In addition to the ever-expanding garden of satellite gear on its rooftop, Building ‘A’ had undergone dramatic changes to its interior. The first floor served as a reception area and provided administrative offices for marketing and finance. The second floor loading dock in the rear of the building was where the company’s previous owners had once dreamed they would ship their groundbreaking products. Today, laser devices marketed to serve a diverse array of cosmetic, optical, and neurological surgical uses were crated and shipped alongside fiber optic communications switches. Engineering, customer service, vendor project, and technical representatives occupied the third and fourth floors. Just under four hundred people occupied Building A. The number working within the three subterranean-levels was classified and, as of this morning, unknown even to Stuart.
And people say America can’t make things any more, Stuart thought proudly as he passed his badge through the security cipher; the computer accepted the scan, he was happy to see. He walked through the marbled foyer to a set of glass doors and down the hallway toward Ralph Perry’s office. Ten feet from the cherry-paneled door to the executive suite, Stuart heard the muffled pounding of fist striking desktop and Perry’s angry growl—Stuart smiled. His partner was already in.
Ralph Perry sat stiffly upright as Stuart pushed open the door, his face flush red, neck bulging over his collar. “And Stuart’s back,” Perry announced into the phone. “That’s good? I guess if you like having your throat ripped out. You guys just get back to work, I’m sure Stuart’s going to want to hear what the hell happened last night.” Perry slammed down the phone and smiled. “Boy, am I glad to see you!”
Stuart was fairly certain that he knew who Perry had burned on the other end of the line.
Perry rose and shut the door to his office.
Stuart sat and clasped his hands across his knee. The peculiar, pyramid-shaped paperweight on Perry’s desk caught his eye. The clear solid appeared to contain a miniature bonsai tree. He waited for Perry to return to his chair. “All right, let’s have it,” Stuart said.
Perry sat back with his hands behind his head and stared contemplatively out the window. The morning had turned solidly overcast and in the pastel gray light, Stuart thought his friend already looked tired enough to head home for the day. Perry asked, “You remember Senator Wendell, from Vermont? Played a big role getting the climate bill passed.”
“How could I forget. The Independent Party guy.” Stuart frowned. “Isn’t he—”
“Heart attack last spring. Crotchety old bastard, but you know, I miss him.” A fleeting smile passed over Perry’s face. “Or, I should say I miss knowing he’s looking out for us. Senator Milner from Maryland took over his chair on the finance committee.” Perry pronounced the name as if he had taken a sip of sour beer. He cast Stuart a sideways glance. “Wendell actually stopped in last year to pay us a visit.”
Stuart recalled Cole’s tendency to keep political machinations to himself. “I think some special committee of his had a hand in coaxing Thanatech to resurrect their fuel-efficient propfan.”
“Coaxing? You mean with the green initiative funding.”
“That, and certain other agreements that Cole was vague about.”
“Like maybe what?”
“I have no idea. I do know the first go-round with the propfan was during the energy crisis in the early ‘80’s. Remember the oil prices plummeted? Well, I guess the engine guys got clobbered when their development costs had to be written off.” For months now, Perry had teased him with only dribs and drabs to describe their own company’s secret government program. “So, what’s fuel efficiency got in common with this mystery contraption downstairs?”
“Hah! Everything in the world! I suppose it all began with a couple of tree-hugging physicists from Stanford. They planted a bug in Wendell’s ear, oh, six years ago when his climate committee was formed. They proposed very rationally that in addition to the dozens of initiatives like your propfan and renewable energy sources and so forth, the committee should define a longer term strategy. They argued that there were green-enabling technologies which in the not-too-distant future could revolutionize the way our economy worked. Ultra-high speed computer processing in the tens of trillions of bits per second range, that sort of thing.”
“You mean, like our super—”
“The Silicon Graphics machine? Ancient history. I’ll have somebody who knows what they’re talking about describe our nifty IBM / Sun machinery. So, they had some Nobel prize-winning economist weigh in before Wendell’s committee. Then the secretary of energy began a lobbying effort, all very hush-hush. Wendell’s committee quietly tapped a few companies to place secret bids on the project, which as you’ll see is essentially a systems integration nightmare involving a number of disparate research grants from around the country. At the urging of the current administration, France and Austria are also contributing to the effort.” Perry shrugged.
“So I had the guys put a proposal together. Wendell’s committee liked the technological synergy they perceived in our SDI origins. CLI won the contract.” Perry looked at him. “You, uh, are you familiar with quantum mechanics?”
“Not really.”
“Neither am I.” Perry leaned forward and looked Stuart in the eye. “They convinced Wendell that in, say, fifteen or twenty years, if you could loft a constellation of satellites into orbit with the ability to teleport stuff—cargo—you could put a big dent in the vast amounts of fossil fuel consumed to ship goods. The numbers are staggering. Think of all the airborne freight, rail, trucking, maritime—we’re talking tens of millions of barrels of fuel worldwide per day just to transport stuff. Sure, you wouldn’t eliminate all of it. Along with reducing our imported energy, deficit trade account and all the other economic negatives that we associate with those things, you’d also reduce air traffic and roadway congestion. Businesses are panicking over how to meet President Denis’s latest round of CO2 emissions targets. I mean, shit, just think about it. CLI’s share of the carbon credits alone should recoup our investment a hundred times over! The list of cascading benefits is...what?”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Stuart was stunned.
