The Games Begin | Stealing the Network. How to Own a Continent

Maybe it was just the way Knuth talked, but Matthew felt dirty. What the heck, he thought, for 700,000 rand, I d work with Satan himself if I had to. This is for a better life. The last bit came to mind almost as an afterthought, and Matthew knew that it was only justification. Yes, it was true that he sought out a new life for himself and Capri, but he knew that the real reason he took this job was because he wanted to be the one to pull it off. He knew a bit of what Knuth wanted done from cursory conversations. The scenarios obviously were not all hypothetical, but the truth was that he was now motivated by the sheer challenge of masterminding an attack that had never before been attempted, if even conceived. He stood now, energized with excitement of what the true challenge would be rather than burdened by the anxiety of knowing he must perform a crime that could possibly put him away for life. He was looking forward to this, and that bit of realization concerned him somewhat.

Matthew left the bathroom, and paused for a moment by the bar to get Capri s attention before heading out. Through the loud music, he held up his cell phone with one hand, and tapped it with the other indicating that he had been on a call, and that he now had work to do. She made some weird hand movement towards the speaker systems, which Matthew knew meant she was on her last song. He tapped his watch, shrugged, and held his hand up to the side of his head in a surf s up I ll call you signal. She wiggled her fingers back at him as if playing a little piano in front of her nose, and he was gone.

He walked home as quickly as he could. He didn t notice the hooker asking him if he wanted a good time. He didn t notice the bum asking for 5 rand. He didn t notice the punk kid paying for one newspaper yet taking them all from the machine. His mind was ablaze with what he thought he would have to do, and probably wouldn t have noticed if he stepped on a rusty nail.

Street. Cat. Door. Stairs. Up. He turned the key and opened the door to his apartment without losing his step. He didn t even realize that he closed the door without locking it.

Backpack. Drop. Fridge. Beer. Spray in Eye. Shit. Screen. On. PGP. Mail. Scanning.

There it was.

Matthew copied the text, loaded PGP keys, and then grabbed the alternate keyring he needed. He ran PGPMail, and typed his passphrase.

Even the e-mail hissed when he read it.

This is what must be done. The National Bank of South Africa owes me some money. A lot. I m not so much interested in getting it back personally , but I d like for it to get into the hands of my people. That is, the people of this great country. Call me Robin Hood.

Two things must be accomplished. I want NBSA hurt, and hurt publicly . I want the people to know that NBSA cannot be trusted and that if they have money in that bank, it is at risk. Second, and perhaps more important, I want the international banking community to know that this bank can no longer be a partner in financial endeavors. I want the network shut down, and I want it done in a very public way. NBSA needs to be brought to their knees: the public will take them down the rest of the way.

You can do this however you see fit. I won t dictate how you do your job, but I will dictate what the outcome will be. Your attack must cause severe financial losses, public humiliation, and loss of faith, and they must lose face to the international community.

You are being paid well, and I expect quite a show for my money. Your attack must take place on April 14th between 5 p.m. and 8 p.m . I do not care how long it lasts as long as the damage is done.

Upon successful completion of the job, you will receive the balance of your funds. I suggest you don t open any new accounts at NBSA. LOL.

My Lord, thought Matthew. My Lord in Heaven, he said again after rereading the e-mail. It was exactly as he expected. But NBSA? They were huge! How was he to accomplish this?

Then he thought about the money. He verified the funds were transferred and available in his emergency account. Though his personal account was indeed with NBSA, he had the foresight to choose a different establishment for his other accounts. After an hour of calculations and analysis, Matthew had transferred enough funds into his staging account to pay off all of his credit cards bills, his student loan, and the emergency room visit to St. James hospital when Capri suffered a miscarriage. That even still gave him pause ”he had questioned if the baby was his, and felt terrible for that ”well, after the fact, anyway. He had questioned Capri s honor , and he knew she still held that against him. But hell, she was a stripper after all, and he just had to be sure. A series of blood tests confirmed that it was, in fact, his baby that was lost that day. He remembered how the doctor had told them that it may be hard for them to have a baby together, given the difficulty they had in that case, and that they should consider more tests before trying again. Like we tried, he thought bitterly.

His mind then returned to an image of him pushing a little girl on the swing while the sound of laughter filled the warm air. Damn it! he said out loud as he forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.

All his bills were now paid, and he still had a substantial amount of money left over to get the hell out of Johannesburg. And he was still due the other half. It s time, buddy, he said to himself. Do your magic.