Professional Documents
Culture Documents
CK
Advance Release Copy
February, 2011
Alvin Ziegler
alvinziegler@gmail.com
148 Alhambra Street
San Francisco, California 94123
Telephone: 415.567.5760
_____________________________________________
Facts
prologue
Friday, October 28
Meyrin, Switzerland
one
Friday, October 28
San Francisco, CA
two
Friday, October 28
Meyrin, Switzerland
three
Friday, October 28
San Francisco, CA
***
four
Saturday, October 29
San Francisco, CA
Jude clicked off his clock radio and the morning DJ.
Daylight came too early to Jude’s Russian Hill apartment;
raising his head took effort as the memory of his dream
cycled into conscience. He was running on a treadmill,
pounding on rubber. Every time his pace slowed, he
sank another inch into sludge.
He blinked the vision away. But he was reminded that
whenever he felt rundown, his focus strayed from work
to women or whatever took his mind off himself.
He glanced at the bloody skin on the left side of his
face in the bathroom mirror. After combing dirt out of his
hair, he dabbed the scrapes on his face with rubbing
alcohol on toilet paper. Niles could appreciate that Jude
worked for the FBI now, assigned to computer intrusion.
Jude’s paranoia over Grid security was justified.
Removing the T-shirt he slept in exposed broad
shoulders. His body hadn’t changed much from high
school days when he wrestled competitively. His resting
stance resembled that of a grappler going into round
one: legs shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. His
former coach said he had the quickness of a sled-dog.
Back then, summers spent working construction jobs
added muscle definition to his arms. At the moment, he
GRIDLOCK
6
five
Sunday, October 30
Tokyo, Japan
six
17 ALVIN ZIEGLER
Monday, October 31
Emeryville, CA
seven
Sunday, October 30
San Francisco, CA
Jude rolled off the sofa in his living room after 8 A.M.,
Sunday morning sun washing through bay windows. He
poked his head around his bedroom door and saw Kate
listlessly unpacking things into drawers with tennis
highlights playing on his bedroom TV. She pulled out her
book on the Dali Lama and thumbed through it.
“Is everything all right?” Jude asked.
“Yeah,” she said unconvincingly. “I just resent how
much effort it takes to get here, simply to see my bro.”
The casual spontaneity they enjoyed growing up as
twins had devolved to something more formal, an
adjustment they’d never acknowledged.
“Do you want coffee?”
“If it’s not too high octane, yes.” Kate stretched. “Tell
me, are you still going through girls like tissue paper or
is there someone special you need to tell me about?”
“I’m on dating hiatus.”
“You, on a dating hiatus? Never. I know the male
brain.” Kate clicked off the TV with the remote and
tossed it on the bed. “On another note, the most
evocative smell made me think of you the other day.”
“Bourbon or Tequila?”
7 ALVIN ZIEGLER
eight
Monday, October 31
San Francisco, CA
Jude jumped off a cable car, wishing his free time with
Kate could’ve continued for another day. Once the
locksmith had finished changing the locks on Jude’s front
door yesterday morning, Jude made the most of the rest
of the day. He took his sister to watch the Fleet Week
aviation show from Alta Plaza hill. Between the fly-bys of
the U.S. Navy’s F/A-18 Hornets, Jude regaled her with
stories of his Quantico training.
Over an early dinner of sushi and Sake, Kate said that
her girlfriends couldn’t believe that sporty Kate wasn’t
dating, but Jude knew that what she’d faced three years
ago had scarred her. It bothered him just remembering
how she tried to become pregnant with her then
husband. When they couldn’t conceive after two years of
trying, her fertility-doctor spouse quit on her. Their
divorce had been quick.
Since then Kate had traded her dreams of
motherhood for teaching, exclusively.
Jude refocused on his work day. He needed to
examine the pen he found the other night. Ignoring the
GRIDLOCK
6
nine
Monday, October 31
San Francisco, CA
She lowered her voice for Speer, who was moving down
the hallway, “Lighten up.”
Speer turned, “I’m just looking out for the lone
female.”
“Believe it or not, I can work without the supervision
of adults,” Nathalie said.
Speer gave a phony laugh.
Jude went for the elevator. He wanted to tell Niles the
news straight away to blow off pressure. Jude saw
himself in the younger man, Jűrgen. He was
unpredictable, a wild card, but a key player. The project
wouldn’t be the same without him.
Outside the building Jude rang Niles from his cell,
gazing at the overcast sky.
Niles said he couldn't meet for lunch today. “How
about I give you a lift home after work and you tell me
then?”
“Fine.”
“In the meantime, check out that lunch place I
mentioned.”
Niles talked Jude into trying Café Flore, gave him the
address on Market Street and hung up.
Jude was clicking off when Nathalie tapped him on the
shoulder from behind. She looked at him with a foolish
grin.
“I overheard Café Flore. They don’t have oysters, but
I’d join you there. Being that it’s Halloween, I thought I
should get out of the office after all.”
“I can tell you’re used to getting your way.”
She nodded, and he caught the eye of a cab driver.
They got in. Of all the surprises springing up, her fresh
face proved the most welcoming.
9 ALVIN ZIEGLER
ten
Monday, October 31
San Francisco Bureau
The taxi hit a pothole that rocked the car and jolted
them. Nathalie strapped on her seatbelt and continued,
“Just watch your step around him and follow protocol.”
Jude thought about his walking in on Hackman.
“H’mm. Here’s how the Grid works, practically.”
She shifted in her seat in the back of the cab to listen.
“First, a person would have his or her genome
sequenced—by an outlet which will soon appear in malls
like a contact lens store. That analysis might cost the
same as prescription lenses. In a week’s time, you or
your doctor would get results on a protected website.”
“Go on.”
“From his PC, a doctor will connect to the Grid through
a website, but this won’t just be the Internet. It will be a
service that interprets an individual’s genome. This
service will put more medical knowledge in a user’s
hands than entire hospitals could provide on all of their
patients combined. The Grid website would strip your
information of personal identifiers so it could be
statistically pooled with others. You or your doctor could
specify your medical question, and enter your medical
history.
