by Glen Robins
“That doesn’t explain it all, though.”
“No, I guess it doesn’t. It helps to understand that Seng created tens of thousands of jobs for his countrymen. But, he’s also a capitalist, despite his railings against capitalism. We know Mr. Seng was making deals to set up manufacturing in mainland China in the months prior to his passing. He had contracts to move much of his manufacturing there because labor is so much cheaper, and industry often gets government subsidies. That was a source of great friction between Seng and the Malaysian government. Apparently, it was a sore spot with your friend, Mr. Penh, as well.”
“He’s not my friend. I told you that already.”
“By virtue of your illicit activity last night, you know more than anyone else.”
“Still not my ‘friend.’”
“Still, in our book, Penh and Ms. Khat are persons of interest in the death of Mr. Seng. You’re involved with him, like it or not, so we consider you to be his friend. Guilt by association, Mr. Mueller.”
Lukas blew out a sigh. “Great. I’m not even nineteen years old and I’m guilty of some crime that I was unaware of and not involved in? That’s not fair.”
“Fair? What is fair, Mr. Mueller? Is it fair that you’re on scholarship at MIT while most of your classmates are paying $20,000 per semester to be there? Is it fair that Harold Fung hasn’t been seen since December 21st and that his parents are beside themselves? Is it fair that all indications point to Pho Nam Penh, but we can’t gather enough evidence to convict him?”
Lukas stopped short of answering. He gritted his teeth and mentally pushed himself to the next question. He forced calm into his voice as he let logic dictate. “Why would the NSA care about the death of a foreign national like Mr. Seng in his own country?”
Mahoney eyed Lukas. An approving smile formed. “Honest answer? We don’t care. That’s not the reason we’re involved. It’s the communications from Penh that we’ve intercepted that has us concerned. Under an alter ego that was not too difficult to trace, he has basically put out the equivalent of a call to jihad against the United States because it’s the US corporations that keep pushing to reduce production costs. Penh believes that Seng became nothing more than a puppet of US interests.”
“So…you hauled me in here today because you think I joined his club to fight his jihad?”
“Nah. You don’t fit the profile.”
“Or is it because you think I might be able to help you stop him?”
“Maybe.”
“Or is it because I hacked into several data sources to learn something about this guy and now you think you can use my skills?”
“Now you’re getting warmer.”
“So, this club I joined, despite sounding well-intentioned and altruistic, is nothing more than a cover for some sort of plot or scheme?”
“That’s one of our suspicions. But it also appears to be more of a recruiting ground. They’re looking for smart people with certain skills and motivation to join them.”
“Are you saying the invitation I received was not just incidental?”
“I’m not going to go that far. Let’s just say you fit the profile they are looking for. Which could also land you on the NSA’s watchlist.”
“Because of my technical skills and my desire to help people?”
“Yep. That’s what gets people in. They’ll make the gig sound legit and with the companies that Penh and Khat are now in line to head up, they’ll give their recruits great jobs with great career paths ahead of them. Before long, those recruits will be wrapped up in a web they can’t get themselves untangled from.”
Lukas snapped his fingers as his eyes went wide. “Of course. Education and opportunity. It all makes sense now. They control the medium, they control the message. They feed the message and watch the recruits sign up by the dozens.” Lukas clapped his hands on his knees at the realization of just how diabolical such an innocuous beginning was. “Penh is just following the same pattern as Seng,”
“Genius, isn’t it?”
“In such a sinister way, yeah. Before they know it, they won’t be able to get out.”
“Your folks don’t have a lot of money, do they?”
“They’re not rich, that’s for sure. But they do alright.”
“And you’re here on scholarship?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“So? You’re a near-perfect recruit for them.”
“Which makes me a near-perfect recruit for you, too.”
“Bingo.”
Chapter Seven
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Freshman Year
Lukas returned to campus after his meeting with Section Chief Mahoney ended and went straight to a study session in a reserved room of the library for his computational analysis class. During his hour-and-a-half absence, he had missed the class lecture and the first part of the group’s meeting. Having never been late to a study session, he felt a little out of sorts, but no one inquired about it. They were deep in discussion about a problem the teacher had introduced for them to solve before the next lecture.
He shrugged off his initial bewilderment, realizing that without a roommate and without his parents, there was no one to monitor his comings and goings. It was every man for himself here in the competitive academic world. No one paid much attention to what the next guy was doing. Rather than be hurt by it, Lukas welcomed the lack of concern. It would play well with his new assignment.
Although Lukas’s world had undergone a seismic realignment during the hundred and fifty minutes he spent with the NSA boss, not a single soul among his peer group noticed him missing or cared that he had been turned into a spy. His life just picked up right where he left off as far as anyone else knew. Because of what he learned there, every interaction felt watched. Every word felt listened to and recorded. And everyone around felt like a suspect or potential enemy. Every choice felt subject to scrutiny and analysis. He wondered how he could ever return to normal knowing what he now knew.
