by Bobby Akart
Her relationship with her father was loving, but formal. He put on a tough, reserved exterior with everyone, including Abbie. Her mother, now deceased, always reminded Abbie of her father’s status, and that it was important to treat him with the utmost respect, in public and private. She scanned the faces again, searching briefly for Sarge. I should have called him.
“You were splendid, young lady,” said Morgan. Splendid. Nobody else would describe her announcement as splendid.
“Thank you, Father. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen so many of your friends in one place,” said Abbie.
“Our friends,” he whispered, stepping forward to address the room. “Everyone, may I have your attention?”
Within moments, the cheering and applause ceased.
“Abigail and I certainly appreciate your generosity and support as she embarks on her reelection campaign. I believe we all agree, Abigail has represented the interests of Massachusetts admirably—not to mention our interests.”
Abbie winced inside. Opposition research in political campaigns had risen to new heights over the past decade. Restaurant waiters wore recording devices. Tiny cameras were hidden in decorations on dinner tables. Abbie didn’t need her campaign overtly associated with the special interests of the nation’s rich and powerful.
“Before Abigail says a few words, I would like to add something,” said Morgan.
Abbie sensed her father’s blueprint for her life was going to take an interesting turn.
“I have this on good authority. My daughter is on every vice presidential short list, for the leading candidates on both sides of the aisle!”
She felt light-headed as the applause crescendoed, forcing herself to smile. Her father wasn’t one to boast or make grandiose claims. John Morgan had struck a deal, sealed with promises of wealth and power. Was this part of her father’s plan? Is this what she wanted?
PART THREE
Chapter 21
February 3, 2016
100 Beacon
Boston, Massachusetts
The UDT Chronosport’s persistent alarm drew Steven Sargent out of a deep sleep. Rummaging one of his hands over the cluttered nightstand, he located the offending hunk of precision metal and stabbed at the buttons—silencing it. His other hand ran down the sleeping beauty beside him—one Katherine O’Shea. Katie began to stir, which stirred Steven as well. No time for this, he thought, his body begging to differ. He swung his legs out of the sheets and onto the hardwood floor, squinting at the window.
“That watch is pretty rude,” complained Katie, pushing herself up in bed. “Hey, you’re not taking that away from me, are you?”
Steven pulled a pair of sweatpants over that and turned around.
“We,” he said, looking at his sweatpants for emphasis, “have a Jet Blue shuttle to catch to D.C.—and Sarge is on NewsCenter5 this morning with that hottie, Emily Riemer.”
“I’ll show you hot, asshole,” squalled Katie, throwing a pillow at his head.
He ducked the shot and jumped into bed, kissing her through a tangle of fiery red hair before sliding off the bed.
“Seriously, I have to roll. Duty calls, even when I’m stateside.”
“You’re the one missing out,” she replied, gathering the blankets around her.
“Believe me, I’m well aware of that,” he said, wishing there was a way to skip out on his trip to D.C.
He’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of the day in the bedroom with Katie. It had been a while since they’d been together—long enough for him to forget how much fun they had together, in and out of the sheets. Steven and Katie met years ago as midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy. They both elected to pursue a bachelor’s degree in Cyber Operations, which put them in many of the same classes—and facilitated a steamy relationship that made his restrictive days at Annapolis more than tolerable.
Following their graduation, Steven entered the Naval Special Warfare program, successfully completing Basic Underwater Demolition School (BUD/S) and reporting to SEAL Team 10, based out of Little Creek Naval Amphibious Base near Virginia Beach. During his tenure as a platoon-level officer, he deployed with SEAL Team 10 to Iraq and Afghanistan, developing a solid reputation within the Teams.
Katie put her degree to work as a Naval Intelligence officer, eventually accepting a position with the CIA as a counterintelligence threat analyst within the National Clandestine Service. Steven’s and Katie’s paths crossed again at Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), where she had been assigned to brief outgoing Special Operations commanders on the evolving al-Qaeda threat in Iraq. Then Lieutenant Commander Steven Sargent attended one of these briefings prior to assuming command of a platoon headed to Ramadi, Iraq. After the briefing, Katie and Steven found an empty office and got “reacquainted,” staying in touch ever since. Katie’s career in the CIA skyrocketed soon after, thanks to a well-placed suggestion by Steven’s benefactors.
“Sarge is about to go on the show,” hollered Steven from the Great Hall.
He’d managed to turn on Sarge’s wall of televisions, filling the screens with the show’s host, Emily Riemer. Katie emerged from the bedroom wearing a tee shirt which read Spooks Rock.
“I see your hottie doesn’t have the same effect,” said Katie, nodding at the deflated front of Steven’s sweatpants.
“Nobody has the same effect,” he said, grabbing his mug of motor oil from the kitchen counter. She swiped the mug from his hands and took a sip.
“What the fuck is this?” she said, grimacing.
“Coffee,” said Steven. “For men. The foo-foo stuff is in the cabinet above the machine.”
He retrieved his precious coffee from her outstretched hand and turned up the volume. His brother’s smiling I-am-a-published-author face appeared on the screen, next to the cover and the title of his book.
