Code 6, p.7
Code 6, page 7
“I’m great,” he said, then seemed to catch himself. “Well, a little sad, actually.”
Kate nodded in appreciation. “Thank you. We all are. My mother was crazy about you.”
He hesitated, seemingly puzzled. “Oh, right. Your mom. Well, that, too.” He removed his earbuds. “What I meant was that on the way over here I was just listening to the saddest song.”
“A song?”
“Yeah. This poor girl really liked a boy at school, but all her friends convinced her that he wasn’t good enough for her, so she refused to go out with him. Like two years later, she’s sitting at home with a baby of her own and turns on MTV, and there he is, slamming on his guitar, and—”
“Okay, very funny,” she said, laughing. He was referring to much-younger Kate, who used to listen incessantly to Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8er Boi,” which was about as “sad” as “Video Killed the Radio Star.”
“It’s just so sad,” he said, wiping a nonexistent tear from a bone-dry eye. And then they both laughed. It pleased her to see that Patrick still had that quirky and irreverent sense of humor that could make her smile even when—in his own way—expressing his condolences for her mother’s passing.
“How’s your play doing?” asked Patrick.
“How did you know about my play?”
“Well, for starters, you’ve been writing plays since you were my babysitter.”
“That’s true.”
“And your mom used to pop by and say hello whenever she came to the office. Last time I saw her, she told me you were going to be presenting at Ford’s Theatre. She said she wanted to go, but she was afraid she’d make you nervous.”
Kate wasn’t sure what to make of that: afraid to make her daughter nervous, but not too afraid to throw herself off a building.
“I guess she thought I might want to watch,” said Patrick. “But it didn’t really interest me. No offense. I’m not much into live theater. But I did like the flying car in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.”
“Of course you did.”
“So I’m guessing you got the idea from Project Naïveté, right?”
“The idea for what?”
“Your play. Project Naïveté is like the same—” He stopped himself. “I thought for sure you cleared this with your dad. Are you saying your play was not inspired by—”
“Patrick, I think you should stop talking.”
If there was one thing Kate knew about Buck, it was that projects with code names were not discussed freely among coworkers. Information was shared on a “need to know” basis only.
“Well, how about that,” said Patrick. “I just got myself fired.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Maybe I got you fired, too.”
“No. Patrick, listen to me. This conversation never happened.”
The color slowly returned to his face. “Like the time we built a moat around the lifeguard stand so deep that the stand fell over?”
“Yes. Thankfully, the lifeguard was off duty.”
He smiled, but then it faded. “I think I have to turn myself in. This is a huge breach of policy.”
Another thing that hadn’t changed. Once a scout, always a scout.
“Before you do anything, let me speak to my father.”
“It was my mistake. I should own up to this myself.”
“Patrick, please. Let me speak to my dad.”
“Okay,” he said, but it was more acquiescence than agreement. “Speak to your dad. But do it soon.”
“Sure,” said Kate, still a bit unsettled by the fact that her play bore any similarity to a Buck Technologies project. “I’ll do it first thing.”
Chapter 11
Christian Gamble stood to one side as his longtime business partner, Jeremy Peel, took his place at the podium before a bouquet of microphones on a warm afternoon in the nation’s capital. More media than expected had shown up for the press conference, so they’d moved the gathering from the air-conditioned lobby to the courtyard outside Buck’s office on New York Avenue, a stone’s throw from Lafayette Square and within an easy walk to the north end of the White House.
The Department of Justice cybersecurity audit was officially underway. The local U.S. attorney had a policy of “no comment” on any pending investigation, which was nothing unusual. However, the fact that he’d extended this policy to something as routine as an audit—which was not, technically, an “investigation” into any wrongdoing—led to wild speculation that this particular audit was anything but “routine.” A reassuring public statement from Buck management was needed if the company’s stock was to avoid a serious hit on Wall Street. The board of directors decided that Peel, as chairman, should be the one to deliver it.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” said Peel. He was flashing what Gamble referred to as his partner’s “corporate smile,” that toothy expression worn by business executives spinning unhappy news, also popular with politicians accused of adultery.
Politically speaking, both Gamble and Peel were independents, not wanting to ruffle red or blue feathers. While Buck’s data-integration technology was flexible enough to serve both the public and private sectors, the fact that it was used by investment banks to guard against money laundering or by pharmaceutical companies to expedite development of new drugs didn’t grab headlines. The hot stories usually had a Big Brother component, some nefarious link to government, like the New York Times revelation that while the Department of Health and Human Services had a perfectly legitimate $31 million contract to use Buck’s software to analyze public health issues, the same software could also be used to access private health records. In short, the business of Big Data was hopelessly intertwined with politics. Of Buck’s two founders, Peel was the more politically savvy. Gamble served as president and CEO, running the corporate campus in Virginia. Peel was the chairman of the board, keeping his office close to the Washington power elite.
