Damn! I was really looking forward to tonight. And why did I have to lie like that? Jennifer thought. I finished my work an hour ago. Am I that insecure? Am I putting him ahead of me because I’m nice, or is it because I’m afraid I’ll lose him? My God, I don’t know the answer myself. I can’t go on like this, but I can’t seem to leave him either.
So she did the only other thing she could possibly do under the circumstances; she sat on the couch and consumed a quart of non-dietetic Heath Bar Crunch ice cream.
Then she got to work on a business plan to expand The Gazette.
I can’t live my life through him. I have to let go.
Pete had a big week ahead.
Tomorrow he would be deposed by a panel of government lawyers and would have to say that, to the best of his knowledge, no laws of any kind were broken in the development of the ACIP. He would also have to swear that as far as he knew, the ACIP was 100-percent effective. No exceptions.
Four days later, Pete was scheduled to meet face-to-face with Daniel Anthony Reece, the man who 29 years earlier had murdered his brother. When Pete had called Alphonso Carter back in March to suggest the meeting, Carter warned him it would be emotionally painful. But after a long discussion, he had agreed it might also be therapeutic—at least for Reece. Not that Pete cared one whit about Reece’s psychological well-being.
They had arranged for the meeting to take place in Dallas.
Reece was willing to be questioned using the ACIP. Seeing him will be a lot more difficult, Pete decided, than facing those government lawyers. He still wasn’t sure he knew why he wanted to meet the now-middle-aged murderer. Curiosity? No, it’s far more than that.
Pete needed to confront the person who had so brutally and permanently altered his life, changing his entire perception of humanity. Maybe after so many years, he would be able to stop hating him. Maybe he could finally let go of it. Or perhaps it was a way to stop the pain and the guilt and the voices.
But tonight he and Charles Scoggins would lock themselves in the lab and not emerge until Scoggins could fool a SCIP too. This time the reprogramming would not take nearly as long; he already knew what to do. He would test-SCIP Scoggins and add about 100 lines to the existing override code. They’d be done by midnight. Pete would get plenty of sleep before meeting the attorneys in the morning.
Or so he thought. Arriving home at 11:54 p.m., he found Jennifer waiting on the couch.
“Hi, Jen.”
“Hi.” Then silence.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. How was your meeting?”
“It was okay, but I’m exhausted. Let’s go to bed.”
They got undressed and retired, and it was the first time they ever slept together without making love.
Pete, who didn’t have a clue what the matter was between them, felt inexplicably troubled and slept very little.
The next morning he was exhausted.
At 9:00 a.m. sharp, four government attorneys, including one who had been specially trained as an ACIP technician, arrived at the ATI building and were immediately escorted to his office. After some small talk, they were brought to the laboratory one floor below ground level.
In the elevator, the tallest one said, “We’ve only used the prototype you gave the panel to test. Is there any difference between it and the machine we’ll be using now?”
Pete hadn’t anticipated the question and wasn’t sure how to respond. His mind raced and his body started to sway as he considered his options. If I tell them the machines are identical, how will I change the software in the government prototype before they SCIP Charles? And how will I explain the 100 new lines of software code to any ATI people who might notice?
Then finally realizing, But I can pass a SCIP on either machine, Pete answered with a partial truth, “Er, there were a l-l-little over 100 new lines of code added last night. Charles Scoggins and I worked on it together. We’re, uh, hoping it’ll speed the processing. Would you rather test me on the new version or the first prototype?”
None of the attorneys suggested calling their bosses in Washington.
“I think either one will be fine,” one of them replied.
Apparently the procedure was just a formality. Nobody expects me to actually fail the test, Pete thought. Everything’s friendly—even loose, considering this is the largest government contract in history. The rate of inflation over the previous 18 years had more than quadrupled the dollar amount. The contract was now worth about a trillion dollars.
ATI’s General Counsel Haywood Thacker met them in the hall and walked with the small group to the laboratory where the prototype ACIP was kept. Pete sat, rocking back and forth in the witness chair as Thacker had warned the attorneys he would.
The deposition lasted less than five minutes. Still, Pete was tense. He had never been SCIPed before, other than by his own employees. And he had never lied to the machine before, except as a test. This time it would be for real.
One of the lawyers began. “Please state your full name.”
“Randall Petersen Armstrong.”
“Where and when were you born, Mr. Armstrong?”
“Concord, Massachusetts, on December 6th, 1989.”
“Do you swear, under penalty of perjury, that the testimony you’re about to give is true to the best of your knowledge?”
O Captain! My Captain! “Y-Yes, I do.”
The ACIP light remained green, registering no deceit.
“What’s your position at Armstrong Technologies, Inc.?”
“I’m chairman, scientific director, and majority stockholder.”
“Please name all ATI employees who own more than one-third of one percent of the stock of the company or are entitled to overrides on the ACIP project.”
“Charles Scoggins, Bill Tannenbaum, Marjorie Ann Tilly, Leslie Williams, Carl Whatley, Haywood Thacker, Gene Hildegrand, and myself.”
“Are there any other significant stockholders to your knowledge?”
