PortalLeaks

Not Cool With the Boys

SATURDAY 15 OCTOBER 2016 - ECUADORIAN EMBASSY, LONDON UK

And how is the family these days? It’s been so long since we last spoke. The Secretary of State was on his best behaviour yet he could not mask the urgency of his movements, which put his sense of timing off. Guillermo didn’t like Ron Berry as a person but he had his noble points when it came to his technique as diplomat. In fact he was in awe. In his nearly 20 years in international politics Guillermo Avellino had seen how some in his own diplomatic corps emulated - and even copied - Berry’s techniques for their own betterment. Yes, he did have a style. But that blue tie he wore wasn’t about to sway him into anything against protocol, unannounced visit or not.

It has been a while – over a year, Mr. Secretary.

It has been a busy time during this election year, as you can appreciate. Ron Berry surveyed the modest office and noted a feint smell of alcohol-based cleaning products.

"We are all very keen to see what unfolds, he said. To see how it all plays out." Guillermo’s native tongue was Ecuadorian Spanish but he had spent six years at boarding school in Canada, where he made a special effort to learn the subtleties of the English language and the shades of meaning when English Expressions were used. It fascinated him then and it fascinated him today.

Yes, what unfolds. There have been many surprises during the election. Berry smiled at him, waiting for a response.

There have been many surprises, yes. We follow it in the media. Guillermo smiled but he regretted it because that was when Ron Berry had his opening. Poignant scolding unfurling.

See there are many things that can arise during an election as we all know. Now, in our day and age with such a porous media infrastructure and hacking and firewalls and cyber security and all those things that we never spoke about 25 years ago because these weren’t issues like they are now, governments must take proactive steps to restrain the illegality of pilfering binary numbers from midair in order to protect the freedoms that we represent for our people. The seasoned diplomat paused for gravitas. You know how that works, don’t you?

We are very proactive with our cyber security sir, but I know we can always use a stronger firewall. Guillermo still disliked computers: the mysteries of programming and code caused him unease. And we actively recruit the latest graduates from the computer sciences. We will continue to do our best.

But you see there is a complication in all this. I know your sovereignty here is protected under international law but there is something we have in the United States’ law that outlaws any outside international interference in a federal election. And that’s frankly why I’m here. These tweets and emails and everything being sent from this building is adversely affecting our election. Now what if we had something in America who was publishing and spreading negative propaganda to your political rivals and electorate? What if the United States was negatively affecting your federal election? You wouldn’t like it one bit, would you? Well we don’t like it either. The President has asked me personally to come here to ask if you would, acting on your own honourable volition, restrict the Internet access of your temporary visitor who is the cause of our common problem. This would, we believe, alleviate the problem for a temporary basis.

Guillermo had feared this day might come one day but whenever he had thought of it in the past it had played out much differently. He was surprised at how simple and precise his language was to pinpoint the mutual issue in play.

You know our position with regards to this matter. As he spoke the words he experienced a flare of Latin anger that remained in the base of his throat like heartburn.

Yes Guillermo, we do. Ron Berry’s eyes narrowed under his dark eyebrows. Would you like me to repeat our hope? Would you like me to ask you again? Is that what you are asking me? The chill in the air for a moment was ice cold. And poor Guillermo could not contain himself.

Your hope. I know what your hope is.

Perhaps you will take it up with your boss? The Secretary of State turned to a waiter standing at the doorway. "More coffee por favor." He sat and finished the rest of his coffee in one gulp, entrenching himself in the chair with his minions around him. His features were now chiselled from wood, his profile a portrait of stoic patience.

The Latin flare of anger had now cooled so Guillermo dialed the phone and spoke to his boss. They spoke in rapid Spanish before Guillermo put President Rivera on the speakerphone.

Mr. President please go ahead. Mr. Secretary of State Berry is here from the United States. Sir, the President of Ecuador.

Hello Mr. President. Berry now stood with a fresh cup of coffee, his hand shaking slightly.