CHOOSE FREEDOM OR CAPITULATION:
AMERICA’S SOVEREIGNTY CRISIS
The cover featured the American Flag split in half, with the stars and stripes on one side and the flag of the United Nations on the other half.
“Great cover,” said Katie. “Do the bosses know about this?”
Steven shrugged. All of them had free rein to pursue their careers, trusted to know when their career paths might conflict with other interests. Sarge had received a blessing of sorts.
“Today we are pleased to have Harvard Professor Henry Winthrop Sargent the fourth, with his new book Choose Freedom or Capitulation: America’s Sovereignty Crisis. Now, you have pleasantly admonished me to call you ‘Sarge,’ so I will. Good morning, Sarge, and thank you for joining us,” said Riemer.
Steven admired his brother and his accomplishments. Both of them wondered how much outside influence was exerted to help them advance their careers. They had spent many a night on the roof of 100 Beacon, in the hot tub, overlooking Stowers Avenue and the Charles River Esplanade. Fueled by Samuel Adams lagers, the two compared notes and wondered if their successes were earned or preordained. By the end of these conversations, the conclusion was always the same—who cares, it works for me.
“Thank you for having me on, Emily, and congratulations on the birth of your new baby,” said Sarge.
Nice touch, bro. When in the den of the media lions, a little opposition research might give you just the advantage you need to survive.
“Why, thank you, Sarge. I’ve been blessed,” said Riemer. “Tell us a little about yourself. You are a native Bostonian, correct?”
Steven listened with disinterest as Sarge fielded his host’s introductory questions, waiting for the substance of the interview. That’s when things sometimes got interesting.
“What is the premise of Choose Freedom?” asked Riemer.
Steven couldn’t discern whether Riemer had a particular political leaning. Her questions were open-ended and fair, thus far. Sarge appeared to be in his element.
“Emily, our Founding Fathers gave us a highly decentralized, republic form of government. The
ir intentions were to vest the vast majority of the power in the states because state governments were closest to the people. Over time the federal government has shifted this ever so slowly to centralize power at the top. This power grab was anticipated by our Founding Fathers, so they wrote language into the Constitution to guard against this loss of sovereignty of the states,” said Sarge.
Finally in his element, Sarge relaxed in his chair and looked directly toward the camera.
“Over the last several decades, arguably against American public opinion, steps have been taken that have eroded our sovereignty globally. Globalization has become a political ideology as well as an economic fact. Technology, corporations and international organizations have become more involved in the level of interaction without historical precedent.
“With this increased interaction comes the desire to dissolve national boundaries, blend all cultures and merge all nations into one big socioeconomic system. Years ago, the discussion of a New World Order, a single totalitarian government, would bring cries of conspiracy theories. Today, the conspiracies of several decades ago are part of a barely concealed global governance agenda,” said Sarge.
“Hit ’em with it, Sarge. Tell them how the world is going to shit!” yelled Steven at the six televisions.
“My novel, Choose Freedom or Capitulation, is intended to make Americans think about the implications of global governance. Should America act as an independent, sovereign nation—participating in good faith as a citizen of the world? Or should America subjugate the Constitution and the freedoms it provides to the will of global rules and standards that might not necessarily comport with our own?”
Steven watched Sarge sit back in his chair. This was why Sarge was in charge. None of us, including Abbie, can spell it out quite like Sarge.
“Sarge, my producers tell me you have effectively blown up our Twitter account—@WCVB. We have nearly 130,000 followers and I think they all are weighing in on the subject matter of your book,” said Riemer. “Would you mind taking a couple of questions from Twitter?”
“Of course,” said Sarge.
“This first point comes from @JohnQPublica, who opines that America risks being labeled isolationist if it overreacts in its attempts to protect its sovereignty,” said Riemer. “Is protecting America’s sovereignty an isolationist policy?”
“The policy of the United States doesn’t have to be isolationist. Let me use an analogy,” began Sarge. “After 9/11, our country became hyperaware of the potential for terrorist acts on our soil. Women pushing baby strollers into Disney World were frisked and asked to empty their child’s diaper bag in the name of national security. And they liked it! In the name of safety and security, for a time, Americans were willing to succumb to an arguably excessive intrusion upon their right to privacy. After that period of time, there were no further terrorist acts on American soil, and the public began to decry the continued actions of the government, like excessive airport screenings by the TSA.
“My point is this. A balance must be struck between participating on the world stage in matters of security and economics with the intent of our Founding Fathers to protect America’s independence as a nation—its sovereignty,” said Sarge.
“How do ordinary citizens have a realistic effect on an issue as important as this?” asked Riemer.
“My first suggestion is for people to educate themselves on the topic,” said Sarge, holding up his book for the camera. “May I suggest my book as a start?”
“That’s my boy,” said Steven.
“Next, contact your elected officials and ask them where they stand on the issue,” added Sarge.
“Professor Sargent, Sarge, this has been very enlightening for me and provocative for our viewers,” said Riemer. “Please let everyone know where they can find your book, the name of your website and your social media accounts.”
