The Project

by I C Cosmos

  It could have been a coincidence, she thought. Or a message. “We are following you everywhere. Know everything about you, including your favorite perfume.” Or “I am a friend. I care. This perfume is you.”

  She hadn’t tested her favorite perfume in the store. He must have known. And he knew much more. “I know who tried to kill you on Elba.” Helen shivered.

  Who is he? She locked her safe, making sure the perfume strip was safely inside. Even if it weren’t, the number written on it was burned into Helen’s memory. Her phone buzzed. The taxi she had ordered to take her to Jon’s place was waiting outside. Helen would have preferred to walk and sort out her thoughts, but transporting the dinner ingredients made that impossible.

  Jon was waiting for her by the door of his building, grinning, looking like a Californian surfer. He ran to the taxi, hugged her, pecked her on the cheek, grabbed the bags, and brought them to his apartment. Helen relaxed into living a normal life, be it only for a few hours.

  It was a warm evening, and they enjoyed their drinks and snacks on Jon’s terrace overlooking the juncture of the Amstel River with a couple of minor canals. They chatted about this and that as usual, but something was different about Jon. Helen had noticed it as soon as he’d dropped the shopping bags on the kitchen counter, but couldn’t put her finger on it.

  A seagull landed on the giant modern sculpture towering over the glass railing in the corner of the terrace.

  “You’ve got a marvelous place here,” Helen said.

  Jon raised his glass and gave a proud smile colored with smugness and arrogance Helen had never seen from him before.

  She stood up, wondering where the arrogance came from. “I better start on the dinner,” she said.

  Jon nodded and took out his phone, ignoring Helen.

  She walked to the kitchen, quickly checking her apps. The cameras were still in their old places, active. Interesting. The study door was open, and Helen peeked in. A jolt of surprise shot through her.

  The Keirincx wasn’t where it used to be. It hung across from Jon’s desk and had company. Helen looked closer. The second painting was definitely the wooded river landscape that Jon declared out of his league when they saw it at Sotheby’s.

  An unexpected windfall? Helen speculated while snapping pictures of both paintings. Strange that Jon didn’t say anything to her about the new acquisition. Wouldn’t it be the first thing an art lover would share? Especially because they had viewed the painting together and spent so much time talking about it?

  Helen put on water for the lobster ravioli from the farmers’ market, the paintings occupying her mind. She sent the sharpest image of Jon’s first Keirincx to a comparison app, where a photo of Mom’s painting was already waiting. Helen assembled their salad and walked to the terrace to discuss where to eat.

  Jon was talking on the phone, laughing. He looked at Helen and gave her a little wave and an apologetic smile.

  It was still pleasantly warm, and Helen decided to set the table outside. Her phone pinged on the way back to the kitchen.

  >> Your results are ready.

  Amsterdam

  Helen clicked on the app and drew her breath in sharply. The probability that the two paintings were identical was extremely high. She’d study the details later and maybe try another app, but this analysis confirmed her suspicion. Jon’s painting was either stolen or an excellent fake.

  Jon was almost his friendly self during dinner, but the camaraderie they had before wasn’t there. A barely visible veil of hubris hung around Jon like a smelly ghost. So much for the normal life. Ready to leave, Helen stood up, disappointment tugging at her.

  She brought their plates in and collected her bag. Jon followed her to the kitchen. Walking to the door, Helen opened her mouth to say goodbye. Jon blocked her way.

  Helen moved around him, but he grabbed her and kissed her on the mouth. Hard. Helen slipped away, anger boiling in her.

  “Don’t.”

  “Why?” Surprise filled Jon’s face. “I made plans for us. We would be so good together.” Jon gave a bright smile and pressed himself on Helen, trying to kiss her again. This time she pushed him away. Hard.

  “Don’t you do this again. Ever,” she said, staring Jon down.

  He shrugged defiantly and put on a boyish smile. His blue eyes darkened when he saw that Helen wasn’t moved. The boyishness disappeared and arrogance settled around Jon’s lips.

