A Novel of Suspense By Alvin Ziegler

Alvin Ziegler 148 Alhambra Street San Francisco, California 94123 USA alvinziegler@gmail.com Telephone: 415.515.0809 2010 Alvin Ziegler

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The Grid is expected to be the next World Wide Web. CERN, the Swiss research laboratory that pioneered both.

"The effort to decipher the human genome . . . will be the scientific breakthrough of the century perhaps of all time. President Bill Clinton, March 14, 2000

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Facts
Wherever we go, we carry four billion years of information on humanityarguably the greatest discovery in scientific history. The United States Government spent over $2.7 billion on decoding the hereditary information in our DNA, believing it could extend our lives. But decoding our DNA proved far simpler than interpreting the data that it produced so its secrets remained locked. Some liken the difference between decoding our DNA and interpreting it to the difference between identifying every part of the space shuttle and getting it to flytwo very different tasks. Unmercifully, the sick and dying have been given a promise that science hasnt delivereduntil now. A lightening fast computer network called a grid is interpreting our DNA. It can solve virtually any question that can be calculated. Using the Grid, scientists are able to create custom drugs to treat diseases like cancer that are as individual as a fingerprint. But doing so will send shockwaves through corridors of industry. This book was inspired by actual organizations, technologies, and science.

one

Friday, October 28 Meyrin, Switzerland Jurgen rushed from his apartment into mountain air at 9:45 A.M., tightening his watch strap. Dutifully, the silver Mercedes limousine purred at the curb. He climbed into the backseat as gracefully as a giant man could and squeaked into leather upholstery. Lets go, Jurgen said through the limo window, lowering the arm rest. Like a slow-moving missile, the limo hummed through the foothills of the jagged Jura Mountains toward its target destination. Jurgen could see the cerulean blue of Lake Geneva, surrounded by snowcapped peaks that extended to the Savoy Alps in France. Cloud wisps swirled over the water as if the earth was cooling after its creation. Through the mylar glass, red hair shone beneath the drivers cap.

Wheres Adrian? Jurgen asked through the limo window. Out sick. Jurgen moaned. This was no day for bumbling around in the twenty-six cantons of Switzerland. You do know the way to CERN? Jurgen asked. Jurgen started to recite the organizations address. The driver cocked her head around. Yes, Director Hansen, I know the Center for Nuclear Research, where the World Wide Web started. Jurgen was pleasantly surprised to see that his driver was a woman. At least the limo service had briefed her. The leather seats squeaked as Jurgen reclined. The car passed four schoolchildren playing tag at a bus stop. Behind them, in the distance, snow-capped peaks surrounded Lake Geneva. Jurgen shot his jacket sleeves over his cufflinks and slid papers from his lambskin briefcase. He drummed fingers, studying the talking notes hed prepared. He could picture the faces of executives of the medical community. They had flown from around the world on this crisp October morning to visit CERN at Meyrinsome would probably be disturbed to find that the town was only a glorified agricultural village. Jurgen wouldnt let Dr. Onagi bore them today. Thankfully, the show stopper would be the Grid network. It would jumpstart genomic medicine. He checked the closeness of his shave.

When the Blackberry in his Joseph Aboud suit coat vibrated, he scanned the latest missive from Tatiana: Im wearing Escade perfumesoon that will be all Im wearing. He adjusted the knot on his Hermes tie, and then gazed on the road. The limo hugged mountain contours as it dropped in elevation. What awaited Jurgen after his pitch for dollars at CERN was a petite redhead who travelled with silk handcuffs and a riding crop. After a tense week of making political documentaries for public television, she helped him unwind with sexual roleplay. Tonight they would hook up at a chateau high in the Alps where he would star in her Russian seductress game. He text messaged a reply: Meet me @ Zermatt airport, British Airways, Gate 14, term 2, 4 PMready or not, J. Jurgen had picked up Tatiana at a Geneva discotheque two weeks back. He didnt know yet how long hed keep herhis girlfriend shelf life ran five weeks tops; after that they become clingy and hes onto the next mattress actress. Shrouded by tinted glass, he reclined against the headrest. As the limo cut along the highway, Jurgen envisioned Tatianas lips working his chest and throat. He had made reservations at the luxury mountain resort for their third date. He prided himself on wowing even transient girls. And her body made it easy to spend big money. The blare of a truck horn startled him back to reality. He straightened his slicked back blond hair.

