The Blockchain Revolution

by Andrew Updegrove

  “And the Azerbaijani forces?” Yazzi asked.

  “More substantial than the Georgians, sir,” the colonel said. “They’ve got over eighty thousand ground personnel, and some of their equipment is impressive. They might take down a few enemy aircraft, if they’re lucky. But, given the size of the Iranian force and the risk of Russia rolling over Georgia in a matter of days, we assume the Azerbaijanis would surrender as well, especially if given a joint ultimatum from Russia and Iran. Likely, both the Georgians and the Azerbaijanis would decide they’d get better terms negotiating a settlement before hostilities break out than after their armed forces have been crushed.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” Yazzi said, turning to Secretary of State Calhoun. “So, tell me, Hugh, what are the Russians up to? And what do they want?”

  “Mr. President, I don’t think a permanent takeover of Georgia and Azerbaijan is what Denikin has in mind.”

  “Why do you say that?” Yazzi asked.

  “For starters, because there are other former Soviet Socialist States we expect would rank higher on their wish list. Also, they already took the territory they most wanted – South Ossetia – from Georgia back in 2008. Next, there’s nothing uniquely appealing about Azerbaijan. It’s not a very large economy, and most of its wealth comes from oil and gas, something neither the Russians nor the Iranians need more of.”

  “So, what’s special about Georgia and Azerbaijan then?”

  “Location, sir, from two perspectives. First, between them, Georgia and Azerbaijan own all the territory between the Black and Caspian Seas. That’s been a vital transportation route since Marco Polo opened the Silk Road between Europe and Asia seven hundred years ago. The second reason is if Denikin can make Georgia and Azerbaijan follow his orders, he’ll control the ground all the way from the Indian to the Arctic Oceans. That means he could blockade all land and air traffic between Asia and Europe – all oil and gas pipelines, rail and truck routes, air cargo routes – everything. Then all cargo would have to go on ships, traveling thousands of miles out of its way and far more slowly. The trade disruptions and additional costs would be enormous.”

  “What would the impact be on the US?” Yazzi asked.

  “Substantial, because our trade, transportation, and supply chains are so intertwined with those of the Europeans.”

  “So, let’s assume that’s what the Russians are thinking. How about the Iranians?”

  “I think it’s mostly opportunistic on their part. If Russia wants to muscle Azerbaijan, the Iranians will be happy to join the party. There are a few concessions we expect Teheran would be happy to extract, like building its own oil pipeline direct to Europe, and more leverage to use against us and NATO.”

  “So, what specifically does Denikin want?”

  “Getting rid of the sanctions for sure, sir. After that, undermining NATO unity. Europeans would likely be a lot more worried about heating their homes this winter than curbing Russian military actions hundreds of miles from their borders. It’s a perfect way to drive a wedge between us and our allies.”

  “You don’t think our NATO allies will stick with us to get the Russians to back down?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir. We’ve already imposed all the embargoes on Russia we could come up with, so that only leaves force, and I don’t see anybody in Europe stepping up to that plate. So that would leave only us.”

  “The Russians can’t assume we won’t act alone, though,” Yazzi said.

  “True, sir. But I expect they’re pretty confident we won’t go to war over two countries most Americans have never heard of and couldn’t find on a map if they have. And they’re right. After Iraq and Afghanistan, we could never persuade Congress, let alone the American people, to support another war in the Near East, and against a nuclear-armed adversary at that.”

  Yazzi looked around the table. “Is there anyone who thinks differently?”

  No one spoke up.

  “I’m having a hard time accepting,” Yazzi said, “that the largest and most powerful country in the world’s history has to stand by and watch as two of its greatest enemies may be preparing to snatch two sovereign nations – it’s like Hitler taking Austria and Czechoslovakia without anyone raising a finger all over again. Thank goodness, we have one weapon Chamberlin didn’t.”

  “Agreed,” Calhoun said. “Much as I wish it were otherwise, I think it’s time to take down the Russ.”

  “Where do we stand on that?” Yazzi asked Jim Wakeman, the national security adviser.

  “We’re close, sir. I don’t have an exact date for you at the moment, but I will by the end of the day.”

  “And the Russians and the Iranians? What’s the timeline there, John?” Yazzi asked.

  “We estimate it’ll be at least ten days before all the forces we see in motion arrive. After that, we expect they’ll need at least another week to get their logistics taken care of – beefing up air control systems, positioning and coordinating missile defense units, and so on.”

  Yazzi paused to think. Once again, all the information had been delivered, all his questions had been answered, and all eyes were upon him. In one sense, the decision was easier. It wasn’t that every alternative was were equally bad. This time, there appeared to be only one workable option at all. Intervening militarily was out of the question. Even if he was willing to go to war – even if Congress, for once, had the guts to approve going to war – there was no time. It would take weeks to move enough carrier-based planes, in-flight refueling air tankers, and logistical support within range and months more to deploy sufficient ground forces to prevail. And his advisers were telling him the game would be over within a few weeks, ending with concessions by Georgia and Azerbaijan, and not with a territorial acquisition, like Iraq’s attack on Kuwait, that the US could reverse through force.

