Vertigo

by Wesley Cross

  “These are the instructions on how to get into an email server,” she said, getting up. “The name of the person you’re looking for is Simon Engel. Now you have to go.”

  “Thank you,” Chen said, getting up as well. “I appreciate it.”

  She turned around and started walking away.

  “Helen,” the Japanese woman called out after her.

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t strike me as a person who takes other people’s advice. But if you did, I’d say this—walk away.”

  14

  July 2007

  Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti

  Audrey Hunt watched her husband pace the sparsely furnished room. An old air conditioner was rattling under the window, hopelessly fighting the harsh afternoon sun, but the room was stiflingly hot and smelled of stale sweat, sand, and gun oil. After a while, Andrew Hunt grabbed a chair and sat down, looking out the dusty window.

  “Did you know that they originally built this camp to accommodate the French Foreign Legion?” he finally said, still not meeting her eyes.

  She smiled, watching his handsome face. When Andrew got nervous, he always became professorial, drawing courage from the vast set of cold, hard facts stored in that big head of his. She remembered when he approached her for the first time in a diner, he kept talking about the history of Hell’s Kitchen. He started with an anecdote about the late 1800s when the New York Times’ reporter, who was investigating a series of murders, ventured into a building at West Thirty-Ninth Street with a particularly seedy reputation. According to that tale, the reporter referred to the tenement as Hell’s Kitchen and the name stuck and later expanded to the surrounding streets.

  She learned more during that evening about the gang wars that used to rage in the neighborhood, speakeasies with secret tunnels, and mysterious murders than most people who spend their entire lives between Thirty-Fourth and Fifty-Ninth Streets in the west side of Manhattan.

  “No, I didn’t,” she said softly, “but I did know that you’ve been working for the CIA.”

  He looked at her, a mixture of shame and relief on his face.

  “Not from the beginning,” she continued, “but I’ve known for a long time.”

  “I must be a terrible spy,” he finally said. He got up, walked across the room, and sat next to her on a stiff bed, taking her hands in his. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Look,” she squeezed his hands, searching for words, “I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me in the beginning. But then I realized it wasn’t your secret to share. What were you going to do—turn on the shower to make sure no one can eavesdrop and whisper state secrets in my ear like they do in the movies? C’mon.”

  “It did cross my mind,” he said, not being able to contain the smile. “I wanted to.”

  “I’m sure you did. But I thought that sooner or later the opportunity would present itself, and you’d be able to tell me the truth without breaking any rules. Obviously, I had no idea it would be under such dramatic circumstances, but it is what it is.”

  Audrey leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, then stood up and stretched. They arrived at the camp at four in the morning but even after a hot shower and a meal, she found herself too wound up to be able to fall asleep. But after a series of briefings, they were finally left to their own devices and now she was crashing, exhaustion seeping into her bones.

  “There’s something else,” Andrew said quietly. Something in the way he said it made her adrenaline surge, bringing her back to full attention.

  “No more secrets,” he said, looking at her. “No more lying. I can’t make a decision like this on my own.”

  “Okay.” She sat down next to him again. “Whatever it is, I’ll help you through it.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, as she watched her husband’s internal struggle play out on his face.

  “I met with Jim Rovinsky when I was down in DC a few days ago,” he finally said. “First off, Jim doesn’t work for the State Department, as you probably have guessed. He’s the head of clandestine operations at the CIA. He’s also the one who recruited me years ago to work for the agency. The reason he wanted to meet this time was not related to my regular work at the CIA.”

  Andrew continued, “Jim wants to create an agency within the agency. He calls it the Unit. Completely isolated. Black ops within the black ops, if you will. No congressional oversight, which would give it an unbelievable efficiency.”

  “No congressional approval either then,” she interjected, “which means they, and I’m assuming you, would be hung out to dry if things were to go wrong.”

  “Correct.” He nodded. “But what he’s found is staggering. You’ve heard all the conspiracy theories, and there are books and movies about the select few who rule the world from the shadows. The Freemasons, the Illuminati, the Knights Templar and so on. All of it fascinating and all of it complete fiction. Until now.”

  “There is a secret society that rules the world?” she asked, incredulous. “What does it even mean?”

  “Well, like most of those things, in real life it’s less dramatic, more practical, and yet, more profound. Rovinsky thinks—and after reading what he’s given me and doing my own research, I believe him—that there are some international corporate interests who secretly joined forces a couple of decades ago. We’ve identified four main centers of influence—China, the Middle East, the UK, and the US. But I don’t know for sure, so there might be more and for now we have no idea who is pulling the strings. All we know is that there are people who are pursuing some common goals.”

  Andrew fell quiet for a few moments, collecting his thoughts.

  “But you must have some suspects. You said that you thought those were large corporations?”

