Zero day code, p.35
Zero Day Code, page 35
part #1 of End of Days Series
"So much for a hot shower," he said, as they stood on the sidewalk in front of the engineer’s home. James had no idea whether his guys had fled in panic, if they were travelling, or perhaps just down the road trying to find bread and milk.
"We can stop at a roadhouse and get some moist towelettes," Michelle deadpanned. He felt bad about having dragged her across the countryside and through the night. She hadn't complained, not once, but if she was even half as tired and pissed off as he felt, she must have the patience of a saint. James was footsore and his back was hurting. The laptop in his pack smacked into the base of his spine with every step he took. It was only a light tap, annoying at first, but over a twelve-hour hike it had become excruciating. He had to take the pack off and carry it in one hand, frequently switching it to the other to balance out the load. The switches became more frequent as they trudged through the night.
Dawn broke over Maryland, hot and close. The storms which had swept through the region the previous night had done nothing to break the humidity or wind back the heat. He had no wallet, no access to funds, no way of proving his identity. He’d really banked on meeting up with those clients here in Germantown, and now that he could see that wasn't going to happen, he was at a loss.
"We should push on," Michelle Nguyen said. "Find a diner or a cafe, maybe a truck stop somewhere back on the main route, get some breakfast.”
“You're forgetting what happened yesterday,” he said. “There's a fair chance any place we go, they'll have run out of food already. Like the Marriot last night."
Michelle leaned against the rock wall enclosing the engineer’s front yard. She stretched her neck, her legs, and twisted her torso to work the kinks out of her back. James lowered his backpack to the ground. He was thinking of leaving the laptop here, somewhere secure, and getting in contact with the engineer if and when things blew over.
"And you're forgetting where we are, James,” Michelle said. "About thirty miles from the national capital. When things unravel, they come apart at the edges. I’ll bet that Homeland’s rationing system is being enforced in DC. Probably not in the Ozarks, I'll grant you that. But I think we're good for a can of beans and a packet of Twinkies yet."
"But I don't have any money on me. I left my wallet at the White House."
She smiled. He wondered where she found the chill to do that.
"Well, I'm not an idiot,” Michelle said. “So I didn't leave my wallet behind, and I've got all my cards and about a hundred bucks in cash. I can pay for your breakfast. But we need to eat and rest, and you need to get your shit together and start thinking this through. Your plan to get home to your parents? That's a good plan. They have access to nutrients and they are a long way from any kind of population centre. We just have to figure out how to get there. Let's get fed. Let's find your bank. Get some funds, some credit, some negotiable fucking bearer bonds or whatever it is you guys play with. But let's not sit here by the side of the road whining like little bitches because your plan didn't run exactly the way that you thought it would. I got some sour news for you, Jimbo. This is not going to be the last setback we have on the way to Montana. So cowboy the fuck up and let's get moving."
He blinked.
It was hard to believe he was getting reamed out by a little Vietnamese woman with science-fiction hair, fantasy pirate tattoos and a Hello Kitty backpack. But he was, and it was humiliating, and he wanted it to stop.
James O’Donnell hauled his ass out of the one-man pity party where it’d been sitting in the corner nursing a flat beer, and he set his mind to grinding on how the hell they were going to deal with this.
"You're right," he said. "We just need to find a bank branch open. I've got PIN codes, passwords, even old signature files stored somewhere in their system. We can do this. It's just going to take a couple more hours, that's all."
He picked up his backpack again, resolving to hold onto the laptop, as heavy as it was. "Let's find somewhere to eat.”
"I feel like waffles," Michelle said.
Waffles weren’t a problem. There was an IHOP about two miles further on, strategically positioned across the road from a 24-hour gym. It was crazy busy, and they had to wait half an hour for a table, but the kitchen had no trouble meeting their order for an omelette and waffle combo. An inexplicably bubbly waitress told James they’d been lucky. They got their main weekly delivery just before ‘all the trouble’.
“My roommate works the Taco Bell over the other side of town and they’re closed today because they can't re-stock. Bummer hey?”
"Bummer," Michelle echoed in a mock Valley girl accent as the waitress left to place their order. "I'll bet that's what they say in Seoul as the artillery starts raining down. ‘Whoa. Bummer, dude.’”
Sitting in the booth across from her, feeling 100% better simply for being taking the weight off his feet, James snorted. "Your mood turned dark. What happened to cowboy the fuck up?”
"Nothing, I'm good. But I couldn't quite tell whether you were drooling over that waitress or the smell of so much waffly goodness in here.”
He blushed. He had secretly been checking out the waitress. She reminded him of a girl he’d dated back in Montana. She’d broken his heart. Michelle laughed at him when she saw the red flush creep up his cheeks.
“Check your privilege, Romeo," she smirked. "And try to remember, I'm paying for you.”
Abashed, James returned to his breakfast. The restaurant was as crowded as any he’d ever seen. Staff were asking customers to share booths and tables, and those who weren’t in a generous frame of mind simply had to wait their turn.
“Wait could be more than a half hour now,” their bubbly waitress informed one angry man in a bright yellow shirt. Seemed James and Michelle had got in before the worst of it. Yellow Shirt guy stormed out. Most didn’t.
