The Blockchain Revolution

by Andrew Updegrove

  And there was only one way to do that, right?

  He’d been thinking a lot about the Russ and believed he’d found a way to go big on it. Not necessarily legally but without getting caught, which after all was the only thing that really mattered. Now where was the address of that Russian financier he knew?

  * * *

  Crypto gazed at his countdown clock, trying to block out the fury of the Bees. They were more determined than ever in their demand that he either launch his attack or terminate the existence of Frank Adversego.

  If only they could be patient – it was at most a matter of weeks until he could plunge the world into financial panic and then social chaos. As Alfred Henry Lewis, an American journalist, had observed in 1906, “There are only nine meals between mankind and anarchy.”

  And, indeed, it was an observation that was hard to dispute. What would happen if the only money that still existed was the cash in physical wallets and piggy banks? When nothing could be bought and nothing sold, at any price?

  How would people act when they had no electricity? No heat? No food?

  For how long would police show up for duty without any prospect of pay? And how could they arrive at all with no gas in their cars?

  How would people react when starving neighbors arrived at their doors, demanding food? What if those neighbors were armed?

  The answers to those questions were easy enough to predict. He just needed a bit more time.

  Chapter 34

  Keep on Pump’n

  Crypto was pedaling furiously on his stationary bicycle, intent on devising a strategy to convince the voices to withdraw their demand that he kill Frank Adversego. For all his willingness to bring down global society, Crypto was incapable of committing an act of violence or ordering anyone else to do so. But the voices were making him frantic. Unless he could find a way to appease them, he was afraid of what they might drive him to do.

  Lately, the Bees had become obsessed with Frank’s participation in the Russ Task Force; they found his recent attack concept particularly alarming. If he could devise a way to take down the Russ, did that not prove that he might imagine, and then discover, Crypto’s plan to destroy BankCoin? Adversego was just one member of the group, Crypto had pointed out. With or without Adversego, the task force would represent a risk. But that only made things worse; now the Bees wanted him to wipe out the entire group. Wait and see, he’d begged them. There’s no need to act now, because we can monitor what he and they do, and that’s a good thing. Crypto hadn’t expected that rationale to help for long, and it hadn’t.

  Well into his second hour of exertion, a way to deflect the Bees came to him. It worried him that their incessant nagging was distracting him to the point he hadn’t come up with a solution weeks ago. If that was any indication, he’d have to spend more time on this wretched bicycle.

  He was still showering after his exercise when the Bees renewed their attack. This time, he was happy to have them bring up the Russ Task Force.

  You must stop him! A Bee screamed.

  Now! B Bee boomed.

  Really? Crypto thought. Are you so sure?

  He smiled at the silence that followed. Ha!

  Aren’t we? A Bee whispered at last.

  Well, I don’t think so, Crypto thought. Have you forgotten that the Russ is our target as much as BankCoin?

  There was another long pause.

  Continue, A Bee said.

  I expected as much, Crypto thought. Will we not be better off when Adversego or someone else on the task force comes up with a promising attack of their own? Then there will be two paths to the destruction of the Russ instead of one. Their plan could be better than ours. We might even abandon our method and use the American’s plan instead.

  It was as brilliant an idea as it was simple. It was several days before the Bees bothered him again.

  * * *

  “Got a minute?”

  “Sure, Vance. Come on in.” Josh Peabody had been expecting his chief trader all morning.

  “So,” Morganthau said carefully, “I think it’s great you’ve decided to get back in the trading saddle again. But I was curious about this new fund you just bought into. I’m not familiar with it.”

  “That’s right – it’s brand-new. That’s why it offers such a wonderful opportunity. I’m expecting a really big run up in value. And it will be a great risk hedge for us, too.”

  “Cool,” Morganthau said. “How come?”

  “Because it has a different investment focus from ours. It invests in coins we don’t, so we’ll get exposure to opportunities we wouldn’t otherwise.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “I don’t know specifically. They’re very private. But the guy making the decisions is supposed to be a real magician. I figured we’d start with a small position and see how we do.”

  “You call ten percent of our fund small?”

  “Okay, ‘smallish’ then. I’m just feeling pretty good about this one. Let’s wait and see.”

  “Okay. I guess you know best,” Morganthau said. But he doubted it.

  * * *

  Frank’s strategic thinking on the Fang front had evolved. On the one hand, he hated to admit failure in the defense of his feeder. But on the other, he reminded himself, a foolish consistency was supposed to be the hobgoblin of small minds. He decided the rational thing to do was change his strategy entirely. Instead, he would trap and transport Fang to a suburb with a much higher per capita percentage of bird feeders. The ever-helpful internet introduced him to several alternatives. Fang could hardly object to that.

  But predictably, the humane traps he purchased all failed abysmally. Every morning he would find the latest version tripped, the bait gone and the inside Fang-free.

  Now what? Clearly, he needed to come up with his own squirrel entrapment device. But how? Mankind had been devising traps for millennia, powerfully motivated by hunger in the ages-old struggle between man and rodent. What could Frank invent that had not already been conceived?

