers and followed Rowan back, and now here he was in her direct message folder.
LeGit: Hello. Thanks for the follow back. I’m checking in on you. We were chatting, then you suddenly disappeared. I got your message, “Sorry about that. Life. TTYL.” It got me worried. Can you let me know you’re okay?
Avery grinned. And drummed her fingers on the table. What should she say?
A_Very: I’m okay. Thank you for asking.
Lame.
She sent him a smiley face emoticon.
Double lame.
A_Very: I’m glad Lisa told me about your new account. So sorry you got hacked!
LeGit: Yeah, well, I’m sure it will work itself out eventually. Until then, I’ll just talk to a couple of people as LeGit. I was going to pick the Dead Kennedys but that was taken.
Avery had noticed that. He followed two people to be precise. Rowan followed her and Lisa. Lisa was in a serious relationship with her long-time girlfriend. Rowan and Lisa had been friends for a lot longer than Avery had known either of them. It must mean something that Lisa had specifically contacted her and told her to follow Rowan. It must mean something that she was the only other person that Rowan even tried to follow with this new account. And he’d said he wanted to Skype. That too must mean something, right? Maybe it meant that Rowan was interested in her as more than a Twitter-pal?
LeGit: I follow the Dead Kennedys already. When I’m in the right mood, I like their music. But even so, that’s kind of…I don’t know…seems like it’s giving fate the raspberry.
LeGit: Which I would never do.
A_Very: Besides the hacking, how is your day going?
LeGit: The day was passable. I just got home from the gym. You? How is your day treating you?
A_Very: Better now.
LeGit: Why? Something happen earlier?
A_Very: Oh, my sister was over with her two boys.
LeGit: Got a bit rowdy did they?
A_Very: They are, IMHO, over-fed & over-indulged. But no, they weren’t the problem. It’s my sister, Fanny. I’m travelling next week for work, and I need her to keep my mother during nights after her caregiver is done for the day. My mother has health issues and can be difficult, so Fanny’s not excited to take on the extra duties.
LeGit: Fanny, is that a nickname for Stephanie? Or your polite way of calling her an a**?
A_Very: Ha! Yeah, a bit of both. She hates that I still use her childhood nickname. But I can be passive aggressive when I don’t have any other weapons.
Too much information? Too weird to announce? No. That should be okay. This was sister-dynamic. But he may not have sisters, or have that kind of dynamic in his family…
LeGit: Forewarned. A_Very is that really Avery? A nickname? A clever Twitter handle from an inside joke that I don’t understand?
Should she tell him her real name? Why was she worried? They’d been tweeting for years. The guy (probably a guy) wasn’t trying to get her to send money to him in Africa or catfish her. If he was, he was the most patient catfisherman in the world. Rowan was fun and interesting and kind. You don’t fake that over time. Meanness is impatient. You learn someone is mean-hearted pretty quickly. Unless they’re psychopaths and they’
re grooming you.
Thoughts like that were a consequence of being in the book-writing industry, her mind always wandered down the darkest path. Even in romances, it can’t be just butterflies and kissy faces, things have to go badly. Very badly. Or it just wasn’t a story worth telling.
A_Very: My name is Avery Goodyear. And before you ask, yes, it’s the real deal. My dad insisted on it. When I was born, he pronounced that it was going to be A. Very. Good. Year. That’s his humor.
LeGit: That’s awesome! What a great name/great story. Does he live nearby?
A_Very: He passed away two years ago. So...Yeah. I miss him. We were buds.
LeGit: I’m so sorry. I remember that now. You posted a few years back. That’s rough.
A_Very: My turn. Is Rowan Kennedy your real name?
LeGit: Why do you ask if that’s my real name?
A_Very: I Googled you.
LeGit: Wanted to see if I had any arrest warrants?
A_Very: Just to see…I don’t know. I was snooping.
LeGit: The Internet age.
