Pulling into the secure underground parking of the Treasury, he flashed his ID, but the guard wanted a closer look, plus a second form of ID. Then he wanted to look in the back seat and trunk, examining every inch of the car.
“Thank you, Mr. Carlton. Visitor parking is on your left after the first turn.” He said, finally waiving him in.
“Thank you.” Robert’s tone was acerbic. Once again the delay of his promotion irked him. He was sure that if he’d received the title, his treatment would have been different. Out of sheer obstinacy he pulled into a space reserved for special visitors, marked only as “Reserved B”.
Getting through building security was quicker. He arrived on the second floor without running into anyone he knew. He was avoiding the big brass on this trip, hoping for some information from the trenches.
The outside of the imposing Treasury building was designed to instill confidence, respect and awe. Inside was a different story. The second floor had a few bits of woodwork, narrow, vinyl-clad halls, and small offices. The building was worn and out of date. It was a remnant of a long gone federal spending spree from a forgotten administration. Robert found the office he was looking for, rapping twice on the door before opening it.
Phil Davidson sat surrounded by stacks of paper on his desk. The paperwork was arranged to form paths on the floor. His office had become a rabbit warren of reports and printouts, overwhelming the shelves, desk, floor, and even the chairs. Robert expected to see the file cabinets burst open at any moment. It was one of the largest offices in the building, but entirely claustrophobic.
Phil looked up at the sound of Robert’s knock. “Mr. Carlton,” he acknowledged, setting aside some paperwork he’d been reading. “Come in, please.”
Phil’s dull brown sweater covered most of an ancient beige knit tie. His greying hair had thinned long ago. Permanently pale skin and reading glasses completed a scholarly, if somewhat shabby picture. The intellectual vibe was very much in character with his personality, but his dress and office suggested a lack of interest in everything else.
Phil’s appearance and office didn’t match his spotless record. He had numerous awards, probably buried somewhere beneath the office clutter. Phil had a low political profile, but was a key go-to guy at the Treasury. His plain demeanor hid a “can do” attitude. He had been a field officer when he was younger. These days he was more of a living archive and think-tank information disseminator. His opinion was sought as much as any presidential advisor, yet he was unassuming and approachable. Phil was also blunt. It was part of his non-political personality. “What can Treasury do for the Justice Department, today?” he queried.
“Right to the point, aren’t you, Phil?” Robert said appreciatively. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Sure, fire away.” Phil responded.
Robert grabbed a stack of reports off the guest chair, and set them on the nearest pile. Phil watched each motion, mentally cataloguing the new file location. Robert pulled the chair closer before sitting down, his shoes bumping the next stack of papers. “You remember our discussions about jurisdiction and OPOV, right?”
“Of course...I still think that the Secret Service holds...”
Robert held up his hand, deciding to get straight to his question. “Yes, I wasn’t going there. What I was working up to was: if a department wanted to monitor the system, how would they go about it?”
“Hmm...the first step should be to contact the responsible agency, but we never resolved that completely, did we?” Phil asked.
“No, too many people wanted a piece of the pie, and got it. Oversight by committee.” Robert was not a big fan of the Commission’s result of compromising on dotted line management. Progress sometimes required concessions and sharing, but their decision had left the ultimate responsibility for OPOV to a diverse committee.
“Well,” Phil continued, “I would say they should go to your department to cover their legal ass, and then tap into everything that could be construed as public. If they want to go deeper on monitoring, I’d guess they should go to the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, or to each individual State Board of Elections. They could also go through channels and request the NSA’s statistical reports on a regular basis. If you wanted to personally monitor the system, you’d have to be part of the Oversight Committee.”
“I was thinking of getting further into the nuts and bolts of the system.” Robert pressed.
