by Leslie Wolfe
She dialed Robert’s number from her desk phone, as anyone in her position would do. She hoped Robert would notice the call coming in on his business cell instead of the encrypted phone and be careful with what he said.
“Wilton here,” he answered.
“Good evening, Robert, sorry to bother you at this hour,” she said.
“No bother, how’s it going?”
“Well, that’s what I’m calling about. I can’t gain access to see the actual code, and I don’t know how I can do my job like this.”
“You still haven’t seen the code?”
“Nope, still haven’t. They’ve been showing me a mountain of PowerPoints but not a single snippet of code. You must help me find a way to get them to show me the code. How can I sign off on it like this?”
“I understand,” Robert said. “Are you sure you’re not having communication issues? Scott’s been sending us reports every week; he seems to be doing just fine.”
“Yes, I’m sure. I could have not been any clearer about it. And I hope you do understand, I cannot sign off on the quality of the code without seeing it or testing it myself. This is how this job is done, and you know that very well, Robert. This is too important to let it slide.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Robert said in a pacifying tone. “You seem to be a little overwhelmed by this; why don’t I send you a quality analyst who can help?”
This call was not going as she had hoped. An analyst? How the hell was an analyst gonna help? There was no code to analyze! How the hell was she going to be able to do anything with yet another person watching her every move? Had the UNSUB got to Robert again? Bal had threatened her life, but nothing had happened to her yet, despite her relentless pressures. They must have done something to Robert instead.
“Robert, listen, I really don’t need an analyst. I’m fine on my own. The only thing I need is access to the code.”
“Alex, please don’t argue. The team was discussing it this past Monday. This project is too big for a single individual to be asked to sign off on its quality. The burden is too big. The analyst is arriving tomorrow, and we’re not discussing this further, please.”
“But what’s he going to do without access to the code? He’s just going to sit in the same damn PowerPoint meetings as I do, until the deadline comes, and we’re screwed. What’s he going to do that I can’t?”
“He’s a very experienced DCBI quality analyst; give him a chance, Alex. You’ll still be running the show. He’s just going to be there to help you.”
“All right,” she said and hung up, so preoccupied she didn’t even remember to say goodbye.
She stood and went to the window, looking outside at the New Delhi city landscape against the permanently yellow sky. What the hell am I gonna do? Alex thought, leaning her forehead against the window and hiding her face from the omnipresent cameras. Now I am really screwed.
...Chapter 69: A Tax Issue
...Monday, December 14, 9:02PM EDT (UTC-4:00 hours)
...News of the Hour Special Edition Report
...Nationally Syndicated
The anchor’s charismatic smile had a trace of excitement in it, making her look eager to share the day’s top news story with her audience.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Stephanie opened. “After Doug Krassner’s ratings had reached more than 50 percent support in electorate polls, today they took a hit, and for a reason that caught everyone by surprise, Democrats and Republicans equally.”
The screen showed images from an old interview with Krassner, back then significantly younger, speaking with a reporter on a busy city street and pointing his hand in the direction of a billboard with an advertisement for a Baptist Church. His voice, young, yet just as charismatic then as it was now, was saying, “I honestly think some of these churches should pay taxes.”
The image shifted back to Stephanie’s in-studio layout.
“This single phrase, that I am sure Mr. Krassner regrets, has already cost him thirteen percentage points in the polls, leaving him at 38 percent. His main opponent, Bobby Johnson, picked up a good 7 percent of the fallout. Now at 35 percent, Johnson is following closely behind Krassner and could overtake his position in the polls as Krassner’s comment continue to penetrate the audience. Doug Krassner has been unavailable for comment. He is currently on a business trip to Europe. We will keep you posted with his response to this revelation.”
Stephanie’s smile widened a little before her end-of-show greeting. “Live from our studio, this is Stephanie Wainwright, with News of the Hour.”
...Chapter 70: New Colleague
...Friday, August 12, 9:23AM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)
...ERamSys Headquarters
...New Delhi, India
Priya opened the office door just wide enough to stick her pretty face through the opening.
“Alex? Your new colleague is here,” she said.
“All right, bring him in,” she answered, trying to hide the discouragement she felt.
Priya opened the door fully and let the man in.
“Miss Hoffmann?” A familiar voice with a hint of ill-disguised humor. She looked up in disbelief, then covered her mouth briefly so she wouldn’t scream with joy.
“I’m Lou Bailey, your new analyst,” he said, shaking her hand warmly.
Alex grabbed her laptop bag and said, “Grab your stuff and follow me.”
She led him to the elevator and from there to the roof of the side building. The roof was deserted; it was too early for anyone to be on a cigarette break yet. She led him behind the elevator equipment tower on the roof. In that spot, they were hidden from anyone looking at the rooftop from the main tower’s terrace, rising two stories above them. Once they reached that blind spot, she bear-hugged him.
“Lou, I’m so happy you’re here,” she said. “How did you guys pull it off?”
“Tom figured out a plan with Sam and Robert. They fudged some paperwork, and now I am a tenured QA analyst with DCBI, been with them for years.”
