Start at the Prologue and First Chapter here

Crypto’s respite did not last long. Frank was in the office as much as ever, but he wasn’t spending much time on the system with the malware planted by Crypto. That could only mean one thing: he was working the rest of the time on the air gapped system Crypto could not monitor. Yes, Crypto could have someone hack that system, too, but Frank might notice adding something like wireless capacity to a server that did not have it already. And in any event, the Bees were already aware that Frank must be hard at work doing what they feared the most: looking for a vulnerability in a way that might eventually allow him to find it. A vulnerability that someone – Crypto, for example – could exploit to wipe out the global financial system.

Crypto was less worried by Frank’s presence on his 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 did simple plans less often go awry, but their very simplicity was often enough to allow them to escape detection. Presumably the Great Adversego would be looking for trapdoors, Trojans and the like – complicated, traditional hacks easily identifiable as such. Good for him. If that’s what he was up to, he’d never catch on. He wasn’t even looking in the right place.

Another reason Crypto was less concerned was that he could launch his attacks any time he wished. But he did not wish, not yet, because the longer he waited, the more devastating the result would be. His reasoning was simple. Every bank had records of the account balances of its customers before they were transferred into BankCoin wallets almost six months ago. Had Crypto struck almost immediately after the transfers were made, the banks could have simply rebooted their old systems and software, picking up where things had been before. Launching the attack then would have been highly disruptive, to be sure, but hardly devastating. After a few days or weeks of scurrying around by systems people, financial life would go on as before.

But the longer he waited, the more impossible that task would become. Some people would make money and some would lose. Some would make deposits and others withdrawls. Some would sell things and others would buy. Exchange rates would rise and exchange rates would fall. In response, the values in everyone’s BankCoin wallets would change on a constant basis, with the current balances in their wallets changing a dozen, a hundred, even a thousand times from what they were prior to BankCoin. And the only records of the transactions resulting in all those changes would be in the blockchain itself, because that was what the BankCoin blockchain was for.

It would be an impossibly complex, and likely impossible, to recreate the record of what had happened without access to the BankCoin blockchain. It would also be impossible to tell how much money anyone had, because, you see, Cypto’s attack would destroy all of the wallets as well. If he delayed his attack long enough, it would become impossible, as a practical matter, to sort out the mess, and economic and social chaos would ensue. No one would know what they were worth, nor could they prove it. No one, therefore, could buy anything, because no one would want to sell something to someone who could not prove they could pay for it. There be no way to calculate taxes, and no way to pay them. Shipments of goods in transit would be halted in limbo with no way to pay or be paid.

With Bankcoin now globally adopted, the economy of every country affected, which was to say every developed nation in the world, would collapse, with no obvious way to get back on its feet. Governments would be caught flat-footed, because no one had ever conceived of the possibility that such a thing could happen. Thefts from BankCoin wallets? Yes. But the obliteration of every copy of the BankCoin blockchain and 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.

Let BankCoin run long enough, Crypto was convinced, and society could not fail to collapse. And he was right. The question was, how long was enough? Crypto wanted more time. But the Bees would have none of it. Six months was enough they insisted, and the risk was too great.

Take it or leave it: launch now or eliminate Adversego. Pick one.

Crypto was startled by the escalating anger of the Bees; he had never endured an onslaught this determined and severe before. Pick one! Pick one! A Bee repeated the litany over and over again until suddenly B Bee would take over, thundering the same words. They continued in this alternation incessantly, varying their assault only occasionally to join voices. Crypto felt they were 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 forced upon him by the Bees. He hated his new plan, because it would require going on the Dark Web to find assistants to help him appease the Bees. Even if he took every precaution possible to mask his identity and the payments he would have to make, there was always the possibility his identity could be traced.

But the Bees had become insufferable. Crypto had already raised his medications as far as he dared; already, he feared they were making him dull and stupid. That also added risk: what if his judgment failed him, and he made a stupid mistake? Better to risk exposure after the attacks were successful than to bungle the entire enterprise due to foggy thinking.

I have a plan, he assured the Bees. It involves a set of techniques that will force Adversego to voluntarily give up his efforts. These techniques were perfected by the Stasi in the former German Democratic Republic and are extremely effective – there are ample records to prove it. It will work with Adversego as well.

It wasn’t easy, but he convinced the Bees to back off while he gave his plan a try.

*  *  *

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

He got down on his knees to look for it, but no bottle. There was a small card, though, folded in half so that it stood upright, like a miniature roof. 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 that was all about. If a member of the housekeeping staff or a maintenance person had stolen his hootch, 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 the card. 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 think 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 his 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

*  *  *

Over the next week, Frank found more disturbing 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?