With cowbells dinging through a cracked window, he punched his fathers number in Copenhagen on his Blackberry. Papa, today could mark the beginning of medical history. Jurgen, dont let the title of Life Science Director at CERN give you a God complex. His fathers voice cut out while Jurgen lowered the armrest, then the call dropped. Jurgen hit redial. No signal. Looking through the rear window again, his eye caught the Savoy Alps in France. The limo glided through the rural countryside, going west through the Rhone Valley. He hammered on the window divide. Driver. This isnt right. There is road construction, Sir, the chauffeur said sternly. Were making a detour. Jurgens watch read ten-thirty already. Give it some gas. I cant be late. Im taking a shortcut. Jurgens claustrophobia surfaced. The driver veered the Mercedes off the highway. Jurgen felt a nerve flutter. Theyd turned onto a road that couldve been a long country driveway. The limos tires grumbled over rocks. The road narrowed, giving way to clover and dirt over a canopied path that was no more than a partially paved cow trail. Jurgens mouth went dry. Where are we going?

Without answering, the driver pressed a button in the glove compartment. Jurgen caught that she wore an earpiece. Hey, lady. Go back to the highway. The driver rolled up her sleeves. Patience, we are close. Patience my ass! Turn the damn car around. The woman hunched at the wheel. Holding his Blackberry, Jurgen hit the three-digit Swiss code for emergencies. He saw no bars of cellular signal. Communications were usually good in this area. The limo halted meters from the edge of a lake ringed with snowcapped peaks. Glacier water reflected finger clouds moving across a pale blue sky. A postcard setting until the driver whipped open Jurgens car door. Out, the driver ordered. Jurgen held the limo handle. What is this? The woman leveled a handgun at Jurgens forehead. Jurgen jerked his hands high, Easy! Watching the unblinking woman, Jurgen dropped one foot outside the car, then the other. She had the shoulders and frame of a competitive swimmer. What looked like a birth mark covered the left side of her face; it left a startling impression. The woman popped open the silver Mercedes trunk with the car key. Jurgen dropped his gaze to a coil of fishing line and a twenty-pound gym weight. Something told him this wasnt about fly fishing.

Remove the line, the woman ordered. The weight, too. As Jurgen picked them up, he heard a buzz from overhead. A twin-engine planea businessman on holiday, perhaps. If only that plane could be Jurgens charter. But even if he contacted help now, it would come too late. He swept a gaze over the wooded lake, grasping at a way out. There were no houses within sight, no vehicles. No help. So much for being in the land of neutrality. The plane noise quieted. The clearing had the stillness of a cemetery. A breeze rustled dry leaves past his feet. The woman said, Tie that weight to your leg and knot it tight! Cradling the weights against his chest, Jurgen begged, Do you want money? Take my wallet, my watch. That wont be necessary. Who do you work for? Those who protect us all. She had the gun still trained on Jurgens head. What about my protection? Save your breath and get to work! Jurgen bent and tied, imagining the worst. It was time to act. Is this about the Grid? Jurgen jerked into a standing position, carrying the weight. Hey! The woman shouted. In a gliding motion, Jurgen lunged and hurled the weight at the womans moving head. The weight struck her shoulder, knocking her down. She

dropped the gun and fell beside the weight like a door knocked off its hinges. Jurgen leapt for the gun. With a quick crawl and grunt, the woman beat him to it. On the ground, she swung around, pointed the gun and fired. Jurgen touched the red between his fingers. Huffing, the woman awkwardly returned to her feet. Please, what do you want? Jurgens voice broke. She lowered the gun. Get that weight before you die right here. Blood snaked down Jurgens arm. He shimmied to the gym weight, pulled it and the fishing line toward him with one hand. With a pained expression, he bound it around his ankle. The woman brushed dirt from her hat, glowering. Get up! Jurgen lumbered to his feet, checking his shoulder. Does this involve Jude Wagner? Killing me doesnt end the medical revolution. Shut up. It doesnt change the FDA decision. The FDA had recently approved genomic drug trials for diabetes patients. The womans face hardened. She motioned with the gun barrel tip for Jurgen to step into the lake. Jurgen hesitated then moved fearfully into the water. Waist deep, he glanced at his college ring, then stepped out of his loafers and dove under the algae-covered surface. Underwater, he struggled to

lose the weight that was tied to his leg. The October sun had failed to warm the icy lake. His legs were turning numb and his frozen fingers fumbled with the fishing line. His head surfaced. Shards of driftwood floated by as he tried to breathe. Gasping, he heard a blast. In the first nanosecond he felt a sharp tap. In shock, he felt no pain. But he could no longer fill his lungs with air. Another shot slammed into his forehead. Ripples spread noiselessly, expanding in symmetry above his sinking head.

