The Lafayette Campaign: a Tale of Deception and Elections (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 2)

by Updegrove, Andrew

  “We can do a lot better than that. And anyway, if whoever bugged your vehicle knew what they were doing, they planted several microphones so they’d be sure to hear you clearly wherever you were. Unless you put a radio in front of every one of them, they’ll still hear you at least some of the time. And if you haven’t been playing loud music up till now, they’ll figure out that you’re on to them.”

  “So how do you handle that?”

  “I expect you know what a ‘white noise’ generator is?”

  “Sure – something that generates masking sounds that cancel out real ones so you don’t hear your noisy neighbors, or whatever. But with the room units, you hear the masking noise, so I assume you’ve got something better?”

  “Oh heck yes. It’ll set you back a bit, but as long as you don’t mind the cost and only care about voices, I can install a unit that will white out any normal volume conversation you’ll ever have in your camper.”

  “Great. So that just leaves data. If my on-board computer network has been hacked, can you install a parallel satellite receiver/transmitter while you’re at it? That way when I don’t want to be monitored, I can use the new system, but since I’ll also keep using the old one for everyday stuff, they’ll think that nothing has changed.”

  “Not a problem. Can you give me a couple of days?”

  “That would be perfect. What do you expect it will set me back?”

  Schotz had been taking notes while they talked. “Assuming I install everything we just talked about, it won’t be cheap, but for your Dad’s sake, I’ll give you the equipment at my cost. You’d still be talking about at least $15,000, though. Are you in for that much?”

  That was a lot of money, but less than Frank had estimated while Schotz was talking. And there was something satisfying about spending Butcher’s own money to mislead him.

  “I am, and thanks − really. I don’t know where I would have gone to if my father hadn’t introduced us.”

  “No worries. Just have your camper back where it is now by 8:00 AM tomorrow, and I’ll get you back on your way by late afternoon the day after.”

  * * *

  22

  In Which Frank Sees a Ghost(writer)

  With nothing to do all day but wait for Schotz to work his magic, Frank holed up in a nearby motel, determined to finally make some headway on his book. But once again he found it impossible to write anything that didn’t actively suck. Finally giving it up, he headed out for a run. The hell with Josette, he told himself. Whatever she might think, he was going to keep working on getting into shape.

  As he huffed and puffed his way along, he reviewed the situation. His publisher was harassing his agent for a first draft delivery date. His advance was based on the understanding that the book would be brought to market quickly, before everyone lost interest in the crisis that it described. If he didn’t deliver a manuscript soon, a penalty clause would kick in, and he’d have to return some of the advance instead. No matter how he looked at the facts, it seemed that he had run out of options.

  After returning, he glumly emailed his agent to tell him he was willing to talk about working with a co-writer. Within ten minutes, his phone rang. Not surprisingly, his agent was delighted; earning his full commission had been looking less and less likely every time he checked in with Frank.

  “Now you’re talking! Matter of fact, just in case, I’ve been doing some looking around, checking out who was between jobs that you might like working with. I’ve found a guy who’s been a technology journalist for fifteen years who I think would be just right.”

  “If he’s so good, why’s he available?”

  “Stop and think about it. Remember all those technology magazines that used to have hundreds of pages of vendor ads? When was the last time you saw one of those?”

  “Alright, a long time. But didn’t they just go online, like everything else?”

  “Sure, those that didn’t go bankrupt first when the media world imploded. But all the technology advertisers went to the Internet, too. They can pick from billions of Web pages now at all kinds of sites instead of having to advertise in just a dozen magazines. A tech publisher is lucky if it can make a penny now for every dollar it used to make on print advertising. So they fired most of the tech writers long ago.”

  “I guess I kind of knew that, now that you mention it. Where did they all go?”

  “A lot moved on to other ways to make a living, some – like this guy – are still trying to make ends meet by writing freelance. Folks like that are happy to grab a decent-sized project that pays real money instead of spending half their time hawking short articles instead of writing.”

  “But does he know anything about security?”

  “Yup. Network security was one of the beats he covered when he was a staff writer. He’s been selling cybersecurity articles regularly since then.”

  Well, at least he wouldn’t have to explain basic vocabulary if he worked with the guy.

  “How about writing a book, though? Has he ever done that before?”

  “Yes and no. He hasn’t co-written a book before, but he has authored a series of cyber-thrillers, and don’t forget we’re going for a popular audience here, not a technical one. We want someone who can put some excitement into the story instead of putting readers to sleep.”

  “What are some of his titles? I can duck into a book store later today and pick one up.”

  “You’ll probably need to download an eBook instead; he hasn’t been able to get a contract for any of his books, so he’s self-published.”

  “Self-published? If he couldn’t get a publisher, how do you know he’s any good?”

  “You really are out of touch, aren’t you? Don’t take this the wrong way, but if your name hadn’t been all over the papers, you never would have gotten a publisher even if you had a dynamite book pre-edited and ready to deliver. And by the way, you may have a publisher for your book, but don’t forget you’ll still have to promote the hell out of it online. This guy knows how to do that, and can help you do what it takes.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know – social media – tweeting, setting up Facebook pages, blogging. That’s going to take hours a day leading up to your release date, and you’ll have to keep it up for a quite a while after that.”

  “You never told me I’d have to do that! Isn’t it the publisher’s job to promote my book?”

  “Come on, Frank. Didn’t you look into the writing game at all before you decided to take a crack at it?”

  Well, no, the publisher had called him. It sounded like a nifty idea, so he’d said yes and then hired Vose to help him negotiate the contract. Anyway, that sealed the co-writer deal. If there was anything Frank thought was more inane than Facebook, it was Twitter. The mere notion of having a Facebook page or a Twitter account, much less posting nonsense to it seven days a week, appalled him.

  “Alright. You win. Have him get in touch with me. I’ll see if we hit it off.”

  “Great decision, Frank. I’ll be sure he calls you tomorrow. And if you say it’s a go, I’ll take care of all the paperwork.”

  Frank turned off his phone and tried to feel upbeat. What was there not to like about someone else doing all the hard work to put out a book with his own name on the cover? Famous people did it all the time. Why not him?

  But he knew the answer well enough. What wasn’t to like was that he’d have to work closely with someone for months on end that he didn’t know, would probably have nothing in common with, and whose job would be to literally put words in his mouth. Ugh.

  * * *

  Across town, Henry Yazzie was also sitting in a hotel room. His phone had barely ceased ringing the day he made his announcement, and for twenty-four hours after that. But now he and his campaign manager rarely received calls from anyone.
The media was focusing on the Iowa caucuses now, and so far as the press was aware, no one there had heard of him before his announcement.

  Yazzie had heard the phrase “yesterday’s news” before, but that hardly described this sensation of instant oblivion. It reminded him of a lapel button he’d seen once: over a picture of Andy Warhol were the words “Your 15 minutes are over.”

  And then the phone did ring.

  “Hello − Yazzie here.”

  “Hello, Mr. Yazzie. Thanks for taking my call. My name is Baxter Maxwell, and I’m the Executive Director of the Centrist Coalition of America. You probably haven’t heard much about us, as we’re a recently launched umbrella organization. Our mission is to support and coordinate the efforts of grassroots organizers that want to offset the impact of the Tea Party. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  That was an understatement. He’d been doing a crossword puzzle.

  “Sure, I’ve got a little time.”

  “Great – I appreciate that. As I was saying, we’re trying to counteract the Tea Party, but that doesn’t mean we’re above watching how they’ve gone about energizing people. The big difference is that we’re not trying to appeal to far right conservatives. We want to turn voter disgust with the ‘politics as usual’ approach of both parties in a positive direction. Our goal is to keep a Tea Party or a far left candidate, or a candidate willing to kowtow to one wing or the other, from winning.”

  Well, wasn’t it about time someone did that, Yazzie thought. But why was this guy calling him?

  “My reason for reaching out to you today is that we’ve been reading as much as we can about your platform. We’re particularly impressed with your domestic policy positions, which are very much in line with our own leanings. We don’t know much about your thoughts on foreign policy, but we’re interested in hearing where you stand. If you’re willing, we’d like to sit down with you and see whether there’s enough alignment between your views and ours for us to consider endorsing your candidacy for president.”

  Maxwell was right. Yazzie had never heard of his organization, so his first instinct was to be cautious. On the other hand, he was hardly in a position to refuse a potential endorsement from just about anyone from a dog catcher on up.

  “Well, thank you very much for your interest, Mr….”

  “Maxwell. Baxter Maxwell.”

  “Thanks − sorry. I never catch a name the first time I hear it. Kind of a handicap for someone running for office.”

  Maxwell laughed. “I’m sure. Would you mind if I followed up by sending you an email with my contact information and a link to our web site? You can take a look to get a feel for what we’re all about and then let me know if you’d like to meet.”

  “Thanks – that would be helpful. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with your group.”

  “No worries. So far we’ve been running something of a stealth campaign. That way when we do start asking for attention we’ll have enough substance that the press and the pundits will have to pay attention.”

  Yazzie could scarcely fault that approach. He’d been following the same strategy himself. He pulled his laptop out and turned it on while they continued to speak, hoping that he’d be impressed by Maxwell’s organization. It hadn’t been too difficult gathering enough signatures to qualify as a candidate in western states with large Native American populations. Now he had to back up his claim that he would be on the ballot in all 50 states – including those without many Native American voters.

  That was going to be tough − he and his team didn’t really have a strategy they fully believed in to tackle any of the east coast or deep south states. Maybe this guy could help solve that problem for him, even if his organization was brand new.

  “How many states is the Coalition active in so far?”

