The Russians are coming!!!
That’s the message IT delivered to all Churchill employees.
They will hack into our system. Steal company property. Lock employees out. Demand we pay ransom. It won’t be pretty. You don’t want to be the one responsible for letting them in.
Scott understood the threat. Not the one from the Russians, but the one from his employer: You screw up, you let your guard down, you’ll be blamed. Reprimanded, terminated. Publicly humiliated at least.
Don’t download files or open attachments if you’re not familiar with the sender.
Scott knew that already.
Watch for misspellings in the URL.
Okay, but one’s brain tended to read amazon even if the URL was amazoon.com.
Be wary of clicking on links. Hover over the link to see if it’s genuine, if in doubt.
Huh?
As had been the case for more than two years, Scott understood he’d have to figure things out for himself. In March 2020, The Churchill Company told him and all of those in the accounting department to work at home.
He’d never heard of Teams or Zoom or WebEx at the time, but numbers were still numbers, so once he’d set up a makeshift office in his small, two-story home, Scott went about business as usual. Even if everything other than the work itself was different.
Scott had reported to the same, tall, white brick building in Chicago’s Loop for nearly two decades. Before that, he’d worked for eleven years in an office that had red brick exterior just a three-minutes’ walk from Churchill.
Scott didn’t think he minded change. It happened all of the time whether one wanted it or not. But he didn’t seek it out. So maybe he’d prefer if things remained the same.
Scott worked just as efficiently at home. Probably more so, because he didn’t have cubicle neighbors chatting nearby or eating their lunches and wafting odors his way.
Still, it was hard to gripe in solitude. You didn’t set up a virtual meeting with someone just to shake your head and say, “IT, Man,” the way you looked over the top of your cube into your neighbor’s. You couldn’t walk five feet to your favorite co-worker’s workspace just to ask: “What exactly are we supposed to do?”
No, you resolved all issues on your own. Or you didn’t.
Scott thought he knew enough and had enough common sense, so he quickly forgot about IT’s admonishments shortly after reading them. It had been more than thirty years since anyone had warned him about Russians, after all. And back then, the fear being driven home concerned the Soviets or a bunch of Russkies.
IT apparently considered this matter more serious than the messages it had sent employees over the years about shutting down their computers from time to time and not visiting external websites on the company’s time. In the weeks that followed, IT sprang a number of tests on Churchill employees.
Scott didn’t fall for the first one, though he didn’t recognize it was a test either. He just thought the email telling him he’d won a free subscription to a sports magazine was run-of-the-mill spam. He immediately deleted the email without a second thought.
The next one got him. He saw an email with the subject matter of URGENT when he logged in just after 6:00 a.m., as was his custom in the pandemic era. He’d started brewing coffee but hadn’t yet had a cup when he opened the only email he thought merited his attention. The sender was David Pfeiffer, whom Scott knew to be an operations manager. The text said a batch was needed to repair something. It included a PDF attachment. Scott clicked on the PDF, but nothing seemed to happen. He presumed someone had fucked up. Scott got his coffee and read the news headlines before showering and beginning his workday in earnest.
A few days later, Delta Rivers, the head of IT, sent a message to all company employees with the subject: The Russians would be here now.
Delta’s email explained while only 7% of employees had failed the first test, 41% did not report the email to IT, and 22% of all employees had failed the second test.
The man who works for our company is named David Pfeifer, not David Pfeiffer!
Delta also claimed if you hovered over the URL it would have been a giveaway that the email was fraudulent.
The string of the IP address is not our company’s address.
Scott tried hovering but could not see whatever it was he was supposed to see during that process that would have made it “obvious” that he’d erred by trusting an untrustworthy source.
Scott received another email from Delta the following morning. It reported his scores: Phish rate: 50%; Score rate: 40%; Organizational rank: 429/476.
He was informed that while he correctly did not fall for the first test, he had failed to report the phishing attack to IT, as was expected. IT sent him a screenshot that circled the “Report message” feature he’d never noticed before in Outlook.
A couple of days later, Scott received an email from a security firm to participate in training. Along with approximately a third of his coworkers, Scott reported the email as phishing, only to be told by IT that it was genuine and a mandatory requirement for all employees. Scott wondered if his organizational rank would drop further.
The first training video depicted bot-like hackers speaking an unintelligible language approximating Russian while ostensibly teaching viewers about the need to have hard-to-guess-but-easy-to-remember passwords. Employees were advised to string together words and phrases together.
Laser?trees5squash!
Apricot2fenway=cheers
Rats-hate-fillabuster&spoons
Scott drafted an email for his friend Keith. Subject: Am doing this right? Text: IT#must?Die!
Despite spending time with one another five days a week for most weeks of the year and once a month at happy hour, Scott had not seen his favorite coworker in person in two years.
A multiple-choice test followed the video. Scott knew the answers but wanted to make light of the situation. Still, he worried his scores would be posted for all to see and therefore answered the questions correctly. He also feared his actions were being monitored, so he deleted the unsent email to Keith. Everything was so serious now.
