The Arcturus Man

by John Strauchs

  “It’s great you have money, Jared. Good looking house.”

  “Yes, it will do. It is difficult to imagine that this design goes back to 1957…half a century ago—when it was popularized by Andrew Geller. Geller was an architect,” said Jared.

  “Yes, I think I remember reading about Geller,” said Brett.

  “Let’s get down to business. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Things are not good…not good at all…but I honestly don’t think it’s as bad as it appears at first blush.”

  “OK! Give me a run down.”

  “One…the Smolenskiy matter. The Augusta District Attorney, Fischer, convened a Grand Jury. It looks like they are going to hand down an indictment for first degree. I can’t believe it. They have less than circumstantial evidence. It seems that the State Police are pushing Fischer to indict based on a theory…only a theory. You seem to have really pissed someone off in the Staties. I think his name is Holob. They can place you in the area, but that’s it. There is nothing more, or at least nothing that I know of. Is there more Jared?” asked Brett.

  “There is nothing more,” said Jared. “Will I be able to make bail?”

  “Depends on the judge, but I think it’s likely. They’ll take your passport, of course, and they will probably impound your boat…the large one…for the duration.”

  “So it’s going to be a hassle and cost me a few bucks, but I can survive this one.”

  “That’s my view,” said Brett.

  “I’m not worried about it. Next?”

  “Item two, the patent matter. Your reputation as a boy genius inventor and the success of so many of your patents is working against you. The Feds grabbed your patent and classified it. You’re screwed!”

  “I still can’t believe they can do this,” said Jared. “I sent Obama a message that I was thinking about it. Why would they do that before they hear my decision?”

  “THE PRESIDENT? You are communicating with Obama about this? Shouldn’t you have told me about this? GOD JARED!”

  “It wasn’t relevant until now. Besides, I sent the message through an intermediary, some special ops guy called Red Leader. Maybe Obama never got the message. But, if he did, I don’t understand why he went back on his promise. I’ve told you before that I think he’s the worst president in American history…the guy is corrupt and willfully deceitful…but I thought he would keep his word,” said Jared.

  “This is way above my pay grade.”

  “Is it a waste of time appealing this? This is going to cost me a fortune, at least in terms of unrealized revenue. The Invention Secrecy Act dates back to 1951. That’s half a century ago. 35 U.S.C., 37 Code of Federal Regulations part 5, and blah blah blah. I can understand how these laws were motivated at the end of World War Two and the beginning of the Cold War, but not today.”

  “As long as I’ve known you, I keep forgetting that you can recite this stuff from memory…probably line by line. What do you need me for?” asked Brett.

  “I haven’t passed the bar Brett.”

  “Oh yea. That little detail. Well, to answer your question…as if you couldn’t answer it yourself…as you know very well….the ‘state secrets’ privilege means that the White House can withhold documents from everyone. Between 1953 and 1976 it was only used four times. Up to 9/11, it’s been used 23 times. More importantly, by the end of the federal fiscal year in 2012, there were more than 6,900 secrecy orders.”

  “I want to fight this.”

  “Neat! We’ll fight it, but there’s more.”

  “Shoot,” said Jared.

  “You’re going to want to shoot someone before we’re done. The thing that makes this really dangerous…and I mean dangerous…is that they figured out that you withheld all of the technical details to make this thing work. They are super pissed.”

  “So I have leverage.”

  “Negative. They have motivation to really put the screws to you. You know, to force you to cough up the missing information.”

  “It’s all in my head.”

  “Well, of course it is. Who doesn’t know that? It doesn’t help you.”

  “Want a beer? St. Pauli Girl?”

  “Sure,” said Brett.

  Jared had a poster of the new St. Pauli Girl tacked to the wall next to the frig.

  “That’s Ginger. Holly Cow! You based Ginger on this poster, you devil, except the poster is wearing clothes. I should have notice that you based her on the St. Pauli Girl. By the way, where is Ginger?” asked Brett.

  “Yes, she’s fine. She’s still hiding, but I have her linked on my laptop.”

  “Neat! You really should market her some time. There isn’t anything like her out there.”

  “Not going to happen,” said Jared.

  “OK! OK!”

  “Ginger, Brett’s here. Say hi!”

  “Hello Mr. Antonides. How have you been?”

  She popped up on Jared’s laptop, the one sitting on the kitchen counter. Ginger was dressed like an English schoolgirl. She had a very short plaid pleated skirt. She wore shear stocking; the tops of the stockings were visible. Ginger had a white blouse with a striped school tie. She was wearing a straw hat.

  “Very well Mr. Antonides. And you?”

  “I like your hat Ginger. Please call me Brett.”

  “You fancy it, do you? It is a straw boater. Some call it a basher or a skimmer. I suppose you Yanks wouldn’t know that,” said Ginger.

  Brett turned to Jared and spread his hands in a what’s-going-on gesture.

  “I asked Ginger to…ahh…change her outfit, so to speak. This is all her idea, including the British accent. Her creative subroutine is over the top I would say,” said Jared.

  “I liked your old outfit, Ginger. Why this?”

