I, Human

by John Nelson

  “Nothing yet. Tell Agent Musgrave that we’ll be back at it in the morning,” I said.

  “And I don’t need to remind you of the confidentiality of this inquiry?”

  “Thanks for reminding us, dear,” Beatrice said sarcastically as we walked out.

  As I headed for the underground, I check my messages—all outside communication was banned, given our access to highly sensitive materials—and learned that Sherry would be late and asked that I fix dinner for myself. She said that she tried calling me at the office but nobody knew where I was. After Saturday’s tryst with Emma, my level of sexual interest was low this week, and Sherry might have sensed that and suspected something. This was only the third time I had been unfaithful, but while our contract did not forbid outside liaisons, we had agreed to keep each other informed. I didn’t consider an afternoon tryst as a liaison, but that was a matter of interpretation.

  I was in bed by the time Sherry came home. She knocked on my bedroom door.

  “Come in.”

  “Getting to bed early?” she asked.

  “Yeah, got a long day ahead of me tomorrow?”

  “At the office?” she asked tentatively.

  I didn’t overreact, given my recent indiscretion. “I’ve been assigned to a separate task force this week, and am operating out of our satellite office.”

  “Oh, and they don’t forward your emails?”

  “No. All outside communication was closed down.”

  “Is that where you were Saturday?”

  I paused. “Yes.”

  “Well, you certainly seemed preoccupied when you came home, and yesterday …”

  “What’s bothering you, Sherry?” I asked.

  “You don’t seem very happy with me these days, and I was just thinking that if you want out of our contract …”

  “I don’t; I’m just, as you said, preoccupied and not happy about going out into the field again.”

  She nodded her head and smiled. “Can I sleep with you tonight? No sex, just cuddling?”

  This was so unlike my wife, but I could sense her vulnerability and it was very appealing. “Yes, of course.” Well, she quickly changed into a new black negligee; she must’ve gone out shopping, which was endearing. I held her in my arms as we drifted off to sleep and I really liked the intimacy of our sleeping together. I had to again wonder if her intuitive side, which in most moderns was repressed, was indeed active and sensing that I had committed an indiscretion. Maybe there was hope for us as a techno subspecies after all, and for our marriage. Halfway through the night, Sherry kissed me on cheek and went back to her own room.

  When I woke up in the morning, still in a semiconscious state, I rolled over onto Sherry’s pillow, hugged it, and got a good whiff of her hair scent. I suddenly realized that she had gone to a hairdresser the night before, and then, instinctively, I sensed from the deeper recesses of my unconscious mind that Barbara Kohn’s hair did have something to do with this leak.

  When I got to the basement office, Beatrice was already there looking at more footage. “Sorry, didn’t want to wait, given everything we’ve got to go through.”

  “Bea, do we have a list of the leaks and some kind of timeline?”

  She did a search through all the mounts of electronic data and found such a list. “Okay, what about a list of Barbara Kohn’s hairdresser appointments?”

  Beatrice laughed. “You’re kidding me.”

  “No. Can’t explain my reasoning. I just know her continued hair maintenance has something to do with this breach,” I said.

  Beatrice quickly scanned the download of data from her neural processor but couldn’t find any such list. She shook her head. “We don’t have it.”

  “Okay, let’s gather all the information about her hairdresser and look at any footage we may have on them.”

  The guy turned out to be Chinese-American, his family here for several generations, and he and everybody in his shop were vetted. I thought about my hunch, and it was looking less and less promising. “Well, I’m going to call Musgrave and get that appointment list; you don’t have to go along with me on this.”

  “And get cut out of the credit afterward,” Beatrice said. “No way.”

  Musgrave wasn’t impressed with our request, but said he’d get it to us shortly. He called back as the list popped up on our main vid screen and its correlation to the timing of the leaks. He was considerably less annoyed since there was a connection. “So, what’s this about?”

  I winged it. “Well, it appears we have two unimpeachable individuals that have been compromised. I assume the house, the office, and the car are electronically secure, but not the bedroom?”

  “Our net would pick up any active devices from anybody going in and out of that house,” Musgrave said, looking doubtful.

  “There are neural implants that are inactive but can have timers. It seems that the only outside electronic device coming in contact with either of them, from what I gather, is the hair dryer at Mrs. Kohn’s hairdresser. I suspect some incredibly sophisticated technology was employed, to implant a sliver device that reads her husband’s neural processor while they sleep and downloads it at each appointment.” I paused, and then added. “I assume they sleep together like many older couples.”

  Musgrave just stared at me for a long moment. “Certainly, an … original idea. Let me run this by Tech and I’ll get back to you.”

  After he broke the com link, Beatrice looked at me in amazement. “Where did you get that?”

  “Well, I suspect the hairdresser and that’s my best reasoning for how they could do it.”

  “Boy. Talk about hanging your … our asses out there.”

  I just shrugged my shoulders again.

  “So, what do we do? Just wait for the guys in white jackets to pick us up?” she asked.

  After our lunch break, Gene came down to the operation’s room. He looked pleased, so we were both relieved. “Well, appears Alan’s cockeyed idea passed the tech muster, and so they raided the hairdresser, his house, and all of his family. Found the hairdryer with the device in his brother-in-law’s shed. Mrs. Kohn is having a medical checkup this afternoon to remove the implant.”

