Trying to control others through the use of drugs was banned by international treaty. But just as biological and chemical warfare agents were banned, and the US would never use them, the US government still maintained secret programs in these areas to keep abreast of what others might be doing.
So she had joined up. Her life as she had known it had ended two years previously, at the age of twenty-six. She had to admit, the work was invigorating, fascinating, and fulfilling. And important. Controlling people was proving impossible, thankfully. But she had helped make advances in enhancing the placebo effect, something she was convinced could revolutionize medicine.
But she hadn’t fully realized the consequences to her social life of doing clandestine research, and how much more difficult it would be to find the right man, and make it work, than it had already been.
She had a great relationship with her mother, but her relationship with her father was even better. He was a kind and caring man who had always adored her. When she complained that she scared men away, he would tell her that this was because she was extraordinary. Beautiful, smart, witty, and accomplished. Too smart and accomplished for most, he would tell her. It would take a truly extraordinary man to fully appreciate her. But to this man, she would be irresistible. The perfect woman.
Her father was perceptive enough to know how he sounded. Like a father whose daughter failed to make the cheerleading squad, and who tried to cheer her up by telling her a tall tale, that it was because she was too pretty, and the other girls were jealous. But in her case, he insisted he wasn’t lying to cheer her up, and this wasn’t the prognosis of a biased father who had a blind spot for his daughter. It was an absolute fact. He knew what he knew, and in due time she would come to realize the accuracy of his prophecy.
There was something about this Theo Grant. She already had a feeling that he was a man who was truly extraordinary. More so than any man she had ever dated.
Perhaps her father’s prophecy would finally be put to the test.
3
The lone resident of the table was tall and athletic-looking. He finished ordering lunch and shook his head in disbelief. How had he drawn this assignment?
He was a black belt in two different martial arts, could create a bomb out of household ingredients and shape it to blow a door off its hinges, and could send a bullet into a rolling soccer ball at thirty yards—while coming out of a tuck and roll.
What he couldn’t do was blend in while dining alone at a fancy French restaurant.
At least that’s how it seemed to him. He felt like a screaming siren attached to a flashing neon sign.
A small receiver imbedded in his ear asked for an update. He glanced around to be sure no one was watching or within earshot and lowered his head so he would be closer to the tiny mike imbedded in his lapel. “Their conversation appears lively,” he whispered, feeling like an idiot. “But they’re too far away to hear details. He’s still finishing his French onion soup. Do you copy that?”
“Yes.”
“The service is leisurely and unrushed,” he continued. “Confidence is high that you have an hour, at bare minimum. Probably closer to two.”
“Any chance you’ve been made?”
“Always a chance. But doubtful. I’m a ways away from them, and they only have eyes for each other. Not even a glance in this direction. Seems to be quite the first date. I’ll keep you fully updated,” he finished.
Sure. Important updates to come. Would they order coffee and dessert, or would they not? The tension was nearly unbearable, he thought, as a wry smile came to his face.
“Don’t you think this is overkill?” he whispered into the mike.
“Probably,” came the reply. “But we’re going to find out soon enough.”
4
Theo Grant bit off the tip of a breadstick and considered Alyssa thoughtfully as the waitress set their entrées in front of them, each a colorful work of art. “Human behavior,” he repeated. “Sounds intriguing. I’ve read a little about this myself, although I’m nowhere near the expert you are.” He gestured at her. “So if you had to give a thirty-thousand foot overview of human behavior, what would you say?”
Alyssa Aronson paused for a moment in thought. “I guess if I wanted to keep it to one sentence, I’d say that much more of our behavior is genetic, is baked in at birth, than most people could possibly guess.”
“Interesting,” said Grant. “Do we know this for sure, or is this just surmised?”
“No, we’re about as sure as we can be, courtesy of mother nature. For decades the prevailing wisdom was that we are all blank slates when we leave the womb, waiting to be written upon by parents and society. That we have no innate tenants to our personalities. Some proponents of this theory, called behaviorism, insisted they could take a group of babies and mold them in any way they wanted. Make a boy hate guns and love dolls. Turn someone from shy to gregarious.”
Grant looked amused. “I’m guessing none of them ever actually tried to raise any children. Or had any siblings for that matter.”
Alyssa laughed.
“From your initial overview,” he added, “I take it this theory has been discredited. So what changed?”
“The rise of identical twins,” she replied. “In 1979, a newspaper in Minneapolis published a story about identical twins who were separated at birth. They were raised by different families in different cities, and each had no idea the other existed. At the age of forty, in a freak occurrence, they ran into each other and realized what had happened. A psychologist, Thomas Bouchard, read the story and began to study the twins.
“It turned out that they had an incredible host of similarities. They were of similar weight, both smoked—the same brand of cigarette—both were into carpentry, liked racing, and hated baseball. Both had the same hand gestures, gait, and mannerisms. And so on. It was uncanny. The story went national, and the twins even ended up on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.”
