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

by Updegrove, Andrew

  After setting up the three voting systems, he programmed each to display three candidates for each of three offices: President, senator and congressman. Then he opened up the backs of his phones so he could attach a device that would monitor how much of the phone’s processing power was being utilized on a constant basis.

  He was rather pleased with the test plan he’d devised. The problem he’d been struggling with was how to detect malware when you didn’t know how it operated, or which phone it might be on − if any. His solution was based on the assumption that the malware would consume at least some detectable amount of processing power when it went into action. Assuming he was right – and that the malware they were looking for actually was on one of the ten phones − the monitoring device should detect a spike in activity when the malware kicked in.

  Or so he hoped, because he was also assuming that whoever had designed the voting malware would have pre-programmed its actions as much as possible, leaving nothing to pull down on Election Day except the command to change or not change a given vote. If he was right, that would mean that as soon as he turned on a voting app, or perhaps at some point in the voting process, the malware should turn on as well.

  Getting down to business, he noted the usage rate when he turned the control phone on, opened one of the voting apps, used it to vote on one of the machines, closed the app, and then turned off the phone. Still using the same phone, he went through the same exercise using the next voting app, and then the next. Then he repeated the entire tedious sequence using each of the other two voting systems.

  With his control record completed, he connected one of the other phones to the monitor. Perversely, he had decided to leave Josette’s app for last. But after going through the same twelve-step process two more times, his patience was wearing thin and his hunger was growing annoying. He stared at the seven remaining phones, and then hooked the phone with the Angry Indians/Angry Cavalry program on it up to the monitor.

  He watched the monitor intently when he loaded the first voting program, and with mixed emotions saw that the usage rate jumped to the same rate that it had on each of the other phones. So much for that, Josette. But his spirits fell as well, since in truth he had thought it was the best prospect as well. Maybe he would see results with one of the other voting programs or voting systems?

  But the trial wasn’t complete, so he touched the handset on the phone logo on the voting system and watched the monitor as the phone completed its wireless “handshake” with the voting machine and the two devices connected. And there it was! The processor of the phone had just kicked up a notch! A few seconds later, the processor sped up again – that must be the malware checking for updates! Then it dropped part way back and stayed there while he voted, after which it dropped back to the baseline rate and stayed there.

  He raced through the rest of the steps for that phone, and got the same result using each voting program on each system. He didn’t know how the malware worked yet, but now he knew that he had found it.

  That was enough for today. He wouldn’t need a variety of voting machines to take his next steps. Re-energized, he rushed through the process of repacking the systems into their boxes. While he waited to be picked up, he called Josette to give her the good news.

  “Yes, that’s right. Every voting app, and every system. Now I’ve got to figure out how they work. I’ll get started on that tonight.”

  * * *

  37

  So Long, and Thanks for All the Cash

  As Yazzie’s success in the primaries grew, White Crow and Maxwell were pushing the envelope of their own plans. The CCA was no longer just another political action organization. It had announced itself as the country’s newest party. Over the summer, its local chapters selected delegates, and in the middle of August, they began to converge on Albuquerque, New Mexico, for the first convention of the Centrist Coalition of America.

  The event would last only two evenings and the intervening day, avoiding the seemingly endless minor goings-on of the major party conventions. It would also provide a more appealing platform for live media coverage. With Congress in summer recess and Wellhead the decisive winner of the Republican nomination, a public broadcast station was providing non-stop video from start to finish, and several of the cable news stations promised regular updates throughout the day, as well as an hour of live coverage each evening. Even the broadcast networks were airing highlights; one had announced that it would carry Yazzie’s acceptance speech live.

  Yazzie had remained coy regarding his choice of a running mate, playing the traditional game of waiting until the last minute in order to milk the media for all the anticipatory coverage he could. With both he and Wellhead running just ahead of the President in the polls, the announcement of his pick for Vice President would clearly be the story of the day.

  The press was not disappointed when Yazzie’s spokesperson announced at a press conference at 5:00 PM that the CCA nominee for Vice President would be none other than Vance Cabot – the candidate with the impeccable pedigree and almost infinite experience in government. The pundits immediately agreed that his choice was inspired. The straight-laced Cabot would never upstage Yazzie, but his experience would reassure voters. Moreover, his voting record and platform was the most moderate of all of the candidates that had vied for the Republican nomination. That would make him tolerable to centrists and less ideological members of both major parties.

  Yazzie was therefore riding a wave of favorable media commentary when he and Cabot took the stage that evening following their formal nominations. The convention center’s floor was packed, not only with CCA supporters, but with delegations from most of the Native American tribes across the country, many in traditional dress. They provided prime video opportunities for the film crews roaming the floor looking for delegates to interview.

