The Outer Circle (The Counterpoint Trilogy Book 3) (7 page)

“Well, there is one more possibility, but it’s a really long shot,” admitted Oleg sheepishly.

“Given how realistic your other approaches are, I wonder what a ‘long shot’ would look like. What is it?”

“I mentioned my uncle and his son. Their family has been in
militzia
, the Russian term for police, for many generations. The uncle, Ivan Mershov, now heads the SBOR, Special Rapid Response Unit within the Russian Interior Ministry. He just might be high enough to help us get these SOFI transactions traced. Or get the word to their president.”

“And their president will believe this and decide to contact our president and then our president will just believe their president with our two countries being in a new Cold War? Yeah, that’s a very long shot for sure,” chuckled Alejandro.

“I told you,” shrugged Oleg.

“All right,” Alejandro turned serious again. “Now that I know why you risked coming back, here are some ground rules. Number one, you are not to leave this house unless we arrange it in advance. Number two, you can only use secure phones and e-mail, I will show you how. This is for your protection as well as mine. Surveillance systems have gotten much better while you were gone. There are tens of millions of high-resolution cameras throughout the city. There are hundreds of observation drones overhead with dozens of video and infrared cameras. They are all plugged into massive databases that enable face recognition within a second. Mostly this is being used to sell you stuff, to personalize the advertising process. But it also serves the law enforcement. On the positive side, the violent crime is down thirty percent in two years. On the negative side, it’s hard to be out without being recognized.”

“But we had three plastic surgeries, we can wear a disguise. We beat the system back in 2022,” protested Maggie.

“I know you did. But the person recognition systems are now more capable, they look at a larger number of characteristics than the ones you beat before, they take into account possible changes and disguises. I don’t know how hard they are still looking for you, but I doubt that your profiles are no longer active in their searches. It’s enough for one of you to trip an alarm somewhere.”

“So this house is our jail?” Oleg’s eyes narrowed. “You gonna keep us under lock and key?”

“No, come on, that’s not what I said! Nobody’s gonna jail you. I said we have to be careful. We have to plan your leaving the house. You must allow us to keep you safe.”

“Of course, Alejandro,” agreed David. “We greatly appreciate your help.”

Beijing, China

Hundreds, no – thousands – of people poured out of Liangmaqiao subway station, joining a mighty human river flowing down the boulevard. The volunteers were handing out Chinese flags and bottles of water. The crowd was roaring with angry chants.

Jia Kecheng came with his family. He knew that’s what was expected of him, a mid-level functionary in the People’s Liberation Army. As a colonel in the General Staff’s Mobilization and Logistics Department, he was not in a position to stay away. At least he was entitled to march in a privileged group, without being cattle-prodded into holding areas of the carefully staged demonstration. Jia, with his wife and son, marched up the boulevard under a giant “Death to US Imperialism!” poster. When approaching the US embassy, they stopped, shouted mandatory abuses at the building, then turned around and came back down the other side of the road. The closed-circuit cameras mounted all around have captured his presence and it was recorded in some distant computer. Another little notch in his “politically reliable” resume.

As they were marching back, Jia watched the throngs of protesters heading towards the embassy. They were mostly young people, whipped into a frenzy, singing the Chinese national anthem and punching their clenched fists in the air. The fifth day of demonstrations over a minor incident where the American and Chinese planes came close – but not collided – over the South China Sea. The protests were described as spontaneous.
Yes, they are as spontaneous as a military parade
, thought Jia. The government encouraged the protesters and blocked off the streets for them. People were told to leave work and go demonstrate. If you did not, if one of the closed-circuit cameras did not record your presence, that would become a black mark on your record.

What amazed Jia was the real rage expressed by the protesters. Despite everyone knowing that they were a part of a staged theater, that they were doing their government’s bidding, the protesters have been overcome with palpable anger at the
dirty Americans
that have been trying to humiliate China for many years. A few weeks ago the same marchers were indignant at their own government. The government that only two years ago send tanks against its own people, not far from here. Jia shook his head, thinking how potent nationalism is and how manipulated people can be by appealing to their national pride.

Los Angeles, USA

Jeff Kron’s campaign headquarters were located in a former “shared office space” in Culver City. These spaces have sprouted like weeds during the second Internet boom in the middle of the previous decade. Increased telecommuting and the 2019 financial crisis killed many of them. Robert Marosyan, Jeff’s campaign manager, liked the space for its openness and extensive computer cabling. And because it was only a few blocks from Jeff and Jennifer’s house where Marosyan often stayed. Jeff didn’t like it, but then he thought that his house was a perfect place to run a presidential campaign from and renting this warehouse-type facility was a massive waste of funds that the Reform Party didn’t have. Marosyan begged and pleaded for weeks until Jeff relented.