  “You will have to inquire of Master Jared. He evidently didn’t care for it.” She was clearly being snippy.

  “Good bye Ginger. Time to go,” said Jared. He turned to Brett as he closed the laptop.

  “Actually, it was a promise I made to my housekeeper. Marie. I believe you met her on one of your visits.”

  “It is a shame that housekeepers control our lives—metaphorically speaking,” said Brett.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Come on in John,” said Jared.

  John Cabot walked in. He dropped an expensive leather softside briefcase on the floor, kicked it under a chair, and climbed on top of a bar stool at the kitchen counter. He looked exhausted.

  “Jared. You’ve got to find a place to live that people can drive to. How about a beer?” said John.

  “Don’t hold your breath John,” said Brett.

  “Hey, Brett, nice to see you again.” Brett nodded.

  “How’ve you been John? How’s the FBI treating you?” asked Brett.

  “Great. Just Great. Couldn’t be greater. The crap really hit the proverbial fan this time Jared.”

  Jared opened the frig and took out three bottles of St. Pauli Girl. The green bottles began to sweat as soon as they reached the counter. It was a warm day. Jared used his thumb and quickly popped the cap off of each bottle.

  “How does he do that?” said John. It was a rhetorical statement.

  “What crap and what fan? You guys want glasses?” asked Jared.

  They both shook their heads no. Jared slid the bottles across the wet countertop. John almost missed his.

  “Maybe we better finish our talk before we broach new agenda items,” said Brett.

  “Where were we?” asked Jared. “Oh yea, always fear the government.”

  “Not nice talk Jared. You’ve got to cut out that kind of talk, as you will shortly discover,” said John.

  “The feds just classified Jared’s patent for a universal detection system for weapons, explosives, biological agents, chemical agents…you know…the works. They substantively own it now and since he lost his clearance over the dual-citizenship business, he can’t even see it,” explained Brett.

  “Yea, I know. I am
really sticking my neck out coming here. They don’t have a tail on him right now, so I am probably OK, but it’s only a matter of time. If we can’t straighten this out soon, my career is in the crapper, if not worse,” said John. “Mind you, I really don’t care if I’m fired,” said John. “As long as it’s nothing more serious than being fired, I don’t care. I plan to quit in a few months anyway, but I don’t need the stress,” said John.

  “I’m really sorry you’re involved right now John. I think you should go back to Boston…now…and not communicate with me until this blows over, one way or another,” said Jared. “If anyone asks about me, tell them what they want to hear. Whatever it is. It won’t bother me. Honest. I don’t want you taking any more chances.”

  “What kind of friend do you think I am, Jared? Bull Shit! I don’t swim to shore with the rats just because the ship sprung a few leaks,” said John.

  “Jared is making sense John. You need to think about it. I’m doing my job. You’re fraternizing with the enemy. They’ll crucify you.”

  “Bull Shit! End of discussion,” said John.

  They were all quiet for a few minutes. John and Brett studied their green bottles. Then Brett continued the conversation about the patent problem as if the loyalty interlude had never occurred.

  “So why can’t they figure out your invention without you? The patent application contained a Hell of a lot of detailed information and data,” said Brett.

  “They don’t have the science to fill in the technical gaps. My device works at the Quantum level. Every substance in the universe has a fingerprint at the Quantum level that is as unique as human fingerprints. It would work just like the Bureau’s IAFIS fingerprint system that you work with every day John. It would also be virtually instantaneous and can be run live in any environment. You could put this thing on a lamp post in Time Square and ask it to search for specific substances indexed in its hard drive memory. There is no practical limit how many substances it can search for as long as you have the processing power and a big hard drive. At the moment the prototype…if I had actually built a prototype…would be the size of a home heat pump, but with miniaturization and full production, I think I could shrink it to the size of a small microwave, and maybe smaller. And most importantly, no nuisance alarms. All of the current chem-bio sensors that Homeland Security is trying to use are virtually useless. They are feel-good devices to placate the public. They’re unreliable, they take to long to complete an analysis, and they are plagued by nuisance alarms from common materials in the environment. They are also extremely limited in the number of materials they can detect. The airport scanners are worse, but you both already know that.”

  “That’s interesting but you still haven’t explained why they need you,” said Brett. “I do finally understand why they want it so badly.”

  “I did explain. They just don’t have the science. My technology is entirely original. It’s not an improvement of something. It is totally new. They don’t have a clue how to make things work at the subatomic level.”

  “Well I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about either, so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it that they can’t do it without you,” said Brett.

  “If you can actually make this thing Jared, it would change how security is run at airport, subways, train stations, office buildings…shit…anywhere. You would make billions on something like that,” said John. “It could shut down terrorist attacks throughout the world. It could mean the end of terrorism.”

  “A bit dramatic,” said Jared. “And, no one ever believes me when I say this, but…I’m really not doing it for the money. I have as much as I need,” said Jared.

  “Then you’re a noble man, my friend,” said John.

  “That isn’t it either. I’m fascinated by the science in it and I just want to make it work to see that it does work. There’s not much more to my motivation than that. Of course, the money doesn’t hurt either,” said Jared.