Scott decided he’d protect himself and Churchill in his own way. In the weeks that followed, Scott worked as best he could, but was suspicious of every message, document, and link he received, even those from individuals whose names he recognized and with whom he regularly worked. Sometimes, he made them join a virtual meeting just to confirm their actions. Worse, especially for the younger workers, he often called his colleagues and compelled them to speak with him on the phone.
Nearly a month later, Scott received an email from someone who claimed to be named Connor Thompson stating that he’d failed to do the second required security test and would be subject to discipline if he did not complete the mandatory training.
Scott responded with his own email. Who are you?
Connor Thompson, IT Specialist.
What do you specialize in?
Information technology.
That’s redundant.
You have to do the test.
I’ve never heard of you.
I’ve been here for two months. You can see my name in Outlook.
You don’t have a photo on the company website.
They stopped taking them during the pandemic.
That’s convenient. And suspicious.
You can hover over the link.
Hovering does nothing for me.
Delta will be in touch.
Scott had always preferred numbers. They were what they were, unlike words. He never expected he’d have an exciting career as an accountant but presumed it would be a stable occupation. He’d be able to work indoors without risk of injury while earning a decent salary. He didn’t have a strong desire for more.
Scott likely would have never left his first employer had it not given him and others a WARN Act notice late one Friday afternoon. He accepted the first job offer he received afterwards, more than happy that Churchill was located nearby and willing to pay him an additional $5,000 per year.
Outside of work, Scott lived a responsible life for a long time. Pre-pandemic, his favorite pastime had been playing poker with some guys he knew in and around his Andersonville neighborhood. Occasionally, he’d taken a trip to Vegas or a casino. But those guys in their fifties and early sixties had stopped wanting to get together, and Scott wasn’t yet up for traveling. Scott had to look online for an outlet, and things didn’t go so well. For the first time in his life, numbers failed him.
Now that he no longer gambled, Scott found himself reading historical works, especially those concerning U.S.-Soviet relations. He also watched older movies like Dr. Strangelove and The Day After. He was thinking about long-forgotten memories of a potential nuclear war when he called his mother, who lived in an assisted-living home in Florida.
“I’m so happy to hear from you,” she said.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
“I want to know when you’re going to visit. It’s lonely here.”
“I’ll try, Mom, but I was wondering if you remember the bomb drills you had as a kid?”
“Bomb drills?”
“Yeah, remember, you told me how teachers made you take shelter under your desks at school?”
“I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”
Scott rubbed his chin and realized he hadn’t shaved in at least a week. “How often did you do that?”
“I can’t remember. Probably at the beginning of each school year. I wish you’d come and take me for a walk. I hate that I can’t go anywhere other than down the hall without permission or a companion.”
“I will but I haven’t been traveling during COVID.”
“You must be lonely too. Do you hear from Jean Marie?”
“Why would I have heard from her?”
“You two were together for a long time.”
“And now we’re not.”
“Will you please come see me?”
“I will. I just don’t have any money right now.”
“Jean Marie didn’t take your money when she left, did she?”
“No, it’s not because of her.”
Scott accepted a virtual meeting invite from Delta but then failed to join. He was working on a spreadsheet when her IM reminded him that he’d forgotten.
She wore a white blouse and a frown in front of the Churchill logo, which Delta used as the background for her camera. Scott didn’t know how to use virtual backgrounds. After a year at home, Scott moved his desk to face his backyard so he could see green grass, trees, and the occasional small animal whenever he sought to give his eyes a rest from the computer screen. As a result, his laptop’s camera showed a barren, white wall behind Scott because Jean Marie had taken the Picasso print on her way out the door.
Scott glanced at his image on the screen and saw that he still hadn’t shaven, but at least he wore a shirt with a collar.
Delta crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You’re not taking any of this seriously.”
“Au contraire, I just forgot about the meeting.”
“What about the last training and test? You haven’t done so well so far.”
“I’ve learned to be really cautious. I’m not taking anything for granted anymore.”
“The test is real, Scott. Connor Thompson is a real employee.”
“What about you?”
Delta shook her head. “You’ve known me for five years. You can see I still look the same, right?”
“I see a biracial individual who told me her name was Delta about five years ago.”
“What does that mean?”
Scott lowered the adjustable desk he’d purchased after developing a kink in his neck after a year working at home. He sat and leaned into the camera. “How do I know you are who you say you are. How do I know you’re not a Soviet spy? Hell, how do you know?”
“Scott…”
“I’m serious. You say you’re Delta Rivers. Why? Because some people you believe are your parents told you that was your name? When’s the first time you even remember the people you think are your parents? How old were you? Two? Three? Four? I bet you just took them at their word.”
“I’ve seen my birth certificate. I’ve got a copy in fact.”
“You don’t think those can be forged? Did you verify it? Did you track down the notary and ask them if they remember what your so-called parents looked like?”
Delta dropped her elbows to her desk and sighed. “Are you serious? You’re not just mad that you were fooled by our test?”
“Not at all. I’m thankful. I realize how much we all take for granted without verifying the truth.”
“You seriously believe I might be a Soviet spy and not know whether my parents are really my parents?”