“Well now you’d be talking software and the actual development group. I think for security issues you’d have to be going into the system past the firewalls, and getting into the software code. No agency would do that. It would cross the NSA’s boundaries for encryption. The military has that expertise, but under normal circumstances, and unless formally asked to do so, they wouldn’t go near the actual system code—if for no other reason than it would introduce security issues. In order to monitor, there would have to be data exported, and that means another open port. That means more potential flaws and access points. It just wouldn’t be smart.”
“Okay, instead of monitoring the system, how about testing the system? Would you use the same techniques needed for hacking-in?” Robert probed. Phil’s responses were helping him think this thing through. He was mentally thumbing through other possibilities as Phil spoke.
“Sure, if the purpose was to test external security protection and resilience. The usual thorough vector testing used on the software during development is built from the inside out, acting like a hacker works from the outside in. But those tests have been done in excruciating detail. There are always experts testing by trying to break in—and before you ask, we don’t simply test our own work and call it good. Neither does the NSA. Everyone has a separate ‘third eye’ looking for weaknesses.”
“Of course.” Robert said reassuringly. He knew he could easily tread on some nerves here. This kind of thing gave Treasury people nightmares, even as it ignited passion for their jobs. He leaned back in his chair, trying to look more relaxed. “I’m just performing a final check on all the possibilities. Devil’s advocate; it’s my job, you know.” Robert conjured up his most casual smile.
“Right.” Phil’s demeanor relaxed. “I don’t think we need to worry,” he added. The wheels of Phil’s mind were turning, though; he was still considering the question.
The two men sat quietly thinking. Phil spoke first.
“If I were an adversary, I’d try to buy somebody at NSA, and get in that way. It sounds a little like cold war era spy tactics, but that would be the easiest way to get into the system. If you couldn’t buy someone outright, you could get a little treachery going by calling in a favor on some seemingly simple grey-area request, then impose some blackmail to get into the system. Then you could falsify vote results, or flood the Internet with fake votes, nullifying the actual vote count, or crashing the system and creating an invalid situation.”
“You don’t ‘mince’ words, do you, Phil?” Robert was a bit taken aback by this sudden flood of insight. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”
“Devil’s advocate. It’s my job, too, you know.” Phil smiled.
“Okay, let’s go with your complete scenario.” Robert leaned forward onto the arms of his chair. “I understand the spy thing, and inside manipulation through coercion. I can grasp falsifying votes, although I think ballet stuffing would be easily spotted on a recount. But what good would crashing the system do?”
“Well, if you can’t swing a vote your way, the next best thing is to stop votes that are going against you. Make the vote invalid, and you give yourself time to rally favorable results.” Phil smiled. “I wouldn’t discount ballet stuffing. It’s worked before. But each of these possibilities has already been considered. There are safeguards. You’d have to buy a lot of people at the NSA, and make sure no one investigated when the problem surfaced. I think you’re wasting your time.”
“Thanks, Phil. I wanted to go over this one more time, a
nd I knew you’d be the guy to bounce it off of before we go live.” Robert stood up. “After all, it’s been over a year since we finalized the program. A refresher was in order.” He moved over to the desk, and reached across the pile of papers to shake Phil’s hand. “Good seeing you, again, Phil. Mind if I call you if another question comes up?”
“Certainly not. Please call anytime. Do you have my card?” Phil began shuffling through the piles on his desk, looking for one.
“Don’t worry, I still have your card. Thanks, again.” Robert stepped carefully toward the door of the office.
Phil noticed a report he had uncovered. “So, that’s where that went.” He sat down and began reading it avidly, forgetting Robert’s presence entirely.
Robert was feeling satisfied that due diligence had been done. If he didn’t get something compelling from Chris he’d probably call off Grady’s research. He looked at his watch as the elevator doors closed. With a shock he realized that the day was half over, and he still hadn’t heard from Chris. He pulled out his phone, but couldn’t get a signal. He would have to wait until he drove out of the garage to check for messages.
