by Ralph Rotten
“This is President Phelps, who is this?” Using his authoritative voice, he demanded an answer.
“Hello, Mister President.” Alexis’ voice had a hint of a giggle to it. “I represent the men who levitated the Queen Mary. We need to talk privately.”
Phelps’ first inclination was to hang up and have the Secret Service track down the woman, but the mention of the Queen Mary piqued his interest.
“Go on.” He urged her.
“As I said, we need to talk privately.” Her tone serious now, Alexis knew how he would respond.
“These men are cleared for this conversation, now speak your peace or I will have you arrested for prank calling the White House.” Buttoning his jacket in the front, it was instinctive for him do so anytime he stood.
“No, Mister President,” Alexis corrected him. “Those men are cleared for the conversation you think we are about to have, but not the conversation we are actually going to have. I would strongly urge you to take this call off speaker phone.”
Opening a drawer, DeColle grabbed one of the little sani-wipes stored there before using it to clean the phone’s receiver. Holding the freshly disinfected handset out to Phelps he simply nodded for the man to comply.
Taking a deep breath, Jefferson Phelps’ first instinct was to bellow angrily, as was his universal solution anytime he was disputed. Seeing the panic on Martin’s face, he chose another path. Snatching the waiting receiver from DeColle, he sat down in his office chair while his chief-of-staff switched the device off speakerphone.
“Alright, this better be good or you will spend the rest of your life in Guantanamo Bay. I’m expanding the facilities there, y’know.” It made him feel good to threaten the woman. It was not enough that people know he had the power; they needed to acknowledge it as well.
“Ooooh, you’re so cute when you make hollow demands.” Giggling openly, Alexis was truly enjoying her role. “But what say we push on past these empty threats and talk about something more serious. First off, the price for the invention is now up to one point five billion dollars, cash, and absolutely tax free.”
“What?” Switching to his default mode, Phelps bellowed loudly. “We had a deal for…substantially less.”
“Consider it a penalty for failing to negotiate in good faith. Multiple times your people have attempted to incarcerate the people I represent, and now you are illegally holding Jamie Sparks against his will. So the price is one-point-five billion, and agent Asanté is no longer our point of contact. If he calls again, then the price goes up again. Am I being absolutely and completely clear?” No longer the laughing little girl, Alexis’ voice had a cold edge to it.
“Who the hell do you think you are calling the Oval Office and making demands?” Holding the receiver in a death grip, Phelps was livid. No one dictated terms to Jefferson Phelps.
“From now on we will only deal with Agent Jenna Jaramillo. You will cease your attempts to forcibly extract information from Jamie, and provide him with the cash and miscellaneous items specified in the contract your secretary is bringing you right now. Additionally, you will quash all wants and warrants against my clients.”
Raising an eyebrow at this fresh round of demands, Phelps pretended to be amused. Inside he was fuming at the caller’s nerve. No woman talked to him in this manner, not even those uppity feminists.
“And if I don’t?” Showing a crocodile smile, he challenged her.
“POW!” She yelled through the receiver.
“Did you just threaten the President of the United States?” Sure that he had her cornered, Phelps was not expecting what came next.
“Noooo, silly, that was the sound of me firing a shot across your bow, figuratively speaking, of course.” Giggling again, Alexis knew that Kelly was opening the office door at that very moment.
“Mister President…” The secretary seemed unsure as she hesitantly entered the office. “These just popped out of the printer, like the others. Who is sending these?”
Gesturing for his chief-of-staff to collect the documents, Phelps dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He was in no mood to answer her questions.
“Honestly, a man with as many skeletons in your closet as you should be more cautious. But then again, you suffer from Dunning-Kruger effect.” Making a clucking sound the AI chided him.
“Dunning…?” Irritated at not being familiar with the phrase, Phelps was cut off before he could retort.
“Dunning-Kruger effect is the condition where people of limited intellect assume erroneously that they are much smarter than they really are. The study concluded that those with the least knowledge are frequently the most assertive.” Switching to her announcer voice, she baited him.
“Hmmph, shows what you know.” Dismissing her insults, Phelps accepted the printouts from his chief-of-staff. “I have a documented IQ of one-forty-one. I am a member of Mensa. In fact, I campaigned as the smart candidate.” Feeling smug in his defense, he flipped through the pages of what appeared to be an intelligence test.
“No, you have an IQ of one-fifteen. Your former chief-of-staff, Vincent McConnel has a genius IQ, or did until his death three years ago. My apologies for your loss.” Trying to sound sincere, Alexis paused to let him look over the paperwork in his hands.
“Bullshit!” Shaking his head, Phelps noticed that the sheaf of papers actually contained two of the IQ tests. He vaguely remembered the paperwork from his days as a junior senator. Looking over the handwriting on the mathematical problems posted there, he could not help but notice that his name was written on the wrong test.
“Again, you demonstrate the Dunning-Kruger effect.” Speaking in an authoritative tone, Alexis knew he was ready for the revelation. “Think about it, you barely passed college algebra, and that was with the assistance of a tutor, and yet you scored as a genius on the MENSA entrance exam? Do you remember where you took that test?”
