Simulated, p.9
Simulated, page 9
“No,” I’d said, completely enamored. “Keep going…”
He’d let out a shy laugh. “Ok…well, that’s how he discovered the Mandelbrot Set. Infinitely complex designs in the messy things of our world. Mandelbrot called them fractals—broken pieces—he made me feel like even if I was broken, I still had purpose, was still a part of the whole. His life work is my greatest inspiration. It’s what keeps me going…well, I mean, besides you…”
The airplane skips under a bit of turbulence and the memory fades. He and the kids from my old blog were so brilliant they all could’ve joined PSS. I sigh at the sense of loss. Even if I was never kidnapped, people move on, grow apart. It happens even in normal life.
I’m glad to have found my place at PSS. Right now, they’re risking themselves for the Blacklist because of a hunch. They’re confident they can get it back. They don’t understand the risk involved. But I do. And I’m leading them into it anyway. And for what?
Focus, Jo…On the coral…I can help you get your gift back.
The low robotic voice, once a whisper, now crashes in my head. His offer churns in me like a hungry sea hunting for boats. Apparently, I do have some lurking death wish inside of me. Because despite all the warnings, I want to meet this hacker face to face.
Chapter 16
TUNIS-CARTHAGE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, TUNISIA
TUNIS GLOWS IN the late morning sun as we touch down. Thankfully, I drifted off for a couple hours of sleep and now I’m surprisingly awake.
A private van pulls up and a driver in a red hat hops out to greet us. “Welcome to Tunis, our beautiful capital,” he says in a thick accent. He collects our bags, and we are off, pushing our way through thick traffic in a 15-passenger van.
Each of us is wide-eyed, gawking out the window as the driver points out different sights. “That is Boukornine, the mountains of two horns,” he says, pointing to the green hills in the southeast. “There is the Lac de Tunis. And Carthage is that way, very old. You must go.”
Exiting the highway on to a lengthy palm lined street, the driver tells us we’re on Avenue Mohammed, named after the Sultan of Morocco, who helped Tunisia gain independence from colonial powers. Then he points out the ‘Mongela’ an intricate clock tower, announcing our arrival to the center of the new city and a street called Avenue Habib Bourguiba.
Wide sidewalks line the boulevard, and seemingly endless rows of outdoor cafés are full of people. French style fountains, statues, and shutters on the windows fuse with minarets and huge elaborately decorated doors popping out like perfect photographs.
My head twists, trying to take in everything—palm lined streets with vendors selling bunches of jasmine and brightly colored wool rugs. Women with veils carrying baguettes under their arms. Cascades of magenta flowers hang over walls.
French and Arabic are written on doors, signs, and billboards. The Arabic script snags me like a moth to a flame. Even though I can’t read it, my mind hiccups and hums like it’s music. I wish my mind would give everything numerical definition. But it doesn’t.
As we reach an older part of town, covered walkways made of cobblestone catch my eye and make me curious about what’s around each corner. The van windows are open, inviting new smells of freshly baked bread and spices I don’t recognize, mixing with salty air from a different ocean. My mind’s a hive of activity.
My gift used to keep track and log every detail. But not now. Without it, I need time to register it all. How does a normal person remember everything? But I know the answer. Red would tell me to man zou, or ‘walk slowly’ as they say in Chinese and take your time. Even then, you’d miss some things, but the joy would be discovering it on your next walk.
Sadly, there’s no time to man zou on this trip. We’re here for only five days—and it’s not to see the sights.
“We’re nearing the Medina now,” the driver says, after passing an old city gate he called Bab Saadoun. “This is the Kasbah. You’ll have to walk the rest of the way.” We pull over on a narrow street bursting with bougainvillea against a dusty white villa. “You will be staying in Dar Alzaytun, the House of Olives, behind Saint Croix, a French church built in 1837. It now houses the government offices of the city of Tunis.” He motions to an old building with a bell tower on it.
