"Do not fear," promised the Master of Sinanju, bowing. "The KKK threat will not harm a hair on your regal head."
"KKK? What does the Ku Klux Klan have to do with this?"
"Nothing," Remo said swiftly. "Don't mind him. He means KKV."
"They are even less of a problem," Chiun insisted. Remo rolled his eyes. The President sighed. It seemed that Smith's operation needed patching up in more than just its equipment.
Chapter 17
Chip Craft had installed a lot of computers in his time. In his work for Excelsior Systems, he had been involved in numerous high-security installations and had a top security clearance with the Defense Department. He prided himself on being considered above reproach.
So why were they treating him like this?
It had begun with instructions from his superior to wait at a deserted warehouse in Trenton until he was contacted. He waited for hours, clutching his tool-packed briefcase. A voice as dry as week-old graham crackers spoke from behind him and ordered, "Do not turn around, please."
"who ...?"
"I am your contact. Assuming you are the man I am expecting."
"Chip Craft. Excelsior."
"Good. I am going to blindfold you, Mr. Craft."
"That's really not necessary. I have Department of Defense clearance. I can dig it out of my wallet."
"Not necessary."
"Good."
"DOD credentials are meaningless to me."
Chip Craft shrugged. "If you say so." The blindfold went over his eyes and tightened expertly. "Now what?"
"You will be driven to a location where you are going to install the ES Quantum Three Thousand."
"Oh? I didn't know that anyone had put in a bid yet."
"Never mind," said the dry voice. A hand took him by the elbow. "Come with me."
Chip Craft felt himself taken to a car and placed in the back seat. The car interior smelled old. Odd. Usually official cars smelled new.
The drive was several hours in length. Neither Chip nor the driver spoke during the trip. When the car finally came to a halt, Chip was taken into a building and up on an elevator. Then he was led a short distance and the man let go of his elbow. He heard a door close behind him.
"You may remove the bliqdfold now."
When he had removed the blindfold, Chip Craft saw that he was in a shabby office. Fluorescent lights filled the room with shaky illumination. There was only one window, but it was curtained. It was a big window and took up most of one wall behind a splintery oak desk. A man sat behind the desk. He wore a gray three-piece suit and a school tie that Chip did not recognize. Chip did not recognize the man either. The man wore an ordinary paper bag over his head. There were two ragged eyeholes punched in the bag and a pair of studious-looking rimless eyeglasses were fitted over them. The stems disappeared into two tears on either side of the bag.
"Is this some kind of a joke?" Chip demanded.
"Security," said the man. He sat with his hands folded.
"This is a joke, right? Damn! I should have suspected something. I knew the ES Quantum hadn't been put up for bid. Now, come on, who are you? Schwartz? Anderson? Infantino?"
"I am none of those people. And you are in a highly secret U.S. installation. Your job is to install the system as quickly as possible. Our country's future may depend upon it."
"Now I know this is a joke. If you're not going to unmask, I'll do it for you." And Chip Craft started for the man with the paper-bag head.
The dry-voiced man removed a .45 automatic from a drawer. He laid it on the desk with a heavy thud.
"I assure you that this is not a joke, and if you attempt to remove my disguise, I will have no choice but to shoot you. The security of this installation depends upon my identity remaining undisclosed."
Chip Craft halted. "You sound serious."
The man laid his hand across the weapon. "I assure you that I will not hesitate to shoot."
"Tell you what. I'm not saying I believe you and I'm not saying I don't. But I'll play along. Now, if this is for real, the ES Quantum's gotta be on the premises, correct?"
"Look behind you." Chip turned.
In one corner of the room stood the ES Quantum. It looked like a modernistic Christmas tree without ornaments. It was spindle-shaped, with a fat, molded base which tapered up to a tip that just grazed the ceiling. It was chocolate brown in color. The unit was featureless except for a glass-fronted square aperture set at eye level.
"If this is a gag, someone's gonna be swimming in shit when the head honcho finds out."
"My present terminal is connected to a system located several floors under our feet. I assume you can transfer the connection from up here."
"What terminal?"
The man with the paper-bag head pressed a stud under the edge of the desk and a terminal rose up like a crystal ball.
"Oh, that terminal. Let me take a look," Chip said, placing his tool case on the desk and opening it. He examined the terminal curiously.
"Boy, this takes me back. I haven't seen one of these in years. You should have upgraded long ago."
"Never mind that. Can you do it?"
"Let's see what you've got for connectors."
"The lines lead into the desk."
"Wanna move aside, Mr. . . . What do I call you, anyway-Smith?"
"No, Jones. Not Smith. Jones."
"What's the difference? We both know it's not your real name. "
"I prefer Jones, if you don't mind."
"Jones, then. Most anonymous people go with Smith, but suit yourself."
"Jones rose from behind the desk and Chip Craft poked his head into the desk well. He came back up a moment later.
"Ribbon cables? When was this thing installed-during Prohibition?"
"Is there a problem?"
"No, I'm just overcome by nostalgia. Ribbon cables. Jesus! Well, guess I'd better get started."
"I will remain here," said "Jones."
