Algorithm-323

By Erasmus Cromwell-Smith

Nicolas Tosh is a Math Prodigy. In the late 70s, he develops a series of discreet algorithms that enable seamless communications "to" and "from" the brain. "Thoughts replace voices as a communication medium, the brain's memory banks become easily downloadable and every "live" thought, image and sound ca

• Language: English
• Publisher: RCHC LLC
• Release date: Aug 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088257630

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Algorithm – 323

A Novel

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Erasmus Cromwell-Smith

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Algorithm – 323

© 2017 Erasmus Cromwell Smith

© Erasmus Press

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-7330289-8-1

United States Copyright Office Number:

Case #: 1-7325430968

Publisher: Erasmus Press

Editor: Elisa Arraiz Lucca

Co-editor:Tracy-Ann Wynter

Proof-reading: Marie Beattie Brooks

Cover and Interior Design: Alfredo Sainz Blanco

www.erasmuscromwellsmith.com

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San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina

Cerro Catedral, 1974

Located far south, high in the Cordillera de los Andes of Argentina, the small town of San Carlos de Bariloche sits on the shore of Lake Nahual Huapi. Very similar, in nature, to Lake Tahoe, Nevada, it’s an outdoorsman’s paradise where Cerro Catedral is the ski mountain during the wintertime. It has a significant Bavarian German influence in its architecture and food.

The morning had not started well for Nicolás Tosh. While working the night shift at the Muller Bakery on Main Street, he had been looking forward to a nonstop all day skiing session on his only free day of the week.

He had hitched a ride from town to Cerro Catedral and by 8:15 A.M. he was already at the base of the mountain, waiting for the chairlifts to open. But the morning hadn’t started as Tosh wanted: the lifts would not be opening as scheduled due to a power shortage.

The sun was rising through the valley, and the slopes were in perfect condition,  flawlessly groomed with fresh snow from the night before, and he wasn't going to let a mechanical failure ruin the day.

That’s it. ‘I'm going up,’ thought Nicolás.

In a second, his skis were on his shoulders, and he started walking towards the mountain, just to fall flat on his face a few steps later. Walking on deep snow, with heavy boots and immobilized ankles is foolish, he angrily told himself. But he stood up breathing hard, only looking forward. Two steps and he fell again. Three steps and he fell again. Then he tried stepping very softly into the snow, but it was impossible with such heavy boots. Nevertheless, he kept on walking two or three steps at a time, then hiking two or three steps at a time. It was painful, but he was determined to ski that day.

One hour later, he’d reached the farthest end of the first ski lifts.  Now, he could ski downhill, but as he turned and looked up to the peak of the mountain, he saw the slopes were entirely untouched. The sun was high now. It was a magical day. The choice was a no-brainer. Ski down for four to five minutes, or continue hiking to the mountaintop. This time he didn’t have to think it over, he just kept scaling higher, until the end of the third lift, near the crest of Cerro Catedral. It was 10:30 A.M., and he had been climbing for two hours; 120 minutes of struggle and pain. To ski down would take him ten to twelve minute at the most, but it would be well worth it!

So, I’m not the only lunatic hiking up the mountain today, said a tall, lanky young man.

I guess you aren’t, said Tosh with a broad smile, his sandy hair and green eyes sparkling, perfectly blended with the bright daylight and the snow.

Hey, instead of skiing down the mountain, do you care to join me? I’m heading to the summit and then to the other face of the mountain. There's a bit more hiking to do before we get there, but afterward, it’s all off-piste skiing on a different valley; one hundred percent virgin snow.

I'm in, let's go. Replied Nicolas followed by a question, What is your name? 

Rainer Sábato, what’s yours?

Nicolás Tosh.

Through the pine trees, a path of hardened snow made the climb not only bearable but also faster. First, they quickly reached the cap of the mountain, about five hundred feet higher. Then, they walked through the mountaintop to the edge, onto the other side. Now, a white valley, with a frozen lake at the bottom, stood right in front of them.

Are you from San Carlos? asked Rainer.

​Yes, born and raised, what about you? replied the 6' tall youngster.

