Axis of Evil

Chapter Eight: Reds (And Blacks) Under The Bed

Bracken Industries

Nr New York, USA

3^rd April 1941

Cora Burnside, the secretary of Bracken Industries main headquarters in the United States, was a cyberpunk. The term, from 2015, had caught on in the United States as computers and laptops, designed for the Third World, had been mass-produced and sold remarkably cheaply. Developing an online culture hadn’t taken long – they’d been connected to the British Internet, after all – and thousands used the Internet to chat. Politicians, mainly older men, had been slow to recognise the implications, and then quick to demand that they be banned, but the new Internet was simply designed to be unstoppable.

She tapped her dark fingers across the keyboard of the new system. She didn’t understand what MICROSOFT had been, or why there was so much debate over opening its systems to examination, but she was reasonably grateful that the 2010 Microsoft Office had been taken as the default standard. While it was prone to irritating glitches, it had the benefit of being simple and easy to use. Computers, her boss, Jim Oliver, had assured her, were the wavefront of the future. His equal opportunities policy, one that was years ahead of its time, meant that both black and white men and women received training; and many were putting it to use.

Safely behind the anonymity of cyberspace, many posters were confronting the inequalities of the system. Cora could only applaud; the Ku Klux Klan, a name that sent shudders of fear down her spine, was being lambasted. A black poster – at least he claimed that he was black – from the United Kingdom was posting the names of known members to the Internet, inviting people to punish them. Several had been killed, although just who had killed them wasn’t made clear. Still, there were other posts, including posts by a man in the future called Martin Luther King…

Cora understood the point; other black men and women understood as well. Was it worth going to war, taking up arms to fight Hitler, only to return to second-class citizenship in the United States? Already, black unions were frantically trying to find a position… in the face of increasing radicalism by some of their younger members.

A chime at the door interrupted her musings. She glanced up at the camera overseeing the main door and felt her blood run cold; the two men were famous and infamous, particularly on the Internet. John Edgar Hoover and Clyde Tolson; FBI senior officers, best friends… and supposed lovers.

“Come in,” she said politely, and buzzed them though. Tolson had been scowling at the one-way glass; Hoover had been more thoughtful. Hoover’s eyes glinted with anger at her computer – she’d minimised the incriminating websites – and Tolson’s eyes glinted angrily at her. Despite her revealing dress, quite subdued by the standards of 2015, neither man ogled her.

“We’re here to see your boss,” Hoover said. There was little charm in his voice; he’d had a rough eight months. “Please inform him that we are here.”

Cora felt a flicker of wry amusement; clearly both men would have been happier barging through the door and catching Oliver doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. However… Oliver was a power in Washington, and even the Director of the FBI had limits.

“Mr Oliver,” she said, manoeuvring so that both men caught a glimpse of her cleavage, “your two o’clock is here to see you.”

Neither man reacted to the top of her breasts, not even a hidden leer. They did scowl in unison at being referred to by a time; they perhaps found it annoying. Oliver’s voice, welcoming both men, was more welcome; they straightened up. They’ve come to beg favours, she thought, and smiled at them.

“You may enter, gentlemen,” she said, and hid her reaction as Tolson glared at her. “Right through that door.”

Hoover tipped his hat to her and entered through the door. Tolson followed him and the door clicked shut. Acting with as much speed as she could, Cora activated some of the security systems on the computer, storing information in a private cache before wiping all evidence of illegal websites. After all, the security staff had reported an FBI car that was packed with agents, who were clearly packing heat.

Jim Oliver had been reading the news too, in his case the New York Times. As partial compensation for the monies he’d expanded on having the paper sued for its errors over Goddard’s theories, he’d been given a free lifetime subscription. The front page story was more remarkable than the one two pages ago, in which the New York Times had managed to use a confusing mixture of phases to imply that the New York Times had never questioned the use of a rocket for space travel.

NEW OUTRAGES IN SOUTH, the first story ran, and he read on grimly. A sheriff had blamed the poor treatment of his wife – the New York Times didn’t quite speculate that it had been rape – on the local black community, and arrested nearly a dozen known ‘trouble-makers.’ The resulting unrest, when local blacks had fired back at the posse that had lynching in mind, had seriously damaged the town… and left both sides badly injured.

Oliver shook his head. The New York Times blamed everything on Communist subversives, who were clearly trying to undermine the American war effort. Southern politicians were talking about calling out the National Guard, but many of the Guard regiments had been earmarked for training with the new weapons and service against Germany. On different notes, the New York Times noted that the FBI had blamed the growth of this ‘subversive conspiracy’ on the Internet, and that it would be seeking legislation to have the Internet shut down.