Yes Mr. Secretary, hello. Dr. Avellino has told me of your concern and I’m sorry but we are set on our position to let Mr. Leith publish. He is a protected refugee fleeing from a ridiculous – if you excuse me – a ridiculous charade of law. No charges as you know have been laid and we have offered to have him questioned at the embassy there so you know the situation. President Rivera paused and cleared his throat. May I ask: why now?

Because Mr. President, his words are negatively affecting our federal election. The words hung there in the air, people shifting uncomfortably. "Mr. President, I do apologize for my unannounced request but you know the severity of this. You can surely see how others countries in the world are not impressed by this too, as these classified documents include names of government officials from countries around the world – with countries that do business with the United States. You can see how this might negatively affect them too, and you would hate to see some of your major trade partners switch to other nation states for supplies of your oil or flowers or even your bananas. There could be some negative fallout for you. Some consequences."

Again the dead air was palpable.

I think there could be… Guillermo was cut off.

Pardon me Dr. Avellino but I just want to emphasize how interconnected we all are now, said Ron Berry. We all trade with each other and this is a clear contravention of international norms of behaviour. Do you think China would not take action if this Paddy and his PortalLeaks were publishing private classified emails that were directly affecting their national security and economic trade? Sir, if I may speak plainly?

Guillermo sat down, posture deflated.

Yes, please.

"Sir, basically what you’re doing is not cool with the boys. And the boys I’m talking about are all the nation states in the world engaged in survival. There is a certain code of conduct when it comes to a country’s federal election being negatively affected by international players hiding behind trumped up legal red tape. Secretary of State Ron Berry was in now hitting his stride, using good form. But upon serious analysis, there is a simple way to solve the problem. And that is simply cut off his Internet connection."

President Rivera spoke in rapid Spanish to Guillermo, who responded by explaining what not cool with the boys meant in his native tongue."

"That’s it? Not cool with the boys."

That’s it Mr. President. That’s all of it.

That was when Secretary of State Berry did something rather theatrical: he stood semi stooped over holding his coffee and his hand still jittery, quiet, his breath held but his eyes darting around the room at every eye on him, imploring each eye not to utter a word. He stopped on Guillermo’s eyes. Blazing. Urgent. Wild. Black. There was a naked ugliness revealed in a moment that Guillermo knew he would never forget.

Dr. Avellino, please accommodate Mr. Berry and cut the connection. We will speak later Guillermo.

Yes Mr. President.

So Ron please convey our remorse to your many trade partners for our oversight. It was not intentional.

I will do my best.

Guillermo was faintly aware of danger and destruction. He felt a fissure open that had let water in and now the ice was coming in to freeze and crack it wide open.

Chapter 2

Turbulence in the Andes

SATURDAY 15 OCTOBER – IBARRA, THE ANDES MOUNTAINS, ECUADOR

Swarms of birds flew from one tree to another outside the window from Gunther DiLeo, his PortalLeaks’ work scattered across his messy desk. Massive windows revealed a canopy of tree-tops that rose upwards like a wall in the distance, which created an ideal workplace for Gunther. He was a combination of people: Swiss and northern Italian, passionate and orderly, impulsive yet logical - he always saw himself swimming in an estuary rather than just fresh water or just salt water. In fact he often described himself as a ‘walking conundrum’ to girls he met. But Gunther was not his usual jovial self all perched and safe in his Ecuadorean Andean hideout. Something was amiss in Eden.

He focused on the email from Paddy Leith, his boss and the prophet to a new age in information transparency. It was true that Gunther was still young but it didn’t matter. In fact it was better because he could learn and grow with PortalLeaks and read the classified info that came across the PortalLeaks desk. He didn’t mind organizing it all because he had one of those minds that could instantly organize and categorize and file it away in a very neat and concise directory. That was his gift, but his lack of other gifts were very apparent too, such as the state of the casa. It was spacious and cool and colonial Spanish but it always looked like he had just thrown a party the night before. Whatever he did he could not get the house clean. The dishes in the sink didn’t smell so he still had time to wash them. He had thought of hiring someone to clean up but there was very little in the petty cash for that. So he did it himself. Enough anyway. Once in a while. He couldn’t understand how some lived in completely clean houses because when people live in a house it becomes lived in, and messy with books and login passwords and hashtags. For Gunther he was always in a state of organizing documents of PortalLeaks information.