Thinking back it occurred to him that the test had been administered at his office in Washington DC. His chief-of-staff had arranged the special testing in return for a gratis speaking event for the organization. Slowly he remembered how surprised he had been to get the results that afternoon.
“So a man who scored mid-level grades throughout his college tenure qualified for MENSA, while Vincent McConnel, a man with a documented IQ of one-sixty-three, scored a miserable one-fifteen on his own MENSA exam? It was Vincent who switched tests with you. After all, only he was smart enough to know how to fudge the test so you would appear bright enough to pass, yet not so smart that they would request a re-test. No one else in your office at that time had that kind of computational ability.”
Still flipping through the papers, Phelps was beginning to see that there may be something to her claims. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered being sure he had totally botched the test. Vincent had never told him of the switch, and with time he had come to embrace the success as his own. Now after years of believing that he was far above average, it was stunning to see proof that he had been fooled.
Then something in him turned from surprise to anger as he realized what a scandal like this would do to him. After all, he had campaigned as the smart candidate and frequently referred to his membership in the elite organization that was open only to those of genius IQs. If his political opponents got wind of this, it would be the most embarrassing scandal of his career. Thinking about his options, he switched to his default mode; bellow and deny.
“No one is going to believe you, and I’ll have my spin doctors crush the story if you try to reveal this…this bullshit.” The disgust was evident in his voice.
“Ahhh, again your limited intellect misleads you. A real genius would have already realized that I don’t need to get any traction with this story. Once MENSA hears about this discrepancy, the first thing they will do is require a supervised re-test. If you refuse…then it’ll be a real scandal with some meat on its bones. Just imagine the political cartoons of you wearing a dunce’s cap and sitting in t
he corner like the fool. Every short-bus joke will end with your name, and people will begin to use Phelps as an adjective for stupidity and posery. No, Jefferson, this scandal will sell itself, and your rivals will see to that.” Laying it all out for him, Alexis was silent while that sank in. She and Jamie had discussed this topic in depth, going so far as to even role-play the conversation to prepare the AI.
His eyes narrowing to slits, the President’s thoughts turned dark. Clearly she had him at a disadvantage. Glancing up he could tell that Martin DeColle was already talking on his own cellphone, likely working with the NSA to trace the call. Cornered, he knew that he would need to silence this woman once he had the invention. Hence, his only option was to acquiesce until that milestone was achieved. But once that was done, he would cut their throats.
“I can’t make any promises,” He started out as Martin held up a handwritten note. Squinting to read the words, he was shocked to see that the NSA had traced the call; she was in the building. “But I will have to run these figures past the buyers. You do understand that the US Government is not actually purchasing this technology.”
“Yes, I am aware that you have arranged for this technology to be sold exclusively to your biggest campaign contributors.” Her tone icy, Alexis let slip her disdain for the man. “A new contract is printing now. In addition to the terms listed, you will release Jamie Sparks immediately.”
Irritated once again by her demands, he shook his head angrily as he noticed the additional Secret Service agents filing through the door.
“Mister Sparks is being held on a valid FISA warrant at this time. Think of it as protective custody.” Mocking her with his response, he enjoyed the opportunity to poke her in the eye verbally.
“I anticipated you were going to say that, which is why the price just went up to one-point-seven-five billion dollars.” Leaving it at that, Alexis knew that his secretary Kelly was only seconds away from handing her boss the latest printouts.
“What!” Sitting up, Phelps was enraged. Squinting at another of Martin’s hand written notes he was informed that the call had been traced to his own personal office in the next room. Flanked by agents, he finally understood why security had escalated so dramatically. She was quite literally in the next room. As if it were not enough that he was being harassed by a woman, he remembered that the Speaker of the House and Senate Majority Leader were still watching from the couches.
Their weapons drawn, two agents moved briskly through the side door and into his personal office. Feeling the tension of the moment, Phelps actually held his breath as he looked forward to seeing this woman in shackles.
“I’m not in there.” Pleased with herself, Alexis crushed his hopes.
“So you hacked the phone system? That’s…an act of espionage.” A gravelly tone to his accusation, Phelps was thoroughly enraged as Kelly laid a fresh copy of the contract on his desk.
“I didn’t hack the system; you seized my physical body illegally; then voluntarily allowed me access to your network. Instead of negotiating in good faith, you sent your storm troopers with an invalid warrant to seize property that was not rightfully yours. So, although this had been a most fascinating conversation, we are done here. Until you have our money, and a deed for the moon, do not attempt to contact us. When you do, we will only talk to Agent Jaramillo. As our designated advocate, she will need to be granted full access to the process. Any further infractions will result in severe financial penalties. Severe!” She repeated the word for clarity before letting the line go dead.
Keeping the anger bottled up, Phelps did his best to remain presidential. Seeing the two agents return from his office he knew that she had never been in there. Rising, he scooped up the MENSA tests before opening the desk drawer and shredding the documents.
