“Now, what we are about to witness promises to be most interesting. If you return to the first pie chart, you will see the red area has just passed the six o’clock position, meaning that more than fifty percent of the participating nodes have verified my block, which will now be added to every copy of the Russ blockchain and cannot be changed. Ah! And there we go!”
For the first time, Frank detected emotion in the speaker’s voice, despite the software intended to disguise it, and that emotion was excitement. It was not hard to guess why: the value of the Russ had begun oscillating wildly; now it was falling. Frank watched, captivated, as the line dropped ever more steeply.
“What just happened?” he asked.
“The block I added was most unusual, you see. Instead of including random transactions, it contained a transfer of newly created Russ to every foreign wallet in the world – in all, more than one thousand times the number of Russ in existence until a few moments ago.”
Frank struggled with all the implications of what he had just heard. But the plunge in the line of the chart in the middle of the screen conveyed the central message: the value of the Russ had been destroyed.
“How long will the effect last?” Frank asked.
“For my purposes, forever. Russia has no way to recover from this calamity. It can only restore the value of the Russ by buying back all the coins I have just issued, which it will never be able to afford to do.
“And so, the Kremlin’s ability to transact trade has also been destroyed. None of its commercial partners will be willing to complete the delivery of goods now in transit or engage in new transactions, because the Russ now has no value. There can therefore be no further trade in goods subject to Western sanctions.”
“And the next chart?” Frank asked. “What does that track?” Like the others, it displayed a plummeting value.
“The ruble,” the voice informed him. “Without the support to the economy provided by the Russ, the Ruble will collapse as well. By tomorrow, hyperinflation will set in, destroying any value that remains.”
“And the last?” Frank asked.
“Ah!” the voice replied. “My favorite. That shows the estimated cash assets of the Russian oligarchs, all of whom invested heavily in the Russ, knowing their friends in government would never let its value fall.
“So, Mr. Adversego, while you have watched over the last few moments, Russia and its elites have become completely, utterly, and irretrievably bankrupt. As has the Russian economy and, therefore, also the Russian people.
“This is a disaster from which the government cannot recover. The Russian people are on their own.
“You will bear witness that it was not the Americans or some other state actor that has achieved this end. This is the inevitable consequence of the actions of the Russian government itself, which staked its future on the Russ. The Russian people must seize this moment of opportunity to take control of their destiny. Do you understand me, Mr. Adversego?”
Frank understood perfectly. He could also guess well enough what was in store for BankCoin.
“You have not answered.”
“Yes,” Frank stuttered. “I understand very well. But why?”
“Why is for later,” the voice responded. “First, we will attend to your BankCoin.” Frank heard the obfuscated sound of clattering keys once more and looked wildly around the room. Had he missed some way to escape? He grabbed a heavy floor lamp and once again swung it like a sledgehammer against the locked door. But to no avail.
“Do not waste your time, Mr. Adversego. Your door is quite strong, and there is no one to hear you. Now, would you like to know what I have planned for BankCoin?”
Yes, he did. He dropped the lamp to the floor and slumped on to the sofa.
“Yes. Tell me.”
“That is good, for I like this plan even better. But first, let us have some new information.”
The screen cleared before showing a new set of charts, this time with captions Frank could read, except for the first chart, which bore no legend. The second chart showed the volume of BankCoin transactions – tens of millions of dollars’ worth per minute. A half-dozen smaller charts below the first two displayed the value of the dollar, the Euro, the British pound, the Japanese yen, and the Chinese renminbi.
“And now, shall we begin?” There was another burst of muffled keystrokes.
Frank watched in dismay as a tiny red wedge appeared at the noon position on the first, unlabeled pie chart and rapidly swept full circle.
Within moments of the red area reaching the six o’clock position, the volume of BankCoin transactions shown on the second chart dropped to zero.
“What just happened? How did you do that?” Frank gasped.
“The validation of the block I just added to the BankCoin blockchain, of course,” the voice replied. “And what was the unique feature of that block, you ask? For the West, I had a different idea – one you will surely appreciate. You see, the malware you have been seeking was not in the BankCoin software at all. Instead, it lay dormant in every block of the BankCoin blockchain, waiting for the signal contained in the block that was just validated. Having received that signal, the malware has gone to work. While we have been speaking, it has encrypted all the information on every BankCoin blockchain in existence. Then it encrypted that information again using a second encryption algorithm. And then yet a third. When this was complete, and for good measure, it erased every BankCoin blockchain copy in existence.
“Your BankCoin blockchain, and all the wealth it represented, no longer exists, Mr. Adversego. Nor can any existing technology resurrect it.”
But that wasn’t true! Frank told himself.
“No,” the voice said, as if reading his mind, “you cannot begin again, using the current balances of BankCoin wallets as a starting point. This is because, most generously, in the same block, I also issued a one cent BankCoin payment to every wallet holder. Except in this case, that payment was accompanied by the same instructions to the same sort of malware, which also exists in each wallet: triple encrypt and then erase.”
