The Loyal Nine (4 page)

“Let’s continue with the
Russian Template
, as we’ll call it. I have a hypothetical for you, Miss Crepeau. We have already discussed the ‘vandals’ who cut the fiber-optic cable in Arizona. What if these vandals simultaneously, via a cyberattack, took down Tucson Electric and the Salt River Project that services Phoenix? Now do we have an act of war?” asked Sarge.

“Not yet,” she replied. “Although these acts are coordinated by these vandals, there has not been sufficient corresponding death and destruction to warrant military action.”

“How many deaths?” asked Sarge.

“Excuse me?” she replied.

“For all of you,” said Sarge, addressing the entire class, “how many deaths from this type of coordinated attack would warrant a military response?” As Sarge looked around the class, he heard responses of
hundreds, thousands
and
just one is enough.

“Thank you, Miss Crepeau. Therein lies the rub,” said Sarge, quoting
Hamlet
.

“I heard answers ranging from one to several thousand. The challenge for any government is to identify a standard—a breaking point—that requires a nation to go to war,” said Sarge.

“For most governments, the standard is vague and leaves a lot of wiggle room. By the way, that is a global governance term of art—
wiggle room
,” said Sarge to a few stifled laughs.

“Officially, both the White House and the Pentagon consider a cyberattack emanating from a foreign country an act of war. But they do not spell out when a cyberattack is serious enough to constitute an act of war. As Miss Crepeau suggests, I suspect a cyberattack that produces death, damage and destruction similar to a traditional military attack might merit retaliation through the use of force,” concluded Sarge.

Sarge had set them up, just as Socrates would have in the fifth century B.C. The class now seemed to agree death and destruction was a prerequisite to military retribution.
Let’s twist them around a little, starting with the law student.

“Mr. Robbins, let me begin with you,” said Sarge. “Did you agree with the consensus of the class that the cyberattack on Sony Pictures was not an act of war?”

“Yes, sir, I did,” responded Robbins authoritatively.

“Mr. Robbins, do you believe that a coordinated cyberattack could devastate the U.S. economy?” asked Sarge.

“It would depend on the severity and what systems were affected. Professor, would you consider it an act of war if the Sony Pictures attack was made in conjunction with a shutdown of the stock market?” asked Robbins, Socratically.

Well done, lawyer-to-be
.
You answered a question with
it depends
and threw it back at me with another question of clarification.

“Let’s look at a real-world example, shall we?” asked Sarge.

“In 2007, once again, our friends the Russians,” said Sarge with his voice trailing off. “After today, I’m sure to have my travel privileges to Russia suspended.

“In 2007, the tiny country of Estonia mistakenly poked the Russian bear by moving a controversial Soviet-era memorial from the town square in Tallin to a remote location. The large Russian minority in Estonia protested, as did the Russian government. For weeks thereafter, Estonia businesses and utilities suffered a barrage of cyberattacks that brought the private sector to a screeching halt.

“While the Estonia attacks were not the largest on record, they were sufficient to bring a country considered to be especially
wired
to its knees. The resulting recession was considered a direct result of the cyberattacks,” said Sarge.

“The Gross Domestic Product of the United States economy is eighty percent services. In economic terms, a service is an intangible commodity. Any event that disrupts the ability of those services to be rendered will necessarily result in a downturn of the economy. For example, according to a Department of Commerce report, the economic losses caused by Superstorm Sandy, a storm event lasting twenty-four hours, totaled one hundred billion dollars.”

“Mr. Robbins, if a rogue nation, via a cyberattack, caused economic losses in this country totaling one hundred billion dollars, would that be an act of war?” asked Sarge.

“No, sir. If I were president, and one day I will be, only significant loss of life warrants a war response,” said Robbins.

“Mr. President-to-be, I will submit there have been many wars fought over a lesser economic impact than the hypothetical we have described, and I suspect we will see this scenario play out in our lifetimes,” said Sarge.

“I’m going to conclude this semester with a teaser for the companion course that will start in January,” said Sarge, changing the screen.