“When Christian and I formed this company after the terrorist attacks of nine eleven, we had two overarching ambitions. The first was to make software that could help keep the country safe. The second was to prove that there was a technological solution to the challenge of balancing public safety and civil liberties—a ‘Hegelian’ aspiration, as my philosophical friend put it,” he said, casting a smile in Gamble’s direction. Then he turned serious. “But we both feared that personal privacy would be a casualty of the war on terrorism.
“So, today, we welcome the announcement that the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the District of Columbia will be conducting a cybersecurity audit at Buck Technologies. The public deserves transparency, and we are happy to provide it. At the end of the day, this exercise will only confirm that Buck has held true to its mission. We make software that saves lives and also preserves privacy. Thank you, and I’m happy to take any questions.”
Reporters immediately began shouting over one another, but the question that rose above the others was directed to the CEO.
“Sir, is there any connection between the security audit and the Fairfax County Police Department investigation into your late wife’s domestic violence allegations?”
Gamble’s business partner stepped to the side in graceful and almost unnoticeable fashion, as if not wanting to be within camera shot of the response to that question.
“There has never been any domestic violence in the Gamble household,” said Gamble. “So I don’t understand your question.”
“Is there or isn’t there a connection between the investigation into your wife’s suicide and the cybersecurity audit?”
“I’m not aware of any such connection.”
“Sir, can you categorically state that there is no domestic violence investigation?”
“I can only tell you that there has never been—”
“Mr. Gamble, you’re unable to deny a connection between the domestic violence investigation and the cybersecurity audit. Isn’t that correct?”
Gamble pulled out the most forceful denial he could muster. “I have no reason to believe that this is anything more than a routine cybersecurity audit. Routine. Thank you all very much.”
The two executives came to silent agreement that it was time to shut down the press conference, but the cacophony that followed them from the podium was a sure sign that this issue wasn’t going away anytime soon. The questions kept coming, and the flock of reporters followed them into the building. Peel led the way to the executive elevator. The two men entered, and Peel smiled until the doors closed on the media.
The CEO was not smiling.
“I can’t believe the way these bastards have twisted the story of my wife’s suicide,” said Gamble, as the elevator started upward.
“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” said Peel.
The elevator doors opened to the lobby of the executive suite. “That’s not funny,” said Gamble, as they exited.
Peel stopped. “Christian, you had a complicated marriage. That’s none of my business. But if the media wants to go down a rabbit hole, following a bullshit story that this company is vulnerable to extortion because its CEO had a volatile marriage, then let it play out.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Would you rather they speculate about what the cybersecurity audit is really about?”
Gamble turned and faced his partner. “Jeremy, if there’s something you know about this audit that I don’t know, let’s hear it now.”
“You saw how the media reacted to your statement that the audit is ‘routine.’ They aren’t buying that for a minute. They need some red meat. Spousal abuse with threats of extortion is red meat wrapped in bacon.”
Gamble seethed inwardly. Peel wasn’t acknowledging that he was the red meat. “You make it sound like it’s some kind of strategy. This thing is out of control.”
Peel laid a hand on the CEO’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. It was a patronizing gesture that Peel sometimes pulled as chairman of the board, and Gamble hated it.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Christian. Nothing is out of control.”
Gamble glared back at him as the pieces clicked into place. “You planted that question, didn’t you? It was one of your media puppets who asked me about domestic violence.”
Peel checked his cellphone, then shared the screen with his CEO. It was a stock market app. “Well, looky there. Buck Technologies is up two points. It seems the market isn’t all that troubled by a CEO under fire for personal problems.”
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” said Gamble.
“I didn’t do anything to you. You did this to yourself by staying married to an alcoholic who could be one very vindictive drunk.”
“I have never allowed my personal life to hurt this company.”
“Until now.”
“Meaning what?”
“Both you and I know that the current administration wants the CIA out of the venture capital business. The DOJ won’t stop until this audit turns up something to support the president’s view that spying and private investment don’t mix.”
“The DOJ won’t find anything.”
“They may have already found it,” said Peel. “A CEO who is vulnerable to extortion may be just enough to please everyone. The DOJ can claim its audit was a complete success because it led to the ouster of Buck’s CEO. And once the tainted CEO is gone, the CIA will be happy because it can continue business as usual.”
“Where does that leave me?”
“You’ve had a good long run, Christian. Twenty years.”
“That’s it, then? Buck just finds itself a new CEO?”
Peel didn’t answer.
“Might that new CEO be you, Jeremy?”
“If I’m asked by the board, I’d consider it.”
“So that’s your angle? You want to be both CEO and chairman of the board? The boss and the boss’s boss?”
“It’s not unprecedented. Zuckerberg did it at Facebook. Gates did it for a time at Microsoft.”
“Have you spoken to David Walker about this?”
“David Walker is a venture capitalist. He’ll bless whatever is necessary to protect the CIA’s investment in this company.”
