Devil's Move

by Leslie Wolfe

  She entered the building, the strong AC in the lobby making her dizzy for a few seconds until she adjusted. She was getting used to these shocks, coming indoors from the intense heat and going through a fifty-degree drop in temperature just by opening a door.

  In the lobby was a small blackboard displaying, “Welcome, Alex Hoffmann” written in green chalk. She asked the receptionist for directions, and she learned that DCBI had its own floor, in Building A on the fifth floor, reserved for its project only, with high-security access cards limiting the access to the project team and executive leadership only. Her own security access card was ready for her.

  Alex got off the elevator on the fifth floor and accessed the secure door. Entering the floor, she noticed the open concept layout, with numerous cubicles lined up, with tens of workers typing on their computers quietly. The separation walls between the cubicles were low, making it possible for floor supervisors to see all across the floor. It was vast, clean, and well organized. On each side of the floor were podiums, where several other cubicles had a higher position, allowing supervisors good vantage points across the floor without having to leave their desks. Along the walls there were several offices, most of them with their doors closed.

  “Hey, welcome,” a man said, touching her shoulder gently. “I’m Brent Rieker. I work for Eddie Swanson at DCBI. Scott, our on-site analyst, and I are the only American faces you’re gonna see on this floor. Scott reports to Ellen Butler.”

  “Ah, I see, thanks.” She shook his hand enthusiastically. “Good to meet you.”

  “So, how do you like it so far?”

  “I haven’t had time to like or dislike anything yet, just got here. Where can I put my gear?”

  “You have your own office,” he said, showing her to one of the offices with closed doors. She dropped her laptop bag in there, glad to see the office had a glass wall, so she could keep her eye on the bag.

  “When can I see the software? I want to get to work as soon as possible. Do you or Scott have access to the modules in the staging environment?”

  “Well, it’s not that simple, or hasn’t been so far,” Brent said. “We see demos of several components on a sprint schedule every two weeks. Scott can run reports for productivity, hours worked, progress made, and so on. But neither of us is charged with inspecting the code per se. We’re not qualified; we’re not programmers. Scott is an analyst whose job is to generate reports and interpret them and hold the vendor accountable against the SLA. I’m in charge of the vendor engagement. I answer all their questions, point them in the right direction if they need more info, and make sure they don’t misunderstand anything, that kind of stuff. But we were not told we needed access to the actual product.”

  “We’ll have to gain that access ASAP; this is what I’m here for. I can’t sign off on the quality of the software without getting my hands on it and in it,” she said, smiling casually.

  Her smile froze when she encountered the gaze of a man staring at her from across the floor. The man, wearing a white cap she later learned was called a taqiyah, was looking at her with immense contempt. His beard was very short and neatly trimmed, making him appear unshaven rather than wearing an actual beard. His mouth, slightly open, showed pearly white teeth, quite uncommon for India. He wasn’t smiling though. It was more like a snarl. The man’s eyes were vicious and sharp, making Alex feel their stark gaze like knives stabbing her. She repressed a shudder.

  “Who is that?” Alex whispered, nodding discreetly with a head movement toward the man.

  “Oh, that is Abid Bal, a ray of sunshine, no less,” Brent answered. “He’s the leader of the DCBI project for ERamSys. Everything you need and do goes through him.”

  “Oh, fantastic,” Alex said with a sigh.

  Bal continued to stare, his contempt even more visible, tangible, like she was a leper or something. She decided to deal with the issue immediately. She stepped courageously toward Bal, controlling her posture and gait to project self-confidence and authority, a self-confidence she didn’t really feel.

  “Hi, I am Alex Hoffmann from DCBI,” she said, extending her hand to greet Bal.

  “I know who you are,” he said harshly, taking her hand and shaking it briefly, only the tip of his fingers touching hers. The contempt in his gaze did not go away as he looked at her from up close. “Tell me if there is anything you need.”

  “Yes, there is,” she answered promptly. She was regaining her assertiveness, almost defiant in the face of his contempt. “I would like to gain access to the software modules as soon as possible to begin my quality assessment. If we do this immediately I can sign off on the product faster, literally days after you finish with the last module.”

  The man frowned, his contempt mixed with anger, his jaws clenched. She looked into his eyes and saw the violence Bal was capable of.

  “We will set some appointments up for you. In the meantime, you have some materials to review in your office about the quality standards of ERamSys, our practices, our people, our mission. Please review and tell me if you have questions.”

  He abruptly turned away and left, not waiting for her reply.

  This wasn’t going to be easy, but at least she knew she was on to something. Finally, she had a lead she could follow. Regardless of how intimidating or dangerous Bal proved to be, there was something in those software modules she needed to find.

