Chris had been calling for two days, and Robert had been ignoring him. The calls were a low priority among issues from more influential people. Chris wasn’t connected enough to make any of Robert’s lists. In fact, he wasn’t connected at all, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get Robert’s attention.
Robert and Chris had spoken about a month before, and Robert wasn’t anxious to pursue their conversation. Chris seemed to have what amounted to a conspiracy theory, but he wouldn’t divulge who or what the conspiracy involved. He just kept insisting that Robert should share his concern.
Everyone in Washington had at least one conspiracy theory, but Robert felt that Chris was becoming consumed with his. Chris’ thoughts had been jumbled and scatter-brained when they’d last talked. Robert hadn’t been able to make sense of what he’d said, but he hadn’t tried too hard, either.
Now it appeared that Chris had begun calling almost every hour, piling up voice mails and messages. In doing so, Chris had found a way to make himself Robert’s immediate priority. He knew Lorraine would tire of the calls, and that she’d soon begin harassing him to return them. Robert dialed voicemail to hear Chris’ messages.
Chris’ voice began normally enough, but devolved into a nervous, insistent plea for Robert to return his calls. In his last message he reminded Robert of a meeting time they’d agreed upon; a meeting Robert heartily regretted accepting. He’d completely forgotten about it, and hadn’t canceled it as he’d intended. It was the last thing he wanted to do.
Talking to Chris on the phone was one thing; meeting with him was a waste of time. It might give Chris the idea that his conspiracy story had validity, or was interesting to Robert. It was annoying as hell.
“Why did I let him push me into this?” Robert thought. He kept looking at his smart phone calendar as if he could make the glow on the bright screen disappear. He’d agreed to meet Chris that day, and Chris had insisted on meeting him outdoors, on The Mall. Never intending to keep the appointment, Robert hadn’t considered the possibility of lousy weather. He should have cancelled yesterday.
He should have been able to dodge Chris’ request, but he felt trapped by a sense of obligation, which was an increasingly rare feeling for anyone in DC. He and Chris had been close in school. After college they had seen each other less and less as Robert climbed the ladder of politics, but they’d kept in touch. Chris had adapted to the “connected Y generation” with enthusiasm, delving into a computer driven life. It hadn’t furthered his career, but it kept him employed. He’d ended up buried in the middle-management levels of the National Security Administration. He was in a good position, but not, by Robert’s standards, an important one.
When Chris had originally pressed him into meeting, Robert had been surprised at the urgency in his voice. Robert had offered an office meeting, but Chris pushed the idea away quickly. Robert had concluded that Chris must have some personal legal problem, probably concerning a divorce. Chris and Anne had never seemed to be an ideal match, and it had been some time since Robert had seen them together. Robert hated giving legal advice; particularly free legal advice outside his area of expertise. He’d agreed to the meeting anyway, later discovering that Chris’s paranoid theories were going to be the topic of discussion.
Robert was in no mood to try to crush Chris’ unfounded, disjointed conspiracy theory. He dialed Chris’ office number to cancel the meeting. Getting Chris’ voicemail, he hung up. Looking through his listings he found Chris’ cell phone, and tried texting him. “Can’t make meeting.” An auto text responded immediately, “Chris Stoker is not available.”
“Damn!” Robert exploded. He attempted a phone call to Chris on his cell, only to hear Chris’ voice say he wasn’t able to take calls at that time. For a Gen Y connected guy, he certainly knew how to disconnect from the world. Obviously he did not want to be reached, or in this case, stopped from attending their meeting.
Short of standing Chris up, which would probably result in more nagging calls, Robert would have to see him.
“I’ll make it quick,” Robert assured himself, grabbing his coat. He also took a spare scarf and gloves from the closet. He decided he’d have to be firm about crushing Chris’ suspicions, whatever they were.
Lorraine looked typically composed as he marched past her. She concentrated on her computer screen.
“I’ll be back in about an hour.” Robert barked as he yanked open the door.
“Yes, Sir.” She answered, never missing a beat in her typing rhythm.