She smiled at him with acknowledgement.
He took a breath. “The Grid would sift through genetic
databases, using past computer searches that yielded
relevant findings to generate a dataset for your search.
Next, the program would process your query against
your DNA, checking if your genes were marked for, say,
colon cancer. Ultimately, the Grid would determine your
mathematical susceptibility to disease. A doctor could
look at this and recommend drugs based on your
chemical makeup.”
“And magic. I see how this became your raison
d’être.”
9 ALVIN ZIEGLER
***
eleven
Monday, October 31
San Francisco, CA
While Jude put his cuff links on, Kate was curling her hair
in the bathroom, staring into his mirror. He rehearsed his
acceptance speech when she asked him what to expect
from his banquet dinner. Apart from Jude, the only
person Kate knew who’d be attending was Niles. Jude
described a few of the expected guests. She asked, “Do
you think you’d ever be in the position of accepting this
award for your algorithm if you never visited Kano?”
“There’s no way on earth,” Jude said from his
bedroom.
Even now, just visualizing that spot in Nigeria made
Jude’s stomach clench all over again. That trip to Africa
changed him forever. It happened after his mother died,
after he’d wiled away weeks, holed up in his bedroom.
Finally, he took action to pick up his spirits. He stayed
after school to watch a grim school assembly video on
kids in Africa. It struck a chord with him and he quickly
signed up with a group of high school students who were
doing a project in Kano, Nigeria. He realized he needed
to get far away from Louisville, Kentucky.
The experience he embarked on left him with a
jaundiced view of the drug business.
7 ALVIN ZIEGLER
Dear Jude,
I hate to be the messenger of tragic news, but I
thought you should be updated on our Kano kids. Eleven
of the thirty children we fed and looked after have died.
It’s crushing. The remaining nineteen suffer, I hear, from
acute arthritis and side effects from their Trovan
treatment—remember Tina’s bulging eyes?
9 ALVIN ZIEGLER
***
twelve
Monday, October 31
San Francisco, CA
thirteen
Monday, October 31
San Francisco, CA
“No one.”
“How would anyone know that you rented a room
unless they were following you, and probably me, very
carefully through the day?”
Niles bit his thumbnail. “Mind if I stay here tonight?”
“No. You can sack out on the sofa.” Jude got up. “But I
need a drink.”
“Jude?”
“What?”
“Some anonymous person has threatened that if I
don’t drop what I’m doing at Stanford, they’re going to
kill me. What do they want me to do, hand in my
resignation?”
“Maybe.”
“I’d probably oblige them and quit if I wasn’t leaving
town anyway.”
“Unfortunately, it appears we’re no safer away from
California.”
fourteen
Monday, October 31
San Francisco, CA
6 ALVIN ZIEGLER
fifteen
Tuesday, November 1
Piedmont, CA
sixteen
Tuesday, November 1
San Francisco, CA
“Horrible news.”
Nathalie dropped her file on her desk and pulled her
swivel chair beside his. He saw a flash of her thigh and
turned away. Information Jude intended to keep to
himself spilled out.
“Two of my Grid colleagues, Jűrgen Hansen and Hideo
Onagi, have died.”
“Mon Dieu. How?”
“Hideo was mauled by Akitas in Tokyo two days ago.
Last Friday, Jűrgen was shot outside of Geneva. And
Niles…he got a threat, warning he’d die too, unless...”
“Unless what?” she said, in a hushed voice.
“Unless he stopped work on the Stanford Grid.”
Nathalie leaned back, mystified. “And someone broke
into your flat, no?”
“Yes.”
“You have no idea who?” She mumbled.
He gave a head shake.
“You’re going to Hackman, right?”
“No. While he’s the one who told us about Onagi, I
don’t think we should tell him about the rest . . . not yet,
not until I wrap my head around this myself.”
“Why?”
“It was an FBI-registered Glock that killed Jűrgen.”
“What?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Do you suspect
collusion . . . I mean from inside?”
“There’s no telling who’s involved.”
“Be careful. Don’t slip into making reckless
assumptions.”
“I’m not. I’m working to find a connection.”
“First, follow where evidence leads. As Meno’s
paradox taught, you can’t set out to find something new
if you already know what it is you intend to find.”
17 ALVIN ZIEGLER
***
Why would his office be turned upside down and not the
lab?”
“They probably hit his office because that’s where
they thought Hideo would’ve kept a Grid access key.
They had no idea that you and I were the only ones who
carry the key.”
Knowlan said, “What do you propose I do with my key,
Jude?”
“Carry it. There’s no safer place for it than on you.”
Knowlan put his hand in his pocket and scowled,
obviously dissatisfied with that answer.
Nathalie walked up, holding the fingerprint kit. “It’s
not good to leave a lady waiting, you know.”
Jude wanted to look over the place alone first then
forgot to call her in. “You’re going to have me
apologizing all day, aren’t you?”
She ignored him.
“Nathalie,” Jude said, “this is Roger Knowlan. He’s
now in charge of things at Stanford.”
“How are you?” she said.
He adjusted his sport coat. “Been better.”
Jude wanted to get a look at Hideo’s office, so he
gestured for them all to go inside again.
They stopped outside of the doorway covered with the
yellow police tape.
“Technically, we shouldn’t go in here,” Nathalie said.
“I trust you won’t put this in your 302 Field Report.”
Jude peeled away the three strips of tape and entered
the room. Nathalie followed. Shelly watched from the
doorway.
“Mon Dieu, she said. “Looks like a hate crime.”
On Hideo’s whiteboard was a quote written in bright
purple marker—the same variety of pen that Hideo
23 ALVIN ZIEGLER
seventeen
Tuesday, November 1
San Francisco, CA
eighteen
Tuesday, November 1
Emeryville, CA
***
***
“Ironic quote, Marc. You should have kept this mug for
yourself.”
Ferguson took a pill with a sip of coffee, stupefied by
his doctor’s report: You’re dying, Marc.
