by Harry Marku
to issues of national security.
Instinctively, Ryan withdrew from the poster display. He did not want to steward the government's recent science.
Robb took notice. “This way. My labs are below ground.” He steered Ryan away from the corridor toward an alcove. “We'll take the elevator.” He pressed a call button on the wall.
“Why below ground?” Ryan asked. The sliding doors opened wide and they stepped inside.
“Temperature control,” Robb answered simply. The elevator doors closed and it began to descend. “During the summer the outdoor temperature is frequently over a hundred degrees.”
“Of course,” Ryan realized. The computers he'd long ago worked to install needed to be kept cool. “What about the...?”
“Are you concerned about how bad it smells?” Robb chuckled. “Don't worry, the last person to die that worked here first retired ten years earlier. He was nearly eighty.”
“What did he die from?” Ryan persisted.
“Old age.”
“Sure.” Ryan rolled his eyes.
“He had an infection that defied modern science,” Robb deadpanned. “It was caused by radiation damage and might have been treatable but a fungus invaded his lungs...”
“I believe that one more,” Ryan interrupted with an obligatory laugh.
The elevator hovered, bounced and stopped. When the doors slid open Ryan looked out at an an impressive sight—a massive state-of-the-art computational facility occupied the entire basement floor.
On the left side of the lab, behind wire-latticed plate glass, lay the super-computing heart. Mounted on utilitarian DIN rails, Ryan knew that the matrix of processors would not lack function. The room within the larger room hummed in perpetual calculation, as evidenced by the beads of light twinkling randomly that shone through the see-through wall.
To his right, opposite the hardware bank was a row of offices, now empty for the weekend. In between were a dozen short-wall cubicle bullpens, each outfitted with desktop computers, where the programmers developed the code and shaped the games' destinies.
Robb's face was dressed in pride.
“Impressive,” said Ryan, “but where's the chemistry done?”
“Downstairs.”
“Another downstairs? Really?”
“Absolutely. I'll show you. It's on the way to the conference room.”
They crossed the lab and Robb led Ryan down a flight of stairs to where they landed in another large, open space lab. This one was no less utilitarian in design and function but, apart from the sheet metal-framed fume hoods, it was also modern in technical equipment. Ryan counted a dozen robot-controlled synthesis and analysis machines as well as two electron microscopy consoles and four scanning electron microscope consoles.
Out of necessity, large drapery curtains hung from the twenty foot ceiling which could be pulled around each apparatus as desired. The curtains lent the room a sense of detachment.
To Ryan it was familiar. “You just need an NMR.” He teased.
“It's on the floor beneath us.” Robb informed him in a matter-of-fact voice. “The NMR needed more vibration dampening than this level could offer.”
“I was just kidding,” Ryan conceded.
“We don't cut corners,” Robb bragged.
“What's below the NMR?”
“Dirt,” Robb answered quickly.
A machine whirred disruptively behind Ryan. Startled, he turned to look. On the other side of see-through plastic pane a robotic arm was dispensing liquid into a 24x24 array of PTFE-coated vials.
“Combinatorial?” Ryan asked.
“Of course,” Robb replied.
“We use the same methods,” Ryan said under his breath.
“Of course you do,” Robb had heard him clearly. “You started our program and, of course, we kept up.” He could not fail to notice Ryan's concern. “But we've moved on. We don't work the same problems.”
“What are you working on now?” Ryan was as curious as he was challenging.
“I really can't say.” Although Robb was apologetic his tone was firm. “I'd rather focus on what we've learned that's of interest to you.”
“Who are we meeting with?”
“My deputy. Dr. Dioumaiev.”
“Do-my...?” Ryan's tongue faltered with the pronunciation.
“Dioumaiev.”
“He's Russian?”
“She's American. Her parents were immigrants,” Robb replied. “That makes her doubly valuable. Although she's a synthetic chemist, she maintains a unique perspective on geopolitics.” He grinned wryly.
“Meaning?”
“Her family was from Vladivostok. Not a tourist destination. She calls it the armpit of Russia. But Vladivostok is a strategic base where the Russians keep tabs on their southern rivals. She was raised with that paranoia. Now it's second nature for her to remain informed.”
