Overthrown: The Great Dark (Overthrown Trilogy Book 1)

by Judd Vowell

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  It all started quite innocently, just the two friends leaving their gym class early one day to talk with Mr. Sutcliff about getting some extra time in the lab. But when they arrived at his classroom, an opportunity presented itself. The door was barely open, enough to see and hear what was happening inside. And what they witnessed became an early lesson in the harsh reality of the world that Jacob was just beginning to understand.

  The beautiful Brooke Landers, senior cheerleader and queen of the school’s drastically broad social spectrum, was failing Mr. Sutcliff’s Algebra 2 course. Jacob and Bobby could hear the conversation clearly. But she couldn’t afford to fail, she said. She had to graduate, she pleaded. She would do anything, she promised. It was a subtle offer that Mr. Sutcliff would accept. And Jacob knew it.

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  Bobby distracted Mr. Sutcliff the next afternoon during lab while Jacob placed the two miniature video cameras on either side of the classroom, both facing the teacher’s desk. He had picked them up a year or so earlier at a local spy shop. The images they were set to record would be grainy, but they’d be good enough for the boys’ purposes.

  They recorded the sexual favors Brooke gave Mr. Sutcliff in return for better math grades for two weeks. It was more than enough evidence – the trysts occurred almost daily. When they presented the teacher with the tapes, he was frozen in shock. They could’ve gotten him to do anything. But all Jacob wanted was a key. To the school. And to the computer lab.

  4.

  J acob left the coffee-house quietly and rushed to get home and open the envelope. In it was a detailed but glossy description of Faultline Technologies, a company based in California. The company bio hit all the standard talking points, utilizing the buzzwords that every tech marketing department was using at the time. They had become the “benchmark” in “cyber-” and “micro-” and “e-” business, with a unique brand of “thinking outside the box.” Jacob wasn’t impressed until he dug deeper, delving into the numerical abyss of the Internet for answers, just as Salvador Sebastian had wanted.

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  Faultline had begun like so many dot-com startups in the 1990s, with one exception: a single investor. With solitary control, Sebastian was able to command the early destiny of his new company, keeping it small and focused. He hired two middle-of-the-class computer science students during their final year of graduate school, to teach him the basics of programming and develop the foundations upon which Faultline would be built. He gave them the freedom to explore the new world of electronic information, and they proved to be dynamic and creative programmers. Sebastian was perceptive – he had seen something in them besides their modest grade point average.

  The small company grew rapidly, out-performing many of its competitors with limitless and aggressive web development. Within eighteen months, Sebastian had built a staff of fifteen developers, engineers, and programmers at Faultline. Within another year, that number was pushing one hundred. The more Jacob researched, the more impressed he became.

  Faultline continued to gain momentum in America’s growing technology sector throughout the last decade of the 20th century. Sebastian commissioned projects and contracts with both private corporations and government agencies. The company continuously re-invested its profits, while making Sebastian one of the wealthiest men in the country at the same time. He spent large amounts of his income on his own brand of philanthropy, developing technical institutes and computer science programs for less-than-privileged areas in America and beyond. His influence throughout the world was broad. Until 9/11 changed Faultline’s direction and ultimately spurred Sebastian’s exit.

  Under contract with the NSA when mass-scale terrorism made its way across American borders, Faultline Technologies’ government division transitioned from web security to enemy surveillance after 2001. The hastily-passed Patriot Act enabled the United States to gather information on suspected terrorists both inside the country and out after 9/11 – and Faultline became one of its most valuable tools. But as Jacob knew from personal experience, the definition of suspicion in the new millennium took on an entirely different meaning. Sebastian had found that out the hard way.

  On paper, Sebastian sold his interest in Faultline Technologies in 2003. He had fought the NSA for over a year, doing all that he could to relieve the company from its contractual obligations, but they wouldn’t relent. Faultline had become the means to both violent and unwarranted ends for so many. It was certainly enough reason for Sebastian to leave it all behind. But as Jacob continued investigating, he couldn’t help but think there was something else to Sebastian’s resignation. Something that he needed to conceal from the upgraded government scrutiny. He didn’t completely disappear after he left Faultline, but any connection he had to the company was seemingly severed. Publicly, he retired to his California hillside home, selling his stock to a half-French, half-Algerian investor. Her name was Simone Vincent.

  5.

  O nce Jacob and Bobby extorted after-hours access to the school from Mr. Sutcliff, they began a nightly ritual. They would sneak out of their houses and meet outside the school at nine o’clock, every weeknight and sometimes even on weekends. Jacob came and went as he pleased in those formative years. His father had abandoned him long before, and his mother was barely there herself. She was typically passed out by sundown every day after a happy-hour mix of vodka and Vicodin. Jacob was happier away from home, so he avoided it as much as he could.

