One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1)

by J Russ Briley

  Glancing at the answering machine he saw there were no calls. His remote mailbox sensor indicated that the box was empty. Yep, he thought again, it was just another average day. By the time the food was ready, he’d placed a paper napkin and fork on the coffee table, selected a movie from his streaming video choices, and was ready for dinner. As he walked across the floor with his hot lasagna, a bright light flashed across the front window. A car had come up the driveway.

  “Who the hell could that be?” He wondered.

  There was a knock at the door and Marty was already standing behind it, peering through the peephole. It was only six-thirty, but it was already dark outside, and he couldn’t make out any details. “Damn, I thought I replaced that light,” Marty mumbled to himself. He could see a silhouette against the car lights behind the figure. He hesitated for a minute then unlocked the deadbolt.

  The knob spun in his hand and the door slammed open, knocking him to the floor. He scrambled back on all fours as two men rushed inside. The first one grabbed him by the collar and lifted him bodily, sending him sprawling into the couch. The coffee table, wine, and lasagna crashed across the floor.

  “What do you want?” Marty yelled.

  “Shut up!” The man yelled back. He pulled a huge pistol from his coat and pressed it to Marty’s cheek. “I don’t want to hear a sound from you.”

  Marty lay perfectly still.

  The two men wore black overcoats, black knit ski masks, gloves, and black wingtip shoes. Their collars were pulled up tight, so he could see nothing underneath their coats. Their pants were both dark blue, one with pinstripes. They didn’t look like burglars. The second man went to close the door. The first man leaned closer.

  “Sit there, and keep quiet. We’ll be waiting here a few minutes. Move.”

  Marty did as he was told with the help of a forceful fist twisted into his shirt, and the gun still at his head. He moved awkwardly across the couch away from the pressing gun barrel, the wine-soaked carpet squishing underfoot.

  “What do you want?” He tried again.

  The man’s left hand drew back and shot forward striking Marty in his stomach. The oxygen burst from Marty’s lungs. He almost blacked out from the shock. He gasped pathetically for air.

  “I said, ‘keep quiet!’ Do you have a problem understanding English?” The man growled.

  Marty’s head wagged back and forth, his mouth wide open, panting as he held his stomach. His eyes bugged out like a fish lying on the bottom of a boat.

  “Good. Just sit, and wait.” The second man pulled a cell phone from his coat. The phone had a thick device attached to its back and a cable plugged into the earphone jack. “When the call comes, you won’t speak until you are told to. I will hear everything you say.”

  In the secluded cabin Mary checked her watch, re-calculating the time difference between Utah and Maryland. The phone would ring soon. She walked over to Christen, who had been sitting on the couch watching another mindless TV game show. The contestants were jumping up and down again while the audience screamed. Noticing Mary’s approach, Christen instinctively shrank back.

  “That’s good; you should be frightened of me. Don’t forget that, and you won’t get hurt.” Mary reminded the girl.

  Christen tugged at the chain attached to her wrist. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Just be quiet and listen to your instructions.” Mary instructed, ignoring the question. “You can speak into the telephone, but only when you are told to, and you can’t touch it. Break any of these rules and I’ll smack your face. You know how quickly I can hurt you, so don’t try to blurt anything out. Do you understand?” Mary asked harshly.

  “Yes.” Christen answered, trying to shrink farther away.

  Mary showed Christen a cell phone. It was larger than normal because of a strange box attached to it. “This is a scrambled phone. We will use the speaker, and I will hear every word that is said. If I let go of this button on the side the connection will be dropped. Don’t make any moves physically, or verbally. It will only get you and your father hurt. Do you understand?”

  “My father?’ Christen was startled into asking. What did her father have to do with this?

  “Do you understand?” Mary asked again, more harshly.

  “Yes,” answered Christen, not daring to show the anguish she felt, or ask why she was getting to talk to her father. She was terrified to show how torn between fear and excitement her emotions were. Were the kidnappers asking her father for ransom? Was it possible that she could be released soon?

