by Randy Dutton
“We’ve done some testing, but the world can’t wait for 20 years of experience. The industry must use it.”
“Isn’t the cement industry typically very conservative in adapting new technology?”
“Yes. That’s why Congress passed a bill paying a government-determined royalty to every company producing green technologies.”
“How does the government decide compensation?”
“Experts appointed by the Administration evaluate the companies and the relative merits of their technology, and those are based upon a set of factors developed at Harvard. Similarly, the current Administration has been able to push through a UN mandate that provides global indemnification. Without the risk of litigation, our green companies are free to quickly create and implement world-saving technologies.”
“Rumor has it that Mr. Alexis Swanson was the catalyst for this liability-limiting regulation. Can you confirm this?”
“I won’t say who initiated it, but let me say, Mr. Swanson is a global hero.” He paused as if preparing to read a speech, and looked into the camera. “Why…I wouldn’t be surprised if the Nobel Committee was considering him.”
“What? For the Nobel Peace Prize?” Bob asked excitedly.
“Yes.”
“You heard it here first, folks, some officials think Alexis Swanson, CEO of the Snath Group, may join the elite group of progressives who receive the coveted Nobel Peace Prize. Move over, Mr. Gore.... This is Bob Bryant reporting for Global Public Broadcasting.”
Anna grimaced at the last report. My contacts did their jobs. With a quiet whisper, a small financial encouragement, some browbeating, and just the right timing – anyone can be a hero. I hope Alexis appreciates the gift. It’ll be my last to him.
I should watch TV news more often if for nothing than its entertainment value. Sven’s expressions unsettle me though...I would have missed them in a printed report.
The room clock now displayed 6 AM, causing her heart rate to increase. I just need to get through the day...I can do this.... And then Nike evaporates into history.
While dressing, she strapped on the studded black belt, and quickly extracted it to practice sword maneuvers, careful not to slice into the furnishings. Comfortable with her motor skills, then wiped the blade and reinserted it into the belt.
Next, she put on a black leather jacket and connected a small loop at the bottom that allowed it to remain loose but not swing open. Taking the pistol with its short silencer from under the towel, she checked the action. With gloves now on, she wiped all prints from the pistol, ammo, and magazine, put the weapon into a thin black plastic bag. This now was slipped into a specially designed left inside pocket made from a stiffer material.
The remaining Krugerrands went into the rolling case. Finishing off last night’s room service cheese and fruit, she left for the conference hall.
Through large sunglasses, her eyes darted towards every sound, every sudden movement, and every non-typical person.
Being armed helps. It lowers my early morning panic to hyper-paranoia. No way I’m venturing outside my booth today. It’s my only refuge in this hall.
Arriving at the booth, she repeated the defensive measures.
This time I’ll limit the hits by setting the filters to focus on Russians, Eastern Europeans, and known assassins. That’ll increase accuracy.
Nike looked sympathetically as her booth babe approached with two espressos. Gads, she looks haggard. Poor girl’s burning out. She hasn’t even changed clothes from another night of hard partying. Nike paused. I’m developing empathy?
“Okay Heather, we are open for next contest winners.”
As the morning progressed into mid-afternoon, Nike began to relax.
Thank god, the day’s nearly over and nothing bad has happened. Another hour and I can dispose of Nike.
Then he showed up. A burly Slavic man stood opposite her booth.
Nike was in the middle of making an assignment that involved initiating an advanced persistent threat—APT—against selected targets. Her hacker visitor was rejoining her with his skill sets when the facial recognition software window alert flashed.
Nike’s eyes darted to the screen, which displayed the background of the man just meters away.
She tried controlling her anxiety as her breathing became shallower.
An ex-GRU hit man! And working with a notorious Russian hacker group? I don’t need this.
The man was holding a tablet in front of his face.
What’s he doing with that tablet? Hell, looks like it may be an infrared/electronic scanner. I’ll wager he’s looking for electronic and heat signatures. He looks confused. Good. He hasn’t penetrated the booth’s security system. Now he’s evaluating Heather. Stay to the script, girl, stay to the script! What are you saying? Letting her party is paying off. No professional hacker would dare let a staffer possibly expose their operation by getting drunk or stoned. I’ll bet you’re wondering if she’s a professional actress or a prop.
“Nike…Nike...are you okay?” Nike’s hacker asked.
Nike’s continued thinking, Please just keep walking past. I just need one more hour.
With her eyes flicking between guest and intruder, she said, “Yes, sorry, it has been a great show, so much to do, and so little time…” Her right hand slipped into her jacket to touch the pistol for reassurance the its extraction would be smooth and swift – if necessary. “…As I was saying, this USB flash drive will give you your assignment…”
The hacker received the same basic instructions as the others while she focused on the hitman in front of the next booth.
“Here are six Krugerrands for your hackers...” She continued with the one wish speech. Simultaneously, Nike thumbed the camera control to follow the Russian’s movement. It was 15 minutes before he was out of sight. Meanwhile, Nike kept the hacker in the booth talking about some details of the APT assignment. The moment the Russian disappeared, she dismissed the hacker.
