by Terry Schott
The voice in his head spoke again. She’s not hugging you back.
He took a step back and frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m so stupid.” Her voice was faint.
“No you’re not.”
She laughed and pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “I’ve been looking all over the world, and you were right beside me the whole time.”
“Looking for who? You’re not making any sense—”
She pulled a gun from her pocket.
“Ariel?”
“Quiet for a second.” She held one finger up and scratched the back of her neck with the pistol. “I have to think about this.”
Run!
Curtis couldn’t run. His feet wouldn’t obey. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say.
After hiding so well, you’re gonna be killed by your girlfriend. The voice laughed. What a chapter that would make in your books.
31
March 18, 2017
Kerstin stood at the kitchen counter and watched the coffeemaker as it hummed, making her a single cup of fresh coffee. When the machine was finished, she added some cream, then shuffled to the den, sitting down at her desk and turning on both twenty-five inch monitors. She took a sip and sighed.
“Oh my god, I love coffee.” She blew across the surface of her drink as the icons appeared on the screens. After another sip, she set the cup down and opened her mail program.
“Two hundred and thirty new messages. A light day.” Her eyes scanned the subject lines, moving past those she recognized from regular customers.
She frowned and stopped scrolling. “Great news about my mortgage, huh?” She hovered the cursor over the email, but didn’t delete it. Instead, her eyes flicked to the bottom-right corner of her screen to make certain that her virus protection was up-to-date and working. Satisfied, she opened the message.
Hello Patrick and Kerstin,
If you’re like most people, having a mortgage is a serious drain from your bank account each month. Sure, a mortgage is a normal thing to have, but who really profits from it? You?
Let’s think about it for a moment. You buy a house for a few hundred thousand dollars. Unable to come up with that amount of cash, you borrow it from a bank, who is thrilled to give it to you. Over the next fifteen, twenty, or even twenty-five years, you pay them back the money you borrowed with additional interest. By the time you are finished, you have paid them significantly more money than you borrowed. Not fun, but what can you do, right? You get to live in a house, and they make profit so they can continue to lend money to other people.
It sounds reasonable, unless you think about the actual truth of the matter.
They don’t actually give you any money.
That’s right. With only a few keystrokes, the bank creates a debt obligation between you and them without ever putting hands on money. They are creating debt, and then allowing you to pay them back with physical money over time. It’s a made-up obligation that you are forced to agree upon.
When you think about it that way, it doesn’t sound very fair, does it?
I don’t think so, either.
I’m a big believer that one should not talk about problems without trying to find a solution. The great news for you is that I bring you a solution to this pesky mortgage problem.
As of this moment, your mortgage has been paid in full.
Kerstin stopped reading and looked up. She went back to the beginning of the message and read it again. When she got to the same spot, she stopped. “Pat,” she called out.
“Yeah?”
“Come in here for a minute.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute. Getting coffee.”
She smiled. As if I can expect him to wait for coffee. I wouldn’t.
Pat sauntered into the den, cup in hand. “What is it?”
“Read this and tell me what it says.”
“I trust your reading abilities.” He laughed. “What’s it say?”
She shook her head. “Read it.”
One side of his mouth turned up and he leaned in, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat. “Fine. Let’s take a look.” He began reading the e-mail. After a few seconds he looked at her. “Is this a joke?”
“It has to be, right?”
“Absolutely. Especially considering who it’s from.”
Her eyes moved to the bottom of the message and widened. “Oh wow.”
Pat laughed again. “You didn’t get that far.”
She shook her head. “You think it’s really from him?”
“It could be. I wonder if what he’s claiming is true.”
She minimized the window and brought up their bank account. Pat pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. Kerstin clicked on the tab which gave them details of their mortgage.
“Oh my God.” Pat set his cup on the desk.
Kerstin’s hands froze on the keys. “It’s zeroed out.” She looked at her husband and smiled. “We don’t have a mortgage.”
They stared at the screen.
“Someone’s gonna catch on,” he said. “Then we’re the ones in trouble.”
“I doubt it.”
“How you figure?”
She brought the e-mail back up and pointed to the icon in one corner of the message. A tiny icon of a globe with horns, a tail, and pitchfork was embedded in the message.
“Ah, he sent it using the Shadow Web.”
“That’s right. The bank might reissue our mortgage, but they will never blame us for what happened. The Shadow Web is untraceable.”
Pat nodded.
***
“I thought the Shadow Web was untraceable?”
Victor smiled, looking up from his notebook at the President of the United States. “That’s exactly what we want people to think, sir, but it’s an absolute myth.”
President Stone frowned. “But there are some terrible things going on via the Shadow Web. I’ve always been told there’s no way for us to stop any of it.”
Victor nodded.
The president raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to offer me an explanation?”