  “Good,” Mary responded. “Now, we’ll wait.”

  Seconds later the phone rang with a harsh electronic sound. Mary answered it with one word, “Ready.” Moments later the connection to Marty was made. The multiple transfers were designed to confuse any customary tracing techniques. A man’s voice at a base station, or somewhere in between all the routing connections spoke.

  “Dr. Torrance,” the voice said.

  Marty answered, “Yes?”

  “Dad?” Christen said spontaneously. The response was immediate. Mary’s palm slammed into the side of her face knocking her against the arm of the couch. She gasped in pain. Marty heard the smack, the gasp, and flinched himself, but said nothing. The man in front of him had already raised his hand to strike.

  The base voice came on again. “That was foolish. You both know the rules. Punishment will increase with each infraction.” He continued in a deep, cold tone. “Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Dr. Torrance, do you believe your daughter is alive, and that we will hurt her if you don’t do exactly as we say?”

  “Yes.” Marty’s voice quivered. He could hear Christen crying quietly, and he hoped they wouldn’t hit her again.

  “Miss Torrance; answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Do you believe your father is alive, and that we will hurt him if you don’t do exactly as we say?” The voice was calm, but full of malice. The speaker was obviously enjoying the situation.

  “Yes.” Christen sobbed.

  “Good. Tell Dr. Torrance what he will do. The call is over.”

  Both phones went dead. Mary walked away without comment as Christen collapsed into the sofa crying uncontrollably, her body convulsing with the sobs.

  Marty stared at the dead telephone as it was slipped back into the coat pocket, feeling his brain go numb.

  “All right, Dr. Torrance. At your workstation tomorrow, you will download and save a copy of the JPEG file ‘christen.jpg’ from your last year’s Facebook pages. In that JPEG picture you will find a copyright watermark. We know you understand how to work with watermarks, so don’t waste my time with denials. In this watermark is a very long polynomial. We know you can handle algebraic expressions, too, Doctor. You will take that polynomial, written in HEX code, and place it in the client contact control file that’s outside the firewall for the OPOV program. Make it a remark line. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, but...” Marty cowered as the man raised the gun as if to hit him with it.

  “Yes, or no only, Dr. Torrance. Comments are unnecessary, and will only result in pain for you, and for your daughter. Speak out of turn again, and you will be reminded by my actions.”

  “Yes.” Marty responded, trying to gather his wits.

  “Good. Remember that your daughter will be released when we are finished. This will take some time, so get control of your emotions, and keep your mouth shut. We know you can do that.”

  Marty could tell the man was smiling behind the mask.

  “Do this right, and you won’t hear from us again. If we detect any file changes, we’ll be back. After you perform your task, keep the program stable and unchanged. Don’t alter the normal movement of the file’s IP addresses and server locations.”

  The man ceased speaking, and stood. The two men backed out of the house, got into their vehicle, and drove away.

  Marty sat staring out the door. He was in shock but his mind was feverishly going over his instructions. Whoever they were, they knew w
hat they were doing.

  They knew that nothing could be taken in or out of the office. That prohibited any foolhardy disk or memory stick file transfers. Sending the polynomial hidden as an image watermark would hide it from normal security scans, and apparently they knew that, too. The web filters would ignore Facebook since everyone had access to it as one of the trusted external sites.

  Marty had protested this type of access at one time as being a security risk, but had been overridden. During his computing career he had marveled at what was allowed and not allowed, just because someone higher up the ladder wanted access to stock prices, or a grandchild’s pictures. So, even if his action with Christen’s picture was noticed, his boss wouldn't think it was out of the norm.

  Placing the polynomial in the OPOV program file would register only as a single copy command, instead of a long string of keystrokes that might indicate a significant change was being made, meaning that wouldn’t get much attention either. Additionally, they seemed to have a good idea which OPOV file was the most useful. The client contact control program file was the only file outside the protective firewall that would allow some measure of access to all the servers.