A_Very: There’s nothing out there. Not even a LinkedIn account. No way I could see if we have anyone in common other than Twitter.
LeGit: So you could get the scuttlebutt?
A_Very: Just being nosey.
LeGit: I’m learning a lot here. Passive aggressive, nosey…
A_Very: Since I’ve outed myself as nosey, I’ll go ahead and ask, how old are you?
LeGit: 31, you?
A_Very: I’m about to turn 33. My Jesus year.
LeGit: Close in age then. What does that mean, a Jesus year?
A_Very: Jesus was sacrificed on the cross in his thirty-third year. My brother-in-law, who is a preacher, believes that in everyone’s thirty-third year they should reflect on the sacrifices and suffering of Jesus and…that’s a whole kettle of fish. And a poorly chosen idiom.
LeGit: This is nice, visiting one on one in the direct messages. I’m enjoying talking with you.
A_Very: Well, thank you. I have to get off in a second, though. I have to contact my new author.
LeGit: A new project? Who are you working with?
A_Very: I can’t tell you.
LeGit: Big secret huh?
A_Very: Million dollar secret.
LeGit: Seriously? How is that?
A_Very: I signed an NDA. If my lips unseal, my financial future is toast.
LeGit: Where do you work? That sounds hard core. I know you’re an editor—but I didn’t know romance editors had to be that secretive. Your job is pretty cut throat, huh?
A_Very: I’m with Windsor Shreveport. Normally not. With certain projects, yes. With this one, to be honest, I’m thrilled I have an NDA.
LeGit: Now I’m intrigued.
A_Very: I showed you mine now you show me yours.
LeGit: What?
LeGit: Oh, what do I do? I work for the FBI.
A_Very: And you think I work in a cut throat industry?
LeGit: Thankfully, my job is fairly sedate.
A_Very: Can you share more? What do you do for them? Throw flashbang and break down doors?
LeGit: That’s the SWAT team. No. I’m a foreign attaché. I shake a lot of hands. I mostly work in Eastern Europe. I’m home in the States right now.
A_Very: Interesting. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the international crime world. I guess that’s a good thing. But somehow I thought it was the CIA who did stuff overseas, and the FBI did stuff on US soil.
LeGit: Sort of. The CIA is an intelligence gathering entity and the FBI is law enforcement. Overseas, it’s the FBI’s job to gather information, run down leads, what have you, and share them with our colleagues in the United States, so they can bring suspects to trial.
A_Very: There’s that TV show, “Quantico”. Quantico is south of where I live. Did you do your training there? How did you get into the FBI?
LeGit: I got in by taking one step then another down the path, not knowing it would lead here in the end. I went to West Point then became a Ranger, got out and did some grad work, got my PhD.
A_Very: Brains and brawn.
LeGit: Brawn?
A_Very: Is that a picture of you sculling? That picture was taken at one of my favorite picnic places.
LeGit: Yeah, that was me a very long time ago when I was leaving the military. A journo was taking pictures, and he sent it to me. I liked it. You live in D.C.?
A_Very: That’s where I work, I live in Falls Church. PhD in what?
LeGit: Media, Culture, and International Affairs.
A_Very: Sooo…you’re a doctor of propaganda?
LeGit: Exactly.
A_Very: Right time right place. That’s our zeitgeist isn’t it? Then PhD to FBI?
LeGit: I was recruited while I was writing my dissertation. After training, I went to the FBI National Academy, which sounds America-centered, but it’s a place where thought leaders from around the world train together. Our objective was to learn from each other and build friendships.
A_Very: Okay, that doesn’t sound too cloak and dagger-like. That sounds more like statistics and coffee in a boardroom.
LeGit: You sound like you were worried about me :)
A_Very: I think of you as a friend even if we haven’t met. I don’t like to imagine you in situations like you see in the movies. Getting held at gunpoint. Running through the city streets with the bad guys at your heels. The danger of trusting the wrong person to do the right thing at the right time…
LeGit: Yeah, fiction doesn’t really represent this job very well. I’m sorry to say, I have an overseas conference call to get to.
