No Hesitation

by Kirk Russell

  In the distance that night, I heard sirens. Very early in the morning as I left for Panguitch Lake, I learned that the Metro police lost an officer last night during a second Zetas bust. Four cartel members were killed in the firefight, three from bullet wounds and a fourth who drowned in a pool after being wounded.

  A call came from a Metro detective as I neared the lake. He told me Metro believed the cartel was tipped off about the raid, and then he asked if I might have any leads for him. At first, I thought the call was genuine, and then realized what it was. I heard laughter in the background before they hung up.

  26

  August 8th

  Mara called and then texted me a letter Alan Eckstrom had allegedly handwritten, photographed with his phone, and then posted to an AI forum site late last night. “The media is all over it,” Mara said. “Read it and let me know what you think.”

  I sat in a lot at Panguitch Lake and read. When I checked out media coverage there were claims independent handwriting experts had verified the signature. A well-known conservative radio show celebrity and, I believe, a Fox talk show host—I’m not certain it was, but it sounded like a Fox host I’d heard before—termed it “Eckstrom’s Plan” and labeled both Eckstrom and Indonal “probable traitors.”

  Whether that was true or not, no TV or radio host would know, but in our FBI office there was new concern. I called Ralin after talking with Mara. Not only had Ralin read it, but it was sent to him at an e-mail address that only a few people would know about, meaning that it probably came from Eckstrom.

  “What do you make of it?” I asked Ralin.

  “That’s not Alan talking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That he wouldn’t use those words. Those don’t sound like sentences he’d write.”

  The news outlets turned to handwriting experts for analysis and comparison to other Eckstrom signatures. How they got the other Eckstrom signature samples that quickly, I don’t know.

  A handwriting expert we use at the FBI qualified her conclusion because there wasn’t much of Eckstrom’s handwriting to work with. Eckstrom’s signature was on some DoD forms he’d once filled out, and not much else, and yet the expert still came back with a high probability that Alan Eckstrom had signed the letter or statement of philosophy, or whatever you want to label it.

  Indonal’s signature wasn’t there. I didn’t know yet what to make of that. The pair, according to Ralin, were inseparable, and at one point all three were philosophically on the same page. For Ralin, national defense trumped medical advancement hence their quarrel and divide. The letter read:

  Dear America and to All People,

  I have worked along the cutting edge of artificial intelligence. Recent breakthroughs and advances will greatly alter the world. These changes are so significant that I believe it is imperative that the decision be made by the many, not the few. I am not the traitor I will be labeled, but I believe the source code for the breakthrough we made should be shared with the world. I intend to share it.

  Until eighteen months ago, I and two other computer scientists worked toward the common goal of bringing the breakthroughs in AI capability to medicine and the diagnosis and treatment of disease. AI will eventually allow all that is known about a disease and similar cases to be accessed within seconds no matter where a doctor is in the world.

  Those breakthroughs have been co-opted for military purposes that will give the United States a unique advantage over all other countries. I believe this will lead to instability and war. The breakthroughs are now labeled “top secret.” This will slow and impede many advances in more positive applications. I urge every American to protest and resist the sequestering of these breakthroughs. The world needs to advance together. We are, I believe, otherwise doomed to war.

  Sincerely,

  Alan Eckstrom

  Eckstrom’s message, if it was Eckstrom, was short. I read and reread it. We needed Indonal, Ralin, and other people who knew him to weigh in. I called Ralin back.

  “Where’s Indonal’s signature if they both left for these reasons?”

  “I don’t know what to make of that either.”

  “Have you spoken with Indonal?”

  “Do I have to answer that?”

  “It would be a mistake to lie.”

  “I have, and the DoD is aware.”

  “Who else is talking to him?”

  “The head of DARPA but you didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Why are you talking?”

  “I’m trying to get him back on a temporary basis. The project needs him.”

  “One of you needs to go public with that. What’s going on in the media this morning puts him in danger.”

  If me going back to Panguitch had been a question in Mara’s mind, it wasn’t anymore. There was no pushback. He didn’t say a word about my back either, and I made a fast drive that morning. An older gentleman living there had gotten my cell number from a card I left with a store owner at Panguitch. The message he left was, Your drive would be “well worth it.”

  When I say older, this guy was a lot older. I turned into a lot near the lake looking for a blue ’89 Ford pickup, but didn’t see any blue pickups or Fords. I saw trees swaying in gusty winds and a lake with whitecaps and no boats. But within ten minutes, I found Clint Maldon, the man who’d called me. He was parked a quarter mile down the road.

  When we shook hands, his were cold and trembling, though firm.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  “Follow you where?”

  “My granddaughter’s cabin. She knows you’re coming.”

  Fifteen minutes later he coasted to a stop at a narrow dirt road and pointed at a driveway.

  “I can’t go down there with you. I’m not supposed to drive, and she’ll be angry.”

