CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Freedom Tower, late Friday afternoon
UPON RETURNING to New York’s One World Trade Center, Simon stepped into the first available elevator. He was dressed casually in jeans, soft leather shoes, and a short-sleeved golf shirt. Most of the casual Friday had already come and gone, so the PurIntel CEO easily blended with the lift’s other occupants, as it raced toward loftier destinations.
Simon had been away from the office since leaving for their fateful weekend in the Thousand Islands, and, after spending a few days in Stanford, he was anxious to see the world from a more predictable perspective, Freedom Tower’s ninetieth floor. Getting back to work, he hoped, would be a pleasant distraction from the horrendous events of the preceding week.
The additional days spent in Stanford, he explained to Rose, were necessary in order to demonstrate that he had committed himself to being part of Jennifer’s everyday life. His first duty, he felt, was to convince the soon-to-be third year student to enroll in a private, more secure university. But when he found his input the subject of stiff resistance, he was also reminded of the fact that a similar stubbornness could just as easily be isolated in his own genetic structure. Jennifer suggested she would consider this and other matters on one condition. Her father would have to make a concerted effort to re-establishing some sort of rapport with her mother. As a freelance technical writer, Leslie was between contracts. “She could use a little reassurance that she won’t have to suffer through a similar ordeal,” Jennifer suggested.
“Then you’ll agree to the implant?” Simon asked. He was referring to a subcutaneous implant, which would not only be able to track Jennifer’s real-time whereabouts, but could also monitor every health related indicator right down to an individual’s genomic integrity.
With a visible measure of reluctance, Jennifer agreed. “I will if you’ll take the time to explain it to her?”
Jennifer was pleased when her father agreed to reconnect with her mother, moreover gratified when her father suggested he would make amends for opportunities lost. Simon made two trips to Leslie’s home while staying at a Stanford hotel. During one, Jennifer was pleasantly surprised to find her mother and father talking, even laughing when she walked through the front door. Jennifer’s smile suggested she was heartened by her parents’ ability to turn back time. Simon and Leslie empathized with the look in their daughter’s eyes. Her youthful, almost girlish gaze seemed to hunger for a return to simpler times.
Jennifer would later divulge that she never felt as complete as she did in that moment. Simon promised to return sometime in the near future, however, before leaving for New York, Jennifer confided to him that she would endure the ordeal all over again if it meant rekindling her mother and father’s friendship. Their willingness to work together as committed parents meant that much to her, she told her departing father.
As Simon’s elevator neared the ninetieth floor, he recalled the promises he had made to both Jennifer and Leslie and, in turn, the one Jennifer had made to him. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and quickly scrolled through a list of contacts. Lionel had given him the name of the biotech firm that implanted his geo-locator device. It was mandatory for all JTF2 Operatives to have one implanted prior to deployment. In Lionel’s case, the coordinates it provided not only guided the extraction team to his location, but his unmanned ambulance drone hovered at a safe distance from the same GPS metric until the all clear was given.
Simon couldn’t help reflecting on how profoundly technology had influenced his life. He marvelled at how seamlessly it was embedded in his everyday experiences. From satellites to cellphones, its eloquence had long infiltrated elevators. Simon sensed his lift slowing; the ninetieth floor was but moments away. The elevator’s processor was calculating its deceleration vector, one that weighted its cabin’s load as a single 185 lb. occupant. By the time Simon considered the math involved in his safe arrival, the doors of his elevator opened. The transition to a full stop was almost imperceptible. He put his cell phone back in his pants’ front pocket and found it had, once again, preannounced his arrival. A smiling Samantha awaited. “Gary was hoping you’d join him in the Systems Room.”
Simon stepped out of the elevator. “What, no it’s nice to see you, Simon … or ... You look amazing, considering what you’ve been through.” Simon’s demeanour matched his apparel. Appearing relaxed, he turned and made his way toward his office.
“You certainly are projecting an aura of contentment,” Samantha said, while walking alongside her boss.
“So have we dispensed with the flesh tone references?” Simon joked. “We’ve moved onto auras now, have we?”
