by A. W. Mykel
Ross scowled up at her. “You suck,” he hissed.
“That’s right, honey. I do. But I’ll never suck yours,” she said, tracing around her lips with her tongue. She walked away with an exaggerated hip motion. Get an eyeful, asshole, ’cause that’s all of this ass you’re ever gonna get.
Ross was quiet for the remainder of the flight.
As the plane began its descent, the curtain between classes was pulled back. Ross was gone. So was the flight bag.
The fat man’s eyes flashed anxiously for a few seconds, until he caught sight of the occupied sign as it went out. He saw Ross step out of the bathroom, carrying the bag in front of him.
The seat belt sign went on.
Minutes later they were on their final approach into O’Hare. They had just come in over Lake Michigan and were now above land. They would be touching down very soon.
The fat man checked the position of the black case. It was satisfactory. He had kept his coat on for the entire trip, despite the increased perspiration it caused him. He wiped his face and forehead with the wet, gray hanky.
He reached into his left coat pocket and fingered a small metallic box. He held it in the palm of his hand and withdrew it just enough to see it. He checked the color sequence of the three buttons across the wide surface. It was back in his pocket only a second later. His eyes fixed on the case.
His short, stubby fingers looked like miniature bread loaves, but they moved with quickness and precision as they fingered the small box he still held hidden in his pocket. The thumb came to rest on the first button as the announcement was made to return all tray tables and seat backs to their normal positions. The no smoking sign went on.
He pushed the first button.
The metal corner of the black case directly below Ross’s seat swung away, baring a small hole about one-eighth of an inch in diameter. It was impossible to see from any seat but the fat man’s. The ground below, with its buildings and streets, was rushing by. Only a few minutes now.
The thumb found the second button. He tapped it several times as a tiny shaft telescoped out of the hole. Each tap sent it further out and closer to the foam-cushioned seat bottom. He tapped the button one more time as the shaft made contact with the seat cushion. With his other hand, he wiped away the perspiration. A feeling of excitement and anticipation began to fill him. He focused his eyes on the back of Ross’s head.
The plane was now over the runway, just a few feet above it. The fat man waited, the thumb ready on the third button.
The plane bounced down on the runway, and the pilot began reversing his engines to assist in the braking. The dim roar began to rise. The thumb tensed ready.
The sound rose sharply, filling the cabin and covering the tiny pfsst from the box, as the fat man pushed the third button. The narrow shaft streaked upward through the seat cushion, striking deeply into Ross. He jerked violently, but the seat belt held him firmly against the seat cushion, as the tiny hollow shaft plunged upward into his body. A fast-acting cyanide derivative pulsed out of the tiny opening on the shaft.
Ross jerked and strained for a few futile seconds, not a sound coming from him. He slumped back into his seat, his head falling slightly to the left, his eyes open, staring into his lap.
With the discharging of the venomous shaft, the sequence of the buttons was reversed. The fat man pushed the second button and the shaft withdrew from Ross’s body and disappeared back inside the case. The first button then swung the metal corner plate back over the hole. The plane taxied in.
The passengers disembarking in Chicago began to rise and mill around, retrieving personal articles, after the plane stopped at its docking area. They were too busy taking things from the overhead compartments and underseat storage areas to notice the fat man take his case and pause momentarily in front of Ross’s seat.
A few moments later, the passengers were spilling out into gate area G-9 and racing for the baggage claim. The fat man walked calmly and evenly toward the main terminal. In his left hand was the heavy black case, in his right was Ross’s flight bag.
The stewardesses were busy seeing off the last of the deplaning passengers, when the one that Ross had played grab-ass with noticed him still in his seat. She nudged one of the other girls. “That’s the son-of-a-bitch over there. Isn’t he supposed to deplane in Chicago?”
The other stewardess checked the list. “Yep.”
“I hope he’s not going to try to go on to Denver with us. My ass couldn’t take it,” she said.
She walked over to him. “Hey, hot pants, you’re gonna miss your stop.”
There was no reply.
She reached out and shook him. “Hey, are you awake?” Her expression began to change. She shook him harder. “Hey, are you all right?”
Ross’s body flopped to the side, held up by the seat belt and armrest. The stewardess let out a scream.
The fat man smiled, as four of Chicago’s finest rushed by in the direction of gate G-9. He heard the gate number mentioned over one of their handheld radios.
Another part of Alexi Kuradin’s plan had just been completed. Otto Ten Braak had arrived in Chicago.
EIGHTEEN
The Russians entered Berlin and pounded it to bone and rubble. The old men and children stood no chance against the better-trained enemy, but they fought with the hearts of lions.
I remember one little boy’s face as I pinned a medal on his chest. He had single-handedly destroyed a Russian tank just the day before.
I cried when I looked into those eyes, tearful and frightened, yet filled with honor and pride. He received his medal and, shaking with fear, went back into the battle.
He was the heart and soul of Germany. I loved him and all the others with a fierce pride. I cry today to think of the world that would have existed if we had won. We offered the world German order. Instead it got cold war, communism, and crime.