“See why I wanted you back? I know it sounds like a bit of a stretch.”
“A stretch? Goddamn it, Ralph—this is a government research project?”
Perry’s face reddened to match Stuart’s. “Listen. Landing this contract was the coup of a lifetime. Don’t you realize how this positions the company? I know it sounds a little risky.”
“A little risky! Have you forgotten why we were able to buy this place out from under the previous owners? ‘Teleport?’ That’s pure technology shit!”
“No reason to shout.”
“Great, Ralph. We’ve taken this place from Star Wars to fucking Star Trek.”
Perry stared back at him.
“At least the previous owners had the sense to build their business around a real product. You said teleport cargo, not...people?”
“Bad breath ’n all?” Perry cracked a smile. “Erase a few memories along the way? No, not people. Thackeray tells me it’s theoretically possible—“
“Thackeray?”
“That’s right, Thack’s on the team. I guess such massive quantities of information are needed to communicate the quantum essence of living matter that it’s completely unfeasible. Not even within our great-grandchildren’s lifetime. By the way, the word we prefer to use around here is teletransport. Sounds a little less science fiction-esque. We can’t have our congressional benefactors thinking we’re too far out in left field.”
“That’ll do the trick.” As he thought about it, Stuart recalled reading of actual experiments involving teleportation of individual atoms and molecules. But re-materializing whole objects...? He supposed that it made sense for ever more powerful computing to prevail upon the challenge of teleporting objects of increasing complexity. “This sounds like a commercial transportation project. What’s the Departme
nt of Transportation say about it?”
Perry cocked an eyebrow. “They don’t know about it.” He watched with an amused grin as Stuart’s mind raced.
“Why all the secrecy?”
“It’s black, doesn’t exist.”
“I know that it’s black. Why is it black?”
“It depends on who you ask. The key is fundamental economic transformation—many institutional oxen to gore; countless businesses adversely affected or put right out of business; potential shenanigans by the oil lobby along with all manner of transportation and labor interests who provide money for political campaigns. Then there’s Pentagon queasiness over military potential; consumer groups fretting over re-constituted DNA in their tofu. You think that Frankenfood blather was bad? And we’ve recently had to incorporate classified anti-missile technology into the hardware. So, to answer your question, the whole nine yards. If they want it black, black it will be.”
“You mentioned pulling together research grants...?”
“A good deal of spade work has been ongoing for decades, so it helps to think of this as ‘scaling up.’ Think of the yawning gap in time and technology between Galileo and the space telescope. CLI’s charter is to propel this technology along a comparable path. Just where we are along that path, well, remains to be seen.”
Stuart shook his head, reached for the clear resin pyramid from Perry’s desk and began absently turning the object over in his hands. Aside from disbelief that his partner had been taken in by so hare-brained a concept, he was a little intimidated. He examined the intricate detail of the miniature black tree entombed inside the resin, replete with not only tiny leaves and limbs but also the scale of bark on the tiniest branches.
Perry noted his interest. “Do you know what that is?”
“I could guess.”
“It’s a stereolithography model. The guys made it for me from an early test scan using the project’s lasers.”
“Incredible detail.”
“Detail, that?” Perry chuckled. “That is nothing.”
“What the hell is it you expect me to do?”
“Just do what you do!” Perry rose from behind his desk. “If I had all the answers I wouldn’t need you, would I? You are beyond a doubt the best damn integrator of complex technical projects I’ve ever known.” Perry walked over and looked out the window. “As much as I hate to admit it, this place would have been turned back into a cow pasture if not for you.”
“At least then we could sell the manure. Seriously, Ralph. This is more than a little hard to believe.”
“I know, except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Damn thing doesn’t even begin to work.” Perry turned from the window. “Not even close.”
What a surprise, Stuart chose not to remark, having already spouted enough pessimism for one day. He looked at his watch. “Excuse me for a minute. I need to step out for a phone call.”
* * *
“ARE YOU ALONE?”
Emily closed her hand over the mouthpiece. “I have to take this,” she said to the person seated in front of her. “It’s a personal call.”
Ian Vickers nodded and gathered his papers off her desk. She waited for him to walk out of her cubicle before whispering into the mouthpiece: “I don’t think we should talk here.”
“I’ll give you my number—”
“I’ve got it,” she said, eyeing the caller ID display.
Twenty minutes later, leery of even her cell phone, Emily stood in a phone booth next to a convenience store several miles south of the plant.
Stuart answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Sorry. I couldn’t reach you at home.”
“I’ve got an unlisted number.” She read it to him.
“I called to find out how you were, and if you’d gotten any news regarding your parents.”
“My mother is very ill, and nobody I’m in touch with knows yet where she and my father have gone. I am very worried.” Emily closed her eyes, trying to blot out the unspoken hopelessness of her last phone conversation with her cousin. With luck the smugglers would be contacting her sooner rather than later.