Samantha was obviously accustomed to a hectic work environment. In addition to her other obvious traits, her professional disposition, her impeccable business attire, the ease with which she kept pace was by no means restricted by the height of her heels.
“I’m just suggesting you look well-rested,” she said. Glancing at Simon, she adjusted her black-rimmed glasses mid-stride. “I’m glad you took those few days in Stanford. Looks like the time was well spent.”
Simon slowed to a stop in front of his office door. He turned to say something, but Samantha spoke first. “I’m not the only one here who is concerned about you, Simon. You’ve been through a lot.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. I really do appreciate your concern.” Simon searched for what to say next, but Samantha was always three steps ahead. “How’s Jennifer?” she asked.
“She’s doing ok.”
“And her mother?”
“Leslie?” Simon asked, not expecting the inquiry. “She’s managing. We’re talking again, so Jennifer’s happy.”
Samantha noted Simon’s glance toward his office door; that the subject might be slightly uncomfortable. She persisted, however. “And you?” she asked.
“Me?” Simon responded.
“Yeah, how does it make you feel to reconnect with Leslie?”
Simon reflected for a moment. “I feel like I’ve been given a second chance at being the father I should have been. And that, I have to admit, includes being a better ex as well.”
Samantha sensed a rare moment. It made her smile.
Responding with the same sincere expression, Simon asked: “What?”
“Ergo the contentment quotient,” Samantha replied.
Simon smiled at Samantha before offering his eye to the retinal scanner just outside his office door. The door clicked open, but before crossing its threshold, he turned back to an already departing Samantha. “Oh,” he remarked. “What is Gary doing here at this hour?”
Samantha stopped and turned toward Simon. “It’s the First Friday of the month.”
Then it occurred to him. “Jeopardy! He needs help, does he?”
“Apparently ‘Team Watson’ is poised to win their second game in as many months.”
The ‘Team Watson’ to which Samantha was referring included a similar number of software engineers from IBM’s Watson design unit. Simon had accepted the challenge from his former doctorate alumni at the Information Sciences Institute, a research and development unit of USC’s Viterbi School of Engineering. Simon was once part of a team assisting with Watson’s development. Simon went on to give birth to PurIntel, while his aforementioned counterparts accepted key positions at IBM.
The idea that a computer could compete with the world’s top Jeopardy contenders was conceived by IBM researchers some two decades ago. In addition to its machine learning technology, Watson was programmed to leverage automated reasoning in order to deduce the appropriate game show answer. While initial attempts at outwitting its human competitor exposed a weakness to questions with embedded humour and irony, Watson eventually rose to the occasion by using its vast accumulated knowledge to generate hypotheses, evaluate evidence, and predict optimum outcomes. In 2011 Watson won the $1 million dollar Jeopardy prize by defeating two of the game’s all-time top money earners.
Games between PurIntel and
IBM were played remotely and alternately hosted by their respective software engineers. PurIntel’s contingent of players congregated in Sophia’s Systems Integrity Unit. As a rule, the winner of the previous tournament provided the game host, while each team utilized several large flat panel monitors to view both the game board and their opposing players. Sophia and Watson were excluded from assisting their respective teams. They, of course, lacked a true competitive spirit, one that knew how to nurture the subtleties of a simmering corporate rivalry.
“That is correct,” the IBM show host declared.
A momentary consult occurred between the IBM players before their spokesperson announced, “We’ll take Science for $600.”
A visible grimace invaded Gary’s expression. His whole team listened as if their very lives depended on their ability to correctly answer the next question.
The announcer continued. “Evidence indicating mass could travel faster than the speed of light was in fact caused by an incorrectly connected GPS-synchronization cable.”
Gary’s hand held signalling device was pre-empted by only microseconds. “Ahhh!” he gasped, as the IBM team leader was given the opportunity to respond first.
“What is the faster-than-light neutrino anomaly?”
“That is correct,” the host announced.
Gary gawked at his fellow teammates before succumbing to his despair.
While still standing outside his office door, Simon considered the fate of PurIntel’s representatives, but thought otherwise. “I’d like to help out, Sam, but I have something more important to attend to.”
