“Yeah.”
“It’s me again.” There was no humour in the disguised voice.
“Yeah.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“What’re you talking about?” Petrenko took instant umbrage.
“You tried to hurt JPI executives. You’re an idiot.”
“That was a mistake. One of my guys went off the reservation. I took care of it.”
“Took care of it? You jeopardized this whole thing.”
“How?”
“JPI knew the code was taken. They didn’t know if more than one person was involved. It could have been a prank or something. Now they know it isn’t somebody’s idea of a joke.”
Petrenko felt fear. “What you mean? Do they know I’m involved?”
“No. Jesus. They don’t know you. But they know someone is willing to attack them for the code. How stupid are you?” The voice was incredulous.
“Okay. So, they know.” Petrenko fought to rationalize the situation. “They can’t do anything about it.” He paused to think. The voice was silent. “Can they?”
“No.” There was some hesitation. Petrenko noted it and felt emboldened. “No, there’s nothing they can do. They can’t just rip software out of client’s equipment. They can’t tell anyone or JPI will go down the drain. They’ll have to sit there while your friends work out ways around the JPI solutions.”
Clearly, Petrenko wasn’t the only one thinking out loud.
“So, we still in business?” Petrenko waited anxiously for the reply.
“Yes. But one more thing,” said the voice. “Jackson Phillips is a problem.”
Petrenko frowned. “He is retired. I saw he lives in a cottage up north. He is no trouble.”
“God…” The voice was exasperated. “He’s not at a bloody cottage. He’s at JPI now. And he’s the smartest guy in the building. He could be a big problem.”
“Okay. I take care of Mr. Jackson Phillips. No worry,” said Petrenko, battling to show calm control.
“Yeah, like you took care of Payne and Brownley. Do nothing yet, I’ll let you know what and when. What did your people say about the sample?”
Petrenko had not turned the sample over to his handler and didn’t plan to for several days as he worked out how he would maximize his profit. “They are studying it,” he said slowly. “They will let me know. Maybe next week.”
“I want an answer fast. Don’t forget there’s always China. Get me an answer.” The call was cut. Petrenko looked at his phone and, with a grimace, confirmed the disconnect. He stared at the phone for a minute. He called up Victor, his best thug.
“It’s me. Got a job for you. I want you to tail a guy.” He listened. “No, he’s an old fart. Take someone with you, if you’re scared. Watch your text.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
After his first meeting with JPI executives in the headquarters’ boardroom, Jackson Phillips tried to have a separate meeting with CEO Maxim Blax. When Jackson went to his office suite, a receptionist told him Blax wasn’t in and she didn’t know when he was expected. The CEO didn’t answer his cellphone when Jackson placed a call.
Heading back to Blax’s office for another try, Jackson met Mariah Bello in the hallway. “Want to help me find Max,” he asked her.
The two wended their ways through the passages that led to the various offices and service rooms on the executive floor. Mariah led the way and paused, finally, at the door that once led into Jackson’s office. He was about to open the door when a tall, matronly-looking woman hurried down the hall. She drew his attention with a command.
“Stop. Where do you think you’re going?” The woman drew up within a yard of Jackson, shouldering her way around Mariah.
“Is Mr. Blax in there?” Jackson asked in a friendly tone.
“You can’t go in there. Mr. Blax is not to be disturbed.”
Mariah tied to intervene. “Mrs. Laybourne. This is Jackson Phillips… the founder…”
“I am not concerned with who he is. He cannot enter.”
Jackson couldn’t stop his abrupt laughter. “Okay, Mrs. Laybourne … take it easy,” he said, quelling his outburst. Still grinning, he added, “We wouldn’t dare intrude.”
“If you would move away.” She stood aside and glared at both of them.
“Let’s go, Mariah,” said Jackson, still chuckling. “I’ve got other things to do.”