two

Friday, October 28 San Francisco, CA Aiming his car key button at his Mazda, Jude locked the MX6 on steep Hyde Street. One block from home, he had found a spot without circling. Just what he needed after one too many bourbons. Russian Hill was known for its views but was equally recognized for horrendous parking. He drifted by a family of five parading from an ice cream parlor. The store manager followed them out, flipping a closed sign on the glass door. Their trip for dessert looked like a nine oclock ritual. The kids goofed on their father when his scoop landed on the pavement. Judes footsteps slowed when a hazy childhood memory circled from years back. Judes mother used to carpool him and his friends from Little League baseball games to the Baskin Robbins Ice Cream after the ninth inning. She would buy a hotfudge sundae for any batter who got on base. She wouldve been proud of how Jude was working to

improve medicine at Stanford. It was his way of rewriting his childhood history. He shook off the memories. Brooding was a bad habit. It snuck up on him while he lived alone. Coming to his rented ground-floor flat, he picked up the New York Times electric blue plastic bag. He carried it through the front gate to the Mediterranean-styled three-story house. Ruby bougainvillea covered the stucco exterior. Under a trellis of hibiscus, he strode brick steps to his door. He tumbled the key inside the lock; it cranked too easily. No resistance. The Baldwin bolt had already been turned. That had a sobering effect. The idea of calling the cops crossed his mind, but he didnt feel like waiting. He moved inside his narrow, railroad-configured place. The ceiling spotlights in the hallway had been switched on. He remembered turning them off when hed left that morning. Crossing the living room, he made a fist. The bookcase had been emptied. Mystery paperbacks, San Francisco history books and rock concert ticket stubs decorated the floor. Papers that had been stacked on the rice chest-turnedcoffee table were now strewn on the oriental rug. Maybe the intruder hadnt left. He listened for creaks in the floor. Except for wind lashing at the windows, there was nothing. Not even a fog horn. Lightly, he stepped to the kitchen. Open cupboard drawers showed rearranged boxes of pasta noodles and chips. In the bedroom, his

Chinese dresser doors were ajar. Shirts, suits and a high school wrestling trophy had tumbled out on the floor. He went to the mini-study to check on his desktop computer. The drive bay was hollow and dark; the hard drive missing. Cursing to himself, he heard a scuffling sound of hard-soled shoes from the front hallway. Around the corner, he glimpsed a man in a suit who kicked open the closet door, then raced outside the flat. Into draughty air howling off the Bay, Jude barreled down the dizzying grade of Filbert Street. Across the gulch, Coit Tower glowed, a beacon in the night. The thick-bodied man bobbed in his flapping suit jacket. Practiced at navigating the decline, Jude had an edge. He tapped down the steps. As the street leveled, Jude locked on his subject, advancing on his strides. Years of Grid information was stored on that hard drive. While Jude usually backed up everything daily, he had failed to do that for a breakthrough he had made earlier today. He regretted not grabbing his service weapon from under his bed on the way outa new agent blunder. They plowed into North Beach. Jude clipped by Washington Square Park and caught a faint roasted bean aroma that emanated from a closed coffee store. Only ten feet behind the man, he went for it. Jude lunged and brought him to the pavement before a pizzeria. While on the ground, the man

held the hard drive tight. With one knee on him, Jude pulled the mans arms behind him. Call the cops, some voice from the restaurant shouted. Im a Federal agent, Jude said. The man turned over, breaking free. A Range Rover skidded to a stop. A spry woman in a brown jumpsuit hopped out like a hockey player hitting ice. Next, her boot pressed into the back of Judes neck, forcing him to asphalt. With her mitt of a hand, she snatched the hard drive and papers. Jude snagged her leg, sending her to the sidewalk for a time out. The hard drive dropped to the ground. Jude intercepted it before he was slugged in the abdomen. Elbows tucked, he held the hard drive close and fended off one assailant while the other scrambled for his denim pockets. But they were impossible to get at with Jude thrashing, so they rammed him in the knees. He went palms and face down onto pavement.