Oliver chuckled. The ‘laptops for all’ program had been designed to defeat the evil manipulations of governments that outdid even Hitler in sheer bloody-mindedness; they had lacked any clear plan beyond holding power as long as they could. Even J Edgar Hoover wasn’t a match for the forces of unleashed social change…

“Mr Oliver, your two o’clock is here to see you,” Cora said. Oliver smiled; speak of the devil.

“Send them in, Cora,” he said. He pasted a smile on his face, ones that had fooled better cops than Hoover and considered; did Hoover know about his work for the Germans? For a long moment, he considered using the defences in the room, and then changed his mind. Hoover might have something else in mind.

“Thank you for seeing us,” Hoover said, taking the chair that Oliver waved him to and taking off his Stetson Hat. His companion, Clyde Tolson, stood behind Hoover rather than take the other chair; Oliver studied them with interest. He didn’t know much about homosexuals, but the men weren’t reacting like long-term lovers.

“I’m always willing to cooperate with the forces of law and order,” he said, and relaxed. If they’d known about his other activities, they would have kicked down the door and taken him off for trial. Or tried to; even Cora didn’t know the full extent of the surprises buried within the building. Still… what sources did the FBI of 1941 have in 2015 Britain?

“It’s always nice to meet a patriot,” Hoover said wryly. “Particularly someone who seems to have chosen to become an American citizen of his own free will.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He was still a British citizen, at least according to his papers. He hadn’t applied for American citizenship at all. His mind raced, considering the possibilities. What was Hoover up to?

“I meant a patriot to Britain,” Hoover continued. His companion smirked. “You’ve done great service for your country.”

“I do try,” Oliver said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“I have a problem,” Hoover said, abandoning the attempt to be pleasant. “As you know, the sales of… computers with Internet access are growing constantly, mainly from your computer. I have reason to be aware that subversives are using the computers to communicate, therefore avoiding any possibility of interception. Their messages… include many lies about American patriots, striving to demoralise us for the coming struggle when communism seeks to take over the world.”

Including you? Oliver thought. He almost laughed; even if Hoover had had his way, it would have been impossible to recover all the laptops and desktop machines. “I have yet to see any evidence of subversion,” he said carefully. Hoover waved a hand at the copy of the New York Times on the desk. “That… was what happens when you try to push Americans too far.”

Hoover didn’t react, much. Instead, he reached into his briefcase and produced a pamphlet. Oliver examined it with interest; it hadn’t been printed on any printer that his companies had sold. Its crudity suggested a cheaper system. Still, it was instructive.

“Who was it who said that three exclamation marks is the sign of a diseased mind?” Oliver asked. Hoover shrugged. “I thought they didn’t make them like this anymore.”

“That document was found in Detroit, in one of the automobile plants that is now turning out tanks for the army,” Tolson said. Oliver had wondered when he would speak. “During the Russian invasion of helpless Finland, the first invasion, there were similar posters… most of which were being torn down by the workers.” He chuckled. “The subversives were defeated by the sheer illogic of their arguments; how could tiny Finland pose a threat to giant Russia? Now… now, Mr Oliver, people appear to be listening.”

“You have seen some of the outrages in the South,” Hoover said. “This is clearly the result of carefully-planned subversion.”

“Perhaps,” Oliver said. Privately, he didn’t believe it; the Negro-related incidents were mainly caused by a sudden infusion of ideals from 2015… and the simple truth that things could be better. “Still… what do you expect me to do about it?”

“Is it not obvious?” Hoover demanded. “I want you to shut down your Internet!”

Oliver sighed. For a long moment, he considered simply saying ‘yes’ and then convincing Hoover that he had do so. It wasn’t possible, though, and sooner or later the FBI would catch on. If used properly, Hoover might be… helpful for Oliver’s own long-term plans.

“I can’t do that,” he said, and tried to sound regretful. Tolson banged the table; Oliver, who’d seen Kasper in a rage, wasn’t intimidated. Hoover seemed… annoyed. “It’s quite impossible,” he continued.

Hoover met his eyes. Oliver wondered absently what Hoover thought of the X-Files; he’d certainly been quite eager to have the FBI-based show displayed at cinemas and television houses. “Tell me,” Hoover said slowly, “why can’t you shut down your internet?”

Oliver smiled. The FBI clearly hadn’t gotten a proper webhead yet, or even an Information Manager. “Because it isn’t my Internet,” he said, and smiled at the looks on their faces. “The system is a distributed network involving a number of servers that jointly uphold the network that supports the Internet and is designed to survive even a nuclear war. The elements I do have control over, the servers mounted here and elsewhere, are only a tiny portion of the Internet in America… and nothing compared to the nodes in Britain.

