Read Online The Dirty Secret by Brent Wolfingbarger - Free Book Online
Authors: Brent Wolfingbarger
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across the room, Dave thought he could see veins bulging in the man’s temples as his bright blue eyes burrowed into one of the minions orbiting around him. As Dave and his tour guide closed on the circle, the bald man diverted his attention to them.
“I got him here as soon as I could,” the tour guide blurted half-apologetically.
“About damn time,” the bald guy replied gruffly. “The Commission should have been back from lunch five minutes ago.”
Dave decided to take the initiative, extending his right hand to the apparent leader of Jonathan Royal’s Mingo County posse. “Dave Anderson. I don’t think my speedometer dipped below 95 the whole way from Madison. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
The bald man’s expression softened slightly but he returned the handshake with a grip so firm Dave felt like his metacarpals were shattering. “Mack Palmer. We don’t have a lot of time, so quickly tell me exactly what you think these guys want to pull with this memory card stunt.”
“Well, I’m no computer scientist,” Dave began, “but I have a lifetime of experience working on political campaigns and an encyclopedic knowledge of the ways people have stolen elections in the past. Combine those things with my inherent distrust of people in general, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what’s going on.”
Palmer’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head back slightly. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, a note of curiosity in his voice.
“It’s a two-prong strategy,” Dave explained. “First of all, if everything goes well for them, they really do hope to substitute the alleged ‘backup data’ from AIS’s server for the real McCoy that was processed on Election Night twice – initially at the precincts themselves, and then later at the County Clerk’s Office. If they convince the County Commission to do that, considering who really calls the shots at AIS, there’s no doubt Jonathan Royal loses this election.
“Secondly, even if they can’t persuade the County Commission that the ‘backup data’ is more reliable than the original returns, they hope to discredit the results reported by those disputed precincts on Election Night. Because the memory cards aren’t functioning properly now, they will argue, it stands to reason that those same memory cards very well may have not been working properly on Election Night. If that’s the case, why should the County Commission – or the rest of the world, for that matter – have any faith that the initial results tabulated for those precincts are accurate either?”
Palmer spoke slowly as he digested the ploy’s political ramifications. “So if they can’t shift enough votes into Senator Wilson’s column by substituting the backup data for the original results, they can still muddy the water enough to confuse the public.”
“Yep. And try to create enough uncertainty that would allow the courts to overturn the results and declare that Wilson and Vincent won West Virginia’s popular vote. Considering the fact that four of the five justices on the state Supreme Court are Democrats, I’d say that’s not an outlandish possibility.”
Mack Palmer’s head bobbed up and down once. “Now that angle of things,” he said. “Twenty years of practicing law in this state has made me well aware of. I know West Virginia election law like the inside of my own eyelids, but I’ve never claimed to be a politician, and I certainly don’t know much about computers. That’s what Spence here is for.” He jabbed his index finger toward the chest of Dave’s tour guide.
Dave shook his head rapidly as if trying to sweep haze from his mind. The young blond man smiled sheepishly and said, “Surprisingly enough, they actually trust me to do more around here than just fetch coffee and lost bigwigs from D.C.”
Anderson viewed the youngster with newfound respect. “Well, all right. In that case, Spence, why would the vote count from Election Night be more
“I got him here as soon as I could,” the tour guide blurted half-apologetically.
“About damn time,” the bald guy replied gruffly. “The Commission should have been back from lunch five minutes ago.”
Dave decided to take the initiative, extending his right hand to the apparent leader of Jonathan Royal’s Mingo County posse. “Dave Anderson. I don’t think my speedometer dipped below 95 the whole way from Madison. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
The bald man’s expression softened slightly but he returned the handshake with a grip so firm Dave felt like his metacarpals were shattering. “Mack Palmer. We don’t have a lot of time, so quickly tell me exactly what you think these guys want to pull with this memory card stunt.”
“Well, I’m no computer scientist,” Dave began, “but I have a lifetime of experience working on political campaigns and an encyclopedic knowledge of the ways people have stolen elections in the past. Combine those things with my inherent distrust of people in general, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what’s going on.”
Palmer’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head back slightly. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, a note of curiosity in his voice.
“It’s a two-prong strategy,” Dave explained. “First of all, if everything goes well for them, they really do hope to substitute the alleged ‘backup data’ from AIS’s server for the real McCoy that was processed on Election Night twice – initially at the precincts themselves, and then later at the County Clerk’s Office. If they convince the County Commission to do that, considering who really calls the shots at AIS, there’s no doubt Jonathan Royal loses this election.
“Secondly, even if they can’t persuade the County Commission that the ‘backup data’ is more reliable than the original returns, they hope to discredit the results reported by those disputed precincts on Election Night. Because the memory cards aren’t functioning properly now, they will argue, it stands to reason that those same memory cards very well may have not been working properly on Election Night. If that’s the case, why should the County Commission – or the rest of the world, for that matter – have any faith that the initial results tabulated for those precincts are accurate either?”
Palmer spoke slowly as he digested the ploy’s political ramifications. “So if they can’t shift enough votes into Senator Wilson’s column by substituting the backup data for the original results, they can still muddy the water enough to confuse the public.”
“Yep. And try to create enough uncertainty that would allow the courts to overturn the results and declare that Wilson and Vincent won West Virginia’s popular vote. Considering the fact that four of the five justices on the state Supreme Court are Democrats, I’d say that’s not an outlandish possibility.”
Mack Palmer’s head bobbed up and down once. “Now that angle of things,” he said. “Twenty years of practicing law in this state has made me well aware of. I know West Virginia election law like the inside of my own eyelids, but I’ve never claimed to be a politician, and I certainly don’t know much about computers. That’s what Spence here is for.” He jabbed his index finger toward the chest of Dave’s tour guide.
Dave shook his head rapidly as if trying to sweep haze from his mind. The young blond man smiled sheepishly and said, “Surprisingly enough, they actually trust me to do more around here than just fetch coffee and lost bigwigs from D.C.”
Anderson viewed the youngster with newfound respect. “Well, all right. In that case, Spence, why would the vote count from Election Night be more
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