IRISH BLUE 5 BRING ME A DONKEY A novel by Sheila Willar Copyright 2016 Sheila Willar ISBN 978-0-9867101-4-8 Untie them and bring them to me. - Matthew 21:2
CHAPTER 3 ............................ RETTEL
Erin made daily posts to Ansel but in the week before exams she was so swamped with assignments that she missed a day. The plan was to catch up the next morning, but to her surprise, someone else had already posted an entry for that date and signed Ansel’s name to it.
“What?” she exclaimed as she scrolled up and down the website. To her astonishment, someone had written the post on her behalf. She blustered and mumbled as she read the three short paragraphs that the hacker had written about “nature reserves”.
At first she was overcome with indignation, but as she read the article she could not help but be impressed. Not only was it thoughtful and well researched but it was exactly the kind of story that she would endorse. The point of view and tone was so good that she was jealous of it and grudgingly wished that it was hers. Someone out there had access to her account and they were as good as, if not better at being Ansel than she was.
Erin immediately called the internet provider to report the problem. However the automated answering service was not very helpful and all she could do was leave a message. She called several times and tried email and internet chat options, but they all ended the same. Try as she might, she could not make contact with an actual human.
When Erin rechecked her website she was alarmed to find out that the hacker’s story had gone viral and that the reception was very mixed. Tens of thousands of people all over Ireland agreed that public land should be set aside, but there were just as many who were concerned that the government would expropriate private property.
One of Erin’s friends called to say that everyone was talking about the post. “What a great idea!” they trumpeted, but when Erin explained that a hacker had written it, her friend advised a retraction before things got out of hand. However, when Erin tried to upload a revision and a statement about the hacker, it would not work. She tried again and again, but each time her computer simply locked up.
Erin told everyone she knew about the hack, but most people including her friends and family did not believe her. They thought that her denial was a lame attempt to deflect the pressures of having written about a contentious issue. The excessive amounts of praise and criticism made Erin feel like a fraud, so she tried several more times to post a retraction, but it still would not load. Erin wanted to scream. She felt isolated and frustrated about the loss of control over her own material. As the days went by the hacker continued to post articles on her behalf, and all that Erin could do was helplessly watch. One of the pirated stories was about her new kitten, even though she did not own a pet.
“I didn’t know you had a cat!” exclaimed her mother. “What a curious darling he is!”
Erin wanted to confess, “I don’t have a cat and I didn’t write that story!” but all she could think about was how it made her laugh too. The hacker’s writing was witty and intelligent and it inspired her to want to become a better writer.
Erin was well aware that the hacker took advantage of her mainly when she missed an entry, so in an attempt to not be undone by the cyber sleuth she became militant about her writing. She posted in the early morning at exactly the same time each day, hoping that she would beat the hacker in a race out of the gate. She also tried to keep the subject matter light and cohesive, so that the hacker would be more reluctant to write an errant political epilog to her themed chatter.
All was well for a few weeks as the hacker remained silent, until one day when Erin’s curiosity got the better of her and she decided to purposely skip a post. Sure enough and strangely to her delight, the hacker wrote a wonderful metaphor piece about the forays of her fictitious cat and his friends, and their journey into the night as they travelled up and down Dublin's river system past some of Irelands most historic sites.
Erin was so intrigued by the idea of sharing Ansel’s name with the mystery writer, that she wondered if maybe, just maybe, if it might be fun for the hacker to provide a post now and then. It was risky and it made her feel terribly uncomfortable about the fraud of it, but that is exactly what she did, that is until the anxiety of it became too much for her, and within a couple of weeks, she decided to bow out and either shut the site down or let the hacker have it.
In one last attempt to appeal to the hacker, Erin tried to publish, “What is your name?” on her site. The post did not go through but she immediately received a text message that said, “Rettel”.
Erin texted back, “I hate lying to my family and friends. I hate lying to the public. It’s too complicated! It’s indefensible!”, to which Rettel replied, “Share or Leave."
Erin felt a strange affinity with Rettel.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Your guardian angel”, answered Rettel.
“I don’t need one.”
“Everyone needs one.”
“I don’t want one.”
“You already have one.”
“Please go away!”
“I can’t.”
“Why me?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Just keep writing.”
“With you?”
“Sometimes.”
“You could be a criminal!”
“No. But you could.”
After a long pause, and out of utter exhaustion, Erin wrote, “OK … for now … but no hiding the fact that there is a co-writer, and don’t sign your name to my stuff!”
“Thank you. The new site name is: Ansel and Rettel.”
“I’m out.”
“Sign off.”
…………………………………
“What’s your update on the Ansel sight?” barked Captain White.
“I had to make a few changes,” answered Ryan. “But we are not compromised,” he added calmly. He was cautious about discussing the consequences of an uncooperative target, because he did not want Captain White to shut down his contact with Erin.
Captain White noted a slight hint of emotion in Ryan’s voice and he did not like it. Lives were at stake and he felt that there was no place for sentiment in the safe keeping of the government’s intelligence business.
“What do you mean ‘we are not compromised’ ?” demanded Captain White.
“She knows that her website has been hacked, sir,” answered Ryan with a steady voice.
Captain White paced the floor behind Ryan’s chair, and rubbed his chin and mouth, pushing it to one side. He was not happy with how Ryan had managed his mark. The captain hated that the younger generation thought that everything was a game.
“Shut it down!” he said sternly. “And find me another mule!”