three

Friday, October 28 Meyrin, Switzerland From the observation deck, Hideo looked down at the bottom of a cavernous, two-story room, staring glassy-eyed at the most expensive scientific experiment in history. Alone, three hundred feet underground, in the all-white chamber, Hideo could almost see his breath and hear his heart beat. He nervously tapped his Ecco shoe. The whiteness, the uninterrupted stillness, the loneliness of this laboratory, conspired to attack Hideos composure. His stomach gurgled. Family turmoil and the immense significance of the imminent presentation had set off his ulcer. He had arranged to fly to his estranged wife as soon as this was over, but he could not worry about that now. The time had come for Hideo to illustrate the scientific breakthrough; a product of decades of effort by hundreds of the worlds most distinguished scientists.

Above him were enormous girders and struts supporting a high-ceilinged space. Below, a sort of subway platform served as a maintenance station to the monorail that traveled along a twenty-sevenkilometer circumference. Here, beneath the FrancoSwiss border, in this subterranean complex, is where the famous collider experiments happened. Hideos attendees gradually arrived, two dozen board members and financial officers from the worlds largest hospitals and universities had jetted from around the world to this vast lab in secluded Meyrin. They looked about, stone-faced, at the elaborate consoles that were connected by colored wires that lined the walls. The potentially world-altering significance of this scientific work at CERN should be obvious. Still, Hideo knew that the history of science had been strewn with discoveries of immense importance that were first met with cold indifference or skepticismquantum physics, for exampleand allowed to lie fallow for decades before acceptance. The world couldnt afford that mistake to be made today. Delay of action on this Stanford genome project could cost tens of thousands of lives. No wonder, then, that Hideo was anticipating Jurgens entry with every fiber in his body. Jurgen, CERNs Life Science Director, should be here already. These were his contacts. Jurgen said hed handle the walking-tour part of the presentation. Hideos stomach churned again.

He was going to have to fill in for Jurgen. But Hideo represented Stanford. His area of molecular biology involved computer science, artificial intelligence and biochemistrynot physics. Hideo felt like an out-of-town lawyer who stood alone before a restless jury. It was the trial of his life, but he was minus the expert witness. These strangers would render a pass-fail verdict on work that had consumed him for years. This presentation for funding could draw vital donations. Hideo flushed with embarrassment when the consortiumhuddled together as a mini United Nationslooked at him. He could almost hear their thoughts. They wanted some scholarly revelation about how this would save lives. That would come. First, they had to see what CERNs Grid computer did. To kill a few minutes, he flipped through 3x5 note cards, reviewing his talking points. Returning the cards to his pocket, he felt something else there and took it out a photo of his daughter, Yomikoage nine and the joy of his life. He gazed at it briefly, then pushed it to the bottom of his pocket. He gestured toward the huge bright blue metal pipe overhead. After introducing himself, Hideo said this pipe runs through a cement-lined tunnel that extends in a seventeen-mile subterranean circle. The metal used here could build another Eiffel Tower. On the wall beneath the pipe, exotic instruments flashed. The audience started to chatter.

As you may know, the Large Hadron Collider is the most powerful accelerator in the world, operating at minus two hundred and seventy-one Centigrade or minus four hundred and fifty-six degrees Fahrenheitcolder than deep space. Hideo thought to himself then said. This ninebillion-dollar underground linear accelerator was designed to smash protons to analyze the big questions of physics, cosmology, the big bangoh and unified theory. Superconducting magnets are used to guide protons into a massive collision for observation. A fat man interrupted, looking at the tube above, Okay, but how does that relate Please bear with mescientists wouldnt have gotten anywhere without a big enough computer to analyze all of the data. CERN employed a computer system called a grid to study results. Attendees murmured, rubbing their arms. He was losing them. Fat man: Like an electrical power grid? Not exactly. Computer grids link thousands of computers to work as a single virtual machine. This Grid analyzes the equivalent of thirteen million DVDs worth of information that the particle collision produces. A hawk-faced lady dressed in black: What does this do for healthcare? Hideo spoke rapidly. Were repurposing this world computer to analyze the human genome the total hereditary content of an individual. It

