by David Archer
Jeff Donaldson, a slightly chubby man in his mid-thirties, leaned forward and grinned. “Sam, do you know anything about BCI?”
Sam shook his head. “Is that a new government agency?”
“It stands for Brain-Computer Interface,” Jeff said. “What it refers to is a method of literally hooking a brain to a computer in order to allow the computer to manage things the brain can’t. To date, the most common applications have been in the field of medical restoration, such as in the case of Jens Naumann. In 2002, Naumann was blind as a result of two separate injuries to his eyes. A doctor named William Dobelle implanted a chip into his brain that allowed his visual cortex to receive signals from a video camera that was mounted on a pair of the dark glasses he wore. Now, it wasn't perfect vision, but it did allow him to make out shapes and shades of gray, so that he was seeing in grainy black and white, like an old TV picture. It was successful enough that he actually managed to drive a car around some obstacles set up in a parking lot.”
Sam’s eyes showed his surprise. “Seriously? I thought that was all science fiction.”
“Not at all,” Jeff said. “The only problems with Naumann’s case was that, because the wires connecting him to the chip were implanted directly into the brain, it resulted in scarring that eventually degraded the image to the point that he was blind again. When Dobelle died in 2004, he hadn’t documented enough of his process for anyone else to take over, so Naumann eventually lost even that limited vision.”
“Too bad,” Sam said. “I take it this prototype has something to do with this?”
“In a way,” Jeff continued. “Later developments found that there was a way to use EEG type signals, where the electrical impulses in the brain are detected from outside the brain itself. Newer chips were made that were only placed inside the skull, designed to catch those impulses and translate them into actions. There have been successful experiments with these chips that allowed patients to move a cursor on a computer screen, activate a machine, control a mechanical arm, and even send new nerve impulses to legs and arms that had previously been paralyzed.”
He looked around, as if to be sure no one was listening, and then turned back to Sam. “Our client, whose name we can’t reveal because he’s a vocal critic of things like artificial intelligence and such, has been secretly backing a company that’s been working on BCI for military applications, such as allowing a pilot to control a drone with just his thoughts. A side effect of that research has been a completely new design for these EEG-based chips that can actually interpret almost any brain activity and impart data back to it. That means that they can be used to provide genuine vision with full color and depth perception, or connect to an exoskeleton and let someone paralyzed walk again, or even make a new neural connection to paralyzed limbs. It can give feedback to the brain with pulses of light from micro-LED lamps that are connected to it and and placed around the brain, so that the brain can actually sense and interpret those pulses as sensory input. Sight for the blind, sound for the deaf, it can even allow someone using a prosthetic hand to feel what he’s touching. It's absolutely incredible, and has the potential to mimic the kind of miracles that we heard about in Sunday School when we were kids.”
Sam nodded. “Okay, you’ve definitely got me interested. What else do I need to know?”
“Sam, this thing has even more potential. One of the things it’s already done is allow the brain to communicate directly with a computer over distance, using everything from bluetooth to cell towers. Because the chip can interpret so many different kinds of brain activity, it’s capable of literally allowing a person to send queries to the computer that are then relayed to the internet, and receive an answer almost instantly through the led light pulses. In testing, it’s been shown that the brain can receive the data thousands of times faster than by reading it, and the information received that way seems to go directly into long-term memory, which means you don’t forget it the way you usually will with something you look up and read.”
“Wow,” Indie said. “Every college kid will want one. Heck, I want one!”
Sam shook his head. “The implications are mind-boggling,” he said. “Imagine in police work, if a cop can know instantly whether the person he’s interrogating has a warrant, or if he can verify a statement that quickly. Or in medicine, being able to check in a split second with a database of symptoms, or know about interactions in medicines. And you’re saying this can actually be done?”
“And more,” Ron added, “more than you can imagine without being immersed in it for a while. Think about augmented reality; you glance at a building and know instantly what it is. That cop you mentioned? What if he could download images of fugitives the police were looking for, and recognize them instantly if he saw them? Now imagine that every cop in the city could get those same images at the same time.”
“Better than an all points bulletin, that’s for sure.”
“And the doctor?” Jeff went on. “What if he could have your MRI results in his head while he operated? The possibilities are absolutely limitless.”
“And this is the technology that was stolen?”
Jeff nodded. “A prototype of the fifth generation chip, the most advanced BCI ever made. According to the computer simulations they’ve run, it could actually allow you to pull any information you need instantly, either from the internet or a specific computer network, or allow you to communicate with other people using the same technology directly from your mind to theirs. The scientists who developed it believe it could even create sort of a digital clone of you, an artificial-intelligence computer program that can think and act exactly as you would. Imagine what that could mean for people who have lost loved ones, if they could still talk to them.”
“Okay,” Indie put in, “that part might be a little creepy. I mean, if something happened to your wife, could you really be comfortable talking to a copy of her that only exists in a computer?”
Jeff grimaced. “That might suck,” he said, “but what if you could have that person back? This same chip could be implanted into a clone of the person’s body, controlling it completely, so there was no difference between them at all.”