“Yes sir, sir,” replied Ryan as he tried to muster a fake level of enthusiasm. “Though … I do have a consignment, sir” he added. Ryan knew that Captain White hated to ‘chop a mule’ because a sudden unscheduled chop created terrible confusion and increased the level of risk for their people in the field. Good mules were very hard to find, and a ‘consignment’ was a blogger who was indifferent to their hacks. Some were even welcoming and helpful.
“How consigned?” asked the captain.
“The site is about politics sir, and we enhance the interest of the reader. We maintain the site and have our own by-line”, explained Ryan as he tried to put a positive spin on Erin’s involvement.
Captain White remained perfectly silent and still. He did not like Ryan and he wanted to give him the time to dig his own grave. “Do it!”
“Sir?”
“Keep it! For now …” …………………………………
Over the next few weeks, Ryan posted articles along side Erin’s. They were mainly simple observations of the political climate, and every now and then, he included a tidbit of knowledge, nothing too shocking, that only a government spy would know. The public response however was not simple and the feedback to the website was explosive. Erin’s articles were O.K., but every time Ryan wrote something, the world of social media went nuts. His insight and perspective was so unique that he gained an enormous following.
Erin started the website as a casual way to have a bit of fun but thanks to Ryan it had become almost unmanageable. She received countless invitations to political and media events, and everyone wanted to meet “her partner”. They constantly asked, “Who is he? Is he real? Are you Rettle? Where does he work? Why is he such a secret? Is Rettel a politician? Where does he get his information?” Eventually Erin grew tired of all the unwanted attention and she wrote a note to Rettel to announce her resignation.
“I’m out! Can’t do it anymore. You can have the site all to yourself.”
“Please stay.”
“Sorry. Too busy. Tired of it all.”
“You are important.”
“It’s u they want.”
“They don’t know what they want.”
“You can have it.”
Ryan sensed that Erin was serious about leaving and he could not let that happen. The government was adamant that they keep a public citizen as the face of their mules, so he decided to let her know that he knew about her interest in Thee Irish Blue Chair, in an effort to keep her online. He wrote the following note:
“Thee Irish Blue, If not for you, O one of raven hair, T’was all but done, And on the run … A graft of God’s own chair.”
When Erin read Ryan’s post she became breathless. She abruptly realized that she was not the subject of a random attack by someone interested in digital ramblings about politics, but that she was the target of the very people who she hoped she would never have to deal with again.
“Treasure hunters!” she hissed. “Religious treasure hunters! The worst kind!”
Erin wanted to protest but she knew it was of no use. Not only had her writings and her connection with the internet been hijacked, but so had her connection with any hope of a peaceful future. She considered reporting the stalker to the police, but because of her previous antics with the Dublin Garda, she was hesitant to get involved with them. Besides, she doubted if they would believe her story. She doubted if the police were interested in spending their scant resources, on resolving the antics of the religious elite.
In an anguished retort, Erin wrote an article about Thee Irish Blue Stone of Ireland and its many ethereal attributes. She ended the post with a not so veiled caution:
“Those who hunt it, Are those who strive, Are those most likely, To NOT survive.”
Erin’s post was deemed “arbitrary” and “random” by her devoted readers. They did not see the connection between Irish Blue and politics. Most of them were unimpressed, most that is except for the real treasure hunters who took great notice of it. The article connected Ansel and Rettel to Thee Irish Blue Stone Chair, and if there was any hint of its existence, they were very interested.
Captain White turned on a dime and glared at Ryan, to purposely make him endure the tension. Ryan could feel the captains stare needle into the back of his head. “Satisfactory?” grumbled the captain. “What does that mean?”
“The mule is compliant, sir.”
Captain White swung himself around so that he was eye to eye with Ryan. Captain White hated software geeks, especially the young ones, and he could read them like a book. As far as he was concerned they were always up to no good, and meddling with the mules behind his back. “Explain yourself!” he demanded.
“The Ansel Project, sir, has just posted a blog that we can use. I have already encrypted todays message and placed it on the Out Stack, ready for approval,” answered Ryan.
Captain White read Erin’s post. “Irish Blue!”, he mumbled to himself as he recalled tracking a young girl and her uncle priest through Turkey. “Where have I heard that before? Oh I know. Around the entire Mediterranean! What are you at Ryan? Are you telling me this girl is the one we tracked with the ‘magic rocks’ that everyone wanted?”
“Yes sir”, answered Ryan evenly.
Captain White took a few steps back. He realized that Ryan was either a double spy or an insert from his superiors. Whatever the truth, Captain White would get to the bottom of it.
“Who are you working for?” demanded Captain White.
“For the good of the project sir.”
“You are telling me it is just a coincidence that the mule you chose is an old mark? One who just happens to carry around stolen priceless artifacts?”
“No sir. Not a coincidence.”
“Then who told you to choose her.”
“We already had data on her sir and using her account meant a lot less work for me.”
“Work?” screamed Captain White, as he pictured his own teenagers couch surfing and refusing to help around the house. “Could it be?” he wondered, “That Ryan was not a spy after all and that he was just another entitled millennial?”
“Unbelievable! You got me hooked up in this mess again because you are lazy? How am I going to explain this?”
“No need to sir. She has basically bowed out. The site is ours.”
“Bowed out! That’s what I’d like to do!” yelled Captain White as he stormed off to figure out what to do next.
Ryan went back to work and sent a text message to Erin: