Keeper of the algorithm.., p.6
Keeper of the Algorithm (The Keeper Saga Book 1), page 6
"What's this about?" Mike whispered to Amber, his eyes searching hers.
Before she could answer, a powerful, fair-haired man entered the room and said, “Good morning, ladies, and gentlemen. I’m Special Agent Miller of the FBI anti-cyberterrorism division, and this is Special Agent Gregory. We’re part of an international investigation into the events surrounding the break-in and hacking of the Turing facility. We asked to meet with you this morning because the threat has escalated and may involve terrorists.”
“Terrorists?” muttered Gault. “How could they get through our safeguards?”
“They might have disguised themselves as staff or forged ID clearances,” said Gregory.
“How could they penetrate the network?” asked Winters, his brows furrowed. “We detected the WormAI and took remedial action. We don’t need FBI assistance for that.”
“On the contrary,” continued Miller. “There is additional cause for alarm. We’re not releasing details yet, but we suspect they have penetrated the grounds.”
He paused, and the room visibly chilled as each person glanced at his neighbors.
"Sit," said the agent, gesturing to the empty chair beside Mike.
Mike did as he was told.
Gregory started a 3D virtual video projector.
“This was recorded shortly after your cybersecurity chief exchanged a series of encrypted messages,” said Miller.
A surveillance clip of Paul Wilson, whom Mike recognized, was shown typing fervently on his terminal. Mike watched as Wilson appeared to notice something, his eyes widening. He got up and ran out of his office.
The video paused.
"Paul Wilson was murdered late last night. His body was left in a shallow grave behind the main power-switching terminal at the edge of the Turing campus. We only found it early this morning," said Miller, his voice cold, devoid of affable timbre.
A heaviness filled the room.
Someone asked, "Dead? How”
Miller didn’t answer.
“Why are you showing us this?" asked another. “Do you have any suspects?”
“We aren’t ruling anyone out just yet,” Miller said smoothly, casting his eyes around the room.
“You mean we’re all suspects?” Gault rose in indignation, but Winters grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his chair.
Mike felt the tension rise in the room.
“Not exactly,” said Miller with a half-smile. He extended his well-manicured hand in a sweeping gesture. “More like potential witnesses. We’ll need your full cooperation to succeed in solving this case. Each of you must complete an affidavit confirming your whereabouts for the last twelve hours. Also, please provide any information you may think is relevant.”
Gregory said, “Also, we’d like to know about any suspicious individuals you saw on your last night. Oh, and I’ll need a list of anyone who recently accessed the power grid facilities.”
Miller said, “One more thing. Michael Stewart, do you have anything to say?”
Like a deer in headlights, Mike froze.
"I’m singling you out, Stewart, because we found something on Paul's workstation you need to explain."
He navigated to another file. It displayed the encrypted conversation between Mike and Paul before Wilson was killed.
Mike felt a flush creep up his neck.
Miller sighed. " The Algorithm even flagged these text messages for us. Imagine that. Nothing’s secure when it’s a matter of national security. And now murder."
"I was being helpful. I don’t know anything beyond those text messages," Mike said, his eyes pleading for acceptance.
"Look," Amber said, "no one could imagine that Michael was involved. It was terrorists, like you said.”
Mike’s mind began to race. "Any clues on who they could be? How did they breach our security?"
Miller shook his head. "That’s what’s alarming. All logs were erased. Our only lead is an unauthorized data transfer to a foreign server. It was encrypted untraceable, but it’s enough to assume that whoever did this wasn't just after Paul. They were covering tracks."
Suddenly, Mike considered the anomalies he had discovered earlier. "I think we're looking at something bigger that involves not just our facility but the Algorithm itself. It’s possible that the WormAI attack was not just a breach, but a full-scale attack aimed to throw us off balance.”
"Meaning, this could be part of a larger plan to compromise or manipulate the Algorithm," suggested Amber.
Mike added, “Paul might have also discovered it and was silenced for it."
