by James Rosone
Rigged
Book One of the Second American Civil War Series
By
James Rosone & Miranda Watson
Copyright Notice
©2019, James Rosone and Miranda Watson, in conjunction with Front Line Publishing, Inc. Except as provided by the Copyright Act, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Table of Contents
The Thucydides Trap
Prologue
Chapter 1: Beginnings of Mischief
Chapter 2: Electronic Misbehavior
Chapter 3: Election Shenanigans
Chapter 4: Unconventional Warfare
Chapter 5: Social Call
Chapter 6: Election Preparations
Chapter 7: United Nations Mandate
Chapter 8: Chaos
Chapter 9: Trojan Horse
Chapter 10: Dynamic Raid
Chapter 11: Going Postal
Chapter 12: Dominos Falling
Chapter 13: Raider-One, Raider-Two
Chapter 14: Thunderclouds
Chapter 15: Supreme Court
Chapter 16: Race Against Time
Chapter 17: Birth of a New World Order
Chapter 18: Fate of the Republic
Chapter 19: Election Day
Chapter 20: Post-Election Meltdown
Chapter 21: Election Interference
Chapter 22: Power Grab
Chapter 23: Martial Law
Chapter 24: Homecoming
Chapter 25: Negotiation
Chapter 26: Global Interference
Chapter 27: Ultimatum
From the Authors
For the Veterans
Abbreviation Key
The Thucydides Trap
It was the rise of Athens, and the fear that this instilled in Sparta, that made war inevitable.
—Thucydides
According to Graham Allison’s analysis in Foreign Policy (June 9, 2017), over the past 500 years there have been sixteen cases in which a rising power threatened to displace a ruling one, and in twelve of those cases, the result was war[1].
As China continues to gain power economically and militarily, is it only a matter of time before a showdown erupts? Those who live in the United States would like to believe that their nation’s status as a superpower is safe, but is it really?
This book began as an analysis of what could really happen if America fell headfirst into the Thucydides trap. We hope it never becomes a reality.
Prologue
July 2018
Kulm Hotel
St. Moritz, Switzerland
The mountain air was crisp and cool as the sun crept closer to the edge of the Alpine crestline that encompassed the tiny Swiss village of St. Moritz. The scene was picturesque. The peaks were covered in lush greens and dotted with wildflowers. The occasional grazing cows and sheep sauntered along, lazily eating to their heart’s content. Johann, the German Foreign Minister, couldn’t help but feel conflict between the beauty of his surroundings and the severity of the situation at hand.
The sommelier refilled the wineglasses at the table, then asked, “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?” As he spoke, he lifted the now-empty bottle of 2014 Gantenbein pinot noir. The six-hundred-euro bottle of wine was Johann Behr’s local favorite when he visited St. Moritz.
“Nein, vielen Dank,” Johann said as he dismissed the man for the time being.
Returning his gaze to the men seated around the table in the private dining room, Johann leaned forward. In a hushed tone, he asked, “What are we going to do about these trade tariffs the Americans continue to impose?”
Johann was incredibly concerned by the sudden changes that had been made; the global trade policies were rocking Europe and Asia. More importantly, they were costing him and his colleagues an immense fortune.
Erik Jahn, the manager of the Norway Sovereign Wealth Fund, shook his head in disgust. “What can we do?” he replied. “We have to adjust to the new normal. At least until a new president is elected.”
Peng An, the CEO of China Investment Corporation, lifted his glass of wine to his lips, taking a few sips as he contemplated the question. He seemed lost in thought as his gaze trailed off toward the sprawling village below the hotel, where the lights were just beginning to twinkle as the sun finished its retreat behind the mountains.
Finally, he placed his half-empty glass down on the table. Looking at his compatriots, he announced, “We have two choices. We either sit back and wait out this American president, or we look to replace him with someone of our choosing that sees the world as we see it.”
Grunting at the implication, Roberto Lamy, the Director-General of the World Trade Organization, retorted, “It’s not that simple, Peng. You don’t just pick who will be the American candidates for president. They have a primary process where they are selected.”
“Roberto is partially right,” Johann acknowledged. “We cannot pick their candidates for them. We can, however, whittle down the options they have to choose from.” He finished off his glass of wine, then waved for the sommelier to come refill his drink.
Peng shook his head in frustration. “This is 1930 all over again—all those protectionist trade policies will cause another Great Depression,” he said.
“More like 1933,” retorted Johann, thinking of the rise of the Nazis in Germany.
Swatting the comment down with a literal shake of his hand, Peng responded, “President Sachs may be a petulant bully, but he’s no Hitler, Johann. Be sensible, won’t you?”
Stinging from the rebuke, Johann replied, “I’m sorry. You’re right. My concern is that his nationalist tendencies are leading the world closer to another great clash. We have to figure out a way to stop him before the economic damage he’s inflicting becomes irreversible.” He turned to look at Roberto. “There must be more the WTO can do,” he pleaded.
