Exposure

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Well, yes and no,” said Hank mysteriously, looking from Helene to Charlie and back again. “Have you ever wondered why the US government can’t shut down people like me for good?”

  Helene assumed it was a rhetorical question because Hank showed no signs of waiting for an answer.

  “Because we’re better than their best,” said Hank. “And I’ll tell you why: all the Feds get their trainees straight from college. And I mean straight: straight A students with not so much as a ‘didn’t inhale’ on their records. So these kids are all trained to think in the same way: logical, clinical. And that’s why folks like me will always have ‘em licked. Because most hackers aren’t college educated: we’re the drop-outs, the freaks, the weirdos, the ones no-one bothered to talk to at school – and believe me I know what I’m talking about. But the thing is with guys like me, our brains are programmed different. We’re mostly self-educated: we’ve taught ourselves so we don’t follow the same path as the college guys. They go in straight lines – logical; we go in circles, in loops, in crazy paving patterns, in double-helix swirls and who can say where our ideas come from. We’re creative, imaginative, off-the chart, freakin’ geniuses!”

  Helene found herself smiling at Hank’s colourful, grandiose description of himself.

  “And Wally?” pursued Charlie impatiently.

  “Wally wasn’t really one of us,” said Hank. “You see, what you’ve got to know about Wally is that he wasn’t that great of a hacker. He was good, but not that good.”

  “But I don’t understand,” said Helene. “I thought he was the founder of the Gene Genies: I thought he was the one who wrote the software that Wikileaks uses?”

  Hank shook his head, a lopsided smile across his face.

  “Nope. It just suited him that everyone thought that. To put it another way, ole Wally knew that by taking the credit, it would protect someone else… and make him a target instead of…”

  “Oh!”

  Helene let out a soft sigh as the penny dropped.

  “You mean it was Barbara all along?” she said.

  Hank smiled.

  “Got it in one, honey!”

  “But how did she do it?” said Helene. “She really had us fooled.”

  It was hard to imagine that the broken young woman Helene and Charlie had seen was really a hacker mastermind.

  “Well, that’s the clever bit,” said Hank. “The Feds never thought she was a threat cuz they didn’t know about her – thanks to Wally – so they just gave her some second rate security: an ankle tag and trip laser in the garden. It took her about two minutes to get around that! She pretended to be a recluse but really she’d come and go as she pleased. She sent you to me which means she’s probably gone like the wind by now.”

  Hank looked pleased.

  “What do you mean?” said Helene, suddenly disconcerted. “What do you mean ‘gone like the wind’? Where has she gone?”

  “Honey,” said Hank, “she’s been planning this ever since they took her old man. She’s done some jobs, saved up the pennies – not that she wasn’t pretty freakin’ rich before – and now she’s decided it’s time to start her new life. So she’s gone.”

  “But why now?” she persisted.

  “Aw, honey. Don’t you get it? Because she’d found you!”

  Helene was so discombobulated that she paid no attention to Hank’s odd phrasing.

  “But you can contact her?” said Helene.

  “No, honey. I always knew that when she was gone, that would be it.”

  “But she must have left you something!” croaked Helene.

  Hank shook his head, still smiling.

  Helene felt like ramming the smile down his face with the toe of her boot – or somewhere darker and less accessible.

  “But you know what, honey,” said Hank, “she left you something.”

  “What do you mean?” said Helene looking from Hank to Charlie and back again.

  “She left you a trail of breadcrumbs,” said Hank. “She told you where to look.”

  Helene tried to squeeze some sense from her battered brain. At last an idea popped in: preposterous, impossible – but maybe not for the Gene Genies.

  Chapter 19

  Hank invited them to stay the night. He showed Charlie a place where their car could be hidden: parked in a thicket and covered by a piece of tarpaulin, camouflaged with branches and leaves. Perfect: unless they needed to leave in a hurry.