Gault said, "If they could try to corrupt the Algorithm, that’s not just a security breach. That’s —"
"— potentially national security," Winters finished for him. "We need to trace that foreign server. And dive deeper into the Algorithm than any of us have ever gone."
Chapter 13
Deep Dive
The offices were swarming with federal agents when Mike returned the next day. They moved like bees buzzing about with stern eyes concealed behind reflective sunglasses. They perused files, inspected workstations, and disrupted the facility's workflow with an invasive vigor. They wanted to find well-hidden secrets.
And Mike had secrets to hide.
Jonah was embroiled in conversation with one of them—a hawk-nosed man with a military demeanor. The air was thick with tension and unspoken concerns. Mike's hazel eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Amber. She was visibly uneasy, hovering over her workstation as an agent audited her computer.
Mike knew he needed to talk to Jonah and Amber, but not here, not with vultures circling. He discreetly caught Amber’s eye and subtly inclined his head toward the break room. She nodded almost imperceptibly.
Inside the break room, the scent of burnt coffee hung in the air. Jonah closed the door behind them, leaning against it like a barricade against an unfolding deluge.
"Status?" Jonah’s voice was terse.
Mike's eyes were intense, a swirl of thoughts behind them. "I reviewed the anomalies that I mentioned to Paul.”
Amber and Jonah stared at him.
“I may have found some faint signs of intrusion deep within the Algorithm. Micro-corruptions, hidden bits that don’t belong. I’ve made copies of my findings so you can review them."
He handed each of them a flash drive.
"Foreign?" Jonah asked, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Could be. I couldn't trace it back yet; it’s sophisticated, and you would know better than me.”
Jonah placed the flash drive into his laptop and opened it. He and Amber looked over the files.
“Yeah. You may be right,” said Jonah.
Amber said, “On top of that, I found that Paul may have been running unauthorized queries before he was killed."
Mike looked from one to the other. "So, it's true. He was looking for a mole."
Amber nodded. "It seems likely. But there's more—evidence of a planned large-scale data manipulation. This isn’t just spying, or even hacking, someone is trying to pervert the Algorithm."
"That would have far-reaching consequences," Jonah said, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"We’re talking about potential havoc. Financial markets collapsing, public services failing.”
"And don’t forget the national defense systems," Jonah interjected.
Mike felt a surge of vulnerability. His mind briefly veered off to his past—the dropout year, the aimless wandering. He had stumbled into a role of monumental responsibility, and now, with all the investigations, he felt the walls were closing in on him.
Jonah seemed to sense his internal turmoil. "Are you okay?"
Mike sighed. "Just trying to fathom the depth of the abyss we’re staring into."
Jonah moved away from the door and walked over to him. "Look, you’ve got to hold it together. Doubt is a luxury we can't afford."
Mike met his gaze. "I know. But I can't help but wonder how I got pulled into this. And how do we even begin to fix it?"
Amber, usually so composed, seemed to struggle with her emotions. "First, we find out who's behind the murder. Mike, can you backtrace the intrusion? Identify the mole?"
"It's risky," Mike admitted. "If I dig around while the FBI is looking and get caught . . ., I’m already in the spotlight.”
Amber placed her hand on his. "You're not alone in this, Michael. We're with you."
"We'll find the mole," he said, steeling himself. “But it’s going to take time.”
◆◆◆
The air was thick with solemnity as Mike stood by Paul Wilson's freshly carved headstone. A picture of Paul was set on a small easel next to a wreath of white lilies. The atmosphere at the private memorial service was almost cathedral-like. Soft murmurs of condolences filled the space.
Colleagues, friends, and family gathered to honor the man whose diligence had, inadvertently, unearthed a dangerous plot. It was a ceremony of hushed voices and bowed heads. Yet each person knew that the echoes of Paul's life would reverberate much longer than the words spoken on this day.