I’m from Buenos Aires, but raised in Düsseldorf, Germany, in the Nord Rein Westfallen area.

So, are you visiting? asked Nicolás Tosh.

No, I work in the area.

In town?

No, I work at the nuclear power plant.

Are you a scientist?

In a way, yes. I’m a nuclear physicist.

They buckled their gear and skied down towards the lake. The snow was soft and thick; both advanced skiers glided down carving it, with perfect brushstrokes, as if they were painting an untouched canvas. As they approached the lake, the surface flattened, so they started using their ski poles to propel themselves. The lake’s surface was frozen solid, underneath a foot of snow or so. Soon they reached the other end of the lake and started hiking again until they reached one more summit. Now, a stunning panoramic view of the Cordillera de los Andes was right in front of them; 360-degree of nature at its best. Beautiful, rough and calm.

Afar, the Nahuel Huapi Lake, and you could glimpse San Carlos. It was 11:30 A.M., so it had taken them around three hours to get there. They unbuckled their skis and sat down.

Let’s have lunch, said Rainer.

Well, go ahead yourself, I don’t have any food with me. My decision was on the spur of the moment.

As Rainer opened his backpack, he said, I have plenty of food. Please help yourself. I come here at least once a month. It’s awesome and very quiet.

What does a physicist do at a nuclear plant?

I run the place. We generate power for the area’s electrical grid, and what do you do Nicolás? asked Rainer.

I’m finishing my doctorate in mathematics, at the local university, and work at Muller’s Bakery to pay the bills.

You look awfully young to be working on your doctorate, how old are you?

Sixteen, responded Nicolás.

Then you are a genius, said Rainer.

That’s a relative term, said Tosh.

No, it simply means that you have a very powerful ‘engine’ upstairs.

You could say that, said Nicolás.

What is your specialization? asked Rainer.

Discrete algorithms, responded Nicolás, in a soft voice. It’s a new term, not widely released yet. 

Why?

Work is not completed. Also, I may keep parts of it private.

​What's up with the bakery job? Rainer asked jokingly.

​It pays the bills and keeps me grounded from the abstract world of formulas and numbers, said Nicolás, with a big smile. Besides, math people only get jobs teaching, and in science, so that’s where I’m likely to be heading when I graduate.

But wouldn’t algorithms have commercial applications?

Well, theoretically, applied mathematics does and in the future discrete algorithms, in particular, could be at the core of many industries and businesses.

I wonder if quantum physics could help you take your math tools to new fields like, for example, take a photon, which is a subatomic light particle. Could we reduce it into a formula? Kind of a mathematical DNA? asked Rainer.

‘Mathematical DNA?’

The young mathematician stared intensely at Rainer; his eyes widened and, just like that, something clicked in Nicolás’s brain, as if thousands of light bulbs had turned on inside his head at the same time.

I guess that is worth exploring.

It was a distracted answer. Nicolás’s mind was somewhere else. He breathed hard, deeply inhaling the cold and dry mountain air. It was there and then, sitting on the top of the world, with a 360-degree view of the Cordillera de los Andes that Nicolás found his calling.

​‘Could we quantify and design an algorithm for the human brain? And then, the natural consequence, each brain could be uniquely identified numerically? If so, would that unlock the access to direct voice and data communication to and from the brain? Would that unlock the access to the stored information in the databanks of the brain? Could math enable access to the human computer, the brain?’

​Rainer, what about if… instead of say… photons, we calculate and unlock the brain?

​Sábato stared back with intensity, deep in thought.

​How will you do that?

​If we can calculate the brain and mathematically formulate how it processes and stores information, then we could also communicate and read directly into it, like connecting two computers.

​Fascinating in your abstract theoretical world, unlikely in real life.

​One day, you and I could be working together, said Nicolás.

​You mean, that I could be working for you sometime soon.

​Yes, you could.

​Little did they know that this chance encounter of two obstinate, but potent minds was the beginning of, not only a lifetime friendship but also of a working relationship that would generate one of the most powerful sets of math formulas in history. Some of them would eventually help create the first multi-trillion dollar fortune. Some others would be so dangerous that at Nicolás Tosh's request they would be designated as Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD).

​Rainer and Nicolás skied back enjoying the slopes but immersed in their thoughts. They both knew something exceptional had taken place that day.

Washington DC, USA

The White House, 2016

Day 1

10 P.M. Eastern Time (ET)

Late into the evening, still at the Oval Office, the president was reflecting about his last meeting with CIA Deputy Director Mark Thiel and other members of his cabinet. As he sat there alone, deep in his thoughts, he heard a familiar buzz. It was always at hand, as it had been with his predecessors, the last six Presidents of the United States.

​He quickly picked up the small locked container and punched in a five-digit code. Inside, there was an instruction manual, a sealed envelope and a small monitor that was buzzing and flashing: CODE 321.  President O’Sullivan picked up the 3.5 inch, razor-thin display unit, that could have been easily mistaken for a thinner iPod Touch. For a moment the president stared at the screen. He knew better than not to answer quickly, and yet, it always made him feel uncomfortable. He profoundly disliked not being in control, not knowing, to the point that not even the most eminent mathematical minds in the country had been able to give him an explanation about how or why it worked. He tapped on the screen, and he was back to their world… and on their terms.

​‘Good evening, Mr. President.’

​Mr. Tosh, how can I help you tonight?

​‘I am currently under threat, in a situation of clear and present danger.’

​The familiar voice of the man he'd never met, was coming across crisp, yet there was silence in the Oval Office. The sound was coming across straight into the president’s brain, immediately after the device had established his exact location.

​‘How did they do it?’

​He quickly read the G-7 Approved Manual and found the prescribed protocol for clear and present danger. His eyes opened wide as the magnitude of what was about to happen began to dawn on him.

​‘Mr. President, I am requesting authorization to deploy and implement the communicational algorithm 323.’

Where are you right now, Mr. Tosh?asked the president.

Suddenly, the image of a prisoner in a dark jail cell was projected into the president’s view, all within his mind. He couldn’t see the prisoner’s face well.

‘What was going on?’

San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina

Nuclear Power Plant Lab, 1974

One month later

​Rainer contemplated amazed.

​Nicolás Tosh had just filled two boards with the algorithm theory to communicate with and unlock the human brain.

​A research lab from Palo Alto, California has successfully networked computers. Each computer has a unique identification number. Once that ID number is known to the other computer and both computer’s brain or Compatible Operating System (COS) know how the other one works, they can communicate with each other, and transfer files between them. The pipes to do this are cables, and in the future, they will communicate through airwaves, explained Nicolás.

​Rainer went through the boards once again:

​Algorithms 319 to 324

​The Communicational Discrete Set of Algorithms (CDA) allows any human brain to be mathematically calculated. Every function, every signal, every bit of data stored is rendered into a set of formulas. This set of formulas is different for each brain, and it is automatically identified with a unique number by the algorithm. This unique number is called the identifier number: a mathematical DNA of the brain, comprising a set of mathematical formulas that encompass every process and all the data stored for that particular brain and an identifier number that unlocks the set of formulas enabling communication and data transfer from and to that brain. The identifier is a battery-powered device that captures brain signals. Once pointed in its direction, it stores all the CDAs and, once connected, communicates back and forth with any brain that has been assigned an identifier number. All communications between brains and the data center are executed through the identifier device. A carrier is an individual who has learned and understands communicational discrete algorithms (CDAs). The carriers are provided with identifier devices to establish identifier numbers for the target person. Once that is done, the carrier will be able to communicate directly with the subject’s brain, according to the type of CDA in use. The identifier device must be in the vicinity, less than a mile, from the subject. Carriers can be anywhere in the world, when talking to subjects and only need its exact geographical location so they can point the identifier device in their direction. All carriers are permanently subject to the identifier CDA for data transfer purposes. All data will be stored in a massive data center. A global wireless neural network will be set to enable seamless communications between the identifier and the data center.

​These are the initial CDAs types:

​Algorithm 319: Calculates into a set of mathematical formulas every function, every signal, every bit of data stored in a brain. Then it sets a unique number that unlocks the set of mathematical formulas called the identifier number for each brain.

