by D S Kane
Ann finished her cup of coffee and sat at the table, in a zen pose, her eyes closed. Within seconds she had reentered her alternate mindspace and carefully inspected each Bug-Lok. Another was close to failure, so she turned it off and forced it to detach from her medulla, falling harmlessly into her bloodstream. Most of the others were also deteriorating at a faster pace. The devices had been designed to monitor what a person did and report where the person was. Her use, investigating facts and organizing them, was more robust and drained power from the devices at a faster rate.
If she wanted to use the remaining Bug-Loks to research what the people who had imprisoned the hackers were planning, she’d need to work faster and harder. She began researching government messages. Emails and text messages flew through her mind.
Time is running out for me. What will happen to me when my last Bug-Lok dies?
* * *
The CypherGhost stretched and rose from the bed. She had a whopping headache. She dressed and found Ann in a Bug-Lok fugue state. She sat next to Ann and decided to send her a message through her own Bug-Lok connection. She closed her eyes and focused on being with Ann.
The CypherGhost: “Hi, Ann. You’re up early.”
Ann: “Have you been getting occasional massive headaches?”
The CypherGhost: “Yeah. What about them?”
Ann: “They’re an artifact of Bug-Loks dropping their ability to sharpen your internet focus. Once they lose their power, they detach from your brainstem and leave a scar. The scars can cause massive symptoms, way worse than the headaches. Do you know how many you still have that function?”
The CypherGhost: “How the fuck would I know that?”
Ann: “This is what I do.”
Ann examined one of her own devices, very carefully inspecting its energy level. She also examined the place where a device had expired and the size of the scar it left on her brain. “I remove the ones that have started alteration, before they can fail. I can anticipate a failure when my headache gets bad. Like this.” Ann found one of hers that was shuddering on the surface of her brain. “Watch.” She turned off the unit and gently pried it off the surface of her medulla oblongata. “Tiny mark instead of a scar. That’s what you must do.”
The CypherGhost: “So, I have thirty-eight that are okay. Over ten have failed and left scars. Two appear to be misperforming. Let me try. OUCH! This is hard.”
Ann: “That’s okay. It requires a lot of concentration. Focus. Try again.”
It took the CypherGhost three tries to eliminate the first of the malfunctioning pair of Bug-Loks. The second was easier. She took a deep breath.
The CypherGhost: “What have you been doing?”
Ann: “I’ve been backtracing messages within the government that might relate to the hacker roundup. So far, I’ve been at it for about a half-hour and I have nothing to show for it.”
The CypherGhost: “Let me help.”
They set to work. Another half-hour passed before the CypherGhost showed an Outlook appointment to Ann. The appointment was for a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of the Pentagon with a self-made billionaire named Cy DeSpain. She asked Ann, “Is this the kind of thing you were searching for?”
Ann scanned the appointment. “Maybe. But there isn’t enough here to tell what it means. Let’s try to find some abstract of the meeting. Did any of the generals keep notes?”
They both searched. The CypherGhost shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Let’s see if there were any other attendees whose names and titles were listed.” Ann ransacked the files of the Pentagon Services and finally found one from a major who was in the room during the meeting. “Here.” She read the note:
C. DeSpain, a Board Member of SSC, presented to the Joint Chiefs. Meeting time: 6:45 am to 7: 04 am, December 12. Proposal discussed and dismissed as too radical.
Ann muttered, “Who the hell is C. DeSpain?”
The CypherGhost sat rock-still, as if she were trying to keep herself from reacting to something she wanted to hide.
Ann performed a bit of basic research. The link to SSC led her to Fergusson, and there was another link, from Fergusson to Irwin Sadowski, who was linked to the late senator from Maryland, Ruth Cantor. Ann’s jaw dropped. “CypherGhost, I think you just revealed a plan to do the nasty to our country. This might even be a proposed coup. Let’s try to follow all the messages related to DeSpain, Sadowski, Cantor, and Fergusson. Cantor and Fergusson are dead, but the others are alive and might still be part of some really ugly project.”