Alyssa took a sip of the red wine she had ordered with lunch. She didn’t typically drink at lunch, but she didn’t typically go on a first date to a fancy French restaurant either. Sometimes exceptions had to be made.
“The publicity this generated opened the floodgates,” she continued. “Dozens of identical twins who were separated at birth contacted Bouchard. Since then, studies on thousands of such twin pairs have been conducted around the world.”
“There have been that many twins separated at birth?”
“Yes. About one in two hundred and fifty births result in identical twins. So there are more than a million pairs of identical twins in the US alone.”
Grant whistled. “No kidding.”
“Turns out that far more about our behaviors and proclivities are determined by our genes than we ever realized. That doesn’t mean that environment doesn’t also play a large role, because it does. Parenting still does matter. Environment still does matter. But less than had been thought.
“Separate identical twins, who have identical genes, at birth. Have Gandhi raise one of them and Hitler the other. And on a number of personality traits, they will be, on average, quite similar to each other. Despite being raised by very different parents, in very different environments. More similar to each other than are siblings who are raised together, with the same parents, and in a similar environment. But who don’t have identical genes.”
“Okay, so genes matter a lot more than people thought. But what traits, in particular, are we talking about here?”
“Just about all of them,” she said. “Some you might expect to be more on the genetic side, like the propensity to be heavy or thin. Others you’d never guess in a million years. Like happiness. Or political philosophy. Conservatism versus liberalism.”
“No way,” said Grant in disbelief. “You’re saying political viewpoint is genetic?”
“Not entirely. But on average, genetic makeup plays a very important role. My own family is a great example of this. I have one brother who is
a staunch conservative and one who is liberal. Same identical parents. Same lessons taught. Same cable news channel watched by my parents while they were growing up. Think about siblings you've known over the years, raised by the same parents in the same home, and it won't take long for you to realize how incredibly different they can be on so many levels. And with respect to any number of traits: personality, work ethic, respect for authority, and so on. Since they’re in a similar environment, but have different genes, it’s likely that genetics plays an important role in many of these behaviors. And sure enough, if you take identical twins with the same exact genes, and raise one in a liberal family and the other in a conservative family, they have a better chance than not of either both being liberal, or both conservative.”
“I’ll be damned,” said Grant. “I’d have bet my life political persuasion was entirely about parenting and environment.”
“Good thing you didn’t bet, then,” noted Alyssa with a twinkle in her eye.
“No kidding,” said Grant good-naturedly. “But you also mentioned happiness,” he added. “So that’s genetic also? I’d think this would be the most related to environment of anything. Even more so than politics.”
“Most people do. But genes play a major role in our happiness, and the level of our subjective well-being. We have a preset proclivity for it.”
“That doesn’t make sense to me. If a guy makes a killing in the stock market, he’s going to be happy. If he falls in love. Happy. If he gets fired from his job. Not happy. All of these are environmental.”
“For the short term, yes, positive events will have a positive impact on his happiness. But not for long. We tend to overestimate how long a financial windfall will make us happier. And we also overestimate how long getting fired will make us less happy. But we adjust to both. Go back to a baseline. It’s called hedonic adaptation.”
Grant nodded but said nothing.
“If I told you that one man won a fortune in the lottery,” continued Alyssa, “and another lost his legs, this would tell you very little about which man is the happiest a year from now, since both would revert to their baseline states. Again, in the short term, the lottery winner's happiness will skyrocket and the amputee's happiness will plummet.”
“But it isn’t all genes, right?”
“Not by any means.”
“So if money doesn’t factor in, what does?”
“Money does factor in, but not all that profoundly. And even then, only up until an income of about seventy-five thousand dollars a year. Enough so that if your car breaks down you can get it fixed, and so on. But anyone earning seventy-five grand or more has just as much chance as being as happy, or unhappy, as a billionaire. Really. The most important environmental determinants that come into play are the quality of relationships with friends and family. And challenging ourselves, pursuing what we are passionate about, and achieving. What really makes a life rewarding is facing challenges, overcoming them, and growing as a person.” She paused. “Ironically, in the long run, winning the lottery can significantly decrease a person’s happiness.”
“Well yeah. Who wouldn’t be miserable after winning twenty million dollars?” said Grant sarcastically.
Alyssa laughed. “You’d be surprised,” she said. “Not every lottery winner becomes less happy, but a lot of them do. Some quit their jobs and find they have too much time on their hands. They suffer from boredom and loss of purpose. And they often lose relationships. They move out of their neighborhoods. And jealousy, greed, unequal wealth, and so on, can cause personal relationships to deteriorate.”
Grant raised his hands in surrender. “Remind me never to doubt you again,” he said with a grin. “Very impressive.”
Alyssa returned the smile. “Well, I do study this for a living,” she said, her eyes sparkling happily.
