Free Radicals
By
Jerry Kalman
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Jerry Kalman
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Excerpt from The Thomas Knee Manifesto: 1. The system is corrupt, rotting from top to bottom. It is out of date and it must be changed, one way or another, to be replaced by an order more in keeping with the times.
San Diego
The candidate’s campaign is in trouble, he thought. That’s one big reason they’re looking for scapegoats. Betty in there is first to go. I’m next. As he waited outside the boss’s office, random thoughts of past experiences going through uncomfortable incidents ricocheted through his mind, amplified by an ADD condition he tempered with daily doses of Adderall. Even strains from losing a father at an early age and then a stepfather he hated several years later bounced from one synapse to another. An image of him being fired for breaking the dress code at the consulting firm while on a client assignment flashed through his mind. That he told the manager the managing director reported to where to get off had something to do with it. As a loner in a lonely field, he didn’t have a lot of other life experiences and so those few tropes from the past came back time and again, unwelcome ghosts.
Through the inner door to the office he heard his soon to be former boss shout, a larger cry of outrage come from Betty Willfong and then the unmistakable sounds of hands slapping against wood before the door swung open to reveal Betty's statuesque form. She reminded him of that chick on “Glee”. As she stormed out, Betty stopped on seeing him in the one guest chair in an otherwise empty ante room.
“You’re next. Don’t expect this to be fair. Even after eating her pussy I still got the ax. Unless you … well, never mind. Good luck, kid.”
Though in her mid-fifties, Betty still moved with athletic grace and determination. Her close cropped blonde hair, icy blue eyes and absence of make-up made her look more like a KGB operative than one of the most effective advance people in California politics.
“Thanks, Betty. Same to you. Hope to see you around somewhere.”
She didn’t answer as she left him waiting to be called in for his turn on the carpet.
Tall and lanky, Thomas Knee, at thirty two, had the face and presence of a naïve teen. To accentuate his boyish innocence, he wore green-lens John Lennon glasses that made his dark brown eyes show perpetual melancholy. Wisps of long hair tied in a ponytail flowed down over his ears accentuating the nerdy look that fit his personality.
Summoned to the boss's office at the California campaign headquarters of Mumford for President, he wore a T-shirt with a picture of Thoreau and a quote that said: “:Beware of any enterprise requiring new clothes”. Wearing a T-shirt that smelled of patchouli pissed off the always impeccable boss. Waiting a moment until the dust settled after Betty’s noisy exit, he peeked into the office and announced himself. The boss, still ruffled by the encounter with the large and imposing woman, showed her continuing discomfort by fumbling with papers.
Thomas entered her office though not invited to and sat and waited. He could tell she struggled with self-control but so did he. Seething inside for what he expected to happen, Thomas also knew when he remained quiet and at ease that it made Joan Samuels, the campaign's technology director, nervous. He saw it before under more intimate moments. A vision of his first time in bed with Joan flashed through his memory. She insisted he take a full dose of Viagra to keep his cock firm for more than one go at sex with her and took him first in the missionary position and then rolled over and wanted it the other way. Though nervous because she copped his virginity, he found a way to stay calm and even perform as she asked. His lack of emotional excitement masked internal turmoil from not wanting to appear inexperienced.
Joan interrupted his vision and, as abrupt as she always acted, even in bed, she slid the pink slip across the desk without looking up. He expected this to happen several days earlier. The delay pleased him because it provided him with additional time and money to get his revenge-seeking project ready: to disrupt more than the Mumford campaign. He had his sights set on the forthcoming 2016 presidential election.
Inwardly he burned, thinking: The fat cats have raped and pillaged the economy and now everyone has a solution that pits one segment of the middle class against another while the real perps sit on some Olympian cloud and watch as John Q. Citizen squares off against Joe Six-pack; and now their minions supporting the campaigns for president are busy pulling their strings again. And I’m fired. Well, fuck you.
She looked up as if waiting for him to open the envelope and read it. He didn’t.
"Thomas, I’m sure you didn’t cause the problem, but the statewide campaign committee is looking for a head to roll and they decided you're it." She put extra emphasis on "they". "I'm sorry. You gave us gobs of good time and quality thought, but, as you know politics is politics."
These are the same people who bilked the treasury of billions and want to insulate themselves from public scrutiny by electing one of their own.
He smelled Joan's nervous sweat over the expensive perfume she wore and wondered how much stemmed from Betty’s departure and how much from his. Wrinkling his nose to keep from sneezing, he acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod of his head. A tear formed from the allergic reaction, but he liked the signal it sent to her. When the near-sneeze attack abated, he rubbed his eyes and stared across the shop worn desk at the short, pudgy woman with long blonde hair that framed her round face.
Her big tits are the only assets this pig has to her name. I wonder how much severance they'll give me. I deserve more than a pat on the back for taking someone else’s bullet.
"Because of your, uh, sensitive position here, we're honoring you with four-week's pay." She pointed a well-manicured finger at the envelope still sitting untouched on the desk.
Cool. Better than I thought. He sniffed and stared at a spot between her eyes, trying to bore a hole in her skull. "Honoring? Interesting choice of words, Joan, after being blamed for what someone else on the staff did. In addition to getting thrown under the bus, I suppose you're going to tell me that I am to remain quiet." Yes, I’m the one who has to remain quiet while the demagogues on radio and television and their ideological toadies running around the country spouting moralisms and spewing intolerant rants are immune from public criticism. Their moral outcries when someone puts the spotlight on their sanctimonious uttering is so loud that we can’t hear what anyone else says.
Her eyes widened and made her round face seem even more bulbous. Joan licked her lips and cleared her throat. "As you know, there are powerful people in California behind this campaign. If they found out you stirred up trouble in the wake of your, uh, departure, you'd be black-listed from now until kingdom come."
