Biohack

by J D Lasica

  “It’s like he’s running a mini-police state,” Kaden said. “A corporate version of the mob.”

  “With Waterhouse as the crime boss,” Sullivan said. “I’m just in the process of resigning as CMO. Trust me, if you’ve seen what I’ve seen …” She paused, and her body gave a little quiver. “Let’s get you out of here. ”

  They headed out to the parking lot with Sullivan carrying a cardboard box.

  Kaden turned to Nico. The blood was returning to his cheeks. “Were you able to share those files with B Collective?”

  “Those files—and a lot more. But I still haven’t had time to create a super-admin account.”

  “What’s that?” Sullivan asked.

  “It’s an account with the highest level of permissions so you can ask the AI to do anything,” Kaden said.

  “Well, I’m a Level One,” Sullivan said. “At least I am until I quit or Waterhouse revokes my privileges.”

  “Can you create a new account with the same level of permissions?” Nico asked.

  “No idea. But we can try.”

  They reached Sullivan’s car and Sullivan placed the box into the trunk.

  “I need to finish up something in the Lab.” Sullivan tossed her purse into the car and locked it. “Can we meet back here in a few minutes?”

  Kaden and Nico exchanged glances. There was no time to lose.

  “We need to get our gear anyway,” Nico reminded her.

  Kaden nodded. “Fifteen minutes?”

  Sullivan nodded, spun, and hurried back to the Lab.

  “Let’s go,” Kaden told Nico.

  They raced to their rental unit at the fringe of the business campus. Conrad’s security team had confiscated Nico’s laptop, her gun, and their go bags and Eyewear. But they still had their serious firepower and smartphones back at the residence.

  They reached the rental house, out of breath, and changed into their dark fatigues. They began gathering the rest of their gear. Waterhouse and Conrad had escalated this fight to a new level. In place of the lightweight bags they’d lost, they now carried their go-to-hell bags .

  They arrived back at the parking lot just as Sharon Sullivan approached, carrying a small trashcan filled with some crumpled paper towels.

  “What’s next?” Sullivan asked.

  “Where do you get the best reception with the AI on campus?” Kaden asked.

  “Well, almost anywhere. But I suppose right over there—the Data Zone would be your best bet.”

  They headed to the nearby cluster of buildings and entered the visitors’ reception area. It was after-hours so the main building was deserted. Kaden and Nico found two pairs of Eyewear that were available to guests and they powered them up. Sullivan did the same with her own pair.

  “Can you ask the AI if you can create a new user account with Level One permissions?” Kaden asked.

  “I’ll try, I actually almost never use the AI here.” Sullivan put on her Eyewear and activated it.

  “Number Six, on speaker. How are you this evening?”

  “Never better, Sharon. All systems functioning at optimal levels.”

  Kaden heard a disembodied voice coming from the walls, or maybe the ceiling.

  “All right,” Sullivan said. “Number Six, this is important. Can I create a Level One account for Kaden and Nico, my special guests here?”

  “The only persons authorized to create new Level One accounts are Sterling Waterhouse, Lance Harrison, and Gregor Conrad.”

  Sullivan frowned. “No exceptions?”

  “There is the Exigent Swapout Twelve Protocol for use in emergencies.”

  “What in God’s name is that, Number Six?”

  “Under the rules, an exception can be made if you declare there to be exigent circumstances and you relinquish and deactivate your own Level One account. Then I could create a temporary Level One account for someone you authorize. But it would be valid for one person for only twelve hours. There’s no ‘undo.’ And you’d be locked out of all your accounts.”

  Kaden had heard of similar protocols, put in place for scenarios that the rules-setters couldn’t foresee at the outset. She looked at Sullivan, not sure what she’d do.

  “Number Six,” Sullivan said with a crisp delivery, “I’m declaring exigent circumstances. I relinquish my Level One access and transfer my credentials to Kaden, who is seated across from me. Do you see her?”