The man sitting to the president’s right cleared his throat and rested his arms on the table. “It is quicker to pick a cow out of the herd when they are standing together in a paddock instead of roaming free over a thousand acres, Mr. President.”
President Stone regarded the man beside him and chuckled. “That is very true, General. So the Shadow Web was created to funnel the bad guys together.”
“Correct.”
“Regular people have moved there as well.”
Victor smiled. “The more the merrier. We have unlimited space to accommodate everyone interested in protecting their privacy. We follow the activities of all suspicious behaviour, same as we would with the normal web. It’s simpler to do because everyone believes they are untraceable.”
“They don’t even try to hide.” The General laughed.
“And to clear your conscience”—Victor nodded at the president—“when we build a big enough case against an individual or group, we apprehend them using aboveboard methods. There have been thousands of arrests over the years, and not one single accused has suspected that they gave themselves away via the Shadow Web.”
The president nodded. “If that is the case, then why haven’t you apprehended the Harbinger?”
Victor’s lips pursed for a second before he spoke. “Every art form has its maestros.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The Harbinger knows computers and technology better than us. He is a master, twenty or thirty steps ahead of us in every direction that we turn. Even though we see that he uses the Shadow Web, we can’t trace him.”
The president frowned. “You just said that wasn’t possible.”
Victor spread his hands. “For him it is.”
“That’s unacceptable.”
“We agree.”
The president
stood and moved to the whiteboard. The name of every major country was written in different colours, red for hostile, yellow for neutral, and green for friendly to the United States. Few of the names were green. “More of these names become red each day.”
The General shrugged. “If each country has a similar board in their situation room, they are also seeing mainly red as well, sir.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“It isn’t. Every country is being threatened on multiple fronts. Almost all are beginning to cocoon themselves off from others.”
“For protection.” The president shook his head.
The General nodded.
The president stroked his chin with one hand. “Mozambique’s financial situation has caused panic.” He turned to face Victor. “What can we discover from the Shadow Web about that?”
“Nothing,” Victor said. “Collapsing the stock market, banks, and loan systems of Mozambique should have left a trail big enough for a two-year-old to follow. And yet, there is not a single breadcrumb left on the Shadow Web or the regular one. That can only mean one thin—”
The president snapped his fingers. “The Harbinger is using another web.” He smiled, but the expression faded as Victor shook his head.
“No other network exists.”
“How can you be certain of that?”
Victor sighed. “It’s complicated, but I can assure you that it’s not possible.”
“You have a theory?”
“We believe he used the same methods that we have on one or two occasions.”
The General sniffed. “Social media?”
“That’s right.”
The president shook his head. “Explain.”
The General cleared his throat. “Set up a group with keywords to use, hashtags to employ, and specific times to make posts. Then get your network of people to monitor the public social media platforms for the correct messages.” He spread his hands. “It works surprisingly well. Usually on a small scale, but”—he nodded—“it could be possible.”
“If this is how it’s happening, how can we put a stop to it?”
Victor and the General both shook their heads.
The president sighed. “Then there’s only one thing for us to do. General, draft the executive order and I’ll sign it immediately.”
The General stood. “You have to give the command formally, Sir.” He nodded at Victor. “One witness will do, but you have to say the words.”
“Fine. General Atticus Specter, draft an executive cease-and-desist order for the social media sites that could enable the Harbinger to conduct treasonous activity.”
“Aye, sir.” The General saluted and the president left the room.
Victor frowned. “Did he just give the order to do what I think?”
“Yes. He is about to shut down the biggest businesses in the world.”
32
Aldous was sitting at the table in his motel room when someone knocked on the door.
Jade poked her head out of the bathroom, a towel over her hair. “Who’s that?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Aldous shook his head and stood, waving her back into the bathroom. He moved to stand at the door. “Who is it?”
“Housekeeping.” The woman’s voice had a Spanish accent.
“We don’t need anything, thanks.”
“Boss told me to bring towels. I can hand them to you and then leave.”
He sighed and opened the door. A young woman stood in the doorway. She was dressed in tight blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a T-shirt. Her red, curly hair was cut at shoulder length. She looked at him with a bored expression, arms crossed.
“Where are the towels?”
The sun was in her eyes, making her squint. “You’re Aldous Freign.”
He suddenly felt lightheaded. “What?”
She took a step back and raised her hands. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I saw your name written in the registry and thought for sure it was going to be someone else.”
“How do you know me?”
“That’s the thing, Aldous.” She ran a hand through her red hair and smiled. “When you’re on the television so much, people tend to recognize you from time to time.”
He made the tone of his voice as flat and unfriendly as he could manage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever. Since it is you, I’m offering you some free advice. Up for it?”
He pursed his lips, but nodded.
“If you’re out here doing what I think you’re doing, stop using your real name.”