But still, Frank thought, there were the original records to fall back on.
“I see you are not yet convinced of the gravity of the situation, Mr. Adversego. But pause and consider: over the six months, trillions of dollars have been charged and paid, profits made and money lost, investments bought with BankCoin at one price and sold at another, and so on, endlessly. We are a grasping and litigious species, Mr. Adversego. A million courts in a thousand years could not settle the disputes over who is entitled to what. The values of everything have begun gyrating already. Look at the charts, Mr. Adversego.”
Each chart, except the one for the renminbi, resembled the electrocardiogram of a patient in cardiac arrest, his life slipping rapidly away. Now the line on the renminbi chart was oscillating. Then, it, too, headed downward.
“So, Mr. Adversego, I have a message for your people, too. It is this: chaos is upon you! Your money is worthless. Your savings are vaporized. Your government cannot save you or support itself. Do not blame the Russians, the Chinese, the North Koreans, the Iranians – blame your leaders. Blame Wall Street. Blame your greedy corporate overlords. Blame yourselves! Take control of your lives, your communities, your future! From this disaster can come your salvation!”
This was insane, Frank thought. What could the real purpose be behind what had just happened? Assuming that anything had really happened at all. How could he know, trapped in this room?
He heard a click, and what until then he had assumed was a grill covering a ventilating duct fell open. The click was followed by a soft whir, and a camera emerged, training back and forth before it locked on Frank’s face.
“And so, Mr. Adversego, it is time for you to perform your appointed role in the unfolding drama that will forever transform the world.”
“Mine?�
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“Yes – and a very important role, too. My followers have hacked into media networks around the globe and are about to seize control of their video streams. You will tell the world what you have just witnessed. You will tell both East and West that every record in existence of BankCoin and the Russ has been destroyed.”
Frank was struck with two realizations in close succession. The first was that once he had gone on television, the person behind the voice would have no incentive to release him. And the second was that his copy of the BankCoin blockchain still existed, because he always turned his servers off to avoid overheating. From that copy, all but the last few days of activity on the BankCoin network could be resurrected. For both reasons, he had to escape.
But how? He looked out the window – if only he weren’t so high in the air! Surely, he could smash his way through the glass. But as always, the placid view taunted him, the sun shining brightly as it had each day of his imprisonment, the sky cloudless as always, the tiny ship still in the distance …
Wait a minute!
He rushed up to the window: yes, though the tinted coating made things a bit blurry, he could see a wake behind the ship far out in the harbor – it wasn’t anchored. And he was sure it was right where it had always been before!
“Time to go on the air, Mr. Adversego!”
“Later!” he yelled. Seizing the heavy floor lamp again, he swung it at the glass with all his might.
The false window dissolved into shards large and small, some shattering again on the floor, while others hung like enormous teeth in the window frame. Yes! Everything was dark on the other side!
He leaped though the gap, catching a sleeve on one of the glass stalactites, and groped his way forward as quickly as he could into the pitch-dark void. Behind him, the garbled voice shrieked in shock and rage.
Stumbling against objects he couldn’t see, he found a wall and slid along it with one hand extended, hoping to find a window, a door, any way to escape. He felt something that might be a doorframe – Yes! He found a knob, but it wouldn’t turn. He ran his fingers down both sides and found a light switch.
It worked. He was in a grimy basement filled with bins and bags of garbage. Against the far wall was a set of dirty wooden stairs that seemed to go nowhere. He ran to them and looked up, finding two doors held shut with a rusted hasp and padlock. What could he use to dislodge them? He saw a brick and smashed it against the lock. Nothing. He tried again. And again. The hasp and lock seemed to be pulling loose. His next blow sent them sailing across the room. He pushed the doors open and rushed upward.
He found himself on the sidewalk of a busy street, surrounded by people carrying cell phones, walking dogs, and hawking counterfeit goods. It looked like SoHo.
Someone eyed him strangely, and he realized he was holding his left elbow with his right hand. Both were covered in blood.
* * *
The cab did its best in the traffic, and the TV set on the back of the driver’s seat confirmed Schwert had really done what he claimed. The talking heads on the screen were bewildered, just now receiving reports that something serious had happened but without a clue what to make of it.
It wasn’t easy, but Frank persuaded the English-challenged cabby to lend his phone to the bloody passenger in the back seat. Thankfully, George Marchand’s phone was on.
“George! Frank! How’s Marla? Yes? Thank God for that. Now listen.”
He gave as coherent a short explanation as he could; George agreed he would try to get through to someone at the Treasury Department to explain what had happened to BankCoin; Frank would return to the bank to be sure the last remaining copy of the global BankCoin blockchain was safe, driven by the realization that whoever had kidnapped him might also know of its existence.
