Falconet wondered why everyone was suddenly taking her theories seriously after ignoring them for so many years. What would happen if news of this exploit were to reach the press? She would lose her position forever. She sat down in front of her laptop again and tried to be calm.
“I am sorry, my dear. I did not mean to disrespect your ideals or your sincerity. It’s just that this seems so, so dangerous? What if you were to be caught? I must assume you would be sent to jail! Have you considered this?”
“Of course we have. We do not intend to be caught, but if we are, then we will seek all of the publicity that we can get, and pursue our purpose that way instead. We will rally popular support to impress the Americans that they cannot simply take other countries for granted forever.”
Falconet tried to collect her thoughts. She could not believe that she had in some way inspired − no, that must be too strong a word – that she had in some way been misunderstood to have advocated the taking of public, much less covert, action to influence the democratic political process of another country.
“I see. I do not approve, but I see. But you began by saying that you want my advice. I am afraid that I have no idea who might be an appropriate or safe person in France to seek out.”
Despite her combative statements, Josette had expected Falconet to be surprised that her former students had moved from discussion to action. But she had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that Falconet would be more supportive than aghast. Perhaps she should simply thank the professor for her time and say goodbye.
Falconet began to soften as she watched the play of emotions pass across her former student’s face. There must be something she could do to dissuade Josette from placing herself further at risk.
“Tell me what you want to do, my dear. Truly, I would like to help.”
“It is this. I feel we have started something that we should finish. It was we that hacked into the polling systems, but we are not manipulating them now. And judging from the first primary results, things may turn out worse than if we had done nothing at all.”
“Perhaps, but —”
“Wait – let me finish. We could go back, yes, and remove the software. But we thought that this had already happened, because a secret United States agency had already discovered the hack —”
“Josette!”
“− but not us, do not worry. However, I became suspicious when new polls and voting came out that did not seem possible, so I hacked into one of the polling systems again – and the tampered code was still in place. Only it redirects now to a different server that is not under our control.”
“Can you not just remove it, then?”
“We could, but then they would know that they had been discovered, and also they could simply reinstall it. And the more times we play this game the more likely it becomes that we will be discovered.”
“Could you not tell the authorities then?”
“I think it is the authorities themselves – this secret agency that no one has ever heard of – that is now controlling the systems.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because they have told the person who discovered the hack that there is now no reason for concern.”
“Well, different authorities then?”
“But how would we explain how we got the knowledge? If they investigated us, they would surely be able to trace the original activities back to us.”
“Anonymously, then.”
“Why would anyone believe or take seriously such an anonymous statement? It is a very big country, and anyone we might think to approach, like the FBI, must receive mountains of nonsense every day that they simply ignore. They would assume that whoever wrote to them was simply another lunatic with a conspiracy theory.”
Falconet could think of no more questions or suggestions. And she was sure that she had already heard more than it was good for her to know.
“It sounds as if you have no choice but to do nothing, my dear. I know this sounds cowardly, but you are swimming in very deep and treacherous waters indeed. As you say, if you go to other authorities in person, they will wonder how you could know such things, and your earlier activities may come to light. And if you try to interfere in any way, you will be in even greater risk of going to jail, now that the voting has begun. It may be that you will even find yourself in physical danger. No, however unsatisfactory my advice may sound, I think you must stand aside and let whatever may happen, happen.”
She felt demeaned as she said the words, seeing the disdain they inspired in her former student’s eyes. Whatever pedestal Josette had placed her on before had clearly toppled and shattered into a thousand pieces. But what other advice could she possibly give?
She watched as Josette’s face diminished in size and clarity as she pushed her laptop away from her. “You have been very kind to speak with me on such short notice. It was very good to see you again.” Then she signed off.
Falconet stared at her computer as the screen went blank, feeling greatly distressed. She had no doubt that Josette would ignore her advice. And also that if a group of her former students were to be apprehended, her own name and published writings would be dragged into the press as well. Was there anything within her power that she could do to prevent such a thing from happening?
At the other end of the closed Skype connection, Josette was feeling equally bleak. Although she had devised the concept behind the hack on the polling systems, her code level skills were not great. And given the dangerous course of recent events, she was reluctant to reconnect with her former conspirators.
Who could she turn to now?
There seemed to be only one alternative left. If she had had a greater command of American idiomatic expression, she might have concluded that all of her eggs seemed now to be in a single basket. And that the fussy, preoccupied chicken sitting on that basket was named Frank.