  Helen let herself out and ran down the stairs as fast as she could, not looking back. She relaxed slightly when she got out of Jon’s building, but didn’t slow down until she reached the Staalstraat.

  Tears in her eyes, Helen passed Puccini Bomboni, barely noticing the beautiful display of their pralines. How could I be so STUPID? Helen fumed. Jon was their puppet to start with…

  Uncle Andreas must have paid him with the Keirincx painting. Or paintings. Which would be an astronomical price for several sessions with Jon. So either the paintings were fake or Jon did more work them. God knows what they really hired him for.

  Helen rushed around the opera as people were spilling out during an intermission, drinks in their hands, savoring the lovely evening.

  She calmed down when she was approaching the Amstel hotel, and considered going in for a drink to flush the Jon fiasco out of her system. She imagined sitting in the cozy, wood-paneled bar on her own and decided against it. Too lonely. Besides, the faster she got back to her own place, the better. She had a major deadline coming up and needed a good night’s sleep and a fresh start in the morning.

  That’s what was most important to her—the Project. Helen slowed down to collect her thoughts. The bottom line was clear. No matter how much she longed for a normal life, the Project was her first priority and would be even if Jon hadn’t behaved as he had… Helen gave him the credit for bringing this to light. And for teaching her to handle stress in the field. Maybe the Consortium did the right thing hiring him after all. Helen chuckled at the thought.

  She passed De Ysbreeker, and her mind switched to her “friend.”

  Who was he?

  Amsterdam

  “Still working?”

  Collin looked up from his laptop. Kate, his sister, was leaning against the doorframe, hand on her hip. His half sister, Kate would correct him, but to Collin, she was his little sister forever.

  “Working or in love?” Kate inquired.

  Working and in love, Collin almost answered, wondering how long Kate had stood by the door watching him.

  “How was your dinner?” he asked.

  “Amazing. You missed the best pizza in town. Their truffle pie is out of this world.”

  “Glad you liked it.” Collin had promised he would join Kate and her friends for dinner in a restaurant that recently opened in an old factory, but canceled at the last moment. Keeping an eye on Helen was more important.

  “You’d like what they did with the building. Super clever. Anyhow, why don’t you join us outside for an after-dinner drink? It’s such a balmy evening. And you get to try the pizza after all.” Kate grinned. “I brought a few pieces home for you.”

  “Sweet. Give me a couple of minutes.”

  Kate sighed and left.

  They seemed so similar, Collin thought, watching the dot that was Helen moving along the Amstel River. Women of the world. Both tall, blond, elegant, accomplished. Kate had her own information technology business, and Helen was a brilliant cybersecurity specialist.

  Bafflingly so. With the exception of the one unsecured phone Collin was following right now, he and his team were still unable to establish digital surveillance of Helen’s devices. Her cyber shield kept them at arm’s length, in spite of their relentless efforts to crack it. Not government issue, the shield played into Frank’s suspicion that Helen was a double agent.

  Collin wasn’t having it. His gut feeling was telling him Helen was the real deal. Holding her hand and looking into her eyes at the Noordermarkt confirmed that. In all his years in the business, tru
sting his instincts unless hard facts convinced him otherwise had kept Collin out of trouble. He wasn’t going to change his ways now.

  Collin felt bad that Helen’s evening with Jon May didn’t go well, but had no sympathy for May. Arrogant bastard. He deserved every second of being put in his place by Helen. Collin chuckled, relieved that May was out of the way.

  The dot arrived at Helen’s building. The camera placed on her floor picked up Helen walking from the elevator and opening her front door. Satisfied that she was safely in, Collin closed his laptop and stood up.

  Hope flooded him head to toe.

  Amsterdam

  One week later

  Helen eased from her yoga pose and stood up. A heavy-loaded barge muscled its way toward the Berlage bridge, undisturbed by the steady rain. The Amstel River looked dark and grim; even the swans that loved to cruise along the banks and elicit treats weren’t around.