holds four billion years of information on humanity, the ultimate human recipe book. Thats why youre here, to see how your dollars can make practical use of the genome, the greatest discovery in scientific history. Interpreting the genome enables us to diagnose every disease. You see, the Grid will change society as the Internet did; it will not only crunch diagnoses, but will answer anything that can be calculated. He paused to let the message sink in and was gratified to see he had eye contact. The hawk lady pointed skeptically at the flashing instruments. This is how youll change medicine? Let me explain. CERNs physicists built the Grid to handle questions that are exponentially more complex than any computer systems could handle before. Conveniently, the Grid runs over the World Wide Webwhich CERN also invented to analyze atom-smashing results. A technician entered the room below and started electrical equipment. Hideo raised his voice to speak over the burring noise, The Grid also powers Stanford Universitys research. Its all about distributed processing power, connecting computers everywhere to work as one. A Persian man in a finely-tailored, doublebreasted suit: How will this help the general public? Im getting to that.

The hawk-faced lady said, So Jude Wagner isnt speaking today? Hes not. Hideo wrung his hands. He and Jurgen had invited Jude to be present for this important meeting, but these days, Jude was overbooked. He now worked for the FBI. The bureau desperately needed computer experts of Judes caliber to improve their electronic surveillance unit. The public recognized Jude for his computer discovery. And to international acclaim, he would soon receive the Touring Award from Intel Corporation. Hideo was sorry that hed miss the award ceremony, but right now his trip to Tokyo took priority. Lets go to Building Six, Hideo said, Ill explain as we have refreshments. Mercifully, Hideo sensed his audience lightening up. With a flick of a CERN tour guide flag, he directed them. He stole a look at his watch. Jurgen was over an hour late. Good god. Could he be hung over sick from a night of carousing and forgotten about this presentation? After an elevator ride to the ground level, they filed to Building Six. While the group exchanged hotel stories and restaurant recommendations, Hideo used his phone to fire off a text message to Jurgen. WHERE ARE YOU?

Hideo led the way to a conference room. Trays of salmon, mini-bagels with cream cheese, capers, pears, grapes, quiche squares, tarts waited on the side cabinet. Im afraid were running late. Please kindly bring a plate to the conference table after youve served yourself. The audience members crowded over to the hors d'oeuvres. Hideo motioned for guests to get comfortable at the rosewood table. The servers entered and disappeared with empty platters. Bottles of Evian water and folders were set on the table at precise intervals for each person. The orderly area reminded Hideo of his fastidious wife and their soul-searing divorce. His daughters face flashed before him. He moved across the conference room to get back to his performance. Jurgens absence had thrown him off. Okay. The question from earlier was how this Grid partnership with Stanford was going to help the public. Yes, came from the Persian man, sipping Evian. The goal is to improve everyday medicine using our genomes. The genome is our roadmap to understanding disease. All disease has a hereditary basis. Were tapping into that with huge processing power. The U.S. government got us part of the way there by sequencing the human genome in 2003, but that was just a start and that took 13 years and two-point-seven billion dollars.

Perspiration soaked his shirt. Hideo fiddled with his wedding ring, distracted by thoughts of his wife and daughter. He wondered if his Yomiko missed him. What does genomic medicine do that traditional medicine cant? The fat man asked. Traditional medicine is failing. It treats everyone who has cancer with a short list of drugs like were all the same. But in reality, cancer is as individual as a fingerprint. Were talking about one-point-four million people being diagnosed with cancer annually in the U.S. alone who are being lumped together with treatment that ignores their DNA. Its time we match individual treatment to individuals. Side effects from mis-prescription kills 100,000 Americans a year. he said. Genomic medicine will change this. How? Hawk Lady asked. Once we identify an individuals genome, a world of information becomes available to us: a persons body chemistry, his predispositions, his susceptibilities, his strengths and weaknesses on a molecular level. Hideo took a deep breath. By the way, feel free to turn to your brochures. The Stanford Project works like this: a patient has his genome sequenced by a company like 23andMe based in the San Francisco Bay Areasoon, this will cost less than one thousand dollars. The results would come back on two DVDs to the patient and his doctor. That doctor could then log onto

Stanfords secured website to access the Grid. The Grid would compare the genomic data from those DVDs against millions of other online medical records, isolating tissue samples from patients with similar symptoms or disease. The result: a customized treatment for your individual illness. When you combine the Grid that crunches massive amounts of data with the U.S. Governments National Cancer Institute grid which is called caBIGthe cancer Biomedical Informatics Grid, well, you end up with a very powerful thing. The audience had gone dead silent. Can you back up? Where do those patient records come from? asked a man with a Scottish accent. Good question. For years, medical researchers struggled with doing statistical analysis. Hospitals, doctors offices and pharmacies used disparate computer systems. Thus, networks couldnt communicate, making medical records inaccessible. Vital information that could save lives was wasted. Finally, research hospitals teamed up with everyone possible to get the data online. The solution started with creating systems of security that topped that of the ATM business. Of course, even putting anonymous medical information online was controversial. Everyone feared the upshot of a privacy breach. But the need to save lives won the war over privacy fears. Computer standards were created and information pooled.