“Even if I did take down the nodes I have here, it would only impede any half-way competent cyberpunk for a few moments,” he continued. “Each one of the laptops is designed to scan automatically for other nodes or servers; in order to prevent the system from working you would have to take down every node and communication circuit, including the ones in Britain, Canada and the rest of the world.”

He fought hard to keep from laughing at the stunned looks on their faces. “If you, by some dark miracle, managed that, you would take down every telephone, mobile phone, computer network and defence system in the world. You would give the war to the Germans and their allies; you would cause no end of economic damage… and I fancy that the world would be more than a little annoyed with you.”

Hoover took several breaths. “I don’t understand,” he confessed finally. “You are telling me that it is impossible to shut down the network?”

“The network is designed to be impossible to shut down,” Oliver said.

“So how can we catch them?” Tolson asked. “They could be up to anything!”

“Oh, there are ways,” Oliver said, “but tracing them would be very difficult. You see, the system is designed to be hard to trace as well.”

“Why?” Hoover demanded. “What sort of government comes up with an idea like that?”

“The United States of America, circa 2010,” Oliver said. “You see, the United States of that time was too… indolent to knock over the many petty dictatorships that existed, so the ‘laptops for all’ were designed to prevent people from… well, tracing the people who might have democratic ideals. The idea was that with communications and untraceable systems, they would be able to overthrow their governments.”

“I am really curious as to who thought that was a good idea,” Hoover said, with heavy sarcasm. “I imagine that their ancestors must be alive now.”

“It hardly matters,” Oliver said. This was it; the bait had to be prepared carefully. “However, there are other ways in which I can help the FBI.”

Hoover looked up at him, like a man clutching on to a lifeline. “There have been dozens of advances in surveillance technology, for example, in the years between now and 2015,” Oliver said. “Many of them, in fact, were perfected by your own people, under your leadership.”

“Then why haven’t we been given them?” Tolson demanded. “According to Britain’s own laws…”

“They don’t want to give you anything that might remove their advantages,” Oliver said dryly. He had no idea if that was true or not, but surveillance technology was on the restricted list. “It would limit their own options and…”

“I knew it,” Hoover said. “It was bad enough when they slandered MacArthur, a noted Anglophobe, out of his position, but now… do you mean to tell me that British Intelligence is conducting operations on my soil!”

“Possibly,” Oliver said. “I don’t have any knowledge of such operations. It is feared that I am too… pro-American.”

He waited to see if Hoover took the bait. “Can you get us some samples of that technology?” Hoover asked. “The department would be prepared to pay handsomely.”

“There are some payments that don’t come in pounds or dollars,” Oliver said carefully. “I would like some political… cover.”

Tolson glared at him. His role seemed to be that of semi-thug. “And why do you want that?”

“Some of the items I will… acquire for you are illegal,” Oliver said, “even though they can be purchased at a number of spy shops. If the Prime Minister demands my head…”

“The Bureau would be happy to provide some… protection,” Hoover said. “We do have a great deal of experience in the matter.”

“Then it’s settled,” Oliver said. “I will attempt to find you some… samples.”

“Excellent,” Hoover said, and held out his big beefy hand. Oliver shook it firmly, and then called for Cora to show the two men out. Once they had left the building, and the car of FBI agents had driven off behind them, he pulled a basic ELINT scanner out of his sealed safe and scanned the room. A bug, larger than any he’d ever seen outside of a museum, had been left down the back of Hoover’s chair.

“Now that was clever,” Oliver said with genuine admiration, after he crushed it. He hadn’t seen either of them place the little bug. He made a mental note to review the security camera records from his office; he’d catch who’d done it later. For the moment, he called Cora into his office.

“Yes, Mr Oliver?” Cora asked. Oliver took a moment to study her; her dark skin blended nicely with her white shirt – with two buttons undone – and knee-length skirt. She was very attractive… and available. Still, he needed her opinion.

“Tell me, what did you think of our new friends?” He asked. “Fairies or flics?”

“They didn’t find me attractive,” Cora said. She was also very bright; he liked that in his assistants. “That might not prove anything, but…”

“True, true,” Oliver said. It didn’t prove anything, but it was interesting. “I want you to run a full ELINT scan of your office and the corridor to the office, and then call in the security team. It’s time that they did something instead of standing around drinking my tea.”

Cora didn’t argue or ask questions. “Yes, sir,” she said, and left, allowing Oliver to contemplate his report to Roth. The Abwehr agent in the United States, Nikolaus Ritter, had been ousted during the Goddard scandal – and Roth had insisted that Oliver give him a hiding place. Fortunately, the man insisted on remaining well out of sight, instead of coming to the office everyday.

“With Hoover’s backing, there might be a chance to get out of this,” Oliver said, and felt real hope for the first time in six long hard months.