  “That’s why I’ve always like you Jared. There’s no bull shit. What you see is what you get,” said John.

  “Speaking of getting, you each get ten percent. That’s the least I can do. You can quit your day job, John, if we can get this cleared up,” said Jared.

  “I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say, other than thanks,” said John.

  “I can’t believe I’m turning down millions but it would be a violation of law practice ethics to accept a gift like that while I am representing you,” said Brett. “I can’t accept it.”

  “Then stop representing me. Or better yet, I’ll fire you right after you get me out of this jam,” said Jared.

  “Jams…it’s a plural,” said Brett. “Don’t forget the plural.”

  “Jams,” said Jared.

  “Jared, I have more bad news, said John. .

  John put his beer on the marble countertop and then picked it up again.

  “This going to leave a ring?”

  “Don’t worry about it. What’s the bad news?” asked Jared.

  “They flew you up in a military transport, didn’t they?”

  “Yes. What of it?”

  “You couldn’t have gone commercial. You’ve been placed on the no-fly list,” said John.

  “That is really, low. There are squeezing every way they can to get you to give up your invention,” said Brett.

  “That’s not it. The backup was classified above my pay grade but it is unmistakable that they have something on you that they think connects you with Al Queada or at least some terrorist organization,” said John.

  “They yanked my security clearance because they claimed I was a dual-national. Wouldn’t that have done it?” asked Jared.

  “That alone wouldn’t put you on the list, Jared. There is something more, much more. Have you been doing any business in the Middle East? Or, maybe ties with radical Muslims in the states?” asked John.

  “Nothing. There isn’t anything like that,” said Jared.

  “How about Mashhadi?” asked Brett. “He’s pretty anti-Semitic.”

  “Hamid’s not a terrorist,” said John. “I did a background on him when Jared first started using him for his patent work. He has a file, but it’s fairly typical of the attitudes of most of the Islamic community. He’s more anti-Israeli than he is anti-Semitic. His sister was killed during the Israeli bombings in Lebanon. He got a little weird after that but it’s understandable.”

  “Jews and Arabs are Semites so it makes little sense for an Arab to be antiSemitic,” said Jared. “Hating Israel, now that’s another story.”

  Jared walked over to the frig and pulled out three more St. Pauli Girls and slid them in front of Brett and John.

  “I’m driving. One beer’s enough,” said John.

  “Coffee then?” asked Jared.

  “Sure.”

  Jared opened the pantry door and took out a bag of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee beans and filled the hopper in the Capresso coffee maker. He poured in water, rotated the coffee pot below the grinder, and pressed the start button. The grinder whirred. They all watched the process in fascination. When the grinding stopped, the coffee pot snapped back to its original position and fresh, perfect coffee began to trickle into the pot.

  “I’ve got to get one of those,” said John.

  Jared’s house phone rang again. He glanced at the caller ID.

  “Hello Dieter. I’m glad you called,” said Jared.

  “Is that Steinmeier?” whispered Brett. Jared nodded yes.

  “Yes, that is correct, but please verify the quantities. I want 62 Dell dual-core processors…whatever the most current and best model is…shipped to Panama City, Hilton Hotel, in care of Ginger Siemels. Is that what you have?” asked Jared. “Yes, exactly. As soon as you can. And can you get them shipped from the UK…great…that’s great….be talking to you. Bye.”

  “What was that all about Jared? Evidently you have legally adopted Ginger without consulting with me,” chortled Brett.

  “Very fu
nny,” retorted Jared.

  “I can’t wait you hear about your wedding night,” interjected John. “I bet you burn up a truckload of monitors.”

  “Seriously, what are you up to?” asked Brett.

  “I’m going to rig up some parallel processing and significantly enhance Ginger’s programming. Consider it her evolutionary development. I think she can be so much more than an AI animation. She’s capable of doing some serious science,” said Jared. “Why Panama City?” asked Brett.

  “You should know why. I don’t want any more federal interference with my inventions and patents,” said Jared.

  “So you think she has some commercial value?” asked Brett.

  “It’s not about making money,” said Jared.

  “OK. New subject. Let’s recap. You are about to be indicted for first-degree murder. The government is stealing your patent. You can’t fly. Your house burned down. The cops found dead bodies all over your island. There still could be charges from that. It can’t get much worse than this, Jared. At least people are no longer trying to kill you. Thank God for little favors,” said Brett.

  “I’m not certain that people aren’t going to try to kill me,” said Jared.

  “I thought you said that this Colombian…Rubio…promised to lay off. Maybe you should have taken care of him when you had the chance,” said John.

  “Rubio will keep his promise. I’m sure of that,” said Jared.

  “So you think that Reisinger and Anderson are going to get someone to replace the Colombian.” asked John.

  “They’re certainly behind it but the muscle is being provided by the Russians, either Penkovskiy or Zhidov, but my guess is Zhidov,” said Jared.

  “We’ve already discussed this. If the conspiracy goes above Reisinger and Anderson, you should consider leaving the country,” said John.