Tyranny of Secrets

by John Statton

  The jogger watched this exchange from just down the street, hidden in a dark alcove.

  Paul turned the engine over, and at that moment, the jogger's finger pushed the transmitter's button. The radio-controlled bomb exploded, taking the gas tank with it. The fireball lit the scene like the midday sun. The force, made hard by physics, flew across the street and slammed Sander to the ground.

  Within seconds, Lucille filled with fire. Dark smoke billowed up, obscuring the streetlights and stars. Glass shards and other debris littered the pavement. For a moment, silence rushed in to fill the void left behind the concussion's roar. Then that was replaced by the sound of crackling flames consuming the twisted metal sarcophagus.

  By the time Sander struggled to his feet, Paul was dead.

  #

  Chapter 2

  Lever of Control

  February 2002

  Thirteen years earlier, it was a cold winter to plot revolution.

  Snow filled the darkening Wyoming afternoon, and the low lead-gray sky promised more. But the snow and the icy road leading out of the small airfield did nothing to hold back the black Chevy Suburban with dark tinted windows, hiding the identity of its passengers; these masters of the universe who were gathering to assess their plans.

  Old cold warriors all, they humorously had titled their group the Politburo—named after the Bolsheviks who provided leadership during the Russian Revolution, not those who went on to mismanage the Red Empire into extinction. These self-styled American counterparts were not about to make the same mistake. They saw their job as providing the behind the scenes leadership needed for advancing the American Empire and maintaining order at home.

  But they were ready to burn down the village to save it.

  The black car rolled past thick fir forest on either side of the rural country road. Tires crunched on the ice. A silent crew-cut man, who had the assurance of a field-tested military operative, piloted the big Detroit iron. The snow bore down relentlessly, swirling in the headlights and the weak winter sun.

  Approaching a gatehouse flanking a sturdy steel barrier, the SUV slowed. One of the two visible guards stepped out and waved them through. The second kept his submachine gun pointed down, but eyed the car warily as it proceeded up a long driveway leading to a large wood beam and stone lodge that looked lifted from a US national park.

  The vehicle pulled up under a covered log overhang, sizeable enough to provide protection from the gathering blizzard. Stepping out of the lodge’s double front door, leaning a little on a cane, appeared the familiar figure of Adolph Rainy, Vice President of the United States, dressed casually in Levi's and a warm-red plaid wool shirt, with his trademark cowboy boots. He welcomed his fellow Politburo members to his lodge. “Gentlemen, it’s good to see you,” his voice hissed across the portico but was soon muffled by the snow beyond.

  Emerging from the dark vehicle were the heavy-set Billy Ray Lasher and his cadaverous-looking brother, Samuel. Billionaire oil and gas men from North Carolina, they represented new money in this conspiracy. They were locked in a heated conversation that died out as they stepped up, made their greetings and strode into the lodge. Each hurrying just a bit to get to the interior’s beckoning warmth.

  Edric Winterhurst followed them. Tall and hawk-nosed with an aristocratic manner, he was the connection to America’s old money. He stepped out and grimaced at the biting cold after the heated car. Then he stepped up and shook Rainy's outstretched leather-clad hand. Together they went inside.

  The billionaire revolutionaries had arrived.

  ***

  The fire inside the large river rock fireplace radiated a flickering light throughout the conference room. The space was equipped to make it an eavesdropping-proof chamber, much like the intelligence community's Sensitive Compartmented Information Facilities. If you peeled back the walls, you would find the copper mesh making the room an enormous Faraday cage, providing an electromagnetic shield for the men inside. Its windows used vibrating microelectronics to block laser eavesdroppers. The entire facility was swept daily by experts in bug detection. What went on in here was intended to stay.

  Seated in leather-padded captain's chairs around a polished oak table, each attendee enjoyed whiskey, water or wine, as was his habit. A scene which—except for the participants’ casual business attire—could have been lifted from the days of the Old West's fabled robber barons, who would gather to divide up the spoils of the emerging nation.

  Like their spiritual forebears, the Politburo had the arrogance of men who commanded those of lesser destiny. They considered themselves stewards of America. They just needed stronger control over their charge, and that was what tonight was all about.

  Rainy settled back into the chair's leather seat and sipped a forbidden Scotch. Doctor's orders were strict after his recent pacemaker implant. His body, a fragile chalice for his spirit's outsized ambitions. He savored the liquor's smoky taste and recalled his doctor's surprise when he had the pacemaker's external wireless adjustment function disabled, on the chance terrorists could hack its code and crash his heart. He mused, The world is all about managing risk.

  Putting down the glass, he rose from his chair at the head of the table and stood behind it, resting his hands on its back. This put him in front of the fireplace, where the flames outlined his figure and cast him into shadow. All around the table felt it reflected Rainy’s true dark nature. Often seen as a sinister spider, spinning webs of intrigue, tonight he was launching a very complicated plot.

  “Gentlemen,” he started, “never waste a good crisis. Under the smokescreen of 9/11’s havoc, we’ve been very successful in advancing our agenda.”