Mind you, all names, social security numbers and hospital account numbers remained anonymous. While this was happening, the search engines of the world connected that pooled information to create an even larger dataset. So, whats next? The question came from a man seated at the far end of the table. Well, already at Stanford, were diagnosing volunteers illnesses through a system of comparison, using their DNA. The Grid matches bits of molecular information from tumors with exactly the right drug to suppress that tumor. To treat each cancer patient individually means a boat load of analysis. The computer power of the Grid makes it possible. In the case of cancer, we fight mutations with custom-made proteins that conform to that persons body chemistry. Some heads nodded subtly. A Persian man asked, Is there someone from CERN who is assigned to this Stanford Project? I shouldve mentioned, Jurgen Hansen, CERNs Director of Life Sciences, is the liaison between this lab and Stanfords. Hes setting up the physical Internet connection to link the grids. The Scottish man said, Personalized medicine is a pipedream until we make it affordable. Hideo stood tall to elongate his short stature. Exactly. Thats the point here. Were also in the business of democratizing medicine; making the costly partresearch and diagnosisfree. How? the same man interrupted.

Were leveraging shared computer resources here. Not only does the Grid run over the Internet, which is free, but it gets power from volunteers idle computers. In the packet youll see how the Grid here at CERN relies on distributed processing power from volunteers. I can see doubt out there. Believe me, all we need are the resources. Isnt fighting cancer as worthy a mission as landing spacecraft on Mars? If we dont push medicine forward 1500 Americans will go on dying from cancer every day. And thirtynine million people will still have AIDS in Africa because old expensive drugs are failing. Why not invest the smallest fraction of that and get a leg up on the fight against diseases like cancer? You can see what a marvel CERNs Grid is if were already using it to make sense of the Big Bang. Audience members turned to one another. Hideo had scored a point. Looking at his watch, he checked on the time leading to his departing flight. I know this is a lot to swallow, but we can all agree that healthcare in the West is disappointing. The Stanford/CERN partnership is testing a nonprofit alternative to our existing universal healthcare, and we need your support. The place was silent until a man entered the room. Excuse me for being late. He said.

While the room was silent the new man took the opportunity to speak. I apologize if youve already covered this, but what exactly would our endowment money accomplish? To Hideos relief, eyes tracked him as he circled the table. The late arrival found a seat. Your investment will pay employee salaries to build Stanfords online service. Your dollars guarantee we have processing power from places like CERN. It also extends our Grid to every home PCrunning like a worldwide databasebringing supercomputing power to desktops, virtually. Well have one enormous virtual super computerthe same way researchers from 25 countries analyzed the collision of particles here through a Grid of institutions and universities around the world. And yes, well need trained physicians to mix the customized drugs. The room went quiet. Hideos mind strayed to his daughter; he winced with stomach pain. He ended with an impassioned plea for investment, answered twenty minutes of questions, then checked text messages again. Nothing from Jurgen! Something had to be wrong. Still, his absence hadnt been as detrimental as Hideo had thought. His pitch seemed to have done the trick. His plane was leaving in an hour. Barely enough time to get to the airport. Excuse me, everyone, Hideo announced. I have a flight to catch.