  “This place is totally secure,” said Hank when they were back inside, patting the curving side of the pod. “I’ve got stored enough food and bottled water for two years. I could survive nuclear fallout here. Of course, if the San Andreas Fault blows or Yellowstone decides to yawn, we’re all history anyway.”

  Helene nodded, feeling it was more politic to say nothing that might stoke Hank’s wilder conspiracy/end-of-the-world theories, although she no longer doubted that the most extraordinary conspiracies were turning out to be true. It did make one wonder about Roswell: weather balloon or alien car crash? On the other hand, everyone needed a hobby.

  Although Hank’s hobby turned out to be needlepoint, or to be more specific, petit point. He showed them into a small side room of the pod that seemed to have been decorated like an old fashioned parlour. He even had a set of matching antimacassars.

  There was a pair of neat occasional tables, decorated with lace cloths and matching brocade lampshades. A chaise longue was covered with examples of Hank’s extraordinary handiwork, butterflies chasing a ray of sunshine. Quite beautiful. Totally unexpected. And at odds with the Gibson guitar, displayed on its own stand: an expression of the ‘Howlin’ part of his multifaceted (or possibly split) personality.

  An old fashioned Victorian bedstead stood in the corner. Helene had no idea how Hank had managed to get that enormous piece of furniture into the pod: piece by piece was her best guess; followed by a bit of spot-welding after the event.

  An embroidered counterpane covered the bed and Hank proudly showed her a delicate bargello stitch in the traditional Florentine flame pattern. It really was exquisite work.

  “You guys can sleep in here,” said Hank. “I assume you’re together…”

  “No!” said Helene quickly. “We’re not.”

  Charlie gave her an unidentifiable look as he leaned against the door frame, listening, watching.

  “Oh really?” said Hank. “That’s a pity: you make a cute couple. Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to share anyway, space being what it is. And I wouldn’t recommend camping in the shack: I just keep that to scare away door-to-door salesmen but I think some racoons are nesting up there and being nocturnal, they like to mosey around at night.”

  Helene was feeling impatient. It was certainly true what Hank had said about his brain working in a random pattern: it was very hard to keep him focused.

  She sat down in a diminutive armchair and looked up at the man-mountain in front of her.

  “Hank, can we talk about the Gene Genies?” said Helene.

  “Sure, honey, whaddya want to know?”

  Hank squeezed his massive frame onto a frail looking rocking chair opposite her and hooked one giant thigh over the other.

  “Well,” said Helene. “Who are they, for a start?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, honey, although I could make some guesses. We’ve never met face to face because we’re an online community. It’s safer for all of us if we don’t know who everyone else is. They could be school kids or truck drivers or… well, just about anyone, anywhere in the world. Plus, most of them use voice disguisers and some will only type messages. But even so you can get a pretty good idea of whether or not English is their mother tongue, or whether they’re from Britain or Australia or India cuz their English is usually better.”

  “I see,” said Helene. “But do you trust them?”

  “Those boys and girls know more about me and more about each other than anyone else,” said Hank. “Even though we don’t use first names or nothing, I
trust them all.”

  And now for the prize question, thought Helene.

  “Will they help us?” she said.

  “Depends on what you’re planning on doing?” he replied.

  Helene looked up to meet his gaze and shook her head wearily.

  “I don’t even know myself,” she admitted. “But this whole thing comes down to money; Wally told us as much. Right?”

  “It sure seems that way,” said Hank cheerfully.

  “And you said that Wally thought he was on to something. And I think that ‘something’ must have been a file that he hacked. From what you’ve said, it would be pretty easy for any of the Gene Genies to hack the same file.”

  “Sure,” said Hank, “if we knew what files he was talking about, but it could be anything.”

  “Well, we can narrow it down a bit,” said Helene, “because from what I’ve read, the roots of the present money crisis in America go all the way back to the Liberty Acts of the First World War and…”

  “Uh-uh, honey,” said Hank, shaking his great shaggy head. “I think you can look a bit further back than that. Haven’t you ever heard of the 1907 Bankers’ Panic?”