  ...Chapter 64: In the Aquarium

  ...Thursday, July 28, 8:32PM Local Time (UTC+3:00 hours)

  ...CANWE Headquarters

  ...Undisclosed Location, Greece

  The Aquarium, well-lit, had welcomed its guests for the evening. The five of them, with Vitaliy Myatlev sitting at the head of the table, had just arrived, his chopper delivering them on the well-lit heliport. Outside the Aquarium, Myatlev’s security surrounded the transparent conference room on all sides, guarding all doors. When the last guest had been seated, the Aquarium walls polarized and turned opaque, protecting the secrecy of their meeting.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Myatlev said, “and thank you for all your hard work in the past few months. We have made tremendous progress together.” He bowed slightly toward Mastaan Singh. “Mr. Singh has raised awareness across all of Europe for the humanitarian cause of Eastern Africa Development Fund, making fundraising easier. That doesn’t diminish the value of Mr. Javadi, whose fundraising abilities have been very fruitful. Mr. Shah has ensured we can move funds and materials freely across all of Europe and America by plane or by courier under a very ingenious cover, and Mr. Sadiq ensured we have a clear, direct connection to access our cash in the Bahamas and bring it into the continental United States without much trouble. This is a remarkable accomplishment. Gentlemen, we have achieved everything we had planned to achieve in the six months since we started our work. These activities must continue, at an accelerated pace, because they are the lifeline behind our operations.”

  The four men nodded their approval.

  “But I didn’t invite you all the way here today just to thank you,” Myatlev continued in his flawless English. “In only three months’ time, America will be electing a new president. We need to examine and agree which candidate will make the most sense for us to support. I am strongly inclined to say Bobby Johnson will be the most favorable candidate for our common cause. What do you think?”

  “I am very disappointed, Mr. Myatlev, no offense,” Muhammad Sadiq said. “I thought this council was about more than just lobbying for one candidate versus the other. I thought we were going to make a difference, take bold action to establish the new world equity. That was the goal we all embraced when we joined your council, wasn’t it?”

  Javadi and Shah voiced their support to Sadiq’s point. Singh remained immobile, impenetrable, with a trace of an enigmatic smile on his lips.

  “We have done everything you asked us to do,” Sadiq continued. “We have built the infrastructure you said we needed to execute the plan. Yet the plan continues to disappoint. We can m
ove explosives, but are we moving them? We can fund military action, mercenaries if we want to, but what are we funding? Nothing, at this point. I thought we were going to take over America, not just talk nonsense and politics. Who cares who wins the elections? Not much difference to me, it’s still going to be an American in the White House, right? I don’t see much difference at all.”

  Shah started laughing quietly. Everyone looked at him. He cleared his throat a little before speaking. “There are many ways to accomplish our goal. For example, India is already taking over America. I’ve always admired your country for its slow yet certain invasion,” he said, bowing his head a little in the direction of a puzzled Mastaan Singh. “While other countries train soldiers and spend billions to arm and prepare them for an invasion, your country sends tens of thousands to America each year as workers, and Americans even pay for it! Brilliant, I have to say,” he said, laughing with admiration. “See? Even a peaceful solution can help you reach the same goal, but differently.”

  “Pfft.” Singh dismissed Shah’s comment with a wave of his hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Shah. This is ridiculous.”

  “Let’s stick to the issue at hand,” Sadiq interrupted. “Mr. Myatlev, where is the action we were promised; when will it start happening? I am eager to see some results.”

  “The action is happening already,” Myatlev answered, causing his audience to shift in their seats and look at him with raised eyebrows. “Despite what you might be thinking or how much you would like to see bombs go off, we have a lot more to gain if we place a certain individual in the White House, Johnson to be precise. We have ways to influence Johnson’s decisions. No, better said, we have ways to control Johnson’s policy. Just think what that could mean. Shifting trade policy to favor our respective countries. If we need a war someplace, we can make that happen. We could just send the Americans to fight it for us. You want more Indian workers to be accepted in the States each year, Mr. Singh? Johnson can make that happen for us. We need weapons at preferred pricing? We can make that happen. We need America to leave us to our own devices in Crimea, for example? Just tug on the American’s leash, and he’ll back off. Now think of that and tell me it’s not a worthy plan, bound to get us the new world equity we all want.”

  No one spoke for a while. Shah broke the silence eventually.

  “I don’t know if you are brilliant or delusional. How strong is your grip on Johnson?”

  “Very. The moment he steps into the White House he belongs to us.”

  “Personally, I am deeply bothered by something, Mr. Myatlev,” Javadi said. “Since we have joined your council, you have not fully trusted us with your strategy. I feel like a pawn in your game, not like a partner. This grip you say you have on Johnson, this is not something that you gained overnight, or since we last met.”

  “I agree,” Sadiq said. “You’re asking us all to trust you and work with you, but you don’t trust us.”

  “Gentlemen, this is not an issue of trust,” Myatlev said. “This grip we have on Johnson was the work of many months of work that could have failed many times. While it didn’t happen overnight, it did achieve an important milestone very recently. There are a lot of moving parts in this plan and some I had to execute on my own because of the high risk involved with them. Just to give you an example of such a high-risk maneuver and a demonstration of my trust in you, I can tell you that Johnson wouldn’t have had a shot to run for president if the current vice president, Mark Sheridan, hadn’t stepped down. And that, my friends, was just one of the many moving parts. He was a favorite for this year’s elections, and, with him in the running, the Democrats would have never thrown their support behind Johnson. Against Sheridan, Johnson wouldn’t have had a chance in hell.”