He passed the guardian, swiveled and said, with exaggerated courtesy, “When Mr. Blax can be disturbed, please let him know Jackson Phillips would like a word. Thank you, Mrs. Laybourne.”
The matron continued to glare.
“Well, that was fun,” Jackson said over his shoulder as he and Mariah reversed their march through the corporate hallways.
“Par for the course,” Mariah returned, with a chuckle in her voice. “Say, have you got time for a coffee with me; there are things I need to know.”
A few minutes later, the two were seated in Mariah’s office, a room with a single window looking out over the city. “I can see the CN Tower,” Mariah commented, pointing out her window. “That’s all I need.”
Jackson followed her finger and saw the tower rising far above neighbouring buildings at the south edge of the city a short distance from the shores of Lake Ontario. At the base of the tower, he could see the huge, white, retractable roof of the Rogers Centre, home to Blue Jays baseball and site of other major events. “Follow the Jays,” he asked.
“When they’re good,” Mariah said. “I’m a lousy fan.”
“Speaking of which. Is anyone a fan of what’s going on at JPI?” Jackson was direct and his eyes were sharp as they took in the young, black woman with wondrous hair.
“Well,” she responded slowly and carefully. “There are people here who love the place and applaud the changes. Like more choices in the cafeteria. We have a hockey team. Not now, of course, but, you know… in the winter.” She was babbling nervously.
“Mariah.” His tone was just as sharp as his look into her face. “You know what I mean.”
She sat back and composed herself. She morphed into a PR professional.
“A lot of people don’t spend time thinking about changes. They just put their heads down and do their work. But, most of the executives and key employees do realize what’s happening and they don’t like it. Not a bit. We still lead the market. But, many of us question whether we can keep it up.”
“Many of us?” Jackson had picked up on her inclusion of herself among the speculators.
“Yep,” she smiled ruefully. “I have only been here a few months but I’m a critic too. I know what was done before - when you were here - and I can see the difference even without working under you as the CEO.”
Jackson flashed a grin in appreciation. “What do you think of Blax,” he asked.
“Mr. Blax…”. Mariah gazed at her hands that were fiddling with objects on the desk in front of her. She halted the fidgeting flashing annoyance with herself. “He could be good. Not great but good. He had charm and I’ve used him as a spokesperson. We get interview requests from military trade magazines and we did one with CBC TV.” She broke off.
“You’re using the past tense. Do you still use him?”
She thought for a moment. “No. I can’t really trust him. He was getting more and more like a mini-Trump.”
“How so,” Jackson prompted with obvious curiosity.
“He started to praise himself and to ask for praise from the interviewer. He started that on the TV interview but caught himself. I’d say he is narcissistic and, slash, or, a megalomaniac. Or both,” she reflected. “You may not notice at first but it comes out in a couple of minutes.”
“Is this a universal opinion or just yours?” Jackson leaned forward from his visitor’s chair.
Mariah looked sad and Jackson felt sympathy for her. “It’s universal among those of us who notice and those of us who deal with Maxim. But that’s not all that many. He’s becoming… He’s… Ah, face it. The gu
y is a reclusive, power-mad son of a bitch and getting worse all the time.”
“Wow. That’s blunt.” Jackson fell back into his chair. “Let’s have details.”
The invitation opened the doors to a torrent of written and video information. Mariah went quickly through file drawers in the office, pulling out files, several SD cards and a handful of thumb drives. She would give Jackson a file to print as she inserted the next drive into her iMac.
She would turn the monitor screen to face Jackson as he viewed the next video. The videos were taken from the single Blax interview on CBC, several presentations the CEO had made at internal meetings and a number of conferences across the military tech community. Several were from YouTube but Mariah hurried to assure Jackson the YouTubes had not been distributed. All of these contained Blax’s comments centred on himself and his actions.
Jackson fished a pair of glasses out of the pocket of his sports jacket and slipped them on with a sideways glance at Mariah. She didn’t notice. Jackson hated the glasses and didn’t use them often after his cataract surgery three years before. He had to make an exception for the fine print to come.