Yep, they’re the ones trying to balance the public trust and budget while screwing the middle class. He could tell from her body language she wanted to reach across the desk and put a hand on his. She did that when she wanted to initiate sex, too.. "Joan, bury the threats. I’m through with this kind of politics, anyway. Doesn't suit my temperament. Now, look at this another way. I'm taking the fall for you." He hit the last word hard. “You owe me something.” Hitting the first word as hard, again.
Joan squirmed, moving her large thighs back and forward in the creaky leather chair as a surprised expression flashed across her face. A moment later she reverted to expressionless, placid, in control. Prior opportunities to see how she faked emotions and reactions came when they slept together over the four weeks he worked as lead database marketer for the campaign.
"How so, Thomas?"
"Perhaps the tycoons behind the candidate can benefit me in some small way so the door doesn't hit Thomas Knee in the ass on the way out."
"What're you thinking?" She leaned away in her chair, wary. It creaked and groaned; her eyes narrowed in the round face as she studied him. He liked watching Joan struggle to maintain the executive composure she practiced on others.
Joan told him often how much she liked his smile, so he forced a pained smile before delivering his request. "Before you think or even accuse me of blackmail, turn it around. What if you paved the way for me to get close to someone who could give me my next gig? As you said, there are powerful people associated with this campaign. Maybe one of them will recognize that I'm a scapegoat for whoever leaked those contributor’s names to the media. Maybe he or she can set up an interview with someone on their staff or who they know."
"Interviews?" Joan relaxed, hearing his less than threatening demand. The chair complained when the back tilted away from the desk. To maintain balance, she put her feet on the faded green blotter that covered scores of scars on the ancient wooden surface.
With hands folded in his lap, he replied: "Yeah, interviews. I don't expect anyone to give me a job outright much less a project. I’m asking for a chance to talk, present my credentials, and then let them make a decision after that. It's the least the campaign can do for all the paid and volunteer time I've given it." And if the opportunity presents itself, I'll tell him or her what really happened. First things first, though.
Thomas felt good after making his well-rehearsed plea. He looked at the soles of Joan's shoes with the neat little Dior logo on them, and at her fat ankles flowing over the tops. He noticed she wore one of the Armani Collezioni outfits she bragged about as part of her self-proclaimed “power dress”. An open collared jacket with pin-stripes running horizontally made her look shorter and heavier. She wore a matching pair of dark slacks, no doubt also Armani. Where does she get the money to dress like that? At least I don’t have to look at her chubby thighs. He came close to barfing each time he saw her foul and dark curly hair. A realization occurred to him: Maybe that's why I'm taking the fall. I didn't serve her as often or perhaps as much as those other younger guys on the staff. Horny, self-serving rat-bastards.
"It's worth a shot, Thomas, though I can't promise anything. Your work was good, especially what you did to generate impressive returns in fund raising. They know it."
Though probably not from you. "I'm still severed as of today, though, right?" He knew the answer but wanted to hear it from her.
Flicking lint from her tailored black slacks, she nodded.
"Just like that?"
Joan frowned and used the heel of her pump to push the envelope with his severance check the last few inches across the desk. She followed the gesture with a casual look at her watch, a Bvlgari.
That's her expensive signal this conversation has ended. When she looks at her watch, nothing more can be said. She even fucks using a lap-timer. So, Thomas, take the money and run; and don’t count on that phone call with a lead for an interview. One more card to play, dude. "Then I guess that's it for you and me, too, isn't it?" He grabbed the envelope, looked in it and stood up.
A tear formed in her eye. As a slender thread to keep him aligned to her, Joan requested they have lunch at a bistro down the street, which he accepted, hoping that one last sacrifice would bring an appointment with some bigwig. During the meal, he tried to come around to making contact with those making generous campaign contributions. He flirted by using his feet to touch Joan's under the table, especially when he wanted to emphasize a point. She placed her ankle next to his, but deflected any verbal requests. At the end of the meal, Joan picked up the tab, winked and asked him to stay in touch.
A week passed and Thomas didn't hear from Joan, not that he expected to. It did disappoint him because he wanted introductions to meet with those he identified as key supporters for contact with their software development staffs; but nothing more. He didn’t think he’d get access to any jobs or projects; and he even tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter much because he had moved farther away, anyway. With the rebuff, he came closer to wanting to even the score with the campaign.
Thomas lived with his mother, Nancy Dodge, in a rural part of San Diego County. Over the ten years since he graduated from a nearby state university and started work as a data base consultant, they had an arrangement: she occupied half of her home, the part with the living room, kitchen and master bedroom; and Thomas had a bathroom and two back bedrooms in the other wing, one of which he turned into a cyber-haunt. He did not pay rent, nor did he receive meals more than once or twice a week. When convenient for her, they shared the family room in the middle of the home, but not often. By his estimation, she wanted him out and on his own but didn't know how to challenge him to move.
Two weeks after getting the ax from Joan, he published The Thomas Knee Manifesto online. Hitting the keys that activated his magnum opus, he sat back and watched the fuel gauge on his computer mark the transmission to the web site he developed for his revolutionary effort. With several other key strokes, he flooded his Facebook and LinkedIn accounts and Tweeted those who followed him. He expected a viral response before he left town.
Earlier that evening Nancy and her latest boyfriend, William, dined on one of her home-cooked meals and then watched a rented movie. Before ushering William to her bedroom, Nancy deposited a tray with leftovers at the hallway leading to Thomas’s suite. He heard her whisper to William she’d be along in a moment and then called down the hall to let Thomas know she left dinner for him.
With a flourish, Thomas finalized a set of computations that verified coordinates for what he termed The Digital Center of the United States at 47 degrees 19 minutes north by 111 degrees 17 minutes west in an open field near Montpelier, Idaho.