The best laid plans…
It had taken the bot known as Remi two days to make it through the air vents to station X-Ray’s main control room. Known as Master Control, the little 15’x15’ room was really just a collection of electronic control boxes, CCD monitors, and a chair for the operator. Miles of cabling from every corner of the facility terminated in that dark little room.
Seated before a row of video screens, the Master Control officer monitored traffic throughout the prison. With multiple banks of switches laid out to match the floor plan, he (or she) controlled every door in the facility. Hardened with reinforced walls and multilayer security glass, the room was virtually impregnable. Even the twin sallyport doors leading into the room were each two inches of layered steel controlled by an Adam-Folger lock system.
However, no one had ever expected to have their lofty command center penetrated by a device small enough to slip through the slats of an air vent. Once inside Remi had followed the cables through their access ports and up into the control panels where the switching systems resided. Although the design of these panels was considered to be classified, Jamie had been able to dredge up a surprising amount of technical data on them from the internet. Working with Alexis, the two had been able to determine how the systems functioned, and more importantly which switches controlled what doors. It had been this information that had been exploited.
Although Alexis had the ability to simply open up all of the doors between Jamie’s cell and the main exit, that plan would have been wholly unfeasible as the perimeter was manned by half a dozen guards. With K-9 patrols and armed men everywhere, he would be unlikely to get more than a few feet. Besides, Jamie had no intention of merely fleeing the prison. When he left, it would be under his own terms.
Equipped with an assortment of tools, Remi had been hard at work for weeks now. Stripping wires, and exposing leads, the little bot had been engineered specifically to recharge its tiny batteries using the energy harvested from the switchboard’s 5v control wires. Working in darkness the capable little robot had been responsible for a series of bizarre events throughout the facility. More than once the wrong doors had been opened at exactly the right time. In several cases injuries had resulted, diminishing the number of Researchers available to interrogate. In fact, by the time that Jamie had even set foot on the compound, Remi had cut the number of inquisitors from 12 to 5. It had taken weeks of reconnaissance for the savant to determine which of the Researchers were incorruptible. Those that could not be manipulated were simply removed from service by hook or crook.
One of the most remarkable things about Master Control had been the imposing bank of CCD camera monitors. Although the MC officer had the ability to see almost every corner of the facility, there were only six monitors available. Hence, the officer was constantly switching his view to keep up with prisoner movement or just to see who was ringing the intercom at a particular door. Even more amazing was the fact that the cameras were essentially a direct feed; none of it was recorded. This had surprised Jamie and Alexis until they stopped to realize that the facility was a black site; very few records were maintained of this place. Those few rooms that were equipped with digital video recorders were typically set up in such a way as to capture the back of the Researcher’s head while they worked. Whenever possible, they made overt attempts to keep the faces of the interrogators out of the picture.
After weeks of preparing for Jamie’s arrival, little Remmi had accomplished much. With bare wires throughout the main panel assembly, the micro-bot could use a specially shielded leg to short out switches to doors throughout the facility. Unconcerned with escaping at the moment, the savant had been more interested in ensuring that he was housed in a specific room. To accomplish this they merely had to make the undesirable rooms unsuitable for habitation. After driving the maintenance crew crazy for days with quirky doors and garbled comms from the intercom, Alexis had been able to create the illusion of a bad control board in the Alpha Pod control room. Although each door in the facility could be controlled remotely from Master control, each of the cell blocks sported its own localized control center where the officers working that pod could open and close their own cell doors without botheri
ng the busy MC Officer. Convinced that the Alpha Pod control panel was unreliable, all prisoners had been shuffled to other rooms elsewhere. By the time that Jamie arrived at Station X-Ray there was conveniently only a single vacancy in the whole place; E pod, room E2-2.
Situated in the middle cell of three, Jamie’s new home was separated from the outside world by nothing more than a foot or so of concrete roof. Beyond that the only barrier between him and freedom was the rooftop guard. But even that factor was simply an equation waiting to be solved.
Sitting in the corner of his cell Jamie did his best to ignore the loud music that thundered through the speakers in the ceiling. Intended as a means of tenderizing him for future interrogations, this technique told him that the staff were at a loss how to proceed. His research had indicated that this approach was primarily used on subjects who would find western culture and music offensive. While this tactic worked well on jihadists, it was largely inappropriate on the savant. Not only did it not set his nerves on edge, but he actually began to enjoy the thrash-rock they played. After all, being a fan of modern jazz’s disjointed style and asymmetrical melodies, it was not that much of a stretch for Jamie to adapt to the sounds of bands like Anthrax or Pantera. Really, his only discomfort was trying to sleep in a room devoid of a mattress.
Forced to lie on the bare metal bunk, he had experienced a bit of stiffness in his bones. The staff had tried other factors like turning down the air conditioning to wear him down. This had been the chink in his big, fancy plan; the controls for the air conditioning system were kept in a separate utility closet on the second floor and far from Remi’s reach. Forced to shiver on the floor, Jamie had felt no remorse for the things he had done to the researchers.