Ferguson couldn’t remember what Ramsey had said
last.
10 ALVIN ZIEGLER
“It could slow them down. But their plan to offer free
diagnosis, genomically, will really hurt if I’m still holding
your stock then.”
“Hurt us and the rest of pharma.” Ferguson shook his
head.
“And Jude Wagner’s algorithm makes it all that much
worse. The Grid could make thousands of Pharma
employees redundant.”
“This medical revolution will leave waste in its wake.
To quote my daughter, no one’s safe these days.”
Ramsey said. “Has your daughter gone into
medicine?” It had been years since Ramsey had seen
Lori.
“She’s in the private security business.” Ferguson
looked away, reflecting on his ambitious daughter.
Ramsey tried to meet eyes with Ferguson. But he
maintained distance and broke their silence by tossing
away the granola bar wrapper. “You’ll have to excuse
me. My doctor had a cancelled appointment I’m going to
take.”
Ramsey poured himself a glass of water. “You’re
walking a tightrope here, Ferguson. You promised your
board and Pinsky Investments that partnering with
Stanford would put us in the genomic game. But I reread
the corporate agreement last night. Nothing bound them
from backing out. How did you overlook this?”
Ferguson thought. He’d have to make sure that some
in-house lawyer’s head rolled.
Ramsey said, “We’ll be meeting again tomorrow
morning.”
“But you’re going home tonight.”
“Change of plans.”
“You’ve postponed your flight?” Ferguson’s heart
sank.
14 ALVIN ZIEGLER
nineteen
Tuesday, November 1
Highway 280, North of Woodside, CA
could love his computer the way B.B. King loved his
guitar. But Jude’s PC was his Lucille.
When his college acceptance came, Jude packed his
hand-me-down Toyota Tercel for the trip to Berkeley,
California. Kate wasn’t accepted at Berkeley, so she
attended the University of Kentucky in the fall. Their
father called his going away to school a Huck Finn
escape from reality. Jude’s dad had always enforced the
rules until then.
Jude told Kate that after a four day road-trip from
Kentucky to Berkeley, he was assigned to a 15’ by 20’
rugless dorm room with roommates—but that’s all he
needed to study.
Even then he knew that he’d never teach or do
anything that conventional. Jude was the type to
challenge the mainstream, do something no one else
had ever done.
As if she were reading his mind, Nathalie said, “I really
hope your sister is going to be okay.”
He nodded and kept his eye on the highway.”
***
“The old man who lived there for sixty years died. His
children just sold the entire sixteen acres to a church
group called Holy Blood. They’ve found a zoning
loophole to build a church. I think they’re a cult.”
“Really,” Jude said.
“Some parish member bought the land and twelve
Volkswagen bugs, one for each deacon.” She removed
the oversized hat, revealing a short tower of gray hair,
and used the hat to fan herself.
Nathalie sneezed, probably from the pollen and ranch
dust in the air.
The lady continued, “Old nature-lovin’ guy’s rolling
over in his grave. Woodside’s fuming, but we’re hog-
tied.”
“When did this start?”
Her mouth tightened. “The church just broke ground
for their building. Ninety-five hundred square feet. Can
you imagine such a thing up here? They’re already
saying mass in the portable. I’d sooner see down-and-
out high school kids put in a marijuana crop than have
this abomination.” She removed a water bottle from a
saddle pack, sipped on it and glared at the hilltop again.
“My husband heads our homeowners association. He
drives up there once a week and gives ‘em hell, but so
far zippo—no progress. I wish someone could stop this
damned monstrosity.”
“Thanks for the info,” Jude said. “It’s helpful.”
The woman nudged the reigns and the horse trotted
off.
Jude and Nathalie climbed back into the car. “I’m
going to go up there,” he told Nathalie. “Do you want to
come?”
19 ALVIN ZIEGLER
twenty
Tuesday, November 1
Emeryville, CA
***
Jude was still gasping audibly from his sprint down the
hill as his car sped onto Highway 280, leaving Woodside.
Nathalie twisted in her seat to look behind them.
“What on earth happened back there?”
“It faintly resembled a Catholic service, but in a very
old style.”
“What do you mean by old style?” She asked.
“In Latin. They had a banner with two keys beneath
an umbrella topped by a cross.”
“That sounds unusual,” she said. “How typical is it to
hold Mass on Tuesday afternoon?”
“You tell me.”
“Wait. It is All Saint’s Day.”
Jude sat quietly, thinking.
Nodding, he glanced at Nathalie. He shifted in his seat
to pull his mini-pad of paper from his back pocket and
handed it to her.
She quickly took Jude’s pen and sketched the religious
banner he described. When he looked again, she was
checking the Internet on her little computer. A quizzical
look came over her.
GRIDLOCK
6
twenty-one
Tuesday, November 1
California Pacific Medical Center, San Francisco,
CA
With two blinks, she said, “thank you.” Jude bound the
deal with a conciliatory hug. He folded his arms stoically
and added, “Want to gather your things while I have a
little talk with the nurse at the nursing station?”
She agreed.
As soon as Jude left, she let down her guard. Her mind
splintered in different directions, even to trivial
questions. She worried about how much longer she
might spend in San Francisco than she’d previously
planned. She hoped her roommate in Kentucky would
see the reminder note she’d left on the counter about
feeding her tropical fish.
She cried uncontrollably, but then stopped sobbing
when she heard noise coming from the nursing station
down the hall. The nurses’ laughter reminded her of her
students. She missed them already. Picking up a biology
book from her bedside table, she stared at its table of
contents. The field she knew and trusted had betrayed
her.
Of all the things that had been taken from her--her
mother, her marriage, her chance to have kids with her
former husband--she never thought her health would go.
It was no easier to conceive how people lived with the
knowledge that they had cancer then returned to work,
business as usual. She felt envy for those like her
mother who had religious faith, belief in God. If only she
had inherited her mother’s faith instead of her breast
cancer. Spirituality, for Kate, only involved dabbling in
Buddhism. That didn’t render comfort in salvation
through the hereafter. What shepherd would lead her to
quiet waters as she walked through the valley of the
shadow of death?