​Algorithm 320: With the application of this CDA any individual with an identifier number can listen or can be talked to, directly to their brains by a carrier through an identifier device. Individuals can respond back to the carrier by simply talking out loud. If the carrier is not next to the individual, but in the proximity, the identifier device will pick it up through a voice recognition software and transfer the individual’s words in the form of thoughts to the carrier’s brain.

​Algorithm 321: Allows a carrier to talk to another carrier or subject directly from their brains without the use of voice. It also allows for dual thought communications between carriers.

​Algorithm 322: Allows a carrier to listen, view and record anything and everything that is happening live in a subject's brain. A carrier will see what they see, know what they think and hear what they say. All are automatically heard, recorded and encrypted in the data center.

​Algorithm 323: Allows the reconstruction of a subject’s entire life since birth, separating real life from dreams, through his brain data bank. Everything he saw, said, heard or thought is recorded on video and sound, and encrypted in the data center.

​Algorithm 324: Allows as well, the reconstruction of the lives of people that have interacted with subjects with identifier numbers CDA-323 to be reconstructed as well.

​In the following months of 1974, Nicolás Tosh completed the first set of discrete algorithms to predict the risk of the financial markets. Within two years he had amassed a small fortune by merely being ahead of the market. Rainer did indeed come to work for him, and they completed the Communicational Discrete Set of Algorithms CDA-319 to CDA-324, the identifier devices, the neural network, and the data center in Zermatt, Switzerland, and it’s state of the art Quantum Computer.

Zermatt, Switzerland

1977

The helicopter overflew so close to the Swiss Alps that Nicolás Tosh felt he could almost touch the tips of the mountains. Desolate and remote snowy high mountain valleys. On the edge of the crevasses, the sun’s effect painted the snow with green, blue and purple colors. Afterward, they flew over Mont Blanc, the highest peak in The Alps. On the left, straight ahead, was Monte Rosa. Behind it, with a glacier in the middle, dominating the city was Zermatt’s rock pyramid: the Matterhorn.

The helicopter quickly descended. It was a sharp descent, as steeply scarped mountains made the flying space tight. Vertical stonewalls encircled the small village of Zermatt, which has one main street and many alleyways to explore.

Nicolás Tosh had bought the building a couple of months earlier, and the renovation had just been completed. The five-story construction, formerly a family hotel, was located in the south far end of the town, wedged against the mountainside’s wall. The back of the structure was attached to the millenary rock. The mountain dwarfed the small building that seemed to be leaning into it. The original roof had been modified into a helipad; its location at the town’s edge allowed for an approach, without overflying the village.

The helicopter reached the landing pad, just big enough for the main cabin; the tail of the aircraft was suspended in the air. An elevator, without a back wall, had been built at the rear of the building, carving a hole in the rock, so the mountain moved up or down as one rode on it.

Nicolás Tosh had decided early on that Zermatt was going to be the place for his secret project’s data center. He rode the elevator down and stopped at the third floor, but the elevator's front door did not open.

I am here, he said.

After a clicking sound, a portion of the rock moved away. A door appeared on the wall facing him, and he entered his new headquarters.

As he stepped in, he ascertained that his dream of a complete communication and data center, built and entirely hidden inside the rock, was concluded. Now Tosh needed to hire his banker and his auditing manager, and with the advice of his mentor and teacher Professor Bernard Schneiderman, he had chosen Zurich as the city to do so.

Zurich, Switzerland

Office of Union National Des Banques (UNB)

1977

A couple of months later

9 A.M. Central European Time (CET)

​Zurich is both a perfect postcard and a sinister city. With its impeccably lined and spotlessly clean streets and buildings, everything seems perfectly in place, including the magnificent mountains that surround it. It is an efficient and orderly universe that follows the norms to the point that rules prevail over daily life. It is a rigid and inflexible town, and yet when it comes to money and confidentiality, you can not find a more secretive and flexible place on the face of the planet, hidden behind the big, heavy doors of century-old financial institutions.

It was a damp and grey winter morning in Zurich. Markus Wildi, chairman of the Union National de Banques (UNB), the oldest private bank in Switzerland, gazed outside his office window wishing he could be high up in the mountains, above the clouds, at his chalet in Flims, a resort village less than 90 minutes away from Zurich.

