CHAPTER 17
Clandestine Cubes
Dante threaded his way through midday traffic. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he merged onto the 134 freeway, fingers aching. The Mako chimed, a message on the screen offering to drive. Stabbing a finger on the center console screen, he killed the display. He had to do something to keep himself busy.
A garbage truck cut him off and skidded to a stop in front of him, but he barely noticed. The events of that morning played out through his head, drowning everything else out.
For the second time that day, he’d stood on the studio’s small stage and spoken to the staff, this time apologizing for a “deep fake donkey show” as Special Agent Boucher had called it. As he approached the stage through the crowded studio floor, Dante could feel the eyes of all his employees on him, watching his every move. Silence hung heavy in the air. His feet thudded hollowly as he climbed onstage and began to speak, face burning as he realized he’d forgotten to clip the microphone to his lapel.
Tires squealed up ahead as the garbage truck lurched to a halt once more. Dante stomped the brake pedal to the floor and roared with frustration until his throat hurt. Horns blared behind him as traffic up ahead began to flow but he ignored the commotion. The Mako chimed, offering to drive again.
“No, goddamn it!”
An engine revved as a car screeched past him, the driver screaming something unintelligible. Dante gripped the steering wheel until the faux leather creaked. Blood pounded in his ears as he goosed the accelerator and cut left. The side-view mirror disappeared with a shriek of tortured plastic as a lane splitting motorcycle flashed by. The mirror spun into the air, sunlight flashing as it fell down among the tightly packed cars ahead. The rider didn’t even slow down.
A cold sweat broke out over him as the Mako chimed, alerting him to the damage with a top-down schematic diagram of the car. Then it did something it had never done before.
“Would you like me to drive, sir?” the car said with a refined English accent, the voice silky and feminine.
“Uh,” Dante said slowly. “I guess?”
“It would be my pleasure,” the voice said as the auto drive alert appeared. Dante frowned and he lifted his hands from the wheel as it spun on its own, the car nosing its way back into traffic.
“It…can talk now?” Dante said to himself.
The current software version flashed on the screen, as if that meant anything to him. His phone rang and he lifted it to his ear.
“Yeah,” Dante said, his voice slightly hoarse.
“I hear Mexico is lovely this time of year.”
“Bob, I swear to god.”
Dante pictured Bob Bainbridge’s handsome, square jawed face leering on the other end and he gripped the phone until it squeaked in protest.
“Yeah, sorry kid. I can only imagine the morning you’ve had,” Bainbridge said.
“Something I can do for you?” Dante said.
“Naomi wanted me to check the accounts for anything that looked suspicious. Everything’s kosher, so we’re okay there.”
“Well there’s that. Did you send me an email this morning?”
“Fucking hate email,” Bob said. “Somebody’s cyber harassing you?”
“Looks like. I’m on my way to talk to a security specialist right now.”
“Sounds like it’s going to cost.”
“Doesn’t everything?” Dante said. “Either way, this shit needs to stop. I’ll let you know if I decide to hire them.”
“Gotcha. Hoops on Friday? You need to work on that jump shot.”
“Can’t.”
“That’s what I thought. Later.”
As Dante pulled the phone away Bainbridge called out, voice tinny and faraway.
“Bob?” Dante said, pressing the phone back to his ear. “You still there?”
“What did that mean? What you said.”
“I don’t know. What did I say?”
“At the end of the video. You looked right at the camera and said something about being fearless or powerful or something. It sounded just like you, too. Hold on lemme play it again,” Bainbridge said, voice laced with glee.
“Thanks for the update, Bob,” Dante said and disconnected.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. The deep fake spoke in the video as well? How did they do that? And who were they?
Hopefully Shadow Trace could get him some answers.
The Mako eased over and exited the freeway at Victory Boulevard. Used car lots and liquor stores rushed by outside, followed by strip malls, giving way to neighborhoods of shabby, single-story homes. The center median was filled with red gravel and dotted with the occasional palm tree, yellowed fronds unruffled by wind.
The houses gave way to cash preferred businesses again, marked by a billboard reminding everyone that suicide was never an option. The Mako turned right on Van Nuys Boulevard, then cut left through a gap in traffic before gliding into a lot marked “Shadow Trace Parking only.”
Dante stepped out into the valley heat. The bitter tang of pollution was strong here, biting and caustic. Stepping aside as two kids on electric scooters zoomed by, Dante strode to the front of the building.
Square columns held up a roof that stretched out over the front of a square, white tiled building, reminiscent of a bank. A black iron fence formed a courtyard of sorts around the front. The glass entrance was completely blacked out. A voice, tinny and hollow, burst out from a box mounted next to an entrance gate.
“Mr. Ellis. Please come in.”
The gate buzzed and Dante stepped inside. It closed behind him with a clang. The front doors parted with a hiss as he approached. Arctic air blasted out and he felt a chill ripple through him as a tall man came forward from the darkness. He had long black hair with a streak of gray running through, swept into a tight bun at the nape of his neck. Dante thought he’d make a great movie vampire. The man stuck out a slender hand.
