by Janine Marie
I burst out laughing as I took in the scene below me on the dock. Thomas had the shoe in clamps that he and Cody were holding secure as Greg the doctor was carefully using his scalpel to cut the shoe apart. Kevin was kneeling in with pliers and a wrench, holding apart the areas that Greg was carefully cutting, and Sam was holding a powerful flashlight above them. Katie was sitting behind Greg and handing him various surgical instruments and tools, as he required them. Turning, I went to go and find my camera. This was a photo opportunity not to be missed.
After taking a few photos with no one even looking up at me, I said, “Okay, everyone look up at me!” This was greeted with “Shhhh!” and “We’re busy!” Giving up, I looked across to see Steph and Tiffany appear with a huge salad and garlic bread. They also laughed, and were in turn told to “Be quiet,” so we three looked on in amazed delight.
Realizing that this was going to take a while, I returned to turn off my pasta water and uncorked one of the bottles of Pinot Noir that Kevin had kindly deposited in our cockpit. I poured three glasses, waved to Steph and Tiffany to come join me, and we settled down to sip the lovely wine as we watched and photographed the careful dismantlement of a shoe.
“I found it!” exclaimed Greg, holding up a impossibly thin, one-inch by half-inch semi-clear piece of plastic between his index finger and thumb.
“Great, but what is it?” several of us asked in unison.
“Maybe it’s a pedometer,” Sam said, holding out his hand. “No,… I guess not,” he admitted as he scrutinized the object.
“I agree it’s not a pedometer; look at the pattern… actually I’m 99 percent sure it’s a computer chip of sorts,” Thomas said, taking the small plastic object and holding it up to the light to examine it closely.
“Really? It doesn’t look like one. It just looks like a some extra plastic was accidently added in the sole of this shoe,” Cody said.
“You have to look closely to see the transistors—see?” Thomas shone the flashlight at the small piece of plastic and we all crowded in to look.
“Ouch!” came a chorus as several of us hit heads trying to see.
“Let’s take turns,” I said, standing and rubbing my head. My turn finally came; it seemed to take forever as we had to look one at a time, with Thomas holding the small piece of semi-clear plastic that everyone now agreed was some kind of computer chip.
“But why would someone imbed a computer chip, flash drive, or any other type of electronic in a running shoe?” Steph asked, with a shake of her head.
“That is an excellent question, and this isn’t just any computer chip,” said Thomas, our computer expert. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”
“What do you mean?” Greg asked.
“Well, for starters it’s not made of silicon; this material is so thin, and even more interesting, it’s flexible.”
“I don’t get it,” said Katie.
“A silicon chip is a piece of almost pure silicon, usually less than one centimeter square and about half a millimeter thick. A silicon computer chip contains millions of transistors—a transistor being a device that controls the flow of electric current—and other tiny electronic circuit components, packed and interconnected in layers beneath the surface. There is a grid of thin metallic wires on the surface of the chip, which is used to make electrical connections to other devices. This tiny component is responsible for arithmetic, logic, and/or memory functions in a computer.
“The silicon chip was developed independently by two engineers: Jack Kilby of Texas Instruments in 1958, and Robert Noyce of Fairchild Semiconductor in 1959. In addition to being used in computers, smart phones and tablets, silicon chips are used in calculators, microwave ovens, automobile radios and engine controllers, DVD players, TV, video games, and toys. We use them every day,” explained Thomas in a preoccupied manner, as he continued to study the piece of plastic, “but this isn’t silicon.”
“Then what is it?” several of us asked at once, though not at quite the same time, so that it came out as a jumble.
“Hmmm. I wonder. Graphene,…could this possible be graphene?” Thomas said slowly as he turned and flexed the object in question.
“What is graphene?” again we all asked, and moved in closer to him to hear, spilling a drink in the process.
Starting out of his almost trance-like state, Thomas said, “If this is graphene and someone has figured out how to cost-effectively use it as a computer chip, instead of using silicon… just think of the possibilities…,” and a preoccupied look came over his face as he did just that.
“THOMAS!” I exclaimed. “What is graphene and why is it important?”
“It’s flexible, for starters,” he replied in an It’s obvious voice. Noticing that we were all still staring at him uncomprehendingly, he sighed and continued, “If graphene chips replaced the silicon chip—and by the looks of this, someone has figured out how to do that—it will take wearable computing to a whole new level.”
“Cool; I get it!” Sam piped up. “Wristwatch computers—or computerized clothing, or roll-up iPads!” Taking out his iPhone, he quickly googled graphene: “Wikipedia says: ‘Graphene is a substance composed of pure carbon, with atoms arranged in a regular hexagonal pattern similar to graphite, but in a one-atom thick sheet.’… WOW; this is technical stuff,” he trailed off, scrolling with his finger through screen after screen. “My gosh, you would have to have a Ph.D. in computer science or computer engineering to understand all this!”