Herr Wildi, Mr. Donaldson is here, announced his long-time assistant, Ute Behrenz, through the intercom, in English, but with a heavy Swiss-German accent.

Mr. Donaldson, you can go in.

Patrick Donaldson was the head of Ticino & Co., the eldest auditing, accounting and tax-advising firm at Zurich.

Markus, good morning. Did I catch you dreaming you were going down La Siala run at Flims?

Indeed, you did, Patrick. Good morning, have a seat.

Well, I will be heading soon for a week to my place in Klosters. I haven’t taken a vacation for months, said Patrick.

Klosters is magnificent and big, but the drive is way too long for me, answered Markus.

So, what do you know about this client? asked Patrick.

Nothing, except that he is extremely wealthy and here is the catch, he is very young, said Markus.

Another trust fund kid, be ready for a spoiled brat, said Donaldson, with curiosity and disdain in his face.

Mrs. Behrenz interrupted them. The intercom came alive, loud with her thick accent.

The client is here.

Both Markus and Patrick rose from their seats. Mrs. Behrenz led the visitor in with an expression of amusement and sarcasm. No wonder, because as the new client walked into the office, they would corroborate that he was just a teenager!

After introducing themselves, Markus went straight into business.

How can we be of help to you, young man?

The teenager responded in a clear and direct voice.

I want both of your firms to manage my assets, then he continued. I have chosen you for several reasons, and one of them is that both your firms complement each other rather well. He looked intensely at Markus and said, Another reason Mr. Wildi, is your long-time client, Professor Bernard Schneiderman.

‘The cranky and old Professor Schneiderman is now in his 60s,’ thought Markus. He was a complicated client for the bank. Very demanding and a perfectionist; he expected the lowest fees and the highest return at no risk, but you couldn't argue with him. He was the most prominent Swiss mathematician, winner of a Nobel Prize in Mathematics, and a fellow professor at MIT for more than 25 years, before retiring to his hometown of Vevey, on Lake Geneva.

​Should we call him? asked Markus.

​As you wish, said Nicolás Tosh.

​Frau Behrenz, please call Professor Schneiderman and put him on the line,  asked Markus over the intercom.

​But he does not like to be called without notice, answered Mrs. Behrenz, still trying to figure out what her boss was doing with a youngster in his office. ‘Surely a rich kid that inherited an undeserved fortune’, she thought, recalling her own children and their economic struggles.

​Schneiderman answered the phone.

​Hello.

​Guten Tag, Professor Schneiderman, said Mrs. Behrenz in a perfect Swiss-German accent, and then switched to English.

​I have Herr Wildi on the line for you.

​Guten Morgen, Herr Wildi, responded the professor, with a voice that already sounded impatient and hinted at someone that did not like unscheduled calls.

​Herr professor, please accept my apologies for calling you unannounced this morning.

​‘Unbearable Swiss-German reciprocity’ thought Patrick Donaldson, a Britt ex-pat himself, that never fully adapted to the region’s ways.

​What do you want, Herr Wildi? Professor Schneiderman asked sharply.

​We have a friend of yours here. He wants to open an account with us.

​You mean Nicolás Tosh? Now his voice sounded relaxed, almost paternal. He is the finest mathematical mind I’ve come across in a long while. He is twenty to thirty years ahead of his time. No other mathematician has been able to understand, much less decipher his algorithms. What he wants to do is noble, and I am certain it will have a profound effect on the betterment of humanity. Have a nice day gentlemen and all the best in your new endeavors. The line went dead.

​Markus and Patrick sat stunned, staring at the young man.

​Gentlemen, ever since I had use of reason, I’ve had the knack for both numbers and making money.

​How much have you earned, young man? asked Markus.

​One hundred million US dollars, replied Nicolás Tosh.

Miami, Florida, USA

2015

Five months before Day 1

​The Handler had clear instructions: he was to deliver twenty disposable phones each week, until further notice, and it had to be done in public places. So, he handed them all by himself to familiar faces. He just handed each one of them a folder containing useless legal briefings and, inside a small plastic bag, a disposable prepaid cell phone. Eight of them were delivered in DC and twelve in Miami, all of them with local numbers. He was well paid and had been working for Bain & Associates for what seemed a lifetime. His loyalty was unquestionable. But he always covered his back, and this mission was no exception.