Nike moved to Heather. “Did you make a friend there?”
“Hell, no! He’s a dorkus malorkus.”
Nike shrugged.
“Big dork...oaf. Started asking questions about a woman who’s running a big hacker enterprise.” She waved her hand at the booth. “I mean, really, no offense, but is this the big time? Besides, you told me what to say. I just told him my boss was awarding some prizes to an online game. He wanted to know what the game was, and why the award.”
“And you said what?”
“I said we were using the award to collect emails for marketing computer security software and games.”
“Good.”
The girl squinted and pulled back. “What? You checking on me to see if I follow your rules?”
“No. I do not know who he was,” Nike lied.
“He also said something peculiar...” The girl’s nose wrinkled.
“What was that?”
“He grumbled he couldn’t see through the booth wall.” Heather grinned. “Well, duh! I said back to him.”
Nike started laughing. “That probably is the best response anyone could have given him. Look, let us end the day. Here is your pay with a bonus. Thank you for the help. I will have someone else take down the booth.”
The girl’s face lit up. “Great!” She counted the cash, recognizing the tip. “Oh wow, really great! Hey, call me next year, promise?”
“Yes, promise.”
“Sure ya don’t want me to help pack it up?”
“No. I have it. Thank you again.”
“Ta-ta!”
The girl grabbed her purse and disappeared down the aisle.
Most likely she’s going to hook up with some computer guy at another booth. Now to work. Nike quickly pulled off the fiber optic lens and placed it in the case. The antenna came next. She threw all the brochures in the trash two aisles over, wiped down any surfaces that she or the girl had touched, then, as a precaution, pulled out a spray bottle with a bleach solution and sprayed the i
nside surface of the booth and anywhere else DNA may have settled. Collapsing the booth, folding it, and putting it into its original shipping box came next. She slapped a prepaid shipping label on the box to show the conference hall union guys its destination. The ship-to address was to a company with no connection to her. They’d never figure out why they got it, and she didn’t need it any more. It was just another ruse to eliminate evidence.
As she finished shutting down the booth, her last appointment showed up.
“Excuse me...I was supposed to redeem this ticket here.” Confusion was evident in his voice.
“Yes, just wait a moment and we will go elsewhere.”
She looked at his ticket.
“Come with me.”
He followed her while she pulled her product case to an exit door. She led him to a corner just off the lobby and out of sight.
“Look I’m short on time, here are your instructions, payment is included, and here is a gift…”
He was gone in five minutes.
She quickly wheeled her case into the elevator, her anxiety decreasing proportional to distance from the exhibit hall increasing. Passing a hotel maid’s vacuum cleaner, she opened the dust bag and scooped out a handful of dust. This will confuse anyone looking for DNA.
Arriving in her suite, she immediately scattered the dust around the rooms, then implemented her security regimen. She stripped out of the Goth clothes and took off the makeup, wig, and fake fingernails. After removing the sword from the Goth belt, she inserted it into a more fashionable belt. Everything related to the Goth persona was put into a chemical resistant plastic bag for quick disposal. She poured in some bleach and sealed the bag to destroy DNA on the clothes.
Goodbye Nike. You did good work, kiddo.
Anna took a quick shower to cleanse herself of makeup residue and to further reduce anxiety but taking care not to wash out the earlier day’s darker hair coloring and highlights.
Donning rubber gloves, she wiped down all surfaces with bleach, then dumped the rest of the chlorine solution down every drain.
Quickly, Anna put on tan slacks and a white blouse. She changed jewelry to a simple gold wedding band and a pearl necklace. Even though the maid had made up the room hours earlier, she rumpled the bed, and put the ‘Make Up Room’ placard on the door. The used towel she dropped into the maid cart’s laundry basket as she strode to a side exit.
She had prepaid one more night, but she needed to vacate now.
The large sunglasses and my wide hat, low over my tanned face, should obscure Caesar’s security cameras but I have no intention of exiting via the lobby.
The automatic doors of the side exit opened for her and she pulled her lightened metallic bags a block to the street corner.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked.
“The Treasure Island, please.”
The cabbie grimaced at the two block fare until the tip equaled the fare.
She got out, walked into the casino entrance and waited until the cabby had engaged another fare. She removed the hat and stuffed it into her bag. She changed sunglasses and put on a light green scarf over her hair to still hide much of her face.
She walked to the entrance. “The Flamingo please,” she told the second cabbie.
Chapter 59
July 31, 1600 hours
The Flamingo Hotel, Las Vegas Strip, NV
The cab shuttled her two block. She checked into a Flamingo’s fourth floor room on the side facing Caesars.
Let’s hope the two-cab switch will prevent these guys from finding me. Now, I can watch Caesar’s entrance and see if I can identify the hitman and his accomplices.
A room service dinner was ordered. This time she avoided the wine, and, upon its arrival, repeated her security steps.
With the sun going down in the west, the window reflection’s severe, making their visual observation nearly impossible. Her tablet’s camera was clamped on rearranged furniture and aimed through a gap in the drawn curtains.
She looked at the tablet’s screen that showed Caesar’s entrance zoomed in from the attached Canon optical zoom lens. Much better than a telescope. I can record faces and run them through the database.
