Aftershock

  AFTERSHOCK

  A QUAKE RUNNER: ALEX KAYNE THRILLER

  KEVIN TUMLINSON

  Copyright © 2022 by Kevin Tumlinson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  A Note at the End

  Here’s how to help me reach more readers

  About the Author

  Also by Kevin Tumlinson

  Keep the Adventure Going!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Curie Motors Facility | Round Rock, Texas

  Being “Fugitive Number One” was sometimes a grueling sort of life to live.

  The constant running and hiding, watching over her shoulder, obsessively observing everyone and everything around her, assessing threats—and then, if it came to it, either dealing with those threats or hitting the road all over again. It was a transient sort of life, and one that most fugitives couldn’t sustain for more than a few months, at best. Those who lasted years had an edge.

  Alex Kayne had an edge.

  QuIEK—the Quantum Integrated Encryption Key, an artificial intelligence so advanced it operated like a skeleton key for any digital system she encountered—was the sort of tool that could keep a fugitive off of law enforcement radar indefinitely. And so far, she’d proven that to be true. For nearly three years now, Kayne had used her invention to keep ahead of the whole alphabet of Federal agencies in the US, plus those of foreign nations, all of whom seemed to want QuIEK for their own questionable purposes. She couldn’t allow that. It was one of the reasons she’d taken her software and gone on the run.

  The other reason was that she’d been framed for the murder of her business partner, Adrian Ballard, and accused of treason and espionage for a foreign government. She was entirely innocent of all of those charges. But she was guilty of a lot of other crimes, since going on the run.

  It’s impossible not to become a criminal when you’re a fugitive in the wind.

  Now, roaming the world under a digital cloak of invisibility, she could just find a spot to retire to, and let the world move on without her while she soaked up the sun on a beach, and lived a low-key life of relative luxury, forever outside the grasp of those who would lock her away and use her life’s work for whatever evil purpose they had in mind.

  But nah.

  Instead, here she was shivering against the cold of a polar vortex, in Texas of all places, monitoring the comings and goings of a security team as they continued to keep anyone from entering a building with more than two-million-dollars worth of protective measures in place. Measures meant to keep out thieves, spies, and even the likes of Alex Kayne.

  As she sipped coffee from an insulated mug, she tapped a gloved finger on her phone’s screen, and cycled through everything QuIEK had discovered for her so far. She was shaking from the cold, despite the hot beverage and the coat, and the irony of doing so while using software she referred to as “quake” didn’t escape her.

  The facility she was planning to infiltrate had more and better security than most government buildings. It even topped casino security—which Kayne had long ago determined might be the epitome of technological paranoia. Casinos employed tech such as facial recognition, gait recognition, even predictive algorithms that essentially read body language and pupil dilation. Most militaries worldwide could take a page from the Vegas book of security.

  But this place…

  Curie Motors, Inc. was initially founded in Silicon Valley back in the early 2000s, as a pet project by billionaire Ross Eckhart. The company launched with the plan to build electric vehicles for the masses, to bring a new era of roadway tech that was sustainable, good for the environment, and affordable for all. This, of course, made Eckhart and Curie Motors a lot of political and industrial enemies. The company was plagued by a barrage of FTC and other filings for years. Ever-increasing taxes and intrusion on their business from state and local governments didn’t help.

  But the final straw was when Lee Coben—former tech industry entrepreneur turned domestic terrorist—attempt to literally nuke Silicon Valley out of existence. That sort of thing tended to put a bad taste in one’s mouth.

  And it tended to send one packing. Eckhart had his Palo Alto facility shuttered, and everything in it crated up and shipped to a new, multi-billion-dollar facility in Texas, practically within the month.

  In reality, Eckhart had been funding the build for the new facility for more than two years, but had initially billed it to the press as an expansion, not a move. Industry insiders, as well as a healthy chunk of people on Twitter, had, of course, speculated that Eckhart would leverage the new facility to force California to shift away from trying to tax Curie Motors out of existence. But after taking a deep look into the company, including some of the files hidden on a private server, Kayne knew the plan had always been to move. Ross Eckhart wanted to give a middle finger to the people he saw as his enemies, and taking several billion dollars in tax revenue away from the state was a pretty good solid swipe. Moving Curie Motors from Silicon Valley to the Silicon Prairie was Eckhart’s F-U to California, and to special interest groups.

  All of that was interesting and intriguing, in its way. Kayne had been part of the Silicon Valley set herself, back when she and Adrian Ballard had been running Kayne’s own tech company, Populus. She knew how rough things could get—the sense of entitlement that local, state, and federal governments seemed to feel toward the intellectual property (and the earnings) of a tech company. She couldn’t blame Eckhart one bit for his move, and sort of admired him for the flair with which he’d done things. She was even kind of impressed that he’d chosen to name his company for famed chemist and physicist Marie Curie. It was kind of nice to see someone honor an often overlooked contributor to science. Respect.

