Stolen Thoughts

by Tim Tigner

  “Today, their system would be more difficult, because figuring out how to funnel the data back into a brain is another nut to crack. But back in the late 1990s, which is when they appear to have made the discovery, that may have been easier than thought-to-text or thought-to-voice, because the software and electronics I’m using weren’t invented yet. Plus, it’s the more intuitive approach. I only sought to go the thought-to-text route because I was already using voice-to-text.”

  “I don’t get it,” Chewie said. “Whenever their system is turned on and focused, they have a second voice in their heads?”

  “Yes,” Vicky said, nodding along. “That would take a bit of getting used to, but it would not be that big a deal. Consider your ability to focus on different voices in a crowded room. Or the way bilingual people can switch languages. Our brains are wired to sort and shift focus between sensory inputs.”

  “So getting back to my initial question,” Chase said. “Do you think the mental-EMP solution is a possibility?”

  “It isn’t an option if they’re doing what I’m doing. But it might be if they’re going direct, brain-to-brain rather than brain-to-device.”

  “Might be?” Chase pressed.

  “I’d need to experiment. First to find out if it’s possible to selectively destroy the required cells, and then to develop a weapon, if that’s what you’d call it.”

  “That sounds like your next move,” Chewie said.

  “Wait a minute,” Chase said, visibly deflating. “What would be the point if they could just switch to Vicky’s system?”

  Vicky had already considered that. “They can’t switch to it if they don’t know about it. Their natural assumption will be that I’m doing what they did. We just need to keep my method concealed.”

  “But they’ve surely seen you with your phone,” Skylar pressed.

  “They’ve seen a deaf person using voice-to-text—for as long as they’ve been watching me. Nothing changed when I cracked the mind-reading code, except for adding the glasses, which is what they were looking for.”

  Chase nodded along. “What we need to worry about is their reading the solution in our minds.”

  “Good point,” Chewie said.

  “How long will the experiments take?” Chase asked.

  “Knowing what I already know, and given the right biological supplies and equipment and perhaps a bit of luck, I think I could figure it out in a day or two.”

  “That’s fantastic!” Chewie said. “What a great brainstorming session. We figured out how to save your life and the planet without shedding blood.”

  Skylar also looked pleased, but Chase’s expression told Vicky he knew what was coming. She cleared her throat. “There is one hitch.”

  All eyes turned back to her.

  “The only place that has what I need for the experiments is my lab at Caltech. To create an EMP, I need to go home.”

  40

  The Missions

  CHEWIE FELT WHIPLASHED from the hard right turn their brainstorming session had taken. One second, Team Vicky was discussing how to outflank the attorneys; the next, his fiancée was talking about walking into the crosshairs of their assassin. “You can’t go back to your lab, Vic. That’s the one place they’re certain to be watching for you.”

  “No doubt,” Skylar said. “Surely you have friends at other universities who would let you use their labs?”

  Vicky shook her head. “The equipment I used isn’t like a laser printer. You can’t just plug it in. It’s custom configured and calibrated. To construct my setup, I’d have to tear theirs down.”

  “Only if it’s in use,” Chewie pressed. “You could phone around, hope to get lucky.”

  “Phoning around to colleagues is another easily anticipatable move,” Chase said. “If they’re watching her lab, they’re likely watching her peers too.”

  “It’s not just hardware that I need,” Vicky said. “There’s software and tissue samples and notebooks. As you might imagine, these are very sophisticated, complex, and precise operations we’re talking about. Trust me, my lab is the only option.”

  Chewie’s heart was sinking as his mind snagged on something Chase had just said. “Why did you say ‘if they’re watching her lab’? Isn’t that guaranteed?”

  Chase refilled his coffee before replying. This was quite the breakfast meeting. “Surveillance is a major undertaking. Especially the long-term type that applies here, given that Vicky has been gone for months.