Robert yanked his gloves onto his hands as he pulled the door closed behind him. He tramped down the hall, still irritated. “I can’t believe this. It’s going to be freezing out there!” He mumbled audibly. A look out the glass entry doors confirmed that the weather had gotten worse. A snowstorm was moving in. His gabardine coat was fine for the underground parking lot, or for a quick sprint to lunch, but not heavy enough for standing outside in blowing snow.
Passing security at the building’s main door, he pulled up his grey cashmere scarf before pushing against the door and the wind. As he’d expected, it was freezing outside. The temperature was dropping fast. No other person was in sight. His icy stroll would be a lonely one. Robert didn’t rate any personal security, and wouldn’t even if he officially got his promotion. He walked alone toward The Mall.
Chapter 4
In good weather the trees, ponds, and grassy expanse of Washington DC’s Mall were inviting, and would be covered with tourists from the Capital to the Lincoln Memorial. On this day it was a barren wasteland of wind and cold. A few tourists braved the weather for short bursts of photography, but most were sheltering inside the museums.
Chris Stoker stood next to a huge old tree. Frigid swirls of wind rushed over the grass, tossing leaves into shallow piles around his feet. Those that found a protective eddy from the wind would soon be sprinkled with ice crystals. The storm had not yet started producing actual flakes. The sudden cold front was okay with Chris. He had on an old blue parka, ski hat, and gloves he kept in his car all the time as part of his emergency bag. A candle, matches, cat litter and candy bar completed the kit. His commuting car was nondescript, old, and a little worse for wear, so he felt better being prepared. He occasionally wondered if he should buy a newer vehicle, but always decided that it didn’t pay to have a nice car for commuting. It would just get banged up and rusted.
Chris hardly felt the onrushing cold air. Winter seldom bothered him. Today the sudden cold front was keeping everyone inside, and away from him. He was fine with that. The fewer people around, the better, as far as he was concerned. He leaned against the old tree, watching. Adrenaline kept him warm as he anxiously scanned the area.
His vantage point was down The Mall, away from the Capital, and close to the Washington Monument. He had picked a spot within a reasonable walking distance from Robert’s office. He stood away from the road, outside the concrete path that expanded in an arc from the sidewalk’s main path to a stroller’s turnout of sorts. There, two pale marble chip encrusted terrazzo stands held a span of plain concrete between them, making a bench. He knew the bench's surface offered no comfort, and with no back, it offered no shelter, but its advantage was clear visibility. Chris watched Robert Carlton walk up to it and sit down.
Robert sat huddled in his stylish overcoat with his back against the wind, facing the street. He was freezing in the bitter cold, and regretted every second he sat there. He had no hat, and his ears were starting to go numb with cold. Vanity always overrode good sense with Robert. He wore hats only if he absolutely had no choice. They flattened his hair.
Chris watched Robert tug at the grey cashmere scarf around his neck, futilely trying to cover his ears.
“Why in the hell did Chris pick this spot?” Robert wondered, as his muscles quivered in a short, shivering spasm. He looked longingly toward a red neon sign in the distance advertising espresso. It was too far away to read, but he knew the place, and right now anything warm looked like heaven.
&nbs
p; Chris was still leaning against the oak tree just out of view. He wanted to make sure it was safe to meet Robert. He watched for anyone looking toward him, or following Robert. Chris was naive about most things outside his small office, or beyond his family life in the suburbs. He knew he might be followed or watched, but his knowledge of spies and secret agents came from the movies. He carefully surveyed two people scurrying by, coat collars turned up against the wind. Despite the distance between him and the buildings across the street, he scanned office windows for peering eyes. What he hadn’t noticed was a grey sedan that had followed him. He didn’t see it now as it sat in plain view. The car had rolled past him as he’d parked, going around the corner, and taking up a position a few yards away. The dull color of the dirty car blended with the city’s winter landscape and grimy stone buildings.