GLOBAL GOVERNANCE

+

ECONOMIC POLICY

“For years, U.S. officials have dismissed the need for international negotiations and cooperation on cyberspace, but now appears to be in the process of collaborating with our allies to develop rules for the virtual world. The trend appears to be headed toward the creation of cyber policy, including establishing a threshold where a cyberattack constitutes an act of war. This trend reflects the growing sentiment that our domestic efforts to secure cyberspace are inadequate. We will study whether the impact on the U.S. economy is driving this change in the government’s approach,” said Sarge, bringing up the final slide for the day.

FINAL TUESDAY

12/18/15

The collective grumbles in the background were lost on Sarge as he gathered his notes from the lectern. Sarge replaced the cap on his Mont Blanc pen and tucked it away in his shirt. An uneasy feeling of dread and foreboding hit him, casting his mind adrift.

Chapter 3

December 15, 2015

73 Tremont Street

Donald Quinn waited patiently at the traffic light, preparing to turn left onto Tremont Street. Before him, he observed the northeast corner of Boston Common—all but deserted in the winter. Joggers, tourists and leaves had all gone into hibernation, taking the vitality of this historic city space with them. In the summer, the pedestrian circle was filled with passersby swarming the infamous Donut Cart or Giuseppe’s Italian Ice. There weren’t many patrons for Italian Ice in mid-December. Despite his new training regimen, Donald might have splurged on a bag full of arepas, which was a corn pocket stuffed with a variety of savory fillings, a staple in South America. But, alas, even the warm offerings had flown south for the winter.

After parking the “jalopy,” as Mrs. Quinn teasingly called his 1972 Jeep CJ5 Renegade, Donald began his trek up the hill toward 73 Tremont. Now painted flat black, Donald chose this vehicle as his “company” car. Sure, he had his pick of the litter. As the “director of procurement,” any flashy vehicle was an option, but the only flash that concerned him was an electromagnetic pulse bomb detonated over the good ole U.S. of A.

When he showed Susan his choice, she understood the reasoning. However,
for appearances,
she said, her choice would be something more conventional—a Cadillac Escalade. Donald thought his choice was a wise one, despite her misgivings. The Renegade was obscure and undistinguished, blending into society unnoticed—as did Donald.

Donald was new to the readiness lifestyle, having only embraced the concept in the last six or seven years. It started with an unsolicited novel by William Forstchen, followed by a series of books by Jim Rawles, sent to him by Susan. The concepts in the books struck a chord, and he began to perceive world events differently. He became a student of prepping, and devoured every book and preparedness guide available on the subject.

He and Susan married in 2005 with a well-attended wedding. Susan had just completed her military career in the Air Force, and Donald was firmly ensconced at the accounting firm of Vitale Caturano—VC. Although they were not Big Four, VC was one of the most prestigious firms in Boston, boasting an international clientele. Donald, the consummate accountant, was of average height, stocky and relatively nondescript. Susan, a devout Christian and the daughter of a wealthy Bostonian with roots dating back to the Lowells, loved him dearly. Soon after marriage, life took an interesting and unexpected turn.

Upon taking their wedding vows, Donald and Susan envisioned a simple life. Good jobs, a two-car garage, two kids and the requisite Labrador retriever. Instead, Donald “took one for the team.” In 2009, with a three-year-old wreaking havoc on the Quinn household and another child on the way, Donald plead guilty to seven counts of a federal indictment, to include charges of money laundering and conspiracy to commit income tax invasion.

VC’s client list consisted of many wealthy, connected Bostonians, all requiring complex tax, estate and retirement planning. Donald was tasked with assisting a friend of his father-in-law with his estate plan, despite his relative inexperience with estate plans of this magnitude. His new client was adamantly opposed to the concept of federal estate taxes, particularly the newly proposed changes to the inheritance tax. Further, he was concerned with protecting his assets from an ex-wife, who had openly voiced that she was entitled to his estate—because she had “paid her dues.”