Earlier he determined the location of The Moral Center of the country in Salt Lake City. The coordinates placed that nexus at a Buddhist Temple near the headquarters for the Mormon Church. By design, he kept references to either location out of the manifesto. Those are secret chips to play when necessary.
Thrilled that the Moral and Digital centers appeared so close, he planned the next move: after publishing the manifesto: a road trip to generate cash to support his effort.
Distractions broke his concentration as savory aromas from Nancy’s platter stirred up his hunger. After an hour of inhaling the smell of garlic bread and roast beef, and when sure the household quieted down, he tucked away the elation that came from completing the philosophical framework for his revolution and slipped down the hall to retrieve the tray of food. He returned to his Thomas Knee Command Center where he worked well into the evening. After midnight, he swallowed an Adderall and devoured the remainder of his mother’s cooking, which he followed with a couple of packages of carrot cake bites, all chased down with large gulps of a high-energy drink from the small refrigerator in his room.
Then, at dawn, well before William and Nancy awoke, Thomas showered, put on a T-shirt that said “Coexist” and bore the symbols of the world’s great religions. He left the empty tray at the end of the hall with a note telling of his departure "for about a month or so", making sure his scrawled comments sat apart from the Sara Lee wrappers. Then he put his powerful NetPad in a thin aluminum case and made one last check of email before sending his desktop computer into sleep mode. Thomas dumped a medium-sized duffel that contained several changes of clothes in his red Honda Civic and left, first stop: Las Vegas.
Brimming over with enthusiasm after posting the manifesto and flooding the social network sites with links to it, Thomas ignored the hot, dry passing scenery on the five-hour drive across the desert to Vegas. He also disregarded appearances by the highway patrol along Interstate 15 that connected southern California with the gambling Mecca. It's too soon for the cops to react to my work. They don't move that fast. Because he maintained a steady rate well under posted speed limits, the police cruised by him on to snare others, though one trailed Thomas for a handful of miles before chasing after a Mercedes.
During the middle of the night, hundreds of blade computers in an array of servers at the FBI's remote computer site in the middle of the country keyed off the word "manifesto" and references to “revolution” posted on Web 3.5 by Thomas Knee, a resident of San Diego County. Manifesto and revolution, part of a thousand-word-plus database of key terms searched on the Internet by the agency, triggered alerts in field offices throughout the United States. Highest priority for follow-up went to the San Diego office of the bureau where the feed along with relevant data on Thomas Knee reached the screen of the duty officer, Winthrop Mendenhall. The burly ex-linebacker for two seasons with a pro football team yawned, affirmed receipt of the advisory and waited for the remainder of the feed from a cross-agency scan of information related to Thomas Knee.
He muttered: “Another lone wolf?”
When the paragraph about Thomas getting the ax from a national political campaign scrolled past, Mendenhall took a more active interest in the subject. He jotted several thoughts in his digital notebook and set it aside to take another swig of cold coffee.
An hour later, with nothing more about Thomas Knee than the manifesto and brief inconclusive work history to go on, Mendenhall did a quick search through the agency's active files of cyber-terrorists operating in the western United States. Nothing linked Thomas in any way to the three best known groups, all headquartered in the Pacific Northwest. Several more conventional militias had field operatives and hide-outs in the Rocky Mountain states, again without any links to Thomas. Moreover, none shared philosophical leanings to his cyber efforts.
"Damn it all to hell. It would make our life easier if the militias would connect up with each other or become cyber-armed. Then we could track 'em easier," he muttered to himself. "Screw it for now." He returned to his cold coffee and scanned the empty office bay in a high rise building that overlooked San Diego's harbor.
“Lone wolf confirmed,” he wrote in a journal.
2. We must use the spoils we take from the old to finance the new.
LAS VEGAS
Late in the morning Thomas entered Las Vegas and drove to the Sands complex where Murali Karanjia, a software developer who owned patents on several algorithms used for video poker machines, maintained an office. Striding through the smoky casino, Thomas pulled out his Smartphone to dial Karanjia when a security officer stopped him and asked Thomas to place the call outside the carpeted area. Thomas text messaged Karanjia that he arrived. He waited for a reply. Karanjia issued a one-word response, “come".
Reaching the non-descript entry to Karanjia’s complex, which sat among a row of gift shops and boutiques, Thomas tried the handle and found the door locked. He spotted a keypad with numeric buttons at eye-level, well to the right of the door. He pulled out his phone and texted Karanjia with a one-word message, “here". A moment later he received a message with a Quick Response code embedded in it. Thomas transferred the code to an IR transponder in the phone, and released the lock.
Entering the empty reception area, Thomas waited for someone to appear. The air in the suite smelled stale. Bare walls had nail holes where corporate art once enlivened industrial white surfaces. Moments later, the dark-skinned and portly Murali Karanjia, flanked by two slender women, emerged from a conference room. Karanjia wore a faded Tommy Bahamas shirt hanging out over his ample belly. The tail touched the belt on his faded tan slacks.
Seeing Thomas, he frowned at the sight of the coexist symbol and patted both women. His left hand found the blonde's shoulders, the redhead got his right hand on her butt where Karanjia let it stay until she moved on with a smile. When both women reached the hallway and the door clicked into a locked position behind them, Karanjia extended his hand to greet Thomas.
Thomas asked: “Where was that hand before I got here?”
“In the redhead’s snatch, of course.” His breath, smelling of Sen Sen, reached Thomas before the words.
Thomas withdrew his hand. “Still diddling one-time dancers, I see.”
“In this town, they appreciate all the professional attention they can get.”
“What’s professional about what you do to them, probably on your conference table?”
“It’s for their new profession. They consider it an audition.” Even though he lived in the United States for several decades, Karanjia still spoke with a sing-song Indian accent.