“Merrill Lynch & Schwab owns a large block. Also Senator David West has almost one percent of the stock. There may be some others. Five percent of the company was sold to the public in January 2007, and Merrill retained half the offering. The remaining stockholders aren’t known to me, except my girlfriend, Jennifer Finley, who bought 150 shares at the IPO.” Smart girl, that Jen. I hope she’s in a better mood tonight.
“Were you personally involved in the development of the ACIP?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Who was the manager in charge of the project?”
“Charles Scoggins.”
“Mr. Armstrong, is it possible there could be imperfections in the machine that you would not be aware of?”
“It’s possible, but unlikely.”
“Are you familiar with the terms of the government contract being offered to Armstrong Technologies, Inc., pursuant to the Truth Machine Bill of April 2006?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Are you aware of any imperfections in the technology that would at all compromise ATI’s adherence to any conditions of the Truth Machine Bill?”
Our fearful trip is done. “Uh, n-no, I’m not.”
No bell sounded from the ACIP. There was no red light, just a steady green and the machine’s quiet hum.
“Are you familiar with commercial law?”
“I’m not a lawyer, but I have, er, a good amount of general legal knowledge.”
“If any crimes had been committed in the development of the ACIP’s technology, for example, fraud, tax evasion, commercial bribery, theft of intellectual property, securities torts, or environmental safety violations, would you be likely to be aware of such crimes?”
“Yes, m-most probably.”
“Mr. Armstrong, are you aware of any violations of the law pursuant to the ACIP’s development?”
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won. “No sir, I’m n-not.”
Again, the ACIP registered no deceit.<
br />
“Who, besides yourself, could possibly know of any breaches of the Truth Machine Bill?”
“If there were any breaches I wasn’t aware of, the most likely person to know about them would be Charles Scoggins. Marjorie Tilly might also. I’d think it would be next to impossible for at least one of us not to know about a breach.”
“Thank you, Mr. Armstrong. We’re done with you and you’ve passed. Congratulations. We’ll want to question Mr. Scoggins and Ms. Tilly, but I’d say those two testimonies will be all we’ll need to recommend the contract go forward.”
Pete replied, “Tilly’s out of town until this afternoon, but I’ll call Mr. Scoggins and see if he’s available.”
He spoke into his wristband PDC. “Charles Scoggins, please.”
“Scoggins here.”
“The attorneys would like to question you next. Are you available?”
“Absolutely, but I’d like a few minutes to finish this meeting. We need your opinion about something before we can conclude. Can you come up for a few minutes first?”
“On my way.”
Scoggins’s office was a dark, windowless room with video screens covering two walls and the latest data-processing equipment neatly surrounding the desk. Pete was surprised to see Scoggins waiting there for him—alone.
“Where’d everyone go?”
“It’s a long story, Pete. Please shut off your recorder for a moment.”
“Stop six.”
“I’ve been thinking. I’m not sure I want to go through with this.”
Suddenly Pete felt his heart thumping. “What the hell do you mean, Charles?”
“I mean I’m not really sure I want to perjure myself. So far the only laws I’ve broken involve civil matters. Maybe Renaissance Corporation could sue me, but that’s only money. If I lie to those attorneys, it would be a criminal offense. I could go to jail.”
“But I’ve already given my testimony. It was what we planned.”
“That may be true, but I can still change my mind. I only own 13.6 percent of this project and you own over half of it. I’m not sure it’s worth it to me to take the risk.”
“Is that what this is about? You want a bigger percentage?”
“I think it’s only fair, Pete. If I risk my neck right along with yours, I should have the same share of the project you do. If you sign over enough of your share to make us equal partners, I’ll go downstairs and testify just the way you did. Otherwise I’m going to have to tell them the truth.”
Pete felt a surge of rage, helplessness, and shock. His body swayed as he tried to calm himself and out came his tongue. He considered his predicament carefully. This is pure and simple blackmail.
There was nothing he could do but accede to the demand or give up everything that mattered most to him.
“And if I agree to this, you’ll testify?”
“The minute you sign this document.” Scoggins pulled a two-page letter from his printer tray.
“You mean, you’ve already written it?”
“I assumed you’d make the rational decision.”
Pete read the document. Signing it would have no effect on any other stockholders; he would simply be granting Scoggins slightly over 20 percent of the ACIP project’s earnings directly from his own share. If he endorsed the papers, he and Scoggins would each have a beneficial interest in approximately 34 percent of the ACIP project, but at least Pete would still retain controlling interest in ATI. The document only pertained to money.
There was no sense dragging things out; surrender was the only reasonable choice.
“Okay, I’ll sign it.”
“Then turn your recorder back on,” Scoggins ordered, taking no chances. He knew the letter, once endorsed, would be worth hundreds of billions of dollars to him.
“Start six.” Pete reactivated the digital recording mechanism. Now there would be an indisputable record that Pete had willingly signed the document.
“Pete, I appreciate this. It’s very generous of you.” Scoggins performed for the camera.
“N-No one d-deserves it more than you, Charles.”
He filled in the papers and affixed his thumbprint.