Simon’s demeanour transitioned to one of being more determined. It reflected his desire to find the mole within his organization. “Would you mind telling Gary I need to see him right away?”
As if defying the laws governing the movement of objects, a sleek cell phone suddenly appeared in Samantha’s hand. “Will do,” she stated, returning to her office.
Appreciating the tone of Samantha’s text: ‘Simon needs to see you, ASAP,’ Gary wasted little time in arriving at his boss’s office. Finding the door ajar, he knocked and announced his arrival. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Taylor?”
Simon waved him in. “How’d we do, Gary? With the game, I mean.”
Gary’s baggy pants and loose fitting shirt disguised his stockier build. In truth, he looked somewhat dishevelled, as if he had been pulling his hair out. He walked toward Simon while glancing over at Sophia. Her face materialized as if in response to an innate suspicion of being watched.
“We could have used you, Boss,” Gary stated. He adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses and turned back to Simon. “We came up short in the best two out of three.”
“Maybe we’ll do better next month,” Simon replied, getting up from his chair. His demeanour belied the fact that he had just received a disappointing update from his contact at the FBI. Agent Dewar reiterated what Simon already knew; that, since their last update, the investigation had made little progress; that the kidnappers had acted on behalf of someone else, and that, to date, the identity of that person or persons had been successfully firewalled against discovery. Simon briefed Agent Dewar on his own pursuits, suggesting his investigation had been underway since the moment the ransom was received.
“Would you mind, Gary? I was hoping we could take a little walk,” Simon asked, rounding his desk.
“Sure,” Gary agreed.
After taking his cell phone out of his pocket, and sliding it onto his desk, Simon motioned for the talented programmer to follow. Joining his boss in front of the floor’s elevators added a measure of drama to Gary’s expression. When they stepped into the lift, and began their decent, he couldn’t help asking: “I’m not being escorted out of the building, am I Mr. Taylor?”
Simon tried not to laugh. “No, no. Sorry for the theatrics, Gary. I just thought it would be best if our discussion took place in private.”
The elevator sped toward street level.
“What is it you want to talk to me about?”
Simon took a breath. “I’m assuming you’re aware of the ongoing investigation into my daughter’s kidnapping?”
“I thought they had the culprits in custody?”
“They do, but it’s seems they were acting on someone else’s behalf.”
“I don’t understand.”
When the elevator stopped at the ground floor, Simon’s approach became more determined. “There’s a mole in this organization, Gary, and I’m going to find out who it is.”
Gary was instantly taken aback. “You don’t think …” he exclaimed, as the lift’s doors opened. The notion that he might be responsible had the visible effect of unnerving, even paralyzing him. For a moment, he found himself alone in the elevator. He then followed his boss into the building’s busy lobby, several paces behind. “Mr. Taylor, wait,” he pleaded. Gary dodged a group of people emptying out of another elevator, finally catching up with Simon at one of the floor’s street level exits.
“Relax, Gary,” Simon stated, calmly holding the door open to Fulton Street.
Drifting onto the street that was closed the traffic, he added: “You’re a good programmer, but you’re not that good.”
Simon could see the two 9/11 memorial pools off in the distance. With crowds milling about, paying their respects, the scene offered a poignant backdrop. It also added a significant measure of perspective. “No, Gary,” Simon said, pausing. “That file’s encryption was bulletproof. Fortunately for you, there’s only two other people in this organization that knew about the impending announcement.”
Gary was only somewhat relieved by the perception that his skills were less than adequate. He correctly presumed that Derrick was one of the people to whom Simon was referring, but he then realized why they weren’t discussing this in Simon’s office, why he left his cell phone behind. “Wait a second,” Gary gasped. “Are you kidding me? Sophia?”
Gary couldn’t believe that Sophia might have leaked the existence of the super genome herself.
Simon appeared despondent. “At this point, Gary, I’m not sure what to think. Look, I know this wouldn’t normally be part of your job description, but I need you to do something for me.”
“Name it, Boss. I mean … I’ll do what I can.”