The Project Page 2

  The Consortium had sided with the darkly influential Andreas, and Helen had been accepted. Nic would have preferred to execute the Project solo, but the Consortium overruled him. They handpicked twenty candidates, all uniquely intelligent, strong, determined. Psychologically tested. Twenty of the sharpest minds in the country, the Consortium claimed. Nic’s task was to train them and recommend one person who’d become his partner.

  The selection criterion was simple: the highest score on a series of objectively measurable tests. The candidates did not know each other and did not meet during the excruciating ten-day training. Each of them worked in a separate suite with a workspace, a bedroom, and a fully stocked kitchen. They were instructed to concentrate one hundred percent on their assignments and not consult or contact anybody.

  They were kept in the dark about the selection criterion and were not given any feedback on their performance. At the end of each day, the candidate with the lowest score was sent home.

  None of them expected such an abrupt end to their new career.

  Helen was nineteenth after the first day, and Nic assumed she wouldn’t make the cut. He didn’t want to work with her. He didn’t want to work with a woman.

  Nic’s preference went to Matt Holcomb, a seasoned analyst from a counterproliferation unit in Homeland Security. Matt’s record was impeccable, and his prematurely gray hair and sharp looks underscored his drive and commitment. Never married, not interested in hobbies or other leisurely activities, Matt dedicated his whole life to work. Nic liked that. It was no surprise to him that Matt was the highest-ranked candidate three days in a row.

  Although Nic tried to ignore Helen, he was astonished by her astronomical rise in the ranking. She ended sixth on day two and third on day three. Thinking it was a fluke, Nic didn’t pay attention to her until day four, when she tied with Matt.

  Nic suspected that Andreas cheated and secretly provided Helen with crucial information. But the security officers who watched the candidates twenty-four hours per day did not report any breach of rules on Helen’s part. No evidence of physical contact with other people. No evidence of external digital connections.

  The only evidence Nic found pointed to Helen’s hard work. She slept less and worked more than anyone else in the group. To his surprise, Helen developed her own programs—bots—that allowed her to tackle the assignments more effectively.

  Yet, still not convinced that Helen wasn’t cheating, Nic designed new, tougher tests, which he fed to the candidates’ computers live so that no one could compromise them. Without faltering, Helen maintained her high performance. The rest of the group did not.

  Matt crumbled under the pressure and slid in the rankings. Several other candidates tried to keep up with the pace but failed miserably. Helen thrived. The harder the tests, the more proficient she became. By day seven she was so far ahead of the field that the contest was no longer between her and the remaining candidates but between her and Nic.

  By day eight, Nic felt that Helen was one step ahead of him. He had never been challenged like this before. Frustrated and fascinated by Helen’s progress, Nic feverishly designed new system features and assignments. Helen responded in kind, coming up with unique solutions, inciting him to bring his systems to levels he’d never considered before.

  Without realizing it, they had become a tight team. The Consortium had been thrilled.

  And now Helen downed another shot of tequila, still mastering the op-codes.

  Nic was determined to destroy her in the field trial.

  Stockholm

  Apartment on Strandvägen

  One day later

  Helen woke up fresh, fully in control. Her senses sharp, she felt like a light-footed thoroughbred ready to take off from the gate. But as the morning went on, the pressure of the trial crept through her defenses and wore her down. She swallowed hard. It was almost eleven o’clock, and she hadn’t received any instructions from the headquarters yet.

  The fear that she had somehow lost connection and missed the announcement threw her off-balance and forced her to check her equipment again and again. But the communication channels remained silent.

  Helen ran through several series of op-codes to calm her nerves. By now she could manage the signals in her sleep, and often she did. The codes permeated her whole existence. She dreamt about them, inhaled them, lived them…

  She had received only a handful of messages regarding the trial, but all of them had emphasized that she would have to process signals under tough conditions. To prepare, she increased the stress and ran codes when walking through Stockholm, while having the news and the music channel on full blast, after an exhausting run, after sleeping only two hours, while downing tequila shots… Decoding and recoding data streams had become second nature to her. Yet, in spite of all the training, her confidence was diminishing by the minute because the headquarters remained silent.

  Helen stood up and let out a deep sigh, the insecurity putting her on edge.

  At least the trial is in Stockholm, she thought. A city she loved and knew well, for she had visited it several times with her grandparents. The last time they had stayed just a few houses down on the Strandvägen.

  Helen fondly remembered the sun-drenched sailing expeditions, the picnics, the long evenings spent munching on Swedish delicacies and listening to Grandma and Grandpa’s stories, the few rainy days when she cocooned in her magical circular tower room, reading and dreaming about a prince charming who’d sweep her off her feet and—

  An incoming message lit up Helen’s phone.

  She jumped up, ready to go.

  Washington, DC

  The library

  The silence resonating through the library would make a pin dropped on the floor sound like a deafening explosion. All members of the Consortium were present, awaiting the go command.