The CypherGhost remained silent, with a faraway look.
Once more, Ann set to work. But in the back of her mind, she realized that the CypherGhost had tried to hide something. Something possibly important. She wondered who DeSpain really was to the CypherGhost. Must be someone she knew.
* * *
Cassie, Jon, and Avram sat at the kitchen table, listening to the two young women relate what they’d found. Avram and Jon were dressed for work, in business suits, ready to leave for the office. Cassie was still in her bathrobe.
Cassie reached and touched Ann’s sleeve. “Okay, sweetie, I understand you know how to control these things and can turn them off when they go rogue. But what happens when they’re all gone from you? You won’t try ingesting more of them, will you?”
Ann shook her head. “No. When these are gone, I’ll revert from supercyborg hacker to mere human hacker.”
The CypherGhost nodded. “So you’ll have limited time with me to finish what we started.”
Jon and Avram exchanged looks. Jon said, “If DeSpain is at the heart of this plot, we can just deal with him.”
Avram shrugged. “Yeah. We can bring him to justice. The UN has some power in this. Even if there was a coup in progress, we night be able to stop it. At least, we could try.”
Cassie considered this. “Combine a cyber op with a kinetic op. Much like what we did last year when China and Russia planned to invade the United States. Avram, how many mercs do you have available?”
Avram thought. “Two hundred on active duty. Another fifty on leave I can recall in under three days. I’ll start the recall process now.” He rose and pulled his cell from his pocket. Walking away from the others, he punched a number into his cell. He spoke quietly for a few minutes, then returned to the table. “Judy Hernandez is running the recall process right now.”
Jon gritted his teeth. “We’ll need to develop more intel before we begin any op. Let’s make a list of what we know and what we need to find out.” Jon fetched the whiteboard bequeathed him by Yigdal Ben-Levy.
They worked for over an hour. Jon jotted notes on the whiteboard:
KNOWN:
Cy DeSpain is on twelve boards of directors, eight of which are banks, two are tech giants, and two are military weapons developers.
DeSpain lives in Akron, Ohio, is 58 years old, divorced, ex-wife deceased, and employs a team of bodyguards.
DeSpain net wealth is $78 billion.
UNKNOWN and ASSUMED:
DeSpain is at the head of an organization planning a coup d’état. Possibly a group of multinational conglomerates.
Some of the Pentagon’s Joint Chiefs may be involved.
The personnel DeSpain is involved with include elected politicians and their staffs, at least one other military contractor, and his personal fortune may be financing the coup.
PLAN:
Capture Cy DeSpain alive and interrogate him.
Determine who are his associates and neutralize them and DeSpain and their related plans.
Find a way to unwind the coup d’état.”
Jon shrugged. “We’ve done missions like this before. The hard part will be acting swiftly once we’re close to our targets. DeSpain mustn’t suspect what we’re about to do, or he might have hidden tricks at his disposal, including his own mercenaries, beyond the group we already rendered harmless. That much wealth could make it difficult for us to counteract.”
Avram’s cellphone buzzed
. He scanned its screen. “All but twenty-eight of our mercs are now armed and ready. Let’s plan the tactical arm of the mission to secure DeSpain.”
Ann watched them make a plan. Since there weren’t many alternative moves either DeSpain or Avram’s mercs could use, this chess board would be very compact and straightforward. It took less than ten minutes for Cassie, Avram, and Jon to complete a workable version of the plan.
Avram pulled his cell from his pocket. “General McTavish, I’m transmitting an action plan to your cell. Start operations straightaway.”
Alistair McTavish, twenty miles away, replied. “Got the plan. Executing now.”
CHAPTER 43
December 13, 11:23 a.m.
Cy DeSpain’s home,
300 North Portage Path,
Akron, OH
Cy DeSpain had remained in Washington for over a day with other business. But there were also other important matters he needed to address at his home, so he’d packed his suitcase and flown home on his private jet.