  Everyone seemed to want to be there that night. In a scene reminiscent of Barack Obama’s nomination as the first African-American president, there was an enormous “feel good” effect among moderates and liberals: a major step was being taken towards redressing the wrongs of a shameful period in the country’s history.

  Maxwell had capitalized on that feeling by chartering fleets of buses to bring hordes of supporters to the hall. The mass of enthusiastic attendees testified to the now-genuine momentum that Yazzie’s candidacy was demonstrating. As the network and cable video crews panned the enormous, boisterous audience, no one watching could doubt that however this unexpected phenomenon had come about, there was a true three-way race for the Oval Office.

  * * *

  That was certainly Fetters’s conclusion, as he barked into the telephone with barely controlled fury. His anger had been growing exponentially over the past several weeks, not least because White Crow had been refusing his calls.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing here? We never contemplated Yazzie being so successful.”

  White Crow had selected that evening to finally accept the call. He knew that at some point Fetters would begin to suspect he’d been double-crossed. But what could he do, really? He still needed a third-party candidate in the race for camouflage. White Crow savored the situation, sitting in a leather chair in a glass-walled, private office set into the wall high above the floor of the convention hall. He pressed the speakerphone button and winked at Maxwell, who was comfortably ensconced on a couch.

  “Really? Are you quite sure? I don’t recall there ever being any discussion about limiting my candidate’s success. In fact, quite the opposite. I distinctly remember your concern over whether his candidacy would be credible. Wait a moment though – I have my notes here – let me check.”

  He picked up a newspaper and made rustling sounds while Maxwell stifled a guffaw. “Yes, I can confirm that. No discussions at all.”

  “You know damn well I wasn’t bankrolling your boy to try and win. And you can
be damn sure you’re not getting another dime out of me!”

  “Ah, well, I suppose I can’t complain. You were most generous early on, before we were able to get our own fundraising machine in place. If you are finding you need to conserve resources now for your own candidate’s use, I understand.”

  Fetters forced himself not to react. For all his anger, there was something he desperately wanted to know. Since Ohanzee knew that Fetters had been hacking the votes, he also knew that Fetters could ensure that Wellhead would ultimately win. So what was he up to? Was he planning on upping the ante, and demanding the Vice Presidency for Yazzie? If so, that would wreck all of Fetters’ carefully laid plans.

  But if it wasn’t that, what was his game? Blackmail?

  Meticulous planning and execution had allowed Fetters to pull off political gambles in the past that seemed audacious to others but which in fact were risk free. Now, on the threshold of his greatest play ever, this two-bit casino manager was threatening to reverse the odds.

  “Very good then. So what is it?”

  “Excuse me?” White Crow gave Maxwell another wink.

  “You know exactly what I mean.” Fetters’ voice was icy. “What is it you want?”

  “Want?” A thin smile played on White Crow’s lips now. “Why the presidency, of course. Haven’t you been watching our convention coverage tonight?”

  “That’s ridiculous, and you know it.”

  “Is it? Can you know the will of the American people so clearly?”

  White Crow leaned back, imagining with grim enjoyment the thoughts that would be running through Fetters’ mind right now.

  And indeed, he was not far off. Fetters was just then asking himself if White Crow was taping the conversation. But damn it, if he wasn’t, what was his game? Fetters was determined to find out so he could devise a means to destroy this fool of an amateur.

  His words came out in a slow hiss. “This is the last time I will ask you this question, so consider your response carefully. What is it you want?”

  White Crow made him wait a full twenty seconds before he responded, softly and evenly. “My friend, everything I needed from you I have already received. Good luck to you and your Mr. Wellhead.” He reached forward and disconnected the call.

  * * *

  Frank was bushed, slouched behind the wheel of the camper with only the green glow of the dashboard controls to keep him company. He had the air conditioning on high, with both dashboard vents directed at his face to help him stay awake as he drove on through the night.

  He should have taken three days to make the drive instead of two. But after leaving the distribution center he had decided to make another marathon push back to Washington. He was tired of sleeping in the camper, tired of bad fast food and run-down laundromats, and tired of his own company. Okay, so he would still be stuck with his own company back in D.C., but at least the food would be better. And he could sit in his own apartment between wash loads at the run-down laundromat across the street.

  He glanced at the clock in the dash. It would be two-thirty in the morning before he reached the beltway – another hour of driving. Could he stay awake that long?

  Unexpectedly, he heard the sound of a duck quacking and sat up straighter. A duck? How had that gotten into his camper? Then he realized it must be the text signal from his phone. Marla knew he hated texting, and kidded him about being a troglodyte. She also enjoyed changing the text alert on his phone without being caught. Could this be her?

  He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his phone and stared at the screen. It read, “Are you awake?” The sender was Josette. He could guess what she wanted – he’d told her two days ago he intended to start working out how the malware operated. But he’d started the long drive back instead, catching just a few hours of sleep along the way. Damn the woman anyway. Couldn’t he set his own schedule?