  These highly accomplished men and women were accustomed to ruling their empires from sleek glass towers filled with the latest trappings of design and technology. Yet they conducted the Project meetings in a dimly lit, old-fashioned library, where each of them had been assigned a deep leather chair flanked by a Transparency Station and a private lamp, which, with a wave of a hand, could light up its owner or shroud him or her in darkness.

  The Transparency Stations, the only nod to modernity, looked deceptively like acrylic book stands but were state-of-the-art computers providing instant access to classified information.

  All Consortium members enjoyed absolute privacy and security in the library. Not so anyone else. It was a place where lives were brutally exposed and exploited.

  The last time all members congregated here had been on the tenth day of the Project training.

  “I rest my case,” Andreas had said to conclude their deliberations. “We have an indisputable winner, but I’ll abstain from voting. Helen is my niece, after all.” He chuckled and triumphantly puffed on his Davidoff No. 1 while playfully swirling an exquisite crystal glass holding more than a splash of XO cognac. The light of his lamp bounced off the crystal and emphasized Andreas’s patrician nose and prominent chin.

  “There is no doubt we have a clear winner,” a strong voice responded from a deep shadow. “The question is whether we go on with the trials in Sweden and Greece.”

  “Nic recommended we go on because a laboratory exercise can’t replace a field experience,” a member who could be Pierce Brosnan’s double offered without looking up from his Transparency Station.

  “Perhaps,” a perfectly polished brunette said crisply. “Nonetheless, we can all agree that Sweden and Greece are needed to test and enhance Nic’s systems. In fact, the field exercises should be designed to give Helen the opportunity to discover shortcomings and fix them.”

  That said, the woman waved her hand and disappeared into darkness. The Consortium had agreed, and orders had been given to instruct Nic accordingly.

  The necessary preparations had been carried out, and the field trial was about to commence. The Transparency Sta
tions came alive, their soft glow commanding their owners’ attention. The Consortium was ready to take on the world.

  “Divide and rule!” Andreas exclaimed and tapped the go button.

  Stockholm, Sweden

  Apartment on Strandvägen

  >> Field trial instructions

  Ten terrorist units operate in the area east of Nobelparken.

  Position yourself in the area immediately.

  You have three hours to disrupt their communications.

  You may use any means at your disposal to complete this assignment.

  Do not - repeat, DO NOT - approach the terrorists physically.

  Do not contact or consult anyone regarding this assignment.

  Helen reread the instructions. That was it? No communication IDs? How was she supposed to find the terrorists? She stared at her phone, expecting more data. A second message from the HQ flashed on the screen.

  >> Leave immediately. The time starts now.

  A lump ballooned in Helen’s throat. This wasn’t what she had expected. She was trained to disrupt terrorist communications, not locate their networks. Finding them in Stockholm’s digital traffic without having their IDs was worse than seeking a needle in a haystack.

  The program Helen perfected last night came back with the physical location from which the HQ messages originated. Both of them had been sent from a mansion near Nobelparken. Helen decided to begin the search there.

  She looked at her watch. It would take about ten minutes to walk to the mansion. Ten minutes to figure out how to find the terrorists. She grabbed her portable equipment and rushed out of the apartment, ignoring the ancient elevator and running down the circular staircase two steps at a time.

  Oblivious to anything but her task, Helen rapidly passed Stockholmers strolling along the Strandvägen and savoring the sunny morning. In her mind she sifted through everything she had ever learned about communication networks, frantically piecing together possible strategies.

  Not having a better plan, Helen dispatched several bots to seek signals with profiles matching her library of op-codes. The probability of getting a hit was low, but it was a start. Helen’s fingers danced on the screen, adjusting some of the bots to sharpen the search.

  “Never use canned equipment for sensitive jobs.” Helen fondly recalled her cyber surveillance instructor at Georgetown. “No matter what they tell you, always design your own tools.”

  Now she understood. Without her custom-designed bots, she wouldn’t have a chance in the world to compete in this trial.

  Helen took in her surroundings and slowed down. She was approaching the HQ mansion, but her bots showed no activity. The signal source seemed shut as tightly as the shutters on the majestic white building.

  Helen passed the Nobelparken and followed the Lidovägen along a Baltic Sea inlet, pushing her devices past their limits. No results. Damn… Time was ticking away and she was running out of options. This field trial sucked!

  What bloody nonsense! Why did she have to rush through the park searching for the terrorists?

  In a real-life situation, terrorists would be pre-IDed, and Helen’s job would be to tune in and alter their communication. She took several deep breaths to calm down. Without success.

  The tree-lined path ended in a fork. Helen stopped to consult the map. A group of young mothers pushing ultramodern baby carriages ran past her. Their happy chatter fluttered in the air, and for a fleeting moment Helen wished she were one of them.

  She walked closer to the water and sat down on a lonely bench, feeling lost and defeated, her dream job disappearing in front of her eyes. She was certain that the other nine candidates were way ahead of her by now, had located the terrorists, and were destroying their operations.

  I am letting my family down. Tears sprang to Helen’s eyes.

  She kicked a little pebble and watched the ripples spread in the calm waters.