  Helene shook her head.

  “That’s where the whole preoccupation with a Federal Reserve comes from.” Hank stared at her but it was all new territory to Helene and Charlie, still leaning against the door frame, looked equally blank.

  “Well, it’s like this,” continued Hank. “Back in ’07 there was no US central bank. Nothing. Nada. When the New York stock market suddenly lost 50% of its value over night because of some unregulated side bets at bucket shops, people lost confidence in the system.”

  Hank emphasised the words. Helene thought she was beginning to understand why…

  “Yup, people lost confidence in the system and there was a run on the banks. Lots went bankrupt, businesses collapsed and people lost their entire life savings. It was after this that the government set up the Federal Reserve System. You get what I’m saying? It’s all about people having confidence in the system – because it’s all a racket. The system is just make-believe: it’s just a wish and a prayer. Just the slightest breeze and the whole deck of cards comes a-tumblin’ down.”

  Helene nodded slowly but Charlie still looked lost.

  “I don’t get it: how does this history lesson help us now?” he said.

  “You go ahead, honey,” said Hank. “Explain to lover-boy. I’ll go fix us up a mess o’ beans for supper.”

  Sometimes Hank really overdid the hillbilly act.

  “The whole financial system across the world is based on confidence,” said Helene. She spoke slowly, trying to marshal her thoughts into order at the same time. “We put our money in banks and get a small amount of interest; they lend the money out at a higher rate of interest in the confidence that they’ll get paid back. If the banks lose confidence, they stop lending money: businesses don’t have the injection of cash that they need and can fold because their cash flow is buggered. But what happens if people lose confidence in the system?”

  Charlie shrugged.

  “Well, that’s where the gold standard comes in,” she finished lamely. “Something you can rely on.”

  Hank’s voice floated in from the kitchen, “Follow the trail of breadcrumbs.”

  A spark ignited in Helene’s brain: it was extraordinary – so bloody simple when she’d been making it so bloody complicated. All the evidence was there – hiding in plain view.

  “I need to think,” she said, frowning at her fingernails. “Just let me check a few things: I feel like I’m starting to see…”

  Charlie shrugged and wandered off to make some more detailed checks on Hank’s equipment while Helene pulled out her laptop from the grab bag and settled herself comfortably on Hank’s bed.

  If she was right, this could be the break through they’d been waiting for. If she was right...

  Helene felt that her brain activity must be off the scale: it certainly felt like it was going to explode. She started looking up websites and making notes, pages and pages of notes, her mind in a frenzy, thoughts whirling unchannelled.

  A chair scraped loudly across the floor of the pod and she realised, to her surprise, that she was cold, goose pimples standing out on her arms. Not only that, but she was stiff as a board and had trouble moving out of the cross-legged position when Charlie came back in to sit next to her.

  Without asking he leaned in to her and started massaging her neck, his strong hands easing the stiffness. He leaned closer, his warm breath sending sparks of electricity up and down her spine.

  “Okay, thanks, that’s better,” she muttered, pulling away.

  Charlie shrugged, his face guarded.

  She called Hank in from his cooking duties. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Charlie sitting on the bed next to Helene but didn’t comment.

  “Listen!” she said in a rush, “I think I’ve got something.”

  Hank took one look at her bright, excited eyes.

  “You really have, haven’t you?” he said. “Tell us.”

  “Okay,” said Helene, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Another quick history lesson, so bear with me. Hank’s already told us about the history of the Federal Reserve Bank. From there we go forwards to the First World War. France and Britain are in danger of losing against Germany and the US decides to enter the war. But first they have to finance it because guns, uniforms, soldiers’ pay – they all cost a lot of money. Well, the US government doesn’t have that sort of ready dough so in 1917 they push through the Emergency Loan Act which is a way to stump up $5 billion in cash from the general public. People are virtually bullied into buying these bonds to fund the war. A few months later the Second Liberty Bond Act goes through to raise even more cash, but this time there’s a little clause that few people notice. The government gives itself extra power to borrow and also sets a ceiling to the amount of public debt the country should have.”

