Devil's Move

by Leslie Wolfe

  “All right, I’ll get to it. What are you up to while I work?”

  “I’m gonna cruise the local watering holes, see where these surgeons like to have their dinners and drinks. Might be useful for later.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Please be careful,” Lou said, all serious.

  “I will,” she replied.

  I most surely will, Alex thought, starting her engine and checking her surroundings for the tenth time. No one was following her; she hadn’t noticed any familiar cars, faces, or anything. Yet her gut was telling her to be on full alert.

  ...Chapter 43: Helms Calls

  ...Wednesday, February 10, 10:12AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)

  ...New Horizons Cardiology & Transplant Center, Office of Dr. Kanellis

  ...Burlington, Vermont

  Dr. Kanellis resumed his morning activities after the frustrating Miss Parker had just left. It wasn’t her fault. He softened a little. It’s hard for people to walk the line when their loved ones are dying.

  His cell rang, disrupting his thoughts. One look at the cell’s display, and his stomach tied into a knot. It was him again, the man that a twisted fate had brought into his life, the man by the name of Helms.

  “Hello?” He picked up the call in an almost normal voice.

  “Who was that?”

  “Who was who?” Kanellis asked, confused.

  “The woman who just left your office.”

  “Umm...nobody. Just a patient’s daughter looking for an exception.”

  “What was the issue?”

  “Patient’s a smoker, won’t qualify. I sent them to China. I probably won’t see her again.”

  “Very good.”

  “Listen, you said you were going to leave me alone. It’s been months! How much longer are you going to be lurking around?” Kanellis was getting angry.

  “We’re going to leave you alone when we decide you can keep your end of the deal and your mouth shut.”

  The caller hung up, leaving Kanellis boiling with frustration. It had been months since he had made the biggest mistake of his career, and it just seemed like it would never go away.

  ...Chapter 44: Phase One Complete

  ...Wednesday, February 10, 9:09PM Local Time (UTC+1:00 hours)

  ...Millennium Ballroom, Zurich Marriott Hotel

  ...Zurich, Switzerland

  The last of the guests were leaving slowly, smiling and chatting left and right. They had enjoyed themselves very much, and their generous donations to the Eastern Africa Development Fund were statements to the caliber of parties Ahmad Javadi could throw. The venue was classy and well-serviced by armies of waiters with impeccable manners. The music was soft, not too loud, yet encouraging his guests to dance if they liked. The hors-d’oeuvres were the best in all of Europe, freshly imported from exotic destinations and complementing a selection of the most exquisite wine collection. The custom fireworks at the end of the evening, a splendid show of light and color, caused everyone to gasp when the last round of bursts wrote EADF above the Zurich skyline.

  His guests—bankers, businessmen, and high-ranking officials—deserved the best in food and drink but also in company. Javadi’s negotiating abilities had secured for the evening the presence and endorsement of famous musicians, entertainers, and movie stars. Even last year’s Wimbledon champion had spoken on behalf of EADF. The evening, carefully planned by one of the greatest fundraising minds of the time, had been a complete success, one that would be mentioned in newspapers for weeks to come. Almost ten million dollars in donations in one evening. That was impressive, even by Javadi’s standards.

  All his rushed efforts to set things up had paid off. Javadi was happy. Satisfied, he headed out onto the terrace, where just an hour earlier everyone applauded his fireworks show in the brisk Swiss mountain air. He lit a cigar, then extended the antenna on his sat phone. When the other end of the line picked up, he only said three words:

  “Phase one complete.”

  ...Chapter 45: Tracking Doctors

  ...Wednesday, February 10, 3:15PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)

  ...Starbucks, Burlington Town Center

  ...Burlington, Vermont

  “Thank you,” Alex said gratefully, grabbing the grande coffee from the barista with both her frozen hands. Winter was serious business anywhere else but California.

  She sat at a small table in the corner of the coffee shop and started sipping the hot liquid, savoring the heat and inhaling the strong scent of fresh-brewed house blend. Her encrypted cell buzzed, displaying Lou’s mischievous smile on the LCD screen.

  “Shoot,” she said.

  “Yep, got what you asked for, with some limitations though,” he blurted at machine-gun speed.

  “Meaning?”

  “I found the procedure in the New Horizon system, but the details are sketchy. Most of the surgical staff is identified by initials, not by full names. There’s no patient registration information, just a note saying that the patient had been transferred from Municipal to recover post-surgery; although there are entries that confirm the surgery took place at the Transplant Center.”

  “Huh,” Alex said, “so there’s a discrepancy, right there.”

  “Spot on, partner. There’s more. The patient is marked in their system as a VIP, with instructions to provide special care, whatever that means, and to keep isolated. Restricted access, even from the center’s personnel.”

  “Very interesting. What else?”

  “There are obviously no insurance claims filed for this and no insurance information on file, yet the account shows paid in full. Probably a cash transaction.”

  “OK, I was expecting that.”

  “Probably you weren’t expecting that most of the initials marked on the case file in the system don’t match any of their current surgical employees.”

  “What? So where were they coming from?”