  “To provide 24-hour coverage would require a minimum of three people. And where would you put them? That’s a long time for a van to be parked across from your lab. Plus, we’re talking about a law firm, not the LAPD or the FBI. Lawyers aren’t going to be equipped for this. We’re likely just up against one guy—given the way bounty hunters and private investigators operate. And remember,” Chase added, raising a finger. “They’re trying to keep the situation super-secret. Plus there’s no real urgency. Cassandra isn’t performing, so you’re not an active threat.”

  “You think it’s safe?” Vicky asked.

  “No, I don’t. They’d hire the best guy they could find, which is likely the best guy in the world, given all their wealth and connections. Someone like that would almost certainly put electronic surveillance in place. If I were their guy, I’d covertly enter your lab and install one of those off-the-shelf home security systems that sends an alert with video whenever motion is detected.”

  “Where would the alert go?” Chewie asked.

  “To the assassin’s phone.”

  “And he could be anywhere in the world, right?” Vicky asked. “I mean, they’re from New York. I bought a ticket from Las Vegas to Buenos Aires via Miami. What are the odds that the assassin will be in Southern California?”

  “Low,” Chase concurred. “But not risk-your-life low.”

  Chewie didn’t need mind reading to see his fiancée hatching a plan. That worried him. Her safety wasn’t just his concern, it was his responsibility.

  He had failed to protect her in Reno, and he would bear the shame of that night till the day he died. And that was before they got engaged. Before they’d even become romantically involved. Now, well, Chewie just couldn’t live with himself if he let anything happen to her.

  Vicky pressed on. “We could go in the evening and I could work through the night. I’ll order the supplies I need in advance. Have them delivered to a nearby hotel. I’ll be in and out before he can react—assuming he did as Chase suggested with the security monitor. Not everyone’s that savvy. I’d probably have gone to the neighbors under false pretenses and paid them to alert me of any activity—which they’d be unlikely to notice after midnight.”

  “Sounds too risky,” Chase said. “Why risk your life to save theirs, when they put you in this position to begin with? Especially when we don’t know if the EMP idea will work.”

  “I agree,” Skylar said. “Bullets are proven. I know that sounds harsh, but take it from someone who’s been on the receiving end of an evil plan. It’s better to err on the side of caution.”

  Skylar had hinted that she’d been assaulted during the conspiracy that united her with Chase, but she’d never gone into detail.

  Vicky said, “I have been assaulted. They sent an assassin for me.”

  Skylar shook her head. “I don’t mean to diminish that experience. But to use an analogy, narrowly avoiding a car crash isn’t the same thing as being in one.”

  “What happened to you, back then?” Chewie asked.

  Skylar turned his way. “I don’t want to give you nightmares. Mine are enough for all of us. Trust me when I say that nothing shreds a person’s pacifist tendencies like barely surviving a deadly and devious assault.”

  “I believe you,” Vicky said. “But I’m not there and I hope never to be. No offense.”

  “I understand,” Skylar said somberly.

  “I just don’t want to come out of this scarred beyond recognition,” Vicky continued.

  �
�I get it,” Skylar said. “I felt exactly the same way. Ask Chase. We discussed it at length back then. But remember, it’s not just your life that you’re putting at risk. These people wear suits and go to society functions, but they’re essentially serial killers. We saw Scarlett Slate deny justice to a grieving couple who lost their daughter. Just one of a thousand such instances, I’m sure.”

  Chewie saw that Vicky was stirred but not moved. She said, “We’ll take precautions. Don’t they make bulletproof clothing for celebrities? We can wear that, just in case.”

  “When you say we, who are you including?” Skylar asked, putting her arm around Chase’s shoulders.

  “Myself and my fiancée.”

  Chewie felt a warm and most-welcome jolt surge through his body. Like Skylar, he had been assuming that Vicky was referencing Chase. But she’d picked him. She’d picked him! Trusted him—over Chase—with her life.

