Lea didn’t respond to the question. “If it is okay with you, I will continue to monitor you in the background, and should you go wrong, I will let you know.”
“That’s great, thank you,” De Cremonese answered. Lea disappeared from the screen, and phone menu appeared again.
“Amazing piece of technology,” Bishop repeated. “But she must not be programmed to handle surprises,” he joked. “What were you saying before about those creationists, the Young Earth Movement?
“As I said before, I know of similar organizations, but they’ve never used violence before. Those movements strongly reject evolution in favor of the supernatural design, and they are known for their verbal attacks on science education. The only violence I know of was when one of them smeared a college wall with graffiti for refusing to teach evolution, but that’s as far as the aggression goes.”
“So, what do they want?”
“In the early days they tried to get schools into teaching ‘Creation Science,’ taking the book of Genesis, and its consistency with the scientific ages of the Earth and universe, literally. Which I happened to agree with.”
“But not any longer?” Bishop concluded.
“Nowadays, most of them switched to ‘Intelligent Design.’”
“A distinction without a difference?” Bishop asked.
“Is that a question or an assumption?” De Cremonese sounded intense.
“Sorry,” Bishop pleaded. “I meant no disrespect. I have little knowledge of the subject, and I just assumed—”
De Cremonese interrupted him, furrowing his bushy black unibrow. “Assumptions can be dangerous, professor.”
“Again, I’m sorry.”
De Cremonese burst out laughing. “I’m just yanking your chain. Not a problem. I fully understand not knowing the difference. Let me explain.”
Bishop sighed in relief.
“First of all, creationism is always based upon a religious text, like proving the book of Genesis. Intelligent design doesn’t use sacred texts and solely uses pure empirical data to claim their arguments. In his fifth, and final proof of God, Thomas Aquinas presented God’s existence as a syllogism—that’s intelligent design. However, believers in intelligent design don’t have to be religious or can even be anti-religion.
“Second, creationists always believe in a kind of divine creator—a god, if you will—any kind of god. Intelligent design doesn’t describe the designer, only the design itself. It recognizes only the data.”
“I understand now.” Bishop smiled. “Thanks. So, what do you think about the theory that the creationists kidnapped Amie?”
“To be honest, I find it hard to believe. There’s no news on the subject, and somehow the same Mulder who was so fiercely threatened by the movement at first, is now nowhere to be seen on the subject in any form or shape of media. I feel there has to be another explanation.”
“But what?” Bishop asked, as the Jeep passed the security booth and drove onto the Logynous grounds.”
Lea appeared on the phone screen. “You know the drill?”
“Yes. Just leave the car in front of the central entrance and leave the keys in the ignition.”
“Great. I’ll see you at reception.”
Bishop smirked. “She can be demanding too.”
After parking the car, the two men walked into the building.
Bishop looked around the glossy white entrance. “I like it,” he said.
Lea’s hologram appeared in the center of the entryway. “Father De Cremonese and Professor Bishop. Good to see you’ve arrived.”
“Thank you, Lea,” De Cremonese replied.
“You said you wanted to surprise Mr. Mulder?” Lea asked.
“Yes, I would love to speak with him.”
“One moment, please. I’ll see if I can find him.”
Bishop walked to the Pollock painting on the wall. “That’s a Jackson Pollock. Is it a real one?”
“It is,” Lea replied. “From his drip period. Did you know Time Magazine gave him his nickname ‘Jack the Dripper’ in 1949?”
“I didn’t know that,” Bishop answered.
“I’m sorry, but I am afraid Mr. Mulder cannot see you at the moment. He’s in a meeting.”
“Can we wait?” De Cremonese asked.
“You can, but it could be a while, possibly up to a few hours. You are free to have a look around and use the facilities. There is a playground at every quarter of the compass, where you can play ping-pong, Xbox, and many more fun games, and if you follow the hallway, you will find our restaurant. Please feel free to enjoy anything you want. Courtesy of Mr. Mulder and the Logynous company.”
“That’s great,” Bishop agreed. “And Mr. Mulder’s office, is that also on this floor?”
“No, sir. That would be on the fifth floor. If it is okay with you, I will call you on Father De Cremonese’s phone as soon as Mr. Mulder is available.”
“That’s great. Thank you, Lea. We’ll hear from you later.”
“Have a great time,” Lea said, and then faded away.
“Is that also on this floor?” De Cremonese asked Bishop, as they walked into the right corridor. “Am I right in thinking you’re up to something?”
“It can’t hurt to have a look around, can it?” Bishop claimed. “She said so herself. We’re free to have a look around.” He stopped at the door to the stairwell. “What do you think? Shall we?”
“Sure, sounds exciting. Let’s have a look around.” De Cremonese’s boyish eyes sparkled as they ascended.
“That wasn’t as easy as I expected it to be,” De Cremonese said, panting as they reached the fifth floor.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m fine. Just keep going.”
Bishop exited the stairway into the corridor, followed by De Cremonese.
“Which way?” De Cremonese asked, still panting.
“I have no idea,” Bishop replied. “Right?”