There are motorbikes parked along the roads, and the cement is cracked but clean. The area looks old but well-kept, with an occasional spot of graffiti.
As we exit the car, a number of helpers arrive to carry in our numerous bags, ignorant of the expensive technology within.
We enter the Dar Arabi, a traditional Arab styled house, under a domed archway and come into an open-air central courtyard with small tables. Around the courtyard, there are rooms tiled with beautiful patterns and beds with wooden headboards carved with meticulous tiny designs. Each rug is woven with intricate, bright patterns featuring fish and camels. My mind is stimulated for the first time in weeks.
Ms. T reminds us, “Our official cover is that we are students on a visiting scholar exchange. We’ll do official tours, pretend to be tourists in the Medina, in the old town.”
“Not the most terrible job.” Harrison fist bumps Eddie.
“After we solve the problem.” Ms. T says. Her hair is pulled back now, and even though we had a long flight she’s in an old-style dress suit and looks younger and more herself.
In the courtyard, Ms. T barks orders. “Everyone has one hour to freshen up. Then we have an official meeting with the head of security for Tunisia’s Ministry of Education.” Ms. T looks sympathetically at me. “Jo, Mr. Abdelqadar will be in the adjacent room to yours. You will leave and enter through his room always. Your door will have permanent security out front.”
I look up at him. “So, Goliath does have another name.”
“You can call me Qadar,” he says, then extends a hand down the hallway in the direction of my room. “Ms. Rivers.”
I walk forward, rolling my eyes. We enter through his door. Before I can go into my room through the door on the far wall, he bars my way and instructs me to wait for him to inspect it. Once he deems it safe, I head inside.
“I’ll be out in an hour,” I say, and close the door.
If I hadn’t spent a year in underground tunnels with all kinds of strange men sleeping just a jump away, this might be awkward, but as life goes, it feels oddly normal having someone hovering nearby watching my every move. I remind myself that I’ve gotten very good at escaping and planning around annoying obstacles.
My room is spacious, with a nice sized bed covered in a white spread with a streak of blue. On top, there’s a small Arabic phrase book I assume they give to all their guests. I pick it up. Inside there is a note. Reverse. Learn to read the world differently. Since Arabic is read from right to left, it’s a clever invitation.
The rest of the room is simple. There’s a door on the far wall leading to a private bathroom, a wide countertop holding an espresso maker and a mini fridge, and a large window. I try to open the window and grit my teeth. Tighter than a rock. It’s permanently sealed. There’s no getting in or out of this room without Goliath.
I shower quickly, make myself a coffee, and unpack. K2 is programmed for Tunisia with maps, popular restaurants, shops, and more. “K2, tell me about the neighborhood.”
His soothing voice obediently starts spouting off facts. “The Medina is the old town of Tunis and has been a UNESCO world heritage site since 1979, containing over 700 monuments, palaces, mosques, mausoleums and—” K2 cuts out just as my gift starts flickering. K2 sputters. “System overridden. Standby.”
I grab my bag and rush into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I dig out my sim glasses and put them on.
The screen over my eyes fills with numbers and coordinates in Tunisia, appearing and disappearing, then scrambling before everything goes black.
Coral Hacker. He’s checking in. Letting me know he’s aware that I’m here. My stomach flips. I’m both troubled and relieved that he’s keeping in touch. If nothing else, he’s reliable. No. I toss that thought away. He’s dangerous. He knows too much, and the way he’s invaded my sims and connected to my gift, alarms me. Harrison thinks he’s a creepy old man, but maybe he’s like Red. Whoever he is, I can’t identify his effect on me. It’s nothing I can explain, just a feeling under my skin.
After the coordinates disappear, a pre-recorded robotic voice starts playing.
“Welcome to Tunis. Step one—shut down the Ministry of Education for three days. Step two—help your boyfriend and get the Blacklist. There isn’t much time, so make plans to meet me tonight. Alone. I’ll send a location later.