* * *
33
Another French Connection
Simone Falconet was feeling frustrated, angry and helpless, and of those three, the last was most galling. She had worked so hard to achieve her success. Now she was struggling to devise a plan of attack to save it.
True, she had made some progress on the France First! front, but only in the sense that she now knew what had led the far-right party to discover and adopt a mangled version of her theories. According to a friend with ties to the organization, an unsigned white paper had been received by one of its strategists. The paper’s author had briefly – and misleadingly – summarized her work and then applied it to support some of the most hateful xenophobic proposals of the France First! platform.
Given the immediate action taken by her department head, she had little doubt who the source of that document had been. But she had no proof. And the single interview she had finally given to a television journalist had proven to be a disaster. She had hoped that by presenting her work in person she could persuade any reasonable viewer that her research had been wildly misrepresented. Instead, she was allowed only to respond to ridiculous questions. What little opportunity she was given to correct the record was edited out of the final presentation.
She hoped to fare better with the detailed, written rebuttal she had prepared and submitted to the committee that would rule on whether she could return to her duties. But she feared that the truth of the matter would be outweighed by the public embarrassment the university had already suffered. A member of the committee whom she counted as a friend told her privately that she would be wise to keep a low profile and be patient. If she allowed the committee to sit on the decision for six months, perhaps things might die down sufficiently that she could be quietly reinstated. At present, that was quite impossible.
And then there was the question of Josette. The last thing Falconet’s career could tolerate would be linkage to a vote-rigging scandal,
and yet her former student seemed determined to continue on her mad adventure.
What more was there for her to do? She had no teaching duties, and there was little prospect that a journal would accept one of the papers she had in progress. Indeed, even traveling to her office was risky; a reporter writing a story about France First! might be waiting for her on the sidewalk outside her apartment building. With too much time and too few avenues to improve her situation, she found herself reading about the U.S. primary system and the progress of the current election season, hoping to find no evidence of what Josette believed was occurring.
Still, as she learned more about the candidates and their evolving fortunes, she could not help feeling a degree of admiration for her former students. Many of those running for president appeared to be caricatures of politicians rather than real candidates vying to lead the most powerful nation on earth. And yet people were voting for them (or not, if Josette was to be believed). She wondered whether de Tocqueville would be horrified or amused.
While scanning a news site, a vivid red and blue pop-up momentarily caught her eye. It was an ad for a book that was about to be released called The Alexandria Project. Why did that name seem familiar?
She clicked on the ad, but still could not make the connection, until she noticed the author’s name. Now she had it. “Adversego” – so unusual – Josette had mentioned that name and book title, when they spoke. This was the person who had discovered the polling system hack, but agreed to keep secret the names of those behind it. She clicked through to the book site to read the short text about the author, and saw that he lived in Washington, D.C.
Perhaps that was fortuitous; she had been invited to present a paper at an academic conference in Washington in a week’s time, and fortunately the invitation had not been withdrawn. Perhaps this Adversego person would agree to meet with her. Perhaps he might be open to persuading Josette not to endanger herself – and Falconet – any further.
* * *
Frank was puzzled by the email:
Dear Mr. Adversego,
Next Tuesday through Thursday I will attend an academic conference in Washington. Although it is not my area of research, I am interested in the role played by information technology in the electoral process. I wonder whether you might have the time on one of those days to share your views with me on that subject, perhaps over lunch or at another time of your convenience? If so, I would be most grateful.
With warmest regards,
Simone Falconet
Professeur d’Economie Politique
Institut d’études politiques de Paris
Perhaps this was what happened when you published and promoted a book. Why else would a person he’d never heard of suddenly contact him? If so, he had acquired yet another reason to wonder what inner demon had persuaded him that writing a book would be a good idea.
He read the email again. Why would this professor be contacting him? Nothing she would have read about him online would suggest he had any connection with the electoral process. Could it be just a coincidence? He doubted it, and began to see what he could find out about her online.
Immediately, he found a rash of mentions connecting Falconet with a far-right political party. That didn’t look good. Further searching led him to a short biography at her university and a profile at a television station; he used an online translator to turn both into English. Despite the fractured syntax of the result, it seemed to tell a very different story. Although Falconet apparently did not feel constrained to follow in the footsteps of traditional theorists, her career seemed to otherwise have been completely conventional, leaving aside the fact that she was also a frequent commentator on the news.
He returned to the profile, and clicked on a link to one of the broadcasts in which she had participated. It took him to a view of a news broadcast stage, with a man and a woman sitting on opposite sides of a desk. They were of course speaking in French, but he was intrigued by the appearance and poise of the person sitting in the guest chair. She was likely about his age, and he found her appearance striking. Whatever she was saying, she was combining conviction with personality in an attractive and engaging way.