  “How did you get Sheridan to back off?” Javadi asked.

  “Let’s say that everyone has something they’re never willing to sacrifice, no matter what the prize is,” Myatlev responded.

  The looks of disappointment Myatlev had faced earlier were replaced by looks of respect, admiration even.

  “Let’s remind ourselves why we are here,” Myatlev continued. “For my country, American interference with our internal affairs, especially in Crimea, is a very sore point. However, on a personal level, I have a lot to gain if the right policy is in place in America, favoring my oil, gas, and energy interests and allowing me to build a stronger infrastructure of energy distribution. You all have interests, personal, as well as national for the countries you represent, interests that would have a lot to gain from a favorable American President.

  “Mr. Singh would surely like a higher number of Indians to be able to immigrate to America each year, and he’d like to make sure there aren’t any protectionist measures against the outsourcing of labor to India. This is probably, at this point, one of the biggest revenue sources for his country and for him personally, if not the biggest one. Furthermore, India would prefer to have no American interference in its military and economic policy and would like its diplomats treated with more respect.

  “Mr. Sadiq would go home a hero if he could promise Pakistan a sky clear of American drones. Mr. Shah has infrastructure interests in his native Afghanistan that are hindered by the American forces still meddling with the way things are done and putting their own people in the government. Afghanistan is ready, and has been for a long time, to get rid of the last remaining American forces in the area and to bring peace and restore the rights of the Afghan people, whether Taliban or not. Finally, Mr. Javadi, for himself personally and for Iran, would like the self-determination and true values of Islam to be restored to the Iranian people, without fear of American intervention. Am I right?”

  They approved silently.

  “All right, then let’s figure out how to put Johnson in the White House.”

  ...Chapter 65: Democratic Nomination

  ...Friday, July 29, 10:01PM EDT (UTC-4:00 hours)

  ...Flash Elections: Breaking News

  ...Nationally Syndicated

  The familiar credits faded to allow a wide-smiling, slightly excited Phil Fournier to announce the political happenings of the day.

  “We saw this coming, especially in the wake of Vice President Sheridan’s decision to not run for president in the upcoming elections. Today, the Democratic Party presidential primaries concluded its vote, and now it’s official. Senator Bobby Johnson, Illinois, has secured his party’s nomination by an undisputed majority. Initially seen as the underdog in the Democratic Party race for nomination, holding little hope if he were to compete against Sheridan, Bobby Johnson has been riding the tidal wave of Sheridan’s retirement announcement and has gained increasing momentum and public support, even though at modest rates.

  “His key opponent this coming November, Douglas Krassner, holds a higher share of the people’s support, as captured by recent polls. The latest surveys shows support for Krassner at 51 percent, while Johnson’s trailing quite a ways behind at 28 percent. While significantly behind Krassner, Johnson’s numbers are steadily increasing and will most likely continue to climb, considering today’s nomination.

  :The one question clouding the celebratory spirit at Johnson’s campaign headquarters today is how do they reverse the poll results and capture the majority. From here on for Johnson, campaigning will be a head-on battle against Krassner. We will watch every minute of that battle and report back to you the most quintessential moments of what promises to be a fiery game of all-or-nothing. From Flash Elections, this is Phil Fournier, wishing you a good evening.”

  ...Chapter 66: PowerPoint Woes

  ...Thursday, August 4, 10:53AM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)

  ...ERamSys Headquarters

  ...New Delhi, India

  Alex repressed a sigh, sneaking a peek at her watch. Another PowerPoint slide and she would scream. During the past few days, all requests she had made to gain access to the software’s source code, no matter how high up the power chain she went, were passive-aggr
essively deterred and answered with semi-mandatory invitations to attend yet another presentation. She had absorbed, one after the other, hundreds of slides illustrating just how good the quality practices were, how talented and educated the people were, all kinds of testimonials and references from ERamSys’ long portfolio of household brand-name clients, and there was no end in sight. No end in sight for the bullshit PowerPointology, and not a single minute of access to see the actual code she was supposed to sign off on.

  She had even tried to hack into a server that she thought the code might be stored on. She’d gotten caught in less than fifteen minutes. Someone just barged through her office door and invited her to yet another three-hour lunch she couldn’t refuse. She missed Lou badly. She had asked him for support, but he couldn’t hack in from the outside. They’d be on to him in no time, and that put both her life and her mission at risk.

  Well, the mission is already at risk—at risk of not being accomplished due to the biggest stonewalling conspiracy ever, she thought bitterly. Gotta do something about it, and if they don’t like it, well tough luck. She felt bad for the enthusiastic young woman walking her through the impeccable work conditions offered by ERamSys, but she had to interrupt.

  “Priya,” she said, “please don’t take offense, but I have to go. This was very interesting, but I do have some other things I need to look into right away.” She stood up and gathered her things, but before she could leave the room, the door opened and Bal stepped right through it, wearing his signature frown and clenched teeth. He waved Priya away without a word, and the girl disappeared in a hurry, avoiding eye contact the whole time.