“Step three—do your sims. PSS is right—they’re important. Your subconscious is recalling details no one else will know. You need them.
“Finally—time to reverse. One new direction can alter your brain in great ways.”
So the phrase book is not standard-issue for all guests. Which means Coral Hacker was somehow in my room. I shiver as the connection ends and the smartglasses turn off, but the robotic voice echoes in my mind.
Your boyfriend. I didn’t miss his patronizing tone. It’s obvious he has something against Kai, and I can’t rule out the possibility that he’s using Kai as bait. I just hope he doesn’t want to hurt him. I fight away the image of Kai with black eyes and stitches on his lip.
Shut down the Ministry of Education. He brought us here for a reason. Shutting anything down in a foreign country won’t be easy. He either doesn’t know what he is asking or worse, he does know, and we have to carefully assess each move.
Meet me tonight. Alone. My stomach fizzes and sloshes like I just drank a can of soda. It’s nerves. Or jet lag. Or just a terrible idea. But I’ve been here before. The crossroads where risk is the only way forward, and the reward of what you seek drives you on. Before you know it, one small risk becomes another. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was in Seattle, now I’m in Tunis, sitting on a bathroom floor.
Sneaking out won’t be easy. Not with Ms. T or Goliath nearby. I swore to my dad, my sisters and myself that I wouldn’t put myself in harm’s way. But to help Kai and PSS, I’ll do all of these things and more.
K2 blinks a warning. A sensor I’ve never used before called, Reminder. “Ms. T said you had one hour until the meeting. Time’s up. Don’t be late and remember, punctuality is appreciated.”
“Thanks, K2,” I say looking at my watch. K2 starts spouting off facts about Tunisia right where he left off. An idea knits in my head and before I walk out the door, I have a plan.
But that doesn’t mean it’s a good one.
Chapter 17
THE KASBAH, TUNIS, DEPARTMENT OF INTERNAL SECURITY
AT A ROUND table, supplied with unmarked, fancy water bottles, pens and paper, Mr. Ayadi, a state representative welcomes us. “Thank you all for coming to Tunisia. As you know, very important elections are happening this Friday. As we get closer to election day, we’ve experienced occasional shutdowns and malfunctions of our computer systems, and simultaneously, false information being spread throughout the media and online platforms. We think it’s some kind of virus. Over the past six weeks, we’ve talked to scores of private internet security companies. We’ve tried everything to discover what or who is behind this—without result. Which is why we contacted you.”
I sit with the team, gauging the adults as they brief us on details. There are people from the police department, government security, tech analysts, and even some leaders from Parliament. As they continue to describe the situation, I glance around. It’s a high-security official meeting room but the amount of tech is very limited compared to the PSS team, who are decked out. Every earring or pen or watch contains some kind of sniffing or spoofing device or tracing system gathering intel on everything in this room. Except they all look like good students, taking notes and smiling, nodding politely, not security analysts.
But I can see their minds at work. Pens, with one hand, takes notes on everyone in the room—their names, their mannerisms—and with the other hand, types notes into her smart watch. Ms. T is a master of social intelligence. By the end of this meeting, she will know who the real boss is here. So, this is what it’s like to be on an official PSS mission team.
Mrs. Youssef, a woman in the security department, with long dark hair and a nice dress suit speaks up, “Our security analyst, Mr. Abdellatif,” she says, pointing to a young man in glasses across the room, “discovered the Ministry of Education has had an uptick in data usage. He believes that’s where the virus is located, but he can’t find any proof.”
I scan the data they’ve provided for us, willing my gift to appear. My numbers come into focus for seven seconds before fizzling out.
“Eddie. Pens,” I whisper. “Hop on one of the computers they’ve made available and check any activity embedded in the Ministry of Education’s website.”
Ms. T sees me concentrating and comes over to me, whispering. “What is it?”
“Coral Hacker thinks we have to shut down the Ministry of Education’s main server to stop the problem.”