“I am Dmitry Molchalin of Shadow Trace,” he said with a clipped, Russian accent.
Dante took the hand and Molchalin gave one solid pump before letting go.
“We spoke on the phone earlier, right?” Dante said.
“We did. Come with me.”
Dante followed the man into a dimly lit room up through two large black cubes that dominated the space, each at least sixteen feet tall. There were two doors in the face of each one, the corners curved like those on a battleship. The upper doors were offset from the lower ones, each accessible by a thin, black ladder. The cubes hummed as they walked by and Dante resisted the urge to reach out and touch one.
Molchalin turned left at a wall of computers kept in slim racks inside a glass fronted enclosure. A multitude of tiny lights winked inside, flashing with rapid pulses.
“This way,” he said over his shoulder as he turned and disappeared behind the enclosure.
Light bloomed as Dante followed and saw Molchalin enter an office with a plain metal desk and two faux leather chairs, one on either side. The tall man sat behind the desk, his dark eyes tracking Dante’s every move as he eased down into the empty chair.
Dante jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “What are those things?”
“Ah, the cubes. Each contains eight private cubicles, completely secure,” Molchalin said.
“You got people in there?”
“Yes. Software engineers on several different security projects. They only communicate if working on the same project and only through secure encrypted connection. The large enclosure along the back wall houses our private servers. Very secure.”
“Isn’t that a little extreme? People in boxes?” Dante said.
“I can assure you, Mr. Ellis, we take security very seriously.”
“I see. So, about my problem.” Dante told him about the deep fake video and the strange text he’d received that morning.
The more a thing is perfect,
the more it feels pleasure and pain.
Molchalin gave a terse no
d. “First, we need to secure your network. My team and I will visit your studio and install our suite of Shadow Trace software. It is like a digital immune system, seeking out malware of all types before isolating each one. Shadow Trace also actively monitors all data flow through your network by passing it through one of our private secure servers here on site. You’ll be back up in a day, two at the most, completely secured.”
“That’s it?” Dante said.
“No. There are sites on the dark web with lists of targets to harass for money, usually paid with crypto currency. My team will perform a search for any mentions of your name.”
“Dark web, huh?”
“Not as exciting as it sounds,” Molchalin said. “The dark web is just a collection of servers accessible through an encrypted browser known as TOR. Makes it much easier to hide your digital tracks. There are the lists I mentioned, plus illegal markets like the Silk Road and AlphaBay for drugs and weapons.”
“You think I’m on one of these lists?”
“It is possible. Some are for jilted ex-lovers posting revenge porn along with a request to smear the target in online forums and social networks. I suspect you’re on one or more of the professional lists. It would explain the multiple methods used so far. Most likely perpetrated by different people, makes it harder to track down. And the simple fact that you have not been directly threatened or blackmailed. Are you involved in any lawsuits?”
“A breach of contract and a zoning dispute with the city.”
“We will look in to this. It is possible this is an attempt to smear you by lawyers but not very likely. My instincts tell me this is simple harassment designed to defame and discredit you, possibly by a disgruntled employee or professional rival. It is a growing problem. If it makes you feel any better, you’re not alone.”
“Can’t say that it does. The fallout from that deep fake video alone is going to follow me for a long time.” Dante leaned back and rubbed his forehead. “What a mess.”
“Why a donkey? Are you a democrat, Mr. Ellis?”
“There’s an urban myth about something called a donkey show, supposed to take place somewhere in Mexico, where a woman has sex with a donkey on stage. I think it’s supposed to be something like that. I don’t know what that would have to do with me though.”
“Maybe it’s a metaphor. A narcissistic jackass having intercourse with a bestial analog of himself.”
Dante laughed without humor. “You think?”
“Just a theory. There is a similar story in Russia about Catherine the Great having sexual intercourse with a horse, but stories like these were circulated during her reign to disparage her. Your video could be as simple as that. We can help you there as well. Our services include online reputation restoration.”
“How does that work?” Dante asked.
“My team will track down any sites where the deep fake video has been uploaded and have our legal team send a cease and desist. Then we outsmart search algorithms by seeding the Internet with positive posts designed to rank high with search engines. Most people don’t click past the first page of results, rendering anything negative virtually invisible.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. I can’t believe it’s all that easy, though,” Dante said. “What else could be going on here?”
Molchalin held his gaze for a moment before he spoke. “Someone with the talent, means and sheer force of will has specifically targeted you and this is just the beginning.”
CHAPTER 18
The Package
Boxes were piled up at least four feet or so, most of them about the size of a toaster. He’d checked his accounts but there were no outstanding charges. Gary brought some of the boxes in and the twins were having a ball stacking them up and knocking them down like they were miniature kaiju.
His phone rang. He knew it was Gail before he even connected.
“So, Amex just got in touch.”
“Gail, something crazy is going on.”