“You training them to be programmers, systems analysts, data base admins or maybe call-center operators?”
“Nope. Research assistants.”
“Research assistants? What are they researching? The length of your cock?”
Karanjia flashed an indulgent smile. “You didn’t drive all the way here to castigate me for my taste in broken down chorus girls, TK. What do you want with me?”
Thomas paused and listened to the soft purr of white noise coming through the air conditioning system. “To let you in on a little project I’ve launched.”
“Unless it has something to do with computerized gaming machines, I’m not interested.”
“Murali, Murali, Murali. Open your mind. Once you hear about it, I’m sure the birds who just left will want to be a part of what I have to tell you; and you'll get non-stop whatever they give you, in spades.”
“I doubt they have the bandwidth for one of your cockamamie schemes. But come back to my conference room and tell me about it, TK, but be quick. I have a noon appointment with the marketing director for those who build the boxes out there.” He waved toward the casino.
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. They’re actually under contract to me versus the other way around. For this group I’m a systems integrator. Now, come back; but please, in the interest of time, start your plea before we get there. I hate to keep hardware guys waiting. It’s bad for business.”
“Since when is it bad for business, Murali?”
“Since they often change jobs and end up somewhere of use to me. Get on with it, TK. Why are you here?” He pushed the door shut and motioned for Thomas to take any seat around the long wooden conference table.
Thomas fingered one of the gouges on the edge of the table. “Bottom line?”
“Yes. If you pique my interest, we can loop back for details.”
Sen Sen wafted down the length of the table. Thomas looked along the surface for tell-tale signs something erotic happened on the table top, but saw nothing. “Fair enough. In sum, I want to screw up the elections for the President this year.”
Karanjia stroked his short grey beard; and rolled his hand in loops to encourage Thomas on.
“Aren't you interested why?”
“No, TK. That’ll come later, your philosophy, that is. Tell me how you plan to do this dastardly deed. But start first with what’s in it for me. I’m a naturalized citizen of your country, you know. I got my degrees at Berkeley; and I'm still on the ‘watch-list’ as ‘a person of interest’ to your FBI. God only knows what the CIA thinks they have on me.”
“Share your poppsies with them and they’ll leave you alone.”
“I doubt it, TK. Now get on with it. What’s in it for me?”
“The Moral Center of the country has shifted to Salt Lake.”
“So?”
“The Digital Center of the country is north in a little town in Idaho called Montpelier.”
“No connection, yet. I'm getting bored and anxious to keep my lunch appointment.”
“The Moral Center used to be in the Bible Belt, the rural south and southwestern states, but over the past decade it shifted north and west."
"Why, TK?"
"I don't know, but let me go on." Seeing nothing other than a slight tilt of Karanjia's head, he added: "Meanwhile, the Digital Center shifted north and east, off the coast and into the hinterlands for two reasons: the first, more and more youngsters around the country embraced Smartphones; second, an explosion of data centers throughout the Columbia River region."
"That makes sense. But where's the bottom line of this, the benefit to me? Think benefit, TK. I'm a busy man."
"Yeah, I saw."
"TK?"
"Alright, alright, Murali." Thomas licked his lips and paused, looking up at the ceiling for dramatic effect more than to compose his thoughts. He had rehearsed the dialog on the way over and every word and gesture, down to Murali's insistence on the bottom line benefit, tracked as Thomas anticipated.
"First, we hack into ..."
"Thomas, you're straying off target. Back to the benefit to me, Murali Karanjia, pasha of gaming software, a might-be benefactor."
"Sorry, Murali." He shifted in his chair and leaned across the cheap well scarred table, fingers interlocked, innocent brown eyes staring into Karanjia's dark face and coal black eyes. "There's an end to the number of games out there, Murali. You're in a zero sum game and when the market becomes saturated you need to conquer new fields with a higher ceiling than casinos."
"I'll die a rich man."
"At the rate you're going, Murali, it'll be of some exotic sexually transmitted disease carried by a broken down chorine who unwittingly facilitates its mutation into something that only kills Tamil males who emigrated to the United States on a false visa and used influence to convert their bogus status into a fake citizenship."
"Ouch, Thomas. How'd you find out all that?"
"The STD part is yet to happen; you told me online about the other one night when you got stoned on some new weed from Baja."
"Hmm, so I did. Must have been laced with sodium pentothal. Go on, TK, tempus fugit. The hardware mavens are circling outside my door. I gather you want my help in hacking into bank computers."
"No, Murali. That's too dicey."
Murali chuckled at the pun.
Thomas grinned. “Churches, Murali. Churches."
"They're poor as, well, church mice. What money is there in it with them?"
"Not any more are they poor. Remember what I said about the Moral Center shifting way up into the mountain states? Ever since that one group went to DC in 2000 and stirred up the moral majority, there has been a groundswell of anti-government pro-religious fervor in the country; and with it has come a huge in-flow of cash into the bank accounts of churches and synagogues and temples and mosques and even ashrams everywhere. It's a reversion to fundamentalism rivaled only by what's going on in Asia and Africa."
Karanjia winced before looking at his watch.
"I'm getting to the best part, Murali."
"I hope so. I'm about to be hungry and late."
"They're the ones who are late. You should pick more timely business contacts or not keep your calendar online. Aside from the two ladies, and I use that term loosely, your calendar is clear, except for me. I blocked out an hour and a half, in case you want to check."
Karanjia frowned, pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose, making the salt and pepper hairs over his upper lip dance.
Thomas relaxed in the swivel chair and waited for a comment from Karanjia. A moment later the Indian said: "I'll order sandwiches through room service. What'll you have, TK?"
"Couple of Red Bulls and a bucket of fried chicken, nine pieces should be enough. I'll give you a place to send it to in a moment."