  “I have eyes on everything. Shall I proceed?”

  “Yes, Number Six.” Sullivan removed her Eyewear and handed the smart glasses to Kaden.

  “Transfer of credentials successful,” Number Six said, still on speaker. “Hello, Kaden. How can I help you?”

  55

  Dallas, August 31

  F or the next few hours, with Number Six serving as a lookout, Kaden and Nico began exploring the main Data Operations building, trying to unravel this high-tech mystery. Sharon Sullivan told them what she knew. It turned out to be a hell of a lot. Grave teams. Incubots. Waterhouse’s deformed fetuses in the Lab. Dmitri Petrov’s effort to use Birthrights Unlimited for human trafficking. Then Sullivan took off, wanting to get the hell out of there.

  Kaden couldn’t blame her, and it shouldn’t slow them down. Sullivan’s handoff of a temporary Level One clearance was proving to be a real coup. Her new permissions gave them access to the company’s database and a sort of virtual bodyguard and concierge on the ground.

  “Number Six,” she called out, “we need you to shield us from anyone who’s looking for us. Nobody should find out we’re here. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, I can do that for the duration of your Level One clearance. ”

  “Okay, Number Six, do it.”

  As Kaden and Nico moved from wing to wing, she didn’t even have to say anything—Number Six just opened the doors in front of them like a virtual doorman while scanning the next wing for guards. Only the occasional guard was patrolling the buildings at this late hour with most of the security force dispatched to the perimeter of the campus.

  Having the services of a top-tier AI was pretty cool. “Number Six, what else do you know that you haven’t told me?”

  “Please refine your question,” Number Six said. “It would take approximately 8,472 years, eighty-nine days, and sixteen hours to verbally convey all the additional details in my database.”

  Stupid me. Never ask an AI an open-ended question like that.

  “Ask her to show us reports coming into the top brass,” Nico suggested. Nico wasn’t authorized to ask the AI all that much with his low-level guest clearance, other than things like, “Where are the restrooms located?”

  Before she could answer, Number Six interrupted them. “There’s a guard up ahead. You said to warn you.”

  “Where can we hide?” Kaden asked. No answer. Oh, right. “Number Six, where can we hide?” It was like a game of Simon Says with this AI.

  “I just unlocked the office door to your left.”

  They ducked inside, closed the door, and kept still until the guard passed.

  “Number Six, whose office is this?”

  “Lance Harrison, the general manager of Bioinformatics.”

  They decided to stay in here for the time being. It was after one a.m., and they needed a place to set themselves down, finish extracting information from the AI that they could send back to B Collective, and figure out next steps.

  Kaden plopped down in an uncomfortable office chair and surveyed the sparsely furnished room. No photos, artwork, or human touches.

  “I think we should notify Valerie Ramirez and Alex Wyatt.” She looked at Nico, who seemed neutral on the subject. “If her surrogate’s pregnant, she needs to know what’s going on at this company. And the story about this place needs to get out. Alex can help with that.”

  Nico nodded. It was after two a.m. in Miami, so she wasn’t surprised when she dialed Valerie and it went to voicemail. She left a short message saying to look for some files that Nico would be sending right over
. She has the right to know, but no need to get her all worked up.

  Nico took out his smartphone, found the zip files containing the strange confidential internal documents he’d sent earlier to B Collective, and forwarded them to Valerie and Alex.

  Kaden turned her attention back to the question Nico posed a moment ago about reports coming into the executive team.

  “Number Six, I have a job for you. I’d like you to group related items into a directory that lists all reports and updates received by Birthrights Unlimited’s senior management in the past thirty days—categorized by subject and ranked by number of occurrences.”

  “Do you mean like this?”