  Feeding the swans was Helen’s favorite break. She would run downstairs when she saw them swimming in front of her building, throw pieces of bread to them, and make small talk with other regulars, discussing world affairs and the swans’ dietary preferences (bread, and not the recommended lettuce).

  Helen looked across the water. No swan in sight. A lonely dog walker hurried his dachshund along the path next to the river, fighting his umbrella, which kept turning inside out at the whim of the wind gusts. Helen slid open one of the heavy glass panels that served as the front wall of her condo, and ventured onto the covered terrace. A spray of cold rain blew in her face. She enjoyed the rawness of the storm, knowing that she could easily retreat into her cozy room.

  One look at the steely clouds confirmed the new prediction that showed up on Helen’s weather app: nonstop rain the whole weekend. Helen had planned a long walk to the KNSM-eiland, a man-made island in the Eastern Docklands. Several new shops and galleries had recently opened up there, and Helen was looking forward to visiting them. But that was before the unexpected low-pressure front stormed in and washed away what was supposed to be a sunny day.

  Helen curled up on her sofa, undecided how to spend her free Saturday. It definitely wasn’t a day for walking, and she considered finishing some minor stuff she didn’t get to during the week. She had turned in a large artificial intelligence program a few days ago, and this was a perfect day for rounding it up and cleaning her files.

  She scanned the news and took a quiz but barely finished it and went to make tea. The quizzes had become too repetitive, and Helen considered canceling her Total Protection membership.

  Back at her computer, she noticed that something was slowing down her CPU. Alarmed, Helen located the offender, a program called sptfr3. Spitfire? Could it be malware that fooled her cyber shield? A quick search on sptfr3 didn’t come up with anything. Hm… Helen set out to find out what was going on.

  Sptfr3 appeared to harvest and send data. Helen dug deeper. The program was sending messages from her Total Protection account. And not just some messages. Sptfr3 was indeed spitting fire. It broadcast catchy memes designed to discredit the president’s political opponents.

  Shocked, Helen sat back. Her first reaction screamed for deleting her Total Protection account immediately, but she stopped herself. There is more to this than meets the eye.

  Helen went to work, her shock turning to consternation and then white-hot fury. The audacity. Helen took several more quizzes to verify her findings. The more quizzes she took, the more posts were broadcast to people who took similar quizzes. And to their friends. The same happened with puzzles and games.

  No wonder TP increased the bonus points exponentially as people played more; enticing them spread more of TP’s dirty propaganda. No need to pay for expensive ads, no need to create illicit bot farms and fake accounts that could be shut down. TP’s members were spreading the propaganda for free while paying for their membership. Incredible.

  Helen’s fingers flew over the keyboard in hot pursuit. It was uncanny how easy it was to infiltrate and follow most of the programs. A nagging premonition settled in her chest. She opened the wizard that ran TP’s bots. Her heart skipped a beat.

  It was her own program.

  Amsterdam

  Helen jumped off the sofa and paced along the glass panels. It was dark outside, still raining, and the lights reflecting in the black river made it look merry. But the view failed to brighten Helen’s mood. The scam she had just uncovered took the oxygen out of the room.

  She had designed the bot wizard to infiltrate terrorist units, not civilian groups! Using her software to spy on TP’s members and send spam from their accounts was criminal.

  Helen fumed. She walked back and forth, forcing her rage out of the way so that she could focus and put the pieces together.

  This is just a tip of the iceberg. Helen was sure. But one thing was clear: someone had infringed on her programs and used them to exploit innocent people to spread dirty propaganda. She bit her lip, trying to suppress the pounding in her temples. I’ll get you! And I’ll blow your filthy operation to smithereens. The rage muscled its way back.