"Sure. Want to pass me a screwdriver as long as you're not doing anything?"
Chip felt a screwdriver slap into his hand and got to work.
Hours later, he breathed a sigh of accomplishment. "It's done. Got a place where I can wash up?"
"Out in the hall."
When Chip came back, "Jones" was stringing tinsel and colored balls on the ES Quantum unit.
"I knew it!" he howled gleefully. "It was a joke."
"I assure you this is not a joke, and do not come any closer."
Chip Craft saw the automatic was pointed at his chest. He lifted his hands. "Okay, okay. But do you mind telling me what the decorations are for? Christmas was last month."
"I get a certain amount of foot traffic through this office. No one must know that this is a computer system."
"I don't think they're gonna believe it's a Christmas tree. Especially when it's going up in January."
"Many people are slow to take down their trees."
"Yeah, but what are you going to tell them come July?"
"If we all live to see July, I will worry about that then."
"You're making me nervous with that talk, pal."
"Why don't you walk me through the system?"
"Roger." Chip got behind "Jones's" desk and powered up the terminal. In the corner, the ES Quantum gave out a steady hum. Nothing else happened. There were no lights to blink, no spooling tape reels, and no surface features except its single dark eye. It might have been a vegetable that had come to life.
"Jones" joined Chip Craft at the terminal.
"I've left the keyboard as it was, although it's optional now. "
"I understand the unit is voice-activated."
"Yep. She's a parallel processor, one hundred thousand times faster than anything else in the world. She can do multiple tasks simultaneously without time-share lag. It's like having a hundred mainframes rolled into one unit. She's got that spindle shape to pack the chips tight to speed up the electron flow. It facilitates the data processing something fierce.
But the heart of the ES Quantum Three Thousand is its artificial-intelligence processor. Listen: Hello, ES Quantum."
"Hello." The voice came from the corner. It was light and silvery.
"A woman's voice?" asked "Jones."
"Nice touch, don't you think?"
"I don't know. It doesn't sound very businesslike."
"You want businesslike? Ask her to think."
"How?"
"I'll do it. Computer, scan the room."
"Room scanned."
"What do you make of what you see?"
"Two options. Either this is a high-security area or someone is playing a joke on you."
"What makes you say that?" "Jones" asked sharply.
"Because you have a forty-five-caliber Army-issue Colt automatic in your right hand and a paper bag over your head. If the weapon is real-and I am unable to quantify that judgment at this distance-then it means this is a security situation."
"How do you know this isn't a mugging?" asked "Jones." "I could be a mugger."
"Your body language indicates ease with your surroundings. You are in a familiar place. Therefore this is your office. And you would not be mugging a man in your own office. Your disguise would be pointless."
"But I don't understand. What makes you feel that this is a security area?"
"Because I am the ES Quantum Three Thousand, the most advanced artificial-intelligence system on the planet and, according to my own projections, likely to remain so for at least another thirteen months."
"Thirteen months." Chip Craft whistled. "The boys in Research and Development had it pegged at twenty-six months."
"They are not aware of the recent Japanese AI advances."
"What recent Japanese advances?" Chip demanded.
"The Mishitsu Corporation has just made a superconductor breakthrough which will lead to parallel processing speeds of nearly twice my current rate."
"I hadn't heard that."
"It has not been announced yet."
"Then how do you know about it? I just turned you on, for Christ's sake!"
"Because I am hooked up to the telephone system in this office. Already I am reaching out and assimilating other data on a global scale. The Japanese advance will be announced on Tuesday."
"My God, she works better than we thought."
"What else do I need to know about this system?" asked "Jones."
"Not much-"
"You may address that question to me," said the ES Quantum. "Now that I am fully on-line."
"You heard the lady," Chip said proudly. "I guess my job is done."
"I will have to blindfold you again for the drive back."
"Okay, let's go."
"Then I was correct," said the ES Quantum Three Thousand.
"Yes," "Jones" said. "Now, please wait here for my return. We have much work to do."
"Where would I go?" the computer asked.
"She's got a point," Chip said as the blindfold covered his eyes once more.
"Er, yes, of course. How silly of me," "Jones" said, looking at the ridiculously ornamented computer.
"One last bit of advice, Jones," Chip Craft offered as he was led out the door.
"Yes?"
"Try not to fall in love with her. She's probably a million times smarter than you."
Chapter 18
A week passed.
No further attacks were made on the United States of America. NORAD radar systems picked up no unidentifiable objects over the Atlantic. With no ongoing emergency to sustain the crisis atmosphere, the military went back to Defcon Three and then Defcon Four. The Washington press corps, after being supplied certified copies of the President's latest physical, filled newspaper column inches and airtime with the story that the President had no drinking problem after all.
The President read the morning newspapers and shook his head.
"They've absolved me of a drinking problem as if they were all bucking for Pulitzers. It was a nonstory, for crying out loud."
At the other end of the line, Dr. Harold W. Smith said, "What? Excuse me. What did you say?"
"Have you been listening to me, Smith?"
"Yes, of course," Smith said. His voice was vague.
"Smith?"
"Of course, Mr. President. I heartily agree."
"Smith!" the President roared. "What are you doing?"
