The Russian Crisis

by G. R. Daniels

  Payne thought about it for a moment. “Good thinking, Jackson. But it’s a hundred-million- dollar solution just for starters.”

  Payne suddenly grinned. “But, then, my preliminary numbers make it look like a stroke of brilliance. A new version might just work in this hot market.”

  Jackson took Payne’s arm. “Come along, my young friend. It’s lunch time and I’m buying.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  NEWS RELEASE: Jackson Phillips Incorporated, one of Canada’s largest suppliers of military software and hardware, announced today the beginning of a redevelopment that will lead to replacement of all the company’s software solutions. JPI CEO Maxim Blax said current Version 2.0 anti-terrorist surveillance programs and civilian protection systems will be replaced within one year with other software products to follow. It will eventually renew the complete line of offerings to military and other clients throughout the world.

  “This will be a complete redevelopment of JPI software, not an update of current code,” said Mr. Blax. “We will begin by introducing a new, patented ‘surround safe’ environment to protect friendly armed forces and civilian populations from various threats,” Mr. Blax added.

  “Current military customers will be able to ‘trade in’ existing software from JPI for new advanced product at substantial discounts…

  The news releases sent to military clients and to mass media continued with more detail about the launch of Version 3.0 but the message was clear in the first few paragraphs. Version 2.0 was on the way out. Version 3.0 would be a total rebuild - complete with state-of-the-art Artificial Intelligence - which would incentivize clients to exchange the old with the new at heavily discounted cost.

  What was not mentioned in the news releases, of course, was that stolen source code for the existing JPI software would be about as valuable as a used baby’s diaper.

  The first stories re-written from the news releases distributed by JPI’s PR unit appeared online in the afternoon. Military and technology news and information sites headlined the JPI news suggesting that the sector’s software was about to undergo a major re-jig that would considerably advance defence against most kinds of attacks.

  Targeting was not mentioned in the original news release to news outlets so targeting was not included in the published items.

  The division name, Machine Learning Defence & Targeting, was changed to Safe Environment Division, SED. It wasn’t poetry but, as Mariah put it, “It’s a helluva lot more people friendly.”

  Marketing had temporarily re-assigned staff to deal with calls, texts, emails and even visits from JPI clients who had questions about the wholesale changes at JPI. Tempted by hasty but adequate additions and alterations to the company and division websites and a new blog written by Barry, customers contacted JPI in droves.

  Most of the calls fielded by Marketing staff reflected budget worries. ‘We just installed your software less than a year ago and now we’ll have to dump it and put in new software. We can’t afford it,’ was a constant refrain.

  Jackson and Payne had ironed out the details in a midnight session just the night before but the equations worked. The answers were fluid and sounded like they had been worked out over months of careful thought.

  “JPI felt it couldn’t wait any longer to develop our 3.0 solutions. They will include brand new advances across the board and particularly in Artificial Intelligence. Without them, armed forces and civilians remain exposed to many new threats - vehicles used as weapons, car bombs, hard-to-detect IEDs, chemical attacks, drone attacks and surveillance and on and on. But, you as a client, won’t suffer. You can trade in your current software (we’ll handle the changeover for you) and get a credit based on its residual value to the user. The average discount will be 75%...”

  The size of the discount brought gasps and a few cheerful expletives. “Jesus, mate, how in hell are you going to do that?” from a colonel in that country’s Royal Australian Army Ordnance Corps was a typical comment. ‘Repeat business’, was the mystifying answer from JPI Marketing.

  “And service for the first year after installation is free,” Marketing would tack on. While the client considered that an amazing plus, Jackson and Payne were covering their asses. A year was borderline madness for the work to be done on 3.0. Free service could discover glitches before they occurred and prepare for inevitable upgrades that would make and keep 3.0 the leading cybersecurity software in the global marketplace.