  Only the best should get this job… Helen agreed. The lives of thousands… “I want to be the best,” Helen whispered, wanting to scream the words out loud.

  You’ve done your best…and you don’t NEED this job, her mind asserted. But she wanted the job. Badly. Still, she could always go back to the Foreign Service.

  Or become a literature teacher, a smaller, quieter voice proposed. That’s what she wanted to be when her parents were still alive. Before Uncle Andreas convinced her to go to Georgetown. In a flash Helen saw how much Andreas affected her life. Persuading her to study cyber communications, persuading her to sign up for the Project…

  Andreas can’t be trusted. Grandma’s warning couldn’t have been clearer. Helen kicked another pebble into the water. But Grandma had been spared the terror of that day because her advanced dementia kept her in the safety of the past. And Uncle Andreas had taken charge. Something terrible happened, dear. Your ma, pa, and Josh…

  Helen’s fingers tightened into fists. The hunger to avenge them straightened her up. If she didn’t make the cut, she’d find another job that would allow her to fight terrorism.

  Unexpected calmness took over her. She felt as if she were in the eye of the storm. She had nothing to lose. She let her eyes rest on the smooth water. A blip on her signal processor made her jump. Was that a real signal? Helen was back in the race. She didn’t need the Project, but she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  She inspected her equipment. The signal was gone. Where did it go? Where did it come from? She bit her lip and stared at the little screen. An idea crossed her mind: instead of looking for signals, she could attract them to herself.

  If she acted as if she were one of the terrorists, she could get their attention and draw them out. Helen selected several series of signals and broadcast them.

  A branch cracked behind her, sending shivers up her spine.

  Stockholm

  Lidovägen

  Helen turned around but did not see anyone. A shadow moved between the trees. Was it a shadow or a person? A twitch of fear clutched Helen’s stomach. What if this wasn’t just a trial? What if the terrorists were real? She was not allowed to approach them, but nothing was stopping them from getting to her.

  Terror shattered the serenity of the secluded bench.

  Helen briskly followed the path and crossed to the other side of the inlet, keeping her eyes on the signal processor, praying for a response to her broadcast. She didn’t have to wait long. Someone intercepted the signals and altered them using the Project’s code.

  One of the other nine candidates, Helen concluded, disappointed. A terrorist would have responded differently.

  “Please, take me to the terrorists,” she implored the signal processor.

  Her ears scanned the surroundings for the faintest sounds, the ominous quietness of the deserted path getting to her. She recalled a garden restaurant nestled in the hill less than a mile away and headed in that direction. She broke into a run and slowed down only when the restaurant emerged from the trees.

  The bright, sunny day drew a crowd to the park, and the outside terrace was almost full. Searching for an empty place, Helen’s eyes fell on a man sitting in the far corner of the terrace. Her heart skipped a beat. Josh? The man turned his head slightly. He was older than Josh would have been now.

  Helen spotted a table where nobody could look over her shoulders and sat down, shaken. Deep in her soul she kept a tiny hope that Josh and her parents hadn’t been killed. That the bomb attack had been staged and they were in a witness protection program… That they would reunite one day… She stole a quick look across the terrace. The man’s profile would fool her anytime.

  She ordered a cappuccino and went back to work. Two more of her signals were intercepted and altered. Helen turned on her custom-made graphic network analyzer and meticulously studied the data. Four nodes were blinking on the screen, three candidates and herself. Where are the terrorists? She had fifty minutes to disrupt their network.

  Helen’s mind went into overdrive. She felt like she was living the recurring n
ightmare that had terrorized her since she entered Georgetown. She was about to take an exam needed to graduate, but she had never studied for it. The nightmare had become so frequent that most of the time Helen realized she was dreaming and woke up.

  But her current situation wouldn’t be solved by waking up. It was a chilling reality taking over the field trial. And unlike her nightmarish exam, Helen had prepared for the trial extremely well. Anger pulsed through her. This didn’t make sense.

  A new signal popped on the screen. A terrorist? No. The ID revealed that the signal came from the headquarters. Helen drew her breath in. The physical location of the signal’s source indicated that it was no longer in the magnificent mansion but a few yards away from her!

  Helen suppressed the urge to look around and identify the sender. Instead, she intercepted the signal and processed it as she was supposed to. It returned to the HQ. Her network analyzer showed that the same signal was being broadcast to the other three candidates.

  Holding her breath, Helen carefully attached a surveillance bot to her next signal heading to the HQ. Surprisingly, the bot entered the HQ without any difficulties, allowing her to trace their outgoing signals.

  Within seconds, the network analyzer lit up with six new nodes. YES! Helen was looking at nine candidates, plus herself, plus the HQ node. She observed the nodes and the signal traffic pulsing between them, fascinated.

  “Gotcha!” Helen almost laughed out loud. It couldn’t have been simpler. There were never ten terrorist units. There were only ten candidates competing for a job. The HQ made each candidate look like a terrorist to the other candidates and tricked them all into destroying one another.