  Nor could he bring the Russians or the Iranians to heel through non-military action, because they were already subject to every kind of sanction imaginable. No, there really was only one alternative this time, good, bad, or otherwise. He made his decision.

  “In that case, we’d better get started. I’d like a full report first thing in the morning spelling out in detail how the attack on the Russ will take place within a week. We’ve got to put an end to Denikin’s aggressions once and for all.”

  Chapter 36

  The Old Switcheroo

  Frank was in his office five days a week now, but he was rarely on the system Crypto could monitor. And when he was, he was spending most of his time indulging a bizarre fixation on the habits of squirrels. That could only mean one thing: the rest of the time he was working away diligently on his air-gapped system. Yes, Crypto could have someone hack that computer, too, but Frank would likely notice it if his air-gapped server suddenly gained wireless capability.

  Crypto was less worried than the Bees by Frank’s presence on the air-gapped system. Crypto was a firm believer in the “keep it simple” principle and was confident his faithfulness to that rule would keep Frank at bay. Not only were minimally complex programs less likely to go awry, but their very simplicity often allowed them to escape detection. Presumably Frank would be looking for trapdoors, Trojans, and the like. Good for him. If that’s what he was up to, he’d never catch on. He wasn’t even searching in the right place.

  Another reason Crypto was less concerned was that he could launch his attack any time he wished. But he did not wish to, not yet, because the longer he waited, the more destructive the result would be. That’s what his countdown clock was all about. Every bank had records of the account balances of its customers before they were transferred into BankCoin wallets six months ago. Had he struck soon after the network went live, the banks could have rebooted their old systems and software, picking up where things were before. Launching the attack then would have been highly disruptive, to be sure, but hardly devastating. After a few days or weeks of scu
rrying around, financial life would have gone on as before.

  The longer he waited, the more impossible that task had become. Billions of people had made money, and others had lost it. Many had made deposits and others withdrawals; most had done both. Untold numbers had sold things and the rest had bought them. Exchange rates had risen and fallen again in unending pulses of reaction to global events. In short, everyone’s wallet balances had been changing constantly since the system went live. The only records of the transactions resulting in all those changes would be in the blockchain itself.

  It would be a hopeless challenge to recreate the record of what had happened without access to the BankCoin blockchain. As importantly, it would also be impossible to tell how much money anyone now had, because Crypto’s attack would destroy all the wallets as well. If he waited long enough, the pre-BankCoin records would be so hopelessly out of date that they would be effectively useless.

  There had been a time, before the agitation of the Bees began to rise, when Crypto would often lie awake at night, imagining that he could peer down from some magical point in space that permitted him to see everyone in the Western world, all enjoying a day on a perfectly sunlit beach. Each individual was diligently building his or her financial sand castle, unaware that someday very soon Crypto would send a mighty wave against that beach, a wave that would forever sweep it clean. It would be easier to recreate those billions of sand castles than it would be to restore the balances of the BankCoin wallets of the world.

  Nor would there be enough time, because the world would immediately be plunged into economic and social chaos. No one would know what they were worth, nor could they prove it. No one, therefore, could buy anything, because no one would be willing to sell something to someone who could not prove they could pay for it. There would be no way to calculate taxes and no way to pay them. Shipments of goods in transit would be halted in limbo because there was no way for payment to be made on delivery.

  With BankCoin now globally adopted, the economy of virtually every country would collapse with no feasible path to recovery. Governments would be caught flat-footed, because no one had believed such a thing could happen. Thefts from BankCoin wallets? Yes. But the obliteration of every copy of the BankCoin blockchain and every wallet balance? Never. And yet, so it would be. No one would want to recreate BankCoin, and the challenge of taking the mothballed, traditional financial system out of storage would be Herculean – far too difficult to accomplish in the midst of so much chaos. Let BankCoin run long enough, Crypto was convinced, and society could not fail to collapse.

  But the days when Crypto could indulge himself in such theoretical ruminations were now over – his countdown clock was ticking down, and the fury of the Bees was ratcheting up. Now the need to accurately answer the question was urgent: how long was long enough to guarantee a sufficient depth and duration of chaos? Crypto wanted more time. But the Bees would have none of it. Six months was enough, they insisted. The risk of discovery was too great.

  Take it or leave it: launch now or eliminate Adversego. Pick one. B Bee’s ultimatum was thunderous.

  Crypto was crumpling under the pressure of the escalating anger of the Bees; he hadn’t endured an onslaught like this since his university days. Pick one! Pick one! A Bee repeated the litany incessantly until B Bee would suddenly take over, thundering the same words. They continued endlessly in this alternation except when they both abused him at once, supported by a chorus more overwhelmingly ominous and intimidating than ever before. Crypto felt the combined aggression was driving him mad.

