by David Pepper
“That’s utter nonsense,” said Emmett Lanning, the RNC’s data director, as they sat in the party’s cramped Robert Dole Conference Room. The ends of his mustache quivered as he cast a confident grin. “We’ve leapt way beyond the Democrats when it comes to our technology and digital work.”
Off the record, with the party’s comms director looking on, he described in detail the party’s many tools and technologies as Cassie took notes, oohing and aahing a bit to egg him on.
When he got to the voter file, Cassie played dumb.
“Wait—so you guys have some kind of profile on every voter across the country?” she asked.
“You could describe it that way. We’ve built an incredibly rich database, and we work to enhance it every day. Come election time, we unleash all that data to target everything we do down to each voter. It’s a science at this point.”
“Do the Democrats have the same thing?”
Emmett leaned forward. “They’ve got a file, but not nearly as good as ours.”
He walked through all the enhancements they’d made in the past two years. The cell phone numbers they’d purchased so they could text voters. Consumer and membership data they’d overlaid onto the file. Location data. How they scraped personal data from Facebook and other social media apps. Then he described the complex modeling that allowed them to predict every voter’s behavior in every race.
“And the national party houses all this information for candidates and campaigns across the country?”
“We’re the mother ship.”
“And you’re the captain?”
He nodded proudly, the beam from the ceiling light reflecting off his wire-rim glasses.
Time to pivot.
“It’s all so impressive. I had no idea things had gotten so sophisticated. Thanks again for your time.” She put the pen and steno pad into her purse as if the interview was over.
Then, in a softer, more casual tone, she broached a new topic, dressing it up as an afterthought. “That’s so much private information in one place. Do you ever worry someone might hack into the file?”
Emmett stiffened, remaining anchored in his chair. This was clearly a question he took seriously. “Oh, that could never happen.”
She shrugged. “I’m sure people might try.”
“Oh, they try,” he said, chuckling. “But we’re better than Fort Knox.”
“But haven’t people hacked party emails and other things? Why not the voter file, if it’s so much more valuable?”
The comms director eyed her colleague, uncomfortable with the conversation’s shift. But Lanning leaned further forward, eager to defend his handiwork.
“That’s mostly the Democrats, but, yes, it’s happened a few times. Emails are harder to protect but have a lot less valuable information. Because the voter file is the holy grail, we’ve built multiple impenetrable walls around it. We test them all the time. People try to break in, but no one’s ever come close—and every time they try, we learn more about how to make it stronger.”
The comms director eyed Cassie impatiently. “You got everything you need?”
Cassie ignored her, focusing on Emmett. “What exactly have you learned?”
“Where they try to get in,” he said, also ignoring the press flack’s interruption. “The perceived weak spots that attract them. The techniques they use. And what stops them. When sophisticated hackers try, it allows us to strengthen our defenses. And I’m telling you, they’ve never come close.”
If he had any worries, Cassie believed she would have sensed it: reading bullshit was one of her strengths. But he wasn’t bluffing. The guy was absolutely confident in what they’d built.
“Okay, that’s the thirty minutes we agreed to,” the flack said, standing. “Send me any quotes you want us to consider and I’ll get back to you.”
Cassie stood up. But as she stepped toward the door, a new angle dawned on her. Everything he’d talked about involved attacks on the voter file from the outside. But there was still the old-fashioned way in.
She turned back toward Emmett, who remained seated, and asked one more question.
“Could you hack in?”
“What?” He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, the damp armpits of his shirt on full display.
“Could you hack the voter file?”
“Why would I hack my own—”
“You know the system cold,” she said, buttering him up again. “So if anyone knew how to hack into the voter file, you would.”
He lowered his arms and rolled forward, knowing what she was getting at. An inside job. If the system was truly impenetrable to outsiders, the only way into the voter file was through an insider—someone like Emmett Lanning himself. The weak link would be a person, not the technology. Someone who’d designed it or worked on it every day.
“No one from here is going to hack our own system.” His pupils flared as he spoke. “That’s nuts.”
“Okay, time to go.” The comms woman lightly brushed Cassie’s back, making it clear they were done.
They walked toward the elevators, leaving Emmett Lanning sitting by himself in the Dole Room.
CHAPTER 45
GENEVA-ON-THE-LAKE, OHIO
Reapportionment?”
As much of a wonk as Tori was, she didn’t know the term. Almost no one did.
“Yeah,” I said. “After each census, the Constitution requires that the 435 House of Representative seats be apportioned among all 50 states, based on the new population counts.”
She rubbed her forehead. “I thought that was called redistricting. Where they draw all those crazy-looking maps.”
The clouds had cleared out to the east and the sun now beamed out on a perfect fall afternoon. Water occasionally dripped onto the soaked deck.
“First they apportion the number of seats to each state based on the national census. Then each state draws those crazy districts.”
