by Brandt Legg
“Mechanized false content?” Hudson echoed. “Guys, with all due respect, I think you ought to get out and take a walk in the woods. Really, re-fresh the negative ions.”
“They can create video with manipulated audio and visuals,” Granger warned. “There is a total erosion of truth.”
“And the tech companies?” the president asked, walking to a window, eyes following a few birds in their flight across the sky.
“They’re controlled by the REMies, or completely overwhelmed by them,” Granger replied. “And even the sites that are independent have been targeted by the agents of disinformation and digital paramilitaries.”
“You stopped a war with China,” the Wizard said to Hudson, “but that was old-school. The future is now. We’re being bombarded by information warfare. It’s cyber war, and America no longer owns the advantage of the most tanks, carriers, and nukes.”
The president knew his old friend was right. In the internet-era, US brute force wasn’t enough to bend the will of reluctant governments around the world. A handful of good hackers with computers could change history. It was that thought that had kept him from releasing the NorthBridge names. Hudson still wasn’t ready to play that card. He might yet need Booker Lipton and the other AKAs. The enemy within could be the only ones able to hold the gates shut from the outside invaders.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
During the next several months, the administration continued to have issues with leaks, especially once the media companies that had been hit by NorthBridge began to recover. The networks and major papers seemed to come at President Pound with renewed vigor, as if it was his fault NorthBridge had targeted them.
However, leaks were a minor concern compared to the other problems which plagued the country. A new crisis appeared almost daily. Crimes sprees in Philadelphia, Detroit, and Houston, and gang violence across Los Angeles and Chicago gripped the nation, all of it on a scale unprecedented before, and all of it happening simultaneously. A wave of “overpass attacks” in Los Angeles and a copycat in Atlanta were the latest. Someone had been tossing things off overpasses, already killing three motorists and injuring a dozen others across the two cities. No suspects had been arrested yet.
At the same time, the Pentagon had been besieged by international incidents stemming from military personnel finding their way into trouble in seven different countries. Two Marines raped a local girl in Italy. Four Army privates killed a German Muslim outside of a bar in Germany. At a base in Japan, an Airman was charged with attempted murder. Incredibly, a young naval officer was charged with robbing a jewelry store in Bahrain. Worst of all was an espionage ring in South Korea involving three enlisted men. Demonstrations had not only been staged in the five countries where the events had occurred, but had spread to nineteen other nations where America had bases. Chants of “Yankee go home!” “We don’t want no NSA, CIA, USA!” and “War Machine can’t fix this!” rocked crowds as large as three hundred thousand outside American bases around the globe.
“It’s a coordinated attack,” the Wizard told the president during an emergency meeting with Dranick, Fitz, the FBI Director, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, and several other top national security advisors.
“Of course it is,” the president said. “The domestic crime sprees could be a result of the breakdowns caused by the steady NorthBridge attacks.”
“Law enforcement is spread perilously thin,” the FBI Director confirmed.
“But eleven military personnel going bad in five countries within weeks of each other?”
“No, I mean all of it,” the Wizard said, meeting the president’s eyes. “The domestic, military, and embassy issues.”
The State Department had also been the victim of scandals at three embassies in different countries that ran the gamut from embarrassing to dangerous. The first included underage prostitution and pornography in Saudi Arabia. On the heels of that came allegations of selling secrets in Belgium. The third, involving smuggling and money laundering, had just come to light in India. Early indications were it could be the most massive of the three.
“Gypsy?” the president asked quietly.
The Wizard nodded.
Several questioning looks from those gathered went unanswered.
“NorthBridge?” the president asked. The leading theory in the administration had been that the domestic terror organization had been involved in at least some of the mayhem. Attacks by NorthBridge had lessened during the period, and many saw it as their way of keeping the pressure on the government while taking it off of the outlawed organization.
“Who else benefits from wearing down law enforcement resources and distracting the administration?” Fitz ventured.
“Karl Bastendorff,” the Wizard said.
“The billionaire?” the Secretary of State asked in astonishment.
Most of the cabinet had not been made privy to the REMies plot since they were undoubtedly part of it, knowingly or not.
“Colonel,” the president said to Dranick. “Want to handle this?”
Dranick knew that even though it was phrased as a question, it was actually an order. “Of course. We’ll match it with what we already have on Bastendorff and report back next week.”
“In the morning,” the president corrected.
Dranick nodded. “The morning, then. If you’ll excuse me.”
The president nodded and continued speaking as DNI Dranick left the conference. “Now, exacerbating all these problems is the fact that even before we get a chance to take action, our plans are often leaked to the media.”
“It’s become an epidemic,” the FBI Director added.
“Although it is unlikely to be any of you in this room,” the president continued, “should I read the name of reclusive billionaire Karl Bastendorff in the Washington Post tomorrow, or see any mention of him on CNN, you better believe each of you is going to be arrested, charged, and dragged before investigators. One. By. One.” Hudson scanned the collected faces and registered the shock, indignation, and outrage on each one. “Understand?”