  Once again, he retreated to his stationary bicycle, and after an unusually long and exhausting stint, he thought of a way to pick neither of the alternatives the Bees were forcing upon him. He hated his new plan because it would once again require him to call on assistants. Even if he took every precaution possible to mask his identity and the payments he would have to make, there was always the possibility he could be traced.

  But he had no choice. He had already raised his medications as far as he dared, and the extra dosages were dulling his ability to think. That also added danger: what if his judgment failed him and he made a foolish mistake? Better to risk exposure after the attacks were successful than to bungle the entire enterprise due to foggy thinking.

  I have been considering, he informed the Bees. We cannot kill Adversego, because to do so would bring the police, the FBI, who knows who else to the case. If we are caught, all our plans will have been for naught. But if we can get Adversego to quit of his own volition, we will achieve the result you wish. Do you follow me?

  There was silence; he had caught the Bees’ attention. He continued.

  So, I have come up with a plan to achieve that end. It involves a set of psychological techniques that will frighten Adversego into resigning. The key to its success is to increase the stress and uncertainty gradually to break his nerve. These methods were perfected by the Stasi in the former German Democratic Republic and were proven to be extremely effective – there are ample records that demonstrate their success. It will work with Adversego as well. Let me explain how …

  It wasn’t easy, but he succeeded. The Bees agreed to back off while he gave his plan a try. Another idea had occurred to him on his bike as well – a Plan B he could hold in reserve if there was no other way to avoid giving in to the demands of the Bees to kill Adversego. He set to work to prepare for that contingency as well.

  * * *

  Frank was tired when he returned to his suite in Manhattan. He wanted nothing more than to clear his head of the day’s frustrations and engage in some mindless pursuit, like reading a far-fetched, satirical, political, cybersecurity technothriller. He reached into the credenza for his bottle of expensive scotch, but there was nothing there. That was odd; he always put things back in the same place. Perhaps he’d pushed it in farther than usual.

  He got down on his knees to look, but no bottle. There was a small card, though, folded in half so that it stood upright, like a miniature tent. He pulled it out and saw that there were two words on it. The card read:

  Not Here

  Well. That was darn peculiar. He wondered what it was all about. If a member of the housekeeping staff or a maintenance person had stolen his hooch, they’d scarcely leave a cryptic note to underline the fact. And it wasn’t as if the card was telling him something he didn’t already know.

  He stared at it. What should he do? Report the theft to building management?

  If he did, what would they make of the little note? Would they believe him or suspect he was spoofing them for some bizarre reason? Maybe he should think about this for a while.

  When he went into his bedroom later that evening, he saw the bottle of scotch sitting on his chest of drawers. In front of it was another small, folded card. On it was a single word:

  Here

  * * *

  Every day thereafter, Frank found more evidence that someone was tampering with his belongings. Things were moved around his suite but never disappeared, so the motive wasn’t theft. What was it, then? If it was to make him uneasy, it was succeeding. But to what purpose?

  After four days of unwanted surprises he hid a web camera as best he could to see who was behind the strange activity. Then he could record the culprit, and building management would have to believe a video. The next day, he set up his tablet on his desk at work so he could monitor the feed from the camera. Nothing appeared until late morning, when he caught a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye just before the video feed on his tablet went dark. When he returned to his suite, he found the camera smashed on the floor.

  He cleaned up the pieces and sat down on his couch, staring out at Central Park. He decided that the destruction of the camera was meant to make him more uneasy. Whoever had killed it wanted Frank to know he wouldn’t hesitate to use violence if Frank didn’t do whatever it was he was supposed to do. But – what was that? />
  He concluded there were only two possible motives. Someone was either unhappy that he was working for First Manhattan or that he was part of the RussCoin Task Force. Of the two, the former seemed more likely, as his role there was public, and it was his bank digs that were affected. So now what? Should he go to the police? He could, but he couldn’t imagine they’d do much. Nothing had been stolen, and no one had been hurt. The authorities had more important things to worry about.

  How about the bank? Assuming they took him seriously, they should be concerned. Colonel Dix, at the RussCoin Task Force, would certainly pay attention. But would he agree someone was trying to scare Frank into resigning? Or would he suspect the threatening behavior related to something in Frank’s private life he wasn’t owning up to? Maybe instead of having his Manhattan apartment watched, Colonel Dix would have someone watch Frank instead, as a potential security risk. Nothing personal, of course.

  Either way, the most logical thing for Dix to do would be to drop Frank from the task force. That would be understandable, but Frank didn’t like the idea of being let go when he was blameless, especially when he felt he was providing real value. And anyway, the odds seemed higher it was his BankCoin work that was at issue.

  He decided to go to the bank and ask them to hire a private investigator and leave the colonel in the dark for now. That made sense.

  * * *

  Frank was leaning forward, his hands clasped together on his knees. Audrey Addams was staring at him across her pristine desk. In between them, like toy soldiers arrayed on a pretend battle field, was Frank’s collection of miniature paper tents.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Addams said. “Every day when you go back to your apartment, something’s different, and you find one of these messages. You don’t know who’s leaving them, and you haven’t mentioned it to building management.”