  Beatrice started laughing so hard that we had to wait for her to recover. “Gene, it was all Alan.”

  Gene stared at me. “Okay, you got to tell how you figured this out, since I have to write a report that makes sense.”

  I shook my head. “I woke up this morning and smelled the lotion from my wife’s hairdo and some part of me figured out that it was the hairdresser.”

  Gene put his hands to his face. “I can’t put that in a report.”

  “Just put what Alan told Musgrave; it sounded, if not reasonable, at least possible. I’ll write it up for you.”

  “Well, you’re both getting a bonus out of this one. Don’t spend it in one place.”

  “I think I’ll buy my wife something nice,” I said almost to myself.

  Chapter Three

  7.

  The only other person who might have access to personnel files, besides Dr. Klaus and Gene, who I wasn’t about to compromise, was Bart Caruthers. It was obvious that he was an IA plant, looking for compromised workers or those susceptible to being turned. I also knew from his stint in our office that he was single and had dark sexual proclivities, or his off-colored jokes suggested as much, and he might frequent places like the Kitty Kat club. The approach was that, since I was going into the field with a cover wife, which would require intimate contact, I wanted to be sure I was placed with someone that would make this more pleasant. If he informed on me, this was rather an innocuous inquiry that shouldn’t have any major repercussions. Of course, if he caught on to my inquiry about Emma and I was followed to a rendezvous with her, that would be more serious and could cost me my job.

  Gene told me that Bart had been transferred to the group that specialized in foreign operatives on North American soil. This was perfect since last week’s assignment and
its exposure of an Asian spy ring should have given me credibility with their division. It was located across the street, in the building that housed human resources, which I had a good reason to visit, given my possible deployment. I made an appointment to talk with a counselor about my assignment and my reservations. It had been scheduled for 4:00 so that I would be heading out of the building at 5:00. Bart was notorious for being punctual on both sides of his workday. He wasn’t in the lobby so I window-shopped for a minute, then I spotted him exiting an elevator and walking outside.

  I caught up to him as we both left the building and headed up the street. “Bart, how’s it going?”

  He turned my way. “Alan Reynard, as I live and breathe. Your name came up this week. We’ve been talking about your call on the Asian spy ring.”

  “Oh, really. Yeah, that was out there.”

  “I’d say. Care to talk about it over coffee?” he asked.

  “Sure. This falls into your area?”

  “Yeah. Working on foreign operatives, so I’m interested in how you figured it out.”

  At the corner, we crossed the street and headed for Maxi’s. We took a booth in the back, away from the main bar and quieter. The waitress took our order, or I should say took mine and asked if Bart wanted his regular: a low-fat Latte.

  After she left, I started up the conversation. “So, how do you like working the foreign desk?”

  “Easier. The operatives are mostly on assignments, and so there’s usually more logic to their operation. No Dr. Quirks wanting others ‘to see God.’”

  I laughed. This would be a better fit for somebody like Bart, whatever his assignment, who was mostly mentally oriented. The coffee came and we sat back and had a few sips. “Do you mind if I take out my portable and take notes?”

  “Oh, I’m being interrogated?” I said with a smile.

  “No, just had a long day and want to make sure I get your line of reasoning down.”

  “Well, there wasn’t much reasoning involved. Everybody checked out, and the only thing that caught my attention was … the lady’s hairdo.”

  He nodded his head. “Yeah, no names. But, what did that have to do with anything?”

  “I had a hunch that they were using an electronic implant on a timer and the hairdresser and his hair dryer seemed to be the only loose end.”

  “A hunch? Yeah, well that’s what we get paid for … out of the box thinking the suits can’t figure, but even so that’s really out there, even over the edge. I can see why they want you going into the field; you think like the bornies.”

  We both exchanged a knowing look. “Yeah, I figured you have pretty good sources,” I said.

  He was quick to add, “Just good ears, my friend. You hear things.”

  The waitress refilled our cups and we sat there, trying to ease ourselves over this unintentional revelation. “You know. It’s interesting I should run into you. I need some help.”

  This definitely caught Bart’s attention; I could see him figuring the angles already. “With what?”

  “Well, as you’ve surmised, they’re sending me out into the field, and that means intimate contact with a cover wife, and I’d just like to make sure that I’m with someone I can live with.”

  Bart didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Well, don’t know how I can help you with that, buddy.”

  “Well, if you could, I’d be really grateful.”

  Bart nodded his head. He understood.

  “Maybe this isn’t the right … place to discuss … this,” I said.

  “I agree.”

  “There’s a club in the village, the Kitty Kat, kind of an off-limits place—no cameras.”

  Bart nodded his head. “Meet you there at eight o’clock. Don’t bring your wife.” He stood up and left me to pay the bill. A good sign.