Following Mahoney’s instructions, Lukas went about his ordinary routine. He attended the rest of his Wednesday classes, labs, and study sessions as usual. He met with his professors and spent time in the library and the computer lab just like he had planned. Things went on as normal. No one treated him any differently despite how he felt about himself, which meant he must have been doing an OK job “playing it cool,” as per Mahoney’s directive.
Dinner in the cafeteria was uneventful and devoid of suspicious characters lurking in dark corners. No news cameras showed up. No security detail attended to him. On the outside, all was as it should be. On the inside, things were irreversibly different. It was to Lukas as if he had stepped through a doorway and the door had been sealed behind him. He could never go back to the naivete he had once enjoyed.
By the time dinner was over, his apprehensiveness had faded, and a modicum of normalcy settled back in. He listened to the conversations around him, watched his friends and dormmates laugh and talk and push each other and flirt with the girls. David sat across from him, laughing and telling stories like everyone else. Lukas remained quiet and listened, which wasn’t completely out of character for him.
As they walked back to the dorm, David asked, “What’s wrong, Lukas? You were quieter than usual tonight.”
Lukas responded with, “Ah, it’s nothing. Just thinking through things.”
“Oh,” said David and went back to the subject he was on before. Lukas wasn’t paying attention before and didn’t bother to try after the exchange.
The next morning, Lukas woke up with a start. The tendrils of an intense dream quickly slipping from his consciousness, never to be retrieved. He sensed the dream was connected somehow to the intrigue of the previous day. Despite being unable to grasp anything substantial from the dream, the oppressive weight of it lingered like the fog on a June morning in Huntington Beach. Mahoney’s face was the only image he could recollect from the mysterious dream.
Trying h
is best to “be normal,” he followed his routine for the next few days without incident and consciously pushed the misgivings about being spied on—and being used as a spy—to the side, and soon found himself embracing the notion that he could stop bad things before they happened. It was an exciting prospect that played nicely in his daydreams. As the week progressed, a sense of quiet pride replaced his apprehensions.
The other benefit of his new role was that his scholarship, which was conditioned upon Lukas maintaining at least a 3.85 GPA, was now guaranteed for all four years, underwritten by the National Security Agency and awarded by a mysterious philanthropic foundation. His room and board were included. This new scholarship was conditioned upon his continued cooperation. So, either way, there was performance pressure of one sort or another.
Having grown more comfortable over the weekend with his new role, Lukas felt no compunction about approaching Ms. Khat and trying to win her trust. She held the key to solving the mystery of Penh’s and Fung’s disappearance. With the anticipation of a rookie detective working his first case, he looked forward to the Tuesday night meeting. Arriving early, he searched for Ms. Khat, but she was nowhere to be found. His stomach dropped. What if things had spiraled even further out of control?
The group was larger than the previous week. Perhaps the intrigue of Penh’s absence or news of the work they had begun brought the curious out to see. Although Lukas had spoken to no one about the unfolding mystery at the club meeting, other club members must have done so. There was a buzz in the room like never before as people Lukas had never seen showed up and found places to sit.
To Lukas’s surprise, Penh bounded up to the front of the room at 8:01, just one minute late. He welcomed everyone with his customary enthusiasm. As he surveyed the increased attendance, he smiled, cocked his head, and looked straight at Lukas. Lukas’s heart stopped and his insides dropped. At the same time, he felt his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise. He felt like a deer in headlights. “What if he knows about what I’ve done?” He quickly banished the thought and smiled back. His discomfort must have been obvious, and he kicked himself for not being better prepared.
Penh’s eyes searched the crowd, his smile never fading. Perhaps he was genuinely pleased. He expressed his excitement about the project and the progress they had made the previous week. Never did he mention his absence, nor Mr. Fung’s. After his opening remarks, which included much thanksgiving for everyone’s efforts and dedication to the cause, he spoke at length about the crippling, debilitating effects of poverty, malnutrition, and lack of education that marked the existence of nearly a quarter of the world’s population living below the poverty line and the eleven percent living in extreme poverty. Extreme poverty, he said, was defined as living on less than $1.90 per day. “Try to imagine that—living on less than half of what it costs you to buy a cup of your favorite coffee. I reckon no one in this room has ever lived in such dire circumstances—other than myself, of course.” Penh scanned the faces in the room and seemed to find a sympathetic audience. His voice softened. “That’s the way it was for my family. My parents could not afford to send us to school. When we reached an age where we had ‘production value,’ we worked in the fields with our parents and other siblings. We did that until we were shipped off to a factory, essentially sold off not so unlike slaves were once bought and sold on the open market.”
Lukas surveyed the room as well. Looks of shock and horror gave way to ones of pity among the club members. Many of the females in the room were moved to tears, while many of the men in the room diverted their eyes and grew antsy.
Penh continued. “We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to do something about the troubling circumstances in other parts of the world and to give hope to those who have none. Let’s roll up our sleeves and dig in. But first, I must bring you up-to-speed on our financing.
“An endeavor such as we have undertaken requires money, does it not? Most on-campus clubs and fraternities exact dues from their members or demand that they participate in time-consuming fund-raising activities. Many of them do so by dubious means.