  “No. Not yet. Of course, a few of those players who Rovinsky’s been able to identify were affiliated with some corporations, but we don’t know if the companies themselves are involved. But when you have multiple actors who share the same goal although they are not associated with one another, you must draw the conclusion that they have the same masters. For now, we’re trying to figure out if those corporations are actively conspiring or are just used by high-ranking people for their own nefarious agenda.”

  “It makes sense.”

  “I think initially they built the alliance for mere economic collusion. To help a few already powerful multinationals dominate the markets even more and enrich themselves in the process. But as it proved to be successful, they grew bolder. They bribed politicians; they infiltrated law enforcement. At some point, it became so effective that they actually created some sort of governing entity that transcended businesses and international borders.”

  “An actual alliance?”

  “Correct. And once that happened, it was no longer a loose affiliation built for economic benefit but rather a quasi-state with its own government and its own army. They are killing people off who stand in their way. They are using terrorist organizations as their military proxies or to launder money. This is huge.”

  “So, this new task force is going to do what exactly? It’s going to combat this shadowy corporate monster without the approval of the US government, right? But why? Why can’t we do it the same way things like these are always done? The FBI, the CIA, Interpol?”

  “In a way, that is how it’s going to be done.” He shrugged. “It’s just Rovinsky is convinced that it’s too late to do this the usual way because many of those agencies are compromised. So, the Unit will create little secret pockets inside of all of those agencies. We’ll do it quietly through a network of reliable people we can trust. And even then, we will keep things compartmentalized and limit the information we share to need-to-know only.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, both digesting the importance of what was said and its implications.

  “At first, when Jim approached me with this, I balked at the idea of doing something off the books,” Andrew continued. “It’s one thing to be an ana
lyst for the agency and limit the excitement to finding suspicious financial behavior. It’s quite another story when you’re asked to be a part of an organization, however noble its cause, whose mere existence is illegal and should things go awry, to get prosecuted for, I don’t know—conspiracy? Treason? You pick.”

  Audrey reached out and put her hands on top of his. “He asked you to run it, didn’t he?”

  “How—” He looked at her, surprised. “How could you possibly know?”

  “You know,” she said, “when I first realized that you were working for the CIA, I was angry. It meant you must’ve lied to me; had to, right? But what happened in the school…” She trailed off. “I mean, there was a high chance I was going to die. I accepted that. But I also knew that the moment I called the State Department, somewhere across the globe you’d find out I was in trouble and move mountains to save me.”

  She looked at him, seeing the moisture collecting in the corners of his eyes.

  “I think Jim asked you to do this because he knows the same thing that I do—that you are the perfect man for this job.”

  15

  August 2007

  New York

  “Hiroko?” Chen said.

  “Yes?” The woman looked up and stretched in her chair. The dragon on her chest moved as if it were alive.

  “You said on the phone that you wanted to help me.”

  Since their meeting in the park a month ago, Helen had been busy traveling the virtual labyrinth of Guardian Manufacturing servers. It wasn’t an easy task. Guardian’s security was top-notch, and Chen had to move slowly to avoid detection. After weeks of work, all she had was a single email from Simon Engel, Guardian’s CEO, that had one sentence in it that drew Chen’s attention.

  I need you to take care of RS, the email said. She’s been a problem. Enough is enough.

  RS, Chen figured, stood for Rapid Science, and the she referred to her sister, Mary Chen. Helen had learned by now that the board of directors of Rapid Science was in favor of being acquired by Guardian, and her sister was the sole voice who strongly opposed it. And it looked like Simon Engel was losing his patience waiting for her to come around.

  After the brief meeting in Manhattan with the Japanese woman, who acted as Delgado’s intermediary, Chen thought she saw the last of her. To Chen’s surprise, a few weeks later the woman called her cell phone, and without bothering to explain where she got the number, introduced herself, and offered assistance.

  “So, what gives?” Chen asked, looking at the mysterious woman. “My understanding was that our meeting was going to be a one-time thing.”

  “We have common interests,” the woman replied. “At least, for now.”

  “I’m planning to leak this to the police,” Chen said, referring to the email.

  “No, no cops.” The woman put up a hand. “Involving the police would be a mistake.”

  “Bullshit,” Chen spat. “I can’t sit here and let them get away with this because you happened to be uncomfortable with the law.”

  “Hold your horses, lady. It has nothing to do with my relationship with the law,” the woman replied coolly.

  “What does it have to do with, then?”

  “There are many cops who are on Simon Engel’s payroll. I suspect some of the feds are as well,” the woman said. “Many of them are in high places. Best case—your tip will end up in the trash. Worst case—you’ll join your sis.”

  “But how…” Chen searched for words, “how am I supposed to get some justice for her, if what you say is true?”

  “I told you to walk away,” Hiroko said, “and I still think it’s the sane thing to do. Think about it. They’ve killed your sister, and the broker, and the broker’s mistress just to be sure. If you get involved, you’ll put yourself in their cross hairs as well. They’ve killed three people so far that we know of. What do you think will happen if they see somebody else messing up their plans? You think they’ll say—oh, this woman seems nice, let’s give her a break, shall we? You think that’s what’s gonna happen?”