"On a diet?" Karanjia reached behind him, grabbed the white phone that had no dial and waited for an answer at the other end. He placed Thomas' order and added a plain salad for himself, hung up and returned to the conversation with a roll of his hand for Thomas to continue.
"Can you get me one of those chicks for dessert, Murali?" I'm not serious, Murali.
"I'll pay for your food, not your sexual gratification. Now, please, continue. Though my calendar is clear, my time is not; and I have a lot to do before ..."
"Before your option with the licensing group from 'Sex and the City' expires and they take their design to someone else?"
"Thomas, you're dangerous. How'd you get all that?" He paused and looked into the ceiling, shook his head and glanced down at Thomas. "Forget it. I should be more careful using email without encrypting it. Huh, Thomas?"
"I'll get to the point."
"Thanks."
"Banks are too much of a challenge and there's more room for error penetrating their accounts. Salami slicing isn't worth the time and effort, anymore. But those big-box houses of worship are plentiful and their cyber security is either parchment thin or non-existent."
"But is there enough money there to justify the effort?"
"Yes and no. Depends on the church."
Karanjia showed perplexity. "What's all this got to do with the elections this year?"
"Cash is flowing into and out of the religious community to fund that moralist who emerged as the front-runner after he participated in those country-wide demonstrations a few years back. With all the fervor he's stirring up, money is all over the new 'Net and the rest of the old Internet. And by opening up shop near Montpelier, we sit at the nexus of it all, tap into the traffic and siphon off more cash than represented by Fort Knox. Then we can re-deploy those assets however we want."
"And how do we want, TK?"
“Other than yourself, do you have a pet cause, Murali?"
Karanjia shook his head. "What would be yours?"
"Dissing the elections and sending a signal to DC."
"About what?"
"Cleaning up the mess made by Wall Street and, at the same time, ensuring personal freedoms. It’s all in my manifesto."
"You're confusing me, TK. You want to disrupt the national elections in the name of personal freedoms. And you'll support your jihad with funds you'll siphon from the moralists, who are pushing for their own freedoms. Embedded in it all is your thesis that the Digital Center, whatever that means, has moved into the heartland close to the moralists. Something doesn't add up, not to mention how you'll pull this all off."
"Once more from the top, Murali. There are two forces at work in this country -- the politicos who are bankrolled by special interests and whose only agenda is to get re-elected, often at the expense of those they purportedly serve, and the moralists, as you call them, who want to swap one person's freedoms for those of their own kind. The moralistas ..."
"Your name or theirs?"
"Mine. They have amassed a war chest of cash we can use to pit both groups against each other and destroy their unholy alliances. It scares me to think that they might be in lock-step versus lock horns. What I want to do is make sure they neutralize each other so a new order can take over and put us on the path to true personal freedom."
"And the 'Net is the battleground." Karanjia stroked the forward bulge of his abdomen.
"You got it. But not just the ‘Net, but the new ‘Net, Web 3.5, which we’ll own."
"Own? That seems far-fetched. How do I or anyone else own or take title to that big stinking amorphous entity that evolved from social networking a few years ago? It’s bloody fucking chaotic. A digital jungle.”
“Use your imagination, Murali. Use it to think of what could happen if you cornered a small piece of that big thing out there.”
“I say it again, TK, I fail to see what is in it for me." He parsed the sentence to speak each word in a slow and deliberate manner.
"For helping me ..."
"Why do you need help? You're more than capable of hacking into any porous church system on your own."
"You're right. I hacked into your flimsy operation here and could do that easily. No, Murali, what I need you for is two things: First, your ability to turn something serious into a game. Ah, I see from the smug expression on your well-fed face I got you on that one. Second, this little gig you've got going on here ..."
"Gaming?"
Thomas nodded in agreement: "This is the perfect route for laundering all the cash that we'll drop through our digital trap doors into fungible assets you and I can use. You can buy all the pussy you can eat. I'll buy ..."
"A lifetime supply of Twinkies."
"Among other things."
"Seriously, TK, aside from making a moral statement or whatever you want to call it, and pulling in a few mill of cash, why are you doing this?"
"Fifteen minutes of digital fame. I want to be this century’s righteous equivalent of Kevin Mitnick."
"What if you end up the digital analog for Bernie Madoff, serving a bazillion years for extortion, sedition or whatever other federal crime they nail you for?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
" I'm still fogbound by your expected outcome. What do you want to have happen and by what date?"
"Working backwards, the election is November 1, 2016, roughly seven months away. On that day, rather, that evening, when the news media crown the new president, I want the vote count to be so low and inconclusive for either candidate that we ..."
"We? You and me?"
"Well, not you and me."
"Well, who then?"
"Someone I've yet to recruit."
"You've got someone in mind to be a third party candidate?"
Thomas nodded, flashing a wry smile at the Indian.
"Who, TK?"
"Can't tell you yet. The person hasn't had a chance to review my agenda, which is spelled out, I might add, in the manifesto I finished writing last night."
"You finished the digital 'Das Kapital' last night, saddled up your little red go kart this AM and came over to see me, just like that?"
Thomas nodded with enthusiasm the same way he did seconds earlier.
"TK, before I agree to anything, I need to see a lot more info on your plan, how you expect to get from here to November, and my exact role." Karanjia stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
"Murali, I expected no less from you," Thomas said as he rose. "Do me a favor?"
"What's that?"
"Get me a room here for a couple of nights for free."
"You've got to be kidding. They'd never ..."
"Murali. You've done it before for the pussies, or, should I say, to get into that stuff, and I'm sure you can get me a bare bones room for a few nights."
"That's all, TK?"
"Well, there's one more thing."
"I figured as much. Which one, the blonde or the redhead?"
