Elixir (2 page)

He pictures each M&M as a city a salesman could visit on a trip, envisioning all the possible paths connecting them. Closing his eyes, he pumps his right knee to the rhythm. The large studio-grade headphones cover the full of his ears, giving them a toasty feeling as his mind rips through mathematical questions that have dumbfounded the world’s top scholars for decades.

In an hour or so he stops the music. He figured it out. The whole thing. He doesn’t appear excited, rather, disappointed. He cracks his neck and begins typing the answer in the Word document.

Slouched on a bench next to his Aunt Mary the following day, Sean spins his watch bezel back and forth as their train rumbles through the Los Angeles subway. “It looks funny from the previews,” she says in an optimistic tone. “I hope the producers didn’t get lazy though because it’s a sequel. It happens a lot in comedies.”

“It’ll be hysterical with that cast,” he says with confidence. “Even if the plot’s a little loose, I’m sure there’ll be three, maybe even four scenes you really remember. With a comedy that’s all I care about. Just give me a few parts that make me piss myself and it’s fine if the plot is...whatever.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited to see it. Let’s pray the story’s not too silly though. Like that last one with the main actor.” She stares out the window at the flashes whizzing by from the lamps on the underground walls. He looks at the mild crow’s feet by her eyes. She’s transitioned into her forties with grace but still shows natural signs of wear. Her hair is a different shade of brown than it used to be too, lighter since she’s been dying it to hide the grays. He thinks about how much he likes doing movie night with her every Thursday but wishes she’d cancel once in a while to go on a date, been about five years.

“You look familiar,” a girl about his age says in a soft voice from the seat across, grabbing his attention. “Do you go to Jefferson High?”

He surveys her, Lady Gaga T-shirt, cute face, a little too much eye shadow. “Nah, I go somewhere else.”

“You look so familiar,” she says, leaning closer, inspecting him. He’s sure she recognizes him from
Jeopardy!
but hates when people associate him with the show. Playing dumb, he shrugs. “What school do you go to then?”

“It’s in Pasadena, but not Jefferson.”

“Barish? The private one.”

“It’s private. But not Barish.”

A few moments go by. “I’m Cindy.” She points at her friend, next to her in a different Lady Gaga top. “We’re going downtown for the concert. You too?”

“We’re just getting something to eat.” He nods at his aunt. “Then the movies.”

“Oh. Okay.” Her pal whispers in her ear and they giggle. “My friend wants to know if you have a girlfriend.”

He grins. “Your friend couldn’t just ask me?”

“She’s shy.” More laughter. “A few of us are chilling by all the shops and restaurants near the arena when the concert’s over. You should come say hi. When you’re done with your movie.” His aunt pretends to be oblivious to the interaction but listens to every word she can make out above the sound of the tracks, absorbing as much juice as she can.

“Cool,” Sean says to the girl. “I’ll see.”

“Here,” she says, motioning toward herself with two fingers. “Give me your phone. I’ll put in my number.” He hands it to her, she types it in, and passes it back. “Cindy.”

“I didn’t forget. Sean. And your friend’s name?”

“Amanda,” she says for her.

“Nice to meet you Amanda,” he says looking at her with a smile. Blushing, she grins, then turns away. He finds it funny how shy she is. He thinks about the girls on the college campus and how different they are from ones his age. He wonders where between fourteen and eighteen they grow up. He’s not sure but hopes he’ll figure it out someday.

Wheels screeching, the train coasts to a halt. Riders stand as the doors split. “Have fun,” he says to the Lady Gaga fans as they walk off in the station.

Hands buried in his pockets, he moseys toward the shine peeking from above ground, the smell of mold lingering. He hears his aunt’s distinct patter of shoes behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he notices her weaving toward him. He braces himself for an interrogation. Sure enough she says, “They were cute. Did she give you her number?”

“What’re you spying on me?” He doesn’t mind chatting with her about stuff like this but decides to mess with her anyway. With a smirk he speeds up, distancing himself from her in the pack of commuters.

She swerves her way back to him. “Are you going to call her?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

Climbing the steps, he says, “If anything I’ll text her. People don’t call each other anymore when they first meet. I’d look like a big weirdo if I did.”

