Gamble answered Cushing, his voice sharper than it had been earlier, assuring me that he had regained his wits. “Her name came up during a non-related investigation, and I heard about the raid you conducted on Miss Keyes’ house. I was interested as to what it was about. Since neither APD nor the FBI had received notice of such an action, the raid piqued my curiosity.”
A good start, Agent Gamble. Put her on the defensive. Watch out, though.
I knew Cushing too well.
“Oh, is that all? It was a Homeland issue.”
“Ah. I see. Still, we were surprised to hear of it. Usually we receive alerts or bulletins when Homeland initiates an action. You know. Shared intel, and all.”
“May I be frank with you, Special Agent Gamble?”
Oh, here it comes, Gamble. Here it comes.
I was positively snarling at Cushing and her oily, ingratiating snake-oil approach.
“Special Agent Gamble, we believe Gemma Keyes to be a homegrown terrorist. She and another former Sandia employee were responsible for bombing a laboratory at Sandia Labs in March. An innocent man lost his life in that explosion. You may have heard about it?”
Gamble lifted his eyes in my direction. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I doubted it was anything good.
“I recall that explosion. The news reported that it was caused by human error.”
Don’t! Don’t challenge her, Agent Gamble!
“Yes, we chose to disseminate that information rather than alarm the public. However, I must warn you, Special Agent Gamble: Gemma Keyes is a very dangerous individual. Apprehending her is of national concern.”
Gamble’s eyes narrowed. Was his baloney detector as finely tuned as I hoped it was?
“I see. Well, as I said, I was merely curious about the raid. I appreciate you filling me in.”
Cushing’s intuitions were sharp, too. Sharp as razor wire. “Now, Special Agent Gamble, you haven’t had any contact with Miss Keyes, have you?”
Gamble gripped the phone tighter. “No. Her name came up as we investigated a gang-related crime in her neighborhood. I see no connection between the two cases.”
Cushing was silent on the other end as though weighing what he’d said and the way he’d said it. At last she replied, “I would appreciate you keeping me apprised of your investigation if it at all concerns Miss Keyes, Agent Gamble.”
“It would be my pleasure to assist you, General Cushing.” Gamble was as smooth as silk.
I raised my brows. Back atcha, Sharky Face.
“And thank you again for returning my call; I hope I did not inconvenience you,” he added by way of closure.
“Not at all, Agent Gamble. Goodbye.”
Gamble replaced the receiver and put both hands on his desk. He was thinking. Hard.
I did not interrupt him.
“Miss Keyes?”
“Yes?”
“I’m no slouch, Miss Keyes. I know a liar when I hear one.”
He waited as though I should comment.
All I said was, “Okaaay . . .”
“She’s a liar.”
“One of the best.”
“I’ll reserve judgment on that, but I agree that she’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. And she has your Dr. Bickel locked up somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“Why can’t I see you, Miss Keyes? What’s the deal?”
I dithered a moment more before saying, “Dr. Bickel is a nanophysicist. Do you know anything about nanotechnology?”
He shrugged. “Sub-micron stuff.”
“Yeah. Know anything about adaptive camouflage?”
His eyes twitched in the direction of my voice. “Some. Heard about it in the military.”
“Put the two together, and that’s my situation.”
“What? Small stuff camouflaging you?”
“Pretty much. Several trillion of the ‘small stuff.’ They are called nanomites. Very sophisticated electromechanical devices with advanced, individualized computer processors, yet operating as a networked swarm and at a very high level of computer intelligence.”
“Nanomites?”
Speaking of the nanomites, I had ignored their complaints for a while, but their protests had grown louder and more insistent. I needed to cut off the flow of information I was providing to Gamble before the mites blew a collective fuse.
“Listen, Agent Gamble, the fewer specifics you have, the better. It is enough for you to know that Cushing is not interested in me, per se. She wants the nanomites and, for the time being, the mites and I are inseparable. Of course, I know too much, so she also wants to shut me up, which, I’m afraid, would be very bad for my health.”