Roberto sighed. “Even if a nation brings a claim against the US to the WTO, we have little we can do to make the Americans cooperate. If their president and his political backers are unwilling to honor the WTO rules or judgments, what can we do? It’s not like we have a standing army. Furthermore, the Americans have a twenty-trillion-dollar economy; it’s not like they need to trade with Greece or Italy for their economic survival.” Shaking his head in resignation, he added, “They’re already proving they can survive and grow outside of their current trade arrangements with China, as I’m sure Peng here can attest.”
Peng appeared visibly frustrated, with his nostrils flaring and his face slightly flushed. Up to this point, China had been able to use its considerable economic weight against the US, forcing their companies to hand over intellectual property rights and trade secrets if they wanted to do business in China. However, that practice had abruptly changed when the Sachs administration had begun to impose a series of tough tariffs on products being produced in China and shipped to the US.
Downing the rest of his wine, Peng added, “The time for change is coming soon, gentlemen. We have a little more than two years until their next presidential election. I suggest we use that time wisely.”
“I think it’s time you get in touch with Lance Solomon from Goldman Sachs,” said Erik, directing his comment at Johann. “You know that he knows the American side of this better than we do. We will need his connections to make this work.”
Chapter 1
Beginnings of Mischief
Veles, Macedonia
Wen watched Dafina’s fingers move rapidly across the keyboard of her laptop as she finished compressing the terabytes of data she had just stolen and dumped them onto the secured site he had provided. With her immediate work
completed, she turned her attention back to him.
She ran her fingers across his bare chest. “It’s complete. All the information you asked for is there,” she said with a coy smile. “Now pay me the other half of my money.”
“You made sure to leave enough bread crumbs that will lead them back to KHS?” Wen Zhenyu asked. The fingers of his left hand gently walked up her spine.
The feeling of his fingers against the bare skin of her back caused goose bumps to appear on her arms as she seemed to be excited by his touch. Tilting her head slightly, she answered, “Of course. Anyone looking to trace the intrusion will be led right to the Kosova Hacker’s Security. I made it look like I was one of their Albanian hackers. No one will be able to trace it back to me personally.”
Smiling at the response, Wen asked, “Does anyone else know you worked on this project with me?”
His hand now massaged the tops of her shoulders as he moved his other hand over to provide a nice deep tissue massage. She moaned softly as he worked out a kink in her neck.
“No. I didn’t tell anyone I was working on this project. As far as my friends know, I’m still running my fake news website. I might add, that website pays pretty well too,” Dafina asserted. She lifted her chin up, fully relaxing her shoulder muscles.
“Excellent,” Wen replied. He moved his right hand up to her face, and before she even knew what was happening, he snapped her neck, momentarily holding her now-limp body in his arms. He gently laid her down on the bed they had been sitting on and folded her laptop up, placing it in his backpack.
With his work done and his loose ends tied up, it was time for Wen to head back to his office in Skopje and sift through the data she had scooped up for him.
*******
An hour later, Wen walked into his office on the second floor of the Silk Road Bank in central Skopje. His secretary greeted him.
“You have a call from a client that needs to speak with you about a business loan, and your three o’clock with that local businessman is still on,” she announced, handing him a note.
“Thank you,” Wen replied with a smile. Before he closed his door, he leaned back out into the hall and said, “Please make sure I’m not disturbed until my three o’clock meeting shows up.”
Once inside his office, Wen handled the necessary emails to the home office in Baar, Switzerland, just south of Zurich. That would appease his corporate masters. He’d become very adept at completing a large amount of work in a very short amount of time, something that had been drilled into him since his days in the state-run orphanage in his homeland of China.
With the immediate needs of his day job handled, Wen logged on to a World of Warcraft MMO forum and perused the various threads until he found the World’s End Tavern: Roleplay and Fan Fiction Page and clicked on it. Once in, he scrolled through until he found the specific thread he was looking for. He typed in a coded message to his compatriots along with half of the URL to the server where the terabytes of stolen data had been placed.
Wen then opened a new window and found his way to a forum page of the video game World of Tanks. He clicked on a page for off-topic questions and found his desired thread. He dropped the rest of the URL needed to find the server with the data his minders had tasked him with acquiring.
With his cloak-and-dagger work done, he transitioned back to the mundane paperwork associated with his upcoming meeting with a small business owner looking to obtain a loan to purchase a second petrol station. It usually took him a moment to refocus his mind back to the slow grind after the excitement and adrenaline of his passion—spy craft for his only true parent, China.
He read through the reports again. The highway linking Thessaloniki, Greece, to Belgrade, Serbia, was nearly complete, and the amount of truck and other vehicle traffic moving along the E-75 highway through Kumanovo was about to increase substantially. This loan applicant was hoping to capitalize on the increased truck traffic by building a second petrol station along the busy route. Wen reviewed the revenues of the man’s existing petrol station and the estimates of the potential revenues at the second location. He didn’t see a reason why his bank wouldn’t approve the loan. It was a solid business investment.