Chapter 14
Downhill
Several months later, as winter approached, Mike stood on the mountain peak as dawn broke for the weekend getaway. The town below was a distant speck. The mountain cold penetrated his bones despite his MIT jacket and layered attire. He slid his fingers into thermal gloves and shifted the weight of his freshly waxed skis onto his shoulders. Each footprint he made was a crunching symphony in the snow. He went to the gondola, his heart racing as figures glided elegantly on the Massachusetts slopes.
He spotted Amber in line for the gondola and felt an electric charge.
“There you are,” Mike greeted, flashing a grin that told his adrenaline-fueled anticipation.
“Couldn't stay away,” Amber replied with balletic grace, gliding to his side.
An expansive panorama unfolded beneath them during the ride up. Upon reaching the advanced level platform, he snapped his goggles against his face and clicked into his skis.
He exchanged cursory hellos with a handful of familiar faces. They were all enjoying the Turing Institute's Tenth Anniversary Spring Break event. An older skier sauntered past, face chiseled by years and windburn, eyes a silent dare to match his skills. This was the crème de la crème of snow sports enthusiasts, an assembly donned in top-tier gear, poised at the brink of adrenaline-laced descents.
The skiers launched off one pair at a time until only Amber and Mike were left in splendid isolation. The mountain air tasted pure—a touch crisp.
Amber’s eyes twinkled with mischief. "Race you to the bottom?"
Before Mike could question the stakes, Amber was a rocketing blaze of movement. Cursing inwardly, he thrust his poles into the snow and propelled himself after her. The skis sang—a euphoric hiss—against the powder. He leaned into the wind, feeling the resistance to his acceleration. Yet, as if commanded by some otherworldly force, Amber stayed frustratingly ahead.
With each serpentine maneuver, Mike's instincts screamed for more speed. The mountain slope was a tapestry of steep plunges, snow-choked woodlands, and skeletal trees clawing at the sky.
Taking a tuck position, he clenched his poles under his arms. The wind roared in his ears as speed blurred the details of the world passing him. Trees became spectral blurs. The very air seemed to evaporate.
Amber was tantalizingly close now, her joy echoing back at him like a taunt. Mike swept through a labyrinth of flags in a near-reckless dash, his skis carving arcane glyphs in the snow.
Then disaster.
An errant ski edge betrayed him. Time elongated, each millisecond a painting of acute chaos as he tumbled, rolled, and came to a jarring halt. He shook his head, dislodging clumps of snow.
Then, propelled by ego and the sight of Amber’s diminishing figure, he sprang back up.
Ignoring the stab of warning signs that signaled an impending ravine, he shot like a bolt. Bounding over hillocks and plunging into troughs, his breathing became a rhythmic chant of exertion.
Speeding through an orchard of pines and firs, he realized the race was nearing its conclusion.
Amber was in sight, but a mere silhouette.
In a final Hail Mary, he executed a series of turns so sharp they could cut glass. Every muscle screamed in protest. And then the finish line was there, lying in ambush as if it had sprung from the snow.
Exhausted, Mike crossed it. The very act of slowing down felt like a betrayal to the adrenaline that had sustained him. His fingers remained clamped like vices around his poles; his lungs seized in their rhythmic intake of the mountain air.
Snowflakes began to fall—nature's applause for their descent.
As he finally unclamped his skis and straightened, each movement tinged with an afterglow of ache, one thought claimed him.
Did I win?
◆◆◆
That evening, the Turing Institute's Tenth Anniversary celebration began.
Mike stepped inside the picturesque mountain chateau. Around him, the ballroom unfurled its sumptuous architecture. It was a study of rustic opulence. Chandeliers dangled like bejeweled crowns, and aged wooden furniture graced the room.
The crowd expressed the revelry and contagious cheer of the evening. Each smile, handshake, and hug were a moment knitting them together. Yet, as he scanned the faces, Mike felt invisible.