  “That depends on how you define ‘active.’ We’ve only got boots on the ground in about a half dozen states right now. But that’s okay, because our strategy is to help groups that already exist get traction, rather than engage in one-on-one recruiting or outreach ourselves. We believe that the only way we can force a change in Washington is to mobilize a big enough block of voters to prevent the extremists from getting nominated in the first place. In some states, we may have to settle for making far-right and far-left candidates moderate their positions in order to avoid losing, and then hold them to it.”

  Once again, Yazzie couldn’t fault that line of reasoning – it paralleled his own plans, which were based on playing to the center.

  “And I should also say that we’re quite well funded. We don’t like any of the candidates for President so far, but when we find one we do, we’re willing to put serious money behind his or her candidacy.”

  Now you’re talking, Yazzie thought. If they had more than what his own war chest held the last time he had checked – which was $12,432 – they could talk turkey right now. But he restrained himself; better to play it cool.

  “Well, it certainly sounds like we have enough in common that it might make sense to meet. Let me take a look at your site and anything else you might want to send along and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Excellent. I’ll look forward to hearing from you when you’ve had time to digest it. Give me a call or shoot me an email when you’re ready – either will be fine.”

  Tantalized as he was, Yazzie couldn’t help feeling suspicious. Did this guy’s organization really support his positions, or were they just hoping to get some support from Native Americans? Maybe it was all a bait and switch, and they didn’t have any intention of endorsing him at all. Probably they’d just use a meeting as an opportunity to pitch their own policy positions to him.

  Maxwell’s email arrived within a few minutes as promised. Yazzie had already found the CCA web site and opened up their platform page. He paused and picked up his phone again.

  “Hey Carson,” he said. “Are you in the motel? Can you come over here? And bring your laptop.”

  Moments later his campaign manager arrived at their shared room. Carson Bekin was also his chief domestic policy advisor (there was no foreign policy advisor), and wore many of the other hats usually shared by a full campaign team as well.

  “What’s up, Henry?”

  “Just got a call from somebody claiming his organization is considering endorsing me for president. What do you think of that?”

  “Prank call?”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But yeah, I’m trying to figure out whether he’s real, and if so, what his game is. I just emailed you a link to his Web site. I’d like us both to check this out and then compare notes.”

  Yazzie went back to scanning the group’s platform page; he had to admit that the alignment was tight between his own positions and those he was reading. On a first look, he didn’t find anything he objected to strongly, and there was a lot he liked.

  But how real was the support behind the CCA? The world was full of wanna-be organizations of all stripes, and anyone could throw up a web site these days that looked convincing.

  He clicked on a tab that said “Coalition Partners” and began checking the links he found there. Every one led him to a site set up on a common template. Some were focused on an issue like global warming, while others seemed centered on concerns unique to individual states, or even single Congressional districts. The various state and local sites were cross-linked with the topical sites, so that users could connect with each other and act either locally or nationally, depending on their interests.

  As he skipped around, he saw that the landing page of every site had an over-arching statement of purpose centered on breaking partisan gridlock in Washington. After that, each site included position statements relevant to its particular focus, backed up with supporting materials. Each site also offered online tools that interested people could use to organize meetings, set up mai
ling lists and the like.

  He clicked on the “What You Can Do” tab, and saw that most of the sites had a meaningful number of people who had allowed their names to be listed as supporters, especially in the states holding the earliest caucuses and primaries. Almost all the sites also displayed event and meeting schedules indicating that activities were being held locally, with Iowa leading the list. Bar charts on every home page showed the pace of people signing up at that site as well as across all CCA affiliates, and the rate at which activities were launching locally and nationally.

  Clearly someone had spent some significant money on the infrastructure supporting all these sites, and then fleshing them out with content. If the bar charts were to be believed, most sites were seeing good growth; some were taking off quite rapidly. But anybody could make up names and throw up bar charts.

  He looked up from his screen. “So what do you think?”

  “Give me just one more minute,” Bekin said. He poked away at his keyboard a bit longer and then spoke again.

  “I’ve never heard of these guys before, so I did a search on CCA to see what the buzz is. It looks like they’ve got some momentum building, mostly in local papers and at blogs. I checked the traffic rankings for some of the more active looking sites, and the numbers are credible – these aren’t just shell sites.”

  “That matches this guy Maxwell’s story. He said they weren’t going to look for national press attention until they have some substance to point to. Still, I don’t know – these are all cookie cutter sites. It’s kind of a cute concept, but it’s too much like social media for my taste – a mile wide and an inch deep. Just because somebody clicks on a link to add their name to a list doesn’t tell me how they’ll end up voting. And that’s assuming there are real people behind those names.”

  Bekin nodded. “Well sure, I’d like to learn more about who they are and where the money’s coming from, too. But at a first glance, they’ve got the traffic and the local news coverage. You can fake the former, but it would be pretty hard to pull off the latter. And sure, we don’t want an endorsement from an organization that ends up being a liability.”