In some of the files, Jackson detected monumental lapses in security. There were emails that disclosed top secret details of JPI software. There were margin notes, in Blax’s handwriting, that upbraided designers and engineers in the foulest terms. Some of the notes called on employees to make specific changes in software. Jackson noted some included errors that would have been fatal if actually made.
“Were these taken seriously?” he asked with trepidation.
Mariah glanced at the sheaf of paper in Jackson’s hands. “No, by these dates, we all knew to take the words from on-high with a large scoop of salt.” There was no smile in her voice. “But we had to tell him the changes had been made or he would throw tantrums. He never checked the stuff afterward so he doesn’t know…”
“Christ, Mariah. This can’t go on. But, it’s not why I’m here. I can’t charge in and remove this guy. Even though I brought him in in the first place.” Jackson was stricken. He felt sick to his stomach and a tremendous, black cloud of guilt swept over him.
“What I need from you,” Mariah summoned her strength. “…is a lesson. I know a lot about JPI in general but I need to know a lot more about MLD&T if I’m to be of help now. And I have my own concerns.” She took a breath. “As I said at the meeting, this theft of our software could have ramifications far beyond military.”
The two spent the next hour working through the various components in the MLD&T production chain. Jackson put her through a test after his tutorial.
“The military goal for this application is to identify an opponent who is carrying a weapon or has an explosive device attached to his or her body.” Mariah repeated what she had learned. “It does so by taking and analyzing video or pictures on a number of cameras. Characteristics like the way the enemy is walking, his hesitations if any, the expression on his face, facial recognition to see if he is a known terrorist…”. Jackson nodded encouragingly.
“Also analyzed is the shape of the person’s body; if, for instance, there is a square bulge under his jacket or his torso is too fat for his legs and waistline. All sorts of things. When the software adds up the characteristics and checks them against known signatures for a bomber, a determination is made. The person is allowed to go on his way or even to approach friendlies. If enough of the characteristics identify a bomber, to a 99.9 per cent certainty, the enemy is taken out. He’s killed.” Mariah took a breath.
“Very good.” Jackson applauded softly. “Okay, now you know how this all works.”
“I hope I remember all of this.” Mariah took a sip of water from the plastic bottle on her desk. “What you might not know are the public relations problems inherent in this software,” she told Jackson, reversing the learning experience.
“Explain.”
“I would be delighted,” she smiled with a grin and a tinge of pride. “This stuff - with all due respect to you - is not all that new. Civilian versions of this have been around for years. There is an application for schools. That software uses cameras installed around the campus of a school. There is no problem if kids are moving around during school hours. There’s no problem either if a number of kids are seated in the cafeteria at noon having lunch.” She took another sip of water.
“But, in the evening or at night, if someone is caught on camera on the lawn or in the hallway of a building or anywhere they shouldn’t be at that hour, the cops or security is called automatically. Alarms go off. And so on. If everyone in the cafeteria gets up at the same time and moves quickly, same thing … alarms, security, cops and the school is locked down because a shooter may be moving into that cafeteria causing the students to run away.”
Jackson stared at her, impressed with her presentation and her fervour. “We considered civilian applications when we developed ours,” he said. “Where we could, we used existing algorithms and code. And, yes, we’re paying a fortune in royalties. And we actually linked our stuff to some civilian applications so they will do double duty. There’s a lot of schools in the Middle East and Africa, too. But, so what. How does all this ring bells with a PR person?”
Mariah looked at Jackson with one of her pixie grins that intrigued Jackson so much. “Finally, something you don’t know!” She giggled and Jackson was charmed.
Mariah became serious. The shift was immediate and intimidating. This lady is impressive, thought Jackson.