"Neither."
"Neither? Then what?"
"A peak at the code in your least favorite machine, you know, the one that is probably the oldest still in use out there." He waved in the general direction of the casino floor.
"So you can bust a few jackpots?"
"Yes. I need cash to tide me over a few more weeks while I travel, among other things."
"Among other things. Like what, TK?"
"Call it recruitment."
"If I agree to all this, do I get a say in who else you recruit? I assume I'm the first one you're talking to."
"Correct, Murali. You're the first and perhaps one of only a handful. There aren't many I'd trust with something this serious."
"I don't know whether to be honored or dismayed by that comment." Karanjia moved toward the conference room door. "TK, please leave me so I can get some serious work done."
"Murali, what about my bucket of chicken, the code and my room? I'd like to see your algorithm before I check in."
"TK, if you're so good at hacking into my enterprise, why don't you ferret it out for yourself?" He opened the door. "On second thought, you'd probably go for the wrong device, maybe even change a few lines to suit yourself and compromise my company."
Thomas grinned, knowing he had Karanjia over a barrel.
"Wait here, TK. And while I'm gone, don't do anything stupid."
"You mean like erase the wave files of this conversation you've recorded through the overhead mike?"
"Oh, fuck, TK. How'd you know?"
"It's obvious. Every time you talked, you brushed the signet ring you wear and a red light overhead went off, as if you deleted your part of the conversation when you showed interest in my project." He raised his eyebrows for emphasis. "It's the same I would have done."
"Well, that's comforting."
"Murali?"
"Yes?"
"While you're out getting the code, please book that room. I'm tired and could use a nap."
"Right, TK." He disappeared, muttering in his native language.
The blonde he saw in Karanjia’s suite earlier showed up at his room half an hour after checking in, which surprised Thomas. She’s here with my chicken and without having to ask Murali. Now that’s a friend, he thought, seeing her willowy body in front of him.
“Hi, TK. Murali said you might have some work for me.” The words oozed out in one soft breath.
“He did? Well, let’s talk about some of your skills and we’ll see where it goes from there.” Is that what I'm supposed to say?
“Should I come in or will you interview me here in the hallway?”
“Forgive me...”
“I’m Rhonda, Rhonda Williston.”
“Forgive me, Rhonda. I wasn’t expecting anyone right now. Would you like to come in and make yourself comfortable?” Oh mother, why did you raise me to be so shy. Am I supposed to make a move on her or does she put the make on me?
“TK, you look confused. Is there something you’d like to tell me about yourself, your project, your agenda while here in Vegas?” She brushed past him and into the still drape-darkened room and set the greasy bucket of food on the credenza, sneering at it as she did.
He closed the door behind her and headed for the window wall.
“Don’t open them just yet,” she commanded. “I’ve been inside for so long today that the glare will give me a headache.” She sat on the edge of the bed. Thomas diverted away from the windows and leaned against the small Formica console that housed a phone and lamp. “Now, in these few moments before we get better acquainted, why don’t you tell me about your project?”
“Isn’t that backwards, Rhonda? Shouldn’t I get to know you a little better and then discuss the project? After all, I may not think you can, uh, handle this kind of work.”
“I’ve never had that problem, TK. But if you insist. First things first.” She stood up, unhooked a clasp that held the short skirt on and dropped it to expose nakedness below the waist.
That’s not what I had in mind, much less expected. He stared at her hairless thighs.
“TK, you look confused or indifferent. Am I not attractive enough? Are you gay?”
“You’re f f f fine, Rhonda.” I don’t need to admit to being uncertain. I bet she can tell that, already.
She stared at Thomas. “Maybe you need to see more, you know, truth in advertising.” She crossed her arms in front and lifted the halter top off to reveal an uplift bra that held two well shaped breasts. “I’m really quite versatile, TK. But let me assure you, I also know a lot more about your world than you might be giving me credit for.”
He studied the green cast to her eyes and for several seconds.
Keeping her eyes locked on his, she asked: “Please unhook my bra, TK. It’s pinching my ribs and it’s just not comfortable, especially on a hot day.”
As Rhonda turned, he walked over and fumbled with the three hooks that held the bra on. When he teased the last one undone, she rotated toward him, tossing the bra into a corner of the room. He expected to see her breasts sag like his mother’s but they remained pointing forward, tipped with pink nipples set in pinker areolas. Brown, pink, what's the difference? Why's there a difference? I don't think this is a time for scientific inquiry, Thomas.
“Like what you see, TK?”
He nodded, his mouth too dry for comment.
“I'm natural, from head to toe.” She stepped toward him.
I know what I’m supposed to do but don’t know how to start. An urge came over him. Thomas wanted to reach out and stroke the clean zone above her labia to feel for stubble.
Rhonda glided past him and across the room to the bed. “Would you like some help, TK?” The green eyes narrowed and she asked: “TK, are you still a virgin?”
He shook his head, recalling the effort it took to please Joan.
“Do I not look pleasing to you?”
He opened his palms, uncertain how to answer the question.
Whispering in his ear, she said: “I shaved just before coming over, TK, just for you. What does that do for you, hmm?” She reached out and stroked the still flat part of his pants that separated an uncertain penis from the light of day. “Feel this and tell me if you like what I’ve done for you.” With her other hand, she pulled him toward her and placed his hand between her legs and, when he didn’t respond, she rubbed that hand back and forth. “Thomas, relax.”
Thank God. I’m getting a boner. He felt blood surge below his waist.
“That’s nice to feel, TK. Let me see how manly you are. Murali told me you’re quite a stud and to expect some serious sex if you like me. You do like me, don’t you?”
She winked and Thomas thought he saw her green eyes darken after the lid re-opened. He swallowed hard. Thomas’s hands felt like two pieces of unresponsive hamburger even as he touched the smooth and flat skin below her abdomen.