At this point Thomas, who does have a Ph.D. in computer science, interjected with “What makes graphene so exciting is that, as you can see, it’s not only thin and flexible but it’s 40+ times stronger than steel, plus it’s a semiconductor whose electrical conductivity is 1000 times better than silicon’s. And that’s just the start of its fascinating properties. For example, a group in Barcelona thinks it can be used to make ultra-sensitive low-cost photo detectors.”
“What is a photo detector?” Katie asked.
“A device that converts light to electricity. It’s used in digital cameras, night vision gear, biomechanical images and telecom equipment. This group in Barcelona is spraying nanometers or quantum dots of lead sulfide crystals on the graphene.”
“Thomas, stop. You’re way over our heads. We really don’t care about the wonders of graphene. What I am interested in why it’s in that shoe, and is that small chip what Lorenzo was murdered for?” I interrupted him mid-lecture.
“Janeva’s right. We could be in real danger if this piece of plastic was what got Lorenzo killed,” Steph cried out in alarm.
“You are both correct, of course. I expect it’s not just what this chip is made of that’s important, but what’s on it. We need to get this”—he held up the plastic chip—“to my office so I can start working on it.” Then he tucked the chip into his wallet.
“Shouldn’t we take it to the police?” Kevin inquired.
“Humph… technically, yes. But it’s a Canadian investigation, and how would we get it safely to them, for starters? If we dropped it off at our local police station, I truly doubt they would know what to do with it. I think we should let Thomas’s team of computer geniuses find out what’s on it; then we will better know what to do,” Greg answered.
“Right: Lorenzo was an American, and whatever is on this chip could be… I don’t know, a state secret,” I agreed.
“I hadn’t thought of that. Should it go to the FBI or the CIA or the Canadian Police?” Kevin rejoined.
“Okay, okay; we are all agreed. I’ll see if I can decode this chip, then we’ll send it to the proper authorities. Now: what happened to dinner? I’m starved. Is anyone else hungry?” Thomas pronounced.
At the chorus of “YES” that replied, I went down below to get my dinner ready, and quickly, as they were threatening to open a Costco-sized bag of potato chips instead of waiting for the lovely dinner I had prepared.
Chapter Fifteen
“Why haven’t I heard anyth
ing?”
From the same telephone transcript acquired by Janeva in a later book, she again felt it important and appropriate to add here
Max stared at his computer in frustration. He had just finished an unpleasant call with his investors. They were getting impatient and he had gambled everything on this. Looking at his iPhone for the umpteenth time, he wondered again. Where was the call? Why hadn’t he heard from them? He was getting desperate. Time was running out!
He needed that chip and its data. The shareholders’ meeting was coming up, and if he didn’t deliver the chip his company would be in ruins! He would lose his plane, his luxury homes, of which he had several, his antique car collection. Worse, he might even end up in jail because after the satellite call from Princess Louisa he had told the investors that he would unveil the chip, followed by a quick release of the product.
He knew his competitors were working on a similar product and he had to be first to grab the market share. This was why his investors had given him so much money, this was the product that would revolutionize the industry and lock in the existing consumer base. More importantly, all projections were that this product would convert all the customers for the new product into loyal consumers of his company’s existing product suite, taking the company to the next level!
He jumped as his phone rang. Picking it up, he said, “Finally! I’m on my way.”
“I don’t have it…” came the hesitant and frightened sounding voice.
“What?!” Max roared, “Where is it?”
“I don’t know,” squeaked the reply.
“You don’t know where it is?? You told me you had it!” he yelled into the phone.
“I did, I thought I did, I mean it’s missing; I, I think I know where it is,” came the mumbled reply.
“Well, if you know where it is, then why don’t you have it?” Max demanded.
“Um… well… uh… Perhaps, I think it could be…”
“Perhaps! Don’t speculate! Do you or don’t you know where it is?” Max cut in.
“It’s, uh, in the…” came the garbled response.
Interrupting, Max yelled, “WHAT?! I don’t have time for this, I need that chip NOW! I can’t have it showing up from Lorenzo’s company. That would be a disaster. Get me that chip today. Understood?!”
“Yes, understood. The yacht Atlantis will be delivered this weekend from Canada, where it’s been impounded. I’ll get back on it and search the office,” said the voice from the other line.
“Damn it, don’t screw it up this time! They have increased security at Lorenzo’s office after your botched break in,” growled Max.
“Yes, I will get it! This time.”
“You are lucky you have a second, or should I say third chance. But it’s your LAST, and I need that chip today!” Max snarled.
“I won’t let you down.”
“Be sure you don’t. I hate incompetence…. Get this done and clean up your loose ends or you will be the one looking behind you.” After a moment’s hesitation Max added, with malice, “You’re not my only player,” and ended the call.
Chapter Sixteen
The Easy Way Out
From Stella’s Diary
Back at our waterfront town of Archipelago, Stella Blackwood sat outside Starbucks watching the commuter trains go by. The town was named for the cluster of small islands surrounding it. Over the years many bridges had been built to connect the various islands, crisscrossing the small waterways. The narrower areas had filled in and subsequently developed, so it now felt like one continuous community instead of a collection of separate islands.