Gunther loved his work but more than his work he loved being the guy who was preparing international publishing star Paddy Leith’s new Eagle’s Nest in Ecuador for when he lands. Gunther has created a retreat where Paddy can rule his cyber empire from so far up in these clouds. He glanced outside at the clouds that hugged the lush mountaintops that were set on the eastern horizon. He knew he was the perfect guy for the job. Like his life job. All his strengths played to reaching his goal despite being so riddled with other shortcomings. Like the Peter Principle, he knew he could reach his maximum potential undertaking the establishment of the PortalLeaks’ new International Headquarters. For Gunther it was an honor. They didn’t even have to pay him. A place to live and his petty cash fund was more than enough.

Smoke from his pipe obscured his focus on the succinct-yet-oddly-worded email in front of him. He read it aloud as he followed each word on the screen with his finger: Dilly, something awry. US peeps here. Unexpected black hats with many black vans. My door is still closed but there is something in the air. I can see the black vans out my window. Gunther smoked his pipe and then as he exhaled he said the last words: Have hashtags ready.

But the hashtags were only for that one time when everything goes FUBAR.

Couldn’t be FUBAR action, he said to his dog Chaucer. Things are too good for any FUBAR action, right puppy dog? Chaucer, a German shepherd with a black face, didn’t look too concerned.

Gunther was more frustrated than angry or worried. He hated vague emails. For Gunther, who was OCD and perhaps even suffering from mild Tourette’s syndrome, he detested anything imprecise. It was worse than being immoral. Sloppiness with language was weak intellectual effort manifest. It was also bad manners. And disrespectful to the reader. To him. And Paddy Leith was a guy who shared that absolute demand of grammatical precision that very few others’ had.

That’s what it is, he said to Chaucer. "Frickin sloppy volley man. Very uncool!" He stood up abruptly and stepped to the balcony. The air was thick with moisture. Living in a rainforest on the equator 8000 feet above sea level surrounded by hidden coca plantations was a cool vibe. There was no way anyone could find him because his neighbours were so far away and they were people who did not want visitors. The locals knew a hippie lived at the hideout down the road and that was good enough for him because that was basically what it was: a hippie who lived off an income from an online business. Simple. And his dealer was his age and cool too, recommended by his neighbor. I mean those guys in the Ecuadorean government knew exactly where this place was, and have it labelled as Paddy’s retreat from American special forces who might wander around Ecuador to find this diamond in a haystack.

They won’t find us, will they puppy doggie? Chaucer ran up to him and wagged her tail, happy to have her master talk to her. Something in his voice. He looked at his half-empty pipe and felt the nagging craving for another hit. He glanced at his reflection in the sliding glass doors and saw the bags under his eyes but he waved his hand in the air. And so in the meantime puppy doggie, we’ll just keep at it, won’t we? Gooood doggy! He knelt down and hugged his dog, feeling the warmth of companionship that surprisingly did little to quell what ailed him in his gut: that something was wrong with his boss. Best thing to do is to do the right thing: confront his sloppiness. Have to. Have to man. And so Gunther wrote the following email to Paddy Leith:

Volley vague. Hashtags here as per usual fully cocked. Are these visitors an immediate threat? Note: everything is in place. Give me the word and I will release our plan B contingency piece. Otherwise, please advise on priority items on agenda.

Gunther sat on his couch and hit the send button on his laptop. He did have the hashtags ready, and so did seven others who represented the Council of Nine. He thought to himself: Now that PortalLeaks’ lawyers were dead, Johns in April and Cantor in May, and even that guy Seth Tisch from the DNC who leaked the emails to PortalLeaks died in July, the Council of Nine had expanded to keep the number at nine, a decision that Paddy had insisted on but one that made very little sense to him, especially at such a time during the US election year and the upcoming questioning at the embassy in the Fall by the Swedes. Two of the four new people on the Council of Nine Gunther seemed fine but two seem to be pushing a slightly different agenda. He could see it in the language they used to describe ideas and responses they had to certain actions that have been proven effective in the promulgation of new information from anonymous leakers. And some tweets were worded with questionable words for PortalLeaks.