“That’s it, TK. Show me with your hands that you like what you see and feel.” She took a step closer to him and guided both hands along her waist. Rhonda unbuttoned his pants and lowered the zipper in one deft move. His erection popped forward and she gasped, the green eyes growing paler as they widened in amazement. “You’re quite a big man, TK. I like that.”
Over the next four hours, he had two orgasms, the first while standing at the console, his pants still around his ankles. His second came after they spent more time in bed bringing her up and over the top three times. While idly toying with him, she stared at the ceiling and said: “Murali was only part right about you.”
“How’s that?”
“He said you were an animal in bed.”
How would he know, or was that just a come-on for her?
“I don’t think he knows the half of it about you. You’re big and facile, TK. That’s the way I like my men.”
“Men?” He visualized a line that included Murali queued up in a nondescript room at an out-of-the-way-hotel miles from The Strip.
“Don’t get nervous on me, TK. You’re not a statistic and I’m not a hooker. Just someone who likes to be pleased and to give pleasure in return.”
“Then how …”
“How was I able to get into this so quickly with you if not promiscuous?” Her hand continued to fondle him.
“Sort of, I guess.”
“My original mission, make that intention, was to give you a blow job and be done with it. That’s not really having sex with someone, and I do that all the time.”
“The Clinton Defense."
“Yeah. When I saw you and connected to your shyness, I knew you were not a player.”
“A player?”
“A term that means, well, you know, guys who manipulate women for their own personal pleasure without giving anything in return.”
“Is that what it means?”
“For my purposes, yes,” Rhonda propped herself on one elbow and stared at him. “Players get off and go, which is fine by me, because I don’t want to be around them any more than they want to be with me.” She studied his face. “I sense that beneath that genuine shyness you’re also different. And that tells me something important."
“What’s that?”
“I feel you’re tuned into me, you know, with me for more than getting off. I mean, it’s like you want me to get as much pleasure as you did. I’m ahead, no pun intended, three to two.”
“You’re keeping score?”
“Coincidence, oh manly one.” She winked a green eye again.
This must be a girl thing, wanting to talk after sex, a way to conclude one kind of intimacy and launch another.
She shifted the agenda. "TK, tell me about your project, the one with Murali."
Surprise at the abrupt change stopped him and he blurted: "What do you want to know?" I hope my defensiveness didn't come out with that comment. That makes me wonder if Murali put her up to this as a way for more information gathering. The snake.
"Before you get suspicious, let me explain. Murali gave me a document to give you."
"The code?"
"It's in my bag over there. You can get it out whenever you want."
I'd better stay in bed with her and not be too excited about it just now. Despite the easy way we fucked, there's something honest about Rhonda I'm liking, but I can't figure out why, after all, Murali sent her here to do what she did, and we both got off, and now she's chatting about everything and asking questions.
"Do you want to get that stuff?"
"Not right now. It can wait. I'm enjoying the way you touch me. Can I do something for you while you're doing that?"
"Not right now, Thomas. Can I call you Thomas, Tom or Tommy or do you prefer TK?"
"Actually, only Murali uses my initials. Everyone else calls me Thomas."
"Thomas it is, then. Anyway, I think I need to let my little lady down there cool off, but I can sure do other things for you."
"I'm bone dry."
"Boner dry?" She laughed, the green eyes lit up, livelier than before.
He liked the look on her face and the sound of her laughter, hearing nothing forced about it. I think after all the sex is aside, there might be a woman of substance here. I wonder how much she really does know about the kind of work Murali is into. "Tell me something, Rhonda."
"What's that?"
"I'm confused about the way you work for Murali, if you do."
"All right, now that you ask: First of all, I don't work for him and most likely won't."
"Then how come you're ..."
"Is this a paid assignment, doing you like I did?"
He nodded.
"Yes and no. He gave me a $100 to come up here, deliver the stuff in the folder and if I could without arousing suspicion find out how committed you are to your project."
Thomas remained passive, knowing she had more to say, but he had to qualify her by asking an important question: "Do you know what my project is?"
"No, I don't. He wouldn't tell me, I guess, preferring to let me find out on my own so he could check my input with what you two talked about earlier."
"Why you and not your redheaded friend? Did he give her a shot, too?"
"No. I think she's personal stock for him and I don't turn him on like she does."
"What was going on in the conference room when I got there?"
"Jealous, Thomas, or inquisitive?"
"Not jealous. Merely curious."
Her eyes narrowed. "Something most people would consider kinky."
"Being somewhat of a geek, I wouldn't know what you mean by kinky." He cocked his head to one side and studied her face for deeper reactions. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. Again, I'm just curious what Murali's into; mostly I want to know how to gauge him as a participant in my project. He's certainly not now nor ever will be a partner." Is that something I want to get back to him? Yes, I think he'd welcome being off that hook.
"In that case, then, I should tell you all." She threw herself back down on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling, licked her lips and waited a moment. Thomas thought he saw the early formation of tears cloud her eyes, turning them gray in the dim light.
"Your buddy..."
"He's not my buddy, Rhonda, only a business contact."
"That's fair, and even better to know." She cleared her throat, licked her lips again and took a deep breath. "Murali's incapable of getting it on. By that I mean, he's better equipped to watch than participate. Though from time to time he pays for a feel or other things, but he's pretty much what they call a eunuch."
"Someone snip his boy parts off?"
"Sort of, I think. There was never much there to begin with. He's tiny down there."
"Let me guess, then. He pays for a little touchy-feely stuff."
"Don't guess, Thomas. That's what most men would do. Murali fingers us, mostly Tina."
"Tina's the redhead."
