All About the Zenjamins

by Beck Rowland

  Zenaida watched as she sat at the head of the conference table. Mike sat to her left, Ortega to her right. Davey was nowhere to be seen. For a long moment she was silent. The only sound was the ticking of the clock. Zenaida switched off the television and cleared her throat.

  “We went up against Tucksworth, and we lost. Might triumphed over right,” Zenaida said. “But there’s some good news. We didn’t start this company to fight a battle. We came here to fight a war. I’m not giving up. ZenCorp is not giving up.”

  “We did our best, but the odds were always against us,” Ortega sighed. She shook her head and looked up at Zenaida. “We’ve already lost… It’s over. Now that Tucksworth has been awarded the DataVortex program, it won’t be long before he takes it to Peeper Headquarters and puts it to work. We need to move on.”

  Zenaida shook her head. “I can’t accept that. You know Peeper had a flimsy case. Everybody knew it. Somehow the judge still ruled in their favor, and I want to know why. I want legal irregularities, I want innuendo, I want anything that will pry DataVortex out of Jack Tucksworth’s greasy, greedy hands.”

  “Overturning a legal ruling is no small matter,” Ortega said. She made no effort to hide her skepticism.

  “There’s got to be a way. Some legal loophole. An appeals process. Come on somebody, give me something,” Zenaida demanded.

  Mike shrugged and held out his hands, palms out. I’ve got nothing, the gesture said. Ortega pored over her notes, brow furrowed in thought. Zenaida sighed. The line between determination and insanity had blurred in her head, and she no longer knew which side she fell on. All she knew was that Jack Tucksworth had DataVortex dangling from his neck and she would do anything to get it away from him.

  Suddenly, Mike looked up from his laptop and cleared his throat. “I think I have something. It’s not big, but it could be a start,” he said.

  “Anything is better than nothing. What have you got?” Zenaida asked. Mike spun his laptop around and showed Zenaida a photo of a dour faced gentleman in an expensive looking suit.

  “I pulled up Judge Fargo on Peeper. He’s the judge who ruled in Tucksworth’s favor.”

  “And? What does it say?” Zenaida asked.

  “The usual. Married, likes sushi, baseball fan. And, he graduated from Harvard in ‘92,” Mike said. “Jack Tucksworth also graduated from Harvard, and they’re roughly the same age. If they attended around the same time, perhaps they knew each other. If we could prove that, wouldn’t it show a clear conflict of interest?”

  “If we can somehow prove a relationship between Judge Fargo and Tucksworth, then yes… the ruling would be thrown out,” Ortega agreed.

  “Quick, bring up Tucksworth’s Peeper profile. What year did he graduate from Harvard? Who’s on his Peeper Friend List?” Zenaida demanded.

  Mike typed into the computer, then frowned. “Tucksworth’s profile is totally private. There’s nothing to see,” he said.

  “Privacy for me, but not for thee,” Zenaida mused.

  “If Davey was here, perhaps he could get through the security,” Mike suggested.

  “Davey’s not going to be helping us with this,” Zenaida said. She didn’t feel like explaining her falling out with Davey. Luckily, since Mike and Ortega knew Davey still had his own full time job, his absence didn’t generate any questions.

  “It doesn’t matter. We can’t use any evidence acquired illegally,” Ortega reminded them.

  “Alright, let’s take a different approach,” Zenaida said. “Let’s assume Tucksworth and Judge Fargo did meet at Harvard and have remained friends ever since-- we just need to prove it.”

  “Yes! What if we target Harvard alumni events, that sort of thing? A photo of the two men at the same event could be enough,” Mike said.

  Ortega jumped in her seat, then slammed a palm down on the desk. Her eyes lit up and a broad grin split her face.

  “What’d you come up with?” Zenaida demanded.

  “The Harvard Club. It’s a private venue in New York, open only to Harvard grads,” Ortega explained. “Their annual member’s gala is a veritable who’s who of the rich and powerful. Everybody wants to see and be seen there. It’s just the kind of event Tucksworth and Fargo would both want to attend.”

  “Mike?” Zenaida turned.