The driver of the sedan was crouched down in the seat. His head was level with his seat’s headrest, effectively hiding him from sight. When Chris had first crossed the street, the driver pulled down the visor, opening the vanity mirror from which he’d already removed the tiny lightbulbs. Now he reached up and adjusted the mirror, pulling his hand out of sight afterward. A special convex mirror replaced the original, giving the man a wider field of view. He spotted Robert’s arrival easily, and waited.
Chris scanned back and forth nervously. Eventually, seeing no one he deemed a threat, he walked over to join Robert on the bench.
Robert’s freezing face looked up at the sound of Chris' heavy shoes crunching leaves.
"What’s this all about, Chris?” He asked loudly, sounding as annoyed as he felt. “Let’s go get some coffee, instead of freezing to death out here." He glanced significantly toward the distant espresso sign and started to get up.
“No. Wait! I’m sorry Robert, but I can’t take any chances.” Chris kept his voice low and glanced both left and right. He sat down heavily on the bench trying to position his body casually, as if he were simply a chatty stranger. He kept talking. “I had to know you weren't followed. Try not to look at me while we’re talking. Act like we’re talking about the weather.”
In the car the hidden figure viewed them in the mirror through small, powerful binoculars. He watched the two men talk. Reading their lips as easily as most people read street signs, he repeated each word into his Bluetooth earpiece, recording what was said on his smart phone recorder app. The binoculars contained a video camera recording the scene. It might have been a lucky coincidence that Chris had chosen to meet outside and that Robert sat facing the street, but the man knew Chris’s habits. Chris was nothing if not predictable.
Robert looked like he thought Chris had lost his mind. “Followed? What are you talking about? Why would anyone follow me? I'm sitting here with my new shoes covered in dust and leaves. It’s starting to snow. There are a thousand good coffee shops around here, and you want to sit in the great outdoors playing ‘Nanook of the North.’ Nobody in their right mind would follow me out here!”
Chris’ face was drawn and thin. To Robert he looked ten years older than the last time they’d met. “He’s really scared about something.” Robert thought. He suppressed his frustration to try to get Chris talking. “What's going on, Chris? Just tell me what this is about.”
“They’re going to take control of OPOV!” Chris blurted out. His nervous eyes showed the dark patches of days without sleep. He glanced nervously from side to side as he spoke. “Your boss was on to something, and he died because of it. He must have known, and they knew he knew.”
Robert felt the surprise pass through his rapidly numbing body. Last time they’d met, Chris had been vague about his conspiracy theory. He’d kept referring to something he’d found that was suspicious, but wouldn’t elaborate. Now all of a sudden it was OPOV, and Bradley was murdered? He stared at Chris in disbelief. “Bradley?” he said slowly, “you think Bradley was murdered?” He frowned, shaking his head. “Ed Bradley’s drowning was an accident, Chris. The investigation team made a complete report for the President. I saw it before it went into his hands. There was no question about it.”
“He was murdered, Robert.” Chris punctuated each syllable, while still scanning the area. “It wasn’t a fishing accident.”
“Why?” Robert paused, waiting for more, and remembering this was just another conspiracy theory. He took a calming breath. “Why would anyone want to kill Bradley?” Okay, Robert had opened a can of worms with that one. Threats against the Attorney General were almost as commonplace as with The President and Vice President. He paused, hoping Chris would pass by it. Chris seemed hesitant to go on. “Come on, Chris, you don’t seriously think he was killed in some plot?” He prodded.
Chris finally looked directly at Robert. “I don’t think it. I know it. It’s all connected to OPOV. We’ve been working—I’ve been working on the security of ‘One Person One Vote’ since Congress voted to fund it. We’ve got it working ahead of schedule, but it can be compromised. I know how they will do it.”
Robert had an intimate knowledge of the One Person One Vote project, too, commonly referred to as OPOV. He’d been on the original concept committee. He had also been part of the President’s campaign team that had developed the plan, and he’d participated on the oversight committee that followed.