A_Very: Go. It’s time for my author anyway.
LeGit: Avery?
A_Very: Yes?
LeGit: I bet you’re shovelling chocolate cake in your mouth as fast as you can.
A_Very: Ach! How did you know that?
LeGit: Well, I know from your chocolatoholic tweets that you use it to self-medicate. And when you typed about the author, I could feel the stress attached to those words. Just breathe. Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll be here later if you want to talk it out.
Chapter Thirteen
Avery
Monday three a.m.
Falls Church, Virginia
Lying on her bed, Avery let the cool breeze from the air conditioning vent waft over her. Surely, it was about time for Mother Nature to turn down the temperatures. Avery wanted the comfort of her hoody, and the crackle of a bonfire on a crisp cloudless night under the stars. A mug of hot chocolate. A strong arm around her shoulder, pulling her in to cuddle. Quiet. Lots of quiet.
Outside, a full moon backlit the pine trees. Like dancers, they swayed gracefully in the wind. Avery watched them, hoping their movements would hypnotize her, and she could fall asleep.
She hated sleeping on her back, but this was the only position that would allow Avery to wear the noise-cancelling headphones, otherwise her chance of drifting off was practically nil. Avery made a mental note to call her mom’s doctor during office hours and see if she could do anything about her mom’s medications.
This singing had to stop.
The flashing light on her cell phone inched into Avery’s awareness. She glanced at the clock. In the wee hours of the morning, this was either a mistaken drunk dial or an emergency. As that thought slicked through her mind, she ripped off the earmuffs and swiped her screen.
“Hello?” she gasped.
“For Christ’s freaking sake, can’t you make her be quiet?”
Avery cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”
“It’s Matt Harlow, next door. I know you’re having a bad time with your mom and all. I sympathize, really I do. But you have to understand how well we can hear her over here, especially with the wind driving every freaking note toward our kid’s nursery. We had to move the baby in with us. We can’t sleep through this. You have to do something.”
“Oh, Mr. Harlow, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you could hear her. I…” Avery coul
dn’t tell the man she’d take care of it. If she had a way to take care of it, she’d be sleeping right now herself. Once her mom started singing, Avery just had to wait her out. “I’m so sorry.” She finished lamely. Tears burned the corners of her eyes. “I’ll do everything I can. I’m going to try to get her to the doctor again. She’s…well, that’s too much information. I’m doing my best.”
“Seriously. Take care of this. I’ll be generous and give you ten minutes. After that, I’m calling the cops—disturbing the peace. Noise ordinances do exist you know.”
“I do know, Mr. Harlow. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“My buddy on the police force says I don’t have to put up with this ongoing shit. Seriously, shut it up, or I’m making the call. Do you want your mom to spend the night in jail?”
“Mr. Harlow, you have been so kind to call me first. I’ll do everything in my power to—”
“At this point, gag her. I need some sleep. My wife needs some sleep.”
“Yes. Immediately, Mr. Harlow. I’ll find a way to get her settled right now. Okay?”
The crashing sound of a receiver, slamming down on its base, made Avery jump. She stood there with her phone in hand, trying to figure out a strategy for keeping the police out of this.
Maybe she could get her mom in the car and drive her around for a while.
She had ten minutes.
Avery ran to her mom’s room and clicked on the overhead light, laying her phone on the highboy, upright so she could find it quickly if she needed to call an ambulance. The hospital, and its costs were preferable to the police coming and the imagined bail and lawyer bills.
When Avery cut on the light, it startled them both into wide-eyed stares.
The shock of the sudden glare was enough to make Ginny close her mouth. The last note of Adeste Fideles hung in the air.
“Mom. What are you doing? Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Her mother stared at Avery. Opening her mouth wide, Ginny sucked in a breath.