They continued a lively discussion on a range of additional topics for another hour, long after they had finished eating. Neither was in a hurry to get up from the table.
Theo Grant made her feel as though she were the most interesting woman alive. And after they had discussed behavior, she insisted on talking about his interests once again, and she continued to find him fascinating himself, and lightning fast on the uptake.
Finally, they returned to Alyssa’s home, and Grant walked her to her door. Alyssa got the sense that he had no timetable for pushing a physical relationship. He seemed confident, relaxed, and still a little Zen. She decided he would be content whether she invited him in or not, which made her want to do so even more.
“Why don’t you come in,” she said, “and we can continue to get to know each other over a glass of . . . iced tea.”
She had been about to say wine, but had thought better of it. She had already finished two full glasses at the restaurant, and she didn’t want to lose her inhibitions, or good sense, altogether. At twenty-eight it was a bit silly to be worried about reputation for jumping in the sack too early—God, and surely Theo Grant, knew she had long since lost her virginity. Still, she could at least wait for a second date, even if this was, hands down, the best first date she had ever been on.
Not that she could even guarantee he would ask her on a second. She thought the chemistry between them was extraordinary, but even her intuition and knowledge of human nature were far from perfect. She understood it in the aggregate, but in any given situation, who knew?
Grant happily accepted the invitation and stepped inside. Alyssa gave him a quick tour, and then sat him in her living room while she prepared iced tea. Just as she returned with two glasses, the doorbell sounded. Two quick rings.
Alyssa handed Theo Grant both glasses and said, “Let me just check who’s at the door, and I’ll be right back. Won’t take a minute.”
Grant nodded and Alyssa exited the room, turned the corner, and walked briskly to her door. She looked through the peephole. A brown-clad delivery man was on the other side, holding a small package that required her signature.
She threw open the door hurriedly, wanting to get back to Grant as quickly as possible.
But the man was gone. He must have left just as she was turning the handle on the door. Apparently the package hadn’t required her signature after all, since he had left it for her. She stepped outside and bent down to get it.
A man lunged at her from out of nowhere.
Her visitor hadn’t left, after all.
It was an ambush.
Two thick arms snatched her off her feet, while a massive, calloused hand clamped tightly over her mouth and nose. She issued a scream of such shock and terror it should have awoken the dead. But as it was, it was so muffled by the thick hand that she was barely able to hear it herself.
Her attempted scream had stolen all of her breath, and she fought desperately to take another. But the hand was suffocating her.
Her lungs began to burn, and she knew that if she didn’t fill them once again, she’d be dead in a matter of seconds.
5
Alyssa’s abductor seemed to realize she couldn’t breathe and slid his hand lower, uncovering her nose, while keeping an iron clamp over her mouth. She sucked in as much air as she could through her nose, breathing in and out in rapid succession, her lungs and bloodstream seizing on the still limited oxygen desperately.
“Stop struggling,” whispered her abductor, moving quickly away from the door. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The man was huge, a block of pale granite well over six feet tall with the density of lead. He kept her completely immobile, despite her struggles, while lifting her as easily as she might lift a backpack.
He rushed off toward her backyard and the woods beyond, while a team of six commandos emerged from all sides of her house, armed for a war. The timing of her exit from the scene and their entry was remarkable in its precision.
What was going on?
Where was she being taken? And what did they want in her house?
This had to be some kind of nightmare from which she would soon aw
aken, but as her abductor continued to rush her deeper into the woods, it was impossible to deny the reality of what was happening.
Alyssa had the highest security clearance possible, and access to a considerable volume of eyes-only research. Did they know it was never allowed to leave the lab? Even if she had managed to break the rules, the computer data would be so heavily encrypted they would never get at it.
Which explained why she was still alive. She was their insurance policy. In case they didn’t find what they were after, or needed her to retrieve it.
She had to find a way to warn Grant!
Whatever their interests in her work, what would they do when they realized someone else was in her house? Would they kill him? Would they swat him away like a fly and go about their business, whatever it was? Grant was a sweet, tranquil man who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Alyssa thought about reaching for her pepper spray or stun gun, still in her pockets, but the one arm her abductor was using to crush her body against his torso pinned her arms as tightly as if they were in a vise.
She tried to scream again but nothing came out, and she knew that by now, if their goal was entry into her house, this had long since been accomplished.
“I’m going to let you go now,” said the block of human granite, setting her down and removing his hand from her mouth. She considered running or shooting him with her stun gun, but decided against it. She was outmatched, in size and skill.
“I was tasked to remove you from the area,” he explained. “I expect no shots to be fired, but just in case, you’re now out of harm’s way.”
“Tasked? By whom?” she demanded. “Are you mad? What’s this about?”
He ignored her questions. “They’ll let me know when the target is in custody, and we can return,” he told her. “Should be any second.”
Quantum Lens Page 3