"Oh!" Smith's voice was suddenly attentive. "I'm sorry, Mr. President. The ES Quantum was downloading new intelligence feeds and I was momentarily distracted. They're really amazing. I believe I'm getting direct transmissions from orbiting Soviet satellites."
"They get those at the NSA all the time."
"With instantaneous translation and code decrypting?"
"No. Anything hot?"
"All routine. But it's only a matter of time before we pick up something crucial. I must tell you, sir, this system is wonderful."
"You sound hoarse, Smith. Are you all right?"
"I've been up for three days. Even with the computer helping log and sort and analyze, these intercepts are just too remarkable. I guess I'll get used to it. But I can see that once the current crisis had passed, our operation will have a far greater situational interdiction capability."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you, Smith. The crisis has passed."
"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. President," Smith said, his voice trailing off.
"Dammit. There he goes again. Smith!"
"Er, yes. Sorry. You were saying?"
"I think it was my speech. I scared them off-whoever they were."
"I'm sorry that I've so far been unable to isolate the aggressor, Mr. President. But so much data is coming in, that even with the system's help, we're just awash in sorting and analysis tasks."
"If there is no immediate threat, then we can deal with this later. My other sources have come up with nothing either. I think it's about time we sent your people home. When you come up with a target, they'll be free to seek it out."
"Glad to hear it," said Remo.
The President turned. Remo poked his head out from behind the American flag and gave the President a friendly wave. The President waved back uncertainly. He had checked the flags the first thing. He'd been dead certain they were uninhabited.
"Did you get my last shipment, Smith?" the President asked.
"Thank you, I did."
"I'll leave it to you to show your people how to handle the new technology," said the President, hanging up. "Okay, you can go now," the President said to the office flags. When the flags did not reply, the President got up and looked behind them. They were empty. He lifted the skirts of the flags and checked the folds. Empty. No one under the desk either.
He looked out the window and caught the briefest of glimpses of the two CURE operatives slipping through the Rose Garden in plain view of the Marine guards.
No one intercepted them leaving the White House grounds. It was as if they were invisible. Except that the President could see them. Then he blinked. Not anymore. They had vanished.
General Martin S. Leiber had gotten nowhere.
Over at Andrews Air Force Base, Major Cheek had come up with some paint samples after several days. The paint samples were green.
"Is that light green and dark green?" Leiber had asked. "Just green. It's very puzzling, General. Railroad liveries are two-tone. We scraped every inch of this monster and all we got was the flat green. In fact, that's the strange thing. We even got paint off the wheels. They never paint the wheels. I went back to the first eng ... er ... KKV, and what do you know? Under all the gunk, it was green too. "
"What does that mean?"
"It means, sir, that we can forget about identifying this beast by its livery."
"That's what I thought it meant," the general said dispiritedly.
"But if the Metallurgical Consultants stay on schedule, we might have a model ID soon."
"Call me when you do," the general said, slamming down the phone. Days were passing. Down in the Tank the
Joint Chiefs were getting restless. They wanted to retaliate. If General Leiber didn't give them a target soon, they were going to come up and stick their noses in.
If that happened, it would be all over. General Leiber looked out his window at snow-covered Washington and caught himself wishing another one of those damned things would fall out of the sky. Anything to hold this crisis together a little longer.
The ID came after another day.
"It's Prussian!" Major Cheek said gleefully.
"Prussian? We have confirmation it lifted off from Africa."
"That may be, but it's a Prussian Class G12. Built in 1917. It's a three-cylinder superheated engine with 2-10-0 wheel arrangement. That means it has two little wheels up front, ten big driving wheels, and no wheels under the cab. Working-order weight of 95.7 tons. With a full head of steam, it could haul 1,010 tons. It was quite a powerful engine in its day. Whoever picked it knew what he was doing."
"I wish I could say the same of you," General Leiber said bitterly. "I don't care about the specs. I want to know where it came from!"
"Prussia."
"Prussia is not in Africa. It doesn't even exist anymore."
"I realize that, sir."
"Can we trace the damned thing?"
"Not without a running number, sir. Over fifteen hundred of this model were produced."
"You're a huge help, soldier," said General Leiber.
The President continued to call daily. General Leiber kept him at bay with double-talk. Once, during a lull, the President asked him to produce certain custom-built equipment and ship it to the same New Jersey address where the ES Quantum Three Thousand had gone.
"Communications? A secure phone system? What good will these do?" General Leiber had asked.
"You're not the only one on this, General, but you're the only one I trust to handle these matters. You seem to be able to requisition materiel no one else can."
"Thank you, sir," General Leiber said proudly.
Now, a week after the second strike, the joint Chiefs were really restless. At that point, the President called again.
"It's over," he said crisply.
"I beg to differ."
"My warning speech obviously worked."
"I'd like to believe that, sir, I truly would. But our adversary may be playing cat and mouse with us."
"We can't stay at high alert forever. I'm ordering everyone to stand down. Let's see what happens. And I'm convening a meeting of the joint Chiefs this afternoon. I'd like you to be there. The Joint Chiefs will want to hear your findings directly, of course."
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