  Within a second, Number Six displayed the results on Kaden’s Eyewear:

  GRAVE TEAMS (872)

  ISLAND RETREAT (604)

  TRACKERS (519)

  PROJECT MINXX (387)

  PETROV DELIVERABLES (293)

  DARPA DEMO (134)

  INCUBOTS (87)

  CELEBRITY FILES (76 )

  “You rock, Number Six!” Couldn’t hurt to butter up the AI, Kaden figured. “Number Six, what is a tracker?”

  “A tracker is a contractor who documents the physiology, behavior, and lifestyle of subjects in controlled studies for entry into the company’s Biohack Global Database.”

  “Number Six, send all tracker files to my personal device.” She had synced her Eyewear and smartphone earlier.

  “Sent.”

  “Number Six, what is Project Minxx?”

  “I can’t tell you that. Sorry.”

  “Number Six, why can’t you tell me?”

  “I’m afraid you’re not authorized.”

  “Number Six, who is authorized to access those files?”

  “Sterling Waterhouse and Gregor Conrad.”

  She clenched her fist but kept silent. Gregor Conrad, her ex-instructor at Lost Camp, was nothing but a soulless prick without a conscience, available to the highest bidder. Was it Conrad who’d recruited her through Contact for those spec ops jobs and Blackburn who’d footed the bills?

  Maybe this was her chance to set things right.

  For the next three hours, Kaden dug into the bowels of Birthrights Unlimited, downloading everything she could get access to. She sent copies from her device to Nico and the B Collective crew. They fought off exhaustion for as long as they could, but some time after four a.m., with Number Six still keeping watch, they sacked out in Lance Harrison’s office chairs for a quick catnap.

  56

  Miami, August 31

  V alerie couldn’t get to sleep. She tossed and turned, waking up Alex as he lay in bed next to her. She kept going back and forth between the two worries that had been consuming her these past few days.

  She was happy about the pregnancy, but she couldn’t get Kaden’s words out of her head since their lunch four days ago—her warning that something about Birthrights Unlimited was not quite right. What did she say? Something about “disturbing personal documents” tied to Birthrights. She and Alex should have heard something by now.

  Her ex-husband was a worry, too. Rick had taken the news better than expected. He agreed not to intrude on the new life with Alex she was trying to make. But he hadn’t ruled out becoming a part of her son’s life. He wanted time to think about it.

  She hopped out of bed and decided to read a romance novel. Maybe then she’d fall asleep on the couch. She flicked on the light in her condo’s cramped family room .

  “Hey, girl. New message!” Zoey chirped from the coffee table. She’d set up the sleek little smart device to notify her about important new messages.

  Valerie slumped onto the couch. “Zoey, play message.”

  The gizmo glowed a cheerful blue as it recited the message. “ ‘Valerie, you really need to see this asap. Nico.’ With five attachments.”

  Valerie rose from the sofa and padded over to the digital screen on her main wall.

  “On screen, Zoey,” she said.

  She positioned herself in front of the TV, swiped to call up her messages, and saw Nico’s at the top. She opened the message and started browsing through the attachments.

  What was so darned important?

  She didn’t know what to expect. Maybe some Birthrights Unlimited brochures with exaggerated claims about family options. But these screen captures sent a shiver down her spine.

  What am I looking at?

  She got up and cracked open the door to her bedroom. “Alex, wake up. You need to see this.”

  She returned to the screen, and he came up next to her, squinting at the images.

  She spent a few seconds on each one, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. An investor presentation of “Celebrity Files” showing genetic enhancements that could be copied from Hollywood’s biggest stars. Maps and images of gravesite targets. Screenshots of online chats where trackers were monitoring the private lives of young women. Financial documents showing payouts to parents who’d lost their children during childbirth in the company’s Birthing Center.

  “No!” She gasped and steadied herself while Alex moved closer to the screen.

  Could this be true? Was her world about to come crashing down again? A sense of déjà vu washed over her .

  “Zoey, confirm identity of sender,” Alex called out. He looked worried, too.