​Ryan McNamee was in a hurry. He was supposed to be at Morton’s fifteen minutes ago, but traffic was at a standstill on Biscayne Blvd.

​Randolph, I’m walking, he told his driver, as he got out of the car. With a brisk pace, a few minutes later, he made it to his destination.

​Sorry, I’m late.

​When there was no response, Ryan just sat in silence; the retired general did not like to be kept waiting.

​McNamee, I expected you to be here fifteen minutes earlier, not fifteen minutes late.

​Yes, sir.

​Four-star retired General Robert L. Pinkus III had developed the security firm Zaptec five years ago. He ran it with an iron fist, military discipline, and precision. Ryan was its head of special operations and had worked for Pinkus since day one. Previously, while still in the army, he had also served under him in the Middle East for three years.

​Sir, I asked you to meet me outside of the office because today, during a routine surveillance operation on the Klein & Co. matter, we ran into a situation.

​Go ahead, what’s the situation? Don't tell me we broke the PATRIOT Act laws again.

​No, sir, we didn’t.

​OK, McNamee, stop beating around the bush, enlighten me and do it quickly.

​Sir, we’ve had Klein & Co. under surveillance for eight weeks now. As you know, his partner Rodney Ortega commissioned us. As it turns out, two weeks ago, while reviewing the video footage of Klein’s surveillance, we noticed Ortega in the background, receiving a folder with documents, which he quickly discarded in the trash, after retrieving what appeared to be a disposable handset. The sequence was repeated in the exact fashion the following two weeks. Same place. Same time.

​What did you do then? Follow the messenger?

​Yes, sir, we did. We recorded all deliveries and then used a face recognition software.

​And? The retired general was growing irritated by the minute.

​"Each day, after he delivered to Ortega, he made another eleven deliveries, same MO (modus operandi), thesame type of folder, quickly discarded after retrieving the phone."

​McNamee, Ortega is our client, you are following our client, what am I missing here?

​Sir, the twelve phones were delivered on each occasion to a federal judge, a public prosecutor, an FBI agent, journalists, several business leaders, lobbyists, private security players, and a prominent attorney.

​Why is this any of our business? asked Pinkus.

​Because of the messenger, sir.

​Why?

​Because the messenger is your future in-law Jimmy Ocando, a.k.a. ‘The Handler,’ Jennifer’s dad.

​That came as a blow to the retired general. Jennifer was engaged to Robert Pinkus IV. She was the best thing that ever happened to the Pinkus family, since Mrs. Pinkus had passed away, eight years ago, a victim of breast cancer. Although some said, she had died of sadness and loneliness, as the general had spent the better part of their marriage stationed abroad. Jennifer was a beautiful and vivacious brunette that taught Urbanism at the University of Miami’s School of Architecture. She loved his son with passion and was so close to the general that she was like the daughter he never had.

​I have got to talk to Ocando, right away.

​Do you need his number?

​No, I need his address.

​McNamee sent the address to Pinkus’s driver.

​Follow me and stay in your car. I want you to be close,  in case I need you.

​Both town cars drove west, past the airport and into the City of Doral. The gated community was no match for the general, as the guard just opened the gate and the non-descript tinted glass sedans drove right through. As he took note of the plate numbers, he thought they were law enforcement officers. A couple of minutes later, General Pinkus was at the front door of his future in-law’s home, with his massive six-foot-two frame and 250 pounds dwarfing over the door.

​General, what a surprise.

​Ocando! We have to talk.

​Not that he wasn't expecting it, but why so early? Over the last few weeks, they had been having an elaborate argument about why Jen and Robert Jr. should or not get married. They had been discussing over the phone that both widowers should act together to dissuade them. General Pinkus interrupted his thoughts.

​It’s not about the kids, said the retired general, as if he was reading Ocando’s mind.

​Alarm bells rang in his head. If the general was not there as his future in-law, then he was there as head of one of the most powerful security firms in the country.

​"Then,