  There were appreciative murmurs around the table.

  “Our government has pushed every surveillance boundary, and no one pushed back. Exploiting this, and the increasing power of technology, means control of this government and, more importantly, the ability to retain that control for generations is within our grasp.”

  “Adolph,” interrupted Samuel Lasher, “that’s a big claim. Hope you’ve got some backup. Or are you all hat and no cattle?”

  “Samuel, we’ve needed a way to control elections and to manage the American population. I’ve got the Directors of the CIA and NSA on tap to provide a presentation I think you are going to want to hear.”

  “Well, by all means, please proceed. I know my brother and I are eager for success,” came the reply in a courtly southern tone.

  Within minutes, the two most senior officials charged with the country’s cyber-security and espionage were displayed on a large high-definition screen through an encrypted video feed direct from the NSA Director’s office. Rainy said, “Gentlemen, I appreciate you providing this briefing. Please proceed.”

  The NSA Director took in the four Politburo members and said,“I’ll get right to the point. One of this country’s most closely held secrets is code named DARKSIDEMOON. It has one simple goal, the collection of all information stored on any computer system around the world. We plan on integrating everything; bank records, medical data, criminal justice convictions, location data, Internet search history, posts on social media, even down to supermarket loyalty programs. Whatever is in digital form on an accessible system. This is a comprehensive raw data collection effort. A global dragnet. Both publicly available databases, such as credit bureau reports, and ones we have to acquire through black methods, such as employment or health records.

  “Within a short time, there will be no digital activity beyond our reach.” His voice took on a slightly more menacing tone. “If you make a plane reservation, we know it. If you spend a euro using your credit card, it goes in our files. Your school records are ours. Your phone calls recorded. Each online purchase tracked.” He waited for a moment to let his words sink in, and then continued, “If you leave a digital trail of any sort, we can pick it up.”

  There were a few disbelieving looks exchanged among the Politburo members, but no one interrupted.

 
“The core of this is a new information system architecture, virtually integrating every existing database into one useable system. We will be designing computer systems and data centers to manage the biggest data sets ever accumulated. But DARKSIDEMOON is only the foundation; it’s how you use it that matters.”

  The CIA Director then took over the briefing. “DARKSIDEMOON offers the opportunity to data mine and build records for billions of virtual dossiers. It’s hard to avoid leaving digital fingerprints on something you want to keep secret. Emails document affairs, search histories show criminal intent, tax-avoiding foreign bank accounts are easy to trace. The world's dirty laundry is hung out to dry every day on the Internet. It’s all fodder for the files. It enables a surveillance program well beyond anything envisioned by even the most optimistic secret policemen in history.”

  There were low chuckles from a few of those present. Each of them was ready to plunge American democracy into a dictatorship requiring total subservience to the state; they could envision a lot of surveillance.

  The CIA Director continued, “With current technology and anticipated trends, by around 2016 we’ll be able to provide a global dragnet of all calls, emails, security cameras, Internet search history, social network postings, and anything else loaded on the world’s computers. We’ll need immense data centers to handle the flow and its storage.”

  “Once you have all of this data, how will you find the good stuff and use it?” asked Rainy. “Seems like the signal-to-noise ratio must be goddamn high.”

  The NSA Director responded, “For our purposes, big data, coupled with advanced software tools, makes control over large populations possible. Think of this as gaining the ability to guide the herd and direct it in overt and covert ways. Thinning out its leadership by advancing those who you approve and destroying those you oppose. Societal conditioning is using this system's prediction ability to favor certain types of people over others. Over a period of years, we can use control of digital space to support those who are friendly to our positions, and these people will become our agents of influence. The scholarship to college, the manager position, the better credit score, the lower interest rate on the house loan; it’s through these things our society's leadership is groomed and advanced.”

  Rainy cut in, “Wait a minute. Won't you need an entire bureaucracy to monitor all of this data? The Stasi were a significant employer in East Germany to control their internal spying operation.”

  The NSA Director replied, “Think of computers and their programs as the ultimate force multiplier. We can automate much of this. Using algorithms, we can advance groups or individuals within society without our conscious control. It will require dedicated effort to write the code controlling an entire people. We believe the Chinese are already practicing just this approach behind their Great Firewall. If you employ these tools, you control something that can move a country in any direction you steer.”

  “It's true,” the CIA Director jumped in. “This use of computers to manage countries has gone a long way beyond science fiction; we've been partnering with the NSA and building a more limited but similar tool. Through TOWNCRIER we’re monitoring rising politicians in Western European countries and making complete files of calls, emails, and their other records. For example, we just added an up-and-comer in Germany’s Christian Democratic Union.”

  He took a sip of water and continued, “We like her, and as long as we can verify through our monitoring that she aligns with our positions, we’ll covertly assist her rise. By the time she makes it to their federal level, we will know everything there is to know about her and have confidence she is completely predisposed to supporting our positions.”

  “Wonderful. You can blackmail politicians to your heart's content,” said Samuel. “We've been doing that for decades.”