“To this point, we have not discussed how we’re going to fund this little project of ours.” He paused for effect while the collection of students looked at each other with blank expressions. “I can tell the thought never crossed any of your minds. Well, have no fear. I have secured a donation to our club for $50,000. If we are prudent, that should be more than enough to purchase all of the necessary components and ship a fully functional solar-powered internet-enabled kiosk to Cambodia.”
The assemblage of students let out a collective gasp, then began to applaud as the realization that they would not be called upon to raise that kind of money dawned on them.
“Your efforts and dedication have not gone unnoticed. There is someone out there who is aware of our club and believes in our cause. This generous benefactor, like you, wants to lift our brothers and sisters out of poverty and help them find a better life. Bring IT may be the only club on campus able to change the course of history in some of the most neglected corners of the globe. We’re here to show the forgotten ones that we care, even if the greedy industrialists have cast them off as dross. So, go on, applaud yourselves for your efforts and commitment to this great cause.”
As Penh finished his rousing speech, Ms. Khat speed-walked down the center aisle taking tiny little steps on the balls of her feet. She looked like a ballerina. Her head was down, her eyes diverted. She avoided making contact with anyone else’s eyes. “OK everyone,” she said. “We’re going to split up into the same teams as last week. Each team needs to stay focused on their part of the project. If you do that, we can finish this kiosk early and potentially obtain funding for another one. What do you think about that?”
Lukas got a strange vibe from her. There was something disingenuous about her voice and her movements, like she was acting a part given to her for a director who promised dire consequences for failure. Plus, her face looked puffy, like she had been crying.
The others didn’t seem to notice what he did. A roar of cheers erupted from the group. Lukas estimated about thirty people in attendance. The garage was packed with young, energetic students, most of them standing shoulder to shoulder along the walls.
“We’re excited to get started. How about you?” she said. “Let me introduce our newest consultant who will be leading the satellite tech group. Mr. Tsai, please come up here.”
A tall, gangly Asian guy came forward. Lukas estimated him to be in his mid-twenties. Probably a grad student. He wore dark-framed glasses and walked with the stilted gait of one who lacked experience being in front of crowds. He was clearly out of his comfort zone.
Another cheer from the group.
After a brief and awkward introduction from Mr. Tsai, Penh laid out the game plan and explained how they would split and which of the upper classmen would lead each subgroup.
Penh led Lukas’s group out through a side door, across the dreary yard. Following his group out, Ms. Khat led another handful to a newly built shed in the back corner of the lot that came into view as she approached it. Motion sensors must have caused the flood of brilliant light that bathed the tan and white structure in its glow. A hushed “wow” spread amongst all who witnessed the sudden revelation. The long, freshly painted edifice hadn’t been there before Christmas break. It was complete with a concrete foundation, dual paned windows, and a proper front door.
Penh led his group along a concrete path to the back door of the house, where a table had been set up in the living room. No signs of other inhabitants were visible. The house was neat and clean and well appointed. It did not look like any of the student apartments he had seen. There were eight in the group. These were the software and firmware gurus, the ones that volunteered to design the circuit boards and program the logic that made everything user friendly and yet functional.
Lukas tempered his shock. He hadn’t expected Penh to show up. Nor had he expected Ms. Khat to appear s
o out of sorts. The new shed was as much a surprise as the revelation that Penh didn’t seem to share his abode with anyone else. The fifty-thousand-dollar donation was unexpected but less newsworthy knowing what he knew about Penh’s past, his ulterior motives, and his devious methods. Still, something didn’t feel right. A growing unease was building inside him, making him want to push back from his seat and bolt out the door, but he had a job to do. Mahoney needed answers that only Lukas could give. Lukas needed the exoneration that only Mahoney could give. Free tuition was part of the deal, but without a mountain of evidence as to Penh’s past actions or future intentions, Lukas was told again that he could be caught up in a river of ill deeds and be found complicit in crimes that could put him away forever.
The last thing he needed was to raise suspicions. Leaving was not an option.
Lukas’s team was responsible for developing a simple, easy-to-use graphic interface. Their task was to give first-time computer users a positive and meaningful experience from the get-go. Penh wanted these people to readily adopt the new technology and trust it completely. It had to be simple, secure, and powerful.
By the end of their sixty-minute session, Lukas and his team had brainstormed a number of ideas, all of which were stored in a document on his laptop and saved to a folder online as well. He and his fellow team members left their session with the sense of altruistic accomplishment.
But that wasn’t the only successful result of the meeting.
Following Mahoney’s instructions to “observe and report,” Lukas watched Penh carefully. There was an unsettled look in the club president’s eyes and when he spoke, there was a contrived quality about his enthusiasm, in stark contrast to what Lukas was accustomed to.
Then there was Ms. Khat and her unnatural performance.
Later that night, Lukas logged into the secure portal Mahoney’s group had set up for him to submit his findings. He filled three pages with quotes and observations, which surprised him. Putting his thoughts to words solidified the suspicions that had waxed and waned in his mind since his encounter with the NSA. Maybe Mahoney was right. Maybe Penh was a diabolical sociopath who had committed atrocities and was bound to commit more.