  A swell of manly pride overtook Chewie and he rode it like a surfer on a perfect wave. He’d never loved anyone more than he loved Vicky at that moment.

  “I should go with you to Pasadena,” Chase said. “It’s a question of experience, not competence. I know what to look for and how to avoid or counteract it.”

  Vicky crossed her arms. “I won’t hear of it. That’s not fair to your wife, and there’s no need. Chewie’s perfectly capable of looking after me.”

  “I have no doubt that he is—under normal circumstances. But we’re talking about evading a professional assassin.”

  “Which we’re doing by going in after dark and getting out before dawn.”

  “It’s not that simple. Why don’t we all go?”

  “Actually, I was hoping that when Chewie and I go to California, you’d go to New York.”

  “For what purpose?” Chase asked, although he appeared to know exactly what Vicky had in mind.

  “To do the one thing that I, with my familiar face, and Chewie, with his distinctive features, can’t do. I’m hoping that you and Skylar will spy on the partners of Resseque Rogers Sackler & Slate. Identify their weaknesses, learn their habits, and devise a plan we can use to interrogate them.”

  41

  Tripwires

  New York City

  THE PARTNERS of Resseque Rogers Sackler & Slate all worked similar hours. Similar, but not identical. Each had his or her own morning or evening rituals, be it exercise, caffeination, quiet solitude, or socializing. Therefore, it was unusual for more than two partners to ride the apartment elevator down together in the morning.

  Scarlett had been mildly surprised to see Colton exiting his apartment as she opened her door, and more so when the elevator stopped on eleven to allow both Sackler and Rogers to board as well. That made for a tighter ride than the bodyguards would usually allow, with eight passengers total, but her guy and Colton’s stepped aside to let the others aboard before closing ranks to create a wall of muscle. An eight-foot phalanx, in sunglasses and black suits.

  Sackler glanced around thoughtfully then shot an arm past his bodyguard to hit a button, “Let’s stop on ten to get an update from Trent while we’re all together.”

  Walter Sackler, Scarlett’s partner in criminal law, was the worrywart of the group. The glass-half-empty, it’s-going-to-rain-soon guy. While his pessimism could be bothersome, he’d saved them from numerous blunders over the years, and Scarlett was grateful to have him on the team. Balance was a wonderful thing.

  They walked into Trent’s apartment to find him sprinting on a treadmill positioned before an open window overlooking Central Park. He was by far the fittest of the five, given that he hadn’t spent the last twenty years behind a desk. When they’d formed the partnership, Scarlett had thought Trent was getting the short end of the stick, given that he’d have to remain in the shadows while they garnered fame and glory. In retrospect, she realized that he’d gotten the better deal.

  Trent didn’t stop or even slow his run as they entered. “Morning. What’s up?”

  “We happened to be riding down together and decided to stop in for an investigation update,” Sackler said.

  “That won’t take long. I’ve got nothing to report on either front. Fredo hasn’t caught Cassandra’s scent yet, and none of my overseas guys have anything definitive on Pascal’s secret new venture.”

  “What do they have that’s not definitive?” Colton asked.

  “Well, there’s the rub. All the big tech firms have secret skunkworks operations, many of which are operating blind. That is, they don’t know who’s really paying their bills, and they know not to ask. The idea being to further insulate them from exactly this kind of corporate espionage.”

  “So your guys have found operations, just not ones they can link to Pascal or the name LEXI?”

  “Exactly.”

  “How many, and where?”

  “Dozens in China, India, and Southeast Asia. Dozens in Europe, both Eastern and Western. Half a dozen each in the Middle East, Australia, and South America.” Trent was speaking normally, despite maintaining a pace beyond Scarlett’s reach. She knew that he often multitasked that way, running while talking on the phone, and promised herself to do more of the same.

  “So they’re going to prioritize and dive deeper?” Colton asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “What’s the timeline?”