  “No. Of course, not.”

  “And you still want to get involved?”

  “Yes.” Chen furiously nodded. “Absolutely. I have to do something. But if I can’t go to the police, what can I do?”

  Hiroko stayed silent for a while, her dark eyes studying Chen’s face.

  “There’s still something you can do, though it might fall short of your expectations,” Hiroko finally said. “I don’t think you can put Engel in jail. It’s not realistic. He’s too protected to pull off something like that. Maybe, in the long run, we can find a way, but not now. Still. There’s something else you could do. You could hurt him financially.”

  “How?”

  “Now that your sister is out of the way,” Hiroko continued, “Guardian will make a move on Rapid Science in the next few weeks. To maintain proper optics, after your sister’s death, it’s going to be a hostile takeover, paid in stock, as usual. But considering there’s no real opposition now, the board of Rapid will fold and let the chips fall where they may.”

  “How does it help us?”

  “This is where you can hit them,” the woman said, her face unreadable. “By preventing the merger.”

  “I don’t understand,” Chen said. “How can we do that?”

  “Think about it,” Hiroko continued. “What is a takeover? Rapid Science is worth a quarter billion dollars. Guardian spends that much on pencils every year, so they will come and offer, say twice or three times that much for the company, paid in Guardian stock instead of cash. That would make all big shareholders of Rapid Science twice or three times as rich just by saying yes.”

  “Okay, but I still don’t understand,” Chen said. “All I hear is the reasons why it will happen.”

  “Well,” the woman smiled for the first time, “it only works if the math works. Guardian always pays for acquisitions in stock, and it makes sense—they can print money as long as the price of their shares stays stable or appreciates. For a small acquisition like that, they can simply issue more stock, and it will cost them virtually nothing.”

  “Okay.” Chen thought she finally understood where the woman was going. “And what can change the math?”

  “A couple of things.” The woman’s smile grew wider. “If Rapid Science’s stock appreciated, it would make the acquisition more problematic. Or if Guardian’s shares took a dive.”

  “Or both.” Chen exhaled, suddenly realizing that she stopped breathing for a few seconds. “Then the transaction would become much more expensive than they’d originally anticipated.”

  “Precisely,” Hiroko said. “If Rapid Science’s shares appreciated enough, and Guardian’s fell low enough, at some point the math would stop working. Simon Engel might own Guardian Manufacturing, but there are still a lot of large shareholders who would put the brakes on the merger if the math got completely out of whack.”

  “Okay. Let’s say prices go up for one and down for another the way it makes the math prohibitive. But if things go back to normal, at some point, won’t they try to do it again?”

  “They might,” Hiroko shrugged, “or they might not if they get burned badly enough the first time. It’s like petting a dog who bites. Some will give it another go, but some will pet a different dog. All you can do is try. Hit them where it hurts and protect your sister’s legacy.”

  “You still haven’t told me what would need to happen to make it possible. We can’t wish the stocks to change prices the way we want them to.”

  “No,” Hiroko’s face was an unreadable mask again, “but you know what the answer is.”

  “Targeted disinformation campaign? We could disseminate some fake news releases and try to influence stock prices that way.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, but that alone wouldn’t be enough. You need something more disruptive than a string of fake news. You need something to make real waves.”

  Chen thought about it for a moment. It’d never been done.
Ever. And there was a good reason for it. And it wasn’t like nobody ever tried. They had. But no one, ever, was able to pull it off. Of course, any system was hackable, at least in theory. But many factors defined the effort and cost, and—most importantly—time that was required to prepare such an attack.

  Only in Hollywood blockbusters could a smart hacker break into any system in a matter of minutes. In reality, the preparation time could take weeks, or even months, depending on the amount of available information and resources at the attacker’s disposal.

  “Can it be done?”

  “I don’t know.” Hiroko shrugged. “It’s a tall task for sure, but you won’t find the answer unless you try. You can stand in front of a mountain and keep guessing for eternity if you’re capable of reaching the top, but unless you start walking and get your hands dirty, you’ll never know the answer.”

  “I can’t help but feel that the moment I say yes, a large army of FBI agents will storm this place and whisk me away to spend the rest of my days in a solitary cell.”

  “Well, I can’t help you with that, can I? But I will help you with this crazy venture, should you decide to try it.”

  Chen looked at the strange woman calmly sitting in front of her, seemingly unperturbed by what was being discussed. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  The woman shrugged again, her face a mask of a painted doll.

  “All right,” Helen said, “let’s hack the New York Stock Exchange then. Where do we start?”

  16

  September 2007

  New York

  When Audrey woke up, her husband was still fast asleep. The clock on her nightstand read 5:45 a.m. It had been a tough week. They traveled back and forth between Washington DC and New York four times, and they were both exhausted. But it was Sunday, and they finally had a day to themselves—nowhere to be, and no reason to get up at some ungodly hour.