The Origin Point: A Future Tech Cyber Novella (2 page)

"But still, extra detail doesn't mean—"

"Look, can I drop the drive off on my way
home. I really do not want unclaimed government documents in my
possession when the feds show up."

"What am I supposed to do with a lost flash
drive?"

"Figure out who the files belong to. If it's
just some kid at a think tank, you can be a Good Samaritan and
return the documents to him. If it's one of the political parties
you can sell the information to the other one. Or if it's
government leadership and they're up to something, you've got
yourself a story."

Dallas considered the options for a few more
seconds. "Okay, I'll put some clothes on."

"Oh no, please don't bother."

"Very funny."

"I'll see you in a few minutes."

Tyler exited the restaurant through the back
entrance, setting the alarm as he went. His Mercedes sports coupe
was parked in an underground garage in an adjacent building.
Stepping into the brightly lit alleyway, he crossed from one door
to the next and began to descend the stairs. Despite D.C.'s
reputation as a crime shaken city, the streets encircling the White
House had an additional layer of surveillance cameras and enough
lighting wattage to ensure the area always appeared to be
celebrating Christmas even in the middle of summer. Tyler did not
think twice about wandering alone into a vacant alley or accessing
his car from an empty lot. No crimes were ever reported around his
restaurant, not even a pickpocket, such was the comfort provided by
omnipresent electronic eyes.

Tyler lifted his key fob to open his car
door. As he walked towards the side of the vehicle, he briefly
looked at the reflection in the window, and caught, the shadowed
sight of a stick figure passing behind him. He stopped and
carefully looked at the window glass for confirmation of his
observation. But from his position, he could not clearly see
completely around his surroundings. After waiting another minute to
determine if the view in front of him would change from a blurred
vision of the parking garage to the clear outline of another human,
he rapidly turned around.

The parking lot was empty. Tyler looked left
and right, but no person was visible.

'Okay now I'm getting paranoid,' Tyler
thought as he jumped into the car. 'I really believe I'm holding
wanted government documents. I need to chill out.' As he talked
himself down from a moment he suddenly refused to consider as
valid, he hit the starter button and raced out of the lot and on
towards Dallas's apartment building.

Dallas lived in one of D.C.'s most
convenient but expensive neighborhoods, Mount Vernon Square on the
other side of Mass Ave from Chinatown. If America's capital had a
downtown defined by bars, restaurants, and a sports arena, then
Chinatown, complete with the obligatory friendship gate and signs
in Chinese lettering, was downtown D.C. If one walked south towards
the National Mall the tourist friendly dining choices gave way to
stately office complexes designed for Roman Emperors. Venturing
north past the homeless people sleeping in neighborhood parks, the
commercial district's streets turned residential as new condominium
towers were being erected in every direction to pull a moneyed
class of young professionals, lawyers, publicists, lobbyists,
thinkers and marketers, into the city's core. 'In a few years this
will be a densely populated magnet neighborhood,' Tyler thought as
he considered the growth potential for his restaurant business.
'D.C. will finally get some traction as a city of professionals who
do not disappear into the suburbs each night, but stay to take
advantage of the electric moving pace funded by national party
politics, 24 hours a day.'

Instantly calmed by the thought of more
patrons for his popular establishment, he parked in the street in
front of Dallas's building and indifferently exited the car.
Turning away as he lifted the fob to lock the door, he glanced at
his window, and once again caught the unmistakable outline of a
figure looming behind him. Bracing his hands on the car roof, he
briefly closed his eyes. 'Relax Frez,' he silently told himself,
before opening his eyes and slowly turning around. He was alone.
Scattered sounds of laughter, glows of cigarettes, and insomniac
dog walkers prevented the somber street from being wrapped in
silence, but no figure was clearly visible within a near distance
to where Tyler stood. Behind him was empty asphalt leading to more
high-rises, the glare from signs of closed restaurants, and the
glass windows of a 24-hour pharmacy. But he saw no humans or a
lurking beast ready to pounce upon him and demand the details of
all he knew. Tyler shook from head to toe. 'Get a grip,' he again
admonished himself before hurrying towards Dallas's building door
and buzzing for entry.