  These guys knew that the only way to spot a file sitting on the Internet quickly and easily was to know the name, location, or something absolutely unique about it. NSA file names and locations were secret, and moved frequently by switching the server and IP address. That still left the possibility of searching for something unique. Typically that would be the code sequence or check sum of the program itself. That, too, would be changed frequently by adding little non-functional bits of code. That was the key, and somehow these guys knew it. A unique complex polynomial would fit the bill perfectly. They knew he could put in non-functional code, and since it was written in HEX and hiding as a remark line, it would be very difficult for the host system to detect it. If the host system found it, it wouldn’t spot it as a problem. Whoever was behind this would be able to find the program anywhere on the net easily, and anytime they wanted.

  Marty knew that they wanted to watch the activity on the file to make sure it was genuine, while letting it move around as usual. The polynomial would sit there like a homing beacon.

  Marty searched his mind for a way out of this mess, and an answer to who these guys were. How did they know so much about him? They knew he had access to the files. They knew he had the top security clearance needed to make program changes. They had Christen, and were using her to get to him. They were sure he could pull it off. Would any of the security measures catch them? Or him? Marty didn’t think so. He wondered what they would do if he got caught. For the first time, Marty worried that the security system would work. He didn’t know what to do if it did.

  What about Christen?

  He stared at the dark front porch through the still open doorway; at the porch lightbulb lying on the ground, and he couldn’t move.

  Chapter 18

  Robert sat in his office the rest of the afternoon, waiting. While his phone rang constantly, the call he wanted never came. Demand for his time was at an all-time high and no one, it seemed, could wait for his attention when it came to his or her special project. Each caller pulled him farther away from what he wanted to do.

  Leaving the office at six-thirty, Robert was frustrated, short tempered, and no closer to a solution than he had been Friday, when Chris had dumped this potential problem on him. Solution…hell, he didn’t even have a clear idea of the problem, yet, but Gregg had made it absolutely necessary to check out Chris’ story. There was still was no word from Chris. Robert had kept trying his cell phone, to no avail. Grady hadn’t called, either. Too many possibilities, theories, and suppositions were racing through his mind. What he needed was a silent moment to think; someplace quiet where the phone wouldn’t ring, where he could jot down some notes, and maybe figure this out.

  Robert soon discovered home wouldn’t fill that need. The house was insane, with the kids running and screaming, and Tracie out at some dinner event. Alicia handled dinner, then cleaned up and was gone. The boys were now fighting over a video game. It was impossible to tell if they were swinging the controllers as part of the game, or to try and break everything in the room—including each other’s faces. When Robert finally put his foot down, he had to yell to get their attention. Then he had to yank out the power cord to the video game to get them to stop swinging the controllers. Robert and the boys spent the last part of the evening sulking. Each sat in a separate room, each wore ear buds, and each ignored everything outside his microcosm.

  Thinking that his random thoughts might come together in a pattern, Robert tried writing down his ideas on paper with circles and lines connecting them. All he achieved was plenty of wadded up paper. Every page had begun with Chris, Senator Gregg, and OPOV on them, but each was crumpled in turn. There just wasn’t enough to work with to continue diagrams or columns. Deciding to get some rest, Robert trudged upstairs.

  From the boy’s bedrooms came the sounds of bickering. When Robert got closer, he realized they were in their shared bathroom. With their ear buds in, neither was actually hearing the other’s complaints. They seemed to be arguing for the sake of it, rather than for any good reason. Pushing and shoving would soon ensue.

  “You two had better be in bed by the time I count to ten!” Robert barked down the hall. There was no response. Flinging open the bathroom door, Robert’s sudden appearance caught their attention.

  “Take out the earplugs!” He yelled. They responded reluctantly, slowly pulling out their earbuds. “Did you brush your teeth?” Two nods. “Good. You have to the count of three to be in bed. One!” The frantic look of the boys grabbing up water glasses, trying to hide iPods and video toys while bumping into each other was amusing, but Robert held his firm expression.