Kate had always been her own rod and staff anyway.
This illness wasn’t her first life test.
GRIDLOCK
22
* * *
twenty-two
Tuesday, November 1
San Francisco, CA
* * *
Ramsey bit his lip and opened his drapes. The Bay
Bridge shone under yellow lights. The city, surrounded
by bridges, seemed to protect its own with its moats.
Using his BlackBerry again, he called Ferguson. No
answer. Ramsey wanted to call the Stanford Grid lab but
knew no one would be there. He needed all hands on
deck, but couldn’t locate a soul.
He doubted that his virus writer would produce as
promised and had to consider another option. The Grid
was live.
Normally a headline junky, Ramsey picked up his
hotel-delivered newspaper to see what he had been
missing. A story in the back stated that the Stanford Grid
team was “carving out a new niche in medicine with
computational biology while swimming against a sea of
detractors.”
And they’re about to sink miserably to the ocean floor,
Ramsey thought. He slapped down the newspaper. I’m
going to show just how hackable Grid computers are.
***
11 ALVIN ZIEGLER
twenty-three
Wednesday, November 2
Berkeley, CA
twenty-four
Wednesday, November 2
Berkeley Marina, CA
twenty-five
Wednesday, November 3
Berkeley and Emeryville, CA
“And?”
She fidgeted sheepishly. “He started to tell me
something big and just stopped himself.”
Ramsey hissed. “Damn it, Heather. Did he mention
anything about a deal Stanford was doing?”
“I’m afraid not. He was under a lot of stress and that
really threw me off.”
Ramsey dropped his pen on a pad in front of him and
looked closely at her, barely controlling his temper.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe I’ll have more luck if I
try again.”
He looked around the room in frustration.
“If I could find him, I think I could get him talking
again. But I’d need to know exactly what it is you want
to find out.”
Ramsey mulled things over. “I’ve got a different idea.”
“For getting information?”
“Yes, but this won’t involve Wagner. I don’t want him
getting onto you.”
She pushed strawberry-blonde hair over one ear.
“I’ll need you to work this into your schedule right
away. Same as before, you’ll need to conceal your
affiliation with Johnston & Quib for what I’m asking of
you.”
That shouldn’t be too difficult, he thought. She’s built
for tempting a man into trouble.
“And what is that you need now?”
“Didn’t you work as a reporter for a time?”
She nodded, appearing surprised at his knowledge of
her background.
“You’ve chased down a story or two, right?” He
leaned closer.
“For two years.”
11 ALVIN ZIEGLER
twenty-six
Wednesday, November 3
San Francisco at Jude’s Apartment
***
twenty-seven
Thursday, November 3
San Francisco, CA
***
***
twenty-eight
Thursday, November 4
San Jose, CA
“Why?”
“As a college biology professor, I usually feel right at
home at a University, especially in a science building.
But her I am a bundle of nerves about my own body
chemistry.”
“It would be nice if we had more control. I say we get
started.”
“Okay.” Kate looked around again, considering the
unfamiliar analytical equipment.
“First we’ll explore which breast cancer medicine
matches your gene type. But Jude has to obtain the
database. Data is always the lynchpin.”
Kate braced herself expecting to be doused with
details. “What database?”
“I’m not sure exactly what he’s going for. There’s only
one premier medical center with databases out there
that would open doors for us. And once we pinpoint your
cancer condition we may not even need to create a
custom drug for you. If Jude obtains what I think he will,
that database could have details of drugs that worked
for similar cancer patients fitting your profile. This
includes drugs that never went to market. We could
duplicate those drugs. Then again we may turn to a
custom-tailored drug for you.”
“How do you get around FDA approval?”
“The FDA has new allowances for genomic science.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that we’ve been given a go-ahead for
customized medicine.”
“Ah,” she said guardedly.
“And the Grid has reduced the time required to make
an exact diagnosis.” He fidgeted with excitement. “We’ll
first sequence your genome and check it against known
breast cancer drugs. If we find a hit we’ll begin
GRIDLOCK
22
twenty-nine
Friday, November 4
Geneva, Switzerland
***
thirty
Friday, November 4
San Francisco, CA
***
* * *
11 ALVIN ZIEGLER
***
15 ALVIN ZIEGLER
***
from his foot and leg, spreading rods of fire through his
body and brain.
“There’s a numeric key. I don’t have it. It’s at the lab.”
The broomstick slammed onto the arch of his right
foot. He heard a small crack at the same moment
something in his foot popped and the pain splintered up
his leg.
“Uh!” He bit his lip, then his lips parted, releasing a
scream of agony. He shut his eyes tight. “Please, please
stop.”
“You must have the key.”
“I don’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The broom smashed his left foot. Pain climaxed again.
His scream quieted as his core strength sapped away.
Becoming delirious, Niles began to disassociate from his
agony and surroundings. Losing the ability to
concentrate, he sent a prayer to the universe for
Edward. In the solitary darkness of the hood, his head
dropped and consciousness faded.
“Total waste of time, this,” the man hollered to
himself.
Niles’s torturer lifted his chair from both sides and
unceremoniously heaved him—chair and all—into a
closet. He collided into the wall and the door slammed.
5 ALVIN ZIEGLER
thirty-one
Saturday, November 5
Berkeley, CA
thirty-two
Saturday, November 5
San Francisco, CA
Half the day had passed and Jude still had not heard
from Niles. Jude opened an Orangina from his fridge to
soothe his headache and rang Virgin Atlantic. He
explained he was a federal agent tracking down a
passenger. According to the airlines, Niles didn’t take
the flight he said he’d be on. Then he tried Niles’s cell
phone but only got voice mail. Jude muttered to himself
discontentedly wondering if Niles had decided to stay
another day in Europe to spend more time with his son,
Edward, or if he too had gone MIA.