  He smiled as if we were in on some practical joke together, and I thanked him again before following the narrow gravel road down to a small cabin. A late-model black Jeep Cherokee was parked out front. Maldon’s granddaughter stepped out into the sun and introduced herself as Cindy Maldon. I showed her my badge and gave her a card. She was thirty-one and had met Indonal here at the lake when she was sixteen.

  “Eric and I kept in touch on and off through social media, then reconnected when he moved to Vegas. That was before I came here to take care of Grandpa. He’s ninety-four, with a heart condition. His doctor told him to move to a lower elevation, but he refuses to. Did he call the FBI office in Las Vegas?”

  “He did.”

  “Do you want to come inside?”

  I followed her then asked her straight up as we got inside and I took another look at her square-shouldered posture. I’d seen enough in the video to ask.

  “A woman picked up Indonal and Eckstrom the night they disappeared. Was it you?”

  “Am I going to be arrested?”

  “For picking up your friends? No, and I’m not here to arrest you. We need your help.”

  “It was me.”

  “Do you know where Eric is?” I asked. “I’m asking because he’s in danger.”

  “He’s not worried.”

  “He should be.”

  I let her absorb that for several seconds then sketched some of the FBI concerns before asking, “Do you also know where Alan Eckstrom is?”

  “I don’t. Eric is the only one I’ve seen, but they both left for the same reasons. They couldn’t deal with the situation anymore. There were all these promises that got broken.”

  “What promises?”

  “Eric will have to tell you.”

  “Then you need to get him to our office or tell me where to find him.”

  “I’m not sure where he is this morning.”

  “How about you call him, tell him the FBI is at your cabin, and hand the phone to me?”

  I took a closer look
at the cabin: a bedroom, a bath, and a small kitchen. Along the east wall, a stone fireplace. If he was staying here, then clothes, shoes, something was likely lying around.

  She called Indonal, and I heard his voice as he answered, and then her voice lowered as she walked into the bedroom. I overheard her tell him an FBI agent was here. When she came out, she handed me her phone. Indonal sounded low key and level headed. He wasn’t defensive, suspicious, or self-righteous.

  “Is this about the letter Alan signed that’s all over the news?” Indonal asked.

  “Were you part of writing it?”

  “No, it kinda shocked me.”

  “Did he mention a letter he was working on?”

  “No.”

  “How about a statement you’d make together and possibly sign?”

  “No, but I agree with what he wrote. We want to bring AI to medicine in a big way, but we never drafted a letter or even talked about it, and it doesn’t sound like him at all, so maybe he figures we’re done working together and has started talking with others. That looks like his signature, but somebody else wrote it. That isn’t Alan talking.”

  Which was what Ralin had also said.

  “You need to come to our office, and if you don’t see what danger this letter puts you in, I’ll spell it out for you.”

  “You don’t have to, I get it. Our quitting in the stupid way we did all came from the screwed-up agreement we had with the DoD and Mark. We were supposed to be replaced in June, and that was going to be after we trained our replacements. It just kept getting delayed. And now they’re making us into traitors for not staying on. That’s total bullshit, and Mark knows better than anyone. Haven’t you talked to him?”

  “Have you since you left?”

  “Several times and the DoD knows we’re talking. We quit and we’re totally fired, but Mark wants me to come back temporarily. He’s trying to get DoD approval. I know Alan won’t do it, but I might help Mark. I wouldn’t be coming back for him. It would be for the project.”

  “You got burned out.”

  “Yeah, basically, that’s it, and Indie isn’t what we got into this for. This is a different AI than we wanted. But Alan and I did keep up our end of the deal. DoD must have thought we’d do what Mark told us to do indefinitely. We were like the assistants to him in DoD’s eyes. But that wasn’t close to true. We were okay with Mark being the Einstein of AI on TV, but not okay when he tried that crap on us. It was one thing too many. I’m sorry we disappeared like we did. I really am. I didn’t realize it would be such a big deal.”

  “Who agreed to the end of June as the end of your contract?”

  “It wasn’t the end of June we agreed to. It was the start of June, and DoD agreed. The problem was, it was all verbal. Mark was supposed to start interviewing coders by March or early April at the latest. He blew it off. He was in London more than he was here in May. It was very unfair, and the disrespect ate at us. The three of us worked a long time together, so it was pretty personal what he did.

  “It’s like he started to believe he really was a genius. Not that I really care about stuff like that, but he’d be gone, then come back and question us about some little breakthrough that happened while he was gone, then talk about it like he owned it. That really got to Alan. And Mark knew we wanted to get back to where we started. When we got into this, it was about improving medicine, not war machines.”

  He started to say something more, then stopped himself. I had a sense of where he was headed and said, “You can talk to an FBI agent about anything. You were going to say something. If it was a test that went badly, I may already know about it.”

  “The observers?”

  “I know about it.”

  “Okay, well, that was it for Alan and me. That was when we decided we’d just disappear some night.”

  He’d said it several ways and I didn’t need to ask again, but I did.

  “You and Eckstrom hadn’t been recognized in a fair way.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  But anyone would.

