The Dirty Secret by Brent Wolfingbarger Read Free Book Online

Royal. “Hello.”
    “How are things looking in Madison?” the nominee’s voice boomed.
    Dave smiled and winked at Hopson. “Better than we realized.”
    “Hot damn! Nice to hear. Couldn’t have come at a better time, in fact.”
    A look of concern lodged itself on Dave’s face. “Why? What’s up?”
    Royal sighed heavily. “We just got word from Williamson. There’s something fishy going on down there with the voting machines’ memory cards.”
    “What do you mean by fishy? ”
    “They say some of the memory cards aren’t working right. The data from the cards was supposedly uploaded on Election Night to servers maintained by the company that sold the machines to the county. Our opponents want to use that backup data for the canvass. Care to guess which vendor’s machines the good folks in Mingo County used?”
    Dave’s stomach sank. “AIS?”
    “AIS,” Royal affirmed. “Assurant Information Services, which bought the Cicero brand electronic voting system from the civic-minded nerds who developed it. And the venture capital group that owns AIS is headed by your friend and mine …”
    “Dmitri Mazniashvili,” Dave moaned.
    “The very bastard. Wanna bet which way the votes stored in that backup data are gonna swing?”
    “Shit! Who do we have in charge down there?”
    “It doesn’t matter. I’ve told them you’re taking over as soon as you can get there. Until then, they’ll keep the cameras rolling and stall for time.”
    “Got it,” Dave said. Mentally calculating the distance down Route 119 to Williamson, he added, “I can be there in a little under an hour.”
    “Don’t get pulled over – especially by state troopers, ha ha! But get there quick. They’re gonna start dealing with this discovery about one o’clock.”
    Dave glanced down at the platinum Rolex watch on his left wrist. It was ten after twelve. “I’m on my way.”
    Dave hung up the phone and glanced at Hopson. “Can I borrow your truck?”
    “Where you taking it?” Hopson asked. “Williamson?”
    “Yep. Some of their voting machines’ memory cards magically stopped working this morning.”
    Hopson snorted. “Magic, my ass.” He flipped on his turn signal and pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot. “I’ll jump out here at the pizza place. My wife can pick me up and take me back to the courthouse after lunch.”
    “Thanks. I’ll get your truck back as soon as I can.”
    Hopson unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. “Don’t worry about it,” he said calmly, leaving the keys in the ignition as he exited the cab. “Good luck and Godspeed, Mr. Anderson.” With those blessings, he raised his cell phone to his ear and strolled toward the restaurant’s front door.
    Dave slid into the driver’s seat and put on his seat belt. Throwing the truck’s transmission into drive, he started plotting a course of action.

CHAPTER 11
    INTERSTATE 79 NEAR BRIDGEPORT, WEST VIRGINIA
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 12:30 P.M.
    As State Senator Jack McCallen drove north on I-79 toward Morgantown, his thoughts raced through his PowerPoint presentation. The commercial loan officer had coached him on the points he should emphasize in his pitch to the bank’s president, and Jack mentally reviewed those items one last time.
    McCallen Resources had friendly relationships with the “gathering” companies that purchased raw oil and the “transportation” companies that purchased raw natural gas from well-head operators like his company. Those companies sold them for a profit to local plants that refined and processed them into products consumers could use. Jack would argue that his company’s good relations with those middlemen improved its chances to turn a profit even if prices dropped and times got tough.
    Moreover, Jack knew MR had invested wisely during the recent boom, updating and upgrading its wells with the most accurate measuring devices and the most efficient capturing equipment available. Those investments