“Uh huh. You maxxed out your own card so you had to use mine?”
“What are you talking about?” Gary asked in shock.
“All the charges are from Adult Flair DVD. Not really my style.”
“Hold on,” Gary said as he dropped the phone in one of the loose pockets on his robe.
He tore open one of the boxes and a stack of DVDs spilled out. They were all pornography. He scooped them up and stuffed them back in the box. One of the twins got a hold of one and took off, screaming with frustration as Gary chased him down and took it away. Curious, he scanned the cover. It was an image of two Asian women, naked bodies entwined with that of a muscular blond man. He scanned the title as a very frustrated toddler punched him in the testicles.
Two Wongs make a White.
With a groan, he jammed the porno back in the box and tucked it under an arm as he lifted his phone and pressed it to his ear.
“Listen, I didn’t have anything to do with this. Somebody got your card info and for some reason used it to buy all this stuff and mail it here.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“Gail, darling, it’s been a real shit day and I don’t need your little insinuations right now. My back is still killing me from when that cop pinned me down.”
“What are you’re saying? You got arrested?”
“Would you shut up and listen to me for once?”
The twins stopped pushing boxes around and gaped at Gary, eyes wide.
“Someone is harassing us and I don’t know why. The cop said something about a jilted boyfriend. Anything you’d like to tell me? Something about your little lunch buddy, Ted?”
“No,” she said, her voice low. “Of course not.”
“The thermostat had a virus, that’s what caused it to go on the fritz. Then the alarm went off and the cops showed up,” Gary said. “The SWAT team, Gail.”
“Oh my god! Are the babies okay? Why didn’t you call me?”
“They’re fine. I’m alive too, thanks for asking. Somebody called the cops with a false report. It’s called swatting. Then all these packages started showing up. I looked it up online. The swatting, the messing with smart devices, the packages. This type of thing has been reported before, just not all at the same time. We’ve been targeted by a hacker or some script kiddie that wants to mess with us. And no, I have no idea why.”
“Well, I’m coming home. Right away.”
“Good idea. When you get here, call Visa and straighten this mess out.”
“What are you going to do?” Gail said.
“As soon as you get home, I’m going back to bed.”
Still clad in his robe, Gary used a sledge hammer to pound a wooden post into the ground. Nailed to the post was large piece of cardboard with a message scrawled across it with fat black marker: WE DIDN’T ORDER ANYTHING. NO MORE PACKAGES PLEASE.
He’d only slept an hour or so and the ache in his lower back had ascended his spine with a prickly vengeance. During that time the pile had grown, extending down their short driveway almost to the street. Gail had to park her Audi a few cars up when she’d come home.
He couldn’t wait to hear all about it.
A young woman jogged by in a tight black running suit, her pony tail bouncing as she gazed down at the packages with interest.
“Got a lot of packages there,” she said, jogging in place. “What’s in them?”
“Porn mostly,” Gary said. “Some sex toys.”
She laughed, her face becoming a frown as Gary remained impassive. She bounced off and Gary turned back to the house, wishing he had that much energy to waste.
Something buzzed his face and he ducked, dropping the hammer with a thump. It came at him again and he karate-chopped as it swooped in low, his hand missing it by a mile. It hovered low to the ground about five feet away, orange wings a blur.
It was the dragonfly drone.
The little wooden box it had left at the back door earlier was suspended below its metallic
green body by its legs. He’d forgotten all about it. Gary peered around, but the street was empty of people. He wondered if this little gift was from the hackers.
Had to be.
Gary stepped toward it and the box dropped to the street. The dragonfly hovered back a few feet as he came closer and knelt down. Picking up the box, he held it up and inspected it closely. It was made from balsa wood and appeared to be carved from one piece, except for a small door inset in the top. There were no markings. He held it to his ear and shook it. The dragonfly emitted a loud buzz that made him jump.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “No shaky.”
He tried to slide the small door back but it clicked instead. He hooked a fingernail under the edge and eased it open, half expecting it to explode in his face. Inside was a flat, smooth object, like a large coin, pearlescent gray in color. Turning the box over in his palm, the object fell out and he held it up close.
His body went stiff.
On the face of the object were the twins, their soft features perfectly captured, wild hair sticking up from their heads. Their arms were intertwined, bodies overlapping to form the shape of a heart with their heads creating the dual curves of the top. He peered closer, rubbing his thumb across the surface. If it was a 3D print it was a damn good one.
He turned it over.
It was a mirror image of the obverse, different in subtle but terrifying ways. The boy’s mouths were thrown open in silent screams of agony, their delicate little fingers curled like claws. Their bellies were slit open down the front, bulbous coils of intestines spilling out. The dragonfly flitted its wings and flew off.
“What the fuck is going on?” Gary said, his breath coming quick and shallow.
In a daze, he withdrew the card Sergeant Chavez had given him earlier. His phone chittered with a harsh, insectile sound. As Gary read the text displayed on the screen, the card slipped from his fingers.
Crucible of Fear Page 7