  Calls were fielded through the afternoon and evening of Thursday following the distribution of the releases. And they went on through Friday and the weekend as the news spread, not only among JPI clients, potential customers, suppliers, strategic partners and military-focused media but from governments that bought military equipment from Canada. Interest was ‘viral’ and far more than Jackson had anticipated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Russian Federation Consulate on St. Clair Avenue in north central Toronto is in an ordinary, low-rise office building. Every morning, as in thousands of offices across North America, a bored employee leafs through various newspapers of the day and clicks through several dozen websites looking for news of interest to Mother Russia. Most of the time, the search is desultory with few rewards. This Friday was different.

  There were items about the JPI software development announcement to be found at many sources. Internet sites included those that covered military and technology news and these carried the JPI trade release in its entirety. A number of the daily newspapers had small items based on the JPI general news release. One major military magazine ran a feature story on its news website, applauding JPI for its plan to redo all its software over a relatively short period of time.

  “With what has been happening recently in Ukraine, Syria, Iran and other Mid-East countries, across Africa, North Korea and even in South America with problems in Venezuela, the world has become more, not less dangerous in the past two or three years,” the magazine piece read. “We can’t wait for technology advances in four or five years. We need a complete re-haul of defence capabilities now and JPI is meeting the challenge.”

  The positive review of the JPI move was dutifully clipped and sent, with the rest of the file, to the consulate’s GRU and the Federal Security Service, the counter-intelligence service that replaced the Soviet KGB. The FSB representative saved the electronic file and moved on to other work. The GRU rep scanned the news reports for the day and immediately fired off several emails to his superiors at the Russian Federation embassy in Ottawa and to GRU headquarters, known as The Aquarium at Khodynka Airfield near Moscow. He also advised the Russian embassy in the U.S. so that the much larger group of GRU agents there would watch for similar stories in world media.

  The GRU man at the consulate was also Petrenko’s handler. Serge Sokolov was a junior in Russia’s spy service in Canada. Most of the activity in Canada was directed at Russians, Ukrainians and fellow travellers working at technology and critical infrastructure companies or government agencies. Russia had limited success at gathering ‘assets’ in Canada but it kept trying because of Canada’s position as one of the ‘five eyes’ of the West’s security services and its close relationship with the U.S. Petrenko had been considered a very minor asset and valued mainly for his ties to criminals in Toronto. That had changed a few days before.

  The news about JPI chilled the agent to his core. Sokolov had been the one to recruit Petrenko, one of his few successes in his Canadian posting. He had fielded Petrenko’s initial information about the Ukrainian’s contact with The Voice. He had taken the offer of stolen software to his GRU superiors in Ottawa and they had depended on his information and opinion when they, in turn, passed the opportunity on to The Aquarium. The heads of everyone in this chain were on the block if anything went wrong. Literally.

  Over the coming weekend, a group of GRU agents were due to trek from Ottawa to Toronto to take control of the handover of JPI software to Petrenko by someone known only as ‘The Voice.’ They
would know by now that the source code they were coming to get would be worthless in a year and of marginal value until then. Would it be worth twenty million dollars or even the ten million already paid, Sokolov wondered?

  The young man held his hands out in front of him. He saw the trembling. ‘Will they blame me?’ He studied his hands again. ‘Of course, they will. They always need someone to blame.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “The numbers are saying this wasn’t such a bad idea for all the wrong reasons,” Ryan Payne told Jackson on Sunday afternoon as they shared a table at a bar near JPI’s offices. Bottles of beer sat, untouched, in front of them. They were both too tired to drink alcohol.

  “The calls to Marketing make me think it could be a good thing for JPI. The global economy is pretty good. Governments need to show they are putting more money into defence - particularly across NATO. The money is there. The will is there if this stuff does a better job against terrorists…”

  “And bloody Russia. Don’t forget what happened in Syria, in the U.K. … nerve agent poisonings, gas attacks killing kids,” Jackson’s anger was stirring. “We’ll have chemical agent detection into 3.0…”

  “Take it easy, Jackson,” Payne patted his friend on the arm. “You’re sounding like a grouchy old fart. You’re right, but methinks you’re in need of sleep.”