Jeff scowled at his own posters as he and Jennifer walked into the huge open space:

“They made me look like some kind of tenth century saint! In this day and age, who needs posters anyway?”

“Don’t worry, nobody will mistake you for a saint,” smirked Marosyan, a thin, nervous man with an unruly mop of jet-black hair. “And yes, with all the social media and virtual townhalls we still need old-fashioned posters.”

Jennifer stood in front of the offending object and thoughtfully drummed slim fingers against her lips:

“I agree with Jeff. This background, this faraway look on Jeff’s face...”

Marosyan started biting his fingernails:

“These have been approved already and printed and distributed and...”

“All right, all right, Robert, I am just teasing you,” Jennifer hugged Marosyan and kissed him on the ear. “You know that Jeff does not like any of his pictures. He does not like attracting attention.”

“Yes, he is the only political candidate I’ve ever met that doesn’t like attention,” nodded Robert sorrowfully. “Some days I wonder why I am bothering to run his campaign.”

“Because you believe in him?” smiled Jennifer.

“I do,” agreed Marosyan and pointed at the back of Jeff Kron, who was out of the earshot shaking hands with his campaign workers. “I hope he believes in himself as much as I believe in him.”

A blond man in his 20s waited for them in a conference room. Upon seeing Jeff and Jennifer, he stood up, knocking down his cup of coffee in the process:

“O-o-ops!”

“David, don’t worry about it. It’s so good to see you!” laughed Jennifer, hugged the man – who turned out to be skinny and tall – and helped him clean up the mess on the table.

She then turned to Marosyan:

“Robert, please meet our dear and somewhat awkward friend, David Weinstein.”

“Nice to meet you, Robert,” David extended his hand. He had a slight but noticeable accent.

“Nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

David looked at Jennifer questioningly.

“It’s a bit of a story,” she told Robert. “You see, David is a son of my father’s college friend in Moscow. David’s father is an American and David moved here after finishing high school. He recently finished his PhD in political economics and, instead of chasing big bucks on Wall Street, volunteered to join Jeff’s campaign.”

“Jennifer is omitting a few important details,” smiled David. “Firstly, it was Jennifer’s father Pavel that enabled me to come here. He left my mother a substantial sum of money when he died in 2006. My natural father never helped me financially. When I came to the U.S. nine years ago – too late, I am afraid, to lose my accent – I sought out Jennifer to thank her. Jeff and Jennifer practically adopted me, helped me with college, I slept on their couch for months. And I did not volunteer – I begged them to let me work on Jeff’s campaign.”

“Well, Dr. Weinstein, welcome to the team!” smiled Marosyan. “Happy to have someone with your credentials.”

He turned to Jeff:

“Speaking of credentials, where is your VP Dr. Moonson?”

“He couldn’t make it, not feeling well.”

“I wish we could have designated Jennifer as a VP, she has a great name recognition,” Marosyan shook his head.

“Why couldn’t you?” wondered David.

“Electoral college laws. Electors can’t vote for two people from their state. We didn’t want to risk losing California,” explained Robert. “So we ended up with Dr. Moonson, who doesn’t help the ticket much.”

“That’s OK, Robert,” Jennifer waved her hand in a
don’t worry
gesture, “people vote for the president, not the VP. Anyway, there is a reason David is here. I asked him to talk to us about the emerging socio-economic landscape of the country so we can fine-tune our economic message.”

“Well, I guess that would be useful,” allowed Marosyan not too happily. “But I wish you talk some sense into your husband about running this campaign to win. I mean, we have the polling data we should be using to fine-tune our messaging, we have the backers that are willing to throw money at us...”

“Robert, don’t start this again!” Jeff shook his head. “I want to win but I want to win the right way. I will take no money from special interests; I want to rid the country of their influence. I will not change my message based on polling. There are millions of people that believed what I wrote and what I said, they follow me because of that. We will build our coalition around them, not by betraying their trust!”

“Ahhh, who said anything about betraying anyone!” screamed Marosyan in frustration. “I am talking about doing some professional campaigning, the kind you hired me for!”

“See, David, that’s the zoo you signed up for,” Jennifer put her arm around David. “It’s not too late to walk away and grab that high-paying job on Wall Street.”

“Oh no, not in a million years!” exclaimed David.

“So, do you have some ideas for us?” asked Jeff.

“Oh yes,” David’s eyes lit up. “I wrote down a few suggestions.” He grabbed a slightly coffee-sogged folder on the table in front of him. “The society has become...”

“It’s all well and good, but the timing sucks. We have an electronic townhall in twenty minutes,” said Marosyan.

David sat down, visibly deflated.

“It’s my fault, bad scheduling,” apologized Jennifer. “David, Robert, why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night and we’ll give David the floor. Are you both available?”

David and Robert nodded.

“Great, we have a plan. Now, let’s go to the studio,” Kron got up. “David, welcome to the team.”

