“Fuck,” Essie said. “This is the problem. It’s not about asking permission. It’s about collaborating. It’s about working together as a team. What are you afraid of? Why can’t we just talk about it?”
Igloo was silent. She was afraid of so much…disappointing Essie, disappointing whomever she was with, not being able to get what she wanted, being judged for what she wanted, being controlled. The fears went on and on.
Essie gave a little huff. “Look, don’t worry about it right now. We’ll talk about relationship stuff later. Can you tell me more about the whole jail thing, because that sounds a little more pressing?”
Igloo took a deep breath. She reached out and stroked Essie’s arm. “I didn’t notice at first, but I was wondering why Angie picked the people she did for the T2 team. Her choices didn’t make sense, because there were more experienced people in some cases. But she didn’t pick anyone who was a parent. Most everyone on the team is unattached.”
“Why the hell did she pick you then?” Essie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “We’re attached.”
Igloo stroked Essie’s cheek. “Because I’m Angie’s backup. I’m in charge.”
“You? Why not Amber? Or Maria?”
Igloo took a deep breath and gave Angie’s answer, even though it still felt hollow, a betrayal somehow. “Because all the attention will be on them right now. I can operate without a microscope on my every move. It was an intentional choice to keep me out of the limelight.”
“Let’s go to Canada,” Essie said. “They can’t arrest you there.”
Igloo wondered if arrest was the worst she had to fear. “They might stop me at the border.”
“Don’t they need some cause to do that? You haven’t done anything…yet. Right?”
“It’s a good idea. It is. Maybe we should have done that ahead of time. But right now, I think we should just stay out of view.”
“Then why are we going to Tapestry?”
“Because…” Igloo realized Essie was right. “We shouldn’t. In fact, we shouldn’t do anything with your car, our phones. Shit, I should have thought of that before. We need operational security right now. New plan.”
Igloo gave Essie the location of a safe car.
Essie stared at Igloo like she was crazy, then shrugged and started driving in the new direction.
A half hour later, after switching cars, swapping clothes, scanning each other, and running a surveillance detection route, they made it to the storage container safe house.
“You really have these everywhere?” Essie asked.
“Not everywhere, but we have a bunch. I shouldn’t have brought you. You’re going to be bored.”
“I’ll help any way I can, and I’ll stay out of the way when I can’t.”
Igloo gestured to the barren container. “And do what?”
Essie shrugged. “Keep you company?”
“No, you should go.”
“I’m going to worry about you.”
“Then go workout or do something to take your mind off things. I have to be here, you don’t.”
Essie looked crushed, but Igloo had to be honest.
“If you’re here, I’m going to be thinking about you, and I won’t be able to concentrate. I need 100 percent of my attention focused. If I know you’re okay, taking care of yourself, then I’ll be able to focus on my work.”
“Can I bring you lunch in a couple of hours?”
Igloo slowly nodded. “That would be great, actually. Remember: operational security. Don’t take the safe car home. Reverse your path.”
Essie left, and suddenly Igloo was alone in the shipping container. Very alone. She couldn’t think about that now.
She logged into the T2 chatroom after taking steps to disguise her location. She found everyone there already arguing about what had happened to Angie. Oh shit.
Ben > If the government killed Angie to stop her, then they’ll kill us.
X > That car was always a mess. It was probably a faulty charge cell.
Diana > She might have been back two firmware revs on the charge controller, because the new ones hadn’t been security audited.
Gene > I have a friend in the police department. I could ask him for their analysis on the car.
Igloo > Stop conjecturing, everyone! Whatever happened, it’s done. Angie would want us focused on getting the software out, not getting to root cause on her car.
Ben > She’s *dead*. This isn’t a game.
Igloo > No, it’s not a game. There are risks to what we’re doing. Arrest is a definite possibility, and I can’t rule out something more sinister. If you want out, this is the time to do it.
Diana > What does **out** look like?
Igloo > I kick you off T2, audit all the history to attribute what you did to me, you deny being any part of T2, and live your life in peace. I won’t fault anyone for taking that option. But if we don’t deliver T2, then it’s all for nothing. Everything Angie did was for nothing. This is why we’re here, people. If you ever wanted to make a dent in the world, this is your chance. If we succeed, we’ll have forever changed the world.
Mike > No one is going to arrest us. It’ll never stand up in court. We’re just writing software.
Dovi > Aaron Schwartz wrote software, and he’s dead.
Mike > He killed himself.
Dovi > Because the government prosecuted him for downloading information he had a legal right to. This is my point: it doesn’t matter whether what we’re doing is legal or not. If the government wants us out of the picture, it will neutralize us one way or another.
Igloo > For what it’s worth, I have some ideas to keep us out of the limelight for the next few days. Once the software is out, the equation for arresting us changes. They still might do it for retribution, but it’ll be too late to stop us.
Ben > What do you have in mind?
Igloo > I’ll tell whoever decides to stay. Everyone should take five minutes, no chatter from this point out, and make a decision for themselves that they can live with. Whoever decides to leave should log off. In five minutes, I’ll restrict T2 to whoever is left.