Everybody was talking about the cyberattacks, the banking collapse, and China. But the signal-to-noise ratio was very low and all that James could discern from the background chatter was that people were freaked out. Chaos seemed to be the organising principle of the day. Some schools had cancelled classes. Some hadn’t. Two women at the small table next to James and Michelle both worked for the same business, a health insurance company. One of them had received two text messages that morning saying that because of IT problems, the office was closed until further notice. Her friend showed off a message on her phone demanding that staff attend work as normal.
“I just don’t know what to do, Jeanie,” the woman closest to James said.
“Finish your breakfast,” her friend advised.
It was sound advice, James thought as he tuned them out.
"Do you have to check in with work?” he asked Michelle.
She shook her head, spearing a piece of bacon.
“I’ve been reclassified as a remote asset, remember? I messaged Panozzo that I was going with you. I emailed Holloway but haven’t heard back yet. He’s probably a mile underground in the Rockies or something. Panozzo told me to keep my phone charged up and turned on, and to check in once a day by landline or email if I’m out of cell range. But I don't think I’ll be missed. What about you? You going to send out your newsletter this week?"
James stopped eating.
"You know,” he said, “I’d forgotten about that. Jesus. That's my business. I don't…"
He trailed off. He didn't know what he was going to say.
I don't know that I’ll ever send another newsletter.
I don't know if anybody will be around to read them soon.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore.
Michelle picked up the conversation for him as she pushed a wedge of waffle through a puddle of maple syrup. For a small woman, she had a great appetite. Although hiking through the night definitely helped too.
"Let's see if we can get your money sorted out,” she said. “We need funds to get across to Montana. That's your job, James.” She pointed her fork at him. Maple syrup dripped from a piece of bacon. “That's your responsibility today,” she said. “Get it done. We'll get a vehicle of some sort, fill it with supplies, and I will drive. If you want to write something for your clients, tell them to put their heads between their knees and kiss their wealthy asses goodbye, we can do that. Assuming you can get online. But let's deal with our problems first."
Again, he found himself surprised to be lectured by somebody who looked like an extra from a 1980s music video. But that was exhaustion. That was dumbass male arrogance. He’d spent enough time with this woman to know how smart she was. He was beginning to understand how tough she was too. Maybe all of this would blow over in the next couple of days, and if they did James vowed that he was going to ask Michelle Nguyen out on a date. An actual dinner date, mostly to apologise for dragging her out into the boonies.
“Okay,” he said. "Let's finish up and get moving. I need to see if anybody here knows if Bank of America has a branch locally. And if nobody knows, we going to have to find an old-fashioned phonebook. My phone is out of battery.”
“Mine’s not,” Michelle said. “But the network is still down.”
They both finished every morsel of food on the plates. They’d been very hungry, but leaving food go to waste was no longer an option. James paused as he stood, taking a moment to scan the crowded dining room. He scoped out a large number of working parents with school-age kids. The children mostly looked excited and happy; the parents appeared uniformly worried. One mother was begging her daughter to finish her breakfast. (“Morticia, please!”) The teen, who was working a whole Goth revival thing, folded her arms and stared implacably at her mom and shook her head. James resisted the urge to intervene.
Michelle saw him checking out the scene.
She shook her head, a grim expression on her face, and she did not resist the urge to intervene, stalking over to the table and taking out her security pass, all but jamming it into the girl’s face.
“Hey! Morticia, my name is Agent Nguyen,” she said, disappearing the laminate before the shocked mother and daughter could get a good look at it. “Eat your pancakes like your mom says. It’s the law now. National emergency protocols. Wasting food is a federal crime as of today. You will eat your fucking breakfast, or I will arrest your sorry fucking Vampirella ass and drag you out of here and into the nearest federal prison with a tanning bed… and sweetheart,” she leaned in close, “They all have tanning beds. Now eat!”
The girl was shaking so hard she nearly dropped her fork when she tried to pick it up, but she did eat, with her head bowed low. Michelle winked at the mother, who smiled nervously, uncertainly in thanks.
“Holy shit,” James muttered as they made their way to the counter, weaving and pushing through the crowd. Its hubbub was gradually building into a roar. “I felt like was gonna get sent to tanning prison.”
“She was a spoiled little biatch,” Michelle said under the cover of the background noise. “And it will be a crime to waste a pancake like that soon enough. She needs to harden up. Everyone does.”
Michelle paid cash for the meal. A hand-lettered sign by the register informed customers that all sales today were cash-only. James asked the manager, a middle-aged white guy with a little pot belly and curly hair receding fast, whether he knew of a local Bank of America. He did not. He was a Wells Fargo customer. But he did point them towards a man dining by himself at the end of the bar.
"That's Mr Campbell," he said. "I'm not sure which bank he works for, but ‘m pretty sure he’s with one of them. You can ask him."
They did.
Turned out Roy Campbell was an analyst with HSBC. He lived in Germantown and commuted every day to the capital.
“Not today, though,” he informed them. “No point.”
“IT down?” James asked.
