The Thought Cathedral
Page 1
The Thought Cathedral
Nathan Williams
Copyright 2015 by Nathan Williams
All Rights Reserved.
Contents
Note from the Author
I. The Thought Cathedral
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
II. The Ingenuity Ball
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
III. Buddha’s Eyes
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Also by Nathan Williams:
About the Author
Note from the Author
In the course of writing this novel, I’ve striven to maintain historical accuracy regarding all factual aspects of Chinese history and culture. Any errors are my own.
* * *
Early on in this novel, I introduce a character named Joe Leonard. Leonard is not the main protagonist of this story, but he plays an important role. Leonard’s story is detailed in my novella, American Grease, which is a prelude to Thought Cathedral. You may wish to read American Grease before Thought Cathedral. However, if you do not, it will not detract from your experience reading Thought Cathedral.
Part I
The Thought Cathedral
Chapter 1
New York City
Monday, December 29, 4:45 a.m. EST
In the cool blackness, Lyn Lee was, for a moment, uncertain whether her eyes were open or shut. As her eyes adjusted to a faint beam of light playing on a surface above her, she gradually realized she’d woken after a deep sleep. A few moments later, the wailing of a guitar and thumping drums of a classic rock song growled from the clock radio on a glass stand next to her bed. After lying in the darkness for a few more precious minutes, she instinctively rolled onto her left side. Pressing the off button on the clock, she silenced the radio. Ghostly green numerals glowed furiously, floating in the cool blackness.
4:45
She lowered her right arm down toward the clock until her hand hovered an inch away from the clock face and extended her middle finger. F. You.
She brought her arm back up and extended both of them out in front of her, allowing all the tension in them to escape. Damn. She’d slept through her first alarm again, which had gone off at 4:15.
With a deep sigh, she hesitantly folded the covers off of her body and slid her feet out over the side of her bed. She sat for a few more moments in the dark in her silk nightgown as she felt the cold air wash over her. She examined her toned, athletic legs. Her skin shone in the light streaming in through the window. She sighed heavily again, rose slowly off of the bed, and walked to a dresser drawer, where she pulled out a pair of flannel pajama pants. She slid the pajama bottoms on underneath her nightgown and shivered as her legs warmed almost immediately.
After turning the thermostat up, she sat on her office chair and slid it up to her desk. She toggled the mouse, chasing her screen saver away. With a small remote, she clicked the PLAY button on her music player and, instantly, the smooth strains of a violin wafted through the little apartment. An instant-messaging window had popped up on her screen. A single message appeared glowing in green letters:
Pan-Ik: You there, Panda?
The message had been sent at 2:46 a.m., about two hours prior. Lee typed a response:
ElectricPanda: Here now. You?
It normally took a while for Pan-Ik to respond. In the meantime, she groggily walked into the kitchen and grabbed a strawberry yogurt from the fridge and a spoon. She brought the yogurt into her bedroom and spent a few minutes eating and checking her emails. When she finished, Pan-Ik still hadn’t responded, so she slid off the pajama pants and the night gown and stood in front of a full length mirror in her underwear. The young woman in the mirror was of average build, about five-feet-seven-inches in height. In younger days, she’d have been considered full-figured. However, in recent years she’d maintained a strict workout regimen and begun eating healthier. As a result, she’d slimmed down and developed muscle tone.
She turned to look at her backside in the mirror. On her back, on her left shoulder blade, was a tattoo of the Chinese symbol for “joy.” She turned back around, leaning forward so she could more clearly see the detail in her face. She ran her finger along a thin scar that began near her right eye and extended down the length of her face and onto her neck.
After a hot shower, Lee dressed in her workout gear: a pair of polyester shorts and a top, a long pair of polyester running pants, and a matching long-sleeved top. She’d already placed her formal work clothing in her workout bag the night prior. As she slipped her gym shoes on, her computer speakers pinged, indicating Pan-Ik had finally responded. She slipped briefly back into her kitchen, pulling a sack lunch and a golden apple from the refrigerator. She carried them both back into her bedroom, slid the bagged lunch into her workout bag, and took a bite out of the apple.
Pan-Ik’s response was glowing on the black background of her computer screen.
Pan-Ik: Sorry. Back now.
ElectricPanda: Hey.
Pan-Ik: Where’d you go off to?
ElectricPanda: Nowhere. Just cleaning up for work and eating breakfast.
Pan-Ik: Are you still eating apples for breakfast?
ElectricPanda: What of it?