  But Ross Eckhart wasn’t really the reason that Kayne was currently shivering to the point of potentially phasing through the rooftop under her feet.

  It was her client, Shai Salide.

  Kayne had found Shai the way she found a lot of clients these days—QuIEK alerted her after scanning through mountains of digitally stored news stories, federal case files, blog posts, and social media. Even for an AI as advanced as QuIEK, this was a monumental task. Sifting through billions of records and files to sniff out anyone who had ever been disenfranchised and ignored by law enforcement, or who had suffered injustice at the hands of corporations (or anyone else, for that matter), yielded a never-empty inbox of results. Sifting and sorting through that to find a prime candidate for Alex Kayne’s mission required a lot of cycles of computing power.

  To pull it off, and not take several million years of processing, QuIEk used an ever-expanding network of dedicated microcomputer modules, collectively known as “Smokescreen.” These were devices that Kayne built and hid as she went, stashing them anywhere she found a WiFi hotspot, and linking them together in a virtual private network that collectively formed her own personal cloud.

  Over the past few years, she’d built and stashed a lot of these devices. Practically every coffee shop in the US had one disguised as anything from an obscure part of the security system to an electric air freshener in the restroom. The modules, built with tiny microcomputers that could fit easily in the palm of her hand, could be camouflaged as almost anything, and Kayne had gotten very creative with them over the years. And using them, she could appear to anyone watching on line as if she were in any place in the country, at any given time.

  A useful distraction—or smokescreen—when she needed the FBI to be looking for her in one place while she operated in another. But the whole system was also useful in expanding the size of QuIEK’s virtual “brain,” giving it more processing power than any other system on Earth. A virtual “body” for Kayne’s artificially intelligent software.

  She used QuIEK and Smokescreen in all sorts of creative ways, and usually on the fly. But lately she’d put it to work on what she considered her most important task: Finding her next client.

  This had become necessary after she’d had an encounter with an International thief and criminal mastermind named Roger Bale. Using her own goodwill and loyalty to her clients against her, Bale had manipulated Kayne, endangering both her and her client. She vowed she’d never let that happen again, and that meant she had to come up with a new way to find and vet the people she would work with.

  So when it came to finding her next client, QuIEK did the searching, and Smokescreen did the sifting. And the result was a regular report to Alex Kayne, delivered directly to whatever phone or device she was carrying, alerting her to the next best prospect, and generating a dossier on them and the problem they faced.

  QuIEK was getting pretty good and pointing her in the right direction, too. It wasn’t a perfect proces
s yet, but the AI was learning. It was starting to understand her and her mission. It was starting to understand which cases would get Kayne’s attention.

  Shai Salide, her newest client, didn’t even know she was a client. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Kayne liked to connect with the people she was helping, to give them some hope, and sometimes to get more context and insight into the job. But for the moment she felt that Shai might be better off not knowing about any of this. The players in this particular game had a lot of reach and a lot of influence, and it was better to keep Shai insulated from it, and out of sight for now.

  Plus… well, Kayne had to admit she might just be a little gun shy after what happened with Bane.

  But never mind. Here she was. And she had a job to do.

  According to the profile that QuIEK had constructed, Shai Salide had started her career as a part-time technician, coming out of high school as part of a co-op technical program and then attending MIT and cruising through the engineering program with impressive success. By the time she’d graduated, she was already named as a co-creator on several small patents. She was also a prime candidate for recruitment by some of the big players in the Valley.

  But Shai had a social conscience as well as a passion for engineering. She wanted to be a part of a tech startup that had more than profit as its goal. She was aiming to build something that would make the world a better place.

  As a result, she became part of the engineering team at a lowly electric vehicle startup, where she contributed an impressive catalog of designs. And unlike in her university days, these designs were all hers—concepts and creations that came directly out of her brilliant brain.

  The startup had policies regarding patents, requirements Shai had to adhere to, or she’d find herself in violation of her contract. There was an internal process for filing a patent, with credit and ownership to be split between the company and the engineer. This meant that Shai had to file her patents via the company’s own representatives and they would take care of the official filing with US and international patenting offices—a sort of double-filing process that was meant to ensure that the originator had some ownership alongside the company, and that no costly mistakes were made.

  It wasn’t that unusual for tech companies to require a split in ownership with their employees. The assumption was that the employee was utilizing company resources and proprietary information in the development of ideas, even if the ideas were happening in the employee’s free time. So it was common practice for these businesses to have employees sign a stack of agreements governing the ownership of intellectual property. Nothing too alarming there.