The banker shook his head. “Not that I know of, no. But my office is in a part of town that’s been locked down. Can’t get to it, so I’ll have to work offsite. Thought I might spend my commuting time having a treat breakfast. I normally just get toast at home and eat in the car.”
“I hear ya,” Michelle sympathised.
Roy Campbell knew where James’ local branch was but warned them there would likely be no money in the cash machines, and severe restrictions on over-the-counter withdrawals.
“This madness,” Campbell said, waving his hand around to take in the crush of extra diners. “Don’t normally believe in the government messing with market forces, but sometimes you have to save people from themselves. You know about the withdrawal limit that Homeland and the Fed imposed, right?”
"It's okay," James said. “I’m looking to buy a car. I can take a cashier's check for that."
He thanked Campbell for his time and was about to leave when he paused, turning back.
"Mr Campbell, excuse me, I’m sorry," James said. "We've been on the road. Like literally, we walked here from Washington overnight."
Roy Campbell's eyes went wide.
"My word," he said. "That's impressive. Crazy, but impressive."
"That's what it says on his business card," Michelle teased.
"I'm in the business too,” James said. “I write a newsletter. For investors. Can you give me the short version of what's happening with the banks? I know they had no liquidity problem, not a real one. But do you know how the market stands this morning?"
Campbell leaned back and folded his arms, staring over the sea of diners and out of a large window into the morning sun. He closed his eyes and sighed.
"I wish I knew, son," he said, turning back to them. "This was nothing like 2008. It was different. Psychological warfare, if you ask me. Economic sabotage."
“And it worked?” Michelle asked.
“You paid cash this morning, Miss," Campbell said. "You wouldn't have done that two days ago. And like I said, you'll have a helluva time getting more than a couple of hundred dollars in cash from any bank. People have been lining up, demanding to withdraw their savings, all of them. The Dow has been suspended. Most of the foreign exchanges too. It's a rout, a panic.”
Campbell sighed again, longer this time, as if they had tired him out.
“I’ve seen nothing like it,” he continued. “And I started my career in Asia, smack bang in the middle of the meltdown in the 1990s. If I were you, son," he looked at James, "I'd be telling your subscribers to get into bullion."
James said nothing. He just looked at the man.
"Gold is up eight hundred percent," Campbell said. "That's where the market is."
He smiled, almost apologetically.
"But my breakfast is going cold. And it was supposed to be a treat.”
They thanked him for his time and left.
The bank was a twenty-minute walk away. There was no rioting in the streets, no looting, no obvious signs of breakdown or chaos, but when they arrived there was already a crowd waiting out front. A much bigger crowd than the International House of Pancakes had attracted. Similar clusters of people had closed in on JP Morgan Chase across the road and a local S&L up the street. James checked his watch.
"It should be open by now," he said.
"No fucking shit, Einstein?" said the man in front of them, turning around to glare at James. Then he saw Michelle and sneered.
He was an intense, barrel shaped man wearing bright red Bermuda shorts and a loud yellow, short-sleeved shirt. James recognised him. It was the angry guy who hadn’t wanted to share a table at IHOP. He must have found a solitary breakfast elsewhere and joined that back of this queue just before they arrived. He was unshaven and his skin colour was florid. From the dark bags under his eyes, he looked as though he'd been up all night searching for lonesome pancakes and a functioning cash machine. James did not engage. He and Michelle moved a few feet away, but not so far as to lose their place in the line.
"It’d be good to get a stash of green, you know," she said quietly. “I know that MasterCard and Visa’s payment systems got fucking smashed yesterday. I just don't know how useful plastic is going to be. Or cashier's checks."
The man in the yellow shirt was glaring at them, looking as though he wanted to get into an argument. James moved further away, taking Michelle with him. He decided he didn’t care if they lost their place in the line. Somebody else could take the brunt of this guy’s manifest disappointments with life.
"Me neither," he said. "That HSBC guy Campbell might be right. Maybe not about the gold. People are gonna work out pretty quickly that you can't eat it. But fungible goods, tradable commodities. Food, tobacco, medicine. They might be as good as currency within a couple of weeks if the situation gets any worse. We need to see how much of that stuff we can get our hands on."
He could see Michelle turning it over in her head. Doing the analysis.
"Agreed," she said at last.
The angry man in Bermuda shorts had moved closer to them again, obviously eavesdropping. They stopped talking and five minutes later the bank branch opened. Two security guards, both of them carrying shotguns stood on either side of the manager as she announced they would only be allowing six people inside at any one time. The crowd groaned and protested, but the guys with the shotguns looked like they'd been carved out of granite. They weren't going anywhere and they weren't letting anybody through unless the boss said so. Having arrived late, James and Michelle had to wait for another hour and a half before they could get in. And by then another three hundred people had joined the crowd.
"I need to see the manager, or an assistant manager," James said when he reached the teller at the window. She was deeply unimpressed.
"I'm sorry, sir," the young woman said, "but the withdrawal restrictions have been ordered by the Department of Homeland Security. We cannot allow anybody to take out more than two hundred dollars in cash during any 24-hour period."