  “No idea,” Lou said. “Her discharge date matches what Robert gave us, but there’s no surgery date and time like there should be. The drug regimen is documented in detail, but again, no insurance claims attached to that one either.”

  “Text me the initials found on her record, and tell me which ones match with any of the existing staff.”

  “Will do. There’s one very positive match: initials GWH matching a Dr. Gary William Hager, cardiothoracic surgeon and transplant specialist. I don’t think this is a coincidence; I think this is him, the surgeon who operated on Melanie. I’ll text you his mug.”

  “OK, thanks much, Lou. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Speaking of which...watch your back! These guys are pros, and I’m not there.”

  “Speaking of which...were you careful snooping around?”

  “What do you think?”

  Alex hung up, immersed in scenarios playing wildly in her head. One thought bothered her. If these guys are such pros, why is this patient record still available in the Transplant Center’s computer system? It should have been deleted long ago, erasing all evidence that anything had ever happened. What am I missing?

  ...Chapter 46: Vote Secrecy

  ...Wednesday, February 10, 9:01PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)

  ...News of the Hour Special Edition Report

  ...Nationally Syndicated

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” Stephanie Wainwright’s smile filled the screen. “We’re revisiting today the controversial issue of vote secrecy in the light of the e-vote overhaul. This issue has been increasingly visible, with strong opponents rallying support and lobbying Congress for an injunction. With us in studio to help us understand what’s at stake is California Senator Sidney Mulligan, pioneer of the e-vote reform, the man who started it all. Welcome, senator.”

  The senator appeared on the screen. The camera zoomed out, showing two armchairs in a studio setting, very common when Stephanie had a high-profile guest.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” the senator answered. The relaxed demeanor and friendly attitude were a constant with Senator Mulligan, no mat
ter how heated the debates became.

  “Senator, what do you think this concern for vote secrecy could do to your initiative? Is it a serious concern?”

  “Any concern with the integrity of a constitutional right is a serious concern. We are taking the concern very seriously. We have launched a campaign of educational videos to demonstrate how the voters’ identities will never be correlated with the actual vote inputs into the system at any given point in the voting process. This will simply not happen. I am hoping that the people will learn to understand how e-vote really works, and when doing so, also learn to trust us.”

  “I have seen the videos you’re referencing; they are quite informative, engaging, and well done.”

  “Thank you, Stephanie, you are very kind.”

  “Senator, the voices in the streets are getting louder by the minute, despite these educational efforts. Let’s watch together some snapshots our crew took yesterday in the heart of New York City, at the corner of Bowery and Canal.”

  The screen switched to show the hustle of a busy New York City street corner, countless people hurrying through a cold, slushy, windy winter morning. The reporter, almost unrecognizable under his heavy parka hood, was asking the same question over and over again.

  “How concerned are you with your constitutional right to voter secrecy and why?”

  “Ha! That’s a good one. No one has any secrecy anymore, no privacy, nothing. Rights? Pfft...This is the land of Big Brother. Where do you think you are? Ha!” jeered a man in his late thirties, battling the street slush in light shoes.

  “I’m very concerned. I’m not even sure I want to vote anymore, if that’s the case. I am scared,” remarked a middle-aged woman who avoided making eye contact with the camera and didn’t stop to deliver her response. She just kept going, making the reporter chase her with the microphone.

  “Are you for real? No comment!” yelled a man wearing high-end business attire and holding an expensive leather briefcase.

  “You seen them videos, my man? What do they want us to do, trust the government? I ain’t stupid, dawg,” said an African American man in his twenties, bundled up and wearing a colorful knitted scarf.

  “I...I...no vote,” an elderly Chinese woman managed to articulate.

  “It’s all a big conspiracy. I know it is. I am sure of it. You see, they already know everything about us. They have these big databases buried under mountains. I know they do. I read about it. Seen it on TV. They listen to our calls and read our emails. They know everything. What we eat. What we buy. What we say. What we see on the Internet. But so far, they don’t know what we think. So this is the last step, I am telling you, to figure out what we think. And then, what do you think is gonna happen, huh? Whoever doesn’t think the way they want, suddenly loses their jobs, or has accidents, or gets Ebola, or something. That’s the only thing they’re missing: how we think. Then the conspiracy wins. We never win.” The cabbie’s diatribe was interrupted by brutal honking and swearing from the cars behind his battered cab. The stoplight had turned green about halfway through his speech.

  The screen returned to Stephanie and the senator in studio.

  “So, what do you think, senator?”

  “It’s obvious and disheartening that the majority of our citizens do not trust us with safeguarding their constitutional right to vote secrecy. This is a fact that cannot be denied. I also strongly believe,” the senator continued, wearing the same kind, reassuring smile, “that our government has lost the confidence of our people. We need to own that. We have made many mistakes, and our government’s reputation, although in shambles, is of our own doing. I also believe that sometimes you have to push for progress despite resistance to change. Change is hard, change is scary, especially when you have a strong underlying issue of trust. What have we done, as a government, to gain the confidence of our citizens? We have burst into people’s homes in the dead of the night with SWAT teams, to execute simple search warrants, or for no reason at all. Even better, one time SWAT had the wrong address to begin with but ended up charging the man of the house for pulling a gun in self-defense.