Indie shivered. “But it wouldn’t be that person,” she said. “Realistically, it would be a completely different person who wasn't allowed to develop its own personality, but had one imposed on it. That’s just not something I could handle. If something happened to Sam and you brought me one of these clones, I’d know it wasn't really him. It just wouldn’t be right.”
“Okay, but that’s not something that’s actually ready to happen,” Ron said suddenly. “Right now, we’re most interested in the things it can do to improve the human condition, but that means we have to get it back. I said before that any technology can be used for purposes other than what it was originally intended for, and I’m serious. This thing could be used to create super soldiers, remotely control weapons and machines, it could be used for criminal purposes, for terrorism, just like anything else. While there’s no way to ensure that it won’t be used that way, we know that there are certain organizations who definitely would want to. The key issue right now is getting it back if we can, or preventing it from getting into the wrong hands if we can’t.” He looked at Sam. “And that’s why we need you.”
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Seems to me you need a scientist more than a private investigator.”
“We’ve got the scientists,” Jeff replied, “but none of them have any investigative experience. What we need is someone who knows how to read the evidence, find the clues, track the thief, and catch the killers. We need Sam Prichard, and...”
“You said killers,” Indie said. “Explain that part, now.”
Ron looked at Jeff with an expression that indicated he thought Jeff was somewhat stupid, but Jeff didn’t seem to notice.
“At least three people have died during the theft of the prototype,” he said. “The first was Doctor Aaron Williamson. He was the surgeon wh
o worked with CerebroLink on the animal and human trials, actually inserting the chip. He was found dead three days ago of acute cyanide poisoning, due to a compound that contained cyanide and dimethyl sulfoxide, DMSO. DMSO acts as a solvent to carry other molecules through the skin into the bloodstream. Williamson touched something that had this mixture on it, and it went through his fingertips to his blood. In this high a concentration, he probably felt drowsy, then lost consciousness, after which his lungs could no longer absorb oxygen. He slept right through suffocation.”
“Any idea why he was killed?” Sam asked.
“That’s pretty easy. Williamson was the only person who could access the chip without having to have a babysitter. Of course, that was because he was supposed to access it only when he was ready to implant it in someone, but he used that power to take it out of the building the night he died. General consensus is that he sold it or was blackmailed into stealing it, then was murdered for his trouble.”
Sam nodded. “Got it. Okay, go on. Who else?”
“The second man we’re certain died as part of this theft was Barton Medell. Barton was a driver for the company who was often called on to drive Williamson around. We think he probably got bribed into helping the doctor pull off the theft, then panicked when Williamson had the bad grace to die in the back of his limo. He died of the same thing Williamson did, only more slowly. His wife said he was having trouble breathing when he got home that night, sat down in his chair, and then seemed to go to sleep. She went on to bed and figured he would come along when he woke up, but when she got up the next morning she could tell with a glance that he was dead. Face was gray, eyes were open and tongue was swollen and hanging out, probably from trying to gasp for air. It was determined that he got some of the stuff on his own hands while he was getting Williamson’s body out of his car.”
Sam waited for a second, but Jeff just sat there. “And the third?”
“That one is not as certain, but it feels right. Steven McGill, commonly known as Mac, was a guy who was known by the government and organizations like ours because he regularly bought and sold tech information, and he didn’t really ask questions about where it came from. His body was found the morning after the theft, out in a sleazy area of San Francisco where drug deals are more common than rats. He had been killed by a single gunshot wound to the forehead, probably to make sure he could never reveal what he knew about whoever acquired the chip. We’ve managed to confirm that Mac was in touch with Williamson at least once in the week before the two of them died, so the chance that the deaths are unrelated is pretty slim.”
Sam nodded again. “I’d agree with that assessment. From all you’ve told me, it sounds like Mac found a way to push Williamson’s button, then had him meet up with him and his client. Williamson delivered the prototype, was somehow exposed to the poison and left, and then Mac was killed to close up the loose end.”
“That’s exactly how we see it, and so does the FBI. Unfortunately, there are no leads we can find to help us get the prototype back, and the FBI is not even aware of just what was actually stolen; they literally don’t have a high enough security clearance to be told.”
“But I do?” Sam asked, grinning. “Gee, thanks, Harry.”
Ron smiled at him. “Exactly,” he said. “After the way you saved the day on the Lake Mead situation, Harry lobbied the president for and got you a TS/SCI clearance. What that means is that you can access any information that you or anyone over you feel you need to know. We decided you need to know what we know about this case in order to make a decision on whether to accept it, and your clearance allows us to make that call.”
“Yeah, but what about me?” Indie asked. “Should I have waited outside or something?”
Ron laughed. “Harry demanded the same clearance for you, Indie, and his demand was granted because it’s been pretty well established that you can find out just about anything you want to, in any case. Besides, your hacking skills were instrumental in preserving national security more than once, so there was no argument about it. You’re fine, here.”