  The CIA Director demurred, “No, sir, it’s not our intent. Instead we’re going to guide these societies. By knowing each of these politicians intimately, we can ensure we help those most in line with our thinking. We provide support quietly behind the scenes, and covertly cut down others who we think may be threatening them. Think of it as gardening; we’re raising a crop of future leaders who will support the US. With DARKSIDEMOON you have the opportunity to automate this on an industrial scale, to control nation states.”

  At this point, Rainy stepped in to end the presentation. “Gentlemen, we appreciate your time and information. Fascinating data, providing a lot of food for thought. We will let you get back to your busy worlds.” With that, he dismissed both men as if they were junior associates, which in a sense they were. When the screen went dark, he turned to his co-conspirators.

  A collective pause took hold around the table. Finally, Winterhurst spoke, “Thank you, Adolph. I think we agree we’ve found the lever needed to move society. I believe we can start planning for our permanent ascension. We need the NSA’s work on compiling DARKSIDEMOON to continue, but we need to divert the election control and population management efforts into our own channel.”

  Rainy continued, “I agree, there are good financial reasons why DARKSIDEMOON data collection should remain within the NSA, this is going to require federal-level investment; why burden us with that expense? When it is ready for exploitation in 2016, we need to have firm control of the US government. That means our tools for subverting the national election and controlling the population need to be ready to go.”

  Billy Ray chimed in, “Aren’t you forgetting something? We’re also going to need a place to test our vision and policies. I’m nominating the great state of North Carolina.”

  “It makes a lot of sense,” Samuel said. “Its population is overwhelmingly conservative and looks a lot like the country we envision creating. We’ve already got sizeable legislative influence by virtue of our campaign donations.”

  Winterhurst spoke up, “Gentlemen, let me set aside North Carolina for a minute and focus on developing election and population tools. Sounds like 2016 is our target year for the national election. Adolph, thoughts on how to get the software developed, tested, and in place?”

  “I like the idea of using a computer security company as a front for a global operation. What if we did something like this out in Silicon Valley? It can work on both sets of issues at the same time. We can keep them tightly compartmentalized. Hell, once we get it going we can fund the dark parts by contracting with some branch of Homeland Security, or whoever needs them.”

  “What do you need from us?” asked Winterhurst.

  “Money,” said Rainy. “Five or six hundred million dollars to set it up. We’ll purchase an existing computer security firm to be the public face and covertly staff the back room with hackers, database developers, and software designers.”

  Winterhurst responded, “We can make arrangements for as much venture capital as needed. Now, let’s turn to North Carolina. I agree with Billy Ray and Samuel, it can be our preview of coming attractions. With a little gerrymandering, we can lock down Republican hold on the statehouse and governor’s mansion. This gives us effective control over the environment, education, transportation, employment, and criminal justice; fertile soil for testing policies we want to roll out nationally when we take control. Billy Ray and Samuel, are you ready to sculpt a state in our image?”

  “Yes, we are, brother Edric. Yes, we are,” came Samuel’s reply.

  #

  Chapter 3

  Corporate Games

  March 2002

  Mansfield Pickett opened the door to Rainy’s office at the Washington, D.C. Naval Observatory and stepped in. Rainy indicated one of the chairs in front of the burled walnut desk. Behind Rainy hung an impressive Remington oil painting.

  Rainy gazed at his visitor while he took a seat, noticing the slight limp. Pickett had been a CIA officer on the tip of the cyber-spear. A brilliant undercover hacker, he’d been reassigned from the clandestine service to working for the CIA’s Chief Technology Officer.

  “Mansfield?” Rainy’s ambiguous question made i
t a little difficult to figure out how to reply.

  “Yes, Mr. Vice President?” was the only permissible response Pickett could think of on the fly. He was not sure why he was there. A summons from one of the Agency’s major clients to a meeting without the Director or anyone else in his chain of command was a little strange. He knew how carefully he needed to step.

  Mansfield could not help noticing the painting he could see over the Vice President’s shoulder. It was a famous one. Mansfield shared Rainy’s taste for the American artists who looked back at the lost days of the frontier.

  “I see you noticed the Remington. It’s on loan from the National Gallery. A little perk of the job,” said Rainy.

  “Fired On is one of his best works. I always admired his ability to evoke dangers in the darkness,” replied Mansfield.

  “It’s that dark threat you and I have fought against our entire lives, isn’t it?” said Rainy. Then in an abrupt change of topic, “I’ve got a little work which would be an excellent fit for a man of your background.”

  Oh crap, thought Mansfield. This is where it’s going to get deep, fast. Pickett liked his current job, running the CIA’s computer network. He’d been one of the Agency’s best hackers, working deep undercover in Macau, when he pissed off the Triad after a data-sting and found himself pinned to the wall of a restaurant by an aggressive driver. The driver went missing before the police arrived. Mansfield lost his leg, and transferred out of field operations.

  “I need you to resign from the CIA and become the CEO of a cyber-security company.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Vice President, I’m working on a pension.”

  “With all due respect, Mansfield, your starting salary will be $900,000 a year, and there will be stock options, bonus, and company jet, while serving your country at the same time.”