Fyfe paused. From the expressions on the faces of his prisoners, he could sense they were actually conceding the truth of some of what he was saying. This surprised him greatly.
“You’re like a sprinter who will sprint forward forever,” he continued, “just for the exhilaration of the sprint. Sprint until your heart explodes or you hit a mine—because you can’t stop. And you don’t have any real idea where you’re going. True believers shun modern technology. Because we don’t want to poison our true natures with secular toys. The human psyche isn’t built for these so-called advances, even as you crave them. Consider experiences like playing a game of chess on the beach, or walking in the woods with a friend, discussing philosophy. Contrast this with rushing around like headless chickens juggling multiple electronic gadgets at once. Multitasking far beyond the human ability to multitask. Are you happier under this scenario, or more stressed out? Is technology truly indispensable, truly the source of happiness? Or is getting back to your human, spiritual roots the key?”
Given the oratorical skills Fyfe had demonstrated at the press conference, Altschuler wasn’t surprised he could be so persuasive, even in defending the indefensible. “You do make some good points,” he acknowledged. “When put in this way, a return to a simpler life does sound alluring. But you’re also romanticizing these times. Before technology, man had a short, brutish existence. Ravaged by lack of access to clean water, by disease, and by a complete lack of sanitation. Surrounded by an ever-growing accumulation of human waste. Days were filled with heavy burdens, boredom, and drudgery.”
“I’m not suggesting we set the clock back to zero,” said Fyfe.
He opened his mouth to offer additional arguments but then closed it again. He could debate this for hours. But what was the point?
“It’s time to change the subject,” said Fyfe. “I’ve wasted too much time on this already.”
“So will you now tell us what we’ve been missing?” said Heather.
Fyfe sighed. “Just remember that you asked for this,” he said. “And that you were too blind to see it.”
He paused. “Consider the implant technology. And surfing the web with your thoughts. You’ve managed to see every possible problem with this but the most obvious. You see issues with privacy and with addiction. And naturally, the decadent Western mindset sees everything through the prism of pornography and sex.” He shook his head in contempt and disbelief. “But do you know what you don’t think twice about? Letting someone stick a device in your brain! One that can hit visual and auditory neurons. Not to mention other vital real estate. Even after you learned I’m a jihadist, you still couldn’t see it.”
Fyfe noted that Hall’s expression didn’t change. The mind reader knew full well what he was getting at. But Hall’s two companions suddenly looked ill as the obvious finally hit them like a kick to the gut.
“I’ll be the CEO of the company that will have the monopoly on implants,” continued Fyfe. “Not everyone in the West will want them immediately. But enough will. The rich and powerful will get them first. It’ll be too big of a disadvantage for them to be left out. But soon the masses will follow suit. Before long, the technology will be hungrily adopted by all the peoples of the world.” He raised his eyebrows. “With the exception of devout Muslims, of course.”
His features hardened and a chilling intensity came over him. “And I’ll control the product and its production,” he whispered. “Think about it! Millions and billions of Westerners willingly sticking something in their heads. Something that I control. If you can implant a power cell that runs on glucose, why can’t you implant one that can be triggered to release trace amounts of botulism? A toxin so potent that a single kilogram could kill every man, woman, and child on earth.”
He let this chilling thought hang for a moment and then continued. “But this would be crass and inelegant. The possibilities to wreak havoc are endless. I’ll have backdoor access to the brains of massive numbers of people. You think the Internet has unleashed some bad computer viruses? Wait until you see what I can unleash. Inside your brains. I can send instructions to the system to blind everyone who has implants. Or instead of having the implants stimulate neurons in the visual cortex, I can have them hit the pain centers of the brain on my command. Or even worse,” he added with a malicious gleam in his eye. “I can have them hit the pleasure centers.”
Fyfe could tell from the puzzled expressions of his male guests that only Heather, who looked properly horrified, realized the full implications of this last.
“Heather,” he said. “Why don’t you tell your friends about the Olds and Milner experiments. I can tell by your reaction you’re familiar with them.”
Heather swallowed hard, but didn’t reply.
“Don’t be shy,” he said, gesturing toward Heather with his right hand. “Please. Enlighten your friends.”
When she didn’t immediately begin, he shot her a look of such pure, distilled menace that her breath caught in her throat. “I won’t ask you again,” he said.
Heather scowled but did as he asked. “In the 1950s,” she began, “James Olds and Peter Milner implanted electrodes in rats. In the nucleus accumbens. Which has also been called the pleasure center of the brain. This region plays a role in sexual arousal and the high people get from certain drugs. In later versions of this experiment, rats could cause this region to be stimulated by pressing down on a lever.” She shuddered involuntarily. “Turns out the rats would repeatedly hit the lever, as many as seven hundred times an hour, ignoring food and water. Until they died from exhaustion.”
