“Already beginning that search. What I’m worried about is that our drone-master is too smart for that. He wouldn’t have left such an easy trail, but would likely buy them in small amounts and change shipping locations, payment methods. Or under the table purchases from dealers who aren’t listed in the Better Business Bureau. That’s what I would do.”
“You know what Angel,” said Savas, eyeing her suspiciously. “You are frighteningly good at thinking like a psychopath.”
Her face darkened in a manner that unsettled Savas. She spoke hoarsely. “Thanks, John. It’s good to be noticed.”
“Well, I want you to keep doing that. In fact, you have my explicit permission to go full madwoman down here and follow any idea you think might be interesting. Don’t tell me when you fail. Don’t tell me missteps. Just do it. Find out what in the name of all that’s holy is happening.”
15
“No fucking way, man.”
Two young men sat in the middle of a nearly empty warehouse, a dense clustering of high-tech equipment forming an isolated island in the middle of the space. Three to four rows of nested black towers formed a maze around them, the cabinets housing shelf upon shelf of computer banks. A thick series of cables and power cords snaked across the dusty cement floor like an obscene vasculature bringing nutrients to a gestating embryo. In the center of the maze was a set of tables holding five or six large flat screen monitors.
“No way, Chen.”
The contrasting pair sat in front of the monitors, typing on keyboards, staring at a scrolling data stream. Chen was dressed in fatigues, close cropped hair topping off a thin and angular frame, a tight tank-top revealing tattoos painted across his arms and back. He sat upright, tense, tapping the screen in front of him.
“I’m not shitting you, Dave, these are his accounts! Offshore, unregulated. It took me this whole week to get to them.”
Dave swept his long, unruly hair out of his face, a tangled mass of brown and blond, greasy and unwashed. His general appearance was slovenly, and he slouched forward gazing at the screen. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Can’t believe Fawkes left a security hole.”
“Well, he’s not running the bank servers, now is he?” said Chen, his voice defiant.
“Five hundred million? I mean, what the fuck?”
Chen shook his head. “I dunno, man. Something’s up with this. Something really not cool.”
“Yeah, how does Fawkes get half a billion dollars? You think it’s related to all this shit going down?”
“Look at the withdrawals!” Chen scrolled through the banking records. “It’s like five million here, ten million here. Restore Our Future. American Crossroads. Strong America Now.”
“Sounds like student council assholes,” Dave said, upturning a bag of chips into his mouth, his words garbled.
“They’re conservative SuperPacs, you fuck.”
“SuperPacs?”
Chen rolled his eyes. “You’re such a fucking pot-head, Dave.”
“Amen and praise Jesus, you bet!” said Dave, smiling.
“Whatever. Look, there are transfers to Europe, China, India. It’s like he’s some multinational! These transfers are totally laundered. No transaction codes, no IDs, nothing!”
“Ain’t no money for nothing, dude.”
Chen nodded. “Something is really not cool here.”
A loud scraping noise startled the pair. They spun in their chairs and looked behind them, through an opening in the maze of the server farm. The large door of the warehouse had been yanked open, and three men walked into the cavernous space. In the middle was a young man, thin, nearly gaunt, dressed casually in a black T-shirt and jeans. His short-cropped black hair and pencil thin goatee was offset by a pair of shaded smart glasses. He constantly fiddled with a smartphone affixed to his belt. Flanking him on either side were two much larger, muscled men. They wore nondescript business attire, their eyes hidden behind black sunglasses. Their expressions were indecipherable.
“Shit,” said Chen under his breath, spinning slightly to position his hand over the keyboard and enter several strokes. The windows on the screen disappeared. He turned back quickly to the approaching men as they neared. The three stopped a few feet in front of the hacker pair, silence lingering for several moments.
“Yo, Fawkes!” said Dave awkwardly. “What’s this? Fucking Terminator Ten?” His smiled floundered against the stony gazes of the three men.
Hands continuously tapping the smartphone, Fawkes appeared to stare straight ahead at something outside the room. “You were always such a fucking waste, Dave. You could’ve been the best black hat to ever crawl out of 4chan. You know, when that shit-hole was actually worth something.”
Dave flipped him the bird. “Up yours. I still am.”
Fawkes ignored him. “Chen. It’s too bad you had to be so curious. Killed a lot of cats. I thought you’d be more grateful after I gifted you this little playground.”
Chen licked his lips, glancing between Fawkes and the two men on his sides. “What’s up, Fawkes? We’re just hanging.”
Fawkes finally took off his glasses, his gray eyes burning into Chen. “I’ve had a tick on you for weeks, Chen. I know you’ve been poking around the offshore accounts.”
Chen sat utterly still. The large room was silent except for the constant hum of the server farm around them. Dave broke the eerie stillness.
“So the fuck what, man? It’s not like you haven’t hacked your way through a hundred accounts.”
“But those are my accounts, Dave. Accounts that are too important to be messed with. Or for anyone to know about.”
“Fawkes, what’s going on?” asked Chen, his face grave. “Hundreds of millions? What are you up to? What’s with the bodyguards?”
Fawkes laughed. “You stupid fucks still don’t get it. You actually think a hundred million is a lot! Try seven-hundred trillion—that’s the size of the derivative market. Did you know that? And it’s all virtual money.” He gestured vaguely to the walls of computers around them. “It doesn’t exist except inside investment bank computers and people’s very active imaginations. When things are bytes in compiled data-structures, they are meant to be hacked. It’s fucking righteous deeds.” He laughed. “I’ve got trillions of dollars, you clueless ass. Those accounts you stumbled on were early, poorly secured penetration tests.”
Chen blinked. “Trillions? That’s not possible. What’s the game, Fawkes? This doesn’t make sense. We were against all this stuff!”
Fawkes fit his glasses back on, his voice growing slightly distanced. “I don’t have the time to explain to you losers. You never had the balls, Chen. None of you did. We hacked our way to the truth, but it didn’t set us free. We found out their dirty little secrets, and all of you panicked. Pissed your fucking pants! You wouldn’t dare do what had to be done. You hit MasterCard or outed bad cops.”
Dave and Chen looked at each other anxiously. Chen spoke again. “What has to be done?”
Fawkes began fiddling with his smartphone, staring off into space. With his other hand, he lifted a black and white object, a tight string hanging off the back. Placing it on his head, he pulled downward, the elastic string tightening around the back of his head, the object fitting tightly over his face: a mask of a smirking man stared back at them.
“What the fuck?” whispered Dave.
Fawkes motioned toward the two men beside him, who nodded. His voice was muffled. “Core dump, bros. The system software is too corrupted. Time for a reboot.” He turned his back on them and began to walk away.