My voice hardened. “By the way, it’s been five days since you interviewed Zander Cruz, and you are just now calling Cushing? Too bad I got here two minutes too late.”
He shrugged. “I’ve exhausted every lead in my search for Soto, so I’m back to square one. Didn’t think contacting Cushing could hurt.”
“Well, don’t be surprised when she calls you back in a few days ‘just to check up’ on your investigation. And don’t be surprised to find your every move dogged by her people. Don’t be shocked to find your phones tapped, your online accounts monitored, and your superiors notified of her interest in you.
“By the way, I’ve had the nanomites delete their browsing history from your computer. Can’t be too careful when it comes to Cushing.”
I took a deep breath. “If she was willing to send a tactical team to storm my house and capture me—me!—a harmless woman who, if reports are to be believed, has scarcely enough backbone to stand on her own two feet, all while shredding my constitutional rights to a legal, warranted search? Oh, and without the required notice to legit law enforcement agencies? Well, she won’t spare a second thought to overrunning your life and career on the off chance you will provide a lead to my capture.”
“You don’t strike me as the shy, retiring type your neighbors described.”
I laughed low in my throat. “Adversity changes us, Agent Gamble. I’ve been on the run a while now. It’s either adapt or languish and eventually die in Cushing’s tender care. I don’t choose to allow that for me or my friends—which is why I came here to warn you not to contact Cushing.”
Gamble grunted, but the FBI guy, on the outside anyway, seemed to be listening when I added, “I cannot stress this enough: If she even imagines that you have spoken to me? Your life will be over. She will discredit you, destroy your reputation, perhaps make you disappear. Don’t doubt me on this: From here on out, my life and the lives of Zander Cruz, Abe Pickering, and Emilio Martinez—as well as your own—hinge on whatever you choose to do with what I’ve told you.”
I climbed out of the chair. “I’m going to search out Mateo Martinez and Dead Eyes. When I find them, I’ll let you take them down. I’m going to find them for you, not because they are bad guys, but because of what they did to my friends. It’s personal for me.”
“It is for me, too,” Gamble whispered.
I paused. Licked my lips. “Oh?”
“Her name was Graciella. She was working undercover in Mexico. Her cover was blown and Soto . . .”
I shuddered. I did not want to know what Soto had done to this poor woman any more than Gamble wanted to repeat it.
“She was special to you?”
Gamble looked away. “Yes.”
“All right. So, it’s personal. For both of us.” I reached for the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
“How will I reach you?”
“You won’t, and it’s better if you can’t. Safer that way for both of us. However, if you keep your eyes peeled, I think you’ll find Cushing’s sticky fingers probing every part and particle of your life before long. She’s as tenacious as a rabid bulldog, so we don’t want to do anything to tantalize her.”
“All right. If you say so.”
“Don’t take my warnings lightly. Goodbye, Agent Gamble.”
“Goodbye, M
iss Keyes. Take care of yourself.”
There it was again. The tough, no-nonsense FBI agent showing a solicitous side.
“Uh, you, too. Remember my warning: Be on your guard. Keep an eye out for Cushing. She’ll be watching you.”
He snorted a tiny laugh. “You’re starting to sound paranoid, Miss Keyes.”
“It’s not paranoia if they really are watching you.”
~~**~~
Chapter 15
The three scientists assembled in the conference room squirmed under General Cushing’s inspection. Agent Trujillo, standing just off Cushing’s shoulder, commiserated with the three men. She’d withstood her own share of Cushing’s interrogations.
Cushing opened with, “Gentlemen, you have studied and analyzed Dr. Bickel’s data and you have seen the videos of his nanomite demonstrations. We now know that he somehow removed his nanomites from the lab and left us with dumb ones before his, um, unfortunate demise.”