Who else should he call? He dialed again, and Ruth answered.
“Ruth! Can you do me a quick favor?”
“Sure. Is everything okay with your family now?”
“Oh – yeah. Everything’s fine. Would you go to my office and see if the door is locked?”
“Okay. Why?”
“I’ll tell you when I get back. Just check – please!”
He held his breath until her voice returned.
“Yup. All locked up.”
He expelled his breath loud enough for her to hear. “Are you okay?” she said.
“Yes – fine. I’ll be there soon.”
“Good. It’s a madhouse here.”
He spent the rest of the ride bandaging his arm as best he could with a piece of cloth ripped from the bottom of his shirt.
* * *
When he reached the bank, Frank dodged his way through the confused, milling crowd filling the lobby. He sweated in frustration as the elevator made its halting ascent; every time the doors dinged! open, he saw another scene of turmoil. But when he reached the IT floor, it was just about empty.
“You’re going the wrong way,” someone said as they hurried past him on to the elevator. “There’s an emergency meeting of the security team in the auditorium.”
He dashed through the cubicles, turned the last corner, and almost ran into someone standing outside his office.
And that someone was holding what looked like a gun.
Chapter 46
Bang!
“You’ve got to put that down,” Frank said, as steadily as he could. “If you shoot, people will hear it. You’ll never get away.”
“It is not so important I get away,” the voice said, clear now.
Maybe someone was still on the floor, Frank thought. Maybe someone will come around the corner and see us and yell; maybe that will distract the gunman. What should I do then? Run? Try to tackle him?
* * *
The gunman, of course, was Crypto, or as much of Crypto as was capable of functioning in spite of the cacophony of screams exploding between his ears and his own existential anguish and despair. This was where all his plans would stand or fall, where the curtain would go up and the grand overture of a brave new world would begin or where everything would collapse – his hopes, the last decade of his life, the future of humanity.
Shoot! Shoot!
The roaring chorus in his head was like something out of Wagner – as if ten thousand Valkyries were assailing him. He half-closed his eyes and vainly waved his free hand in the air around his head.
Something strange was happening to Crypto now; Frank was dissolving into a swirling gray fog surrounded by a nimbus of light. Now something was taking form in that fog. Yes – it was the image at the end of The Dream. He saw the two cards hugely and clearly as if they were inches away – saw the sullen, angry face of his father as the king and the sad, forlorn image of his mother as the queen.
SHOOT! SHOOT!
The voices of the Bees rose above the din of the chorus, reverberated and echoed and still grew. The thundering inside his head was unbearable. It was beyond unbearable. He was barely able to stand.
SHOOT!
Yes – he would, at last, have to shoot. There was no other way. But could he do such a thing? Why did his parents not speak to him? Why did his mother not tell him what to do?
And then the queen extended her arms to him and the message of The Dream finally became clear.
Yes.
He pressed the 3D printer gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
And then Crypto, Dirk Magnus, Günter Schwert, Oleg Lupanov, and the curtain on all their grand, heroic, hopeless dreams collapsed to the floor as one.
Epilogue
“You’re late,” George Marchand said, looking at his watch. “You were supposed to be here two weeks ago.”
“Yeah,” Frank said, “circumstances beyond my control and all that. Coffee’s on me.”
“No worries. I trust First Manhattan was grateful?”
“It took a little w
hile. As you can imagine, there was the matter of just me, a 3D printer–generated gun, and a dead body to explain first. The police were a lot friendlier when it became clear the only prints on the weapon were Dirk’s.
“And then, of course, everybody was preoccupied with reestablishing the global blockchain from my office system. It wasn’t hard to push a copy out to all the banks, but there was that gap to fill in while I was staying at the Magnus Hilton. What a mess! But still, five days’ worth of transactions was a heck of a lot easier to recreate than six months’ worth.
“And don’t forget about the wallets. My system didn’t have that data, so the banks had to scan the blockchain from the very beginning through to the end to generate a report of what the balance of every BankCoin wallet in the world would have been when I turned my servers off. The Department of Defense made one of their most powerful supercomputers available to do that.”
“Smart move,” George said. “The markets took their biggest one-day loss since October 1987 the day after the attack, but they’re coming back. Anyway, the bank must be grateful now, right?”
“I guess you could say yes and no. No, in that they let me go.”
“Let you go? You’re kidding?”
“It’s kind of complicated. It looks like all the banks and IBs are going to stick with BankCoin, but that doesn’t mean anybody’s very happy about it. Individual and commercial customers were naturally shaken up by all the chaos, and the government’s all over the BankCoin network now. A Senate committee and two separate House committees are slated to hold hearings, and Treasury and FBI investigative teams are camped out on the IT floor of the bank – I could go on. And that’s just in the US. Who knows what regulations will come out the other end of the whole process?”
The Blockchain Revolution Page 33