“And it’s the state legislators who draw those districts, right?”
“Sort of. It’s the party power brokers in the state and in Washington who actually draw the maps, using the latest and greatest computer programming to rig them perfectly. Then they tell the legislators to vote for what they’ve drawn. But, yes, it’s the legislators who vote. And they do what they’re told.”
“Don’t any of them object? The maps are so ridiculous.”
“It’s become the ultimate test of party loyalty. You’re allowed to stray from your party on some things, but not this.”
I’d watched it firsthand.
All those calls that summer, from back rooms in D.C. to our little cottage, cajoling Dad to vote for a map he knew was absurd. The map split cities and counties across multiple districts. Crammed African Americans into a few districts. Stretched districts across hundreds of communities that had nothing in common. All to guarantee that Ohio would have thirteen Republicans in the House, leaving only five seats for Democrats to fight over. He knew it was wrong, and that the districts didn’t represent the Ohio he knew so well. But he ultimately caved. Who could say no to Ronald Reagan? And if Dad—who had more of an independent streak than most—couldn’t say no, it meant everyone went along.
Tori opened her laptop and typed away.
“Yep. Ohio, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, North Carolina.”
She paused again, taking in whatever website she’d called up.
“Looks like more than forty states total. Legislatures will draw the new lines next year in all of them.” She read further. “But some states have moved to other methods to do it.”
“A few,” I said. “California, Arizona, and some others have changed the process so that the politicians aren’t involved. But most are still drawn by the legislatures.”
She kept her gaze on the laptop screen. “Pretty much.” Then she looked u
p. “So, by interfering in state legislative races around the country, you can determine which party runs Congress for the next decade?”
“Exactly. If you’re going to interfere in this year’s elections, that’s the biggest prize.”
I paused, considering the plausible plot. “You wouldn’t have to interfere in all of the legislative races. Pick five in some states, ten in others. Maybe a few more. Just so you get a majority. The overwhelming number of districts wouldn’t need to be touched. Multiply that by a bunch of states, and you get the majority for a decade.”
Tori shook her head. “All by meddling in a bunch of local races no one’s watching.”
I stood up and slid the porch door open, letting the cool breeze blow in.
“The question is, who’s doing it?”
CHAPTER 46
LONDON
Obsessed by the one loose end that wouldn’t go away, Katrina eyed Wisconsin even as the large monitor in the conference room displayed all fifty states. With only weeks before early voting began in some states, Drac was walking through their final plans.
“We have narrowed the universe down to fifteen states that have large numbers of congressional districts and whose legislatures we don’t now control but reasonably might attain.”
The fifteen states he referred to were colored light blue.
“So how many additional House seats can we gain if we win in all these places?”
Drac pushed a button.
On each light blue state, a number appeared with a plus sign in front of it. Ohio, Pennsylvania, Florida, and North Carolina each had a “+3” over them. Wisconsin and Michigan, “+2.” Most of the other states had a “+1.”
“Even with very conservative estimates, we would secure twenty House seats at a minimum and up to as many as thirty. Permanently.”
Katrina said nothing as she wrote down the numbers.
“Have you gotten any more information on the situation in Wisconsin?”
“We’ve picked up nothing from the sheriff’s department that handled the acci—”
“Accident?” she asked angrily. “Listen to the tape of that 911 call. The man who called was calm, lied, and let the boy die. That entire rendezvous was a setup, an attempt to identify us. It was no accident.”
“I understand. Well, we assumed the police would aggressively track down the caller, but, strangely, they have gone quiet.”
“Forget the caller. How about finding out who the direct contact from the campaign is? The one who called the boy. There must be a way to do so.”
“Nothing yet.”
Her temples ached with rage. He wasn’t working hard enough on this. He was too busy playing with his maps.
“This is too important now. I have sent the Butcher to find them.”
CHAPTER 47
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Emmett Lanning had impressed Cassie all the way up to the end of their interview.
But then he’d stumbled.
Unlike every other question, he hadn’t answered her final one. And then he’d been defensive, even whiny, in evading it. Emmett was a tech guy, and in that realm he was a ninja. But Cassie’s question had been about people. And on that ground, he was shaky. So if there was a soft spot at the parties, it would more likely be with the people than the technology.
With three empty Diet Coke cans and a half-eaten salad sitting on the corner of her desk, Cassie now huddled over her laptop researching the tech staffs of the Republican and Democratic Parties. But since the parties would not simply release their staff rosters, she’d have to reverse engineer it all.
For two hours she deployed every online tool available. LinkedIn and Facebook profiles, a variety of political websites, party conference agendas and rosters, job postings and other announcements. She then dug up several long articles where—as in her interview—party leaders and staff couldn’t help but tout their digital prowess, including bragging about their growing tech teams.