Chapter 3

Operation Rebel Kitty

SATURDAY 15 OCTOBER – ECUADOREAN EMBASSY, LONDON

Guillermo was pissed off. His day was shot and the reports and unanswered emails were left pressing against his temples. The bustle in the embassy put him on edge. What was strange was how many secret service accompanied the Secretary of State. It was true he was number four on the list of who would inherit the presidency if the president, vice president and leader of the house were dead. Big ass job, big ass security boys. But they were into everything, even the kitchen. One guy kept brewing pots of coffee, taking over the pantry. Seemed like they were looking for sugar and cream that were there on the counter but they didn’t see them so they ransacked the cupboards. There had been one guy talking to the chef in the kitchen since they arrived. Gunther had popped into the kitchen to try to find out what they were talking about but only heard talk of recipes and Secretary of State Ron Berry’s favorite dishes. The most annoying was a short guy who spoke loudly with the secretary, which seemed to throw everything into disarray. He bombarded the poor girl, who was already overworked, into administrative submission. Two Marines were at the front door talking to the embassy security, apparently friendly. Granted the visit was unannounced, he still felt there presence here was a bit too penetrating, especially being a Saturday and under-staffed.

What hindered his utmost efficient functionality was the nagging voice in his head debating whether to ask these guys to take a step back. Guillermo was aware that some might not be well-versed in the labyrinth of etiquette within an embassy, but this was surely Ron Berry’s responsibility. And therein lay the prick: He was being ambushed. It was happening now and he couldn’t formulate a plan of action other than to ask his IT guy to sever Paddy’s connection to the Internet. The thing was that he had given Paddy his word that he was safe in the embassy and here he was about to betray that trust. But he knew Paddy hated being interrupted during the morning hours. Only when he emerged from his ‘cave’ - as they called his room in the old women’s washroom - after 1pm was his door open for visitors. He had made it clear that he worked in the mornings and did not want to be disturbed until he opened his door himself. Besides, Gunther thought it would be less painful to cut his connection first and then talk to him.

So there he stood in the hallway staring at the closed door of Paddy Leith, lead publisher of PortalLeaks, most wanted man in the world and most powerful man in the world in October of 2016. During this moment in history this man had more power than even the most powerful in the world, an amazing manifestation of vision followed through with airtight programming and a true belief in a secure submission platform. The random variable in the hose worked so leakers could leak with pure anonymity. And this man had his hands on the keys to the gate. For a second Guillermo Avellino lost himself in thought, realizing that from a few feet inside that door was a man more powerful than POTUS and yet there he lived like a Hobbit, drinking loads of tea and seldom changing his clothes. He was a workhorse. The hours he had already spent behind that door had fueled an online revolution. Like a perfect storm, it might prove to be the final pure moment of Internet freedom before the heavy hand of censorship spread its ugly hands further. Paddy had often spoken of this being the ‘golden age of Internet freedom’ but had noted the serious storm clouds on the horizon. Guillermo knew he wasn’t a visionary like Paddy Leith because he didn’t possess the visionary’s perspective to know when to work and when the zeitgeist was in play. He had dominated the headlines in 2010 and then fell into obscurity for most except a few followers, but he kept at it but now, like history repeating itself, or like malaria that comes alive every seven years, PortalLeaks was again dominating the headlines six years later. All those hours, all those clicks on the mouse and tapping on the keyboard had led to this moment in 2016. Sometimes it boggled his mind to see the situation in the embassy for what it was, so he tried to keep it clinical and keep his mind on the day-to-day.

"Fuck."

Guillermo returned to his office and called his techie. Suddenly Ron Berry and a skinny guy with red hair holding a laptop were at his door. His good nature