“What better way to infiltrate. Raise you like an American. Encourage you to get into the tech field. Act like you’re the one concerned about Russian infiltration, all the while acting on behalf of the Soviets.”
“I think you should see someone.”
Scott leapt to his feet before raising his desk, so the camera was then pointed at his waist. “You people cannot stand it when others know the truth and you don’t.”
“If I were a spy, wouldn’t I know it?”
Scott pressed the button that controlled the desk’s height. He looked straight into the camera when it was at eye level. “Mock all you want. I’m protecting my company, and I’m not going to be persuaded, not to by your so-called logic. I’m not say going to let you tell me that the way you see the world is the only way to see it.”
“You must do the training. You must take the tests.”
“Or?”
“You won’t want to find out.”
“Or IT is going to crush me? Ruin my life for using my brain and thinking different than a bunch of sheep?”
Scott’s hands were shaking after he downed his fourth cup of coffee that morning, though it might have been due to the natural adrenaline as much as the caffeine. He hated being commanded to watch a video that he was sure was propaganda. He wanted to tell Delta to fuck off but couldn’t. For the first time in his life, he needed the money.
An hour later, Scott thought he found a solution: he would play the security video but wouldn’t watch it. After turning it on, he took a dump.
He answered the test questions as quickly as he could when the video ended. He got one of five right. He started to smile at his score until he saw he was being directed to watch the video again.
Scott played it once more without watching it. He tried to get the answers correct this time. Apparently 60% was good enough because they did not require him to do the test a third time.
The next day, Churchill informed Scott he had to come to the office the following Monday. Just like them, he thought, you have to figure everything out for yourself at home, but they’re going to rub it in your face when they fire you.
Scott shaved and rode the El for the first time in two years. He arrived later than he expected because the transit system was not operating under the old schedule.
He was able to enter the building without a face covering, but a security officer met him upon exiting the elevator on the 21st floor.
“You have to wear this.” The burly gentlemen dressed like a football referee handed Scott a surgical mask before escorting him to a conference room.
Inside, he saw Delta and a gentleman he’d never seen before standing in front of seven individuals sitting in socially distances tables.
“Look who’s here at last,” Delta said.
Scott sat at the only empty table—six feet to the left of Keith.
“Welcome to detention.” His friend wore a suit, though he’d never done so at the office before.
“I wondered if you’d be here too.”
Delta clapped her hands. “Scott, Keith, cut it out.”
“For those of you who don’t know me…” The bespectacled gentlemen with thinning gray hair paused to look about the room. “And from the looks of things, I think that’s everyone here. I’m Clyde Smith, Vice President of Security. We required your presence here today because Delta has had difficulty in gaining full cooperation from each of you for one reason or another.”
A redhead woman in the front center desk raised her hand. Clyde shook his head either because such formalities weren’t necessary or because he wasn’t inclined to listen to the individual stories of the attendees.
Delta eventually acknowledged the woman. “Yes, Carroll.”
“I’ve tried, I really have.”
“That’s why we’re going to do some hands-on training today.” Delta projected her computer screen onto a large monitor for all to see.
“I think this whole thing is stupid.”
Scott did not recognize the twenty-something who sat at the opposite end of the room and who wore a t-shirt with holes in it.
Clyde stared down the commentor. “What you think doesn’t matter. We just need you to do what Churchill asks of you.”
“It’s worse than that. See these things they make us wear?” Keith pointed to his face covering. “It’s all an effort to control.”
Scott leaned towards his friend. “I think Delta is a Soviet spy.”
Keith extended his hand and fist-bumped Scott. “They all are.”
“I thought I was the only one who saw that.” Scott recognized the woman who sat in front of him when she turned in her seat but did not know her name. She worked on some floor above him. Scott recalled her laughing loudly inside an elevator they rode together one time.
Clyde stomped his dress shoes into the floor.“Everyone, please.”
“This used to be such a great company.” Scott’s comment drew applause from more than one of his coworkers.
“It still is and we’re not letting anyone change that.” Keith got to his feet and moved swiftly towards the front of the class. Scott, the woman in front of him, the twenty-something, and a middle-aged guy in the front row all followed Keith. Clyde held his ground, but Delta shrieked and tried to slide away.
Scott pointed at Delta. “She doesn’t even know who her parents are.”
The man who had not spoken but had joined the group blocked Delta’s path to the exit.
“What do you think you are doing?” Clyde asked.
“Restoring order.” Keith took off his tie and used it to bind Clyde’s hands.
Scott pushed Clyde towards Delta, so the two meeting leaders were hemmed in a corner of the room. “You shouldn’t try to make people feel stupid.”
“You’re all going to be fired for this disloyalty,” Clyde said.
Keith grabbed Clyde’s face, which he’d been twisting away from everyone as they got closer and closer upon him. When he had it right before him, Keith removed his mask. “You have it backwards: we are the loyal ones.”
The female in the group threw away her own face covering and laughed as she had in the elevator. “You’ll be lucky if you aren’t hanged.”
KEVIN FINNERTY earned his MFA in Creative Writing from Columbia College Chicago. His stories have appeared in numerous print and online publications.
The art that appears alongside this piece is “the valley” by GRETA KOSHENINA.