Eating dinner she kept her eyes on departing conference attendees. They’ve been leaving in droves for hours, but I’ll venture the Russians will remain until everyone’s cleared out.
While she waited, she turned the TV to GHN News, catching the middle of a business segment.
“…Can you explain the 2,832 point drop in the Dow Jones over the past month?” the reporter asked.
“Certainly. The market’s scared,” a financial analyst responded.
“Of what?”
“Of uncertainty. Energy prices are soaring. Businesses that rely on cheap energy are struggling or going under. Biofuel’s much more expensive to make than carbon-based fuels, and there’s less of it. The shortages are creating price spikes and financial traders are exploiting the fear. Many companies are shutting down rather than pay an extraordinary UN carbon tax. And even electricity is unreliable now, since coal has been eliminated as a fuel source.”
“Unemployment rose eight tenths of a percent last month to 12.1 percent. That’s the greatest monthly increase since the Great Depression. Are fuel prices responsible?”
“Partly,” the analyst replied. “But that’s not the real rate anyway. Actual unemployment is estimated at near 25 percent. America’s production’s based upon efficiency. Our labor prices are competitive with western nations, but not with Asian or South American countries. So we have to compete by using efficiency in materials, energy use, and processes. The biobased fuel and materials mandates are driving up the cost of energy. It’s also harming the workers who have to drive to work and meet their food needs. Energy is a component in everyone’s lives.”
“But biofuel prices will come down, won’t they?”
“Not necessarily. The feedstock is limited and insufficient to expand to meet the demands of society.”
“Well, we’ll hope that changes,” the reporter responded. “I want to change topic for a moment and talk about the budget. The Treasury Department says this year’s budget deficit will be $3.1 trillion, and the total debt now is $24 trillion. Why do you consider that a problem?”
“Because it’s unsustainable. It’s 170% our GDP. When Congress dramatically increased taxes on the top two percent of Americans last year, few would have guessed that many of the wealthy would sell their companies, shut them down, or take only token salaries. That caused part of the deficit. Fewer of those who pay the bulk of the taxes actually earned much on which to pay taxes.”
“And many people left…”
“Yes, many foreign nationals originally moved to America because of our freedoms. Didn’t help our government was spying on them. Once the freedoms were eroded by big government and activist courts, many of them decided to go back to their native countries. They took their wealth with them.”
“Are there other causes for our rising unemployment?”
“Several entire industries are being shuttered. The taxes, fees, and fines that are being applied to carbon-based fuels are usury. Their products are being forcibly phased out in a very short period of time.”
“But other companies are being created,” the newscaster countered. “Look at the Snath Group. It now has 13,500 employees on 6 continents, and is growing 40 percent per year. Analysts predict its global sales next year to gross over $1 trillion. Why isn’t that creating enough jobs?”
At the mention of Snath, Anna’s interest was piqued.
“Snath, as Swanson’s privately held company, is hard to evaluate financially. His records aren’t public, his holdings are immense, and he deals in numerous currencies and carbon credits, which fluctuate significantly. While we know he has recently received massive global government contracts, we don’t know what his costs are.”
“Would you project that Mr. Swanson will be the globe’s first trillionaire?”
Keeping her eyes on the tablet screen, Anna grimaced at that question. Oh the money I could have made if I’d kept with the program.
The analyst continued, “Yes, if the trend to fund CO2 abatement continues. He’s reaping significant amounts from the effort, and market speculation has increased several-fold over the past couple months. Swanson’s known to manipulate –”
There you are! Anna zoomed in on her pursuer. Just to the right of the main door. Think I’ll call you...Boris. Okay, Boris, who are you working for? Let’s see who else is here with you. I’ve recorded each face but this particular set of visitors is probably the most relevant.
She widened the view to take in everyone in front of the lobby entrance, then zoomed in on each person’s face.
Hello! Who’s that red-headed woman you’re talking to? I estimate...early 30s. I’ll call you Natasha. Let’s zoom in and get a good look at you. Smile for the camera!
She took some high-def photos for the facial recognition software, then switched back to video.
Nice clothes, Natasha. Gucci? Subtle, and very expensive. Mob must be paying you well. Okay, which of you is in charge?
A moment passed with Natasha giving directions to a microphone and Boris standing post six meters away.
Touching your ear, Natasha? So, you’ve got a wireless, invisible ear fob. Wish I had my jammer, I could check the frequency you’re on just by watching your reaction. That would tell me whether you’re using commercial or government intelligence-grade equipment. It’s probably 7 megahertz….Anyone else in the crowd?
She broadened the view. Looks like the conference crowd has petered out. You guys calling it a night?
A black limousine drove up. Hold on, who’s this?
Natasha, who are you talking to through its window? Damn, the tint’s too dark.
Anna focused on the driver, then the license plate. How you doing, Boris? Still looking at the lobby? Still expecting someone? Me, perhaps? What do you guys really know about me?
She zoomed in on an arriving taxi. Her brow lifted. Damn. That’s the same taxi that took me to the Treasure Island.
