KEITH HOAR

Prologue:

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David McClain sat in the semi-darkness, eyes glued to the television screen, unable to believe what he was hearing. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the television remote. Never in a million years would he have believed it would come to this.

     "Lies!" David exploded, shaking his head in anger and frustration. "Nothing but stinking lies. How can he sit there with a straight face and say that?"

     David pointed the remote, switched off the television news broadcast, and hurled the remote across the room. Batteries and splinters of plastic bounced across the floor as the remote smashed into the wall and split into pieces. He pushed up off the couch and paced across the floor of his small condominium’s living room, an angry resolve growing within him. Knowing what he had to do, he turned and headed into the spare bedroom he used as an office.

     “It is a very dark day. A very, very dark day,” he thought to himself as he sat down in front of his computer. He tapped the keyboard’s space bar, guided the mouse pointer to the icon for his email program, and double-clicked the left mouse button. After the email program opened, he clicked “Compose Email”. He dug his wallet out of his hip pocket and slid out the scrap of paper hidden under his driver’s license. He unfolded the paper, typed the cryptic address in the “To:” block, and typed an innocuous phrase in the “Subject:” block.

     His fingers tapped hurriedly on the keyboard as he composed the message in his head. Taking only a few seconds, he quickly read what he had typed. “Sounds good,” he said. Guiding the mouse pointer, he clicked the “Paperclip” icon, navigated to a folder simply titled “Stuff” deep in the directory tree. He selected three files and then clicked “Attach”. In a hurry to complete his mission, he clicked “Send”.

“Not good,” David moaned as his eyes fell on the list of emails sitting in the Inbox. In his haste, and his mind clouded by anger, he had forgotten he was signed in using his normal email application and not the private, and secure, email appplication he had intended.

     “Not good at all,” he repeated. He sat there for several minutes trying to decide what to do. There was really nothing he could do. The simple email application he used did not have a “Recall” feature. The email had been sent and that was that.

     David knew the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act allowes the U.S. government to collect the communications of Americans under certain circumstances. Using that authority, the government watches online activity every minute of the day through automated methods and non-human, eavesdropping algorithms. The government has the ability to dip into online communications whenever it deems necessary ― sometimes with a warrant, and more often than not without a warrant.

     “Well, what’s done is done. All that’s left to do now is write my eulogy,” David muttered as he ran his hand through his curly hair. He pushed his chair back, stood up, and started toward the door. Halfway to the door, he stopped and turned back toward the computer, deciding he should send a goodbye and warning to an old friend. Someone he respected more than anyone else.

     David signed out of the normal email application and started up the private, secure, email application. Being more careful this time, he composed and sent a message that would get his friend’s attention but would be meaningless to anyone else. He signed out of the email application, powered down the computer, and headed for the kitchen.

     As his last enjoyment, he decided to eat the last two pieces of chocolate pie. "What difference does it make now," he mumbled as he stuffed a large bite of pie into his mouth.

     The next morning David McClain, Senior Intel Officer, United States Secret Service, got dressed and left for work just like any other morning. He did not arrive at work. Even his closest friends never heard from him. He simply vanished.