Burning Bright (Peter Ash #2)(118)

“You want me to take over this cowboy operation? You used Sally to do your dirty work.”

“Don’t mistake me for any kind of Boy Scout,” Oliver said softly, the planes of his face standing out in the candlelight. “I’m every bit as ruthless as Ms. Sanchez. She was my employee, albeit several steps down the chain of command. Her task was to maintain research operations here, and keep Mr. Kolodny happy and productive. She was not authorized to be quite so, shall we say, entrepreneurial. If Ms. Sanchez had contacted me on learning of the algorithm, things would have proceeded very differently. Hazel Cassidy, and many others, would still be alive.”

June had wiped her face with her sleeves and was listening closely. “What would Sally have done with it?”

“I believe she planned to use the algorithm for her own profit. She and her former supervisor had already paid themselves a great deal from the proceeds of this little research venture, including a substantial amount of Mr. Kolodny’s remaining funds. In short, her primary interest was her own. When this became clear to me, I began to take steps.”

“What about her partner?” asked Peter.

“He’s no longer with us.” Oliver glanced at Shepard. “He took his own life, I believe. Asphyxiated on the exhaust fumes of his antique Mercedes several days ago. Racked by guilt from his crimes.”

“I’m sure that was it,” said Peter.

“Let me be frank with you,” said Oliver. “This work is necessary. The world is not getting simpler, it’s getting more complex. We once worried about nation-states, and we still do. But now a small group of people can do a great deal of damage. Destabilize the financial markets, for example. Or overturn decades of electronic security with a single self-learning algorithm.”

Peter looked at Sally’s corpse on the flatbed, rolled up in the tarp. Chip beside her in his seersucker suit, eyes wide, a dirty cloth tied around his mouth.

“What about June? What about the algorithm?”

“An excellent question,” said Oliver. “Ms. Cassidy, is the algorithm still in your possession?”

“It never was,” she said. “It was growing on its own, spreading deeper and deeper into the Internet.”

“You say that like it’s alive.”

“Maybe it was,” she said. “Or maybe it could have been. I don’t know. The first true artificial intelligence.” Her face was bleak. “But it listened to me. And I told it to kill itself. To delete every trace of what it had been.”

“Ms. Sanchez had capture software on the valley’s Internet connection,” said Oliver. “My office is now in control of that software. We will have a copy of the algorithm.”

She shook her head. “Tyg3r knew all about your filters,” she said. “It didn’t matter. Tyg3r had colonized your system before Peter and I even showed up. It was already here.”

Oliver blinked at her. “Well,” he finally said. “Perhaps your actions are for the best.”

“They are,” said June. Peter had never seen her more self-possessed. “Now I have a question. Who killed my mother?”

Oliver sighed. The night seemed very dark outside the remaining circle of lantern light.

“The fault is mine,” he said. “I took steps to prevent your mother’s death, but I was too late. I knew of Ms. Sanchez’s activities, but had not yet realized the extent of her actions. She pretended to be your father’s proxy, and paid Chip Dawes to obtain the algorithm. He realized what it was, or what it might become. Mr. Dawes took it on himself to order your mother’s death.”

June’s voice was clear in the night air. “You didn’t answer my question. Who killed her?”

“That is irrelevant, Ms. Cassidy. The fault is mine and mine alone. I bear all responsibility.”

“Answer the fucking question.” June’s voice cracked like a whip. “Who drove the damn truck?”

Peter saw Oliver glance almost imperceptibly at Shepard. Peter figured June was too far away to see the movement of his eyes in the dim light. Shepard gave a slight nod.

Oliver said, “Mr. Shepard was under my orders to work with Ms. Sanchez first, and Mr. Dawes second. I thought it essential that he gain their trust to avoid an unfortunate outcome. However, events developed quite rapidly. I was overseas and unable to monitor the situation or direct Mr. Shepard. Again, the fault is entirely mine. But Mr. Shepard drove the truck that killed your mother.”

Peter took Sally’s pocket Glock from his lap and pointed it at Shepard.

Lewis, who had been eating on his feet, had somehow put down his plate and taken the flat black automatic from his waistband. He didn’t point it at anyone, but he didn’t not point it, either.

Shepard, who even standing right in front of Peter seemed somehow nearly invisible, didn’t react. He didn’t reach for the pistol in his shoulder holster. He simply seemed interested in what might happen next.

“In your many deployments,” Oliver asked Peter, “did you ever kill someone who didn’t deserve it?”

“Of course I did,” said Peter. “And I’m paying for it, believe me. What I want to know is, who pays for Hazel Cassidy?”

“Ms. Sanchez already has,” said Oliver. “I imagine Mr. Shepard is, too. Besides, he’s retired, and on your side. Would you kill a retired fellow soldier?”