Fyfe smiled humorlessly. “A perfect metaphor for the West, wouldn’t you say? Only your lever brings technology. When will you get enough? Fewer and fewer of you read anymore. More and more engage in an endless orgy of promiscuity and sexual deviation. The four of you in this house were on the eve of a technological revolution, and yet you copulated last night, out of wedlock, like worthless, filthy animals in heat. Pushing the orgasm lever as often as you could. Your society is already soulless, mindless, and purposeless. No time for reflection into the mind of Allah. You already want to activate your lever over and over, ignoring all else, until your deaths.” He shrugged. “So why not allow my technology to activate your pleasure centers more directly? Give you what you want.”
Altschuler looked as though he was choking back vomit. “You’re right,” he said after several hard swallows. “We missed the obvious. We looked only at the dangers of the technology itself. We didn’t consider the greater danger of others actively trying to turn it into a weapon.”
“And now it’s too late,” said Fyfe. “As of this morning, the train has left the station. But I intend to be patient. Not show my hand. Westerners won’t view the implants as blasphemous. They won’t see they’re making themselves impure. At the same time, my fellow true believers will shun this technology as they shun other false gods. Meanwhile, I’ll be worshiped by the West, as a god, for giving them the toys they crave. I’ll funnel the billions I earn back into other jihadist causes. And then, when implants are as pervasive as cell phones, I’ll bring the West to its knees with a single blow.”
Fyfe enjoyed the looks of total horror on the faces of his guests. Hall had been right. It was good to share, after all.
“As should be obvious,” he continued, “Kelvin Gray didn’t come up with the idea for this project. I did. I was lucky to find a brilliant psychopath like Gray I could convince to perfect the technology, while I played the role of muscle, hiring an army of mercenaries. And I was able to plant these seeds in such a way that Gray thought the idea was his. I set him on the slippery slope and let gravity take care of the rest. He was blind to my end game.”
“What was your original end game?” said Altschuler.
“Nick, you’ve been quiet for a while,” said Fyfe. “Why don’t you tell him.”
Hall didn’t respond for several seconds, as though the question didn’t quite register, but he finally nodded. “Hi
s plan was to wait for Gray to perfect the technology in his human guinea pigs,” he said. “Then, knowing they had already tripped all the landmines—not caring how many people died in the process—they would conduct FDA trials with all the care in the world. Zeroing in on the perfect recipe on the first try. Flying through the trials with an immaculate safety record. When it became approved, Kelvin Gray would at some point have an accident, and Fyfe, being the majority shareholder, would vote himself CEO.”
“So what caused you to change this plan?” Heather asked Fyfe.
This time Fyfe decided to answer for himself. “When Nick escaped, we had no idea the implants were working for web surfing. He lied to Gray and said they had failed. And we had no idea about his ESP. Which I have no interest in, by the way, since this is blasphemous and would be just as destructive to Muslims as Westerners.” He shook his head. “But even when I discovered his implants were working, I still wanted to stick with the original plan. I didn’t want to create the controversy I’ve now created. I wanted to avoid any hint of taint. Even if it took an extra year or two to get the technology out.”
“Again,” said Heather. “What changed?”
“What changed is that Nick was too good. Too elusive. I became unsure that I could kill him. And if he regained his memory, he could ruin everything. But I realized I could lure him in if I sacrificed Gray a bit earlier than planned. So I played the whistleblower and hero with Alex, and set Gray up. I played both ends against the middle. As Delamater, I warned Kelvin Gray there was a man named Ed Cowan working with Alex, but that I had him in my sights. My brother, of course, was never in the sights of John Delamater. He faked a few injuries, made up a story about using martial arts to defeat Delamater’s man, and knocked on Gray’s door. He shot Gray in such a way that Alex was sure to buy everything—especially that I was one of the good guys.”
Altschuler nodded. “And you counted on me to realize we could contact Nick Hall through a backdoor Gray had set up.”
“Exactly. If you hadn’t suggested it, I would have. With Gray still alive, there was no way we could lure Nick in, regardless of an ability to message him. Not when he could read minds. But with Gray sacrificed and you pure as the driven snow, I knew Nick would read your mind and trust you implicitly. Read for himself that you were on the side of the angels. Working to right the wrongs committed by your boss. Then he would have no fear of coming in. Once he did, and was actually under my control, as Cameron Fyfe, I figured he could help us legitimize the press conference. Demonstrate the technology. Add to the story.”
“And then you could kill me at your leisure,” said Hall in disgust.
“I only wish I could have used you as my pawn for a longer period of time, but your mind reading was a real problem.”
“You were going to promote Alex to CEO at first,” said Heather. “Was that garbage from the beginning?”
“No. I wanted to stay out of the limelight as long as possible. Especially during the fallout over Gray’s experiments. I’d wait a few years until the company’s reputation had improved, let Alex weather that storm, and then see to it he had the accident I had planned for Gray.”
Fyfe paused. “But the emergence of this colonel who kidnapped Nick, and tried to kidnap Alex, was unexpected. And I really didn’t want this kind of variable in the equation if Alex became CEO. So I decided to take the CEO role from the start.” He shrugged. “This wasn’t the way I planned it. I wanted the Explorer crew forever thought to be at the bottom of the ocean, and for the world never to know about Gray’s experiments. But this way does have some advantages. I’m now seen as a whistleblower and hero. Nick did a great job of demonstrating the appeal of the technology. And the sympathy we’ll get when it’s discovered that Nick has been killed will be a big positive as well.”