  She looked up and Hank nodded encouragingly. Charlie merely watched her face.

  “Okay, I’m with you so far, honey,” Hank said, “but not quite seeing the relevance between a hundred year old war and today.”

  “You will,” she said. “You will. Look at it this way: until very recently US government bonds – Treasuries – were generally considered the safest financial asset in the world. But by the summer of 2011, the US government loses its Triple A financial rating as a country. They nearly end up defaulting on paying their debts and that means teachers, soldiers and a whole host of civil servants from park rangers to meter maids are in danger of not getting paid. At the last minute, Obama works out a deal and raises the $14.3 trillion debt ceiling again.”

  “Hang on,” said Charlie, “that’s quite a jump you just made. Where does the Wall Street Crash come in?”

  “I’m trying to explain,” she said hastily, “It’s just that my brain is still reeling… the possible implications… okay, okay. The Wall Street Crash happens in 1929. It’s devastating, not just for the US but for the whole of the industrialised West and 12 years of Depression follow. It was said that anyone who bought stocks in mid-1929 and didn’t get rid of them, saw most of their adult life pass by before getting their investment back to square one. When the stock market crashes, investment dies, businesses die and government income takes a nosedive. How can a government pay what they owe on a reduced income from fewer taxes? Reparation money from Germany is slow coming in, so the government has no choice but to borrow – and raises the debt ceiling again.”

  “Yah, I’m seeing a pattern here,” said Charlie.

  Hank smiled.

  “Right,” said Helene. “A bloomin’ great big pattern. But the question is: what is a US government bond? What is a Treasury?”

  She waited.

  “Sorry,” said Charlie, “I thought it was a rhetorical question.”

  Helene frowned in concentration.

  “Well, kind of: a Treasury is a promise to pay. That’s all: it’s
a piece of paper that says the US government owes you money and that they’ll pay you back with interest. Just like a five pound note: you know, the bit where it says, ‘I promise to pay the bearer’…”

  “So?” said Charlie, more than puzzled.

  “So,” said Helene, “what’s their asset? If you borrow money on a mortgage, your asset is your house. So what is the US government’s asset? What have they borrowed against?”

  Understanding dawned on his face.

  “I see what you’re getting at,” he muttered. “It’s all a giant gamble: the US government has gambled that the economy will keep growing, so the debt becomes actually less valuable. But the asset: well, that’s a vault full of gold bullion in Fort Knox, isn’t it?”

  Helene looked serious.

  “It should be, shouldn’t it? Some there, and some in the 12 regional Federal Reserve Banks. Convenient, isn’t it, to spread the whole asset of the United States across 13 holding centres: there are no public audits so no-one knows who’s got what – probably not even the individual banks themselves. Well, that’s what the conspiracy theorists say…”

  “And they’re wrong?” said Charlie, casting a glance at Hank who continued to sit mutely.

  “Hmm,” said Helene. “Yes and no: audits are performed every year by authorised private accounting firms…”

  “I hear a ‘but’,” said Charlie.

  “You do indeed,” said Helene. “There’s one significant exemption from the audit.”

  “Thrill me,” he said.

  “I’ll quote you instead,” said Helene. “I found this on a public service website about the Federal Reserve audits: it says, ‘transactions for or with a foreign central bank, government of a foreign country, or non-private international financing organisation are excluded from the audits’.”

  She paused.

  “So?” said Charlie.

  “What if the gold isn’t in the reserve banks?” she said in an excited voice. “What if it isn’t anywhere? What if it hasn’t been in the US for a very long time, because it’s already been sold to foreign countries? That wouldn’t show up on the audit and no-one knows if and when gold has left the country.”