“So you think that the Chinese are involved?”
“In some way,” Robb sounded deliberately unconvincing. “I'm hoping you can shed some light on it.”
“Me? How?”
“Take a look at her analysis.”
“What can I offer? You're not solving the same problems as CI.”
“You can help more than you think. It was your code that was hacked.”
Ryan tensed. “This is the second time you've alleged that.” He pursed his lips and enunciated clearly. “I've checked several times. CI has not had a security breach...”
“I've alleged nothing.” Robb argued. “It would never be obvious but it's your code nonetheless.” He hesitated. “What about Jankowiak?”
“What are you saying?” Ryan found the idea preposterous. “CI was his creation. He would never sell his own contribution...”
“I meant... what if Jankowiak's computer was hacked by GenCorp?”
Ryan stepped back. “How do you know that? We... Dr. Jankowiak couldn't prove anything.”
“It was obvious.” Robb looked Ryan hard in the eyes. “Just not provable.”
“What do you mean?” Ryan would not easily jump to a conclusion.
“GenCorp had struck out with the FDA three times in a row. Their pipeline was dry and shareholders knew it. The markets battered their stock. GenCorp's management was desperate to appease its board.”
“I didn't realize they were in that kind of trouble,” Ryan interrupted. “Every business has its rough patches.”
“Not in Corporate America.” Robb said with a trace of irony. “It's double digit profits or die.” He snorted—Ryan stiffened to offer a rebuke—but Robb ceased ranting. “Besides angering its board GenCorp was losing its young talent as fast as it could attract them. Its future was dubious.”
“They were a hundred billion dollar corporation at the time. They weren't going anywhere.”
“Yes,” Robb agreed. “but they were no longer a growth company. In hindsight, it was easy to understand why it took so long for the company's revenue to begin rolling again. For five years its options were useless. Following the FDA announcements and initial share price plunge, prices continued to slowly trickle down. Without value to look forward to cashing in on, the option offered to new employees were useless. Talent didn't stay. Many left before vesting. It was embarrassing.”
Ryan nodded with understanding.
“So management's attention turned outside—start-ups and research professors—anyone with fresh ideas who wasn't on the company payroll. That's when they approached Jankowiak. His research was in a different dimension. They saw a potential to incubate novel ideas so they pursued him with a singular intent to own the platform outright. The rest you know—when they tried to cut a deal he rebuffed them.”
“They were greedy; they wanted exclusive access.”
“Exactly. Pawluk gave me an earful last night. Apparently Jankowiak had talked to him some years later.”
Ryan listened intently.
“They tendered a JDA under what some would consider false pretenses—I'm not a lawyer—th
en hacked his computer, sent and deleted several spurious email threads before he saw them. As backup, they planted documents that breached their own patents.”
“Hacked?” Ryan asked. “Jankowiak used the cutting edge of computer security. How did they hack him?”
“They phished. When he accepted GenCorp's invitation to lecture, he willingly granted them enough personal information that they were able to decipher or obtain his passwords without too much difficulty.”
“Of course.” Ryan knew the game.
“After GenCorp pretended to uncover the IP theft, it secured police assistance by 'revealing' the electronic link between Jankowiak and one of their technology development managers.”
“Jankowiak was set up.” Ryan remarked grimly.
“Yes, and I don't think that the set up manager was an unwilling accomplice. It was later learned that he was part of GenCorp's efforts to start an R&D facility in China. Not unwilling at all—he was most likely operating on behalf of GenCorp's top brass.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows in question.
Robb answered. “The manager was never charged nor dismissed. I wouldn't be surprised to find that he was promoted.”
Ryan exhaled sharply in disgust.
Robb took notice and his tone softened in sympathy. “After Jankowiak dug in his heels, GenCorp went silent. They had pushed him too far. Obviously, Jankowiak knew he was innocent—even if the university's suspicions were manufactured in lucre—and as a programmer, he understood the method that had been employed against him. Given enough time he would have exposed their methods and silenced the accusations. GenCorp didn't want that.”
“What are you saying?”
“I can't speculate, Ryan.”
“Why didn't anyone step in from the DOJ?”
Robb shifted in his