  Using Mr. Sutcliff’s collection of keys, they had the run of the place. They would start their nights under the stars in the school’s quad, smoking marijuana and drinking cheap beer. Occasionally, if they really wanted to see what the primitive processors could do, they would drop acid. But Jacob ultimately found LSD more distracting than mind-opening.

  The two of them spent countless hours on the machines. They would stay in the computer lab almost all night, catch a couple of hours sleep before school, then power their way through the day’s schedule of classes. High school-level curriculum was simple for Jacob. He never needed to study for taught classes. His real education came from overnight hours in an empty school. That is, until he and Bobby dropped one extra tab of acid that fateful spring night – and turned the place inside out.

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  It was Bobby’s idea to vandalize the school, and even though Jacob still possessed the logic to know that it was wrong, he just didn’t care. The large amount of LSD coursing through his body caused that non-reaction, the indifference. He never let himself forget about that side-effect.

  The school’s principal was obsessive about maintaining building decorum. So much so that even teachers found it distracting. Jacob always thought he was a man that valued appearance over substance. And he thought him weak because of it. The two friends began their destruction by dumping trash cans and ripping down homecoming and student election signs. Then Bobby found the paint supply in the second-floor maintenance closet. They didn’t stop until the paint cans were empty. They streaked and coated the walls, floors, and ceilings. Abstract art in school-colored paint was everywhere.

  Two months from graduation, authorities understandably expelled the boys. In order to avoid criminal charges, they were required by the judge to clean up the school, on weekends and under strict supervision. But the principal took things a step further. He recommended a three-month anger management course completion in order for them to receive their diplomas, and the school board supported him. In Jacob’s mind, anger had nothing to do with it.

  It took nine weekends for Jacob and Bobby to get the school back to normal. By then, the academic year had ended and graduation ceremonies had been performed. Bobby signed up for his anger management course and dutifully attended it. But Jacob refused. He didn’t think the principal’s extra punishment fit the crime. He had performed the proper reparations and suffered the equitable consequences. But he learned through the experience that life lessons sometimes come with a price. And that au
thority isn’t always fair.

  So he packed up the little that he needed to make it on his own and left. A metaphorical middle finger to the principal, the school board, and the society that was becoming so obtuse and illogical. Besides, having some paper saying that he had done this or that to whoever’s satisfaction didn’t matter to him. Not where he was heading.

  6.

  W hen Jacob learned that the woman he had met in his local coffee-house that morning was in actuality the head of Faultline Technologies, his intrigue grew exponentially. He had to know more about her.

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  Simone Vincent’s story began on another continent, where she suffered immeasurable loss that shaped the road that would lead her to Salvador Sebastian. She was born in France to an Algerian mother. From what Jacob could find, her father was French military and most likely involved in covert operations. He was killed by a suicide bomber during a joint French-American support mission in Beirut in 1983. One truck bomb destroyed the U.S. barracks, another destroyed the French. Whatever may have been left of his body was never recovered.

  The factual circumstances of her father’s occupation, his assignment within the Beirut operation, and his untimely death were kept secret from Simone’s mother. After he died, he was given neither acknowledgement nor commendation for his service, as the nature of his true business remained concealed deep in government files. Simone was born not long after, his only child. Out of frustration and anger, her mother moved her across the Atlantic to Montreal, where they had Algerian relatives. To Simone’s mother, it was the only place to start over for an immigrant widow whose country had no respect left for her dead husband.

  Simone never knew anyplace as a child except for Quebec. She excelled in both school and society there. She attained full-ride scholarships to various Canadian universities, ultimately selecting Concordia in Montreal. She focused on political science and language studies, eventually speaking fluent Arabic along with her native French and adopted English. Deep down, she never let go of the father she only knew from pictures and romantic stories her mother would tell. She took a year after college to find him, and to uncover what happened to him in Beirut. She moved to Lebanon and hunted for answers, but was only left with more questions than before. The man and his mission would remain a mystery, and something that she would struggle with forever.

  She left the Middle East exhausted, but ready to move forward in another direction. Whatever her motivation, Simone was consistent in her desire to achieve. Her previous undergraduate success earned her a select international scholarship to NYU’s famed School of Law, where she continued her top-of-the-class performance. After graduation, she was recruited across the globe. Her language skills and school performance made her a highly attractive prospect to the largest and most dynamic organizations in the world. She had her choice in law, politics, and finance. She could have been an immediate vice president or fast-track partner. But she chose Faultline Technologies. Certainly not a bad option, but definitely a strange one. Sebastian must have offered her something beyond her highest expectations. It all left Jacob wondering.

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  Simone had intimated to him at their meeting that he would come calling, and soon. He picked up the phone and dialed her number first thing the next morning.

  7.

  E arly computer games didn’t interest Jacob the way they did so many others, but he played them in high school just the same. To him, the storylines were trite, the characters under-developed. But they were full of programming possibility, and programming had become his obsession. In sparse moments, he adventured through the elementary landscapes of medieval fantasy or futuristic badlands, all the while meeting other gamers online. Some of them he perceived as intellectual equals. And eventually those kindred minds introduced him to the gaming commune culture.