Tom > I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I have a life I want to live.
Tom has left T2.
Stephanie > Me too. Shit.
Carly > I’m in. I believe in what we’re doing.
Stephanie has left T2.
Erik > I’m sorry, this has gotten too crazy for me.
Erik has left T2.
Bob > Good luck. I’ll miss you all.
Bob has left T2.
A few more people dropped off. Igloo checked the time.
Igloo > Anyone else?
Melanie > I’m in.
Ben > Me too. Fuck those bastards.
Diana > In.
Mike > I’m with you.
Wendy > I’m staying.
Jeff > I’m good.
Tony > T2 FTW!
Dave has left T2.
Dovi > They killed Angie. I know I should fight them, but… I can’t do it.
Dovi has left T2.
Gene > I’m staying.
Igloo > That’s it then. We’re all in?
No one else left. Igloo removed the departed members’ access to T2. She looked at who was left: herself, Ben, Diana, Melanie, Mike, Jeff, Gene, Carly, Wendy. Angie was gone, eight people had left the project, and now there were nine.
Angie was gone. The thought was overwhelming. Nobody could ever fill Angie’s shoes. How could Angie do this to her? She rested her head in her hands for a moment.
She choked back despair. She had to keep functioning. Don’t think. Just do.
Igloo > They’re gone.
Ben > Now we can discuss what really happened to Angie.
No, she had to nip this in the bud.
Igloo > No. If there’s one topic that’s verboten, it’s what happened to Angie. What’s happened is terrible, but the deadline is Monday, and we’re going to miss it. There’s a good chance Angie’s death buys us
a few more days before they crack down on compliance.
Mike > That’s fucked up. You’re capitalizing on Angie’s death?
Carly > ^^^^^
Melanie > ditto.
Igloo wanted to tear her hair out. Yes, of course, capitalize on Angie’s death. That’s the whole purpose of Angie dying in the first place. Her throat was so tight she could barely swallow. Thank god she didn’t have to talk in front of anyone.
Igloo > What would Angie want us to do? Come on, people. Has she ever been less than 100 percent focused on Tapestry?
Diana > Angie would be coding right now. She wouldn’t be wasting time in chat.
Wendy > Then let’s get to work.
Ben > How many days do you think we have?
Igloo had no idea. Amber and Maria would presumably be working on exactly this problem. She needed to talk to them.
Igloo > I’ll find out. Everyone, make a prioritized list of the biggest issues in your area, and figure out what is essential. Try to come up with cut lines for three days, five days, and a week.
Carly > We’re not chasing down UI errors here. Some of this stuff is huge. When Firefox restarts, our in-browser containers are in a non-deterministic state. I’m having to checksum memory maps before we can resume. I’m going to have to submit a patch request for Firefox. You know what the lead time on that is?
Igloo > Prioritize it. What percentage of our user base is Firefox?
Carly > Small as a percent of total, but it’s our best platform for in-browser containers. Even if 5 percent of the user base runs the containers, it’ll give us the numbers we need for security and fault tolerance. Without it…
Igloo’s head spun as they discussed some of the more complex issues they faced. There was just so much to do. Finally, they got through the biggest technical issues, and Ben changed the topic.
Ben > Yeah, but are we safe? Not mentioning the verboten subject, but what if they come after us next?
Igloo > Let me take care of the time question first. I’ll follow up later today with details for operational security. For now, everyone should commit their work environments to encrypted virtual discs on IPFS. Cascade Twofish-Serpent. Pack a travel bag you can carry with a change of clothes, any medicine you need, and NOTHING electronic. I have safe houses and safe computers.
Ben > Whoa. How long have you been planning this?
Igloo > It’s complicated. More later.
Chapter 35
After Igloo left the T2 chatroom, she messaged Amber. No reply. She tried three more times, still nothing. Then she tried Maria.
Maria > We’re at the office. Join us.
Igloo > I can’t. I need to know the timing re: Monday.
Maria > We have some bigger things to discuss. Come into the office.
Igloo > Can we just discuss the timing?
Amber > *Get your fucking ass into the office now.*
Maria > There’s something you need to know.
Igloo > Let’s discuss it here.
Maria > It’s too big for chat. Just come into the office.
Shit. Essie had taken the car. Call Essie back? Igloo realized she didn’t have a secure way to contact Essie. She needed to remedy that. Car sharing was out. She should have stashed a bike at each of the safe houses. Cheap insurance. Even Angie had used a bike to get around, wearing a prosthetic arm for the short duration to and from her mobile van.
Igloo figured her best chance might be to find a bicycle in one of the nearby residential neighborhoods, borrow it for an hour, then bring it back.
She left the container building, feeling exposed. Surely the government would be watching more closely now. Ever conscious of Angie’s long-standing advice to appear as normal as possible, she calmly crossed the major avenue and entered a residential neighborhood. Saturday, families out and about.
She scouted yards as unobtrusively as possible. Two women and their kids piled into a minivan down the block. The roof rack had empty rails for holding bikes. Perfect. A modern nuclear family.
