Free The Messiah Code by Michael Cordy Page A

this, claiming that if an individual discovered that he had an imminent incurable disease that individual could take out extremely high insurance coverage at standard premiums. The law, however, was adamant that the privacy of the individual was paramount. And this was why Jazz and Carter were so keen to keep the database secret. IGOR was strictly illegal.
    The Individual Genome Ordered Repository had been Tom's idea. He had asked Jasmine to tell Big Mother to pull off one in five of all gene scans conducted by the licensed GENIUS Processing Labs around the world and store them in a database, along with the names, addresses, and family and medical records of the individuals concerned. There were now over one hundred million people on IGOR, and GENIUS knew more about them than they did themselves.
    Tom's motives were far from sinister; he wanted to use the database at a macro level to validate much of his genetic work--checking trends of actual medical illness in families versus genetic markers for the illness. IGOR had helped validate much of the work that led to the cure for schizophrenia and had given vital clues to treating other genetic diseases. However, despite this worthy intention, Jasmine had no doubt that if any of the individuals, or relevant authorities, learned of the database they would be horrified and GENIUS's credibility would be seriously compromised. But Tom had judged that the benefits outweighed any potential threat to the particular individuals and to his company. So he had taken the risk.
    After walking around her domain, Jasmine returned to her computer and began her daily cyberpatrol. She clicked on the computer. With a processing speed of 100 terahertz, 600 gigs of disk space, and 200 gigs of RAM, it was easily powerful enough to cruise the fast lane of the congested information superhighway. The computer monitor flashed into life and a virtual reality head, the spitting image of
    Jazz, appeared. The Afro hair and fine-featured dark face almost matched her own reflection in the screen. The image greeted her with a: " Salutations, Razor Buzz. Where are you going today ?" Even the synthesized voice sounded like her own.
    She rarely used it anymore, but the Razor Buzz tag was a throwback to her youth in L.A., when she had been an irresponsible net head with a sharp attitude and a haircut to match. If her strict Baptist parents thought they were keeping her out of trouble by banning her from the streets and allowing her to kick up her heels on the information superhighway, then they were mistaken. She had chosen the anonymous User ID of Razor Buzz because a lot of what she did in those days wasn't strictly legit. Still, legit or not, back then she was something of a legend.
    She spoke into the microphone. "Today, I'm on patrol."
    " I need the code before you can go on the road ," said the talking head.
    Jazz smiled. The password she'd chosen this week still gave her an adolescent kick. It was the name of a job that harked back to the bad old rebellious days before she went legit and won scholarships and Nobel Prizes--to when she could hack into everything and anything. This job wasn't "Accountant," or "Doctor," or even "GENIUS Information Technology Director." No, this job was cool, seriously cool.
    "Cybercop," she typed, enjoying playing the ultimate poacher turned gamekeeper.
    The head on the screen suddenly donned a helmet, did a double flip, and saluted her. " Special Agent Razor, you are now free to roam the infobahn. Take care out there in cyberspace ."
    She reached across the ordered desk for her can of Diet Coke, and considered her destination. Most days she would try to break into one of GENIUS's technical or financial systems. She employed two other guys to try to breach these protected databases, highlighting weaknesses and suggesting better protective measures. Both guys were good, but she still liked to check for herself how good her defenses really were. Today she would try to hack into