Jude desperately needed a DNA repository to
corroborate Kate’s cancer diagnosis. At least Knowlan
was hard at work, piecing together a Grid-based
database of mammograms. While Knowlan had run
sample images and indexed them electronically, they
lacked real data.
Jude’s pain had turned into a migraine, pulsing inside
his skull. He downed two antihistamine pills with a
swallow of orange drink. These alleviated pain faster
than his prescription medication, and he got 150 to a
bottle instead of just twelve with his costly prescription.
7 ALVIN ZIEGLER
***
9 ALVIN ZIEGLER
thirty-three
Saturday, November 5
Berkeley, CA
“You know how it is, Jude. I put out fires while the
higher-ups divine ideas to make IT more results-driven.
They think we’re dolts. But whatever rolls downhill,
these people are my family. In an emergency, I’d match
the wits of any of my guys with the whole exec team
upstairs.”
Alfonso proudly opened the door to the computer lab.
They entered a large open room that appeared to be a
hallowed home to creative engineers. Some three dozen
cubicles were organized into six clusters. Alfonso
pointed out the location of the assistant manager and
coworkers.
Jude made mental notes of the name, Luke Rubowski,
Alfonso’s assistant manager, and a co-worker, Seth
Lemmert. At the end of the cubicles they approached
two tables, large as barn doors, festooned in computer
parts: the lab bench, Jude knew, was for component
diagnostics and repair. The young denim-and-tee-shirt-
clad computer techs didn’t look up from their typing. A
row of brightly lit vending machines lined the back wall.
Alfonso led Jude past an empty corner office to a dark
glass door marked Data Center. He swiped his electronic
passcard, and the door lock clicked open. Jude and
Alfonso entered the windowless room. Its server cooling
fans buzzed loudly. Jude saw aisles of black racks, a far
more impressive data center than the FBI’s in San
Francisco. This gave him a shot of encouragement.
They proceeded down one of the aisles of mounted
computer servers, a dozen to a rack.
“The data center is all redesigned,” Alfonso said. “The
website runs on these.” He pointed to a rack that looked
no different from the others. “Our databases are
mounted on the far wall. It’s a SCIF—secure combination
infrastructure facility.” Alfonso described how they had
GRIDLOCK
8
thirty-four
Saturday, November 5
Stanford University, CA
thirty-five
Saturday, November 5
San Francisco, CA
out what the hell was really going on. He didn’t like what
Speer had said previously: there was a pattern to the
murders. Who knows how Hackman, the gulag chief,
might use that against Jude? He stared out his window at
the passing buildings, considering everything.
Any struggle right now would simply make
circumstances worse for Jude later.
Jude felt acutely aware of being a newbie. Nathalie
had warned Jude to stay out of Hackman’s way. Maintain
a distance and follow protocol were her exact words. The
advice was taking hold now. He’d poked his nose where
he shouldn’t have and was about to feel the
repercussions.
5 ALVIN ZIEGLER
thirty-six
Saturday, November 5
San Francisco, CA
A shoe scraped.
The cement staircase obstructed his view of the door.
Jude eyed the rooftop door, marked by a green exit
sign. He needed to round the corner and run up two
flights of stairs, a greater distance than he’d expected.
Jude continued up the staircase.
A hand clawed Jude’s ankle, and he fell onto the dusty
steps. A concrete corner met his jawbone, splitting a
tooth. Someone dragged him by one leg down steps, and
then Jude’s heel gained traction. He turned.
Speer stood over him, short-winded.
Jude heaved to his feet. He hooked the back of
Speer’s right knee and brought him down. They wrestled
on the steps. Jude got behind Speer, flung an arm under
his shoulder and tried to hold him.
Speer hammered an elbow into Jude’s ribcage and
doubled over to squirm free. Jude gagged, laboring for
air, but he didn’t let go. He trapped Speer in a head and
arm lock. Speer stomped at Jude’s left foot, trying to
crush his arch, but he missed. Jude tightened the police
hold on Speer’s neck and shoulder, constricting his
breathing.
Speer tried to windmill a punch into Jude with his free
arm, but after several slow seconds Speer’s legs went
limp. His body dropped slack in Jude’s wiry arms like a
marionette with its strings cut.
Jude set him down, then caught his breath, touching
bruised ribs. He traced his tongue over the newly jagged
tooth with a stomach-churning taste of calcium.
Jude remembered something an instructor repeated
at Quantico. No matter how much we train you—in a real
take-down, every move is improvisation, unrehearsed.
Dragging himself to the building roof, Jude knocked
open the door and saw helicopter idling in the last
GRIDLOCK
18
thirty-seven
Saturday, November 5
San Francisco, CA
“I’ll be watching.”
Perchip. Hackman was gone.
Jude moved through darkness, using memory and
moonlight filtered through smoke to find his way—every
sense on alert. The power station explosion had
extinguished the lights on his side of the campus.
Drawing short breaths, Jude edged into the bushes to
peer into a laboratory window. From behind his goggles,
the inky dark room showed green. No one was inside. He
couldn’t hear anything.
Red and blue lights beamed on the building wall.
Sirens sang. The campus police were on the scene. Jude
pulled off his light sensitive gear and turned to see
squad cars headed to Nathalie’s side of campus.
He considered that one explosion, in and of itself,
wouldn’t accomplish much—it only took out one of three
power sources. The campus could be up and running
again in no time once emergency power supplies were
put into place. He was convinced of his theory, that the
explosion was part of a larger plan. It also occurred to
Jude that any threat to the Grid would’ve gone to the
building’s west wing, where the emergency generator
supplied power to the data center. This was also where
the main node resided—the true target of anyone
wishing to harm the Stanford Grid.
Jude crouched and ran around a corner to the west
wing. He could hear the generator humming and see a
computer utility room glow under a menacing backup
power light. Gingerly, he crept alongside the building to
the window, flipped up his goggles and peered inside.
What he saw took the wind out of him. An unfamiliar
man with a wide build had a gun trained on Knowlan’s
temple.
13 ALVIN ZIEGLER
She untied the rope around his hands now that he was
cuffed.