When he got to his car, he noticed a yellow paper wedged under his windshield wiper. Snatching the paper from his car, he glared at the form. It had a series of check boxes. A big black check mark was next to box number two, which read, “Illegally Parked,” with an added note reading, “This parking space is reserved. Your tag matches a registered vehicle. The infraction certificate will be mailed to your immediate supervisor.”
Cursing, Robert pulled out his keys and hit the button to unlock the car. In no time he was out of the garage, leaving the guard standing with a wad of yellow paper in his hand.
He pulled out his phone and pressed the button to activate the voice recognition. "Call office." It dialed.
“Hello, Mr. Carlton,” Lorraine answered, noting the caller id.
“Any calls for me?” Robert asked.
“Yes, Mr. Carlton. You have two: Senator Gregg’s office, and one from Mr. Hunt.” She responded.
“What did Senator Gregg want?” Robert asked.
“It was his assistant. She asked that you call as soon as possible. She didn’t have any more information.” Lorraine sounded uncharacteristically annoyed. She didn’t like having incomplete information.
“OK, connect me with the Senator.” Robert wondered what Gregg wanted. Gregg’s call was timely, since he chaired the Senate Rules Committee. They had an obvious connection to the Federal Election Commission as part of Rules Oversight. Robert decided he could use a little Q&A time with Gregg. He heard the various clicks and snippets of on-hold music, as Lorraine maneuvered past the gauntlet of secretaries and assistants that ran interference for the Senator. Navigating government offices could be a challenging business.
“Robert, are you there?” Daniel Gregg’s voice boomed on the line. He sounded confident and comfortable, exactly as he did when speaking to his constituency. Gregg generated trust, sincerity, and authority with that voice. He was the kind of politician people loved, but he wielded the kind of political power that intimidated his opponents and compatriots alike. “Where are you, Son?” Gregg asked.
“I’m on a cell phone, Senator.” The political world had long since learned the risks associated with wireless communications. It had become customary to warn callers. Cell phones provided great convenience, but no security.
“We need to get together. What’s your schedule looking like?”
“Lorraine keeps my calendar, didn’t she...?”
The Senator interrupted. “How about in forty-five minutes. My place.”
Robert recognized the Senator’s power play; it smacked of LBJ with his intimidatingly tall desk and short guest chairs. Robert had learned the hard way to never meet on someone else’s turf—especially when unprepared with information about why a meeting was taking place. “Sorry, I’m on the wrong side of town.” Robert parried. “How about halfway? Shall we say the Round Robin? I’ll buy.” Robert knew the Senator was a regular at the Round Robin inside the Willard Intercontinental Hotel, and a sucker for lunch when someone else was buying.
“All right, Robert, I’m happy to help out. The same forty-five minutes from now?” The Senator asked.
“See you there.” Robert waited for a couple of seconds then hung up. Suddenly he had the feeling that this was all a little too convenient. Robert felt less comfortable about his research on OPOV. He dialed the office again. “Lorraine?”
“Yes, Sir.” She answered.
“I’m going to meet with Senator Gregg for lunch. Anything from Chris Stoker? He was supposed to call.” Robert tried to sound casual.
“No, Sir. Just Mr. Hunt, and some new calls regarding the current Supreme Court Docket.” Lorraine told him.
“Thanks. Did Hunt leave a number, or say what he wanted?”
“No, Sir. He said you have his card.” The note of annoyance was still in Lorraine’s voice.
“Yes, that’s right. I have his card in my briefcase. Thanks, Lorraine.” Robert said.
Robert hung up. At the stoplight he fumbled through the pocket section of his briefcase, and found the strange card Hunt had given him. Robert figured he’d better face the music and find out what this guy was all about. He punched in the number and waited. Placing the cell phone in its cradle, he activated the car's hands free link features. The telltale sounds of a phone transferring came over the stereo speakers.
“Mr. Hunt’s office.” A woman’s voice answered.
“This is Robert Carlton returning Mr. Hunt’s call.” Robert told the voice.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but he has stepped out of the office. May I take a message?” the woman asked.