“Without Nick,” said Altschuler. “Everyone will think his video was a hoax.”
“Let them. They’ll see otherwise soon enough.”
Fyfe glanced at his watch. He had planned to wait to kill them until his brother had returned. But he had waited long enough already, and it was time to begin preparing the house to burn.
“Checking your watch?” said Hall with a sneer. “What’s the matter, asshole? Wondering why your brother isn’t back yet?”
Fyfe met Hall’s withering stare. What was that supposed to mean? Was Hall just showing off his mind reading abilities further? Or did Hall really know something that he didn’t?
“Well, I have some bad news for you, Hassan,” spat Hall, emphasizing his name bitterly. “I’m afraid that your brother’s been a bit delayed.”
56
Fyfe raised his gun and pointed it at Hall’s forehead, ignoring the two weapons he had confiscated that were sitting on the workbench beside him. “Are you trying to be cute, or do you actually know something?”
Fyfe paused in thought for a moment and then pointed his gun at Heather instead. “If you haven’t convinced me you know something in three seconds, I take out Heather’s kneecap,” he said.
Hall read that he had decided threatening to maim Heather was a better strategy than threatening to kill him, since he had promised to end Hall’s life anyway.
Nick Hall smiled pleasantly. “No need to threaten,” he said. “I’m more than happy to tell you what I know. Your brother was captured. By Megan Emerson. About thirty minutes ago. She had a few . . . preparations . . . to make, but she’ll be calling in a few minutes to arrange for a trade.”
“Impossible! She could never find him. And even if she did, she could never capture him. Besides, she’s long gone. You’ve chosen a poor bluff.”
Hall shook his head. “I may not be a grandmaster at chess,” he said, “but you’ve done a great job teaching me to be paranoid this past week. I knew I was in over my head. You see, you’re very good. So good, I knew it would be dangerous to underestimate you. I couldn’t see how you could turn the tables like you have, but I still thought it would be good to have one last ace in the hole.” He raised his eyebrows. “Just in case.”
Hall almost smiled from the shocked expressions on the faces of his two friends, who were just as confused as Fyfe.
“Turns out I can’t read Megan Emerson. I don’t know why. Everyone wonders how she can stand being in a romantic relationship with a mind reader. Well, now you know. She isn’t. But while I can’t read her mind, we are able to communicate telepathically. That’s how I was able to escape Girdler. So it occurred to me it might be nice to have her as a fail-safe. She can be very effective. And she’s saved my ass before.”
Hall could tell Fyfe’s mind was racing, trying to assimilate this new information. “So her letter to you was faked?” he said.
“That’s right. We discussed our plan at length telepathically. Yet another way to have a discussion without fear of eavesdroppers. We decided she would take the guns she confiscated from Girdler’s man and leave. Buy a cheap car with my poker winnings and stay within our telepathic range. Just in case Alex and I had miscalculated. But we had never told Alex or Heather about our telepathy. Until we felt entirely safe, Megan and I decided to keep this to ourselves. And we wanted their reaction when they thought she had left me to be as genuine as possible.”
“I’ll be damned,” mumbled Altschuler. “And that’s why you had me read the letter out loud. And why you confronted Trout about failing to stop her. Just to be positive you would get the attention of those listening to the bugs. So Fyfe would think she was long gone and not factor her in.”
“Exactly,” said Hall. He had tried to force himself to cry but hadn’t quite succeeded. He had no idea how certain actors could cry on command, but this was a very impressive feat.
“So Megan didn’t sneak out on me,” continued Hall. “I helped her leave. I read the security password from Trout’s mind, and used this and my Internet connection to reprogram Tanya. Trout was furious the PDA didn’t alert him that Megan was leaving. I thought the way I confronted him on this was great theater, if I do say so
myself. Although, to be fair, Trout didn’t know it was an act.”
“Well played,” said Fyfe. “But there is no way that waif of an untrained civilian captured Rashid,” he insisted. “You’re still bluffing.”
Hall found it odd to think of Ed Cowan as a man named Rashid. His name was Ed, and he came across as the consummate American. And if Hall had been told the name Cameron Fyfe was an alias, he would have believed the man’s real name was John Delamater long before he believed it was Hassan Ahmed Abdullah. Which was entirely the point, he realized.
“Without my help, you’d be right,” said Hall. “But it was easy for me to direct Megan to your brother once he got within range. I knew from reading him he was going to fill up his gas tank. So I had her wait until then. She pretended to fill up as well, spotted him, and acted excited to see him. I read his mind. He was excited to see her too. It saved him the trouble of hunting her down and killing her later. He wasn’t the slightest bit suspicious.”
Hall shook his head condescendingly. “You’d think he might have considered just how coincidental it was to run into her. But he didn’t, not even for a moment. She asked him to get in the used car she’d just bought so she could drive behind the station, where it was more private. She said she wanted to show him something very important. Then, when I assured her his guard was down, she shot him with a tranquilizer dart. As simple as that.”
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