Nathalie set down the bag, which appeared to contain
exploded fragments. “What happened?” She snapped on
a plastic glove, presumably to check for ID.
“He fired a weapon,” Jude said. “But I haven’t
interrogated him.”
“Any ID?”
“No.”
Nathalie answered her radio and had a quick
exchange.
“What was that about?” Jude asked.
“The backup team has formed its perimeter around
this building.” She drew her weapon, pressed it to the
man’s head and got a name: Liborio Russo.
“I’m just a guy on the ground,” the suspect said. “The
person you want is a woman.”
“Who?” Jude demanded.
“She’s the boss. I don’t have a name.”
“You can do better.”
“You can threaten to kill me but that’s all I’ve got.”
“I’ve got a message for her.” Jude opened his phone.
“It’s no use. You don’t initiate contact with her. She
calls me.”
“What’s the number?” Jude said.
“It’s always private.”
Nathalie holstered her weapon.
“What are you doing?” Jude asked.
“Trying another approach.” Nathalie said. “I’m
running the name Liborio Russo through the FBI
database.” She worked her smartphone. She showed
Jude the photo that appeared. “No prior convictions. I’ll
7 ALVIN ZIEGLER
“Yes. I’d say that our San Francisco FBI chief just fell
into that profile.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, sounding half-convinced. “So
it’s not Hackman. What next?”
“We have to track down this Heather Styles.” Jude
pulled a folded page from his hip pocket. He had
transferred the printout he took from Onagi’s lab from
one set of pants to the next, thinking he’d eventually
make sense of it. He reexamined the page. Several
keystrokes matched procedures the attacker forced
Knowlan to perform.
“This explosion must’ve been an attempt to kill
power to the Grid. Or maybe it was an intimidation
tactic. Either way, it would occupy the police while the
attacker worked on getting Knowlan’s security token to
the Grid.”
“They must’ve been following Knowlan. What can they
do with access to the Grid?”
“Unleash a virus,” Jude said.
“Again?” Nathalie asked.
Jude explained his theory that this effort to stop the
Grid was being handled in a haphazard fashion. The
attackers who broke into his place had no clear idea
where the security token might be. They went for the
hard drive, but it wasn’t there. “That must be what they
were after when they killed Hideo. That, and to slow the
Grid project by eliminating him. Killing Jűrgen also
hampered the project.”
“But why didn’t they try to kill you?” Nathalie asked.
“They tried, on Niles’s boat and in Chinatown.”
Jude turned to look at Knowlan. “Also, these assailants
could be starting with those team members who are
farthest away so that it will be more difficult to link the
crimes to someone who lives here. Maybe they are
GRIDLOCK
12
thirty-eight
Sunday, November 6
Stanford University, CA
and word got out about it, in no time news would spread
that the Grid was infected and posed a hazard to donors’
PCs. That would trigger security hysteria—volunteers
would probably quit the Grid project by the thousands,
tumbling the system like an avalanche of snow on a
spring day.”
Jude let out a sigh of exhaustion from a night of trying
but failing to make the Grid operational again. “This guy
is really good,” Jude said.
Nathalie asked, “What’s wrong, Jude? You look
panicked.”
Jude explained the situation.
Nathalie said, “Why can’t you just cut off access by
firewalling the IP—Internet Protocol—that had
maliciously accessed the Grid?”
Knowlan said, “Yeah! Can’t the FBI track his hacking
and find him by his IP address?”
Jude shook his head. “It’s is a nice idea. But
identifying the hackers IP address only tells us where
he’s located at that moment when he’s online. A guy of
this level of sophistication is always changing locations.
And once the hacker discovered what we were doing,
he’d just switch Internet cafes.”
“Right,” Knowlan said, sounding slightly discouraged.
“What are our options then?”
Nathalie looked up from her smart phone, cynical as
ever, shaking her head.
“So, what do you propose?” Nathalie asked. “You’re
the only Grid expert here, Jude.”
“I’m thinking.”
Jude sat down at the computer again and spent
another fifty minutes analyzing why the Grid was
stalling. Finally, he looked up.
23 ALVIN ZIEGLER
Knowlan bit his lower lip. “I follow. But how much time
will it take for you to tag an agent that just goes to the
hacker’s bots?”
“I don’t know.” Jude said and started working.
Nathalie shook her head. “You do that. I have another
idea.”
Kate looked away, tuning out.
Nathalie thumb clicked the buttons on her phone. “I’m
going to call human resources again at Johnston &
Quib.”
“Why?” Jude asked.
Jude knew that Nathalie had placed a number of
phone calls to the bureau over the last few hours but
hadn’t heard what she had uncovered.
“I got word that Heather Styles listed a dependent on
her W-2 form.”
“Okay, good.” Jude said.
“J&Q’s human resources didn’t give me any trouble. I
knew that she must be a mother. I then used a data
broker to pull up Heather’s home telephone records and
cross referenced them against San Francisco county
child pre-school centers. “Voila,” Nathalie said. “Heather
has her child in a San Francisco daycare.”
“A data broker?” Knowlan asked.
“That’s sketchy.” Kate said.
Nathalie said, “Au contraire, this one is a standard
workaround we use under the Homeland Security
privilege.”
“I’ll take it.” Jude could see a plan hatching behind her
almond eyes, a knowing glint. “What are you thinking?”
“A scheme that might give us negotiation power,”
Nathalie said, “before the hacker kills again. Blackmail,
sort of.”
“Good. I just hope we don’t ever have a falling out.”
27 ALVIN ZIEGLER
thirty-nine
Sunday, November 6
Emeryville, CA
forty
Sunday, November 6
Berkeley, CA
***
13 ALVIN ZIEGLER
forty-one
Sunday, November 6
Piedmont, CA
forty-two
Sunday, November 6
Stanford University Data Center
was tagged such that the Grid could filter it out once the
botnet took it and returned bad information.
The Stanford Grid looked operational, ready to resume
processing on Kate’s genome. Jude sent a test problem
to the online system. Results returned instantaneously.