Stella glanced down at her grande latte and vanilla scone; they were untouched and she pushed them away. Both were usually her favorites and always cheered her up, but not today. Putting her head in her hands to hide her tears, she subsided into quiet sobs.
John was having an affair with Catherine. When she had finally confronted him last night, he had yelled that he was going to leave her for Catherine. What was she going to do? How would she survive? She had no money of her own, and neither did John. They were not only flat broke but in debt, plus it was her name that was on all the debts. She had trusted him when he said he needed to put the mortgage and other assets in her name to keep them safe, in case his company was sued. That was before the mortgage crisis and the recession that had followed it. They had walked away from their home in foreclosure when they couldn’t refinance because the housing market had collapsed, so that their beautiful home was worth only a quarter of what they had purchased it for only a few years before.
Losing the house might not have been so bad if John hadn’t borrowed against in with second and third loans, all in her name. And the slimy people he had borrowed from were not as accommodating as the bank. They had no intention of writing the debt off as a bad debt: they expected to be paid back in full with interest—a huge amount of interest!
Her life with John had started off so well, she thought, as she stared out at a passing commuter train. She had been a hair stylist in Silicon Valley before the recession, in those wonderful days when companies regularly seemed to be going public with huge IPOs, and there was easy money to be made. John had used his small inheritance from his grandfather and started up a venture capital company. She would listen and ask careful and skillful questions of the swanky CEO wives who frequented the hair salon and spa she worked at, and pass the information on to John. Those were the best days….
Oh, and she had been talented also, back in the day, on track to becoming a senior hair designer. Truly it’s amazing what women will say when you are doing their hair or nails. She would bring home all the juicy gossip she had heard during the day, and John would act on it, either by investing in the new startup or buying that company’s shares. It was so easy to learn about a big product announcement or a merger or a husband doing the pre-IPO dog and pony show. They had made so much money! Enough that John’s small company had eventually moved to Wall Street.
She had missed California very much, but the excitement of New York was exciting, invigorating. Still, it was the sun that she missed. The cold winter and hot humid summer days were not to her liking. She sighed. Yes, it’s good to be back on the West Coast, even if it is just for a short time, she thought, lifting her face to the warm sun and endless blue sky.
She almost smiled. Then the reality of John leaving her came crashing down on her again and tears started to run down her face. A young boy and his mother walked by on their way into the Starbucks, and she heard the boy say to his mother, “That lady needs a hug, Mommy.” Quickly wiping away her tears, Stella again thought, What I am going to do? Then she fell back into her memories of better days, parties in New York, with her stylish new wardrobe, when she had become one of the swanky wives herself. But she still brought home the gossip and so was helpful to John, so he encouraged her to go to volunteer luncheons and the spa, etc. In those setting, too, women didn’t realize how much intel they gave away if you knew what to ask and could read between the lines.
But that was before, before the big property developments that collapsed. Then there was the desperate pyramid scheme that was going to save them and that didn’t work out so well—oh, and now the IRS was after them…. Putting her head back in her hands, Stella couldn’t even process those implications. She was sure that John had cheated on his taxes for many years, that was his way, always chasing after easy money. Regrettably, she had followed him every step of the way. It’s amazing what charm and looks can do…. Shaking her head she realized that John wasn’t leaving her, he was just following the most direct path to money, and that was Catherine, the rich widow.
Why had she been so trusting? She knew what he was like. She had seen him swindle and scam other people; he was proud of it. Anything that made him easy money! Standing up and walking toward the commuter train platform she thought, If only Catherine wasn’t in the picture, then I could have my life back….
She was walking down the paved platfor
m with the crowd as the long commuter train was pulling up when she was pushed from behind. Stella flew through the air in front of the slow-moving but unstoppable train.
Chapter Seventeen
“You will do it!”
Trent’s contribution
If you happened to find yourself in the Braise-Bottoms’ elegant home at 8 am on a sunny September morning, you would probably expect to see Trent and Wiffy sitting amiably sipping coffee in the breakfast room off the kitchen as they perused the newspaper and nibbled on some soft-boiled eggs and toast, exchanging polite conversation like “At my committee meeting today…” or “Should we attend that charity fundraiser on the tenth?”
What was actually being said would surprise you. In stark contrast to the perfect symmetry of a home clearly decorated entirely by an interior designer with excellent taste, complete with fresh-cut flowers, knick-knacks, and books all perfectly arranged in what could be an Ethan Allan showroom, you would hear the sounds of yelling—from Wiffy! She no longer looked like a meek, washed-out lady who spent her days at charity luncheons, smiling and speaking in quiet, modulated tones. Wiffy was yelling in a harsh voice, “Don’t shake your head at me! You will find me those shoes!”
“But, but I don’t know where they are…,” replied Trent, weakly.
“You had better figure it out! This is all your GOD DAMN FAULT in the first place! You brought me the wrong shoes!!!”
“I don’t understand! What is the big deal? They look exactly like your white boat shoes and they fit you, don’t they?”
“Well, they’re not mine!” yelled Wiffy, waving a large kitchen knife in Trent’s face.