four

Friday, October 28 San Francisco, CA A squad cars P.A. chirp signaled cars to move out of the way. The attackers let go of Jude as the black-and-white whipped around the corner and stopped. In seconds, the man and woman ran to the Rover and screeched away. On your feet, came from a voice above. Judes eyes rolled open to see a bystander and two cops. Three heads silhouetted against the night sky. One cop gave a repulsed expression at Judes alcohol breath. One strike against him. Im with the FBI, Jude choked to the mustached officer. No response. Two cardboard cutouts of men wouldve been more animated. After Jude got on his feet, he showed the officer his wallet and badge. The bystander vanished into the dark. Stand back, the officer said. Jude understood that many cops had been treated dismissively by a

feeb at some point on duty. That couldve been the case here. Also, feds were famous for padding their arrest reports with busts made by beat officers. It didnt help matters. They collaborated like political rivals. What happened here? The younger cop with the flat nose hooked a thumb on his belt. Headlights from passing cars reflected in his brass name badge. Did you see them? Jude asked, flicking sidewalk dirt from the hard drive; he touched a blood droplet that rolled down his cheek. No. Whats your story? The older officer with the bushy mustache picked his teeth while he spoke. They broke into my place. And they were after that . . . computer part? The cop pointed at the hard drive that Jude held in his hands. The other cop muttered, Thats why youre playing tackle here on Columbus? Jude filled them in on the break-in at his apartment and the subsequent chase. The uniforms looked to be weighing his tale as one version of the story. The younger cop flipped open a leatherbound notepad and scratched down notes. While the officer wrote, Jude removed his cell phone and speed-dialed his friend and colleague, Niles Tully. The older officer turned to Jude, And thats your professioninformation technology at the bureau?

Jude nodded. He watched the cop holding his wallet check his Stanford magnetic clearance card. Why do you carry a Stanford access card? the cop asked, stroking his mustache. I consult for them. And you work at the FBI? Im on call at Stanforda few hours a weekfor a special project. The two cops exchanged glances. Doing? Grid computing. Jude avoided elaborating on his role in the genomics initiative. Looking distracted, the officers held up the questioning. What? Jude asked. Dont I look like a workaholic? Jude tapped the hard drive. You want a description of the thief, right? The cop with the pad jotted away. After a quick ride up the hill in the cruiser, the three of them trod through Judes hallway. The mustached cop gathered loose paper from the floor, leafed through them. Arent you going to have a team dust for latents? Jude asked. Youve got your computer equipment now, right. Can you prove they got anything else? He punched the word prove. Judes folded arms dropped to his sides. Then its only breaking and entering isnt it? Not seeing anything else missing and holding the recovered hard drive in his hot hands, Jude

knew hed have to check prints for himself. When one said to the other, time for a code seven Jude got that they were signaling to eat and their shortlived inspection was done. Fearing a lecture on the risks of vigilantism in North Beach, Jude led the officers to the door. After locking the door behind the cops, Jude blew debris from the hard drive with a can of compressed air and slid it into the drive bay. Then he navigated to drive F to check for damage. With relief, he saw the files. The pounding in his chest slowed, but he couldnt forget that whoever instigated this had dangerous ideas and an elaborate plan of operation. He went to the kitchen, pulled a bag out of the freezer and rubbed Birds Eye frozen corn on his still raw, throbbing cheek. Moving to the bathroom mirror, he stared at scrapes from road burn that textured one side of his face. Jude straightened things to calm down. While collecting his concert tickets, Wired magazines, auto insurance papers and Wells Fargo bank statements off his living room floor, he realized something: a folder of business documents that had been resting on his desk were gonethe documents that pertained to the Google deal. His nerves shot up again. It took months of negotiations to strike the Google deal. He considered calling in a stolen property claim. But

the Stanford team had taken an oath of secrecy about the Google deal, so he didnt. Judes team was proving they could genetically diagnose disease over the Internet, using the Grid. If successful, they would forever change drug treatment; the public knew this. What Stanford hadnt made public was how their impending deal with Google would connect the Grid to Googles world databases. This would extend Stanfords reach to millions of new electronic patient records for free in exchange for online advertising. This was big news. It meant that patients could realize precision diagnosis over the Internet for pennies. With research being the most costly part of making drugs, soon the Grid could be used to find custom-tailored drugs, using a patients genome. The Google deal had been shrouded in secrecy since the initial negotiations because it threatened conventional medicine, the biggest industry in the world. Such medicine relied on blockbuster drugs one-size-fits all treatments. Blockbusters earned the pharmaceutical industry $234 billion annually. This new partnership would change the pharmaceutical landscape overnightcustomtailored drugs could now be made very cheaply. Well aware that this relationship would cause a ripple effect across industries, the P.R. teams at Google and Stanford had recommended a big bang