He tested again. It worked a second time.
“That’s it.” Jude shouted, rising to his feet. Despite
everyone’s exhaustion, excitement filled the room.
“Success.” Knowlan shouted back, grabbing Jude’s
arm in elation.
Kate sat up. “Are we running?” She asked, half-asleep
and incredulous.
“We are.” Jude swept his sister into a hug, “We’re
going to make you better and finish what we started
yesterday.”
Jude and Knowlan swapped seats, putting Knowlan in
command. Knowlan snapped open two plastic DVD jewel
cases and popped in the first DVD. It contained Kate’s
sequenced genome results, which had been burned to
the DVDs the previous day. Knowlan keyed Kate’s data
into a program that used Jude’s data-mining algorithm to
analyze her mutated proteins and check them against
the J&Q breast cancer database. The Grid churned,
GRIDLOCK
8
***
***
forty-three
Sunday, November 6
Between Stanford and Berkeley, CA
“Who?”
“Wish I knew.”
Jude checked behind him again. Both cars had
disappeared from view.
* * *
* * *
13 ALVIN ZIEGLER
* * *
forty-four
Sunday, November 6
Berkeley, CA
fifty-five
Sunday, November 6
Piedmont, CA
“What now?”
“I was wrong to sit by and let you corrupt Stanford’s
Grid. You have to call off the dogs.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if you were behind that explosion and
hack job at Stanford, but tell that virus writer to stop
everything.”
“Even if I wanted to I couldn’t.”
“Why is that?”
“He’s put a worm virus in place that is going to take
care of this medical Grid forever, and it’s going to let rip
in 48 hours.”
Ferguson felt shattered. “Tell him you’ll pay him
double if he quits.”
“This train has already left the station. Those Stanford
Grid scientists are getting what they deserve. Accept it.”
“But what if your life was on the line one day? You’d
want the chances it offers.”
Ferguson thought quickly. “Jude Wagner can stop your
virus. He’s probably the only one who can.”
“Wagner? Have you fucking lost your mind? He’s the
one who’s caused this goddamn mess; he’s sure as hell
not going to help you.”
“Oh, he will.” Ferguson hung up.
He had to try to defend Stanford’s revolutionary
computer system. All the early trial reports on the Grid’s
efficacy came rushing back to him. He considered how
difficult it would be for anyone to stop a targeted virus
attack from being distributed across the Grid. He
wondered if Jude Wagner would listen to him if he told
him about this threat. And did Wagner have the skills to
thwart it?
***
13 ALVIN ZIEGLER
sure you’re not being followed. And, Lori, don’t hurt her.
I need her brother’s cooperation.”
“Okay.”
Kate was lying down on the backseat, listening
closely.
Ferguson said, “Lori, you’re the only daughter I got.
Wait for me.”
Panic stricken, Kate had gone sweaty and achy again.
“Daddy.” The woman started the engine.
Ferguson continued to talk to her through the driver’s
side window. “No, listen. If the company falls to pieces,
what would that mean after I’m gone—what would I
have given you? Nothing but a divorce from your
mother!”
“Daddy,” Lori moaned.
Ferguson kissed his daughter’s cheek through the
open car window.
“I’ll see you there.” Lori put the SUV in reverse.
The SUV motored down the long driveway.
Kate was desperate. She struggled to untie herself,
but didn’t know what she would do if she did.
5 ALVIN ZIEGLER
forty-six
Sunday, November 6
Berkeley, CA
of the island. The dog got hold of Jude’s holster first and
held him by it, which happened to prevent him from
reaching his firearm. The holster ripped and the dog got
another hold on Jude’s leg.
He grimaced under the dog’s bite. Jude kicked at the
animal’s chest and face but its grip held tight. Pain burst
up and down his leg. He ripped free part of his already
torn shirt and pushed it snug against the dog’s muzzle
and closed jaws, forcing him to open his locked jaws for
air.
In a free moment when the dog unclasped its bite,
Jude freed his leg and kicked the animal in the mouth
again. He reached above for the net, snagged it and
slung it down over the dog. The dog fought and gnawed,
unsuccessfully, tethered by the net.
Rolling to his side, Jude pulled two ends of the net
around the dog’s body and tightened them to hold the
beast. Next, he grabbed his phone and gun, and pushed
himself to his feet. Still feeling the terrible sting of the
dog bite to his shoulder, he trod through the kitchen,
leaving the Rottweiler behind. He thought about
shooting the animal but couldn’t pull the trigger now
that it was contained.
In the foyer on the floor, Jude Kate’s K-Swiss tennis
shoe—about all she would wear with her sore joints. His
gut wrenched. At least he was getting closer.
He moved to the half bath off the foyer to try and
staunch blood dripping from his shoulder with a towel.
But the towels were either too small or too large to tie.
As the alarm continued to sound and the dog barked, he
looked around. In the dining room, he found fine white
linen napkins. He cinched one around his elbow, another
around his knee to slow bleeding.
15 ALVIN ZIEGLER
forty-eight
Sunday, November 6
Alameda, CA
forty-nine
Sunday, November 6
Alameda, CA
The rain let up yet gray skies cast a black and white light
on the wet roads of Highway 24. Pressing the
accelerator, Jude shut off the Jaguar’s windshield wipers.
He sped to the 12th Street exit in Oakland, and cranked
left onto 5th, water still dripping from his T-shirt. Wheels
skipped across the pavement. He followed highway signs
to Alameda and came to the east side of Alameda Island,
on the estuary. He cut the engine outside the two-story
shingled clubhouse. Muscles tensed, he scrambled down
to the dingy marina dock, passing a sign
commemorating Jack London’s boat slip.
Where was Ferguson’s yacht?
He could’ve called the bureau, requesting agent
backup to apprehend Ferguson. But he was too afraid
another agent would come bowling in against Ferguson’s
instructions, setting him off. Jude couldn’t chance a
mistake or losing minutes.
11 ALVIN ZIEGLER
other, she pointed the gun at her head. Kate’s eyes were
redder than before. Her lips trembled.