  He didn’t feel like speaking with her, but maybe it would help him stay awake. He remembered to turn on the white noise generator, and then speed-dialed her.

  She picked up immediately. “Frank! It is so late. Are you working on the hack?”

  “No I am not! I’m driving.”

  “Driving?” She sounded disappointed.

  “Yes, driving. I decided I’d rather work at home instead of in my camper in the rain by a dirt road in the God-forsaken prairie.”

  There was silence at the other end of the phone for a few seconds.

  “I see. You sound so tired. We can talk when you get back. Drive safely.” She rang off.

  Wide awake now, he grumbled and bitched to himself about how demanding and focused Josette could be as he stared down the ghostly cones of his headlights into the empty night of the deserted highway. He told himself he wasn’t really feeling lonely.

  * * *

  It was half past nine when Frank awoke – very late for him, but not late enough to catch up on his sleep. He swung his legs out of bed, rubbed his eyes, and shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee.

  He looked morosely at his bleary-eyed face in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and tried to generate some enthusiasm for the task that lay ahead – figuring out how the malware installed on mobile phones managed to switch votes.

  Then his toothbrush stopped in mid-stroke. Why not just toss the problem back in Butcher’s lap? Say he’d discovered an app that was interfering with voting, and that the government should force the developer to recall or fix it. Problem solved!

  Half an hour later he was showered and sitting at his tiny kitchen table, contentedly drinking coffee and reading the news until his reverie was interrupted by the sound of his doorbell. Who the hell could that be? He had to think for a moment what day it was – Tuesday – that meant it wouldn’t be Marla; she’d be in class. Could a neighbor have forgotten their key?

  He walked down his short hall to the intercom panel and held down the button.

  “Yes?”

  “Frank, it is me. May I come up?”

  Damn! Now she was even hounding him in his own home. Well, apartment.

  “Why?”

  “To speak, of course.” She left it at that, and waited.

  Damn again! What was he supposed to do? He pressed the other button and heard the muffled sound of the downstairs buzzer over the intercom as the door unlocked. Then he raced back into the kitchen to tidy up as much as possible before Josette arrived.

  He wasn’t quite done when he heard her knock at the door. At the last minute he remembered to finish buttoning up and tucking in his shirt.

  She smiled uncertainly when he opened the door. “May I come in?”

  “Sure,” he said, and led her into the kitchen.

  “Coffee?”

  Josette tried not to be too obvious as she glanced into the threadbare living room and then at the clutter of the out-of-date kitchen. She guessed – correctly – that the apartment hadn’t been repainted since Frank had moved in some twenty years before.

  “Please,” she said. Still standing, he poured a cup and handed it to her. The hell if he was going to be hospitable.

  “May we sit?”

  “Sure,” he said again. There was only one chair in the kitchen, so she walked into the living room. Glancing around, she tried to guess which chair wouldn’t be the one Frank usually sat in and opted for a lonely straight-backed chair stuck in a corner. She held her coffee cup on her knee and sat uncomfortably erect.

  Alright, he thought, this was overdoing it. “Here,” he gestured to an overstuffed chair. “You’ll be more comfortable over here.” After a moment she moved to it while he sat down on the couch.

  Normally Frank would have been embarrassed, painfully aware of the messy drabness of his apartment. But this morning he was in full “my home is my castle” mode and in no mood to make apologies. Arms crossed, he loo
ked at Josette and waited.

  “So, Frank, your trip back was no trouble?”

  “Long. Just long.”

  “You will be able to work on the malware now, yes?”

  “As a matter of fact, I think I will work on the malware now, no,” he said smugly.

  Josette looked alarmed. “But why?”

  “Because there’s no need to.” Happy to be in control for once, he became more talkative.

  “Now that I know what app they’re using to hack the voting, I don’t need to figure it out. All I have to do is tell Butcher, and he can tell the developer to pull the app off the market.”

  Now Josette was truly alarmed.

  “But you can do no such thing!”

  “Why not? Can you give me even one good reason why not?”

  She struggled to translate her outrage into English.

  “Because – your Mr. Butcher! He cannot be trusted! He may even be the person – the hacker – behind the app!”

  “How do you figure that? He’s been paying me to watch out for an attack.”

  “He’s also the only one who knows how to hack the pollster systems! And that continues! If it’s not him that is doing so, who is it?”

  “How do you know anyone is still manipulating the polls?”

  “Because they are! Remember that I had checked months ago?”

  “Yes, but how about since then? Have you checked since then?”

  In fact, she had. But the back door she had used was now closed. She wasn’t about to share that with Frank, however, and in any event she was convinced that the hacker had simply opened another one.