Unknown to Donald, the client had already made several ill-advised attempts at financial planning, which included large transfers of money to exotic locales like the Turks and Caicos Islands, Tortola, and Nevis. How the client was able to transfer several million dollars to the banks in these countries was never fully disclosed to Donald.

One evening, Donald returned to their home in Waltham to a welcoming committee that would alter the course of his life. Present were his visibly shaken and very pregnant wife, his father-in-law Charles Lowell, the client, and a mystery guest—an older gentleman who was never formally introduced and remained silent during the entire meeting.

Within an hour, Donald agreed to plead guilty to the federal charges, taking full responsibility for the client’s ill-advised scheme. Despite the magnitude of the crime, Donald was assured that he would receive no more than a twenty-four-month sentence. The plea agreement had already been “negotiated.” With “good time,” he would return home within twenty-one months—to a new house in Brae Burn Country Club in West Newton, a guaranteed high six-figure income, and a position dealing in large part with the
“Mystery Man.” Susan kept her composure throughout the meeting, smiling reassuringly with the occasional tear. She was a real soldier.

Donald reported directly to the Federal Medical Center on the grounds of Fort Devens, just forty-five minutes west of Boston, where he was immediately “assigned” a serious medical condition—despite being in perfect health. All part of the complex illusion of his incarceration, he would discover.

What immediately struck Donald was the fact there were no fences or guard towers surrounding FMC. It looked like any other group of buildings. Over time he realized why they called this type of facility a “country club.” It wasn’t the Brae Burn lifestyle that awaited him, but it certainly beat a federal penitentiary. Mystery Man couldn’t buy Donald’s way out of prison, but he could apparently purchase a medical condition—the next best thing in the Federal Bureau of Prisons. His condition came with perks.

Ordinarily, any other inmate would miss many of the life-changing events “on the outside” like the birth of a child. Not Donald. He was whisked away on a “medical emergency,” requiring outside medical treatment, for the birth of their second daughter, and was allowed to stay with Susan for a couple of nights.

Despite being away from Susan and the girls most of the time, Donald changed for the better during his stay at FMC Fort Devens. He started to exercise regularly, replacing thirty pounds of fat with lean muscle in the facility’s weight room. Donald also became a prepper, reading every book sent to him and taking detailed notes.

Donald’s final wake-up inside FMC was little more than a physical formality. His mind had already been awakened and conditioned—with a different view of the world. He walked up Tremont Street, for a meeting with his
“benefactor.”

Chapter 4

December 15, 2015

Boston, Massachusetts

Sarge bounded down the front steps of the Belfer Center like a kid released for summer break—only to be greeted with a brisk winter breeze and an MBTA bus roaring down Eliot Street. The temperatures were already far milder than the previous year, spurring hope that they might avoid a repeat of the one hundred plus inches of snowfall that wreaked havoc in the eastern United States. A cold breath of air, supplemented with the exhaust of the MBTA bus, was a welcome relief from hundred-car pileups on the highways and downed power grids in Tennessee.

He resisted the urge to run into Dunkin’ Donuts, opting instead for a quick cash withdrawal at the Bank of America ATM. Long lines inside the branch caught his attention.
Odd for closing time on a Tuesday
;
maybe everybody is going Christmas shopping.
Part of Sarge’s “duties,” in addition to his profession, was to keep up with world events, especially related to global economics. As he shoved the twenties into his pocket, he thought about how worthless these paper notes might become someday. Today’s modern banking system manufactured money out of thin air. Like a magician’s sleight of hand, global bankers had the power to create money and control credit markets. With the stroke of a pen or the punch of a keyboard, they could deliver wealth to whomever they chose.

Ironic,
Sarge thought to himself as he pressed the key fob on his new Mercedes-Benz G63 AMG.
Am I hypocritical to condemn the activities of the global elite, the same powerful people who provided this G-Wagen to me as a company car?
As he settled in, the earthy smell of the Nappa leather refocused him on the task at hand—Christmas shopping.