She took one more deep breath. “Okay. JPI software was stolen. God knows where it will end up but we have to figure it will be bad. If it’s just a garden-variety thief, JPI will be told to pay a fortune in ransom. Personally, I think that’s a non-starter. Someone could steal bank accounts or health records, something a lot easier to take and to hold for ransom than military software. Think of who is going to be after you if you’re that thief.”
“It could be,” she continued, “a competitor. It could be a terror group. It could be another country - think China or, more likely, Russia or North Korea or Iran…” Mariah rose from her desk and stood looking out of her window, back to Jackson. She turned and her face was stern.
“If anyone like that has the software, they will use it themselves and, also, provide it to their military clients. North Korea to Iran; Russia to some African countries or the Syrian regime. Those clients will equip their own troops with it but also will turn it against us and our allies. They will know what we are looking for in a bomber and will change characteristics.
Once all this becomes known, media will kill us figuratively with stories about JPI software literally killing our brave soldiers.” There was no hint of sick humour; Mariah was totally serious.
“But,” she held up her hand as Jackson drew breath to break into her monologue. “But, it goes much farther. If this software is in enemy hands or if it can be countered by the bad people, it isn’t much of a jump for the public to believe all of this type of software is full of holes and even dangerous to us. All machine learning security software will become suspect. CCTV cameras will be treated as spies linked to enemy software and devices. Can you imagine students protesting that AI spies on them everywhere and all the time? They do some of that now. This whole area will become scarier in the minds of most of the public.”
Jackson was irritated. Mariah was attacking the basis of the company he founded. She was saying JPI and every other company in the field could be taken down by the carelessness of those within and their own products. She was saying Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning as technologies could become an anathema to the public instead of a protector of the good.
“You are way over the top,” he snapped. Mariah acted as though she had been slapped. Her eyes glistened. She sank into her chair exhausted.
Mariah recovered quickly. Before Jackson could rise and stalk out of the little office, her head came up; she swept at her eyes with the back of a hand. Her voice was steady and loud. “Not at all
, Mr. Phillips. Look at Google, Amazon and the rest of the big companies that have been promoting AI. More and more people think they are as much of a threat as a benefit to the rest of us. People are demanding regulation to protect them from AI instead of vice versa. The companies that are struggling with this already are a lot bigger than JPI. Now, it could be our turn and I don’t think we can afford both a huge PR crisis and a security disaster.”
Jackson was astounded. He had learned of the software theft only a few days before. Granted he had no time to digest the situation and to assess the potential damage. But Mariah had presented consequences he never would have considered. She was right. This was a double nightmare about to happen.
“I’m sorry, Mariah. I admit I wasn’t taking you as seriously as I should. Any thought of what we should be doing?”
She smiled softly. “I’m sorry too. I was getting pretty emotional, wasn’t I?”
“Thank god, you were,” said Jackson. “You got through.”
“Doing? She asked rhetorically. “I think we should be finding the thief by looking at motivation. Follow the money or the national interest or whatever might be driving this thing. We also should be looking at all possible fallout and how we can counter it before the fact or make repairs after we get hit. We’ll need a crisis team and it has to get going right away. No more delay.”
“Who’s delaying?”
“Speaking frankly, Mr. Blax has been telling us not to do anything. He has to change his tune or move aside.”
“Kind of disloyal, aren’t you,” Jackson complained. He was a strong advocate of loyalty.
“Maybe Mr. Blax is the disloyal one. He treats the company like a shoeshine stand and most of us like we should be polishing his boots. He may be the CEO but fewer and fewer think of him as our leader. If that’s disloyalty, fire me, but don’t expect me to cover up for a petty dictator who thinks only of himself.”
“I get the point, Mariah.” Jackson stood and made it to the door. He turned. “Get some names together and we’ll get going on the team. I’ll call you later.” He opened the office door and strode into the hallway with renewed purpose. Mariah watched him go, wondering what this ‘later’ call would entail. She didn’t have to wait long.
The Russian Crisis Page 5