  Who knew? But his new challenge provided a welcome distraction from the lack of fulfillment he was experiencing at his day job. If he couldn’t save the global banking system from disaster and destruction, perhaps he could at least bestow a successful squirrel trap on humanity.

  And so, he persevered. It was good he was well paid because his accumulated investment in defensive and offensive rodent weaponry was becoming substantial. No longer was he constructing his inventions from materials he scrounged from his apartment or purchased from the local hardware store. Only the highest grade, gnaw-proof materials would now suffice. Lately, he’d grown inordinately fond of titanium.

  Chapter 35

  Message Time

  Sergei Denikin was meeting with Yevgeny Manturov, his minister of foreign affairs, and Maxim Noskov, the Russian minister of defense.

  “What do you make of Yazzi’s warning?” Denikin asked.

  “In one sense, it’s hardly surprising,” Manturov replied. “We sent a message. He could scarcely ignore it, so he sends a message he thinks we cannot ignore. The question is whether he is bluffing. After all, our message was an attack that put millions of his countrymen in darkness, and his is merely words. Why did he not first respond in kind and then summon our ambassador to underline his intentions?”

  “Perhaps we are not as vulnerable to their cyber weapons as we have assumed,” Denikin said. “Or maybe he does not want us to know how great his cyberattack capacity is. After all, we hesitated to launch our attack for the same reason.”

  “All quite possible, sir,” Manturov said. “I’m afraid we can only guess at what he will do until he does it. Added to this, Yazzi has not yet been tested in office, and his prior career gives us no clues how determined he may be, and how much risk of escalation he will accept.”

  “What of his d
efense and cybersecurity officers?” Denikin asked.

  “As you know, Mr. President, the American military is subject to strict civilian control. The heads of their armed forces can only make recommendations; the president has the final word. But I can say that Yazzi has surrounded himself with progressives and advocates for the exercise of soft power rather than military force.”

  “What would you advise?” Denikin asked, turning to Noskov, the minister of defense.

  “At this time,” Noskov replied, “I have grave concerns over the possible consequences of an escalating cyber war – what if the Americans were to cripple our productive capacity? True, we are not as dependent on internet-based systems as the West and therefore not as vulnerable. But we are also in a position of great economic vulnerability. Nor would we wish to engage in a costly and protracted military confrontation.”

  “Absolutely not. The elections are only three months away. Anything new we put in motion we must successfully complete well before then.”

  “If I may, sir?” Manturov said.

  “Yes?”

  “We have opened one front and the American president has – perhaps – called our bluff. We have not acknowledged his accusation, and should not. We should leave him guessing and instead open a second front – one that will allow us to apply pressure in a manner he cannot afford to respond to militarily. At the same time, he has run out of new economic sanctions, so our trade risk is low. With the Russ blockchain now fully deployed, our ability to survive has been extended. Let us take this opportunity to decisively and dramatically turn the tables on the Americans, and yet do so in a way that does not confront them directly.”

  “And you have a plan in mind that can accomplish this?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Then I am listening,” Denikin said. “Tell me more.”

  * * *

  Davit Nozadze leaned just far enough to the right to scan the forest on the other side of the tree, hopefully without being seen from that direction. But there was nothing to see. All that stirred were the leaves, fluttering in the light breeze. Yet he knew those he was on the alert to detect might be out there somewhere.

  He turned and caught the eye of his compatriot, Tamaz Gelashvili, also hiding behind a tree. Like Nozadze, he wore camouflage. Gelashvili moved his head from side to side. Nothing to be seen from his vantage point, either.

  A decade before, the Russians had seized South Ossetia from his country. One had to be ever vigilant lest the enemy go on the move again, perhaps sending troops across the border from South Ossetia to seize his own town of Tsilkani, Georgia. He and his comrades spent much of their free time in the woods, protecting their homeland from the would-be invaders.

  He leaned to the side again. There! Was that someone moving in the distance? Yes! He eased back and jerked his head in the direction of what he’d just seen. Gelashvili acknowledged his signal with a nod and they both dropped to their knees before peering around their trees once more.

  Now he could see them clearly: a file of men in unmarked uniforms marching through the forest, as methodical as an army of ants.

  But something was terribly wrong. These were not his school boy friends, playing Georgian patriots and Russian invaders in the forest. These were fully-grown men, hundreds of them, wearing balaclava masks. Their packs were enormous and they were carrying rifles. And there was something behind them. Something too large for the dirt woods road the men were filing along – Davit could see small trees thrashing down to the ground as it neared.

  It was a tank! For a moment he thought the gun in its turret was pointed at him.

  He cast a terrified look at his friend and then slid down until he was lying flat on the ground, trembling uncontrollably as he pressed his face into the stench of the moist leaves to avoid detection.

  It was five minutes before either of the young boys was brave enough to look up. When they did, they held their breath for what seemed like an eternity, and saw nothing. They exchanged the briefest of looks before jumping to their feet and tearing off for home faster than either had known he could run.