“Great! Maybe you can figure out how to get to the damn code,” she said, not letting go of his arm.
“Well, guess why I’m here,” he said and winked.
“I’m telling you, there must be something with the code. I’m sure of it. They protect it big time, and they’re very determined not to let anyone near it. They’ve threatened me, but so far nothing has happened.” She was excited to have someone she could trust. “How do they expect to continue to control our interaction with that code when they eventually have to deliver the software to DCBI? How does any of this make any sense?”
“Not sure yet. How do you want to attack this?”
“You have to get to the code; that’s really all there is to it,” she said with a shrug.
“Not quite. First, we must get rid of your driver,” Lou said. “Sam said that Pranav might become a risk fairly soon.”
“Great, just great,” she muttered.
“How about you and I start to date? For cover, I mean,” he clarified, seeing how confused she looked.
“Absolutely, would love to,” she replied. “We’ll start dating today at lunch, or is that too soon for you, sir?” She fluttered her eyelids in a mock flirting gesture.
“Nope, that will work. And I’ll take the role of driving you around.”
“You can drive in this?” She gestured in the direction of the street filled with chaotically moving vehicles in a concert of honks, several stories below them. Something caught her eye. “I wonder who that is and why he’s visiting,” she said, pointing at a car below.
His eyes followed her hand gesture.
“Who’s that?” Lou asked.
He looked down and saw a huge black limo pulling in front of the building. A man, wearing a dark suit and a burgundy turban, had the car door opened for him as he climbed out of the limo and entered the building.
“No idea, but it could be our first break in this damn case,” she said and pulled her SatSle
eve phone. She speed-dialed Sam’s encrypted cell.
“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted her.
“Hey, do you have someone on the ground here in Delhi?” Alex half-whispered her question, while Lou kept guard, watching for anyone who could wander onto the roof for a cigarette break.
“I might, what’s up?”
“A limo just pulled up here; I’d love to know who the passenger is,” she whispered. “You need to confirm, ’cause otherwise I need to tail him myself.”
“Got it. Give me a minute.”
They chatted for a few minutes, putting their plan together and watching the limo to make sure it didn’t leave before Sam’s confirmation. They planned how to travel around, where to go, where to eat, when and how to get to the code.
The familiar chime of a new text message got her attention. Sam’s message read, “My friend already in position at your location.”
...Chapter 71: Celebration
...Monday, August 15, 6:47PM CDT (UTC-5:00 hours)
...Johnson Campaign Headquarters
...Chicago, Illinois
Anthony Fischer was willing to let his presidential candidate, Bobby Johnson, celebrate a little. Fischer had been stern and hadn’t even allowed him to celebrate when he had received the nomination, concerned with the media attention. However, today’s news was worth something to both of them, so he decided to let it be. By the looks of it, Johnson had already started celebrating on his own, probably as soon as one of his young interns brought the recorded newscast for him to view.
He was sprawled on the couch, his white shirt wrinkled, stained with sweat, and partially hanging out of his pants. Jacket and tie were on the floor, and Fischer had to pay attention not to step on them, or on the shoes, scattered randomly where Johnson had kicked them off. The level of remaining Scotch in the cut crystal bottle was less than half, and he knew for a fact that Johnson’s crew topped that bottle full every morning, like a ritual. Johnson hated seeing half-empty bottles. But of course he did, Fischer thought, almost chuckling when he saw that Johnson had replaced the original cut crystal glasses (that had come with the bottle as a set) with plain ones, only much larger. That was Johnson’s response to Fischer’s strict rule of only one glass per day before going home. Maybe he was cut out to be the next president after all. This type of response was very appropriate for many different crises, not just for his personal alcohol restriction.
Johnson held the TV remote in one hand and the Scotch glass in the other. He smiled jovially when Fischer approached.
“You’ve seen it?” Johnson asked, not even slurring that badly.
“Sure I have, Bobby, sure I have.” Fischer briefly ran his hand against his forehead and sat in an armchair next to his client.
“OK, but let’s watch it again, will ya? I just wanna watch it again,” he pleaded and pushed the button on the remote without waiting for Fischer’s consent. The TV played the recording of a prime-time political news show, Flash Elections, with the familiar voice of the anchor, Phil Fournier, opening the evening’s program.
“Is our strongest presidential candidate a Godless man?” Fournier opened. “The recently found recording, dated more than two decades ago, has Senator and presidential candidate Doug Krassner declaring that he’d prefer to see churches pay taxes. This strong stance has gained Krassner significant media and electorate attention of the kind he probably didn’t want at this time in his campaign. His ratings lost thirteen percentage points in the first day the recording came out, then lost additional points more gradually, placing him a little behind Bobby Johnson. This is the first time Krassner has ranked behind Johnson in the polls since the campaign started. Separated by only a percentage point, Johnson has the lead in the race for now, but he wasn’t able to capture all the losses Krassner incurred.