He mused for a moment. With the book almost finished and Grover doing all the work anyway, he had time on his hands.
He accepted her invitation.
* * *
Frank looked away self-consciously when he saw the hostess point out his table to the tall woman who had just walked in. It occurred to him that the brief glance she cast about the room before following the hostess to his table might have more to do with attracting attention then looking for him. And why not? She certainly had a commanding presence. Glancing around the room, he noticed that her survey of the room, followed by her studied indifference to those she was now striding past had the desired effect; several men were watching her progress to better appreciate the handsome, confident woman in the stylishly understated outfit. He caught himself drumming his fingers on the table, and placed his hands in his lap, where they reestablished their tempo on his thighs.
Falconet in turn was studying the person at the table she was approaching. He was conventionally dressed in a blue blazer and button-down oxford cloth shirt. When she drew closer, he stood up, revealing shoes that were in a rather deplorable condition, and pants in need of a good pressing. But that was fine; she found most French men to be effeminate and obsessed with their appearance. The relative indifference of this American to his apparel struck her as refreshing. He also looked fit, something that was rare among men his age in France, where exercise was generally considered unnecessary and even unfashionable.
“So very nice to meet you, Mr. Adversego,” she said when she reached the table.
“My pleasure,” he said, accepting and shaking the hand she extended to him. “But please call me Frank.” He hoped that she would lead their conversation, as he didn’t have a clue what to say next.
“You are too kind. And I am so pleased that you are willing to speak to me,” she began as they sat down. “I have read of your role in the Korean crisis last year, and it occurred to me that you might also be knowledgeable about how computers are being used in connection with elections. Would that be so?”
He had rehearsed an answer that would reveal no more than he was willing to share.
“Well, yes and no. I’ve never worked in that area, but there’s nothing particularly different about processing electoral data from any other type of information. To a computer, data is just data – the machine doesn’t care what type of information it represents. And I am generally aware of the different ways computer technology is being used in this area, so depending on what you’d like to know, I hope I can be helpful.”
“Excellent! Then with regard to the voting apps that I understand are now being used, do you believe these new technologies affect how people vote? Will they, for example, make people more likely to go to the polls?”
To his relief, Frank found Falconet to be gracious and interesting company. He did his best to respond to her questions as the lunch progressed, but had the odd feeling that while she was attentive to his responses, she didn’t seem to care very much about what he was saying. To his discomfort, she seemed to be studying him more than the information he was conveying.
By the time the waiter was delivering coffee to him and tea to his guest, Falconet seemed to be running out of questions, and he had certainly run out of information he felt it was prudent to share. He tried to peek at his watch in such a way as to be noticeable but not rude, hoping that she would take the hint and allow him to escape.
“I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to be more helpful. Perhaps I could connect you with someone with more knowledge in this area. Would you like me to do that?”
It seemed a simple question to Frank. But for some reason, the professor needed a moment to think be
fore responding.
“You have been most kind, but no, I do not think that would be necessary.” She paused again, and folded her napkin neatly before placing it on the table.
“But I do have one other favor to ask. I believe that you know a former student of mine – her name is Josette Fernald.”
Frank hesitated. “Josette? Why yes. As a matter of fact I do.”
So this meeting was anything but a coincidence. If this professor knew Josette and was asking him about voting technology, how much more did she know? He decided that it was his turn to listen and study his lunch companion rather than speak.
Falconet looked uncomfortable. “I fear that I owe you an apology, Frank. I am not really so interested in the matters we have been discussing; perhaps you could tell. But I was hoping very much that we could speak about Josette, and I did not know how to go about proposing that. Would you be comfortable doing so now?”
The honest answer to that question was an emphatic “no,” but he decided that he wanted to know exactly what it was that Falconet wanted.
He glanced briefly to both sides to be sure that no one was paying attention to their conversation. “Well, I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t really know her that well. What exactly is it about Josette that you want to discuss?”
Falconet leaned forward and spoke so softly that he was forced to lean forward as well.
“Frank, I do not wish to be so bold, but I must tell you that Josette has recently shared with me that she is engaging in certain… activities that strike me as being very – shall we say – very unwise. I have tried to advise her against this but she does not wish to hear.”
Frank was feeling flustered as much by the large, dark eyes that were staring into his and the soft, urgent voice as by the words he was hearing.
The Lafayette Campaign: a Tale of Deception and Elections (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 2) Page 22