Pan-Ik: Nothing. It’s just I’ve never known anyone who eats so many apples.
ElectricPanda: Can’t help it. Got a bad case of apple-epsy.
Pan-Ik: Ha! Clever.
Pan-Ik was not her friend’s real name. The “Pan-Ik” moniker was a name he’d earned through his exploits as a hacker. He’d since changed his ways and now worked for a Brooklyn security firm. He was also a childhood friend of Lee’s. Lee suspected he was still active in some of the illegal stuff, however.
ElectricPanda: Can’t chat too long. I’m late for my workout. Haven’t had a chance to look at the program yet. Should have a chance this weekend.
Pan-Ik was helping her learn shell scripting for Linux-based operating systems as well as VBS scripting. These were skills Lee felt she was lacking in and needed to develop to further her career at Brooklyn. Her old friend was proving to be an invaluable resource in that area.
Pan-Ik: No problem. You know how to reach me. Good luck.
ElectricPanda: Thanks. TTYL.
Lee shut down her computer, grabbed her workout bag, and hustled out the door.
New York City
Monday, December 29, 6:18 a.m.
Lukas Dvorak gazed through dim lighting in the underground Brooklyn Fitness and Martial Arts, located off of Bedford Street in North Brooklyn, intently watching Lyn Lee maneuver her body through precise movements as she pranced, glided, and leapt across the
mat. Two mats, black in color, rested atop the parquet wooden floor of the gym. Two sparring matches were in progress simultaneously, one on each mat. Lee and her competitor were each dressed in a white dobok and belt, the belt colored according to the person’s rank. Both Lee and her competitor’s belts were black. They also both wore a hogu, or torso protector, a set of forearm and shin guards, and a helmet.
Dvorak, ever curious as to the physics of movement, had studied the subject informally as a circus performer and formally as a student of physics at NYU. Thus, Dvorak watched with an educated appreciation of the competitors’ abilities as they floated across the fighting square. The attacking occurred mostly through a series of kicks—which required heightened stamina, balance, and flexibility—with a few punches thrown in for good measure.
Lee executed a punch to the face of her competitor which, Dvorak could tell, immobilized her long enough for Lee to end the match with a reverse round-house kick. They ended the fight formally by facing each other and bowing. Dvorak watched Lee as she approached, removing her helmet.
“Nice work, Psycho,” Dvorak said as Lee joined him on the bench.
Lee’s face crinkled into a sardonic half-smile.
“Psycho?”
“Yeah. I’m really impressed with your ability, especially your stamina.”
“Well, thanks,” Lee said. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”
Lee removed a purple head band, letting her short hair fall freely about her face. Her thin, dark brown eyebrows effortlessly traced her eyes, slanted elegantly upward as befitted her Chinese genes. She had high cheekbones and her face, Luke thought, was ever so slightly wider than average, making her appear somehow wiser.
Turning to examine the time on a clock hanging on the wall, Lee turned her body to her left. Luke could see the scar, which she normally kept so well hidden, running from near her right eye, down the right side of her face, and onto her neck. The result of a “childhood accident,” Dvorak had never been able to coax the full story out of her.
“Have you been doing weight work?” Dvorak asked. “Your shoulders look broader.”
A startled look crossed ever so briefly across Lee’s face, which she quickly extinguished.
“I’ve been getting into judo more as of late,” Lee confessed. “There’s more grappling involved. More throws. It requires more strength.”
Lee looked him in the eye.
“But, yes, I’ve been doing some weight work as well. It’s really that noticeable?”
Dvorak nodded. “Your arms are tauter as well.” Luke watched Lee as she removed the torso protector and guards and began placing them in her gym bag. “What advantages does judo have over tae kwon do?”
Dvorak was prone to asking her these sorts of questions of late. He’d only recently begun lessons in the martial arts, and Lee was acting as a mentor of sorts.
“Judo is more about using your opponent’s leverage against her. There’s plenty of skill involved in judo, but maybe not as much as in tae kwon do. I’d say there’s more strategy in judo.”
Lee zipped her bag up, having finished fitting her gear inside. A thin smile spread across Lee’s face. “From what I’ve heard, you could’ve used a little judo training while you were a fugitive.”
Dvorak laughed, feigning an expression of bewilderment. “I was outnumbered five to one!”
Lee illuminated the room with her wide smile. “Precisely! See you later, Luke.” Lee left for the locker room to clean up for the workday ahead of her.