“Thank you for having me on, Emily,” said Sarge. “You may purchase my book in eBook format on Amazon. It is also available in paperback via Amazon and on my website ChooseFreedomBook.com. There you will find excerpts of the book, blog posts and links to my social media pages, including Twitter, which is @Choose__Freedom.”
Steven turned off the televisions and eyed Katie O’Shea. He had some time to kill before his flight.
Chapter 22
February 4, 2016
The Hack House
Antrim Street
East Cambridge, Massachusetts
Andrew Lau and his graduate assistants, Fakhri and Malvalaha, sat alone in the downstairs parlor of the Hack House. The Cambridge home was quiet as Lau confirmed their wire transfer for the TickStub payday. In the end, after speaking directly with the CEO of TickStub, Lau accepted $20 million on behalf of the Gamers. Lau kept half while Fakhri and Malvalaha received $2.5 million each. The rest was split between the students, who had been given the night off.
“We’re getting better at this,” said Lau. “But as the old saying goes, pigs get fat and hogs get slaughtered. Let me give you an analogy.”
Lau was about to remind his young associates that they were involved in a criminal enterprise, and their “game” came with very high, freedom-losing stakes. If the high payouts didn’t keep them loyal, the threat of going to jail would—Lau hoped.
“In the drug business, a dealer can make a decent, albeit dangerous, living. The dealer can become more successful by becoming a distributor to many dealers. He can become a kingpin by becoming an importer or manufacturer feeding the distributors. In that respect, the drug business is no different than any legitimate multilevel marketing scheme,” said Lau.
“The problem with the drug trade is the conspiracy law,” said Lau. “Benjamin Franklin once said three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.”
Fakhri and Malvalaha furtively glanced at each other. Good. The concept of jail was a little too obscure for two Ivy League graduate students, and prison sentences could be avoided—by making a deal with the feds. Lau wouldn’t push this any further. Message received.
“I’m not talking about killing anybody, especially you two.” Lau laughed, visibly easing their tension. “I’m simply making the point that in any criminal enterprise, the more people who know about it and the longer you do it, the more likely it is that you will be caught.”
“We grabbed a nice payday with TickStub, not to mention a lot of street cred within the hacker community,” said Lau.
Fakhri and Malvalaha started nodding, anticipating Lau’s words as the picture became clearer.
“I don’t think it’s necessary for us to spend hours on end upstairs looking for vulnerabilities in networks,” said Lau. “I propose that the Zero Day Gamers become hackers for hire. We have the track record, now let’s build a brand. The Zero Day Gamers—at your service.”
“I like it,” said Fakhri. “We can post to several open source lists until we land a regular client.”
“I’m in,” said Malvalaha. “I read about HackersList on the Hackers for Hire Review blog. Companies hire hackers to conduct pen tests, just like we’re doing when we search out zero-day vulnerabilities.”
Lau was glad the two were on board, though he wasn’t interested in doing the “legitimate” kind of work Malvalaha suggested. That’s not where they’d find the big money.
“I’m glad to hear you’re on board with this change,” said Lau. “We stand to make a lot more money, doing a lot less work. Plus, this will reduce our overall exposure. We can hit seven figures just working with Russian oligarchs, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” said Malvalaha. “The Russian hackers are just hacks compared to us. With the contacts we’ve established all over the world, we could build up a nice clientele. We have a nice setup here, but it might be in our best interest to relocate. If one of the kids talked, I don’t think any of us want to follow the advice of Ben Franklin. We could just go underground. I’d be willing to reinvest some of my money to upgrade our equipment and get a more secure location.”
“Perfect. I suggest we retain a core group of students that we absolutely trust,” said Lau. “Walthaus paid his dues, so I would like him to come on board. Pick a couple more for consideration while I secure a new location. I’d like to be out of here sooner than later.”
Chapter 23
February 5, 2016
73 Tremont
Boston, Massachusetts
John Morgan was surprised that Walter Cabot hadn’t asked for this meeting sooner. The Secretary of Defense had recently proposed an enormous reduction in the defense budget, extending well beyond the traditional cuts via troop-level attrition and new program spending. The newest round of budget reductions included a substantial hit to the Department of the Navy, which would slash deeply into the fleet’s operational budget—and Cabot’s wallet.
“Mr. Cabot is here to see you, sir,” announced Lowe.
Morgan chose to receive Cabot in the penthouse rotunda, capped on the outside by a green patina copper dome, and decorated on the inside with a mosaic replica of the United States Capitol rotunda. The irony of meeting Cabot under the rotunda did not escape Morgan.
“Hello, Walter,” greeted Morgan. “Malcolm, pour us a glass of the sherry we just received from Luis María Linde, the chairman of the Spanish Central Bank. I believe you know Luis?”
“Indeed. We met years ago when he was with the Inter-American Development Bank. I encouraged him to finance the Panama Canal expansion project, which opens next month, barring any unforeseen circumstances. The third set of locks deepens and widens the Atlantic Ocean entrance, allowing our aircraft carriers to pass. We’re finishing up modifications to the USS Washington in Newport News now,” said Cabot.
“Sounds like a lucrative contract, with noble purposes,” said Morgan. “Can I tempt you with a Montecristo #2? I just received them from Cuba.”