by David Archer
“Well, yeah,” Joel said. “Of course, we hope it never comes to that sort of thing.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, “and Sharp thought his rifles would only kill buffalo. Joel, no matter how much we hope it won’t happen, it will. Human nature makes that an absolute certainty. The trick is to find ways to defend against it, since it’s impossible to prevent it.” He picked up a pencil and drummed on his desk with it for a moment. “Still, it’s possible to hack vehicles and airplanes without that chip, so that’s not really stacking up as a motive for this situation. There’s got to be something else that we’re missing. What is so special about that gen-5 chip that it would be worth a hundred million dollars and several murder charges hanging over your head?”
Joel shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “Ironically, if I had the gen-5, I might be able to give you a better answer.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Why is that?”
“Well, it…” Joel suddenly stopped. “I—I don’t remember what I was going to say. For a moment, I thought I had something, but it’s gone.”
Sam watched him for a second. “Well, if you think of it again, tell me. I don’t care how crazy it sounds, at the moment we’re grasping at straws.”
Joel nodded. “Hey, mind if I go get some coffee?”
“Sure, that’s fine.” Sam turned back to the display of links from Herman. There were dozens, now, and each one led to an ad similar to the first he had looked at. Several of them actually did mention San Francisco, which only seemed to confirm the information Summer and Jade had acquired.
The intercom beeped and Jenna told him that Darren Beecher was waiting to speak with him.
“Send him in,” Sam said. Darren stepped through the door a moment later and took the chair in front of Sam’s desk. “How did it go?”
“Not bad, for a first interview. She was able to remember a few little details that had slipped her mind before. One of the most important details, in my mind, is this one.” He handed a transcript of the interview to Sam, pointing at something he had circled on the last page. “See that?”Sam took a look and saw the reference to a “Kevlar leg,” and he smiled. He remembered Fa Ling Bioengineering, the company that specialized in lightweight prosthetic legs. “I sure do,” he said. “I had put Jade on looking into the possible corporate buyers, and one company in particular that specializes in things like that, but I don’t think she got very far before I sent her out to work with Summer. Now I think we need to get serious about looking into them.”
“I agree,” Darren said. “However, I think some discretion might be in order. Can I make a suggestion?”
Sam nodded. “Of course,” he said.
“If the company you’re talking about is connected, then they’ll be alert for anything even remotely looking like an investigative foray. I’d say it’s time to put our resident commando to work.”
“Cortlandt?” Sam asked. “You’re thinking of a clandestine incursion?”
Darren nodded. “I think that might be the best move, yes.”
Sam motioned for Darren to come around to his side of the desk. “Come here, I want you to see something.”
He showed Darren the links Herman was giving him. “Jade and Summer have come across intel that says the chip wasn't stolen to be copied, but to be implanted. Someone in San Francisco is looking for a surgeon who can do the job. As it happens, Fa Ling Bioengineering has a research and manufacturing facility not far from there.”
Darren looked at Sam and smiled. “Then I’d say we have a target.”
“I agree.” Sam reached over and tapped button one. “Jenna, send Denny Cortlandt in to see me, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
20
San Francisco International Airport is the second largest airport in California, and one of the busiest airports in the world. More than fifty million people get on or off an airplane there each year, and the number has been climbing steadily of late. Its largest airline, in terms of flights and passengers, is United, and it was a United flight that was landing at that particular moment.
The aircraft, a Boeing 777-300, had just touched down after a long flight across the Pacific from Hong Kong. It taxied along the access way toward the international terminal, as the passengers inside it began to stretch and try to unkink their legs and convince their muscles that it was almost time to get off, to walk, to let the blood flow once more. Seat belts were removed and a few brave souls were already up and getting their things from the overheads, despite the stern looks from the flight attendants.
Daphne waited. She was in no hurry, after all, and there was no sense in trying to save a few minutes when she would have many hours to rest once the plane opened its doors and let her disembark. The portly gentleman who had been her seatmate for the past twelve hours was already in the aisle, and people behind him were complaining, but Daphne was only glad he was no longer snoring against her shoulder.
Finally, the plane came to a stop and the ramp moved slowly and ponderously to latch onto the exit hatch. The flight attendant threw the lever that released the hatch and swung it out of the way, and then the line in the aisle began to move a few inches at a time. Daphne remained in her seat as she took out her phone and powered it on.
As soon as it registered a signal, she sent a text: arrived. A moment later, a reply came back that only said to rest as much as she could until morning. She put the phone away and looked toward the back of the line to see how much longer it would be before she could get up and do her own stretching.
The last passenger in the line was about to pass her at that moment, so she waited until the girl was a few feet ahead and then got out of her seat. She reached up to get her carry-on and brought it down, then got into the line and let the blood circulate as she made her way toward the front of the aircraft, and toward her future.
She made her way off the plane and along the ramp, emerging into the terminal and following the signs for baggage claim. It wasn't her first time at SFO, but she hadn’t been there in a couple of years. The way was familiar, but she still paid close attention to the signs in order to avoid a wrong turn that could lead her on a wild goose chase.