  Helen took a deep breath and put her forehead on the cold glass panel. She could start destroying the TP crooks right now. She could send her bots and blow their offensive programs out of the water. But destroying was easy. Anyone could tear things down. Not everyone could rebuild.

  She needed a solution that wouldn’t lead to an online war. Rushing things could catch the crook’s attention and make her life more difficult. She had to get to the source of the malfeasance and find out what they were after.

  Nothing could fire up Helen more than sabotaging “her” war on terrorism. Or taking advantage of it. She sat down and absentmindedly took a sip of the untouched tea. Her mind sharp as a laser, she scrutinized the TP app and forgot about everything else.

  Who are these people? she wondered. How did they get hold of her software? No one should be able to access these top-secret programs, except Helen and a handful of programmers who had restricted privileges. But someone did.

  The options were as limited as they were alarming. Super-hackers came to mind, but even they couldn’t have done it without inside help because of the cyber shield protecting Helen’s programs.

  Which meant that someone in the government or the Consortium betrayed the Project. Helen shivered.

  What were their objectives besides spreading political propaganda?

  A gasp escaped Helen’s lips. Her newest artificial intelligence program! Helen put her head in her hands when she realized how easily it could be misused if it fell into the wrong hands.

  The program was one of Helen’s jewels. She designed its superintelligent bots to take on large numbers of terrorists without missing a beat, which was impossible to do by hand.

  But if the bots were deployed to alter civilian rather than terrorist messages, innocent posts could be weaponized to turn people against one another. Changing “I love you” to “I hate you,” for instance. Or “the president is a moron” to “the president is brilliant.” Helen’s fingers rolled into fists. Her bots were never meant to be used like this…

  Helen stood up and paced around the room. Her grumbling stomach startled her and reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything all day. She fetched a roasted vegetable salad from the fridge and ate it while searching the TP site, hardly noticing what she was tasting.

  TP was a subsidiary of DEI LLC, registered in Delaware. DEI was an acronym for divide et impera, divide and rule. She whistled. DEI also meant “gods” or “of God” in Latin. Which went nicely with the name of the company that supplied the games and quizzes: 7’Heaven, also a subsidiary of DEI. A marriage made in heaven. Helen snorted.

  DEI was a government contractor, fully subsidized by taxpayers. Jeez… These people have balls. They stole artificial intelligence developed by the government and used it on a membership site paid for by civilians, whose accounts they abused to spread dirt on political opponents of the president. What a scoop!

  The o
fficers of DEI were hiding behind a shroud of secrecy. Helen decided to work on that later. She had more luck with 7’Heaven. Its owner and CEO was Robert Bullock, who was also the acting CEO of Total Protection.

  Helen sucked her breath in. Bobby? That can’t be. But it was.

  Bobby bloody Bullock. Unbelievable.

  Amsterdam

  Helen circled her living room, hands pressing her temples. Bobby? The CEO of Total Protection? The same Bobby with whom she had spent a delightful week in Jakarta? It didn’t add up.

  Bobby had visited Jakarta for a technological convention and contacted the embassy for assistance with his business. They had met at a reception organized by the embassy and hit it off right away. Bobby made Helen laugh and brought back the cheer she loved so much when she still had her family.

  For a short moment Helen thought that their fling could lead to something but gave up on the idea before the week was over. Bobby was fun to be with, and Helen loved the spark between them. But she was too serious for him. She was looking for a long-term relationship, while Bobby was a born playboy who lived in the moment, unhindered by what would happen next.

  The only time Helen saw Bobby sad was when he mentioned his divorce. He quickly changed the subject, and she didn’t want to pry, but she glimpsed the deep wound the divorce left behind.

  Bobby had promised to stay in touch but had not, as Helen predicted. Or maybe they had missed each other because of Helen’s abrupt move to DC to work on the Project, she realized now.

  Whatever happened, Helen couldn’t imagine that Bobby was the brain behind stealing her bots. He took risks, was driven and adventurous, but a scam like this didn’t fit what she knew of him.