  “Already on it,” Mike said. “Alright, I’ve got the Harvard Club website up. Running a keyword search against photos and attendance rosters.... there! We have a match!”

  Mike spun the laptop around triumphantly. They had hit the jackpot: a high-resolution photograph of Jack Tucksworth sharing a table with Judge Fargo, dated only three years ago. There was a bottle of champagne on the table, and glasses in front of each men. Tucksworth and Fargo were both facing the camera, leaning towards each other amiably. Zenaida turned to Ortega with a fierce, predatory grin.

  “There! Proof that Tucksworth is close friends with the Judge who awarded him the DataVortex program. That should be enough to get the ruling thrown out, right?” she asked.

  Ortega nodded. “You talked about going to war earlier? This is the ammunition we need to do it.”

  Margaret Ortega marched on the courthouse and immediately ignited a firestorm of controversy. When the dust settled, it emerged that Judge Fargo wasn’t only cozy with Tucksworth, but with a wide range of corporate leaders whose cases he had ruled favorably on. Judge Fargo was temporarily suspended and the court appointed an interim replacement. The new judge took one look at the case documentation and promptly overturned the pro-Peeper ruling. Many other cases would need to be reviewed and possibly repealed as well.

  As the sun set on the courthouse, Ortega called Zenaida to provide an update. “Great news! The new judge didn’t just overturn the ruling. He also issued a subpoena.”

  “I’m sorry, my legalese is a little rusty. A what now?” Zenaida asked.

  “It’s an official court order. Tucksworth is legally required to return DataVortex to the court’s possession by midnight tonight,” Ortega said.

  “Good work, Ortega!” Zenaida exclaimed. “ZenCorp has snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.”

  “It sure looks like it! Tucksworth was last seen an hour ago at a celebratory dinner with his legal team. He was expected to deliver the DataVortex USB drive to Peeper Headquarters, but now he’ll have no choice but to turn around and give it right back to the court.”

  It turned out not to be that easy. The midnight deadline came and went without any sign of Jack Tucksworth or the DataVortex program. Law enforcement were dispatched to check Tucksworth’s residence and the Peeper Headquarters building. There was no sign of Tucksworth nor the USB necklace anywhere. Both had vanished into the wind.

  “What do we know so far?” Zenaida asked. The ZenCorp team sat around the conference table. It was nearly one in the morning. Ortega was on her third coffee of the night, and Mike’s eyes were red and bleary. Several large maps were stretched across the conference room table.

  “Tucksworth’s car is missing, so presumably he’s driving somewhere,” Mike said.

  “The court ordered him to return DataVortex, but Tucksworth knows how valuable it is to Peeper,” Zenaida mused. “He must be trying to leave the country. Once he’s out of the court’s jurisdiction, there’s nothing anybody can do to stop him. He could take DataVortex straight to Peeper’s offices in Shanghai, Dubai, Moscow, wherever.”

  “Couldn’t he just stop at any Starbucks and email DataVortex wherever he wants?” Ortega asked.

  Zenaida shook her head. “I read Rashad’s interview notes. Tucksworth is famously paranoid, and a hands-on micromanager to boot. There’s no way he’d trust the entire future of his company to free public wifi. For something this big, he’ll want to personally carry the USB drive into Peeper HQ and program it into their central database himself.”

  “Tucksworth was last spotted around this area. That was right before the court overturned the ruling,” Ortega said. She jabbed her
finger at another point on the map. “He has a private aircraft hangared way over here. It’s a small municipal airport.”

  “That’s a three hour drive, which means he should still be on the road. It’s not too late to stop him before he leaves the country,” Zenaida said. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head, trying to dispel the exhaustion that was slowly clouding her mind. She stared at the map and struggled to make sense of it. Tucksworth could be anywhere.

  “If he’s heading to his private hangar, the route will take him across the state border. He’ll be crossing state lines in violation of a court order,” Mike pointed out. “That’s a felony.”

  “Yep, total disregard for the law,” Zenaida agreed.

  “No, not just that: he’s committing a federal crime,” Mike repeated. “My father is a retired Federal Agent. He still has a ton of friends in the FBI. If they can put Tucksworth on the United States No-Fly list, he won’t be able to take off from anywhere in the country.”