“I’d like to know what I can do to help you resolve this.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not sure you can do much of anything.”
“It’s been awhile since you discovered that note in your apartment.”
“The note made clear what they would do to my parents.”
“I understand that. The problem is that the longer we wait, not only do the medical risks for your mother increase but whatever trail these bastards left behind becomes more difficult to find. With no indication as to how long—”
“I didn’t drag you into this because I expected you to solve all of my problems.”
“If we discreetly approach the authorities—”
“No!” Her voice sounded loud in the confines of the telephone booth. “I’m sorry. I am afraid that the wrong people would learn I’ve gone to the police and decide to harm my parents. You must believe me when I tell you that people do this sort of thing where I come from. But I do expect to hear something soon. Then I’ll call you, and we’ll decide how to proceed with the modules that I hid for the ECU.”
“Emily.” Stuart’s voice sounded tense. “I refuse to accept that there’s nothing we can do, or that there is nobody we should contact for help. If this is a regular tactic, maybe you should try their embassy in Washington. What if in another few weeks you still haven’t heard? How would you then see this being resolved?”
It was already being resolved, or so she wanted to believe. Neither she nor her cousin in San Jose had yet heard anything encouraging from the smugglers she had hired. She had put a large sum of money down, with the promise of more once they located her parents—was that not the way of resolving things in an unjust world? How might Stuart react upon learning her plans to violate American immigration law? Would he understand, and what possible good could come of telling him?
“We should keep something else in mind,” Stuart said. “I’m sure Jim Cole still blames himself for the death of his daughter. He must have no idea that sabotage played a role.”
Emily could think of no sensible way to trade one set of victims off against the other, and she sighed. “There are certain people in China who are right now looking for my parents.”
“What kind of people?”
“Family friends out of Hong Kong.” Technically speaking, this wasn’t a lie. “I expect to hear something within the next week or so.”
“Another week?”
Stuart’s apprehension reminded her that he also had legitimate reasons for wanting justice done. Emily pointed out that there are many places to investigate within so vast a country. “It might take a bit longer. Maybe the authorities will turn up something on their own in the Thompson murder investigation.”
“You said they’ve already concluded the murder was drug related. I’ve been trying to think what I would do if I were assigned to figure out who might have sabotaged Thanatech’s flight test, and so I’ve got a proposal. You don’t think Thompson or whoever did this was acting alone, do you?”
Emily still had a hard time envisioning Sean intentionally harming anyone. “I can’t imagine what might explain his acting alone.”
“Then we should try to find out who else might have left the company, because anyone still there—”
“They could have organized the sabotage from anywhere.”
“Emily, we can’t look everywhere. Let’s start with the assumption they were inside the company and knew enough to be able to plan it. This we can do discreetly.”
“But discreetly enough?”
“I can’t answer that question. But are you willing to just sit back and let this thing play out?”
36
Monday, June 1
FRUSTRATION WEIGHED HEAVILY on the third floor of the Washington Metro field office whe
re members of the President’s Special Joint Counter Terrorism Task Force were convened. The elite FBI, CIA, and NSA individuals presently seated around the polished table were nowadays exempt from the 1978 statutory prohibitions on sharing information between them, as well as what few restrictions remained following the reinstituted Patriot Act. It was a worrisome fact lost on none of them that despite their exceptional powers, the high visibility investigations they spearheaded had yet to produce a single criminal indictment.
Today’s eight attendees began with the usual reminder that the evidence trail in the wake of the terrorist strike on the Holocaust Memorial remained cold. They knew little from the two stolen motorcycles used by the terrorists and later recovered in an abandoned Lincoln Heights warehouse. Likewise no fingerprints had been found on the spent rocket launchers recovered from the scene; serial numbers on the American-made weapons were traced to an army weapons cache stolen from EUFOR in northwest Bosnia. Some ten weeks of intense investigation had elapsed since the mutilated body of Katherine Prouty was discovered with the dead Iranian spy inside his Rivergate apartment. With evidence including plastique explosive, phony passports, DNA-traceable hair and blood specimens, the team had enlisted the help of Israeli intelligence. Mossad had provided only limited insight beyond the level of collaboration between Mohammad Ahmadi and Nijad Jabara first reported by Samuel McBurney. Like McBurney, the Israeli foreign intelligence service seemed more concerned with the implications of the missile defense technical data found in the Iranian diplomat’s possession. No single bit of evidence, no personal associate, no financial transaction, no background investigation had shed any light as to the identity of Katherine Prouty’s murderer. President Denis had called the team each week to express his outrage.
The discussion moved on to the recent firebombing of a Brooklyn mosque. Special Agent Kosmalski summarized that although the NYPD had not finished interviewing potential witnesses, the investigators were not optimistic. “There are no eyewitnesses stepping forward, no license plate numbers, no tire tread patterns, no associated microwave repeater traffic,” Kosmalski glumly informed his colleagues.
Razing Beijing: A Thriller Page 20