“Sound like a plan.”
They looked into the first rooms they passed. The floor seemed surprisingly empty. Conference rooms were completely unoccupied, most of them even without furniture. The few smaller spaces they passed were equipped with what looked to be lab equipment, but no one was operating any of it.
“It looks like they are still moving in,” De Cremonese said.
“Or Mulder values his privacy very much.”
“Here.” De Cremonese pointed to a sign on a closed door that read, ‘Ms. Amie Coleman – Executive Assistant.’ He looked through the glass panel beside the door. “Empty.”
Bishop followed De Cremonese’s example. “And dark.”
“That means that the next room’s probably....” De Cremonese pointed ahead.
“Be my guest,” Bishop whispered and waved an arm ahead.
De Cremonese headed to the next door. ‘Eldin Mulder – CEO,’ it read. He looked back at Bishop and nodded. De Cremonese looked through the glass panel. “Also empty and dark,” he said softly.
Bishop looked at the door. “There’s no doorknob.”
De Cremonese pointed to a small LED screen hanging eye level next to the door. Below the screen, one single stainless-steel button was incorporated in the screen’s frame.
“Why not,” Bishop said, and De Cremonese pushed the button.
“Can I help you?” a female voice asked, and the dark-haired Lean appeared on the screen.
“Lea.” De Cremonese said, surprised, and quickly took a step back.
“No, I am a Lean, the Logynous security avatar,” the digital woman replied.
Not sure what to do, De Cremonese eyed Bishop, who hesitated for a second and then stepped in front of the screen. “Hi, Lean. We have an appointment with Mr. Mulder and would like to wait in his office. Would you please open the door?”
The avatar blinked two times. “I am sorry, but I am not allowed to let you in without permission or unaccompanied by a member of the executive staff. If you like, I can point you to the nearest
playground.”
“No, thank you,” Bishop said. “We’ll find our way.”
The screen went blank again.
“What do we do now?” he asked De Cremonese.
“Break in?” De Cremonese stroked his beard.
“Father?”
“It’s for a good cause, and we’re not here to steal anything, just have a look.”
Bishop nodded. “I like your style, Father. But how do you suggest we do that? I can pick a traditional lock but this....” He pointed to the screen.
De Cremonese took a small pocketknife from his jeans and opened it.
“You came prepared,” Bishop said.
De Cremonese showed him the knife. “It’s a 1960s metal-plated pocketknife, with an engraving of Vatican City. It’s been handed from one director of the Vatican Observatory to the next since then.”
Bishop laughed. “And you probably always wondered why.”
“And now we know.” De Cremonese pried the knife between the wall and the screen. With little force, the screen came off.
“Can I help you?” Lean appeared on the screen, now dangling from the wall on a bundle of wires.
“No, thank you,” Bishop answered promptly, putting a hand over the screen.
“I cannot see you,” Lean said while De Cremonese took the bundle of wires in his hand.
“There must be twenty colors,” Bishop said. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
De Cremonese shrugged while prying his knife between the end of a few stripped wires. With a sharp crackling sound, sparks flew from the tip of the metal knife, running a current through it into De Cremonese’s hand. He cried out, pulled back, and dropped the knife.
“That went well,” Bishop said. “I’m not sure that’s the right way to get in.”
“I cannot let you in without proper authorization,” Lean said. “Will you please stop doing what it is you’re doing? This is dangerous, and you could be seriously hurt.”
De Cremonese picked up the knife, and Bishop pulled him away from the door. “She can hear us,” he whispered. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
De Cremonese didn’t respond. For a long moment he stared at the dangling screen, then back at his knife again. “Maybe,” he frowned. “But it could be a bit dangerous.”
“What do you mean?
De Cremonese looked at Bishop’s shoes. “Can I get one of your laces?”
“What? Why?” Bishop uttered.
“Because I wear loafers and don’t have any.”
“Great.” Bishop shook his head. He bent over, took a lace from his shoe and gave it to De Cremonese. “I’m going to need that back.”
“I figure you do,” De Cremonese looked at Bishop’s laceless shoe and smiled. “Now help me. I need you to tie the knife into my hand as firm as you can. I must not be able to let it go.” He gave the shoelace back.
“I have a bad feeling about this. But, okay, it’s your funeral.” De Cremonese took the knife in his hand, and Bishop wrapped the lace firmly around it, tying it off with a double knot. “Try it.”
De Cremonese used every muscle in his hand to open it but couldn’t. “That should do it.” He went back to the screen. “Whatever happens, don’t interfere and don’t touch me,” he warned Bishop.
Bishop shook his head.
“Ready?” De Cremonese asked.
“I have no idea for what, but....” he waved both hands.
De Cremonese held the screen in front of him and looked at the end of the wires, to where they disappeared into the wall. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Then he pushed the button.
Lean returned to the screen. “Can I help you?”
De Cremonese pushed the knife into the wall where the wires met. A strong current ran through the blade into his hand and through his body. His hand tightened around the knife and started shaking, followed by his arm. His face contorted.
“What are you doing?” Lean asked.
