Free Fault Line by Barry Eisler

security-was a Stanford grad named Hank Shiffman, whom Alex had been friendly with when they were students. Having a friend like Hank inside was huge-he was smart enough to really get what Obsidian was about, and he knew all the bizarre inner workings of the patent office, too. Hank and 2130 hadn't officially received the application yet, but Hank had been keeping Alex unofficially apprised of its progress since it had first arrived at the Office of Initial Patent Examination. The last Alex had heard, the application had been forwarded to the Department of Defense for national security review. A security review was routine for an invention dealing with cryptography, and unless the DoD decided to issue a secrecy order-a huge pain in the neck but, thank God, highly unlikely-the application would soon pass muster and be assigned to a formal examiner in Hank's group.
    It was nine o'clock in Virginia, where the PTO was located. Alex called Hank and got his voice mail.
    Damn. Hank was always at his desk early. Well, maybe he was in the bathroom or something.
    The message said to press zero to speak to an operator. Alex did. A moment later, a woman asked, How may I direct your call?
    I'm trying to reach Hank Shiffman.
    There was a pause. The woman said, Ah, could you hold on for just a moment?
    Alex waited, wondering why the woman had sounded so uncertain about something so mundane.
    A moment later, another woman's voice came on, throatier than the first, the tone more businesslike. Hello, this is Director Jane Hamsher, Computer Architecture, Software, and Information Security. May I ask to whom I'm speaking?
    Alex thought for a moment. The information Hank had been feeding him was back-channel. He didn't want to create a problem for his friend.
    This is Alex Treven, he said. I'm a friend of Hank's from Stanford.
    There was a pause, then the woman said, I see. Then I'm sorry to be the one to tell you that Hank passed away yesterday.
    Alex had one long moment during which he was certain he had heard wrong. He replayed the woman's words in his head, trying to arrive at a construction that made sense. Nothing did.
    Finally he managed to blurt out, What what happened? How?
    Apparently, it was a heart attack.
    Alex thought of Hank, a vegetarian and a demon on the squash court. But Hank was totally healthy. I mean, I don't think I've ever known anyone that healthy.
    I know, it's been quite a shock to all of us. It seems it was something congenital, but they're still trying to work it out. We re all going to miss Hank. He was a good man and very capable.
    She was easing away. Alex thought, Well, nothing to protect him from if he's dead, and said, The thing is, Hank was advising me on a cryptography application on behalf of a client. I wonder if there's someone else there who could give me an update?
    There was a pause. Hank was the examiner? the woman asked, her tone doubtful.
    No, it hadn't been assigned to a group yet. As far as I know, it's still at OIPE, and subject to Defense Department review-
    Well, as soon as it's cleared the review, OIPE will assign it to a technology group, probably 2130 from your description. We'll be in touch at that point.
    Damn, not quite the sympathetic reaction he'd been hoping a bereaved friend would rate. Right, Alex said. Thank you.
    Not at all. And again, my condolences.
    He hung up. Time for a Plan B. Trouble was, with Hilzoy dead, he was already at Plan B. And it didn't seem to be going well.
    First Hilzoy, then Hank. Unbelievable. It was like Obsidian was cursed.
    He thought about what to do next. He still needed to find out who stood to inherit the rights to the patent if-when-it was issued. Also to roll up his sleeves and thoroughly assess the technology-the benefits, the limitations, all possible applications in various potential markets. Up until now, Hilzoy had been the best pitchman for Obsidian as something you could build a company around. With Hilzoy gone, Alex would need to be able to talk