But the spirits of those brave, young hearts will be remembered by the world, when we erect monuments in their honor, to all the young paladins. I loved them. We shall not forget.
Entry No. 30 from the partially
recovered Wolf Journal
Elizabeth Ryerson was perhaps the most naturally gifted intellect in the country. She was an only child—her parents having been quite advanced in age at the time of her birth. Neither of her parents had been exceptionally talented, but it soon became evident that their child was. She was reading and writing by the time she was three. By five she was digesting complicated science papers and technical manuals as though they were fairy tales.
Her playthings were toy rockets, chemistry kits, and electronics sets. She had no interest or time for the little-girl things of childhood. Her brain was adult by the time she was five, locked inside the body of a little child.
Her parents tried unsuccessfully to channel her interests in many directions, trying to keep her with peer groups as much as possible. But, to Elizabeth, children her age were incredibly boring intellectually, and their interests lay in things completely foreign to the workings of her brain. Elizabeth’s parents had no alternative but to enroll her in an educational program for the gifted.
Before reaching puberty, she had become fascinated by the prospects of the development of artificial organs. She could envision that, in her lifetime, the heart, lungs, kidneys, and other organs would be replaced by man-made substitutes. The only thing she doubted could be replaced was the brain. But if it could…
Computers were used to extend the functions of the brain to make man’s life easier, but they could not think like a brain. Computers possessed no real intellect. Their processes were mechanical, not biological. They imitated thought but did not perform or initiate it. There was no real creative thought process, just the logical manipulation of data put into banks of sophisticated memory cores. As computers developed, they could store more and more units of information and utilize it many times faster than the human brain in performing complex functions, but the processes were not indepe
ndently initiated. It was like thought, but not thought. Only a brain could think and experience and generate things that a computer never could. Only a brain could know what something felt like, smelled like, looked like, could experience love, hate, sorrow, and joy.
Elizabeth had entered college at fifteen. She was socially awkward and clumsy, unable to become genuinely interested in the normal activities of a college coed. But, within the intellectual universe that she created for herself, she was graceful and swift beyond description. There was no one who excelled the limits of Elizabeth Ryerson in that world.
Despite her tremendous academic success, it was a painful time for her. She suffered through awkward biological stages while her fellow women students hunted for husbands. She was just approaching curiosity regarding the opposite sex. Her awakenings were occurring at a time when more was expected. It was all around her—sex, drugs, drinking, one weird experience after another. Awkward, groping experiences that left her scarred and confused. She tried to live in that world before she was ready.
By her eighteenth year, as a senior in college, she had become more settled. Her physical awkwardness had developed into a rather pleasing beauty. She became more confident with the physical side of her life, which in turn only helped the enormously talented intellectual side blossom beyond precedence. But despite this butterflylike emergence and the confidence that followed, the scars remained from the unpleasant experiences of that growing-up time in her life. They would stay with her forever, and would always prevent normal personal relationships with men. On an intellectual or professional basis, there were no reminders of that period, so these relationships were easy and natural in appearance. But they were never allowed to penetrate below a well-guarded surface to the inner workings of Elizabeth Ryerson. That was a no-man’s-land where no man was welcomed.
But one thing remained constant in Elizabeth Ryerson during that whole period of time—her interest in the human brain.
A few inches of brain could store one quadrillion bits of information; that’s one million times one billion. No computer in existence could store that much information in the same space. But only a computer could recall all of its data instantly and utilize it in solving complex problems in milliseconds. Could the two capabilities be combined into a single unit? The prospect filled Elizabeth Ryerson’s brain on many sleepless nights. There had to be a key—a biological key, and she dedicated herself to finding it.
She began studying the mechanisms of neural synapse and memory. The more she learned and thought about it, the more certain she felt that it could be done artificially. Somewhere, between synapse and brain-specific proteins, there was an answer. She began doggedly researching computer systems, and by the time she was accepted to the Harvard School of Medicine, she was one of the country’s leading experts in this field.
After finishing medical school, Elizabeth went directly into research. She soon realized that a still broader understanding of computers was necessary and entered MIT in a doctoral program in computer sciences.
It was at MIT that she met Edward Bridges. There was never any threat of personal involvement, and his intellect interested her. Her own intelligence was far superior to his, yet he had a remarkable ability to understand her most complex theories and possessed the masterful talent of putting together complex puzzles of facts into an orderly pattern. She could create and theorize any concept, he could build it and turn it into reality. He became a valuable tool to Elizabeth Ryerson.
While conducting research for her doctoral thesis, she pioneered a new theoretical memory system and completed a crude, but workable, laboratory model, which bore out her theories and won her instant high acclaim. It was at this point that the details and importance of her discovery came to the attention of certain interested parties, who began exerting their subtle pressures to cap further disclosures. The potential was too promising to be shared.