Opening the door to her apartment, Dallas
greeted him in pajamas and a half-open robe. Her uncombed hair hung
entangled to her shoulders, and without makeup her face possessed
the healthy youthful glow Tyler had admired since the day they met
twelve years earlier, in his first New York City restaurant. "Wine
or coffee?" she offered as Tyler entered. Without answering he went
to the window and looked out into the street. "What are you
doing?"

Still facing the view through the window,
Tyler stated, "Okay I know this is going to sound like a super
paranoid dude who is actually making up a backstory for the reason
he came over here tonight, but..." he turned to face her, "...I
think someone is watching me."

Dallas grinned. "Oh c'mon," she replied with
a slight hint of concern. Dallas had never seen Frez Tyler operate
in fear. His relentless drive was created from an indomitable
courage designed to ensure he succeeded in an abrasive competitive
world. Having been friends since she had encouraged him to invite
acclaimed restaurant critics to try his back-to-the-farm food, she
tried to parallel his approach to life. She too sought to be
unsurpassed in her field and matched her progress towards
prestigious reporting assignments, with his rave reviews in the
restaurant sections of national newspapers.

"I'm serious, Dal."

"You watch too many spy movies."

"I don't watch spy movies. Someone was
watching me."

Dallas moved towards the window and observed
the shrouded neighborhood below. "There is literally no one in the
street."

"I saw something."

"Maybe a fan was trying to speak to you. You
are a celebrity you know. Maybe someone knew who you were, but was
too shy to ask for your autograph." Surprised, Tyler looked at her
as if reevaluating his initial reaction. He never considered
himself a celebrity. As a chef, he was driven by his ideas for
creating healthy, tasty meals based on the cultivated cereals and
domesticated animals humans began consuming when nomadic life ended
12,000 years ago. "Okay?" Dallas asked, as he appeared to settle
down. Tyler nodded. "You work hard and have long hours. It's late.
Show me the flash drive so we can both get some sleep."

Tyler slowly removed the drive from his
pocket and handed the plastic stick to Dallas. She went over to her
desk, turned on a light and put the drive into her laptop's USB
slot. With one eye on the window, Tyler sat down on her couch to
wait.

More than fifteen minutes went by before
Dallas looked up at him with undisguised shock. "Frez, these are
actually serious planning documents," she finally commented.

"I told you. With those details, I don't
think the policies are some think tank's speculation," Tyler
responded.

"No, I mean really serious. I think these
documents were commissioned for FedSec."

"Very funny. You want me back to believing I
am being followed?"

"No, I'm serious."

"Don't mess with me," Tyler admonished her,
as he stood to walk towards the desk.

"I'm not kidding."

"You think these documents came from the
Federal Security Commission? The government's top secret upon top
secret 'who-knows-what-they-really-do' security agency? How could
you know these are FedSec documents?"

"It's the template, the organization and
style of the writing and the presentation. The documents read like
their material."

"But the content is not FedSec's supposed
mandate."

"I know. Look at this piece stating tech
companies can code racism and sexism into their websites."

"Yeah I read that."

"They can prevent people from getting
services, but easily deny the practice because there is no
record."

"Yeah, completely illegal."

"And this one on weaponizing civilian law
enforcement drones. Could you imagine if drones with guns were
patrolling the streets? How could that be safe? Some of these plans
are mapped out in detail, like how police forces could use the
drones in urban neighborhoods. No word on doing the same thing in
suburbia of course."

"No, of course not. But are you sure these
documents could be FedSec?"

"Yes, this is exactly how they would present
internally created material."

"Really?"