She rubs her forehead. “Shut down an entire ministry. Right before an election?” she says with a look of distrust.
“I agree we have to be careful, but I don’t think he’s trying to sabotage anything,” I say. “I think he’s showing us how the Blacklist and the election are connected.” But how does Kai fit into this? Bai said he was eliciting information from a professor.
“Jo, we can’t just trust this guy,” she says. “He stole our Blacklist-tech. If he knows about the Ministry of Education, he’s hacked into the government mainframe. He’s a criminal.”
It was a double hack. The doubt in my mind is heavy and clouded. I should believe Ms. T. Coral Hacker is a criminal and I’ve vowed to catch him. But before we do, we need him. Need him to believe we are working together. He has what we need, what I need. He’s the key to Kai and my gift…
“Just consider it,” I ask, a shiver shooting down my arms. “To get the list back, we just might have to do things we don’t usually do.”
Pens, who is still writing everything our hosts say with one hand, motions for us to come over. “I found something.”
“Already?” Mr. Ayadi says. He glances at his staff and then Ms. T. “Wah, these kids are fast.” He nods to Pens to speak.
“Major tampering, sir. There are signs of a very sneaky virus. It’s an advanced program with ransomware aiming to take control of your system. It has AI bots that can carry encrypted messages, corrupt and steal files. Basically, someone is using the Ministry of Education’s server as a base for a major cyber-attack against the government’s infrastructure. It’s malicious at its core. And they’re veiling everything they do so no one can identify them.”
“How is that possible? What are they planning?” Chief Administrator Trabelsi asks. But as soon as Pens says veiling, the team pales. Veil is PSS tech. This may be worse than we thought. “Can you find them?”
“We’re working on it, sir,” Pens says, her eyes glued on the screen, concealing her horror of even hinting at PSS involvement. If word of Blacklist technology being used in Tunisia gets out, PSS will be fried by US Gov-Ops. “The program they’re using is heavily encrypted. It’s like tracking someone in the dark. We need some time. Team, can we please assemble?”
Ms. T cocks her head at me. Coral Hacker was right. Blacklist tech is at work. My heart skips a beat. Maybe he can be trusted—unless he’s the one behind these attacks.
The team gathers around a separate table in the back of the room. Pens leans in, her voice low. “This is bad. PSS tech is all over this. They’re messing with the infrastructure of the government. They’re planning to seize control of the whole system. And whoever is doing this won’t be happy we’re interrupting.”
I frown. “And they’re using Veil?”
Veil is a cover-up software that takes code and obfuscates it so no antivirus can identify it. Veil can do three things—allow hidden operations, send AI bots to accomplish whatever goal is specified, even producing fake news articles and videos according to one headline. Basically, it can change an entire internal data system.
Felicia pulls up more information. “Using what we know of Veil, I traced one of the AI commands back to a third party in the elections. They are a very extreme group of radicals. The party leader’s name is Amir Ben Slimane.”
Pens huffs loudly. “This is how they plan to win the election.”
Harrison hands me another file. “If we don’t stop these attacks, this radical party will use our tech to rig the election in their favor, and they’ll gain total control of the country and its government by the end of the week.”
I look up at Ms. T. “Which is why PSS needed to take this job. There’s no telling what other tech they have. Our team is the only one who can trace Veil’s code and stop it.”
“Then we get to work right now, tracing our code and locking it up in Cyber Island,” Ms. T says.
Felicia looks at us. “We’ve got another problem. I’ve traced it as far as it can go. But whoever stole it, created a back-up on a holothumb. Which means, until we have that specific device and the thief’s biometrics, our hands are tied.”
Ms. T sucks in a deep breath. “This is serious. Our tech cannot keep circulating. We can’t trace the Blacklist unless we find that holothumb. Until then, we need to shut down these attacks and clear the Ministry of Education of Veil bugs. Harrison. Eddie. You know what to do.” They get to work immediately.