After a round of affirmative nods and yeses, the president continued. “Good. Thank you.” He made eye contact with each of those gathered. “Now, portions of classified reports, which included details leading up to and surrounding the situation at our embassy in Saudi Arabia, were released to the New York Times. This has caused us more embarrassment. It should be noted that all those involved deny any wrongdoing. Innocent until proven guilty—ring a bell? And we should all remember that this could easily be a set-up by any number of bad actors.”
“We’re seeing the same pattern with these leaks, Mr. President,” the FBI Director said. “As you know, there were even more serious leaks relating to the South Korean spy investigation.”
“How are we supposed to stop espionage when we can’t stop the leaks?” the president asked. “Get it done.”
“What about the domestic crime situation?” one of the advisors asked. “The country’s internal bleeding makes us extremely susceptible to external threats.”
“We’re asking Congress for more emergency funding to put additional police officers on the street,” the president answered, “and I’ve ordered the FBI to move resources and increase manpower in the cities most affected.”
“If this goes on,” the Secretary of Defense said, “we may have to send in troops. Boots on the ground in Los Angeles, Chicago, Houston . . . that would change things in a hurry.”
“Maybe the Pentagon will take my proposal to bring all the troops home seriously now,” the president said.
Everyone looked at him for a silent moment of tense confusion.
“Either way, there will be no tanks on Main Street,” the president said. “Not on my watch.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
That evening, Hudson had dinner with Melissa, Schueller, and the Wizard in the residence dining room. The White House chef prepared a gourmet vegan meal. Hudson, once a big meat and cheese ea
ter—one of his favorites had been a bacon cheddar cheeseburger, with extra bacon and extra cheese—had, without explanation, immediately eliminated all of that from his diet after his nine-minute death.
“Nice work today,” the president said to the Wizard.
“Thanks, Dawg,” the Wizard said. “I thought the Secretary of State was going to have a heart attack when I laid it on Bastendorff.”
Melissa raised an eyebrow.
“I used today’s national security meeting to put the fear of God into those attending. We’re trying to plug up these endless leaks.” Hudson looked across at a portrait of George Washington and thought of Cherry Tree. “We’re running out of time,” he said, mostly to himself.
“You don’t really think the leaker could be one of them, do you?” the first lady asked.
“It could be any of them, or several of them. According to the computer models from Gypsy, it could even be one of us in this room.”
“That’s crazy,” Melissa said.
“I wish it were one of us,” Schueller said. “That way we could get the media to believe anything we tell them.”
“Don’t think we haven’t tried that,” the president said. “The problem is they aren’t on our side. They only run stories that fit the REMie agenda. Anything that counters that, any semblance of real truth hinting at the conspiracy, just gets ignored.”
“They sure do like to cover NorthBridge,” Melissa said. “Even when there aren’t any attacks, they rehash the old ones and talk about the lack of progress. They’re relentless.”
“NorthBridge is the ultimate SAD story, as in Scare, Agitate, Divide,” the president said.
“It’s a good example of how the REMies turn something they didn’t have anything to do with into a MADE event,” Schueller added.
“Remember, Booker is a REMie and head of NorthBridge,” Hudson said. “Coincidence? I think not.”
“Then why haven’t you exposed him yet?” Schueller asked.
“Because it’s too important to know who AKA Adams is,” the president replied, stating what had become his primary reason for delaying the announcement. At the same time, he didn’t want to admit that allowing NorthBridge to peck away at the REMies had been more effective than anything his administration had done against the corrupt elites. “I wish the media would help us. Maybe they could use some of their investigative reporters to actually investigate and find the identities of the other AKAs, instead of finding fault with everything I do.”
“The REMies control the media,” Schueller said.
“I know,” Hudson said. “That explains why they badger me, but not their inability to identify the NorthBridge AKAs.”
“Why is Adams so important, and Franklin, too, right?” Melissa asked.
“Because NorthBridge operates on a decentralized leadership system,” the Wizard answered. “So, if we get Booker, Fonda is in charge. We get her, Thorne takes over. Take him out—”
“AKA Adams steps in. After that, it’s Franklin,” the first lady finished.
“Right,” the president said. “Even now, we have decent intel that certain leaders make decisions without full agreement from the leadership, meaning Booker may order them to bomb the Federal Reserve Bank, and Fonda might not even know about it in advance. Or, she may order the leak of a whole bunch of classified material without checking with the others.”
“They did that during the campaign,” the first lady said. “Remember all the opposition research that prompted several candidates to drop out of the race?”
“Yeah,” Hudson said, adding another helping of Brussels sprouts to his plate. “We think that’s why different AKAs sign the statements on their website. The one who ordered it, claims it.”
“But, Dad,” Schueller began, “couldn’t there be ten more AKAs that have never made public statements? So even if you get Adams and Franklin, then somehow find Booker, Fonda, and Thorne, couldn’t a whole new crop just take over?”
“That’s possible,” the president replied. “But we don’t think so.”