  “Two.” They hopped into their beds.

  “Now put away the electronics and go to sleep. Both of you!” There were no good night kisses or hugs, just the sound of Robert firmly closing their doors. He knew that it would only be a couple of minutes before the darkness would be illuminated with electronic entertainment from under the sheets, but he didn’t feel like pursuing the matter tonight. When he took time to be honest with himself, he realized that all he cared about was getting them quiet.

  After getting in bed, Robert read over some e-mails on his smartphone. He deleted most of them, and answered a few. He fell asleep, propped up against several pillows with the phone in his hand.

  A sound from the master bathroom abruptly woke him. Raising his head from its awkward position sent a sharp pain through his neck, and he grimaced over the stiffness in his arm. Tracie came out of the bathroom, unaware that she had awakened him. The clock read 1:26 AM.

  “Kind of late, isn’t it?” Robert’s words from the dark made Tracie jump, and utter a little shriek.

  Tracie recoiled from the nightstand, trying to catch her breath. “You scared me!”

  “Sorry.” Robert answered, not feeling particularly sorry.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Robert! What are you doing up?” Tracie sounded flustered, and annoyed.

  “I wasn’t, actually.” He answered. “You woke me. Why were you out so late?”

  “Late? It’s not that late.” She flicked on the bedside lamp. The light made Robert squint uncomfortably. “Oh, well, I guess it is later than I thought.”

  “I’d say 1:30 qualifies for being late.” Robert leaned up on one elbow. “Alicia said you had a dinner tonight, but didn’t know what for. I didn’t have it on my calendar.”

  “Oh, I told her.” Tracie seemed to be preoccupied with putting her jewelry away. She was already in her bathrobe, having undressed and removed her makeup in the bathroom. “It was a dinner with the Spanish military Attaché.”

  “Another NATO delegate party?” Robert asked, wondering how there could be so many pre-dinners before a dinner.

  “Yes. They’ll be coming next month.” Tracie answered absently.

  “I suppose G
araurd was there.” Robert asked pointedly.

  Tracie seemed to hesitate. “Of course.”

  “Seems there are a lot of NATO visitors these last three months. It’s a good thing Garaurd is around to help coordinate them.” He found himself deliberately dragging out the man’s name. He knew he sounded irritated, despite his effort to disguise it.

  “Yes, he is very good with the diplomatic aspects.” Tracie answered neutrally.

  “You two seem to be working together a lot.” Robert pursued.

  “I suppose.” Tracie took off her robe, revealing a Calvin Klein t-shirt styled nightgown, and climbed into bed. Robert didn’t know whether she seemed edgy, or if she could feel the tension in him, and was responding to it.

  “It’s nice to have made friends so quickly.” Robert continued, in spite of himself. He knew he was pushing the topic too far, but he couldn’t help it. It annoyed him that the smooth-talking Garaurd seemed to have dinner with Tracie more than Robert did. He tried to quell his sarcasm and add something positive. “Helps with the job.”

  Tracie reached up and turned out the light. “He’s just a friend, Robert. You don’t have to worry about any impropriety,” she said with some indignation.

  “I wasn’t worried.” Robert felt Tracie rolling over on her shoulder away from him. It was true that he hadn’t been concerned a month ago, but he was becoming increasingly aware of Tracie’s late nights. She was also showing less interest in being near him, and more interest in looking good at these events.

  “Well, it’s been a long day.” Tracie told him, ending the conversation. “I know you have to get up early.” She snuggled into her pillow.

  “Yes, I have to get up at six.” Robert pulled the covers over his shoulder.

  “Good night, Honey.” She said. She didn’t offer a good night kiss, but then, she rarely did.

  “Night.” Robert was not going to fall asleep quickly. He was thinking.

  Chapter 19