Devil's Move: A Thriller (Political Terrorism Technothriller)
LESLIE WOLFE
Devil’s Move
A NOVEL
Dedication
For my husband, who never stops believing in me.
...1
...Thursday, May 21, 7:58PM Local Time (UTC+1:00 hours)
...Restaurant La Cordonnerie
...Paris, France
The loud ringtone shattered the cozy atmosphere of the exclusive restaurant and caused a few diners to frown and throw disapproving glances.
Oblivious and rude, the phone’s owner took the call in a loud, raspy Russian. “Da?”
“Vitya? It’s Misha. We’re in play,” the caller said and then hung up.
The Russian continued his dinner. A spark of excitement in his eyes and a faint flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth were the only visible effects of the call. He loved playing God.
...2
...Thursday, December 3, 11:22AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...MedStar Georgetown University Hospital—MedStar Heart Institute
...Washington, DC
Waiting. Waiting is the absolute worst part of having to deal with hospitals. Robert Wilton nodded to himself absently, letting his weary mind wander. He had waited for almost two hours, counting every minute right outside the conference room whose opaque doors read “Transplant Committee” in black, bold lettering. The impersonal label on the door and the way it stood out against the white, impenetrable glass held a menacing look. It felt surreal to know that some complete strangers had such decisive power over the destiny of a family.
Robert tried to picture the faces of the committee members. Would they be favorable? Would they say yes? What does a transplant committee do, anyway? His mind wandered again, recalling the articles he had read in preparation for this day. They meet, they review the details of each patient, and they decide if that patient makes it to the waiting list and with what priority. They decide who gets a heart and who doesn’t. They decide who lives and who dies. A shudder disrupted Robert’s thoughts, and he stifled a sob. She can’t die...she’s all I have. Please, God...
“Mr. Wilton?” A man’s hand gently touched his shoulder. The man had a sympathetic smile and sadness in his green eyes, brought forward by the pale teal of his scrubs.
Oh, no... “Yes,” Robert managed to articulate.
“The transplant committee has finished its session, and I’m afraid the news is not so good. Your wife does not qualify for a transplant.”
“No! This can’t be. I’m sure this is a mistake...” Robert’s voice was gaining momentum. “This must be a mistake, because you don’t know her. She’s wonderful...she’s all I’ve got! Please...?” Robert grabbed the man’s sleeve, pleading with him, his breathing shattered by uncontrollable sobs.
“Sir, I understand this must be very hard for you to hear, and I can assure you this decision was not taken lightly by our committee. Your wife is almost at the age limit, which is sixty-five, and, unfortunately, our rules are very clear about transplant candidates with a history of substance or alcohol abuse. I am very sorry.”
Hope flickered in Robert’s mind. “What are you talking about? She’s not an addict! You got it all wrong...there must be some mistake. Please tell the committee they can give her a heart, because she’s not an addict. You have all your facts wrong. Please.”
“Sir, I am afraid our information is accurate,” the man continued in the same professional, sympathetic, almost whispered tone of voice. “She might not be an addict, but she has a DUI on her record in the past ten years, and that’s an instant disqualifier.” The man stopped for a minute, letting Robert process the information. Pallor took over Robert’s tired, tear-stained face as he grasped the finality of the transplant committee’s decision. “I wish there were more we could do. I am very sorry.” The man paused again for a few seconds. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”
Robert stood with difficulty, barely aware his muscles were crying with pain from the tension he had been accumulating on that waiting room chair. I need air, he thought, heading with unsteady steps toward a door at the end of a very long corridor. His mind had registered the sunshine coming through that door whenever someone had walked through it. How do people walk these corridors? How do people leave here and tell their families it’s over? Robert’s mind was wandering again. If these walls could talk, they would scream.
He sat down on a bench right outside the building in the warm sunshine offered by a mild December. He didn’t feel able to walk any farther. This isn’t happening...This can’t happen...Please, God! Holding his head in his hands and rocking back and forth, he finally let the uncontrollable sobs out, gasping for air.
“Mr. Wilton?” a man interrupted.
“Go away...there’s nothing you can do for me,” Robert said, not even looking up to see who was standing there.
“That’s not true, Mr. Wilton. There might be something I can do for you,” the man said, taking a seat on the bench.
Robert looked at the stranger. He wasn’t dressed like a hospital employee, and he was definitely not the man from the committee. He absently registered minor details about this man: pricey suit jacket worn on top of a black turtleneck, expensive watch, a faint scent of high-end cologne. Light, short-trimmed, thinning brown hair; high forehead; intelligent eyes; but cold as ice. Wrinkled face. Very wrinkled.
“My name is Warren Helms,” the stranger continued, “and I have only one question for you.” He paused, waiting for Robert to shake his hand. Hesitantly, Robert shook the man’s hand. “What would you do to save your wife’s life?” Helms asked.