  After a few moments, the device chirped, “Identity confirmed. It’s from Nico Johnson.”

  Valerie began to tremble. Alex returned to her side and hugged her tight.

  “What should we do?” he asked.

  She went quiet for a moment, trying to hold back the tears. The shock of it began to settle in, shaking her to her core. She’d gone all in on Birthrights Unlimited.

  Was it all a lie? She had to know the truth.

  “We need to fly to Dallas.”

  57

  Minsk, Belarus, August 31

  K atarina Gorka leaned back onto the edge of her instructor’s desk. She surveyed her classroom during her first lesson of the day and was puzzled by the empty chair—far right side, second seat from the front—where her favorite student always sat.

  “Where’s Sophia?” she asked.

  No reply came. Several murmurs of don’t know or shrugs of shoulders. Katarina had not received a note that Sophia was sick or authorized to be absent for some other reason. This was not only a breach of protocol. It was worrisome. Sophia would never skip this, her favorite class.

  “Wait here,” she told her students. “Remember, I’m watching you!”

  She had once told the students a cautionary tale about the hidden video cameras embedded into the classroom’s walls. They were really just random holes above the blackboard in the decaying walls, but she told the story with such convincing detail that the students’ consensus was, Well, this is Belarus, it could be true.

  Katarina marched down the hallway, through the staff doors, and into the headmaster’s office. “Do you know where Sophia is?” she demanded.

  The headmaster, wearing his usual look of defeat, looked up from his papers with dark, sunken eyes and removed his glasses. “Sophia is no longer part of the Home.”

  “What!” This could not be. Sophia was by far her favorite student. “What happened? Where is she?”

  “That is not your concern.” The headmaster looked at his watch. “Don’t you have a class?”

  She paused and reminded herself of just how powerless she was at age sixteen in Minsk. She had heard whispers of other girls her age who had rebelled and found themselves as full-time captives on Dmitri Petrov’s boats.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” She gave a little bow and retreated out of the office and down the hallway, thinking only one thing.

  The men had her.

  Sophia! My poor Sophia!

  58

  Miami, August 31

  V alerie and Alex arrived before daybreak at Miami International and managed to snare two standby seats on the first flight out to Dallas. Valerie brought her tablet along and spe
nt the first hour in the middle seat thinking of innocuous explanations for what they’d seen in the maps, screenshots, and chat transcripts sent by Nico.

  Perhaps it was all a big misunderstanding . Maybe Sharon Sullivan would have a reassuring explanation and they’d all have a good laugh about it and there was nothing to worry about with her little one percolating inside the belly of her wonderful military-wife stay-at-home-surrogate.

  Two days ago Sharon Sullivan had sent her the first video message and batch of photos. Everything seemed just perfect with the pregnancy.

  The first thing she would do after they landed, Valerie decided, would be to march right into Sharon Sullivan’s office and demand some answers. She wanted to meet her surrogate face to face. She wanted to look her surrogate in the eye and lift this veil of dread that was squeezing the breath out of her.

  The second thing she wanted to do was to find Kaden and Nico and have a serious sit-down. Were there things they were turning up that Sharon Sullivan couldn’t explain? She needed to separate her concern for her baby from her obligations to the public in her role as spokesmom.

  She excused herself, rose, and headed down the aisle to the restroom in the back of the plane. A few rows back, Alex was already on Wi-Fi, trying to track down answers to some of the leads Nico had provided. He promised he wouldn’t publish any stories on Axom until he cleared it with her.

  Right now she had one and only one concern. Jeremy.

  She’d decided to name her child Jeremy .

  59

  Dallas, August 31

  W aterhouse stepped out of the Birthrights Tower elevator and headed across the plaza to the Research Lab Zone to kick off what he knew would be one big fat stress ball of a workday. The forecast called for 105 degrees, and already the humidity was glomming down on him. Several items were clamoring for his attention and he tried to prioritize them in his mind.