  Within the next hour, Jackson had climbed into his bed in his condo and shortly after that, he was dreaming of sitting on his porch watching the sun set over the tranquil bay ‘up north.’

  And, about three hours after falling asleep, Jackson’s phone rang. Groggy, he picked it up, moved the slider on the screen and answered. “Phillips.”

  “Jackson, my man.” Gamil’s voice was loud and annoyingly cheerful. “You ready for hot news?”

  Jackson swung his legs over the edge of the bed and felt the aches in both knees. He set his bare feet on the floor. “I guess, Gamil. Speak.”

  “I had a chat with one of our three Arab friends.”

  “Huh?”

  “Wake up Jackson. There are three Arabs who work for Petrenko, the Ukrainian agent for GRU. These are the guys who were tailing you all over town.”

  “Okay. I’m with you,” Jackson said alertly.

  “Talked with one of them. Surly asshole named Ahmed. I took along the team.”

  “What team, Gamil?” asked Jackson with a sigh. Gamil was the type that expected one to know everything. It was his days in the intelligence service that had done that.

  “The Pyramids. It’s five guys that I coach in the YMCA’s basketball league. We all love the Raptors and…”

  “Gamil. Stick to the point, willya,” Jackson told him.

  “Anyway, Ahmed now thinks we’re a crew of Egyptian expats rounding up fellow Arabs to send back to Cairo for trial.”

  “That’s nuts,” Jackson muttered.

  “We thought so too. But Ahmed took it seriously. What does he know? He’s a Canadian with Syrian parents - probably nice people with a creep for a kid.” Gamil took a break and Jackson could hear him chewing on something.

  “Late supper. Sorry. Anyway, it took a while but Ahmed confirms he works for Petrenko. Doesn’t like the guy but he pays the grocery bill. Mostly criminal crap; boosting car parts, trying to intimidate Arab shopkeepers. He knows Petrenko works for the Russians and lately, he’s been assigned work related to JPI.”

  Jackson took a deep breath and held the phone tighter to his ear. “About the software?”

  “This guy wouldn’t know software from Zalabya.” He named the sweet Egyptian doughnut that, coincidentally, he was consuming while talking. “He was just told to take his two friends and keep an eye on you. Follow you home, to work… you know. Anything he could find out about you. It’s your allure, I guess, Jackson.”

  “Yeah, I’m beautiful for an old guy,” Jackson said resignedly.

  “Not so much. But Ahmed says Petrenko is out of his tiny little mind at the moment. He knows a lot about JPI and about recent news. He’s raving about losing a lot of money because of a guy named Blax. He’s in the press. You’re on the bench. What else could it be? Petrenko is the go-between in a deal. He’s getting a commission. That has to be story. Right?” Gamil paused, then said, ominously, “Everyone in the Petrenko crew is looking at Blax and this news conference coming up.”

  “That’s tomorrow. About 15 hours from now,” said Jackson after a quick glance at his bedside clock. “It’s at 2 p.m. and Blax is the spokesperson,” he added with alarm.

  “I hope he has protection,” Gamil wasn’t kidding. “Ahmed tells us Petrenko mad as hell at JPI and Blax. Mad enough to do something about it.”

  “What does that mean, Gamil?” Jackson was frustrated.

  “That’s all our Arab friend knows. He did make us a promise though,” Gamil added with a touch of glee. “If we don’t grab him and his friends and ship them off to Egypt for hanging for making Arabs look bad, he and his buds will quit Petrenko ASAP. They’ll tell Petrenko they’ve got something better and he can shove the chicken-bleep stuff.”

  “Great work,” Gamil. Jackson was elated. “Gotta go. Talk more soon.”

  Jackson dropped that call and immediately made another. Soon afterward, Bill Brownley was wide awake as well and was calling together his security staff. Most were ex-military, three with JTF-2 special forces backgrounds. All were no strangers to duty calls at any time of day or night. All had been on high alert since the discovery of the software theft.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Over the weekend, there was no tranquility either in Petrenko’s office or in the parking garage that was his favorite meeting place. The garage had been closed for the day hours ago but the smells of auto exhaust and leaked oil blended with those of the cigarette smoke that swirled over the heads of the four men who sat on a cement curb and one chair at one of the ramps. The chair was occupied, at times, by Roman Petrenko. He would sit for a time but, then, leap up to conduct a harangue.