“Senator Krassner held a press conference today, the most heated one in recent history. It took a few minutes to get the press calm enough to ask questions in an organized fashion, and Krassner remained imperturbable while organizing a system that allowed him to have a productive session with the media. Here are the highlights from this session,” Phil announced, as the screen transitioned to a recording from the earlier press conference.
Johnson poured Fischer a stiff drink and handed him the glass. They both took long gulps, eyes glued to the TV.
“Senator, when’s the last time you went to church?” A young reporter with short, golden hair and elaborate makeup asked.
“I think that was in 2004, if I’m not mistaken, when I attended my best friend’s wedding,” Krassner replied with his usual charismatic smile, as if unaware of the storm his answer was going to generate.
The press fell silent for a second, the calm before the storm. Then everyone started talking at the same time, louder and louder, trying to cover one another’s voices in the tumult. A man from the back of the media room yelled, “Are you an atheist, senator? Do you believe in God?”
“Yes, I do believe in God,” he replied.
“But you’re not going to church? Would you care to explain?” the same man continued.
“I believe in God, not in one church or the other. I exercise my faith in the privacy of my home. That is where I pray, that is where I observe my faith. I guess I could say I am a faithful man, not a religious one. There’s a big difference, you know.”
The room fermented for a few seconds, and then a voice rose above the rest, “Our nation has as an official motto, ‘In God We Trust.’ Keeping this aspect in mind, how do you see yourself, when you haven’t set foot in church since 2004, fit to lead this nation?”
Krassner smiled before answering, as if secretly entertained.
“Our motto is, precisely as you said, ‘In God We Trust.’ It has never been, ‘To Church We All Go.’ I am drawing your attention to this key difference. I see myself fit to lead our proud nation because I am a faithful man, and I do believe in God. This fact, if you think about it, has very little to do with attendance at a certain church. I happen to think I don’t need intermediaries to pray, confess, or talk to God. I can do that on my own.”
“Do you hate churches, senator? Do you hate pastors and priests?”
“No, absolutely not. I simply don’t need churches or ministers to observe my faith. I pray at home, I confess at home—to God, and I light candles at home. Nowhere in any scripture has this choice of observance been deemed any less worthy than churchgoing.”
“Senator, why would you have churches pay taxes? Do you still believe that?”
“Yes, I still believe that, for some churches, not for all of them. Let me explain why. Some of them advertise. If you recall the recording that started all the media attention regarding my beliefs, I was pointing to a billboard when I made that statement, many years ago. That billboard held an advertising piece for a church that, unfortunately, was not entirely captured in that video, only partially. Therefore, I can’t speak about that particular billboard message. But I can show you these billboards still exist today, and I can show you what they look like today.”
He clicked a small remote, and on the screen behind his lectern, some slides started showing, each holding for a couple of seconds. One read, “If you die today, where will you go? Heaven or Hell? For the truth dial 1-888-555-5555.” Another one read, “Judgment Day Is Coming,” and had another toll-free number posted. A third one said, “Anti-God is Anti-American. Anti-American is Treason.” The fourth and last one remained displayed on the screen, making an impression on the media. It read, “You will burn in hell. To save yourself call this number.”
Krassner allowed the media to absorb the images for a few seconds, and when whispers started to rise, he resumed, “A business that advertises to get more sales, a business that spends tens of thousands of dollars in advertising every year should be taxed. That’s the letter and the spirit of our tax law. But most of all what really gets to me is that these organizations are supposed to bring relief and comfort, not anxiety, fear, and guilt. These are the chur
ches that I’d like to see pay taxes. They operate like reckless insurance companies, instilling fear and then offering relief for a price. What price, you might ask? Well, the majority of them charge or ask you to donate 10 percent of your income for being a member. That is precisely how a business operates. That’s a business that should pay taxes, in my opinion.”
Another reporter raised his hand to ask a question.
“I have another point to make, if you don’t mind, and then I will answer your question,” Krassner announced. The reporter lowered his hand. “My final point is that a church should be a place of healing and tolerance and should not promote hate, not under any circumstances. Hate is anti-American, not atheists. Our constitution guarantees our right to freedom of religion, and that includes having a different religion than the billboard is trying to sell, or having none, as an atheist or an agnostic. That’s why I still strongly believe that churches that demonstrate corporate greed or intolerance should be taxed, because they are in violation of their declared mandate, and they operate as corporations.”
He took a quick sip of water from the glass next to him and continued, pointing at the man whose hand was raised just a minute before. “Yes, sir, now your question, if you please?”
“Umm, you just answered it, senator. I have no more questions.”
Johnson clicked his remote and the TV went dark.
“He is so gonna burn over this,” he said, leaning toward Fischer and clicking his glass against Fischer’s. “Cheers! I am the new president of the United States, thank you, Mr. Krassner,” he said, raising his glass toward the TV and then taking another gulp.
“Maybe,” Fischer said thoughtfully. “It’s a possibility. He did make logical sense, you know, and I hate to admit it. I’m sure the religious fanatics will drop him anyway, but I’d be curious to see his ratings in a few days.”