“What is it that you think I’m doing?”
“Running away.”
He opened his mouth, but she laughed and held up a hand. “I don’t think anyone will come looking for you yet. If you ask me, I think that it’s a good idea for you to leave New York.”
“I’m on vacation.”
“Maybe.” She turned and started walking. “Whatever you’re up to, listen to what I’m telling you. Don’t use your real name.”
“I haven’t.”
“There ya go.” Without turning to face him, she waved. “Good luck, Aldous. I hope you make it.”
He watched her until she turned the corner, then closed the door. “Jade.”
The bathroom door opened. Jade’s hair was much drier. “Who was that?”
“I have no idea, but she scared the hell out of me. Did you hear her?”
“Only a little. Think she’s following us?”
“I hope not, but let’s not take any chances.” He reached for his suitcase. “Let’s get out of here and drive another few hundred miles.”
“Okay.” Jade ducked into the bathroom and reappeared with a small bag. “Ready.”
***
Ariel stood around the corner until Aldous and his companion pulled away. When they were gone, she returned to the motel office. A teenage kid sat behind the desk. He smiled. “So what did you think of the rooms?”
She handed him a key and nodded. “Yeah, they look great, Scottie. You know what? I was tired when I pulled off the road, but I think the break has given me a second wind.”
The kid’s smile faded. “Oh.”
“Thanks for the help.” She reached out and touched his arm, slowly dragging her hand down to the tips of his fingers. He coughed and turned red, although he managed to smile. “You got a card? I will do my best to stop in on my way back home.”
The boy stared at her, blinked, then nodded. “Oh, sure. That would be great, Brandi.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a card, looking at it, then scowling as he reached for a pen, blacked out the name, and wrote his own. “Any idea when that will be? When you’re coming back this way, I mean?”
“Absolutely.” She grinned. “Three days from now. I’m only taking a short trip.”
“Wow. Okay. Well, yeah, I will be here in three days.”
“Sweet. I hope to run into you.”
“Don’t worry,” he called after her as she turned. “I’ll be here all day waiting for you.”
Ariel chuckled and walked out to her car. She got in, put her seatbelt on, and looked straight forward with both hands on the wheel.
“Place wasn’t any good?”
She turned her head and grinned at Curtis. He was smiling back. “I thought you were still sleeping.”
“Not tired.”
“Yeah.” She started the car and put it into drive. “Well, the place looked too sketchy, but I think most motels are anyway.”
“Snob.”
“Hey.” She frowned, pretending to be offended. “Didn’t you say the same thing as I pulled in here?”
Curtis laughed. “Uh, yeah. And you called me a snob. Want me to drive for a bit?”
“You’ve driven the last nine hours, babe. It’s my turn. Get some sleep.”
“You’re not gonna shoot me when I nod off?”
She arched one eyebrow. “I was never going to shoot you.”
“But you were supposed to.”<
br />
“Yes. Which is why I got you out of your apartment in the middle of the night and left New York. It’s also why we are heading west.” She sighed. “How many times are we going to repeat this conversation?”
“A few more, at least.”
“Okay.”
They drove for a few minutes in silence.
“Hey. Tell me again about how rich you could have been if you’d called in to collect your money.”
Curtis groaned. “Really? Every time I talk about killing me—”
“I wasn’t going to kill you.”
“You plan to bring up the money?”
She smiled. “Seems like a fair trade. The killer who fell in love with the multi-millionaire who was too afraid to cash his cheque.”
Curtis looked out the window and laughed. “We are quite the pair, aren’t we?”
“You can say that again.”
33
The big news story of the day involves the Harbinger in a gentler, kinder light.
As of this morning, every single homeowner in Washington state is mortgage-free.
You heard that right. Millions of people have received e-mails from the Harbinger, or the H-man as some are starting to call him, stating that he has paid out their loans.
Of course, the banking industry is turned on its head, because the Harbinger did not actually pay the loans, he simply erased them from the computer systems.
One bank, Washington Consolidated, attempted to reissue new mortgages from their back-up records. Two hours later, the bank lost not only its mortgages, but every single dollar was siphoned out of their records, bankrupting them.
The H-man warns that any banks who attempt to reissue the debts will be dealt with in the same way, and it doesn’t look as if anyone can stop him.
While the banks and governments are outraged at this act which they define as both treason and terrorism, millions of average working-class people cheer and call him a modern day digital Robin Hood.
Tris Blanchette, Financial News Daily
“Morning, Linda.” The man’s voice was directly behind her. Linda continued stirring her tea, not bothering to look up as she felt him brush past and pull out the chair at her table. When she was satisfied that the milk and sugar were evenly distributed, she withdrew the spoon, tapped it three times against the edge, and set it down on the saucer. She looked up and nodded. “Hector.”