Burning Bright (Peter Ash #2)(40)
June had her hand to her mouth. She’d known her mother worked on the bleeding edge of technology. She’d known her mother’s opinions about the disconnect between public and private secrets for years. But she’d never had a hint that her mother’s work might directly impact this disconnect. She kept watching.
“June, I’m very concerned about the world my future grandchildren will inherit, even if those grandchildren are still theoretical.” A brief but kind smile. Hazel had often mentioned her desire for grandchildren. The smile was an acknowledgment that she would never see them now. “Private citizens are overmatched by large organizations that increasingly control our political and economic life. Governments and corporations both. I hoped to share this skeleton key algorithm with citizens working for greater transparency and accountability, when I thought it was ready. When I had proper safeguards in place.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never published a paper about this work. I’ve always been very careful about my own electronic security, and I thought I had kept this secret. But recently I was approached by Jean-Pierre Nicolet, a Seattle attorney. He said he represented an unnamed party wanting to purchase my algorithm for a large sum. I turned him down.”
She stared into the camera. “A week later, the university was notified of a lawsuit from an undergraduate who had briefly worked in my lab, claiming that I had sexually harassed him.” She snorted. “Yeah, right. But the next day—purely by coincidence, I’m sure—I received another offer from the attorney, Nicolet. The purchase price had doubled. He would provide no information about the buyer, only a bland assurance that the algorithm would be used only for the public good. I turned him down again.”
June saw her mother’s face tighten. “Then the gloves came off. A major science foundation, my largest single donor, sent me a letter rescinding my long-running grant due to alleged misappropriation of funds. The next day I received a third offer from Nicolet. The price had doubled again. He made no mention of the lawsuit or my grant problems. But they were clearly connected. I haven’t seen such Machiavellian bullshit since I was married to your father. I told Nicolet to go away. That was two days ago.”
She sighed. “There is someone or something powerful at work here. Anyone with this tool in its mature form will have unprecedented access to the electronic infrastructure of our world. Despite my best efforts, I have so far been unable to determine who is behind these secret offers, or how they even learned about the algorithm. I’ve spoken with the university’s attorneys, who seem more concerned about funding and bad publicity than about my oddball little algorithm. No doubt these lawyers are very bright, but they seem to lack the necessary paranoia. When I spoke with the police, they just told me to consult my attorney.
“So I’m taking certain precautions, including making this video and writing a simple bot to monitor my electronic activity. If you’re watching this, I haven’t sent any email or otherwise posted to social media in seven days. Which means I’m either on an extended electronic vacation,” said her mother, with deadpan sarcasm at the unlikelihood of this event, “or I’m dead.”
She stared out of the screen, clear-eyed and unblinking.
“I had to decide whether it was better to share this information with you or leave you in the dark. In the end I concluded that you are an intelligent and capable woman who shares my own pigheaded desire to know the truth about the world. This is what got you that Pulitzer nomination, what makes you so goddamn good at your job.”
Her mother cleared her throat and looked directly at the camera. “I’m asking you not to try to find the person or persons who killed me. It is likely there is considerable risk in that. Physical risk, real-world risk. Risk to you, my dear daughter, and I would do anything to keep you safe. What I’d like you to do is share this video with the police. Perhaps my death will get their attention.” A smile crossed her mother’s face, wry, sad, full of knowledge. “But I know you, honey. The young woman who climbed El Capitan to prove she could. Who still climbs giant redwoods for fun. You have all the best qualities of your father, and none of his worst. You will do exactly what you think is necessary, and nothing less.”
Her mother took off her glasses, wiped her eyes, looked away from the camera, looked back. Put her glasses on again. “It’s surprisingly emotional to record a message to be sent in case of one’s death, you know. Anyway,” she said, “I’m rambling. Before I began making this message, I removed the algorithm from that mini-supercomputer I built and sent it out to a series of remote servers.” She smiled. “It felt like releasing an animal into the wild. But now it’s yours. I call it Tyg3r, like the geek version of the Blake poem, you know I always liked him. Anyway, Tyg3r isn’t that bright yet. Maybe a particularly stupid cockroach. But it can wriggle into some surprising places, and it’s getting smarter every day. If my worst fears come true and this message is actually sent, another message will be sent to Tyg3r, directing it to contact you.”
Hazel Cassidy sighed. “I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing here or not. In telling you all of this. In developing this algorithm at all. Like any tool, Tyg3r is agnostic, and will serve whoever holds it. The best course might be to destroy the code. Do you think Oppenheimer wished he could unmake the atomic bomb?” She squashed her lips together in annoyance. “Part of me wishes I’d never started this,” she said. “But I really wanted to see if I could do it, you know?” She ran a hand across her face, looking down at her lap, then back at the camera with her familiar unflinching gaze. “Famous last words, I guess. The scientists’ curse. Anyway. I love you, Junie, and I’m so sorry about all of this. Good-bye, dear daughter.”