Indie sighed. “Good,” she said. “I’d hate to get locked up somewhere because I overheard the wrong thing at dinner.”
“No problem there,” Jeff said. “Sam, this is so important on so many levels that CerebroLink has authorized us to offer you a retainer of one hundred thousand dollars, and an hourly rate of a thousand dollars per hour on the case. If it goes over a hundred hours, that’s okay, they’ll pay.”
“Okay, okay,” Sam said, “so that’s the case. Now let’s talk about the job.”
Ron grinned. “That’s easy. We’ll pay you two hundred thousand a year and all expenses, and we’ll allow a one hundred dollar per hour consulting fee when you need Indie’s computer skills. Full benefits package for the entire family, an expense account, and you become chief investigative officer for the company. You’ll be in charge of all of our investigations, and you can use any of the other people we’ve already got any time you need them. Of course, you’ll be expected to personally run point on our most sensitive cases, like this one.”
Sam chuckled. “You’re an ass, Ron,” he said. “I stand to make more money on this case if I stay independent, but the steady employment sounds pretty good. How did you know I won’t take this one as an independent and then take you up on the job afterward?”
“Because you’re too honest for that, Sam,” Ron said, and Jeff nodded his agreement. “Harry told me to offer it both ways and you’d take the full time job because you’d feel like you were ripping us off the other way. Was he right?”
Sam tried to hold back his own smile, but it was no use. It spread over his face despite his best efforts, so he simply nodded.
“Yeah, I guess he was, but I have got one question, first. I’ve wondered for a while now, but why did you name your company Windlass? That almost sounds nautical, but there’s not an ocean anywhere nearby.”
Ron burst out laughing, while Jeff scowled. “It has nothing to do with anything remotely nautical,” Ron said. “It was actually a pun. Harry was leaving us and going to D.C., and he asked us to go with him but we decided it was time to go off on our own. He said, ‘How are you gonna mange, without old Harry Winslow to give you direction?’ I shot back that we’d do just fine, Winslow-less, and he said that would be a good way of describing our future adventures. Unfortunately, it didn’t translate well to the name of a business, so we started playing around with variations and Jeff came up with ‘Win-Less,’ but that sounds like we’re losers, so I wrote it down the way we use it now.”
“And I still hate it,” Jeff said, “but Ron had more money to put in so he got the fifty-one percent and I got the forty-nine. He makes all the stupid decisions, like that one.”
Sam laughed. “Okay, then I've only got one last question: Can I start tomorrow?”
Ron grimaced. “How about Tuesday? We’ve both got to fly out to San Francisco tonight, and won’t be back until sometime late tomorrow. Till then, you can do some research of your own and see what you might run across, okay?”
Sam grinned. “Tuesday works for me.”
3
“Mrs. McGill? Mr. Landry will see you now.”
Becky McGill got up from the chair she had been sitting on and followed the receptionist into Jonathan Landry’s office. He was the attorney her husband told her to contact in that last email, though she wasn't really certain why she was there. Mac had simply said that she had to get in touch with him as soon as possible, but it had taken her a couple of days just to deal with the fact of his death.
She had managed to hide everything that morning, just before the police showed up. She even managed to act shocked and grief-stricken when they told her that Mac’s body had been found, that he had been murdered. As he had instructed her, she did not tell them anything about what he had been doing; as far as she knew, she said, he was working on selling some old mining equipment for a company in Arizona. That’s what he did, she insisted, he dealt
in surplus industrial equipment.
When the detectives came and told her that Mac was actually involved in buying and selling information and corporate secrets, she had denied it. She was confident that she had convinced them that she never knew anything about his actual business, because they had left her alone since then. The only reason she was at Landry’s office now was because Mac had insisted on it.
The receptionist held the door for her as she entered, then closed it behind her. Landry was sitting behind his desk, just looking at her as she took one of the three chairs in front of it and sat down.
“I don’t actually know why I’m here,” she said haltingly, but Landry held up a hand to stop her.
“I can imagine,” he said. “Your husband could be pretty secretive. Incidentally, I heard on the news what happened, and I’d like to express my condolences.”
“Thank you,” Becky said. She wondered for a moment if she was going to start crying again, but the tears didn’t come.
“The reason you were told to come and see me,” Landry went on, “is because your husband was one of my clients. He has always been concerned about your well-being should anything happen to him, so he regularly updated his will. I’m the executor, and I’ll be making sure everything is transferred to you without any problems.”
Becky smiled ruefully. “I didn’t even know he had a will,” she said. “It wasn't something we ever talked about. I guess I never really believed anything would happen to him.”
“I understand,” Landry said, “but your husband was a realist. He was fifty-three, and you’re what, twenty-six? He fully expected you to outlive him, so providing for your future was always important to him. Every job he did, he made sure to put something away into a trust so that you’ll be all right. That’s what we’re going to talk about today, transferring the trust over to you. He put enough money into it that you will never have to work. You will be able to live quite well on the interest income alone.”