Her bags were among the last to come through the curtains, but that didn’t surprise her. Air travel had never been a favorite, but in the modern world, it was necessary. She gathered them with only a small sigh of resignation and strapped her carry-on to the top of the largest suitcase, then picked up the smaller and began towing the combo toward the exits.
There were taxis waiting, and she automatically went to the third one in line. Someone had once told her to never take the first, because it might not be safe, and the second could be just as bad because so many people always went for the second. The third one in the line would almost certainly be random, so there was less chance of anyone trying to kidnap her.
She didn’t really think she was a great risk for abduction in the U.S.A., but habits are hard to break. The driver took her bags and loaded them into the back of the small van, then hopped behind the wheel. “Where to?” he asked with a smile, and she was surprised to see that he was apparently an American.
“Omni Hotel,” she said as she fastened her seat belt. The driver nodded and turned on the meter, then put the van in gear and moved smoothly into the steadily flowing traffic. The ride was pleasant and lasted almost half an hour, and she tipped the driver a hundred dollars when he carried her bags into the lobby for her. The smile on his face made her return one of her own, and the way he looked her over made it get even wider. He wasn't a bad-looking fellow, but she didn’t have time for dalliances. Too bad; some of her fondest memories involved taxi drivers.
The desk clerk confirmed her reservation and called a bellhop to carry her bags up to her suite. She tipped him as well, though not quite as generously, and then she was alone for the first time in days. She kicked off her shoes and stripped out of her clothes, then filled the bathtub with the hottest water she could stand. A bit of
her favorite bath oil made the bathroom smell wonderful, and then she lowered herself slowly into the steaming water with only a few moans to accompany the reddening of her light olive skin.
Daphne soaked in the water for almost an hour, until the steaming had stopped and her skin felt no more difference between its own temperature and that of the water around it, even when she waved her fingers under the surface. She could feel a slight feverish dizziness, which told her that her body temperature had risen to more than a hundred degrees, so she climbed out and used the huge towels the hotel provided to dry herself, and then wrapped another around her and went to the bed. She pulled the covers over herself to keep her temperature up for a while longer. The hot bath ritual relaxed her muscles at the same time it prevented her from succumbing to any cold or other germs she might have been exposed to during the flight. The slight fever would kill them off before they could establish themselves, she knew, and she sent a mental thanks to the old woman who had taught her the technique years earlier.
It wasn't late, of course. It was only just going on one o’clock in the afternoon in San Francisco, but it had been three PM when she had left Hong Kong. She had slept a lot on the plane—whenever the portly man had let her—and wasn't especially tired, but there was nothing she needed to do at that moment. When she felt like getting up, she would go down to the restaurant in the hotel for dinner, and then it would be time to rest.
Tomorrow was going to be the beginning of a great adventure, and a new life.
*
Sam and Darren had briefed Denny Cortlandt on Fa Ling, and shown him the information regarding the “Kevlar Leg” and the theory that someone wanted the chip implanted. “We need to know,” Sam said, “whether Fa Ling actually is involved in this thing. They’re claiming they have some new announcement getting ready to go out about a BCI development of their own, even though they’ve never mentioned it in the past at all, and now with the fact that the chip is probably still in the San Francisco area, plus the fact someone is trying to hire a doctor who could perform the procedure, they’re looking like a reasonable suspect to me.”
“Which is why I suggested sending you in,” Darren said. “Denny, if these are the people behind the theft, then anyone inside that company who knows about it is going to be fully aware that speaking up would get them killed in a matter of minutes, most likely. Asking questions is not going to get us anywhere. It's going to require somebody getting inside and finding any evidence that might exist. We don’t have time for a normal infiltration, trying to get someone hired on, so that leaves you.”
“I’d have to agree,” said the Brit. He turned to Sam. “Of course there is the matter of legality; this type of thing is not quite approved of by the police, wot?”
“That’s the only thing that concerns me,” Sam said. “I’m basically sending you in to commit a burglary, even if it does seem justifiable. If you’re caught, things could get ugly. I’m sure we’d bail you out, but...”
“Sam, don’t worry yourself. Firstly, I’m very good at this sort of infiltration; it was one of my specialities with HMSS.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose a half inch. “HMSS?”
Denny grinned. “Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Insider name for the SIS and MI6. I was the man who recovered items from foreign governments, you might say. I doubt this company will offer me much of a challenge, but I’ll be taking a precaution or two, just in case I were to be caught.”
“What kind of precautions?” Darren asked.
Denny glanced at him. “I've still some friends back in SIS, and I have some—let’s just say I have some tools of that trade that might have come with me. I won’t be wearing my own lovely fingerprints, for example.”
“How can—never mind, I don’t think I want to know the answer. Just be careful, okay? How soon can you get out there?”
“I’ll have Eileen get me a jet, so I should be in San Fran by the evening, sometime. Give me a bit to do a recon, and I’ll make my move. I’ll report back to you tomorrow, day after at the latest.”