Bishop took a step toward De Cremonese and stretched out his arm, but remembered what he’d said.
“Please stop what you’re doing,” Lean said. “This is very dangerous.”
Bishop turned sideways, getting ready to jump at De Cremonese and throw him onto the ground, away from the current, while not getting electrified himself. Just as he was about to leap forward, the current stopped.
De Cremonese fell to his knees, exhaled, inhaled deeply, and again exhaled slowly and softly.
“Are you okay?” Bishop took him by the shoulder, unwrapped the lace, and removed the knife from his hand.
“Give me a few seconds, and I’ll be fine.” He took another deep breath. “As a young boy, I got used to getting electrified. My father was an electrician. He was always working on all kinds of devices. I followed in his footsteps, making mistakes and getting electrified every other day. My arm will be numb for the rest of the day, but otherwise, I’ll be fine. Did it work?”
“Did it work?” Bishop asked.
“Push the door,” De Cremonese ordered.
Bishop pushed the door, and it softly swung open. “How did you...?” Bishop mumbled, looking into the office.
De Cremonese gave a wide smile. “Asimov’s laws.”
“What?”
“Asimov’s Three Laws. Never heard of it?”
“No, but I know of the writer.”
“Same one. Isaac Asimov, the twentieth-century American biochemistry professor and science fiction writer, developed the three laws of robotics. One: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Two: A robot must obey the orders given by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the first law. Three: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second laws. I figured Mulder probably would have incorporated the three laws into his AI. I read somewhere he’s a big sci-fi fan.”
“So? I still don’t understand.”
“My theory was Lean wouldn’t—or couldn’t—let me get hurt because of the laws. She would cut the power. The local fire safety laws and regulations did the rest. They demand that when the power cuts off to a building or part of it, all electronic door locks must be opened automatically, preventing people from getting trapped.”
“That’s amazing. I mean, you, knowing the local safety regulations requiring that.”
“I know they do in Rome.” De Cremonese gave a tiny smile.
Bishop shook his head. “And what if he didn’t use Asimov’s laws?”
“What can I say? Have a little faith. Shall we have a look inside?”
“Let’s do that.” Bishop quickly replaced his shoelace and took De Cremonese’s arm and helped him off the ground.
“It’s smaller than I would have thought,” Bishop said as they walked in.
The office couldn’t have been more than four hundred square feet. From the desk on the right side, Mulder could watch the door to his left, and he had a great view through the window on the right of the eye’s gardens and park. The desk itself was stacked two feet high with piles of paper flanking a computer screen. Opposite the desk hung an antique sixteenth-century Frisian grandfather clock. Next to the window, four comfortable brown leather seats surrounded a glass table. Except for those pieces of furniture and the clock on the wall, the office was empty.
“Totally not what I expected,” De Cremonese said, glancing around.
“But that’s quite a view,” Bishop replied, looking at the view of the park.
“Personally, my office would preferably be on the other side of the building, overlooking the forest,” De Cremonese replied.
“Maybe you’re right. I guess I was comparing it to my Yale office’s view of the next building’s red bricks.”
“When you look at it that way, I guess I have two office views. The one from my Italy office overlooks Lago Albano, an old gigantic volcanic crater, and the other one in Arizona overlooks Mount Graham’s grandeur.�
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“Are you trying to make me jealous, Father?”
De Cremonese smiled. “So, what are we looking for?”
“That’s a good question,” Bishop answered. “Anything about Jennifer, the lost tribes or Amie, for that matter. Anything that stands out.” Bishop switched on the computer on the desk.
Lean appeared on the screen. “Please put your hand on the screen or say the passphrase,” she said.
“I guess you have no idea how to hack your way into this one?” Bishop mocked.
De Cremonese sighed, shook his head and switched the computer off. “I’ve seen enough of her for today.”
“That I understand. Well, then there are not many places to look.” He pointed to the two stacks of paper. “If you take this one”—he pointed to the left pile—“I’ll take the other.”
“Aren’t you afraid someone will walk in?”
“Of course I am,” Bishop answered. “But I’m also confident we can deal with it when it happens. Besides that, what’s the worst that can happen?”
“They can throw us out. Maybe even have us arrested.”
“Exactly.” Bishop started sifting through the papers.
Sheet by sheet, they went through the stack of paper, glancing at copies of order sheets, personnel records, handwritten letters from Mulder’s mother, advertisements, warranty papers and even tax documents.
“Here’s something.” Bishop held up a piece of paper. “A list of tribes. Looks very similar to the one the government officials I told you about showed me.”
“Anything else on it?” De Cremonese asked.
“No, just the list.”
“I thought we were living in the paperless age.” De Cremonese waved a stack of paper into the air.
“Don’t believe it, Father. I read somewhere that small and medium companies are the slowest to digitize and still produce one point six trillion pieces of paper a year.”
De Cremonese grinned. “It’s up to the youth and their smartphones now to fulfill that prophecy, I guess.” He glanced at a small stapled stack of papers and quickly put it away again. “You know that in our time....” As he picked up the next piece, he lingered.
“What is it?” Bishop asked.
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