* * *
Pete needed Jennifer more than ever, yet was incapable of confiding in her. He couldn’t tell her about Scoggins; couldn’t put her in the position of knowing he had broken the law; that would make her an accessory and technically a criminal herself. So coming home seething with anger and frustration that evening, he attempted to act as if everything were normal.
She wasn’t fooled. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a little problem at work. I’m sorry I’m so distracted.”
“I’m here for you if you want to talk.”
“I know, Jen. I have to work this one out myself.”
She didn’t bring it up again, but he could tell his behavior was making her feel insecure, and thought, My sweet love probably thinks all this brooding has something to do with her. If only I could tell her the real reason. But he knew he never could.
They went to bed.
I can accept that he’ll never love me as much as I love him, she decided, but I can’t live with being shut out.
She kissed him sweetly and they made love. There was an urgency and power to their lovemaking that she hadn’t felt in a long time, her passion as intense as it had ever been, even on their first night together. It’s because this is the last time I’ll ever make love to him, she thought. And he must know it, too. Or does he?
CHAPTER 31
OBSESSION
Dallas, Texas
August 10, 2024—The United States Truth Machine Panel officially approves the Armstrong Cerebral Image Processor (ACIP) for use in the nation’s judicial systems. Five hundred testing sites will be operational within three weeks, and Armstrong Technologies announces plans to set up 4,300 additional sites over the following five months. All death-row inmates wishing to take truth tests will be given first priority. The government panel also issues a preliminary fee schedule for civil cases, with rates averaging approximately $3500 per hour of ACIP usage.—With the election less than three months away, latest polls show Matthew Emery holding a commanding eight-point lead over President Gordon Safer.—In spite of State Department protests, a Karachi court sentences to death 14 American executives for their roles in an environmental disaster that killed over 130,000 Pakistanis and rendered 83 square miles uninhabitable. The executives continue to deny any culpability in the massive chemical leak.
There’s no standard etiquette for this, is there? Pete laughed at the thought. But his stomach ached and every muscle in his body was tense. How exactly is someone supposed to behave in the company of the person who murdered his brother and shattered his childhood? What will I feel when I first see Reece? How will I control my anger? What on earth made me do this?
Pete decided to meet first with Alphonso Carter, a man he liked and respected. Reece can wait downstairs.
A secretary escorted Carter into Pete’s office. Now 64, the famous psychiatrist looked older, his hair completely white and his posture no longer so erect. He moved more slowly too, and even when he remembered to stand up straight, was almost an inch shorter than he had been in 2007 when they’d last met. Apparently his profession had taken its toll.
“Dr. Carter, it’s good to see you again. How was your trip?” Pete took Carter’s hand and shook it warmly.
“Fine, just fine. The flight was almost too quick. When I was your age, it took nearly four hours to fly from Boston to Dallas. Today the drive from the airport took almost as much time as the flight. Mr. Reece was amazed. Do you know, it was his first time on an airplane, much less a BMD Mach Nine?”
Pete felt odd listening to Carter refer to Reece in human terms.
Carter had great affection for Pete and it showed. He had always been a sincere man and often charming, but rarely was he this effusive. “It is really good to see you too, Mr. Armstrong. I can hardly imagine it has been over 16 y
ears since I collaborated with you in Dallas. I still believe the work I did for ATI was the best and most important thing I have ever done and I will always be grateful to you for the opportunity.”
“I feel the same way about you. RehabTest was a great product. It put ATI on the map; I doubt it would’ve been nearly as good, or as successful, without your input.”
Any self-correcting software designed by Ms. Tilly and edited by Mr. Armstrong would have been equally successful, although perhaps it would not have caught on quite as quickly, Carter thought—but kept his opinion to himself. In a way he felt embarrassed trading compliments and sentimentalities with the richest man in the world. It was pleasant but it was not why he was there. Mr. Armstrong’s time is too valuable to waste.
“I am sure you must be apprehensive about this meeting with Mr. Reece. I am too. It could be dangerous, psychologically speaking, but you have convinced me it might also help you both come to terms with what happened to your brother. Today Mr. Reece is a different person and genuinely remorseful. He does not seek your forgiveness. He merely wishes to make himself available to you in any way he can to help atone.”
“I’ve thought about it and I really think I’d like to SCIP him.”
“Oh. It is unfortunate you have decided this after he has already flown down to see you. But I understand.”
“No, no. Not skip!” Pete let out a good-natured laugh. “SCIP is ATI jargon; it stands for ‘scan cerebral image patterns.’ I just meant I want to question him using the ACIP—uh, I mean the Truth Machine. If I knew for certain he was being honest with me, it might help resolve my feelings about what he did.”
“Ah. I see. That is fine. Reece has already agreed to it, if you are certain that is what you want. But I must warn you: I am not so sure you would really want to know everything you are likely to learn.”
“I’m absolutely sure.”
Downstairs at the laboratory, Reece, 53, and Pete, now 34, saw each other for the first time in over 29 years. Reece’s appearance wasn’t at all consistent with Pete’s expectations. Prisoners weren’t allowed to use hair-growth drugs and Reece had chosen not to take them after his release. Slightly balding but not unattractively so, he looked distinguished: clean-shaven and tastefully dressed, with a calm, serious demeanor.
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