An Armageddon Duology by Erec Stebbins Page B

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

Coup d'etat
    “ N o 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 pothead, 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 were 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