  Police officers are discharging weapons at minivans full of children for speeding. The same police force steers clear of high-crime zones and prefers to waste time setting up speed traps on deserted highways, where the officers can be safe and do as little as possible to curb real crime, such as drug trafficking, home invasions, assaults, or homicides. How do you think our citizens feel when we distribute military-grade weapons and vehicles to the same police force? How about illegal wire-tapping, surveillance, and all sorts of invasions of privacy that we have subjected our constituents to over and over again? And now we expect them to trust us, and we’re surprised and disappointed when they don’t? I’m sorry, but this is hardly a surprise. Yes, it is disheartening, but it’s not a surprise. We need to own that before we can start fixing it.”

  “Then how do you see the future of e-vote in the face of the growing anxiety about voter secrecy?”

  “We can only hope that our education campaign bears fruit and reduces the anxiety levels over time. We definitely don’t want these concerns to impact voter participation. I strongly encourage all citizens to exercise their right to vote. To me, this is more than a right; it’s a duty. I am also hoping that what we’re seeing now is the initial response, when people react emotionally. With time, education, dialogue, and increased visibility about the e-vote process, I’m hoping this anxiety level will be dulled, enough for citizens to exercise their right to vote with sufficient confidence that their constitutional right to voter secrecy will be safeguarded at all times and at all costs. This is my personal promise. If I had any concern about how voter data is stored and manipulated, I would be the first one to pull the plug on e-vote reform.”

  “Senator, in conclusion, you’re hoping that this widespread fear will blow over, and you’re essentially asking the citizens of America to trust you?”

  “I am confident that we will be able to gain some level of confidence over time, with continued communication, dialogue, and understanding on both sides. We are still a few months away from November. And I promise you, Stephanie, and everyone else that the way the system is designed and built doesn’t permit the type of privacy issues that the citizens fear. You have my word.”

  “Thank you, senator, we wish you all the best in achieving this ambitious goal.”

  “Thank you, Stephanie, always a pleasure.”

  The camera zoomed in, showcasing Stephanie’s portrait.

  “That was Senator Sidney Mulligan, the pioneer of electronic voting, responding to the growing concerns about voter secrecy. Live from our studio, this is Stephanie Wainwright, with News of the Hour.”

  ...Chapter 47: The Harbormaster

  ...Thursday, February 11, 11:07AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)

  ...Fort Lauderdale Marina, Harbormaster’s Office

  ...Fort Lauderdale, Florida

  Muhammad Sadiq moved with difficulty along the building, holding the cane tightly and limping visibly. His right leg, still unable to support his body weight after the recent hip replacement, was causing him to cringe at every step. A native of Pakistan, Sadiq had lived in the United States for many years, enjoying the benefits of his wealth, while increasing it at the same time. His wealth had been built in textiles and commerce, driven by the ambitious, relentless vision of a shepherd’s son. Now almost seventy years old, Sadiq still couldn’t deal with the consequences of his age. In the depths of his mind, even if irrational, the thought that wealth should help one bypass the miseries of old age was a well-rooted concept. In all fairness, it was half-true. He had bought himself the hip replacement, done by the best surgeons that money could buy, and had enjoyed post-surgery recovery in a top-notch private clinic. What his money couldn’t do, no matter how much of it he was willing to spend, was to cut his recovery time from weeks to days.

  Yet he couldn’t postpone this visit any longer. He was on a tight schedule. Entering th
e harbormaster’s office, he gestured between labored breaths to the chair in front of the man’s desk and sat heavily, stretching his right leg.

  “What can I do for you?” the harbormaster asked. Middle-aged and chubby, he looked supportive, almost friendly. His perceptive eyes scanned Sadiq from head to toe from behind thick-rimmed glasses.

  “I’d like to lease or buy a slip for my boat. They will be delivering it shortly, and I need a place to park it on the water.” Sadiq spoke with little accent, his English well-articulated.

  “Absolutely,” the man said, displaying a helpful, professional smile. “That’s what we’re here for. What kind of boat are we talking about?”

  “Forty-seven,” Sadiq said without skipping a beat.

  “Oh, wow, nice,” the man commented. “New? What are you getting?”

  “Brand new, a Sea Ray 470 Sundancer.”

  “Wow, that’s a million-dollar boat. Congratulations! It’s not every day we get one of those; although we do have quite a few vessels here. We’d be happy to accommodate your new boat. For a yacht that size, we offer fueling by truck.”

  “Can I ask, please, if you could give me a spot closer to the parking lot and easy to maneuver on the water? As you can see,” Sadiq gestured to his right leg, “I am not exactly able to move around as I used to. Not anymore.”

  “Sure, let’s see.” He pulled out a map of the marina and showed it to Sadiq. “We can accommodate forty-seven footers here, here, and here,” he said, pointing at the available slots with the tip of his pen. “How often are you planning to take this beauty out?”

  “Umm...maybe a couple of times per month, maybe more often once my leg gets better.”