  “I just don’t like pulling all-nighters then having Mark come in and tell us we should have written a different algorithm. I know that sounds petty, but it got to be a big deal. He’d tweak it, then claim it.” I heard him clear his throat before he added, “I get that what we did was stupid.”

  “If you get that, why didn’t you let us know?”

  “Because the traitor talk on TV really pissed me off.”

  “And what about Alan?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve barely talked, and when we do it’s about an offer we might get for a project in Switzerland that has to do with using AI to advance medicine. The people he’s talking to told him they want to deal one on one for the moment. Then later, I’ll be brought in.”

  “But, for now, you’re willing to come back in and work on Indie?”

  “For a defined period of time.”

  “And Eckstrom?”

  “I don’t think so, and doesn’t the letter today kind of say it all?”

  “You have to come in, and where do we look for Alan?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. We split up that night and agreed to keep our locations secret. He might be with a woman we met up with the night we took off—Margaret Landis. He hasn’t said he’s with her, but before he and Laura broke up, he said he’d met somebody. I’m pretty sure that’s who sat down with us at the Jaguar the night we left. She just kind of introduced herself to me, but he knew her. Alan is shy around women, but he wasn’t with her. She came over and said you guys look like a lot more fun than my boyfriend, then asked if she could hang with us. DoD definitely drilled into us to watch out for stuff like that, but she got us laughing. When I came back from the restroom, she’d slid over next to Alan. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Have we broken any laws by quitting?”

  “As long as you didn’t take anything, you’re good to go. But you didn’t just quit, you disappeared, and we’ve pulled manpower off other cases to try to find you. That’s put other investigations on hold. You need to be in an office tomorrow morning. How far away are you?”

  “I’ll come in within two days.”

  “Make it tomorrow.”

  I called Mara as I drove back from Panguitch.

  “You were right about the lake,” he said. “But you won’t be the one to interview him when he comes in, or if you do, I’ll be in the room as well. Until your situation is resolved, your assignments will be very limited. Those are my orders as of today. That’s where we’re at, and it was a decision made above me and Esposito.”

  “And if I’m not okay with that, who do I talk to?”

  “I wouldn’t push it if I were you. Good work on finding Indonal. Now, let’s find Eckstrom. I’ve got somebody on hold, Grale. Let’s talk here later.”

  27

  After returning from Panguitch Lake, I met for an hour that afternoon with Michelle Brady, the lawyer I’d hired and had always liked and respected. She jotted notes as we sat across from each other in her office.

  “Give me everything,” she said. “Give me texture. Tell me what I don’t know, tell me what you’ve taken for pain and when and how. I want to know what it feels like to be you. And not so I can talk about your pain. I want to talk about how much you love your job and what you’ve endured to keep it. Things are heating up, Paul.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “I’ve talked to Metro. I have one or two friends there and one well up in the brass. They’re never going to talk specifics about an investigation, but they did tell me Metro is looking at you very hard, and the FBI isn’t resisting.”

  “Not resisting?”

  “What they said is there’s no pushback from the Bureau. The FBI is asking for proof, but that’s all so far. Tell me your drug r
egimen. What do you take and why?”

  I told her, and she started putting together her approach, verbalizing her thoughts as she did.

  “You stayed on your dosage and avoided the heavier painkillers. You put the FBI and your duties first. When the pain became unbearable, you consulted with a top surgeon. You trusted your pharmacist, and it turns out he’s a criminal and part of a cartel flooding the US with illegal drugs, so we hate him. There’s no middle ground here.” Brady verbalized her whole strategy, with me chipping in pieces to help, and then asked, “How well do you get along with the Metro police? My friend inside says an undercover officer named Wycher has it out for you. Is there something with you and him?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I’ve worked with Metro many times. We’ve always gotten along.”

  “Will your supervisor fight for you?”

  “Yes and no. The Bureau doesn’t do gray zones. He’s a good guy, but I’m not sure where he’ll land on this. He tried to investigate using one of our squad agents first, and that’s a good sign, but it’s out of his hands now. It’s the Office of Professional Responsibility from here forward. He’ll have to protect himself to protect his career. He’ll probably distance himself from me.”

  “Do you get along with him?”

  “I do. He’s a good guy, good supervisor.”

  “But he’ll distance himself?”

  She watched me for several seconds as if I might have some further revelation about Mara and me, but it’s about bureaucracy and career, and I’d given my opinion. She asked for my case clearance rate. I said it was the highest on the squad but that I didn’t want it mentioned.

  “Here’s why we need to mention it,” she said. “Could an agent strung out on painkillers solve cases? No. Absolutely not, and they can’t challenge your solve rate, so we hammer that. We’re artists, Paul, and we have to paint a vivid picture. It has to be vivid because we’ll only get so much time to argue your situation. But I have to say something else as well.

  “Even if we’re successful, highly successful—and I expect to be—you can never get back to where you were. We’ll clear your name, but still, some people who’d never heard of you before and don’t know a single thing about the facts will always believe you got away with one. I know you know that, but I have to say it.”