He hid a web camera where he thought it wouldn’t be detected to see who was behind the strange activity. Building management would have to believe a video, and that should make it possible to identify the culprit as well. The next day, he opened a window in the corner of his computer screen at work so he could monitor the feed from the camera. Nothing appeared in the window until it abruptly went dark. When he returned to his suite, he found the camera in pieces on the floor.

He cleaned up the remains of the web camera and sat down on his couch, staring out at Central Park. He decided that whoever it was, they were trying to make him more than uneasy. The smashed camera suggested they wanted to send the message they could be violent as well. But again – to what purpose?

He decided, by the process of elimination, that there were only two possible motives. Either someone was unhappy that he was working for First Manhattan, or for the RussCoin Task Force. Of the two, the former seemed more likely, as his role there was public, and it was his Manhattan 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. They had more important things to worry about.

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

Either way, the obvious thing for the Colonel to do would be to drop Frank from the Task Force. Maybe an understandable thing for the Colonel to do, but Frank didn’t like the idea of being canned when he was blameless. And anyway, the odds were much higher that it was his bank work that was the problem.

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. And anyway, the bank was entitled to know.

*  *  *

Frank was leaning forward in an office guest chair, his hands clasped together on his knees. Across her desk, Audrey Adams was staring at him. In between them, like toy soldiers arrayed on a pretend battle field, was Frank’s collection of miniature table tents.

“So, let me get this straight,” Adams 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.”

“That’s right,” he replied.

She frowned. “Have you given a key to your apartment to anyone?”

“Nobody.”

“And you’ve got no idea whatsoever who might be behind this?”

“Not specifically. But my theory is that someone’s trying to get me to quit working on the BankCoin project.”

“Why in the world would you think that? Even if I assume you’re right, why would their goal be to make you quit working for us?”

Frank hunched down in his chair.

“Well, I don’t know, maybe they’re afraid I’ll find something they don’t want me to find. Anyway, I can’t think what else it might be.”

Adams frowned again. She was more suspicious about what Frank might be up to than inclined to believe his cock and bull story and his little cards. In her view, her bank was already paying him an outrageous amount, and as far as she could tell, he’d done precious little so far to earn it. She’d already spent a fortune on housing him and dressing him up. Why should he get any more perks? She’d been at the bank for fourteen years, three as Cronin’s Chief of Staff, and she hadn’t received a tenth as many stock options as Frank, let alone anything close to his salary.

“Well,” she said, “it seems like quite a leap to me to assume that whoever is playing tricks on you is thinking anything at all about First Manhattan. If their goal is to make you quit, why don’t they just say that on one of these silly cards?”

Frank shifted uneasily in his chair, because he was troubled by the same question and couldn’t come up with a good answer.

“So,” Adams said, pressing the attack, “why should the bank hire a private investigator for you? I don’t see a single word on any of these cards that’s the least bit threatening. For all I know, some oddball friend of yours is pranking you.” The look on Adams’s face indicated that in Frank’s case, adding “oddball” to “friend” was likely the waste of an extra word.

Admitting that he had no friends, oddball or otherwise, would be too humiliating, so Frank shrugged instead.

“Well, Frank,” Audrey summed up. “I’m afraid I can’t see my way clear to authorize spending bank funds to hire a private investigator. Of course, you should feel free to do so yourself, and,” she added, raising her eyebrows, “I believe we’re paying you more than enough to do so.”

Adams stood up, indicating that Frank’s time was up, and he reluctantly did the same.

As soon as he left her office, Adams picked up her phone and called Bank Security.

“Henry, Audrey Adams here. We’ve got an employee named Frank Adversego who’s starting to act a little strange. He’s a systems security guy and has access to everything there is to have access to at the bank. I’d like you to have your people start keeping an eye on him. No, just at work, for now. Yes, he’s signed the usual agreement, so we have the right to access his email and phone logs. Let me know if you see anything unusual. Also, I want a daily log of anyone he speaks to by phone outside the bank, and a copy of every email he sends to anyone, inside or outside the bank. Thanks.”

Then Audrey Adams indulged herself in something she very rarely did. She smiled.

*  *  *

Frank was feeling discouraged as he headed home to Washington. He was convinced Audrey Adams thought he was a little crazy. And for the first time, he suspected she looked at him as a useless drain on bank resources. After all, what had he come up with so far? That bothered him, too.