“That’s not true. Calling is still more popular.”

“Not for kids my age. The average teenager sends sixty-three texts per day I read somewhere.”

“Calling is so much easier. I’m not a big texter. Takes me forever to type out what I want to say. How long are the messages usually?”

“I read in the same article the typical text is like ninety letters. Mine are around there I guess.”

“That comes out to how many button clicks a day?”

“Fifty-six hundred seventy,” he says, doing the math in his head in an instant.

“So in a year it—”

“Two million sixty-nine thousand five hundred fifty,” he says, processing the second calculation in a snap as well.

“Boy.” She mulls over all that thumb activity as they emerge on the street, skyscrapers towering above on all sides, cold air wrapping around them, throngs of nine-to-fivers spilling out of the downtown buildings toward the subway entrance. “What were their names?”

“Get out of here. I’m not talking about this with you anymore.”

“Am I being annoying?”

“A little. I forgive you though.” He pats her shoulder a couple times. “I know you can’t help it when it comes to me and girls.”

“Just curious,” she says with exaggerated sadness, trying to be funny.

He chuckles, then blows in his hands. “Man. When did it get so cold?”

“I should’ve brought a real jacket.” She rubs her arms over her thin purple sweatshirt.

“Where’s the restaurant?” he asks, spotting black clouds on the horizon. “It’s gonna pour. We should get inside this place.” As she scans her phone for the address, his own vibrates in his pocket. Pulling it out, he sees a missed call and voicemail from an unknown number. Assuming it’s a telemarketer, he puts it back.

“This way,” she says, pointing left. Following her, he feels it vibrate again. He thinks about ignoring it but decides to answer. “Hello?” He listens for a few moments, struggling to hear on top of the rush-hour car horns, plugging his ear with his index finger. “Dr. Merzberg?” He cuts across the road into an alley away from the street noise. “Is everything all right?” His expression shifts from confused to surprised. “Now? I’m...out with my aunt.” He sighs. “Fine. I’ll meet you at the campus. You’re sure? Fine.” He hangs up.

“You okay?” Aunt Mary asks, bewildered.

“I have to go.”

“Where?”

The disappointment on her face upsets him. He realizes how much she looks forward to this night every week. “Dr. Merzberg. You’ve met him. My professor from school...he said it’s an emergency. He needs me to see him.”

“For a class? Where?”

“He didn’t want to talk about it over the phone. Whatever that means. Wanted to do it in person. He said he needs me to come to his office. Right now.” He’s quiet for about five seconds, pondering the professor’s possible motivation. “I’ll fill you in as soon as I know. We’ll see the movie another day. I’m sorry.”

About an hour later he knocks on the professor’s door in the Computer Science Building, the tap of rain outside, water droplets dancing on the hallway windows. “Come in,” he says from the room, not upbeat like usual.

He enters, noticing a half-empty bottle of Absolut Vodka on the desk. He examines his squinty-eyed, red-cheeked teacher and asks, “Are you drunk?” He doesn’t reply. “What’s this about? And why couldn’t you just tell me over the phone? I had to leave my aunt for the night to come—”

“Because someone could be listening in on a phone dammit.” Standing, he pulls a plane ticket from a drawer and extends it to Sean. His expression is grave. “We’re going to DC. A car’s outside ready to take us to LAX Airport. The National Security Agency is expecting you.”

A thirtyish woman rocks a screaming infant on a grounded aircraft, Sean and the professor one row behind. Sean stares out the window at three men in orange vests loading luggage on another plane, sky still dense with rain. He sticks his hand in a bag of spicy Doritos, pops a couple in his mouth, and chews, the crunch muffled by the wailing child.

“You need to shred every copy of the paper and erase the file from your computer,” the professor says in a hushed yet frantic voice from the middle chair. He glances to his right, making sure the guy in the aisle seat isn’t listening. He’s not, bobbing to music in his headphones. “I destroyed the one you sent me after I emailed it to the NSA.”