  Afterward I walked down the block and stepped into a jewelry shop. Since I would have to explain a cash withdrawer and couldn’t transfer the funds, I would have to use merchandise—something I could justify on my bank statement. I bought a $500 woman’s watch. I called Sherry and told her that I would be late, still working an assignment, and I ate dinner at a Chinese restaurant halfway between our offices at Midtown and the Village. I just happened by it; the restaurant looked low-end, but I was somehow drawn to it. While waiting for my dinner and sipping my green tea, I thought about my last trip to the club. And as the Chinese waitress served my dinner, I remembered the blue-haired Chinese girl who passed me Emma’s message. She seemed very bright and I wondered if she was a undercover plant, working the customers for information. The only other indication was my happening upon this restaurant and the feeling that I needed to eat here. Again, nothing the rational mind could wrap itself around, but my intuitive side was definitely sending me messages and I needed to listen.

  At the club, later, I asked the hostess, “Is the Chinese girl with the blue hair available?”

  “You mean, Wu?”

  “I didn’t catch her name.”

  The woman nodded her head and escorted me to a back booth. “I’ll send her over.”

  Wu, if that was her real name, walked over, wearing a green wig today. She was topless with rings in her nipples. She scooted over next to me, placing her hand on my thigh, moving it closer to my crotch. “How nice you asked for me again. We did have such a good time.”

  She started to lower her head but I lifted her chin and looked directly into her eyes. “I have a friend coming shortly. Treat him well, and you might find him of interest.” I handed her two hundred dollars.

  This stopped her for a moment. “I find all yummy guys of interest.”

  “There’s yummy and then there’s … dummy.” She gave me a knowing look, stood up, and walked back to the bar. Bart strolled into the club about fifteen minutes later, and the hostess knew to escort him to my booth. On the way I could see him ogling her breasts, and then watching the live sex act on the stage. This was definitely his kind of place.

  The hostess took our drink orders. Bart was still getting accustomed to the low-light levels. “Well, Alan, I never suspected you of being a provocateur.”

  I laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Just trying to make a difficult situation more pleasant.”

  He smirked. “I see.” He stared at me for a moment, and I passed him the watch case; he didn’t open it and placed it in his inside coat pocket.

  “Yeah, I can imagine a borny village can be a real snooze without some … entertainment.” I nodded my head. “I think Jean Whatley might be a good match for you. She’s a new recruit trying to make her bones, if I may use the term.”

  “Got a picture of her?” I asked. He looked askance at me. “Well, the undercovers don’t have their own websites.”

  “I’m to provide pictures as well?” he asked, rather bemused by my insistence. I nodded. He pulled out a portable, keyed in his code, and called up Jean’s picture and profile. He handed it to me and I stared at the girl. She was definitely pretty and looked eager, and just what he would order for himself. I quickly scanned her file and didn’t catch any red flags, or that she was more than what she seemed.

  “Yeah, not bad. What about Emma Knowles? She went out with me last time, but I haven’t kept in touch.”

  I handed the device back to Bart; he looked her up and flinched when he saw her status and tried to shut down the device. I reached over and grabbed his wrist. “Come on, Bart. What’s up with her?”

  At that moment, Wu sauntered over, swaying those marvelous hips of hers and caught Bart’s attention. She sat down next to him, leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, her tongue halfway down his throat.

  This was enough of a distraction for me to quickly scan Emma’s file. No wonder Bart flinched; she had a five year hold on her activities. Emma was definitely on their compromised list. Finally, Wu released Bart.

  He caught his breath, but immediately shut off his device and pocketed it. “Wow. That’s some welcome.”

  “Honey,�
� she said, reaching over with both hands and cupping his face, “that was just the appetizer.”

  I could almost feel him shudder. I also noticed that Wu was now wearing a watch, probably with Emma’s scanner, and that her timing couldn’t have been any more perfect. She was definitely a pro in more ways than the obvious.

  “And what will the main course cost me?” Bart asked rather bluntly.

  “Don’t worry honey. Your friend here bought the first course.”

  Bart turned to me. “Well, how nice of you, Alan. Maybe Whatley won’t be enough after all.”

  I stood up. “I’m sure she’ll be just fine, but I think you have better things to do than find me another cover wife.”

  By now Wu had unzipped Bart’s trousers and was mouthing him. He could only nod in reply. I left the club and hurried uptown to catch the underground at a more appropriate location for its time stamp locator.

  8.

  My meeting with Dr. Klaus was at the end of the week, and I had to make a decision about accepting the field assignment or not. I didn’t have much choice if I wanted to continue in this line of work, but after recent events, a stint at a borny village, despite its challenges, seemed like a welcomed respite from my own harrowing world. This became even more obvious on Tuesday afternoon, when a malfunctioning neural processor seemed to trigger another psycho rampage, but this time within our own company. I arrived back from lunch to see a live feed from a local hospital on our main screen. Brain surgery was being performed on an accountant who had gone berserk that morning and killed three co-workers with a light pencil. They had already tested his processor and determined that it was defective and were removing it. Beatrice updated me on the gruesome details, but I was still baffled by why we were viewing this operation. When I asked, there was a round of titters from my co-workers.

  “Actually, it’s for your benefit, Alan. Too bad you missed the bloody extraction through the skull portal; it was rather interesting,” Gene said with a smirk.

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “Dr. Klaus wants you to interrogate him before they replace his processor.”