Los Angeles, USA

“We found Jim Brobak,” announced Alejandro. “He is now in Farmington, New Mexico.”

“How can I contact him?” jumped David.

“With caution,” replied Alejandro. He nodded at the phone in the middle of the table between them. “If he is willing to talk to you, this phone should ring fairly soon.”

“Why?”

“This phone is ‘encryption paired’ to another phone that has been delivered to Jim Brobak a few minutes ago. They are hard-wired to the same encryption key. A very long encryption key that would take years to break via brute force. You can’t extract the key without destroying the phone. The phones are delivered physically; no keys get exchanged over the internet. The encrypted conversation goes over the internet using TOR-3A, the latest version of the secure router, making it very difficult to determine the location of the caller or the recipient.”

“How did you come up with all this?” Oleg’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“It was partly TV that gave me this idea,” Alejandro turned the TV on, a projection appeared on the wall and a seductive if slightly robotic female voice started praising wonderful deals in the neighborhood while images of stores and restaurants in the vicinity were flashing on the screen.

“This is an older model,” explained Alejandro. “The new, immersive ones have image and voice recognition built in so they will tailor the programming and advertising to whoever is in the room. A couple of years ago it totally spooked me when I went to visit a friend and the damn TV started addressing me by name and offering me a special at a gym club. They even added that the gym had two hundred seventy four unattached blonde female members between ages of 18 and 25.”

“So they knew you like them young and blonde?” laughed Maggie.

“I do prefer blondes,” Alejandro lowered his head in her direction and Maggie blushed, “but it was the fact that they tracked exactly where I was and what I like. And that’s where I got my business idea. That, and the identity change that Javier did for you two years ago. This data is all supposed to be private, but do you really trust it to be? There was a well-publicized disclosure where the law enforcement gained real-time access to this supposedly marketing data to ‘track terrorists and enforce the law’.”

TV advertising stopped and was replaced with images of AeroCars racing furiously above and between buildings, engines roaring. “Fast and Furious 17,” said the caption.

“So what was your business idea?”

“I am oversimplifying, but let’s say we provide privacy and ‘identity protection’ services. Help people ‘drop out.’”

“Drop out?”

“Yeah, it’s the term we use. Although ‘opt out’ might be more appropriate. You see, some people just don’t want their appliances spying on them, that’s more of an ‘opt out’ thing. Others try to ‘get off the grid’ completely, to minimize their data footprint. We help.”

“How?”

“Take me, for example. I made sure there are no image and voice recognition devices in any of my places. I do a daily electronic sweep for suspicious gadgets. I use wearable devices only when I am sure they are not transmitting my location data out. License plates on all my cars are shielded to give video cameras distorted readings. My glasses, hats, shirts all have miniature devices that detect the presence of camera sensors and direct a pulsing light back at them, distorting any imagery. And I carry an electronic voice changer with me for other eventualities. I surf the internet anonymously, using browsers with TOR-3A built-in. All my voice and e-mail communication is encrypted using long-length codes that change daily. My kitchen robot Cumba has been modified to not store or send any household information out.”

“Even your robot?”

“Yes, absolutely. We let robots into our homes, they work for us, and we think they are ours. But they have their ‘eyes,’ they have their ‘ears,’ and people who built them can see what they see, can hear what they hear. And if their makers have the information, it means the government also has access. I allow diagnostic data to go back, but nothing else.”

“Isn’t this a lot of daily work?” wondered Maggie.

“Not really, once we set people up with secure apps, much of this happens automatically. The trick is that we do it for them once and then we are on call, to help as needed. When people download or search for privacy apps or devices themselves, the government knows about it and potentially starts tracking them. We do the setup off-net. And people themselves are now getting smarter about avoiding devices that spy on them. A year ago, the Feds tried to convict someone using data captured from a backdoor in his phone. In three days, that phone manufacturer’s sales collapsed.”

“And how many people do this?”

“A minority, perhaps one in ten. You see, it’s convenient to remain ‘in the system’ – you don’t even have to carry identifications or credit cards any longer, just allow your iris to be scanned and you can buy things, the money will be automatically deducted from your account. But our business is growing fast: people usually start with ‘opting out’ from being recognized by their devices because of annoying advertising and then decide they don’t want to have their lives recorded.”

“If it’s so convenient, why opt out?”

“People are starting to value their privacy over convenience. We are humans, we all have something to hide, and we want some parts of our lives to be ours. Besides, with all the rules and regulations each and every one of us has violated something at some point in time. They hear stories about others being questioned for things they did in private. Collect enough data and everyone is guilty. They don’t want to live in fear. For those that decide to drop out completely, there is a whole decentralized economy that evolved in parallel to the official one. It does not have as many conveniences, but it’s outside of the government’s eye.”

The phone on the table began to vibrate, stopping the conversation in its tracks.