“Anything,” Robert answered without thinking, “anything at all. Just ask. I have some money. I could raise more.” Hope flooded his heart.
“Oh, it’s not that complicated; it’s not about money, Mr. Wilton. It’s much easier than that.” Helms paused, looking at Robert with inquisitive eyes. Robert was hanging on every word. He was ready. “We’ll just need a small favor from you, at the right time.”
“What kind of favor?” Robert asked, concern seeping into his voice.
“Nothing you wouldn’t normally do, nothing out of the ordinary.” Helms stopped for a second and then continued, while starting to get up. “But if you’re uncomfortable, just say so and I will be on my way—”
“No,” Robert almost yelled, grabbing the man’s arm. “No, I’ll do it, whatever it is. I’ll do it.”
“All right, then we have a deal. Now go home to Melanie and tell her you both are going to Vermont, where she’ll be getting a new heart. I will call you with the details. Start packing today. The surgery will happen sooner than you think.”
...3
...Monday, December 14, 9:02PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...News of the Hour Special Edition Report
...Nationally Syndicated
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” The anchor paused slightly, the way she normally did for dramatic effect. Her wavy blond hair and perfect makeup showcased a face filled with excitement. “In an announcement that took everyone by surprise earlier today, the White House confirmed that President Mason has signed off on the initiative to have the next presidential elections ‘brought to the twenty-first century,’ as the president himself phrased it.
“The American presidential election, a democratic institution in itself and the single most important process in our democracy, has been maintained almost unchanged for more than a century. Traditionally handled via paper ballots marked with pens or by punched holes, the election process has had little innovation brought to it, with the exception of sporadic, county-level initiatives. For
next year’s presidential elections, we are now looking at a completely overhauled process involving technology, such as touchscreen monitors and centralized electronic data storage and analysis.”
The camera zoomed out, allowing the studio guest to become visible on the screen.
“Our guest tonight is the initiator of the elections process overhaul, California Senator Sidney Mulligan. Senator, thank you for joining us tonight.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Stephanie, always a pleasure.” The senator smiled at the camera.
“Senator, please tell us what made you decide to spearhead this initiative?”
“Very simple, Stephanie: it was way overdue. Election data is crucial information, highly sensitive, and time critical. Until now, on numerous occasions, due to the imperfect process we currently have involving paper ballots and all the processes related to paper voting, we have seen allegations of tampering, miscounting, and influencing, just to mention a few. Like the situation we had in Florida in 2000, if you recall.” The Senator stopped talking, allowing Stephanie to engage.
“Yes, I do recall. Wasn’t that when the machines punched holes in the ballots that were not clearly associated with the ballot options?”
“Precisely. Based on that experience, and on other situations where I felt—we felt—that the democratic process of elections is jeopardized by its own archaism, I have decided to not sit idle and instead to drive this change. That’s what motivated me to rally some resources and begin exploring the possibility of an overhaul.”
“How difficult was it for you to see this initiative approved?”
“Relatively difficult, I might say.” He paused for a little while, thinking. “Although, in retrospect, the electoral process has been maintained almost unchanged for more than a hundred years because my fellow legislators are mostly risk averse. With the exception of a few isolated precincts innovative enough to deploy some form of technology to this process, the majority of the country still votes on paper today.”
“Then how exactly were you able to see this through? Walk us through what it took to get this overhaul approved.”
“It wasn’t extremely hard, once we formulated it and submitted it for debate—just more difficult than I had anticipated.” Senator Mulligan paused, arranged his already perfect tie, and then resumed. “Before submitting it, I met with several technology leaders in Silicon Valley and worked through some scenarios, identified some of the pitfalls, and worked through a proof of concept. I wanted to make sure we’re not wasting time and effort or running the risk of overlooking any potential issues.”
“I guess it helps having Silicon Valley right there by your side, doesn’t it?” Stephanie interjected.
“Sure, it does.” The senator smiled right back, open and friendly.
“Was this a democratic initiative?”
“Well, not at the start. At first, when I suggested it, the voices of opposition were on all sides of the political spectrum. Now it has the full support of the Democratic Party. We worked through that, and we were able to rally enough initial support to make it go to vote. I think the strategic and historical dimensions of this initiative transcend party lines and reach deep into our very cores as political leaders.”
“What were the main reasons legislators voted against it?”
“Fear of change, risk aversion, fear of technology, just to name a few. The opponents are intimidated at the thought of changing anything in one of the cornerstone processes of our democracy.” The senator thought for a few seconds, and then a mischievous smile appeared in his eyes. “But let’s keep in mind that America builds the same home designs it did fifty years ago, just because it’s safer, easier, and cheaper to do so. No one wants to take on the risk of building new, modern houses that people could potentially be reluctant to embrace. The typical neighborhood in suburban America looks exactly the same way it did halfway through the last century, because at the end of the day, Americans are, simply put, risk averse. Change averse. And that is the biggest roadblock in the path of innovation and progress.”