Sam nodded. “All right,” he said as he rose and extended his hand. “Stay careful.”
Denny shook his hand. “I certainly will,” he said, “and thanks, mate. This is more my bailiwick than working a desk, it is.” He walked out the door, and Darren nodded to Sam as he followed.
Sam glanced at his computer and saw that it was nearly two-thirty. Joel was still down at the break room, and Sam was about ready for a mug of the stuff, himself. He got up and walked out of his office, telling Jenna that he would be back in a few minutes, but then found himself turning right instead of left. He had caught the sound of laughter and wanted to see what was so funny.
The laughter had come from the conference room where Pat and Becky were still waiting, and he tapped on the door before opening it. From the way they were both suddenly leaning back in their seats and blushing, he suspected the warning was probably welcome. Both of them looked a little flushed, and Becky might’ve been sporting some whisker burn around her lips.
Sam managed to suppress his grin. “Hey,” he said. “I apologize if it seems like you’ve been forgotten. Things are starting to get busy around this case. Becky, I want to thank you in particular, because some of the information you gave Darren may have given us a lead on who bought the chip. Did you ever hear of a company called Fa Ling Bioengineering?”
Becky squinted as she thought, but then shook her head. “I don’t think so. At least, I don’t remember that name.”
“That’s fine,” Sam said. “You had told Darren about overhearing something regarding a Kevlar leg, and Fa Ling is actually involved in developing lightweight prosthetic limbs, including some made of Kevlar. They’re currently our top suspect, because they have a manufacturing facility in San Francisco and just announced that they expect to have a chip like this coming out soon.” He cocked his head suddenly, as if an idea had just struck him. “Becky, did your husband ever talk much about the chip itself? About what it could do?”
She made a face that Sam took as a sort of shrug. “He said a few things,” she said, “but I didn’t pay that much attention. I mean, he was talking about a computer chip that goes in somebody’s brain, and that sort of sounded like something out of Star Trek, to me.” Her eyes suddenly brightened, and she smiled. “I do remember one thing,” she said. “He was talking to someone on the phone, and they wanted to know if they were getting everything. He said yes, that the guy he was dealing with had managed to copy all of the research the company had on it, all the designs and blueprints and everything. He said they’d be able to make their own chips within days, instead of months.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot upward. “Are you sure? It's not that I’m doubting you, it’s that this could be the most important bit of information we’ve gotten yet.”
She was nodding emphatically. “Yes, I’m certain. Whoever he was talking to inside their company had gotten copies of everything, and he told whoever it was he was talking to that it would let them make their own chips in just a matter of days, and then they could stick it in somebody’s head and take over the world. Of course, I thought he was just being sarcastic at the time.”
“Hang on just a minute,” Sam said. He slipped out the door and went straight to Ron’s office. Melody, Ron’s secretary, took one look at his face and told him to go right on in.
Ron looked up from where he was going over some paperwork. “Sam? What’s up?”
“Was C-Link aware that all of the research and development and design work on the chip had been copied? Becky McGill heard her husband tell whoever bought the thing that they were getting all of it, every bit of information the company had, including the designs, and would be able to produce their own chip within days.”
Ron’s eyes went wide, and he snatched up the phone on his desk. “Melody, get me Hector Prentiss at C-Link.” He looked up at Sam. “If they were, they never mentioned it. Let me… Hello, Hector? Ron Thomas at Windlass. Well, that’s what I’m
calling about. We’ve just picked up on something relevant, and I wanted to find out whether you’re aware of it. It seems that McGill not only got the chip itself, but apparently he delivered copies of all of your research and designs relating to it, as well. He was overheard telling the buyers they’d be able to make their own chips within days.”
The look on Ron’s face told Sam that they had just delivered a bombshell. Ron listened for a few seconds, then began nodding. “Yes, sir, we’re on it. I’ll let you know if we find out anything else.”
He hung the phone up and leaned back in his chair. “They had no idea,” Ron said. “According to him, all of the research, all the designs, everything is protected by extreme levels of computer security. Not just passwords, but long, complicated passphrases on multiple levels. He’s going to put someone on checking this out, but he’s having a hard time believing anyone could have copied it, simply because it can only be accessed by one particular terminal, one that’s not connected to the internet or any other network, and no unauthorized personnel could even get near it.”
“That’s what they said about the chip,” Sam said, “which is why they thought Williamson was the one who stole it. We know better than that, now. The same person could have gotten access to that terminal.”
“Except that room has four different security cameras, and they’d already checked the recordings. There aren’t any blank spots, and no one has even used that terminal since before the theft occurred. Sam, is she certain about what she heard?”
“She says she is, and I think she has to be correct. This explains why they’re looking for a doctor. We were on the wrong track, Ron, we thought they wanted to implant the stolen chip in someone. That’s wrong, completely wrong. If they had all the documentation on how this chip was developed and designed, then McGill would have been correct. They probably have their own chip, now, and they need a human implanted with it before they go public.”