The minivan started as Igloo walked next to it. It pulled away. Igloo circled the block, returned to the house, and rang the doorbell. There was no answer. Acting as normal as she could, but feeling a thousand eyeballs watching her back, she descended the porch stairs and sauntered around to the detached single car garage, whose sagging door stretched on its hinges away from the frame
The door creaked heavily as she pulled it open. Inside, a jumble of bikes leaned against the wall. She picked the one closest to her size, borrowed a helmet, and rode away.
At the Tapestry office, Igloo realized she had neither badge nor smartphone to unlock the door. For a brief moment she thought about Angie coming to unlock the door for her. There was a hole in reality where Angie used to be. The world spun, and she braced herself with one hand on the doorframe.
She eventually punched the delivery call button a few times, and the sole weekend admin answered the door a few minutes later.
“Oh, Igloo. I’m so sorry about Angie.”
“Thanks, George.”
“Hug?”
“Do you know where Maria and Amber are?”
“I think they’re holed up in the executive room with the lawyers.”
“Ah. Thank you.”
Upstairs, she entered the executive suite to find Amber and Maria at the long table, with two men in suits. The lawyers, no doubt. Angie’s chair at the head of the room, the one with one armrest set up high to rest her stump on, sat empty.
Amber caught Igloo’s glance at the chair, then they met eyes.
Igloo let the door close behind her, feeling a little like that time she’d been called to the principal’s office for changing everyone’s grades to an A. Not just hers, not just her classes, but the whole school’s grades.
She wasn’t a twelve-year-old kid any more, and Amber wasn’t the principal. There was no Angie to look out for her. Igloo had to be the grownup now.
“Sit down,” Amber said.
Igloo was about to refuse, but that would be childish. She sat.
Maria had her cast resting on the table. “I’m sorry about Angie,” she said, reaching out with her good hand to touch Igloo. “You two were so close. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
Igloo nodded. “Thanks. I’m sorry for you, too. You worked with Angie all the time.”
“I know,” Maria said, and she took a deep breath. “I can’t believe this happened.” She shook her head and then gazed off into the distance.
Igloo, practically drowning in her own sorrow, could still recognize the look of someone who was truly and deeply shaken. She was surprised…Angie and Maria had worked closely together, but Maria seemed more profoundly affected than Igloo would have expected.
“She…nobody…” Amber breathed deeply. “Nobody will ever be able to fill her shoes. Nobody else could ever have done all that she did, given all that she gave to so many.”
The older of the two lawyers cleared his throat, and for a moment, Amber cast an evil look his way. He looked away.
“I went home last night…” Amber choked back tears, squeezing her fist so tightly her fingers turned white. “You know, the whiteboards are still on the walls in my back bedroom from when Angie and I were working out of my house. Her handwriting is still there.”
Igloo leaned over and hugged Amber. She wanted to cry, but something held her back from letting go.
Amber embraced Igloo back, and after a minute she disengaged to wipe at her face. “Look, I don’t want to be here, but David says it’s crucial.”
Igloo glanced over at the older of the two men, who nodded in agreement.
“While Angie…” Amber cleared her throat, and started anew. “While Angie was in charge, she held a controlling interest in voting shares, and was the de facto dictator of Tapestry. She wanted to fight the court order.” Amber glanced meaningfully at Igloo.
Igloo nodded to indicate she knew about the supposedly secret FISA order.
“Sh
e ran the effort to have you and the rest of the team embark on this 2.0 notion, moving Tapestry into the clients and browsers. This was not what I believed was in the company’s best interest, not what our legal counsel recommended, and not what the board wanted. But Angie insisted the effort proceed.”
With good reason, Igloo thought, but she didn’t say anything. She also knew that if Angie were here, she’d be upset that they were having this conversation in the open, without taking counter-surveillance measures. But Angie wasn’t here, and Igloo didn’t think she’d win any points by acting like Angie right now. They’d just have to live with the risk.
“I’m the acting CEO until the board of directors chooses a replacement, and I’m going to side with our legal counsel. I don’t want us to risk a confrontation with the government. We’re not a tiny startup anymore.”
Igloo expected Amber would say something like this. Back when they first talked about onion routing, it was clear Amber had different business goals than Angie. But it was absurd to think they could change their path at this point. She looked around the tiny group. “There’s no way we can be in compliance with the court order by Monday. It would take weeks to set up the backdoors they want, and we haven’t even started on the work.”
Amber took a deep breath. “I never agreed with what Angie wanted to do. Maybe we could pull it off technically, maybe we couldn’t. But either way, the government won’t accept no for an answer. All we’ll accomplish is losing time and market share to Tomo. I knew Angie wouldn’t work on the FISA backdoors, so I took the liberty of pulling together a few people in secret. Just like Angie, so please don’t call me out on the ethics of it. Anyhow, the point is that we’re not as far behind on the government timeline as you think. I am going to ask for an extension to meet the backdoor requirements because of Angie’s death. Given the circumstances, I’m hopeful they’ll grant it. They don’t need to know that the reason we’re behind schedule is that Angie had everyone working to circumvent the FISA court order.”
Kill Switch Page 27