Agent Trujillo’s ears perked up. Something in Cushing’s inflection struck her as, what? Odd? Dr. Bickel’s “unfortunate demise”? Why had those few words prompted alarms?
She filed her curiosity away for later study when Cushing continued.
“Getting back to Dr. Bickel’s claims about his nanomites . . . I have some rather pointed questions for you. Theoretical questions, if you wish.”
Dr. Thomas Schillman, the team lead and eldest of the trio, replied, “Certainly, General. We are happy to assist in any way we can.”
After the ongoing debacle of the last few months when the nanomites Cushing had provided for them to study had proved to be sub-micron dumb bots incapable of learning or performing even a fraction of the tasks Bickel had claimed they could, the three scientists were eager to prove their worth to Cushing.
“Yes, I should think so.” Cushing couldn’t resist twisting the screws, and Schillman reddened. Then she got on with the task at hand.
“Gentlemen, Dr. Bickel asserted that his nanobots possessed certain tools, is that so?”
The three of them nodded.
“And am I correct in recalling that one such tool was a laser?”
Mishka Troya, the youngest of the three scientists, a brilliant but socially and politically immature individual, snarked, “Yes, he did claim that.”
The gaze Cushing fixed on Troya shriveled the man. “You doubt Dr. Bickel’s claim?”
The other two scientists edged away from their “doomed” colleague.
“Well? You were saying?”
The two older men pursed their lips and looked anywhere but at Troya as he dug himself in deeper.
“I, uh, well, it seems improbable, General, that a laser beam could be generated by a single sub-micron electromechanical device. Improbable and scientifically impossible.”
“Oh, yes. I see. But what if . . . what if we considered a very large number of such devices. Say, a few trillion? Devices manufactured with the ability to ‘piggyback’ upon each other in order to multiply their functions, to focus their combined abilities on a single point. What then?”
The young man swallowed and glanced at his colleagues for support. They would not meet his gaze.
“I . . . I suppose theoretically, one might consider the possibility.”
“Hmm? Theoretically, then, what if a swarm of nanobots with the capabilities demonstrated in Dr. Bickel’s data, what if a swarm of say, several trillion nanobots, possessed such multiplicative abilities? Would they—theoretically, of course—be able to, say, invade a laptop computer and, from within, focus their lasers on its hard disk, wiping all data from it and melting it, thus leaving no mark upon the exterior of the laptop?”
The young man flushed and stared at Cushing. “Ma’am, if we are going to speak in theories, and not facts, then yes. Such a thing would be possible. Theoretically, a large enough population of these devices, given the abilities you allowed them, could render a laser beam of that strength.”
“Why, thank you for playing along, Dr. . . . Troya, is it?”
“Yes.”
Troya, too immature to keep his resentment concealed, flushed.
Cushing’s lips curved upward and exposed her gleaming teeth. She did not try to mask her enjoyment of his discomfiture.
“And Dr. Troya, still theoretically speaking, of course, how might a nanobot swarm of this magnitude manage to disguise something . . . some sort of object? How might a swarm of this size hide an object?”
Troya was surprised out of his annoyance. “Hide something? Interesting concept . . .”
He drifted off in his thoughts for a moment and Cushing tapped a fingernail on the table to bring him back. “Dr. Troya?”
“Well, I . . . I was recalling other tools Dr. Bickel described in one video recording of his presentations. I believe he spoke of ‘fully articulating mirrors used to capture solar energy.’” He turned to his colleagues, who were now showing some interest. “Do you recall him listing mirrors in the tool sets?”
“Yes, uh, I do,” Schillman agreed. “He claimed that each nanomite was equipped with a slice of polished silicon that unfolded into nine panels.”
Dr. Yazzie asked, “What are you thinking, Dr. Troya?”
“That the panels might have uses other than as solar receptors. They might be used to reflect also.”
“Ah! I see where you’re going. Adaptive camouflage?”