“You ungrateful prick. After all I’ve done for you.”
“Oh, that’s rich. We would have been out of business twenty years ago if I hadn’t brought David Walker and BJB Funding onboard.”
“BJB and the link to the CIA has been the bane of our existence. Foreign governments think we’re the CIA’s pawn.”
“Yes, and who had to pull the strings behind the scenes to smooth things over? Me. Always me. But you were more than eager to step up and accept the National Medal of Technology and Innovation, the Stevie Award, the Bower Award, and all the other awards that put you on the cover of every publication in America.”
“So that’s what’s going on here? Payback’s a bitch, and this is all a long-overdue personal power play on your part?”
“No, Christian. What’s going on here is called business. And yes, it is long overdue.”
Peel walked away, leaving the CEO alone in the lobby.
Chapter 12
Kate’s first day at Buck ended early, with assurances that Day 2 would be her “real” first day of work. Rather than head straight home, she redid her research trip for her play—this time with Patrick.
It was probably the old babysitter in her, but she was worried about Patrick, fearing he might walk over to HR and turn in his resignation for his slip of the tongue on Project Naïveté. She tried to remember the name of that video game he used to play, the one where his avatar looked like a blond GI Joe. Call of Duty: WW II? Or maybe Fall Out? Whatever it was, she knew the Nazis’ use of technology would fascinate him. They spent two hours at the Hollerith machine exhibit, and knowing Patrick, he would be up all night researching it. By morning, Patrick the sponge would know more about Hollerith machines and the Holocaust than Kate could ever hope to learn.
“You’re going to talk to your dad, right?” asked Patrick.
She’d taken his mind off his mess for a couple of hours, but not completely. “I promise I will. I’m meeting him for a drink in twenty minutes.”
They said goodbye, and Patrick headed toward the Smithsonian Metro station. Kate walked south toward the river. To tourists, the Tidal Basin conjured up images of cherry blossoms and the National Mall. To Washingtonians, it also meant the revitalized Wharf District on the southwest waterfront. Kate met up with her proud father at the rooftop bar at the Mandarin Hotel. He was seated at a comfortable outdoor armchair near a flickering gas firepit.
“There’s my future general counsel,” he said, as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Not so fast, Pops.”
She was barely seated when the waiter brought two preordered glasses of champagne. Her father raised his in a toast.
“May you fall in love with the transactional side of the law,” he said.
“Dang. Now what am I supposed to do with my ‘Have You Been Injured?’ billboard?”
“Burn it,” he said, glancing at the flames. He drank, then shifted gears. “How do you like this neighborhood?”
Kate took in the view of the glowing Washington Monument in twilight. “What’s not to like?”
“How’d you like to live here?”
“At the Mandarin?”
“Next door. I’m told it’s the safest apartment building in the city.”
“Who told you that?”
“I won’t name drop. Let’s just say there are several residents who are entitled to Secret Service protection, and I know one—actually I know all of them.”
“I’m happy with my little place. It’s closer to the law school.”
“You’re graduating in December. It’s time to think ahead. I’ve already sold the unit I was holding for you at Tysons Tower.”
Kate wasn’t surprised. Her father had yet to set foot in the building since her mother’s death. “Have you decided what to do with the penthouse?”
“The real estate broker advised me to hold it for a while. Sometimes it improves marketability to have a story attached to a property, but this is not that kind of story. We need to give it time. Then sell it.”
“That’s probably good advice.”
“But let’s not lose focus. What about the building next door?”
Kate glanced at the man dressed in a black suit two tables away, her father’s bodyguard. “Can we slow down a little? It’s going to take me some time to warm up to the idea of returning to a world where everything is about security. And secrets.”
He seemed to pick up on the way she’d pivoted from security to secrets. “Did something happen today?”
“Patrick Battle came by my office today to say hello,” she said, and then quickly got to the nub of it. “He slipped.”
“Slipped how?”
“He said something he shouldn’t have about a project he’s working on.”
“Very unlike him. He’s one of our rising stars. Which project?”
“Project Naïveté.”
Her father didn’t appear angry, but he definitely looked concerned. She waited for him to say something, but he was silent.
“I told him I would speak to you about it.”
Her father seemed caught off guard, at a loss for words. Then he burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” asked Kate.
“My apologies to Patrick, but I can’t keep up the ruse any longer. He got you. That’s the oldest joke in the company. Pretend that you spilled the recipe for the secret sauce and act like you’re both going to get fired over it.”
Kate’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“There is no Project Naïveté. But I give the boy points for coming up with the perfect code name. Naïveté. He was seeing how naïve you are.”
“That stinker. He said it was like my play.”
He smiled, then turned serious. “You mean the play you’ve been hiding from me?”
Now Kate was caught off guard. “I wasn’t hiding anything. It just never came up.”
“You still haven’t forgiven me, have you?”