  “Unpredictable. When they find it, they find it. Could be in five minutes or five months.”

  “And the only way to speed things up is to throw more people at it?”

  “Correct.”

  Colton looked around before answering. “We can’t risk it. The operation might backfire.”

  Everyone nodded. If Pascal discovered that they were looking for leverage to increase their ownership percentage, he might cut it in retaliation. They were hooked and he’d be offended that they’d spurned his generous fifty-fifty split.

  “Let’s return to the Fredo discussion,” Sackler suggested. “What has he discovered?”

  “Vicky Pixler drained her bank account and has likely been living off that cash. She’s completely off the grid. Given her clean escape and the fact that she’s doing nothing electronically traceable, Fredo has been putting tripwires in place.”

  “Tripwires?” Sackler asked.

  “When you can’t follow someone, your next best move is to anticipate where they will be going. In this case, rather than stringing wires across jungle paths, Fredo is putting electronic detectors in the virtual and physical locations Pixler is most likely to visit, hoping to discover her whereabouts.”

  “Virtual and physical?”

  “If she visits certain places or uses her passport or a credit card, he’ll immediately get an alert with the details.”

  “That’s it?” Sackler said, his tone expressing the disappointment Scarlett also felt. “She’s in hiding, living off cash. She knows to avoid all that.”

  Trent didn’t flinch. “Cash runs out and people get lazy, desperate, or bored. Don’t underestimate those factors.”

  “Tripwires trip everyone who doesn’t know to step around them,” Colton said. “How is he making them specific to Pixler? I assume he doesn’t fly to Pasadena every time the mailman visits her house.”

  “Fredo installed video surveillance systems with sophisticated facial recognition software. They’re programmed to look for her. When one goes off, he gets the picture on his phone.”

  Colton nodded, satisfied. “Where did he install those sophisticated systems of his?”

  “He’s got one in Pasadena, and another in Las Vegas.”

  “Makes sense. But there’s one more I’d like him to add.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “In the lobby of our office building.”

  Colton’s words hit Scarlett like a block of ice. “Won’t that tip him off to our identities? I really don’t want him learning who we are. I’ll get nightmares if he knows my face.”

  “No worries,” Colton said. “Hundreds of people work in our building and thousa
nds come and go every day. There’s anonymity in those numbers.”

  “So the building lobby, but not our office or our apartment building?” Sackler clarified.

  “Exactly.”

  Scarlett wasn’t satisfied. “I get the logic, but not the reason. Why risk drawing Fredo’s attention to our office building?”

  Trent stopped running and wiped his brow. “In case Vicky Pixler gets sick of hiding and comes for us.”

  42

  Oversight

  Pasadena, California

  THE GLASS CUTTER slipped from his grasp and fell fifteen feet to the ground as Chewie balanced atop the long ladder. Fortunately, he was finished cutting. As he palmed the small mallet that had come from the same Pasadena hardware store, Chewie reflected that he had never broken into a house before. Then again, his time with Vicky was characterized by unique experiences. Bizarre experiences. Mind-bending, eye-opening, horizon-expanding experiences.

  He loved it.

  He loved her.

  The months he’d spent beside Vicky had been the best of his life.

  And they were just beginning.

  If he didn’t screw up.

  Chewie had taken Chase’s guidance and tutelage very seriously. Deadly seriously. Including the admonition to avoid the front and back doors of her house, and even the ground floor. Fortunately, they could accomplish that by entering on the second floor and taking the elevator directly to the basement laboratory.

  Chewie had hoped to find one of the second-floor windows unlocked, but none were. Then he’d hoped to rock one of them off its latch, but all the fittings were too tight. So now he was attempting option three: punching out a hole in the corner that was large enough to fit his arm.

  “Here goes,” he said, drawing back the mallet.

  “Wait! I forgot to disarm the alarm.” Vicky whipped out her phone and performed the operation while Chewie’s stomach did a cartwheel.