  “Those bastards,” he ranted as he paced up and down in front of the remnants of his crew. “Can’t trust Arabs… those scumbag, rotten sons of …”

  “They’re Canadians, not Arabs, Mr. Petrenko.” The Jamaican, Clarence Strong, was trying to be helpful.

  Petrenko’s face grew crimson. “I don’t give a goddamn what these scum… scum…” Petrenko lost his English and began raving in Ukrainian. Clarence looked at the other two men but they were still focused on Petrenko. The two Russians had enough Ukrainian to understand some of what Petrenko was saying. One of them snickered and tried to raise his hand to cover his mouth. The pain from his damaged elbow stopped him.

  “They tell me they have something better. I’ll give them better.” Petrenko sputtered, returning to English. “I’ll kill them.” He took a few paces and returned to his chair. He seemed to collapse into it and dropped his head into his hands.

  One of the Russians turned to Clarence. “What the hell?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

  “Ahmed, Yasser, Riad. They aren’t going to work for him anymore.” Clarence nodded his head toward Petrenko. “They called him to say they’ve got something better. Wish I did.”

  The two Russians looked at each other. “I am going back to Moscow,” one told the other. “Couldn’t be worse than this crap.” The other man gave a curt nod of his head and glanced down at his injuries.

  Petrenko took his cell phone from his shirt pocket. He poked at it until his call went through. The phone rang repeatedly until Petrenko terminated the call with another burst of profanity, English and Russian mixed. This was the first time his handler had ignored a call from Petrenko. He would never admit it to his crew but this scared him more than anything else.

  The Voice had called him two days before to tell him the down payment had been paid by Russia to the Voice’s account in Liechtenstein. To Petrenko’s delight, the Voice had even paid his ten percent ‘commission’ into his account. One million dollars. He had spent some of it getting drunk in a local ba
r and he had plans to spend some more on the weekend.

  The Ukrainian had a habit of stealing copies of daily newspapers from outside the doors of fellow tenants in his rental building. He would read them at the table on the nights he ate at home. The previous day, he had seen the stories in both the Toronto Star and the Globe & Mail that Jackson Phillips Inc. was dumping its current software to replace it over the coming year with Version 3.0.

  Petrenko had ignored the items at first. It was all technology bafflegab to the part-time Russian agent. But he began to think and the more he did, the more the stories seemed important. Finally, after re-reading them several times, he slammed his hand on the table, spilling the glass of vodka that was his dessert.

  “Oh, Christ,” he cursed. It became clear why the Voice was in a hurry for the deal to be concluded. The Voice had known what was coming; the company must have moved more quickly than the Voice thought it would.

  “Blax. Maxim Blax,” Petrenko pronounced the name with bile. “You piece of shit.” He poured out all his blame on the JPI CEO quoted in the news articles. The Voice was just a robot making almost unintelligible noises on the phone. Blax was a real person. He had screwed Roman Petrenko and nobody did that to him.

  Petrenko looked at his spilled vodka. He turned his glass upright and poured another shot. He drank it in one gulp. Then he threw the empty glass at the kitchen cupboards in front of him. It hit and bounced off to land, unbroken on the wood floor. He grabbed the bottle and drank directly from it. His stomach lurched. He was getting drunk but he also was terrified.

  Petrenko considered the mess he was in. He had delivered the deal to his handler. He had taken a million dollars in a secret commission from the Voice. The Voice hadn’t turned over any software yet but had nine million of Russia’s money. Even if the Voice came through with the code, the software wasn’t worth anywhere near twenty million U.S. dollars. Bottom line, Petrenko told himself, his life wasn’t worth a pot of piss. And he had no idea who the Voice was or how to reach and kill the son of a bitch before the Russians killed Petrenko.