Sean regrets the lie the professor made him tell his aunt about why they were going to DC, a math conference at Georgetown they “couldn’t miss.” The guilt of it has been weighing on him. “I still don’t get why the freaking NSA cares so much. Don’t you think this is a little extreme? A cross-country trip? I can’t even tell my own relative where we’re going?”

“The existence of your algorithm and the involvement of the NSA must be kept a secret. Family included. If not, there’s a chance word can get out that it’s a reality and people will hunt you down for it. Bad people. What you’ve created has catastrophic potential. If someone without the purest of intentions got access to it the world as we know it could change.”

“Because of a math formula?” He bites into a Dorito.

“It’s more than a math formula.”

“If you knew it was gonna be such a big deal why didn’t you give me a heads-up before we even started the independent study?”

The professor peeks over his shoulder to see if anyone is eavesdropping, an oblivious overweight couple playing Angry Birds on iPads. He says to his student, “We never discussed you doing something as...significant as this. I thought you’d analyze the historical approaches to the Traveling Salesman and maybe make some marginal gains in its runtime. I didn’t expect you were going to exponentially alter the fabric of it.” He taps his fingers on his knees for a while, eyes jumping around. “You do realize how encryption works, don’t you?”

“Sort of. I was gonna take the class last semester, but it was full.” He tosses two more chips in his mouth.

“Well...you should’ve registered earlier,” he says with a trace of frustration. “All sensitive information, whether it’s confidential government documents or credit card numbers, gets scrambled when it crosses the internet so people can’t steal it. Hackers and what not. Hard-to-solve math like the kind in the Traveling Salesman Problem is used by the good guys to do the scrambling.” A pause. “Do you see the issue?”

“So if you had my paper you could hack anything that was encrypted by the problem?”

“Not only the Salesman. But any one even similar to it.”

He bangs his hands together a few times, knocking the Doritos dust off. “How much encoded info is in that...group?”

“Pretty much all of it.”

Sean leans back, the gravity of the situation sinking in. He’s quiet for about half a minute, the crying baby the only noise between them. “Sorry.”

The professor lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh Sean, oh Sean.” The screens mounted to the rear of the headrests glow and a welcome message plays from American Airlines. A perky stewardess recites a safety announcement over the PA system. Passengers flip up their tray tables and power down their phones.

Sean stuffs his chips in the pouch in front of him. He lost his appetite. The more he thinks about this all, the more it bothers him. He contemplates how he’d deal with the guilt if an evil person obtained his work and did something terrible with it. He’s not sure he could.

In a bit they begin crawling from the gate. “Why the hell did you tell them about it in the first place?” he asks.

“I’m aware this is a bit vexing. And I do apologize for that. But I had no choice. If they found out someone in my position didn’t report this after his own student created it, it would look awfully suspicious. They’d have me barred from teaching computer science in every American university.”

“What do they even want from me when we get there?”

He tucks his copy of
MIT Technology Review
between his armrest and potbelly and says, “I of course already explained to them you didn’t foresee the impact this would have. But they need you to sign some things...affirming you’ll never share the file. Ever.”

“They can force me to do that?”

“It is the truth of course. You won’t be speaking of this...or using it.” A pause. “Right Sean?”

“Yes. Jesus. I don’t want to steal people’s credit card numbers or whatever. I just want this to be over with.”

“Then sign the papers and it’ll be done. Easy. If you don’t, then well...they’ll hawk over your every move. Whether they admit it or not. This is the NSA we’re dealing with.” He leans in, so close Sean can smell a hint of the Werther’s Original caramel candy he had two hours ago in the car. “They don’t like operating with any shred of doubt. None.”

“I got it, okay?” Sean’s brain pulls up all the information it’s ever absorbed about the agency. Involvement in wars. Meddling with popular consumer web companies. Spying on US citizens. He doesn’t like how his life is now crossed with it. He has a bad feeling a simple signature on a page won’t be the end of this new relationship.

The engines roar. He yanks his seatbelt tight. His pulse throbs against the side of his throat. The plane bullets down the runway and ascends into the stormy sky.

A taxi buzzes along a service road, Sean and the professor inside viewing the dreary morning in Fort Meade, Maryland, bags under their eyes, neither getting much sleep between last night’s flight and today’s early alarm.