  * * *

  “Little green men? Again?” Yazzi said, shaking his head. It was the first topic in his daily brief today and a staffer was setting up an easel. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “I’m afraid so, sir,” Jim Wakeman said. “But this time it’s substantially more serious. Not only is Denikin opening up a new front, but he’s enlisted the aid of Iran as well.”

  The staffer placed a large map on the easel, and Wakeman picked up a pointer. “On this map we’re looking at two former Soviet Socialist Republics that share a common border: Georgia and Azerbaijan.”

  “Tactically, it looks like Ukraine all over again, with multiple sightings of masked commandos in anonymous green military uniforms carrying Russian weapons. We’re receiving reports of units crossing into Georgia in multiple locations from Russian-occupied South Ossetia. They’re following the same social media script as in Ukraine, too. It started two days ago when a bunch of posts popped up in Georgia, each one reporting a different made-up incident. Most claimed the police were mistreating ethnic Russians. Another set of posts immediately followed, calling for people to form militias to defend Russians and Russian rights. This morning, the little green men surfaced and seized four police stations. They’re still holding them with Russian flags flying overhead. We’re getting reports the Kremlin is preparing to play the same game next door in Azerbaijan.”

  “What’s going on there?”

  “Our best guess is its still just Denikin trying to divert domestic attention from the impact of depressed oil revenues. The Russ income has been a huge help, but it hasn’t covered the full revenue loss, so to outlast us, he’s had to belt-tighten with a vengeance. Public services are suffering, people are getting laid off, and even the oligarchs are restless. Denikin will deny it, but everyone at home and abroad will know the militiamen come from Russia. That makes it a perfect way for him to tuck it to the West without admitting responsibility.”

  “How serious is this?” Yazzi asked.

  “There’s no way to tell yet. If it’s just a diversion, it could stay fairly low level and then peter out after a few weeks or months. As you know, that’s what happened in Belarus, where instead of demanding a land corridor from Lithuania, as we feared he might, things just died down. After a couple of weeks Denikin quietly moved his forces back out again and that was it. Or this could be the real thing, like the Crimean and South Ossetian takeovers. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  * * *

  President Yazzie didn’t have to wait long. Two days later the situation had become serious enough to merit an emergency meeting of the National Security Council. Which was where he was sitting now, reflecting on the situation as an army colonel droned on with an update on the massing of Russian forces. The problem with diplomacy, Yazzi reflected, was that there were two sides to every interaction, and the other guy always had a mind of his own.

  But he should pay closer attention. He focused again on the map of the Near East spread across the wall of the Situation Room, centered on Georgia and Azerbaijan. On either side of those two countries, Yazzi could see dozens of symbols and arrows.

  “Last of all, sir,” the colonel intoned, “the squares you see on the Georgian border identify Russian armored brigades, made up of T-90A main battle tanks – that’s the heaviest armor they have. Satellite photos show as many as sixty tanks already deployed along the Georgian border with at least another eighty-two likely in transit.

  “You say ‘as many as.’ How do you miss a tank?” Yazzi asked.

  “It’s not as easy to track tanks as you might expect, sir. The Russian’s largest air transport, the An-124, can carry several at a time. If they’re loaded, unloaded, and then positioned at night, we could miss that. The Russians – like us – use camouflage nets and other tricks to
make military vehicles hard to spot, too. They also have very realistic, full-size tank mock-ups they can set up quickly when they move the real ones away. So, we might actually be looking at mock-ups on the Georgian border, if they want us to over-estimate how large a force they’re bringing to bear.”

  “Okay,” Yazzi said. “Please go on.”

  “Thank you, sir. This is the largest deployment of An-124s we’ve seen since the Soviet Union collapsed – more than a third of all they have in active service. We’ve also seen indications they’re activating some of the two hundred armored units they normally hold in reserve. Those are being brought in to fill in the voids left by the active units and tank crews moving to the Georgian border. Taken together with the artillery and missile batteries, air wings and ground troops already in place and on the way, this is a very substantial and credible force – much larger than the one the Kremlin assembled back in 2008 when its objective was to seize just South Ossetia and Abkhazia.”

  “How about the Georgians? What do they have?”

  “They lost a large percentage of their tanks and other weaponry to the Russians in 2008, but they’ve more than recovered since then. Still, the Russian forces we’re seeing are greater in every category. The Georgians only have about thirty-seven thousand personnel in active service, and their entire annual military budget is less than three hundred million dollars.”

  “But enough of a force to put up a stiff resistance?” Yazzi asked.

  “Only on a suicidal basis, I’m afraid, sir. Our assumption is that if the Russians throw everything we’re looking at now across the border, the Georgians will have to surrender.”

  “Very well,” Yazzi said. “Let’s move over to Iran then. What do they have on the Azerbaijani border?”

  “A force similar in size to the Russians, sir, but different in some respects. The Iranians have always loved big armor. They have as many as two thousand main battle tanks, and over a quarter of them are either in transit or already in position. They’ve got over a half million personnel in active service, and about twenty percent of them – mostly career troops, as compared to conscripts – are being deployed to the border.”