Chapter 2
Electronic Misbehavior
September 2018
Tampa, Florida
It was a balmy eighty-two degrees and the sun wasn’t even up yet. Seth rounded the corner on his way back to Lagoda Avenue. He’d reached the home stretch of his daily three-mile run. Seeing that he was less than three hundred meters from home, Seth quickened his stride until he was in a full-out sprint for the remainder of his run. His feet pounded heavily on the pavement, especially considering the added eighty pounds of his RUNFast/Max weighted vest.
With his heart pounding like a drum as he ran past his house, he immediately slowed down until he came to a walking pace. He kept walking for another hundred meters before turning around to head back home. Seth then completed his usual series of breathing exercises to regain control of his racing heart and panting breath.
Running with this weighted vest is a real killer, he thought, restraining himself from moaning audibly.
Seth opened his garage door, took the vest off and placed it on a specially designed hanger that could hold its weight, and hung it on a hook he’d drilled into one of the wall studs a month ago, when he’d started running with it. One of the senior NCOs at work had told him that if he wanted a great way to improve his running endurance without increasing his running distance, he should try running with a heavily weighted run vest. It would improve not just his run times, but also his endurance. While he’d found that to be true, Seth also realized that the weight of the vest was already starting to take its toll on his knees and sore back.
He went through the side door into the house and saw his wife, Dana, frying up a skillet of duck bacon and a sort of omelette/hash thing that had eggs, onions, mushrooms and green peppers in it. The aroma was incredible.
Dana raised an eyebrow at her sweaty husband. Then she winked at him as she said, “Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes if you want to grab a quick shower.”
He kissed her on the cheek as she stood next to the stove. She smiled and placed another strip of the specialty bacon on the iron skillet.
As Seth walked back to their bedroom, he heard the kids starting to stir. They were sticking to their normal routines, and this seemed like any other morning in the Mitchell household.
He walked into the bathroom to get a shower. As was his habit, Seth switched on the Fox Business News app on his Galaxy Note and selected the live reporting option. He turned the volume up and placed his phone on the counter next to the shower before hopping into the steaming water. As he lathered up, the monotony of the broadcast suddenly changed as the anchor broke in with a special news announcement.
“Breaking news: Google announces a major privacy breach as more than 110 million Gmail account logins and passwords were compromised. No word on who was responsible for the hack, although Google executives are urging people with a Gmail account to change their passwords.”
I’ll have to look into this more when I get to work, Seth thought. He wondered if the guys in the fusion cell already had a lead on who was involved.
He finished his shower and customary hygiene routine, then got dressed. Looking in the mirror, he gave his uniform a quick once-over. His patches were all in the right places, and no errant threads were present along the seams, which would have required immediate attention. Ever the soldier, it was important to him that his uniform look professional. He never knew who he might end up briefing or speaking with throughout the day.
He walked into the kitchen and heard their precocious eight-year-old ask, “Mom, can you drop us off at school today?”
“What’s wrong with the bus?” inquired Dana as she placed some of the skillet creation on her daughter’s plate. She then placed some on a plate for Seth, along with three pieces of bacon, and passed him a bottle of water
mixed with his special concoction of electrolytes to help him recharge quickly from his morning run.
Plopping down next to his daughter, Seth prodded, “Why do you want Mommy to take you to school, Lily?”
She crinkled her face at the question. “I don’t want to ride the bus anymore,” she declared. “The other girls in my class all have their parents drop them off at school, or they have a driver. I want a driver to take me to school, just like them.”
Trying not to laugh at her reply, Seth held up a hand to let his wife know he had this. “Lily, my little princess,” he began, “you have a very special driver that picks you up every day at the bus stop and takes you to school. His name is Mr. Ben. You know Ben. He’s a great guy. You said he even reminds you of Grandpa. What’s wrong with Ben?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Mr. Ben. I just want to be like the other girls in my class that live here. They all have rich parents or drivers that take them to school.” She huffed. She was clearly unhappy that her parents were not seeing how the daily bus ride was impeding her acceptance by the other girls in her class.
Dana broke into the conversation. “Lily, it doesn’t matter what these kids think of how you get to school. It’s just a bus ride. What matters is how well you do in school, not what vehicle you’re dropped off in. What have I told you about money?” she asked.
Lily’s shoulders sank. She let out a deep breath, then pouted a bit as she answered, “Money doesn’t mean happiness. I should be happy with what I have and not desire what others have.”
Patting her on the shoulder, Seth smiled and encouragingly said, “That’s my girl.”
Dana slid past him to get to her own chair, and as she did, she whispered in his ear, “I told you living here was going to spoil the kids.” When they’d first moved to Tampa at the end of the last school year, she had wanted them to live in South Tampa, not the wealthier neighborhood on Davis Island.