  Indeed, the policies and practice had worked fine for the first two years of the company’s existence. Shai shared co-creator status on a handful of very promising patents. But with so many engineers and technicians filing patents internally, the process became cumbersome and slow, and the bulk of ideas sat waiting for the company’s team to approve and file. Many of Shai’s would-be provisional patents were languishing on pause, stalled by the glut of such patents within the company. The business simply didn’t have enough resources to get every patent registered in a timely fashion.

  In the third year, things changed.

  Year three was when the company was quietly acquired by Curie Motors.

  Upon the acquisition, all the engineers on staff were locked out of their own files, while Curie Motors assessed everything it had just purchased. This meant that Shai’s pending work was all inaccessible, while the team from Curie Motors combed through it and picked what they wanted.

  Before she knew it, Curie Motors had accelerated the internal patent process. And when it did so, it became clear that the previous regime had been a bit incompetent in their approach.

  Curie Motors filed thousands of patents within the first year of taking over the company, several hundred of which were from Shai. But due to weak record-keeping practices, Shai’s name was ultimately left off of each one.

  Upon learning of this, she engaged an attorney, and through him she approached Curie Motors about providing partial ownership of the patents, as her contract outlined. The attorney she could afford, however, was no match for the entire law firm that Curie Motors had on retainer—Bertrand, Owens & Cromwell. Within months, BO&C had legally maneuvered around the patent disputes, and ultimately terminated employment for Shai and dozens of other engineers.

  All of this was kept quiet by gag orders and NDAs, and in the end Shai found herself not only out of work but blacklisted in her own industry. Non-compete agreements kept her from taking a position with any other Silicon Valley firms or startups for a period of four years. But even after that contract lapsed, Shai was radioactive in the industry. Word had gotten out that she was trying to grab IP for herself, and no one in the Valley would hire her.

  Now, five years later, Curie Motors was housed in a shiny new multi-billion-dollar facility near Austin, Texas, and Shai Salide was working as a customer support operator for a cleaning supply company. She was financially destitute, thanks to the legal bills. And her dreams and career were ancient history, in technology years. Gauging by her social media posts, Shai had resigned herself to her fate, accepting it as inevitable. To Kayne she sounded sad, haunted. It was gut wrenching.

  She was going to fix it.

  QuIEK had run all of this down for Kayne in a mostly clinical and pragmatic way, but she could sense a sort of human-like reasoning under it. The AI wasn’t intelligent in the way humans were—or even in the way science fiction liked to portray it. It didn’t have any sort of emotional intelligence. But it did seem to have a grasp of how stories such as Shai’s should have played out. As it ran searches and applied data sets, as it used comparative analysis between news stories and FBI case files and some of Kayne’s previous clients, QuIEK could somehow see the injustice, and it flagged it as something Alex Kayne would want to see.

  And it was almost always right. Often enough, at any rate, that Kayne could rely on it for leads, which she would further vet and choose whether to pursue.

  But the work aside, the way things were unfolding, the results she was getting from her AI, all of it was leading Kayne to a pretty astonishing conclusion…

  QuIEK was getting smarter.

  When she’d first designed the AI, it had been a cobbled-together collection of code and applications, a kind of kluge of software and apps she’d tinkered with and designed over the years, stretching all the way back to high school. It had been a side project, a hobby, but had ultimately become her life’s work. And when she’d partnered with Adrian Ballard and formed Populus, it was a rudimentary form of QuIEK that was at the heart of the company. Everything they built both radiated from her little personal project and added to it at the same time.

  Of course, it all boiled over when Adrian got greedy, and cut a deal with the Russians. A deal that was in direct conflict with their US government contracts. A deal that got Adrian killed, and Kayne framed for his murder, and for the treason that Ballard, himself, had committed.

  Bygones, Kayne thought, mentally waving away the nagging memory of it. She tried waving this away every time the topic came up. Bygones, because Adrian was dead. Bygones because Populus and all the dreams she’d had for the company and their software were burnt. Bygones because now that Kayne was the world’s most wanted fugitive, she’d found a sort of purpose for her life—a reason to keep going. A purpose for her and for QuIEK.

  Helping people like Shai Salide. Helping the disenfranchised, the forgotten, the people let down by law enforcement and the system of rules that governed the country and the world. Let down by everyone who was supposed to stand for them.

  So Kayne would stand for them. Because she happened to know what that was like, to be abandoned and left to the injustice. And because, as PaPa Kayne had taught her, “You can be a victim or you can be a warrior.”