“Let’s say you figure out who AKA Adams and Franklin are,” Melissa said. “How do you know you can find them? And what good will it do when you haven’t even been able to locate Booker, Fonda, and Thorne?”
“We’re making progress on that,” the Wizard said. “Recently, our team has managed to isolate some of their tracks on the DarkNet. There have been digital fingerprints and coded footprints discovered belonging to Thorne and Fonda.”
Melissa’s eyes widened and she smiled. “Impressive.”
“Then what?” Schueller asked.
“It won’t be long until we’re able to triangulate their position, so to speak,” the Wizard responded.
“Meaning?” Melissa asked.
“If the cyber gods are with us, we’ll know right where they are,” the Wizard said. “Then boom, boom, boom, we got ’em.”
Melissa took a bite of some daikon and winked at Hudson. “Nice work,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “How was this made?” She pointed to the food. “I’ve never liked radish, but this is incredible.”
“I’ll ask the chef,” the president replied. As for tracking the AKAs, that’s all Wizard and Granger, but it’s a little too soon for congratulations just yet.”
“Maybe,” the Wizard said. “But give us a couple more days.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
An article on one of the major online news sites speculated that the young billionaire, Schueller Pound, seemed intent on quickly spending every last penny of the fortune he’s inherited from Arlin Vonner, citing a burn rate of more than a billion dollars a month. One commentator joked, “Perhaps the president’s son has some inside information on the coming end of the world, and he’s trying to spend it all first.”
The current fuss had been caused by yet another one of Schueller’s ambitious billion-dollar ventures. This time the focus was on healthcare, and he had the help of his sister, Florence. The president’s daughter had put her nursing career temporarily on hold to head up what Schueller had dubbed “Medical Emergency Details,” or “MEDs.” The idea was that in the event of a breakdown in essential services following a natural disaster, civil unrest, or any other unforeseen situation, the population should be able to take care of all but the most serious medical problems themselves.
MEDs hired thousands of doctors, nurses, and other health practitioners. Their objective was two-pronged. First, small teams of medical professionals fanned out across the country and began training anyone interested in first aid and medical basics, all the way up to triage and minor surgery. The second aspect of the MEDs’ mission was to respond to actual disasters. Teams of medical personnel remained on call. MEDs also had helicopters, small planes, four-wheel-drive vehicles, and medical supplies staged at strategically located facilities around the nation and in more than sixteen other countries.
The American Medical Association (AMA) immediately initiated lawsuits against Schueller and MEDs in thirty-two states, claiming it amounted to a program to teach people to practice medicine without a license. Schueller, undaunted, added an army of attorneys to MEDs’ payroll. It was another extremely well-received enterprise across the general population.
“Giving control of healthcare back to the people,” Schueller said, “is long overdue.”
He also pledged to find a way to make health insurance affordable.
“Do health insurance companies really need to collectively make tens of billions in profits while people struggle to pay for doctor visits, hospital stays, and medicine? There must be a better way, a fair way, and I’m going to find it.”
Fitz entered the Oval Office, interrupting a meeting with several members of Congress, their aides, and representatives from two large environmental groups. After apologizing and informing them the meeting would have to be rescheduled, he quickly sent them away.
“What is it?” the president asked as soon as they were alone, fearing another NorthBridge attack.
Hudson stared blankly at his Chief of Staff. “I don’t recall ever hearing the name before. Who is she?”
“Are you certain? Because she’s just told a story to a cable news channel that you sexually harassed her during your work on the school board back in Ohio.”
Hudson sat back in his chair with a puzzled expression on his face. “I’ve never sexually harassed anyone in my life. I’ve never heard of this woman. This is obviously just somebody looking for publicity or money.”
“If she wanted money,” Fitz began, “she would’ve approached you or your attorneys before going public.”
“No one’s going to believe her. It’s not true. Just have the Press Secretary issue a firm denial,” the president said, waving his hand dismissively. “There’s no way they can prove this because it didn’t happen.”
Fitz looked skeptical. “I believe you didn’t do it, but I don’t believe it will go away as easily as you think.”
By the end of the next day, it was clear that Mandy Engbert was part of something bigger than just a woman seeking publicity. Three more women came forward—one claimed an affair, another charged sexual harassment and unwanted advances, and the fourth alleged victim said Hudson raped her. All four were light on details, two of the women had retained the same attorney, and all were the subject of intense media attention. Wall-to-wall round-the-clock coverage delved into the sleazy claims and the supposed seedy and scandalous past of the president.
The first lady, who had been at the United Nations women’s conference, was pelted with questions upon leaving the function. Even without talking to Hudson yet, she forcefully announced complete belief in Hudson, adding that she thought everyone else should also believe him. When a reporter fired back and asked if she was calling the four women liars, Melissa calmly answered, “I was raised to not talk badly about people. But if they’re saying that my husband did something, and he’s saying that he did not, I’m saying that I believe him, and you can draw whatever conclusion you think is appropriate.”