Stationed at the bar, Amber’s allure caught his attention. She wore a green silk dress, a sublime fabric that seemed to melt on her skin, creating an aura rather than a mere appearance. Her golden locks were an elegant cascade vying for attention. Around her, men clustered like moths to a flame, yet her restless fingers drummed on the wooden edge of the bar, betraying an impatient yearning.
Catching the sight of Mike, her lips curled into an electrifying smile. The men around her slowly receded like the ocean tide pulling back.
"Your timing," she chuckled, "is impeccable."
"As is your beauty," Mike rejoined, "a sight for any weary traveler."
With a glint in her eyes that mimicked the twinkle of the chandeliers above, Amber ordered a Manhattan cocktail. Mike opted for an Old-fashioned. Their glasses clinked—an audible seal to their burgeoning connection.
Romantic melodies flowed from the orchestra, each note catching the room's fragrance and turning it into sound.
The Doosan robots hustled about the room, weaving between tables and patrons serving coffee and drinks, but were ignored. Their presence was taken for granted.
Choosing a table close to the dance floor, Mike and Amber dined, feasting on the sumptuous spread and each other's words and smiles. Between forks and spoons, conversation swirled about the slopes, gossip, dreams, and quotidian ambitions. Mike found himself captivated, not just by her beauty but by her insights, which unfurled.
"You have a way of seeing things—of seeing people—that's unique," he said. "It must serve you well at work."
She looked down, modestly absorbing the compliment. "I wish it were just about observing codes and people. Talent plays a part, too."
"Which," Mike smiled, "you have in abundance."
Captured by her radiant smile, he felt a sensation far more intoxicating than any liquor could provide. Standing up, he extended his hand towards her, "Shall we dance?"
The hardwood floor of the ballroom allowed their steps to chart a movement filled with touch and sound. As her hand met the nape of his neck and her breath caressed his cheek, each fiber of his being felt her charm.
Returning to their table, they shared laughs, and continued talking.
"An unforgettable evening," Mike murmured, leaning towards her.
"It's just the beginning," she whispered, her breath touching his lips.
They stroll back to her room.
When they reached her door, she asked, “Would you like to come in for a drink?”
Her kind invitation was readily accepted.
She poured two tumblers of whiskey. “Today was glorious.”
He said, “A toast.”
She raised his glass. “To the victor.”
He smiled, a knowing smile, and downed his drink.
She touched his arm and saw the passion in his eyes.
His arms went around her, and he kissed her long and deep.
Her body melded into his, warm and inviting.
Their lovemaking was sensual and tender.
Afterward, Amber lay naked, wrapped in his arms as they fell asleep.
Chapter 15
Suspicion
Two days after the anniversary celebration, Amber burst through the door into Jonah’s office, her face a complex palette of dread and horror.
"What's the matter?" Jonah asked, visibly startled. "Weren't you supposed to be in the lab the entire day?"
"I was until a routine server system check revealed information about the quantum supercomputer hack."
"The WormAI hack?"
"Yes, that hack. And I have no idea by whom. Or at least, I think I don’t."
Jonah frowned. "What does that mean?"
Amber extended her arms dramatically. "Michael's MIT jacket was stashed in a QC server farm. I have no idea how it got there. Those servers could have been the entry point for manually inserting a flash drive with executable malware."
"That attack was months ago. Do you believe Michael was behind that and is preparing for another?"
She shrugged. "I don’t know, but I took the jacket."
"You didn’t return it to him?"
"No."
"Where is it."
Amber dug through her bag and held the jacket at arm's length.
Jonah scrutinized it. "Apart from the MIT logo, there's no identifying mark. How can you be sure it's his?"
"He wore it skiing, and there's a note in the pocket with his name on it."
"You need to report this, Amber. Turn it over to the authorities."
"I can’t. I've effectively tampered with evidence at a possible crime scene."
"But you weren’t aware of that. Hold on, how could Michael even gain access to the server farm? He would have needed a special keycard to enter that facility. Where is your keycard?"