Rhonda nodded and crossed her legs at the ankles. "She doesn't shave and he must be turned on by Tina's red hair." She pointed at her own hairless thighs. "Mostly, he gets some kind of a charge when we do things to each other."
"A lesbian kind of thing?"
"Because neither of us are butchy, not even close, it makes it all the more erotic for him."
"So, while you two are ..."
"We start out by going tit to tit and then," she stopped and swallowed hard, a tear rolled down her cheek.
"You don't have to go on. I'm really not interested."
She leaned up at the waist, crossed her legs in a lotus position and looked down into her naked thighs. "I think what I'm doing here is confessing my sins, sort of a Catholic thing, and trying to cleanse my soul of what he pays us to do, because I really don't like that kind of thing but we both need the money." She looked at Thomas and he saw despair where before she showed sadness. "As you could probably tell, I really like men and the difference between them and me, especially you."
"I'm not that astute, Rhonda. But go on." He reached up and made figure eights with two fingers on her shoulder.
She sniffed. "Maybe I should let your imagination fill in the blanks and let it be."
"As you wish. I really don't have an interest in that same sex thing, anyway." I wonder if this is another one of Murali's tests and he's got her acting out the part. "Maybe we should change the subject." He paused and then, somehow drawn further into her plight by his own curiosity, asked: "Why do you do it, any of that?"
"I've got bills to pay, you know, a mortgage and car payments, the like." She looked into Thomas's face. Another tear rimmed the lower eye lid and rolled down her right cheek, the one away from him. "And it's not like doing a trick for some guy. I mean, what Murali's asking is different, I think. It's not risking a disease or anything. Just giving him a charge watching a couple of attractive chicks do probably what he'd want to do if he had the hardware."
"How often has he asked you two to perform for him?"
"Once a week for the past month or so, ever since we both got flushed from the dance line at the Mirage. It's a slow time here and we both need to cover expenses."
"Last question, then we should give this a rest."
"Sure. Go ahead. I've told you more than enough to get it out of my system, anyway."
"If you weren't a dancer, what would you do?"
After surprise passed across her face, replaced by consternation, she flopped back on the bed, her pink nipples pointing straight up into the acoustic tiles of the ceiling. "Fair question." She stared up and let a small smile creep across her face as the memory of another profession gave her pleasure. "I'd go back to school and finish getting my degree."
"In what?" He maintained a steady sequence of figure eights on her stomach, only changing the location from the flat abdomen up toward her breasts and then moving lower again.
"Mmm, that feels nice. Vet medicine. I was raised on a farm back in Iowa. Family circumstances made me stop a year short of the first degree I'd need. Because I was pretty good at dance, I made my way up through the local ranks until I got the wild hair to try my hand here."
"How long have you been here, in Vegas, I mean?"
"Six years."
"All that time as a dancer?"
She nodded. "That really feels good, your stroking my skin, I mean." She adjusted her position and slid closer to him. Neither spoke for several minutes. Her sigh of contentment, the only sound either made, came when his hand started to cramp and he stopped.
"All good things like that," she pointed at his hand resting on the bed, "come to an end. When I started having problems with flexibility and making some of the more difficult moves, work came less and less and I spent more time in auditions, at first with the top line places and then the seedier halls." She sniffed. "Shit, Thomas, I gave lap dancing a shot, but hated the way those creeps pawed me."
She broke the train of thought by sitting up, spinning around on the bed and smiling down at Thomas. "I've got an idea."
"What's that?"
"How long are you here for?"
"About a week or so, though Murali doesn't know that. He's covering the room for me."
"No he's not. I mean, he's not paying for your room. He gets it for nothing from the hotel as part of his deal with them." Her eyes took on a neon glow and she put her hand on Thomas's chest. "Come stay with me, pay me a little for room and board for however long you're here. We'll do this ..."
"Screw?"
"Yeah, as often as you want. I'll be sort of your sex slave, your maid and cook and do other things for you; and maybe you'll help me get my head on straight so I can try something else in life."
"I can't really afford much. That's why Murali's getting me this room. Besides, I'm not a shrink. I can't get my head on straight much less help someone else do it."
"What were you going to do for the rest of your trip? How were you going to eat?"
"I've got some cash." Haven't touched the severance check yet, which gives me four weeks of living expenses.
"How long were you planning on being on the road?"
"About two weeks or so." He lied to keep her expectations in check.
"All here in Vegas?"
"No." How far do I go with the rest?
"I don't want to know anything you don't want me to know, Thomas. But here's my idea. You get out of this place and come where I live, pay for what you can. You do whatever you have to do there instead of in this dingy hotel room or Murali's smelly office. For as long as you're in town, I won't go near him or anyone else, just use the time to keep looking for a job. Meanwhile, I think we can be good for each other. We were already this afternoon. Weren't we?" She had a look of positive expectation on her face.
"Yes. This was all a surprise. Nothing I counted on, to be sure." It's hard to sound enthusiastic for this when it might sap my energy for what I've really got to do here and up north.
"I've got a computer and a spare bedroom that you can have and turn into an office or work place or whatever you need and I'll even leave you alone because most of the day I'm off looking for dance gigs and the like." She leaned over and rested her head on his chest and kept it there for several moments. "What do ya say, Thomas? Try it for a couple of days and then we'll keep renewing your option as long as you like. Who knows, you might come to like Vegas."
"How big is your place and how far from here do you live?" How far from Murali can I afford to be or should be?
"Four miles from here," she said, perking up at his sign of interest.
"If I agree, Rhonda, I want you to understand it's not for the sex, though you're really quite good and enjoyable to be with. It's for the things I need to do. And you don't really have to cook for me, either. My food needs are pretty low key."
"Good, Thomas. But the sex is because I like it and you, not from the obligation, so put that in a proper perspective. And if you're worried about knocking me up, don't. I take the pill."