Jude’s arms and legs tightened.
Ferguson’s daughter pulled Kate to the stern of the
boat just as the swells picked up and a fine wave of
water curled and splashed on the deck.
Jude followed close behind. He saw that she now had
what resembled a large pair of scissors hanging out of
her back pocket.
While Ferguson pointed a gun at Jude’s head, he
ordered Kate to sit down on the fabric-covered cushions
and stood beside her. Then Ferguson’s daughter
removed the scissors from her pocket and held them
behind Kate’s head.
“What do you intend to do?” Jude demanded.
With jerky movements of the wrist, Ferguson’s
daughter snipped the back of Kate’s blonde hair. The
yacht heaved and lowered in rougher tides when a
larger wave spilled on the deck.
“Hey.” Jude shouted.
As Kate flinched away from Ferguson’s daughter’s
hand, a chunk of her hair blew in the wind behind her.
“Keep your distance now,” Ferguson said. “Or she’ll
cut a lot more than just hair. Now that I have your
attention, you should know that I’m not a malicious
person. In fact, I have you here for your own good. I
want you to stop a virus. It’s scheduled to go off and
disrupt your Stanford Grid in less than 48 hours.
Jude didn’t trust him. He had never wanted to kill
anyone in hatred, until now. He figured all Ferguson
wanted was to prevent Kate from becoming the first test
case that was successfully treated for cancer. Jude drew
on what he learned at Quantico—eyes trained on
GRIDLOCK
18
and Jude lost his grip on the man’s gun hand. The gun
slipped from Ferguson’s grip.
Jude watched the gun splash in the bay. Now he had
to cope with searing agony from his injured side and get
his own gun away from Ferguson.
Lori limped toward Jude, but he couldn’t go after both.
His adrenaline surged again and he collided into Marc
Ferguson with a body-block. The man’s legs gave way.
They wrestled flat on the deck, fighting for control of
Jude’s gun.
The boat heeled in the wind, leeward. The wind tossed
the boom across the rear half of the boat in an
uncontrolled jibe, jolting the yacht. The two men and Lori
skidded from port to starboard across the teak deck,
banging knees and arms. Jude’s side throbbed, but he
didn’t take his eyes off Ferguson who fell into the bench
seat area.
A stronger gust filled the main sail above them. The
boat’s speed increased.
They got to their feet. Jude swayed, holding his side
and wincing. “Why’d you do it, Lori? Why’d you kill those
good people?”
The yacht heeled farther on her keel. Jude heard pots
and pans sliding and clanging in the hull. The deck
slanted like a rock face.
Lori grimaced and yelled, “I did it because J&Q was
coming to me. You Grid people wanted to bring down
what my dad made.”
The boat pitched farther. Spray from oncoming swells
washed over them. Each wave sent water rushing over
the starboard side.
Jude asked, “No. You killed to protect your
inheritance.”
21 ALVIN ZIEGLER
fifty
Sunday, November 6
Alameda, CA
fifty-one
Sunday, November 6
Alameda, CA
fifty-two
***
***
epilogue
She sipped her wine again. “Do you have any blue
cheese?”
“Not even cream cheese.”
“I’m going to have to arrive here with my own blue
cheese and smell of Roquefort when I walk in.”
“What happened to worrying about me?”
“The French can multi-task. Any report about
Stanford?” Nathalie asked.
“An investor who heard Hideo’s talk at CERN has
donated twelve million dollars to rebuild the
Bioengineering Department to further the Stanford
Grid.”
Nathalie’s eyebrows raised.
Jude continued, “Roger Knowlan is planning the
reconstruction and computer security. I may give him
pointers.”
A knock sounded on the door. Jude set down his wine
glass and answered it. Kate walked in wearing a cable-
knit sweater and a smirk.
“Jude told me you’d be here tonight,” Kate said to
Nathalie.
“So, your brother doesn’t give you your own set of
keys when you stay with him?”
“I’ve got them. I simply wanted to warn him in case
he had company, which I see he does.” Kate said,
smiling. “Glad to finally meet you properly.”
The women embraced cordially.
“You’re looking well,” Nathalie told Kate.
“It’s only been a week of treatment, but Roger
Knowlan informed me today that my chances for
recovery are solid. I feel like the first person to walk on
Mars, being Stanford’s first genomic cancer patient.”
“This is great, Kate. Wine?” Jude asked Kate.
17 ALVIN ZIEGLER
Acknowledgments
I owe a debt of gratitude to my wife for persevering with
me through the epic journey of this book. She made it
possible in many ways. Without her and the ongoing
guidance of my personal editor, Margaret Lucke, I never
would’ve seen the end. My chief technical advisor was
the generous Josh Bernstein. Aside from fact-checking
the story with me in a Peruvian cafe, he toured me
around Celera’s gene laboratory in Alameda, California.
Celera, of course, sequenced the human genome at a
fraction of the cost of the U.S. government project.
I never would’ve considered writing a book without
encouraging parents who always let me pursue what I
wanted. I’m also indebted to my friendly readers who
either flagged issues I overlooked or gave me ideas: Jean
Cartwright, Carole Taylor, Aimee Salter, Martha Jarocki,
Suzanne Stewart, Kent Marisa, David Booth, Mark
Solomon, John Houghton, Tom Parker, Nick Booth, Kris
Wilhelm, Anne Mahoney and Nancy Siegel. I received
invaluable procedural advice from FBI Gang Unit Chief,
George Q. Fong, FBI-trained hostage negotiator, Robin
Burcell, Cyber Supervisor Jack Bennett—San Francisco
Division, CERN Physicist, Simone Campana, author of
Police Procedure and Investigation, Lee Lofland, private
security company officer, SETI@home grid co-founder,
Dan Werthimer and helicopter pilot, Richard Threfall.
The skilled videographer who concocted my second book
trailer is Nick Mead.
The timeline, while not literally taken from Wired
Magazine, was based on an article in the November 17
issue from 2007. Some background information was
GRIDLOCK
6