  The communes closest to Jacob were up the coast, near Seattle proper. They were made up of teens and twenty-somethings with a shared interest in a video game or genre of game. Most of the communes consisted of eight to ten people, both men and women. That was one of the few aspects that attracted him. Living together in a house or condo, everyone would contribute to the expenses of life while endlessly playing the games they loved. Jacob considered it all a nerd version of 60s hippies. Not his style, but it gave him a place to land when he first stepped out on his own.

  There were five men and four women in the “VW Compound.” It had been named after the space-themed game Vega Warning, not a Volkswagen van, although that would have been fitting. The commune house was covered in tapestries for decoration and smelled of patchouli and marijuana. Jacob had met the head of the house online a few months earlier while playing the game. So when he decided to leave his hometown, he contacted the new friend, looking for a place to stay. “No problem, man,” the gamer told him. “Just gotta pay your dues like the rest of us.”

  The others in the group welcomed Jacob with open arms. Soon enough, he was immersed in the collective’s constant flow of gaming, drugs, and sex. He found himself most partial to the last activity in the list, but he kept up appearances by also playing the game as much as he could stand.

  For money, Jacob had a plan. He contributed to the commune’s expenses with an idea that he had concocted before he left high school. He had a friend who had graduated a year before him and moved north to Seattle. The friend was working in a music CD manufacturing plant in the city, which meant he had access to albums weeks before their record store release. His idea, to sell bootlegged CDs a week or more in advance, worked. Suburban teenagers were eager to pay a premium to have the exclusive music. Jacob’s trunk store music shop did better than he expected, in fact. And it also led him to a much bigger idea, although he wasn’t the only one climbing that cerebral staircase.

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  When Jacob decided to leave the commune, two of the women went with him. They were young, and he was charming. Whatever they may have mistaken for love, it was enough for them to follow him. The three traveled into Seattle and found an apartment. He convinced them to support his musical experiment, with a huge payoff for all of them if it came to fruition. The girls worked and paid the bills, while Jacob programmed day and night.

  The idea that he soon realized was not just his own was a computerized extension of the music he had been selling out of his car. When the music industry had shifted their focus to the cheapest-of-them-all compact disc, they had inadvertently created a much easier way to reproduce their product. They had digitized it. And Jacob was smart enough to take the next step.

  By now, the story of Napster is digital history. Music in the form of downloads is the norm. But when Jacob first got to Seattle, the concept was outrageous. He worked tirelessly to construct a platform that could support the music files that he was able to transfer from CDs. But he couldn’t quite do it in time. Not before Napster was everywhere.

  He sulked for a long while. But then he decided to dig into the program that had beaten him, to seek out why it was better. For two months, he burrowed through it, looking into every coded corner. Then he tore it apart. He broke it down to see if he could. He wreaked numerical havoc and caused viral destruction. And what he learned was a simple truth on which he began to base his life: Jacob Marsh was meant not to create, but to destroy.

  8.

  S imone arranged for Faultline’s private jet to pick Jacob up at a small regional airport outside of Seattle. He flew to California in modest luxury. She was waiting with a car when he landed.

  “Mr. Sebastian will see you immediately,” she told him as the car sped them away from the airport. “We will have someone take your luggage to the hotel...after we take you directly to Faultline.”

  Jacob didn’t flinch. He knew this was probably part of a stress-test, the beginning of some new-wave interview process. But he wasn’t there to interview. He was only there to relieve his curiosity. “No problem,” he replied. “I’m looking forward to it.”

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br />   The three-story building was a non-descript dark gray with mirrored windows across its face. One small sign that read “Faultline Technologies” stood just outside the main entrance. Most dot-coms and tech companies were ostentatious in their office structures. They inhabited lavish buildings with huge lettering at the top announcing their greatness to the world. For Jacob, they were yet another example of appearance over substance. But Faultline seemed different. “At least Sebastian doesn’t seem to be suffering from that form of delusional deceptiveness,” he thought.

  Simone led him through the small lobby and down a long hallway on the first floor. They stopped at the second-to-last door on the right.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, wrapping her fingers around the metallic doorknob.

  “Listen, Simone, this is all a bit dramatic, isn’t it?” Jacob responded. “I mean, c’mon. You guys are taking yourselves a little too seriously.”

  She turned quickly, stopping with her face not more than six inches from his. “Why exactly do you think Sebastian brought you here?” She paused, but not long enough for him to answer. “This is more serious than you could ever imagine.”

  Then she opened the door to the small blue room.

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  Salvador Sebastian wore a charcoal gray suit, tailored to fit his tall slim body. The collar on his white button-down shirt was left open to the second button. His thick black hair and darkened skin left no question about his Latin-American heritage. The luck of being born with natural good looks has always been an advantage in society. When Salvador smiled as he entered the small blue room, Jacob felt very much at ease.