  “Mike, you’re a genius! Call Murph right now!” Zenaida said.

  Murph answered groggily and cranky, but woke quickly when they explained the details. He listened intently, interrupting only with a few brief clarifying questions. Zenaida got the impression Murph was thrilled to be involved in chasing down a fugitive. It had to be more exciting than managing a kick-boxing gym, at least. Murph put them on hold while he reached out to his contacts. After an excruciatingly long wait, Murph came back on the line.

  “Mike? Zeny? You still there?” Murph asked. “My contacts came through for us. Jack Tucksworth is on the No-Fly list. He won’t be flying anywhere soon.”

  “Thanks Pops, you’re the best!” Mike exclaimed.

  “Thank you Murph! But we’re not done yet. We still need to find Tucksworth and bring him in,” Zenaida said.

  “But how? The the man is still a needle in a haystack. Just another car on the road,” Mike said. He gestured at the maps and their intertwined network of highways and roads.

  “Not just another car,” Ortega corrected. “I happen to know that Jack Tucksworth drives a custom-made Tesla self-driving car. The headlights are little Peeper logos, and he overlaid the windows with 4K displays. Apparently he likes to watch his own media appearances while the car drives him around.”

  “God this guy is the worst,” Zenaida groaned. “Murph, is that enough to track him down?”

  “It’s more than enough,” Murph said. “I’ll send that description to my contacts, and they can send out a bulletin to the local police departments. There aren’t too many custom self-driving cars out there, so the odds are in our favor.”

  “Thanks Pops,” Mike said. “Let us know the moment you hear anything.”

  “Any updates and you’ll be the first to know,” Murph promised.

  Zenaida paced the room while waiting for Murph’s call. She stared at the maps, trying to imagine Tucksworth’s possible routes. He was out there somewhere, the DataVortex program dangling from his neck. If he succeeded in slipping out of the country, Peeper would have the program and nobody’s data would ever be safe again. And ZenCorp would have failed in its first attempt to force fairness on the rich and powerful.

  Zenaida traced her finger along the map, her finger drifting absently until it slid off the top of the map and onto the table. Suddenly she startled. She knew exactly where Tucksworth was headed.

  “Shit. Shit, shit,” Zenaida exclaimed.

  Mike and Ortega rushed over. “What is it?” Ortega asked.

  “Let’s say you’re Jack Tucksworth’s personal pilot and you’re about to fly him out of the country,” Zenaida said. “Then suddenly you find out he’s on the US No-Fly list. What do you do?”

  “Call my boss,” Mike answered immediately. “Tell him he won’t be able to fly.”

  “And if you’re Tucksworth, driving somewhere around here,” Zenaida pointed. “What do you do when you get that call? You drive as fast as you can-- up, up, up.” She traced a route north, until her finger had gone straight off the upper edge of the map.

  Ortega’s eyes widened in realization. “Canada,” she said. “Tucksworth doesn’t need a private plane to escape the US. He can literally drive to Canada and take the DataVortex program to Peeper’s office in Vancouver.”

  “Mike, you’ve got to call Murph back right now. He can have the Feds alert the border guards,” Zenaida said. As she spoke, she grabbed one of the Macbooks and began typing. If Murph wasn’t able to help, she wanted to have a contingency plan in place.

  “You’re right,” Mike said. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone. “Wait, it’s ringing now. This must be Pops!”

  Mike picked up on the second ring. He quickly put the phone on speaker and set it on the conference table. Zenaida rushed over to speak.

  “Murph! We need you to give a heads-up to your friends at the Bureau. We think Tucksworth is heading to Canada,” Zenaida said.

  A deep, angry voice responded. “You’re right. I am,” Tucksworth said. “I set a way-point for Peeper’s Canadian offices, and I’m currently enjoying a glass of scotch while the car takes me on my merry way. Once I get DataVortex to Canada, I’ll be free to devote my full attention to utterly destroying you.”

  “You won’t make it. I can already hear sirens in the background, Tucksworth. The FBI gave your vehicle description to the local police. You’re going to jail,” Zenaida warned.

  “Is that what you think?” Tucksworth laughed. It was a harsh, cruel sound. “Listen closely. I want you to hear this.”

