people in the Information and Technology Branch, was a contractor working for FreedomShield. Unbeknown to Chakrapani, the gathered data started going in parallel to another data center about a hundred miles away. It joined a large feed already flowing in the same direction. Normally, the data center’s security systems would have raised an alarm. But the person managing the network security alerts was another FreedomShield employee with the super user privileges and she exempted this particular connection as “allowed.”
Los Angeles, USA
Jeff was on the living room couch nursing a scotch when Jennifer returned.
“How was your day? How come you’re sitting in the dark?” she pecked him on the cheek.
“Letting my eyes rest a bit. Long day with Robert, plus we did four virtual townhalls.”
“Well, these townhalls are really working. We’ve been averaging seven thousand logins for each one in the past two weeks,” Jennifer stumbled around in the semi-darkness and poured herself a drink.
“At this rate, by the election time we’ll reach three million more people, about one percent of the population,” shrugged Jeff.
“Or about two percent of prospective voters,” Jennifer positioned herself in a recliner opposite of her husband. “And our research shows that each attendee potentially influences four others. Now we are looking at ten percent of prospective voters being influenced. That’s where elections are won and lost.”
“Oh, Jen, your glass is always half-full,” smiled Jeff.
“Figuratively and literally,” she smiled back, lifting her glass. “My goodness, you are doing so great! If someone told you a year ago that you’ll have a realistic chance of winning the presidential elections, would you have believed that person?”
“No, I would have told him to have his head examined. And you know, it’s all thanks to you. I just wouldn’t have had the wherewithal on my own.”
“Honey, you wrote the books, you gave the speeches, you fought for the California initiatives, you went on a hunger strike...”
“Jen, you went on that strike with me. You took charge of the social media outreach. You know that’s how everything started and took off like a brushfire.”
“All right, we did it. Together. But honey, after seventeen years I know a few things about you. Something’s bugging you. What is it?”
“You know me too well,” laughed Jeff. He bit his lip, chewed on it. “People ask me why I’m running and I give them my stock answer, the one we practiced with Robert for days. But I keep asking myself, why do I really run? What is driving me? I never planned to run, I just put one foot in front of the other and the stakes kept going up and up and now they can’t go any higher.”
“So, why do you run, honey?” using a term of endearment but sounding dead serious.
“You see, Jen, it’s like peeling the layers of onion. Every time you think you have the answer, there is something underneath. I had to go back to what put me on this warpath back in 2006, when I was released.”
Jennifer sipped her drink, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.
“What was it, Jeff?”
“Revenge. It was revenge. Not for me, for my father. You know, back in 2003, when I went to John Brockton’s house, I had a gun in my pocket.”
“I know. You’ve never used it.”
“No, I haven’t. I always maintained that I brought it to scare Brockton, that I just wanted to confront him.”
“And?”
“It was a lie. I wanted to kill him. Yes, I wanted to kill that man. For driving my father to suicide. For – I am sure – driving others into despair or worse.”
Jennifer leaned forward, put her hand on her chest to keep her heart from jumping out:
“But, Jeff, you didn’t kill him!”
“No. He was dead by the time I got there. But in my mind, in my heart, I did. I am innocent in the eyes of the law, but I am not innocent before God.”
He paused but Jennifer remained silent.
“So I
Los Angeles, USA
Jeff was on the living room couch nursing a scotch when Jennifer returned.
“How was your day? How come you’re sitting in the dark?” she pecked him on the cheek.
“Letting my eyes rest a bit. Long day with Robert, plus we did four virtual townhalls.”
“Well, these townhalls are really working. We’ve been averaging seven thousand logins for each one in the past two weeks,” Jennifer stumbled around in the semi-darkness and poured herself a drink.
“At this rate, by the election time we’ll reach three million more people, about one percent of the population,” shrugged Jeff.
“Or about two percent of prospective voters,” Jennifer positioned herself in a recliner opposite of her husband. “And our research shows that each attendee potentially influences four others. Now we are looking at ten percent of prospective voters being influenced. That’s where elections are won and lost.”
“Oh, Jen, your glass is always half-full,” smiled Jeff.
“Figuratively and literally,” she smiled back, lifting her glass. “My goodness, you are doing so great! If someone told you a year ago that you’ll have a realistic chance of winning the presidential elections, would you have believed that person?”
“No, I would have told him to have his head examined. And you know, it’s all thanks to you. I just wouldn’t have had the wherewithal on my own.”
“Honey, you wrote the books, you gave the speeches, you fought for the California initiatives, you went on a hunger strike...”
“Jen, you went on that strike with me. You took charge of the social media outreach. You know that’s how everything started and took off like a brushfire.”
“All right, we did it. Together. But honey, after seventeen years I know a few things about you. Something’s bugging you. What is it?”
“You know me too well,” laughed Jeff. He bit his lip, chewed on it. “People ask me why I’m running and I give them my stock answer, the one we practiced with Robert for days. But I keep asking myself, why do I really run? What is driving me? I never planned to run, I just put one foot in front of the other and the stakes kept going up and up and now they can’t go any higher.”
“So, why do you run, honey?” using a term of endearment but sounding dead serious.
“You see, Jen, it’s like peeling the layers of onion. Every time you think you have the answer, there is something underneath. I had to go back to what put me on this warpath back in 2006, when I was released.”
Jennifer sipped her drink, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.
“What was it, Jeff?”
“Revenge. It was revenge. Not for me, for my father. You know, back in 2003, when I went to John Brockton’s house, I had a gun in my pocket.”
“I know. You’ve never used it.”
“No, I haven’t. I always maintained that I brought it to scare Brockton, that I just wanted to confront him.”
“And?”
“It was a lie. I wanted to kill him. Yes, I wanted to kill that man. For driving my father to suicide. For – I am sure – driving others into despair or worse.”
Jennifer leaned forward, put her hand on her chest to keep her heart from jumping out:
“But, Jeff, you didn’t kill him!”
“No. He was dead by the time I got there. But in my mind, in my heart, I did. I am innocent in the eyes of the law, but I am not innocent before God.”
He paused but Jennifer remained silent.
“So I
Similar Books