“Maybe we should have started with this question: how will it all work? What will change in the voting process? How will the voters experience change?”
“Very little will actually change in the voter experience, but this change will be critical. The voters will still be registered, as they are now. Nothing new there. Their voter registration cards will be reissued every two years; again, nothing new. The registration cards will have bar codes on them, still nothing new. On Election Day, inside the voting booths there will be touchscreen devices, very similar to tablets, only mounted on small stands inside the booths. These devices will have bar code readers, so the voter will be able to scan their registration card to start the voting process. Once they scan their card, they will be presented with information on the screens, walking them through the entire voting process.
“So, for example, the first screen will show ‘President and Vice President’ options, and voters will simply touch the names they want to cast their votes for. When touched, that specific candidate’s section on the screen will be highlighted in green, and the device will prompt the voter to touch ‘continue’ if they accept the selection. Then they advance to the next screens, one vote at a time. Very simple and straightforward.”
“Yes, absolutely,” Stephanie approved. “What happens in the background? How does it all work?”
“That’s where all the beauty is. The voting system will be housed by a data-processing government contractor, vetted by the NSA—that’s the National Security Agency—with the highest levels of security in place. The versatility of this new system enables the device to offer all the state-specific and local ballots after scanning the registered voter cards. This system will aggregate and process all information as votes are collected, so we will have our ballot results within minutes after booths close. Additionally, having a precise record of each and every vote, time stamped and location stamped, will completely eliminate all the suspicions about vote tampering or manipulation, thus cleaning up our voting process.”
“Very interesting. Who’s building all this technology? Will it be ready in time for November elections?”
“We have selected a government contractor, DCBI, with decades of experience delivering impeccable service to assist with the technology deployment. For those of your viewers who might not be entirely familiar with the name, Donaldson & Campbell Business Intelligence is one of the top three technology-consulting firms in our country. It has a history of delivering strategic government contracts on time, within budget, and with the highest security. DCBI will deploy the entire solution, based on very specific requirements that include every single aspect of the new system, from how the devices will look, feel, and work to how the data will be captured, interpreted, and stored.”
“One last question, senator,” Stephanie said, suddenly turning serious. “Are you worried? Do you have any concern this overhaul might not go as planned?”
“No, I am not worried, not at all.” The senator’s calm smile lingered.
“Thank you very much for your time with us here tonight, senator. This was very interesting and informative. We are looking forward to having you join us in the studio again with progress updates.”
“Thank you, I would be happy to.”
The camera zoomed back in, centering on Stephanie’s elegant features.
“That was Senator Sidney Mulligan, the pioneer of electronic voting. On January 7, we will welcome to our studio the voice of opposition against this highly disputed overhaul, New Jersey Congressman Jim Archesi, one of the most conservative voices in the Republican Party.” Stephanie paused briefly before delivering the final phrase of her show. “Live from our studio, this is Stephanie Wainwright, with News of the Hour.”
...4
...Friday, December 18, 1:33PM PST (UTC-8:00 hours)
...Meadowood Mall Starbucks
...Reno, Nevada
“Hello?” Coffee spi
lled on the table, as the cup tipped over in the man’s rush to pick up the call.
“This is Helms. Travel arrangements are made. She’s arriving on the twenty-third at 8:25PM, American Airlines flight 1075 from DC via Dallas/Fort Worth. Get the job done.”
“Yes, sir,” the man answered as the caller hung up.
...5
...Tuesday, December 22, 8:07AM PST (UTC-8:00 hours)
...Carmel Valley Beach
...San Diego, California
Alex Hoffmann landed hard on her back, the air knocked out of her lungs despite landing on sand. She grunted and spat out some of the sand that had stuck to her tongue. She tried to get to her feet, but then gave up and settled on the wet beach, still dizzy, eyes open under the fine December mist.
“I hate you,” she said, giving Lou a look of deep resentment. “I hate you very much right now. Words cannot describe.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Lou said unmoved, “now get back on your feet. You’re very vulnerable when you’re down.”
“Don’t care anymore,” she whimpered. “Just go away.”
“No can do, boss, we only have a few days to get you in shape. Up!”
“I am in shape,” she grunted angrily. “I look great.” She got up, shaking the sand off her sweats and trying to arrange her wet hair. “I am in great shape, and I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”
“Wrong and wrong,” Lou said. With a swift movement of his arm, he grabbed her and twisted her in the air. This time she landed face down in the sand.
“Ugh,” she spat. “Enough already, I think I get your point.” She curled on her side, not caring about the wet sand anymore. “But I am in great shape, even if I don’t know martial arts, or whatever this is. I’m not GI Jane, nor do I intend to be. Not ever.”