  The sirens grew steadily louder, until their warbling filling the conference room. The police cars must be right behind Tucksworth. Zenaida closed her eyes and could picture them, sirens flashing red and blue, speeding along as they surrounded Tucksworth’s Tesla.

  Zenaida wondered whether the police would shoot out his tires, or simply force him off the road. Or perhaps law enforcement had some way of overriding the Tesla autopilot function. She imagined them pressing a button, then Tucksworth’s car rolling to a silent stop. Zenaida had started to smile at the image when the sirens abruptly ceased. The room fell silent.

  “Do you understand what just happened? The police cars are falling back, and I’m continuing my trip to the border,” Tucksworth said. “Let me explain. Just before calling you, I called one of my pet Congressmen, the same one who appointed the FBI Director. Shortly after that, the FBI Director got on the phone to the FBI Regional Office. Then the Regional Office called the local Sheriff’s department. And the Sheriff called the police cruiser behind me. Judging by the sudden silence, I’d say the message was received loud and clear.”

  “You think you can buy your way out of everything, don’t you?” Zenaida asked.

  “Of course I can,” Tucksworth answered. “You’re a fool to think otherwise.”

  “Last warning, Tucksworth. I want you to give up DataVortex, implement privacy reforms at Peeper, and make sure never to lose user data again,” Zenaida said. “You don’t want to fight me. Keep going down this road and you’ll end up in deep shit.”

  “What year are you living in?” Tucksworth demanded. “User privacy went the way of brick-and-mortar bookstores, mobile pagers, and Blockbuster video. Don’t hate me because I saw the world changing and profited from it.”

  Ortega tapped Zenaida on the shoulder and whispered. “He’s been driving for hours. His Tesla should be down to the last few minutes of battery life.”

  “I heard that, and it doesn’t matter. I’m close enough that I could probably walk to the Canadian border from here. Soon I’ll be on the plane, happily devoting the full power of my wealth to making your lives a living hell.”

  “Is that what you think?” Zenaida asked. “Why don’t you switch off the 4K displays and take a look out the window?”

  “What are...” Tucksworth stammered. There was a rustling noise, then a jostling sound and a quiet whir. “What’s going on? Where is this? And God, what is that smell?”

>   “I warned you,” Zenaida said. “Your Tesla navigates using map data provided by AmeriMaps GPS, which I just so happened to have procured. While you were talking, I accessed the company database and made a tiny, subtle change to our maps-- instead of driving you to Canada, your last turn sent you speeding in the exact opposite direction. Welcome to the Burtington Waste Treatment and Sanitation Plant.”

  “It’s a long, long walk to the Canadian border, Tucksworth. I’d start walking now,” Ortega said.

  “Roll up your pant legs though,” Zenaida said. “Like I said, you’ll be in deep shit.”

  Tucksworth hung up the phone, and Zenaida whooped in delight. Her adversary was stuck far from the Canadian border, sitting in a drained Tesla on a Sanitation Plant in the middle of nowhere. It would be the perfect opportunity for law enforcement to take him in, except Tucksworth had already shown himself able to deflect their attention. Then Mike had a sudden stroke of genius, and ZenCorp anonymously tipped the paparazzi to Tucksworth’s location. Swarms of photographers descended on the sanitation plant, but by the time they arrived, the Tesla was abandoned and there was no sign of Tucksworth.

  Murph helped as best he could. His friends at the Bureau gave an informal heads-up to Canadian Border Security. They quickly increased patrols, on alert for any US felon attempting a crossing. Tucksworth may have vanished into the wind, but at least he wouldn’t be escaping the country.

  “If he can’t go anywhere, what’s Tucksworth’s next course of action?” Zenaida asked.

  “He’ll lay low, keep off the radar while Peeper’s lawyers do their thing,” Mike said.

  “Agreed. We’ve been playing legal ping-pong with this DataVortex program, but I expect Peeper to call out the big guns now. They’ll appeal the subpoena, file motions, everything they can pull out of their hat. The case will get ugly. Expect to see lots of political firepower coming down on the judge,” Ortega said.

  “Do you think they’ll win?” Mike asked.