There was a cold drizzle waiting for him when he landed at Reagan International Airport, but no driver holding an umbrella, waiting to escort him into a fancy town car, the way there would have been in New York. Instead, he stuffed himself into a beat-up Uber that must have been within a hair of failing to make the grade. Also, the driver’s taste in music sucked.

At least he hadn’t yet taken the next step in his arm’s race with Fang. He didn’t think he could face returning home to yet another defeat in his war with a beast with two percent of his own cranial capacity.

There would be no fancy bottle of scotch waiting for him in his cupboard, either. But that was okay. The Uber driver must have be an Eskimo. Or maybe his heat just didn’t work. Either way, Frank was chilled to the bone. When he got home, he’d made a pot of coffee instead.

Which is what he did when he got home. Plopping down in his living room to wait for it to be ready, he stared blankly at the water dripping onto his balcony. Now what?

A bit of motion caught his eye. Huh. Fang was perched on the railing of his balcony. Just what Frank needed. A gloating squirrel.

But then the animal dropped to the balcony and hopped hesitantly up to the glass. The drizzle was turning to sleet now, and Frank could see that Fang was soaked and pathetic. The squirrel rose up on its hind legs, placed its front paws on the glass, and stared at him for a while. Then it disappeared.

Frank stared at where the squirrel had been and felt his face begin to burn. What was the matter with him? Was a blue jay or a cardinal more entitled to be fed than a squirrel just because it was more colorful? They both had to eat. What kind of a species bigot was he?

He went into his kitchen for a bowl and filled it full of seed and placed it on his balcony. Then he waited, wondering whether Fang would be able to find it in his tiny heart to forgive him.

Author’s Notes for This Week:

Well! I’ve finished the first draft, which currently runs to 31 chapters. That means I’m beginning my cycle of rewrites, which includes roughly the following:

  1. Major changes draft: this includes fleshing out some of the “seeds” I’ve planted earlier and eliminating some others. For example, should I add more about Yazzi’s efforts to bring Russia to heel or merely mention in my usual Epilogue how things ended up on that front? Should I flesh out the RussCoin Task Force, or leave it in the minor supporting function to the plot that it is now? What about Dirk Delhohn’s assistant? Should I expand her into an ongoing character with a meaningful plot role or not? Yesterday, for example, I created a Russian Federal Security Service character and a thread to back up a new twist you’ll meet next week. The answers to these and similar questions will likely turn the current 74,000 word draft into something in the 90,000 – 100,000 word range, which is a bit short compared to the previous books in the series.
  2. Consistency and tidy up draft: the goal of this draft is to even out the gaps, slips and other glitches that arose in the first draft and weren’t caught and fixed in the last draft, or popped up it.
  3. Writing optimization: in this draft, I’ll focus on reworking each chapter to be the best it can be. This means cutting sentences that are unnecessary, improving ones that aren’t working hard enough, heightening suspense, adding color where it would help and deleting it where its just extra words, and so on
  4. Usually, this isn’t one, but about three start to finish revisions to clean up the writing at a technical level (is the same word used too often too close together? Is there too much passive voice? Do I need to cut more?) and catch typos and grammatical errors.

After the consistency draft above (2), I’ll be delighted to have as many beta readers as are willing to volunteer to help me out. While typo-spotting is welcome, the real value a beta reader brings is with comments like, “I don’t understand this part;” “this is inconsistent with chapter 5, where you said…;”This part is too long and becomes boring; I’d tighten it up;” and so on. Also, I’d love to find a psychiatrist beta reader who could help me make Crypto more authentic and clinically accurate.

And now, a question: in the chapter above, you see the lead-in to the concept of having the compiler be the villain, adding the malware to each block. The slip noted above should have been in the part the compiler adds, rather than in the visible source code. But since I wrote this chapter, I’ve had another idea, which strikes me as being potentially better: the malware could be only in the Genesis Block, which, as I understand it, never gets a whole lot of attention; it’s just a necessary foundation for all of the blocks that come later. Crypto could not only park the malware there, but obfuscate the code as well, making it difficult, although not impossible, for Frank to work out, once he decides to look at it. The main drawbacks I see to this alternative are, not only “why was it obfuscated?” but “why is this block of code bigger than it seems to need to be,” both of which would be evident from the repository. Still, I’m inclined to go with this alternative.

Which approach do you think is the best? Your thoughts, as always, would be most welcome and gratefully appreciated.

Next Week: You’ll read all sorts of interesting things about Audrey Adams, and that new Russian thread will be introduced.

 

Continue to Chapter 22