Upon receiving her PhD, she was offered a position at the prestigious Colson Institute of Scientific Research, a think tank where small groups of scientists followed their fancies, no matter how wild, to research new and unusual areas of science. A great many still-unpublished discoveries had come from work going on within the confines of the Colson Institute. The work was supported openly by sizable grants from scientific foundations and private industry sectors. But the largest measure of its support came secretly from the Pentagon and other hidden financial sources of the government. Projects with great military or intelligence potential were singled out, privately contracted by the government, and continued unhindered in some secret hidden laboratory.
It was while at the Colson Institute, after having made her incredible breakthrough into the earliest biocybernetic system, that she was contacted by certain government representatives. They were very interested in her discovery, a functional memory pool capable of data storage and utilization, not living, but very nearly capable of brain function of an independent nature. Many refinements were still needed, but the breakthrough had been accomplished. And the world didn’t know about it.
After the initial probing dialogues had been completed, Elizabeth was visited by Irwin Honeycut. Honeycut had kept an interested eye on Elizabeth’s progress since her first major discovery while at MIT. It was Irwin Honeycut’s influence that had gotten Elizabeth’s appointment to the Colson Institute. There were many extensive dialogues which followed, and the foundation for a relationship was laid. It was not a threatening relationship to Elizabeth, but one of trust and mutual understanding. Perhaps it was that Irwin Honeycut filled a void left in her by the sudden death of her father just the year before. It had been a difficult loss for Elizabeth. But in Honeycut she saw a familiar strength and honesty which won her. There was a gentle, fatherly quality about him and the wisdom he imparted during their meetings. There was a strong need for that void to be filled in Elizabeth—and it was.
She was offered the top technical spot in a project bearing the highest classified status that had ever been assigned by the United States government. The research was to be conducted in the most advanced secret laboratory ever built; the budget was unlimited. She was to have complete freedom in selecting her staff, provided each individual met security clearance standards. It was the realization of her dream. Without hesitation, she accepted the offer and was made the director of science and technology for the project, which was code-named the SENTINEL Project. Edward Bridges was selected and cleared as Elizabeth’s chief assistant.
Following a required period of security briefing and indoctrination for the entire staff, the project was started. SENTINEL had been born.
On Saturday, at 0920 hours, Elizabeth Ryerson signed in through security at Alpha. She had come in to try to clear up some of the backlog that had accumulated on her desk since she had taken Friday off as a result of her laryngitis. It was still bothering her, but, with the complex nearly abandoned for the weekend, she’d be able to get a lot done without having to speak.
As she passed down the long hallway toward her office, she almost collided with Dr. Warren Geisler coming through his office door.
“Oh, excuse me, Warren,” she said in surprise.
“Dr. Ryerson…Elizabeth! No, excuse me. I shouldn’t have barged out into the hallway like that,” Geisler quickly apologized. He was, indeed, surprised to see Elizabeth there, considering her laryngitis. She looked especially attractive in her casual attire.
“How’s your throat?” he asked.
“It’s coming along,” Elizabeth rasped out in reply. “Ed chain you to your desk for the weekend?” she asked, smiling.
“No,” Geisler laughed. “I just wanted to make sure that the oh-nineteen report was finished for Monday. All I need now is to go over the schematics on Monday morning with Ed, and it’ll be all done,” he said.
“Good. How’s the system look in prototype?” she asked.
“Great. It’s absolutely undetectable. Those last improvements really did the trick.”
Elizabeth gave a
pleased smile. She had always liked Warren Geisler. A hard-working young man, he was wonderfully capable and possessed an admirable, professional attitude. Attitude was the thing with her. Without it, you went nowhere; with it, and the talent to back it up, the sky was the limit.
“Tell you what, Warren. As long as you’ve gone to the trouble to come in today, why don’t you go over the schematics now. I just have to stop in at my office for a moment, then I’ll come back down and open Ed’s inner office for you. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll get the report from my office. If you’d like to, you could look it over, so that you can be familiar with the data when you come into the meeting,” Geisler said.
“Good. See you in about five minutes,” she said, heading down the hall.
Elizabeth walked into her office and found the folders on her desk. She read Gina’s note and made a puzzled frown. She didn’t remember asking Bridges for these personnel files, although she knew from the names what they were for. She decided to discuss the matter with Bridges on Monday morning.
Putting the folders back on her desk, Elizabeth Ryerson unlocked the file drawer and pulled out the red folder. She held it up, looking at the creases in it. She didn’t remember it looking this beat up before. She dismissed it from her mind, took a sheet of paper from her attaché case, and put it into the folder. She put the folder back and locked the drawer.
Elizabeth picked up the phone and tapped out Geisler’s number.
The phone came to life on the first ring. “Geisler,” the voice said.
“Warren, I’m coming down now. Are you about ready?” she asked.
“Yes, Elizabeth. I’ll meet you in Pat’s office.”
“Okay, see you in a minute,” she said and hung up the phone.
A few minutes later they were in Pat’s office.
“His door is closed,” Geisler said. “Is he in?”