His trip this morning had taken less than three hours. His chauffeur stopped in the circular driveway and rushed around to open the limousine’s door. DeSpain thanked him and approached the front door. His butler opened it and welcomed him home.
He took the elevator up one flight, threw his suitcase on the bed and unzipped it. Although he had a staff of hundreds, including a personal assistant, he never let anyone touch his suitcase. Inside it, in addition to clothing, were supplies for a Medtronic insulin pump and continuous glucose monitor, including a box of CGM sensors, two bottles of Humalog insulin, and a box of patch pumps. He pulled the CGM off his belt and checked his blood glucose level: 138. Not bad after an airplane trip.
He removed the boxes of medical supplies from his suitcase and placed them in a drawer in his closet. He placed the Humalog bottles in the small refrigerator in his master bathroom. Then he opened his attaché case and grabbed the pages of the notes he’d scribbled after the meeting with the Joint Chiefs. He scanned these before he walked to his home’s elevator and rode it to the ground floor. He headed into the hunting room and sat in a chair close by the fiery glow of the fireplace. He smiled, basking in the glow of the burning wood.
The notes were brief and mostly consisted of names plus a single word after each. He had marked the probability that each one of the Joint Chiefs might do his bidding as “likely,” “unlikely,” or “undecided.” Of the four at the meeting, two were likely to follow his suggestion of a coup d’état and one, the admiral, was unlikely, with the four-star Army general marked as undecided.
He scanned his prep notes on the Army’s four-star, looking for leverage. The man was married, but DeSpain had no information related to the state of their marriage. The four-star had a single daughter, unmarried and just graduated from an Ivy League college. The daughter had no job. He decided to offer her one. Not as payment, but rather to keep the daughter close enough for DeSpain to remain a potential threat to her health and safety. Yes, that might work.
He scanned the CGM’s pump monitor. He had less than a unit of insulin on board his body, but he was hungry. DeSpain keyed a command into the CGM, delivering three units of insulin and walked to the kitchen. He smiled at Roy, his personal chef. “Coffee, black, please. Oh, and Roy, please make me a small cup of mushroom soup and half a slice of sourdough toast with margarine.”
The chef nodded and DeSpain walked back into the hunting room. He sat and wrote a few additional notes on the Army general’s page while he waited for Roy to bring him his lunch.
* * *
The CypherGhost turned and faced Ann. She frowned. “Don’t feel good. I need to lie down.”
Ann nodded back. She remained sitting, watching the mercs through the broadcast of their headcams as they completed the preparations for the capture of Cy DeSpain, more than a thousand miles away. Cassie, Jon, and April O’Toole also sat on chairs facing the large-screen television in the safe house’s living room, watching.
April said, “This is neat. I’ve never watched a military op close-up.”
The CypherGhost scanned the others as she backed into the bedroom and closed the door. Her face was empty of emotion, but her head was spinning with what was happening. She thought, my daddy is their target. Could he be the one who was at the very top of this heap of shit, running me? But of course he is! What if they get him to talk? Does he know his people chose me to be his cutout? Shit, does it even matter? What should I do?
She flew into a rage. After nearly a decade of being gone from her life, it turned out her father was still controlling her. She decided that she wanted to kill him. And if Cassie, Avram, and Jon found out Cy DeSpain was her father, they’d come after her again. Yes, Daddy must die as soon as possible. Oh, and I will so enjoy killing him. But, how?
Of course, she knew he was an insulin-dependent diabetic. But it had been so long, she no longer knew how he was treating himself. Does he use a pump? If he does, can I hack it?
Before she acted, the CypherGhost needed to be sure her father was truly the mastermind behind the coup d’état. If he wasn’t, well, it wouldn’t change his fate. But if he was, there was a wealth of knowledge she could steal from him.