“Tell him I called. He can reach me in my office after three,” Robert, annoyed, hung up before she could ask any questions. Who the hell was this guy?
Robert’s drive to the Willard didn't take too long, but he’d had an odd feeling of being followed on the way there. Washington was easy to navigate between rush hours in the winter, and the hotel was close by, but he took a couple of extra turns around the block to make sure he was alone. Seeing no one behind him after the second turn, he turned back toward the Willard. As Robert pulled into the Valet parking section, he chastised himself for being paranoid. Snatching his phone back from the cradle, he gave his key to the uniformed attendant and went into the bar, briefcase in hand.
A plain brown sedan pulled up to the curb across the street. The driver watched Robert go into the hotel.
Chapter 14
Marty sat at his keyboard staring at the twenty-three inch flat panel monitor. Displaying four normal-sized screens at once, the monitor flashed multicolored characters and graphs across the screen. Instant messages and WebEx notices from his meeting schedule nagged him from the left hand side. His second monitor held his current project on a split screen of software and its underlying machine code. Marty leaned forward, squinting at the characters. He had a smaller, old monitor above the first, full of scrolling data from the server running a self-diagnostic. Marty had been struggling with the decision of whether to get a fourth monitor for a month. Most of the team had four, but it just seemed to make them more ADHD than they were before. Marty loved high tech stuff, but four monitors seemed to stretch the human limit.
Marty was a true geek when it came to computers. On everything else he had average interests, and average knowledge. He could talk sports, but he didn’t follow particular teams or events. He liked the Olympics, but passed on most pro football games, all basketball, and baseball. Too boring. He wasn’t big on yard work, car maintenance, or home repairs, either. They all fell into the “only if necessary” zone. He liked movies, a few video games, and relaxing on a warm beach once a year.
“Marty! You going to lunch?” Terri called from over the cubicle wall.
“It’s cold outside.” Marty answered, “I’ll just grab something in the cafeteria.”
“Oh, yeah. Mystery m
eat. How appetizing,” she commented sarcastically, but with a laugh in her voice.
“It’s not that bad.” Marty didn’t pay much attention to food. Whether the cafeteria was good or bad was irrelevant, as long as it existed.
“Oh, come on,” Terri coaxed. “It’ll be good to get out.”
“Okay, okay.” Marty didn’t really care about going out, but he knew from experience that Terri wouldn’t let up until he agreed. “I’ll go, but no more Tex Mex, or Chinese buffet. I want something warm, with low carbs and low fat. You know...a burger with fries,” he quipped, with an attempt at humor. He put his computer to sleep, activating the password lock, and stood up, while grabbing his coat. “I hate this, Terri. Fifteen minutes to check out, and twenty to check in. There’s no time left for lunch. Can’t you girls ever eat alone?”
“No, and it takes two of us to go to the bathroom. Now shut up, and let’s go.” Terri smiled at Marty. They had been lunch buddies for over a year now, but he still complained every day.
Marty huffed irritably and set a fast pace toward the door. As they passed Chris Stoker’s office cubicle, Marty asked. “Where’s Chris these days?”
“He went on vacation.” Terri answered.
“Oh, must be nice. But he needed it. Come on, let’s move it before the line starts.” Marty hated the process for getting in and out of the facility. The line through security could get long. “It’s bad enough going through the search without the long wait.”
“I think it’s kind of fun. All that touching, feeling, and looking through your clothes. It’s kind of kinky.” Terri’s eyes sparkled with impish humor.
“You get off on the weirdest things.” Marty had a hint of a smile. He wasn’t oblivious to Terri’s humor, or her charm. She always made his day a little more fun.
Terri had been with the NSA for eight years, but it had taken her six to get to this security level. It had taken another year to get invited to work in The Crypt. She was sharp, one of the best cryptologists around, but in The Crypt she was still considered a rookie.
One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1) Page 9