announcement that depended on no leaks that give lobbyists forewarning. The Stanford team wanted to be tactful about how they announce that custom-tailored drugs could be made very cheaply. The plan was for Jude to delicately break the news at his award ceremony without mentioning Google. The days where corporations had total control over healthcare could be coming to an end. The Grid even created hope to curing cancer, but the work was still vulnerable. The company heads of Googleplex were ready. Not only had they organized the worlds printed information, but they could query medical records on the fly; and not just view-only records but live data. Jude got off a quick text message to his twin sister, Kate, in Kentucky telling her what had happened. Setting down his phone, he opened the fridge door and transferred chicken leftovers onto a stoneware plate. With a chicken leg in hand, Jude heard a knock. After peering through the peep hole in the door, he unlocked it. Niles charged in, smelling of cigarette smoke. In a navy pea coat, dress white pants and white bucks, he looked as if the British Navy had left port without him. Whats up? Niles slammed the door. Jude locked it behind him. Your face doesnt look too good.

Niles moved into the living room and saw the papers strewn. Youre more scattered than a Jackson Pollack painting. Niles said with his Oxford English accent, snatching paper from the floor. What happened? Niles took the corner club chair, removed a mint in foil from his pea-coat pocket, unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth. Jude moved to the leather sofa. They were after my hard drive. Blimey. Niles looked around again. Did you see the tosser? I saw them all right, but not clearly. So, there was more than one. Dont tell me they got away. There was only one person in my apartment, and someone came along later who helped the thief get away. But they didnt get my drive. Jude touched his temple. What they did get was the Google papers. What? I suppose they went for whatever they could get. Niles got up and walked slowly around the place, staring at the floor. Damn it! So, now what? Youll get your bureau on this, right? Ply that job of yours. Niles said. Jude looked at his Grid partner. He knew that Niles resented Judes leaving Stanford for the FBI. Niles felt that he had abandoned the project. It looked that way, but Niles

shouldve known better. No one was more indispensible to Stanfords genomic project than Jude. Officially Jude had changed jobs, yes. But Stanford held onto him as their go-to man for algorithm fixes. They had no choice. Judes code was embedded in the Grid. Niles refused to accept that Judes bureau job benefitted their old team at Stanford. But it did. Working at the bureau let Jude study electronic surveillance so he could safeguard the Grid against hackers. Losing data about patients would destroy public trusttorpedoing the entire medical effort. Jude had become a white-hat hacka hired coder who stopped black-hat attacks. He recalled how the term hacker originated in the 1950s when a boy called Joe Engressia, who was born blind, developed perfect pitch as a result. Being able to precisely match a tone of any frequency through singing or whistling, he discovered at eight years of age that the U.S. longdistance telephone exchanges responded to special frequency tones. He quickly learned that the 2600Hz idle tone signaled a toll free call. He mimicked that frequency by whistling which connected his long-distance call at no charge. Intruders could have wanted Judes hard drive to obtain access to the Grid. But that wouldnt have helped. Jude carried his key fob in his right front pocket. It held the Grid access key. The key displayed a number that changed every thirty

secondsin sync with the Grid serverenabling Grid access. He may have been cavalier about his clothes and car, but not about cryptographic procedure. Maybe your secret agent business wont be a waste, after all, Niles quipped. You could show some gratitude. Well call Hideo in the morning. Tell him about the leak. See what he can do to protect the Google deal. Niles said. I doubt well reach him. After Switzerland, he was flying to Japan. Right. Today he gave that funding speech at CERN with Jurgen. Wonder how much money they raised? Regardless, were going to find who nicked these papers. Im glad youre confident, Jude said. Listen, Im knackered. Youre calling it a night? Were not going to run through every angle on this thing at a bar. Not at midnight. We go at this tomorrow or on Monday, all right? After you get started, call me. And keep that head clear. You look like a caged animal. No bevies. You are giving a homily on abstinence? Wheres my recorder? Judes face brightened with an idea. They shut down their cell phones on Niless boat. It was one place free of distractions. Wait. You are working on the boat tomorrow? Yes.

Ill meet you at the marina. We can get a sail in before Kate arrives. Niles buttoned his coat, considering it. Okay. Niles started for the door, and then turned. Usual time. And Jude, whoever these low lifes are, theyre not going to shut us down. Not over my dead body. Like you say, lives are at stake. Healthcares in a quagmire and weve got a duty to see this through. But I might reconsider that if I dont get seven hours of sleep. Niles closed the door.