She pulled her cellphone from her pocket and scanned his call records and email, looking for any evidence that her assumption, already shared by Ann, Cassie, Jon, and Avram, wasn’t really true. No, all the facts point to Daddy being the turd at the very top of the heap.
The CypherGhost sighed. Okay, then. I must kill him. She searched his cell and found phone numbers for his doctors and records for his medical professionals. An endocrinologist, a nephrologist, and a cardiologist. He’s very sick. She hacked into each doctor’s office and found his medical records. They were spread across five databases. She almost laughed. He’s already suffering, and he’ll die soon from diabetic complications.
It took her nearly five minutes to find the doctor who had prescribed his insulin pump, and then she hacked the pump manufacturer to determine its hardware and software specifications. She thought for a few minutes, studying the specs, looking for a weakness in its security. In fact, there were tons of security weaknesses. No password required to change its user parameters! She developed a workable plan to force the pump to send a huge bolus of insulin into her father’s body. He’ll be dead in minutes. He won’t suffer. And he’ll never talk.
She tried to hack the pump to issue one hundred and fifty units, the equivalent of four normal days of insulin usage, into his body.
But the response was an error message: “Maximum bolus exceeded.”
She tried seventy-five units and received the same message. Then she halved the amount again, but once again received the same message.
She realized that she’d either have to hack the safety parameters or continue her Boolean search for a tolerable amount. But he might survive the maximum tolerable dosage. She frowned and started her hack of the device settings to find the file within the pump where the maximum dosage amount was stored.
* * *
DeSpain finished the modest lunch and now stood in front of the roaring fireplace in the hunting room of his mansion. He scanned his wristwatch and realized the time was fast approaching his scheduled appointment to report in to the rest of the corporate masters who were patiently waiting until they alone ran the United States. Over fifty CEOs in total.
All were attendant on him. He practiced his smile, pulled his cell from his pocket and punched in the secure conference call phone number.
DeSpain cell’s screen listed all their call signs. The total line at the end of the list showed that all fifty-two were now waiting for him.
He grinned at the screen. “Voice authentication, call sign Top-of-the-Heap, here.” He placed his eye close to the screen and the phone scanned his retina as the second stage of the software authentication process to acknowledge him. He heard a beep. “Greetings, team. I have a progress report and then some questions for you.” He watched checkmarks to the lef
t of the scroll of names total down to zero to indicate that all of the attendees had punched in their acknowledgments of his opening remark.
“Then, let me proceed. First order of business is unintended alterations to our plans and personnel. I’m sad to tell you all that we’ve lost our member, Walter Fergusson, CEO of Starborne Security Corporation. He died of an apparent coronary, and this event was not induced by one of us. Fergusson was our primary link to the intelligence agencies, and was our handler for the late Senator Cantor. With him gone, I tried recruiting and running Irwin Sadowski, who was Fergusson’s spy on Cantor’s activities. I must report that I failed. Sadowski is now in the wind.”
DeSpain paused to let the news sink in. “As a result of the death and failure, I moved forward the date of phase four and approached the Joint Chiefs of the United States military two weeks before we had planned to be ready, to give them additional time to think. My presentation to them was a mild success. They declined, but I believe they will act without any further inducement from us. We will just need to be patient. Any questions?”
The picture of one of the CEO’s blinked. The man’s corporation was headquartered in Frankfurt, Germany, and was one of the world’s most notorious banks. That bank was one of the most active money laundromats on earth. DeSpain touched the man’s photo.
“Samuel Gerhardt here, CEO of the Dreitsbank. My project was to align the German government with our needs. I have no question. Just a comment. We are ready right now to trigger our national ‘reallocation’ of the German government. But things cannot remain in limbo here much longer, or we will lose our initiative. And we cannot proceed without your other project teams being prepared and ready. Here’s the question: How long until you have regained control at your end of the project?”
DeSpain tried to hide his distaste for the German and his arrogance. “As I said, be patient. At least two weeks. Possibly three.”