“Chris, I know everything about how OPOV works. What makes you think it could be compromised? That’s why the security is with you guys at the NSA in the first place, to keep the system tightly controlled. And you still haven’t explained what Bradley drowning has to do with any of this.” Robert shook his head. He was beginning to think Chris’s brain had snapped from stress, or maybe just long hours and bad television. He wasn’t making any sense. “Chris, you shouldn’t be talking like this. You’ll lose your security clearance. I hope you haven’t…”
Chris cut him off. “They plan to take over the vote through the OPOV system.” Chris insisted. “The vote. All of it! We would think we are voting; doing the democratic thing, and that the results would be tabulated accordingly, but that’s not the case. The vote wouldn’t be ours!” Chris’ voice had gotten louder. He had forgotten his casual pose, and was leaning toward Robert, intent on making his point. “It’s a perfect setup, Robert. After all those election fiascos in Florida everyone’s been anxious for voting reform. The President made campaign promises to ‘Give Back the Vote.’ Give it back to ‘The People,’ directly, and cut out the so-called ‘representation’ we’ve got now. And he wanted to make the whole system easier, better, and more efficient. You guys came up with OPOV, all electronic, fast, efficient, low cost, and everyone loved the idea. Well, the voting public liked the idea, anyway, and it put the President in office. Then we all built the system. Now they’ve got it running, but it is set up to fool everyone. First, ‘the people’ win a few votes to build confidence, and then these guys take control of the voting issues that matter to them—the close calls that they want to swing their way. That’s how it will be at first. You know they’ll get bolder later. We’ll never be the wiser. Next thing you know, POOF! Democracy will be gone! The system will be less representative than it ever has been, but no one will know that. It’s perfect. And it’s already been built right into the software. A few powerful people controlling everything—and we’ll think it’s all legal.”
Robert waved a hand dismissively at Chris. So this was the heart of Chris’ conspiracy theory. He’d already heard numerous, unfounded concerns about OPOV. “Chris, I’ve been in on this thing from its inception, even before you got a look at the plans. I was on the development Commission; remember? I’ve seen all the security reports. The system is protected. There’s no way the votes can be changed after they’re entered. Plus there are checks; balances. It can’t be done.”
“You haven’t seen the code, Robert—and you and a bunch of Senators wouldn’t understand it if you did see it. I’ve seen it. I can read it. I know how the architecture works. You’ve only viewed the reports, and they tell you what you want to hear. First the reports show
ed a few glitches, then a few big cost overruns, but eventually everything worked—and ahead of the deadline. Don’t you think they know how to play this?” Chris slowed down, and looked intently at Robert. “What I’m telling you is that I can prove it. They have complete control without any security breach showing up. It’s in the code, or at least it will be, and I can prove it.”
Robert felt more impatient than ever with Chris. “No one’s taking over OPOV.” Robert told him condescendingly. “The final test runs worked flawlessly. Everything is in place for the first vote. Security on the system is the best ever created, and it’s monitored constantly. There are too many checks in the system for anyone to change the results.”
“Can’t you hear yourself?” Chris was becoming more agitated. “That’s exactly how it will play out. You’re not listening to what I’m saying. Remember Bradley? He was running a special investigation. You and the Deputy A.G. weren’t in on it. He was getting close to the answers—too close. They had him killed. One of my programmers started asking questions after he’d been working on the software code. He hasn’t come back to work after taking an unplanned vacation. No one seems to know where he is—and nobody seems to care. I’m right about this, Robert. So, here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to get you the proof, but I need you to agree that you’ll look into it. You! Not somebody who works for you, not going through channels; just you doing the leg work.”
“Chris, we’ve been friends for years.” Robert began, thinking he needed to calm Chris down.
“Don’t blow me off, Robert; I know what I’m talking about.” Chris snapped, jabbing his finger fiercely at Robert’s chest.
“I’m not. Just let me finish.” Robert tried to dredge up something to say to defuse Chris’ conspiracy theory panic attack. “I believe you’re sincere, Chris, and that you’ve run across something you don’t understand. It’s making you question the system. You’re too worried about the people around you. You have to admit this sounds a little wild. No one can possibly...”
One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1) Page 3