Not surprisingly, both parties had undergone significant turnover after the presidential election. Then they’d ramped up steadily for the current election cycle.
According to his LinkedIn account, Emmett Lanning had become the party’s chief technology officer the January after Janet Moore’s election. Several mid-level staff had stayed with him, but within months of the election, far more had moved to the private sector or signed on with elected officials and candidates. Over the following year, Lanning rebuilt the department with sixteen new hires. A few stars from Silicon Valley joined, while several more came from state-level Republican parties and campaigns. And they hired four junior staff out of college.
Same story on the Democratic side. Most of the tech staff had left after President Moore’s win to take roles in the new administration. The number three in the department, a Boston native named Dan Druffel, moved up to the CTO spot. As with the GOP, his new hires combined private sector and campaign experience. The party added three newbies, who’d recently earned bachelor’s or master’s degrees.
Cassie created a spreadsheet of all the names that had passed through the parties’ tech departments over the past two years. Then she compiled a short dossier on each individual: their personal and professional background, when they’d arrived, and the specific job they did for the party. She underlined anything that stood out.
And for those who’d been added in the past two years but had left since, she tracked down where they’d gone. The bad news was that they were harder to trace after leaving their party. The good news was that only six people had turned over that quickly.
CHAPTER 48
CHICAGO
The jagged, raised scar that curled from Arman Kasabian’s right ear down to the sharp jut of his chin drew more gawks here than in any other country he had visited.
One more thing that made him hate America. And Americans. They pompously strutted their military before the world but displayed their softness by ogling wartime injuries so common in countries like his.
Restless after twelve hours on two planes, Kasabian moved briskly through Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. Having packed lightly, he walked past the baggage claim and breezed through customs, where the young border agent examined his perfectly forged British papers before letting him through.
“Enjoy your visit, Mr. Kozar,” he said, leering at the side of his face.
With the road trip ahead, he would’ve preferred a faster car than the black Jeep Compass, but he already stood out enough in the American Midwest.
Although it was the longer route, Kasabian chose to head north to Milwaukee before cutting west across Wisconsin. He’d read a lot about America’s Great Lakes and hoped to see Lake Michigan as he drove. But as he proceeded through stop-and-start traffic for the next hour, there wasn’t a boat or beach to be seen—only mega-stores, office parks, and fast-food restaurants, the same gray commercialization destroying the culture of so many cities thousands of miles to the east. America. He was eager to complete his mission and return home.
An hour west of Milwaukee, he pulled off the highway and parked at a large sporting goods store. Fifteen minutes later, he walked out with a Glock 19, fifty rounds of hollow-point 9-millimeter bullets, and a serrated ten-inch-long hunting knife. He shook his head as he got back in the Jeep. One of the world’s most high-priced assassins could walk into America’s most common retailer and fully arm himself in minutes.
Back on the highway, the first sign he passed confirmed he was close.
Madison
16 Miles
CHAPTER 49
WASHINGTON, D.C.
So funny, Dan,” Cassie said, laughing out loud. “I was all Red Sox all the time, too.”
If Dan Druffel, the DNC’s chief technology officer, was a typical Boston native, Red Sox Nation would provide the best way into his good graces. Sure enough, ten minutes into drinks, they had
already bonded.
The redheaded, freckled Druffel was accompanied by the party’s press secretary at an Irish pub in Dupont Circle. Cassie preferred the pub’s informality to the RNC’s Dole Room, hoping it might loosen lips.
“So you want to know how much we kick the Republicans’ ass on data?” Druffel asked after his second beer arrived.
The perfect entrée. His competitive spirit was what she was banking on.
“Actually, they told me they were kicking your ass. Better technology, better people.”
He waved his hand dismissively, his smile fading. “That’s ridiculous. One reason Janet Moore is president is because of how much more advanced we are. And we’ve only gotten better since.”
“Well, they told me six of your best eight are now either in the White House or helping a cabinet secretary, and that you’ve been unable to replace them with people as talented.”
He was a big man with a round face, and his ruddy cheeks jostled as he shook his head. “Yeah, well, what the hell do they know?”
“A lot, according to them. They say they’ve surpassed you.”
Druffel fiddled with the silverware.
“I can assure you they haven’t.”
His chubby fingers lifted the oversized stein in front of him.
Cassie cut to the chase. “So you’ve improved upon the voter file and modeling from two years ago?”
After a long swig of the dark beer, he put the stein down. “In this business, you either keep improving or you lose. There is no richer database in any industry than the DNC’s voter file. It’s amazing how much we know.”
Like Emmett Lanning, he talked through the details of their file. The two parties appeared to be on par with how deeply they pried into millions of lives.
When he was done, she homed in.
“And how have you filled in the vacancies left by the exodus? Emmett Lanning said you were only number three until after the election.”