Chapter 2
New York City
Monday, December 29, 7:14 a.m. EST
Forty-five minutes later, Lyn Lee approached a six-story brick building, part of a six building complex owned by her employer, Brooklyn Venture Capital. The company was part of a larger corporation called Brooklyn Capital Management, a discrete Wall Street holding company located primarily away from the Wall Street establishment in Brooklyn, New York. Two of the buildings had been built from scratch, while the other four had been completely re-furbished from old factory buildings. Lee pulled her facility key from its neoprene sheath as she stepped up to the thick, oaken door. The key itself was crystalline and transparent so that she could see a small black box set into the crystal. The box contained a smaller crystal that separated light into a unique prism. The digital reader on the door would then measure the width of the light at each wavelength and, if the color widths matched an active “key,” the locking mechanism would trigger and open the door. When she heard the bolts click, Lee opened the door and stepped inside.
As nondescript as the old factory building appeared from the outside, the security presence inside the building was evident. Lee placed her bag on a conveyor belt and was ushered through a detection screen by armed guards as her bag was examined for unusual contents. After passing security, she stepped through a wall made of a blu-ish green tinted glass and a matching glass door, into the main reception area.
Although the original building had been six stories, including the basement, the building had been re-modeled into only five and the center had been cleared out into a central court. Within the central court, six Romanesque stone columns began at ground level and vaulted to the top of the building. At the base of the columns was inscribed a Latin phrase, “quaesitor veritatis,” loosely translated as “seeker of truth.” Her heels clicked on the polished wooden floor and a draft of air swept across Lee’s face as she entered the large reception area that made up the front half of the ground-level floor. Several mahogany ceiling fans, which churned softly high overhead, were supporting chandeliers emitting softly glowing light. She fancied the light was washing gently over her as she made her way toward the grand spiral staircase at the center of the building.
Around the perimeter of the lobby at ground level was a sculptured stone enclave containing potted soil from which a variety of colorful flowers and plants overflowed. The floral presence was further highlighted by a flowered vine that snaked its way up the central staircase and by a small atrium taking up approximately one-third of the area in the grand, sweeping reception room, nearest the front entrance. As Lee approached the center of the atrium along a stone footpath, some workers wearing shirts with MODERN ART stenciled on the front were finishing the installation of the new centerpiece.
Lee observed the centerpiece, a cylindrical black marble stand approximately four feet in diameter and four feet tall.
“What are we installing here today?” Lee asked, addressing an older gentleman with a salt-and-pepper mustache.
“We’re upgrading to 3D,” the man said. “Take a look.”
The man turned and shouted to another man standing near a computer console along the perimeter of the room.
“Sal, let’s try the rose.”
A few moments later, a green vine began to “grow” out of the base of the pedestal and gradually shoot upward with small pink and red flowers shooting out of the vine. Lee stepped forward to get a closer look. What had appeared to be solid from further away now revealed itself as thousands, if not millions, of tiny colored particles flowing up from the base. Lee watched as the particles coalesced gradually, blooming into a giant red rose.
“Wow! The detail is really amazing. Can I touch it?” She could make out every last detail of every part of the flower, including the sepal, ovaries, and stigmatas.
“Go ahead. It won’t hurt anything.”
Lee pressed her index finger into the largest flower. It created a temporary indentation contoured to the shape of her finger, before flowing back into the original shape.
“What’s supporting the particles?” Lee asked.
“It’s a result of the development of nanotechnology,” the man explained. “Each of the particles has a processor in it with the capability to process simple coordinates. They’re supported by an electromagnetic field.”
Lee gawked a while longer at the flower before making her way to the rear of the reception area. Here, several folding chairs had been lined u
p where a small audience of research scientists working within the facility had convened for a discussion. One of the scientists, a middle-aged male, was drawing diagrams with colored chalk on a blackboard as the others followed along. On another blackboard, on the opposite side of the room, someone had created an intricate diagram of a subatomic particle using colored chalk. Lee strode around the gathering to the far end of the building, the side facing east, where she stepped into a freight elevator and pushed a button to descend a level.
Lee stepped into a darkened basement, lit by several lanterns hanging from various parts of the ceiling in between exposed iron beams and rebar. The progress of the light coming from the lanterns was thus greatly impeded, creating an effect whereby the objects nearest the lights were revealed in splendid color, whereas those further away faded in progressively darker shades of indigo blue, gray, and black. These gradations in color were matched by those of the echoes from the clicking of her black dress shoes, which reverberated more and more softly as they progressed toward the rear of the room.