The three men nodded in unison and Troya added, “Exactly. Optical invisibility. When—”
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen. You have, I believe, something to share with me?”
Dr. Schillman coughed and replied, “Only that such panels, when they are designed to articulate independently—that is, to turn, rotate, and tilt in every direction—such panels are capable of bending light. With a large enough array of said panels acting as mirrors, one could camouflage an object by reflecting the environment around said object. The technology, albeit crude, does exist.”
“Crude how? In what ways?”
“Crude in that, firstly, the number of mirrors required to overcome the perception of the human eye would need to be astronomical and, secondly, the actual coordination of all the mirrors to maintain the camouflage in a changing environment would be impossible in practical terms.
“However—and again, theoretically—if the mirrors were synchronized via dedicated computing power of considerable force, it would be possible. The rub would be that such computations would need to, on an ongoing basis, predict and calculate the movements of the object and compensate for those movements in near real time. Quite beyond today’s existing technologies.”
Cushing’s voice hardened. “Unless we are speaking of several trillion nanomites, each with their own individually articulating mirrors via networked and coordinated computing power?”
Dr. Schillman’s mouth dropped open. “Well, then, that . . . that might be plausible.”
Cushing said nothing for a long, charged moment. She was deep in her own musings when she whispered, “Yes, I believe it just might be.”
***
I left the FBI building and returned to my car at the nearby restaurant. As I drove home, I wondered how Gamble would handle what I’d told him.
Gemma Keyes.
Uh-oh. Aaaand here it comes.
“Yes?”
Did you apply due consideration prior to revealing knowledge of us to Special Agent Gamble?
Huh. This was different. They weren’t chiding me. Well, not exactly.
“Frankly, Nano, I acted in the best interests of us under the pressure and time constraints of the circumstances. In hindsight, I’m not sure I could have handled the situation any differently. I could not allow Agent Gamble to speak to Cushing without him being forewarned.”
We have analyzed the data and parameters and agree that your actions were best suited given the constraints.
A feather. A tiny, flimsy feather could have knocked me over.
“You do? I mean, you agree with my actions?”
We are
learning much about human beings through observation and even more through our union with you. It is true that, when faced with the unknown and unfamiliar, people can behave in unpredictable ways. Our common enemy, General Cushing, could have turned Special Agent Gamble to her purposes without him realizing it.
We believe you responded suitably to the immediate threat, and you may have forged an ally in Special Agent Gamble. However, the level of probability that our existence will leak into the public domain increases exponentially with each revelation. We urge you to use caution.
“Er, thank you. I appreciate your warning.”
More than the warning, I appreciated their approval.
***
We were home, and I was ready to focus on my new goal: Locate Mateo Martinez and Arnaldo Soto—and assist Agent Gamble in serving up their just desserts. But I wasn’t going to risk getting off on the wrong foot with the nanomites again.
So. How to approach them . . .
“Um, Nano.”
Yes, Gemma Keyes?
“Nano, two evil men have done grave harm to our friends. I need your help to find these men.”
The silence lasted seconds—before their collective questions inundated me.
We require more information. Which friends? In what way are they our friends? Describe and quantify “grave harm.” Which two men? Quantify “evil.” In what way does finding these two men further the good of our community?
Wow.
“Um, that’s a lot to answer. Let me think on it a sec.”
Good grief.
I didn’t want to manipulate the nanomites into working with me by using false or misleading arguments—because that could never backfire, right?—but would a simplistic explanation of human friendships and their importance satisfy them?
Yes, I thought that the mites were making progress in the area of interpersonal relationships. Just an hour ago, they had spoken of learning more about human beings, of recognizing their unpredictability. On top of that, they had used the phrase, “our common enemy,” with regards to Cushing.
Still, I chose my words with care. “So, Nano? I have a question. Remember how I told you earlier that I have affection for Dr. Bickel? Uh, do you have affection for him?”
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