"Yes, I'm completely serious. I've been
reading FedSec's documents for years. These files follow their
templates to the letter. I mean people can copy a format, but
another government department or a think tank would use a different
style. No one is going to copy FedSec's document writing
directives. Plus there's a tracker file on this drive."

"A what?"

"A tracker file. Whoever lost the stick can
trace its location."

"What! Are you serious? Turn your computer
off!"

"Frez, calm down. The tracker is off. That's
probably why the drive was sitting in your restaurant. Someone left
the stick there, but did not come running back to reclaim it
because the tracker is turned off."

"Why would someone go to the trouble of
adding a tracker file but leave the function turned off?"

"I don't know?"

"Okay what do you think these documents are
for?"

"The content is obviously some future
planning stuff, ideas about mapping out our online activities.
These types of discussions are pretty commonplace these days. But
the question is who was in your restaurant tonight? Why did they
take the drive out and how could they forget to take the documents
home? All are marked 'top secret' and 'confidential.'"

"Yeah you think someone would have come
back."

"Unless they wanted the drive to be found by
a third party."

"By me?"

"Why not, you're as good a whistleblower as
anyone."

"Whistleblower? I don't blow whistles. I run
a restaurant."

"Well maybe they thought you'd call one of
your journalist friends."

"You think?"

"I don't know."

"Okay well either way, what now?"

"I'll investigate, try to find more
information about the content. These files all cover a different
subject, but I'm not sure if the details are leading to a bigger
story."

"Like?"

"These documents are talking about
integrating online activity across everything we do, putting all of
the consumer tools together with surveillance from cameras and
satellites."

"Sounds convenient."

"No, sounds like a gross invasion of
privacy."

"Oh."

"In the name of national security."

"Ohhh...okay. How are you going to find out
more?"

"The best way I can. I'll go right to the
source and ask FedSec what they're up to."

*

CHAPTER ONE - THE
DISCRIMINATION FILE

Appointments to meet with FedSec Director Marco
Manuel usually had to be scheduled at least six months in advance
and preferably a year. "Tell him I have a document I would like to
discuss," Dallas politely explained to the Director's assistant.
"Tell him the document title's first line is 'Preventing the next
Dr. King or Ms. Steinem from gaining a foothold.'" The assistant
noted the file name and placed Dallas on hold. A minute later, she
hastily connected her to the Director.

"Dallas, what's going on?" Marco jovially
answered. A decorated soldier, seasoned political operator and
runway-ready male statue, Marco had lines of supplicants panting at
his door. Government officials sought his input and analysis on a
range of issues from last second developments in conflict areas
overseas to the outcome of football games; current, former and
potential mates requested dinner and party appearance
confirmations; assistants ran in and out of his office with
documents to sign and updates to read; but he put all attendants on
hold to respond to Dallas's incoming call.

"I have my hands on some interesting
documents," Dallas replied. "And I would like your comment."

"What do you have?" Marco unemotionally
inquired.

"Your policy papers."

"My policy papers?"

"Yes sir."

"What is the full title of the document you
told my assistant about?"

"Preventing the next Dr. King or Ms. Steinem
from gaining a foothold: Hiding race and gender bias in website
code." Silence followed. "Mr. Director? Marco?"

"I don't even understand the meaning of
those words," he carefully responded.

"The document appears to be a policy piece.
Seems to be about the ability of businesses and governments to use
computer code to put gender and race discrimination into the
functionality of their consumer-facing websites."

"I still don't get the point."

"It's illegal."

"And how is this type of activity related to
FedSec?"

"Well the policies appear to have been
created by FedSec. I could show you the documents."

"Why would FedSec produce a policy paper on
those themes? We do not deal with race, gender, or computer
programs."

Dallas paused. "Well not directly."

"Not specifically at all. I'm sure you are
mistaken, Dal. Sounds like the document could have come from
anywhere. Guess you best move on. I doubt you have my policy
papers, and I have a ton of work to do..."