The Grand Courtyard was a busy place, with all sorts of avatars walking about in the near and far. Lee thought it very similar to an airport terminal. Most of the avatars appeared in the portal’s default type of avatar: a 3-D male or female dressed in formal business attire—a black suit and tie for the men, and black suit coat, black skirt, and black heels for the women. The race of the employee—whether white, black, Asian, Indian, or one of a multitude of others—generally matched the race of the actual employee and, as such, there were avatars of almost every human race present in the portal. A few employees had taken advantage of the opportunity to design their own avatar images and added such things as accessories, headdresses, and the like.
Nearby was a large apple tree stretching high into the recesses of the ceiling where Sir Isaac Newton, the English mathematician, physicist, astronomer, and theologian, had taken permanent residence. Newton, with his gaunt face, long brown hair, and wine-colored robe, was resting under the tree, soliciting his assistance, and generally promoting the benefits of the apple.
Lee followed the crowds to an elevator where she pushed the button for the third floor, the floor where Project Magus was located. When the elevator doors opened, she spilled into a vast room with a marble floor constructed in a design consisting of repeated diamond shapes in various shades of blue and green with traces of light brown and black mixed in. The floor shone to the extent that she could see her avatar’s reflection; such was the level of detail within the portal.
Two small groups of avatars were sitting on folding chairs, while a single avatar stood in front of each group, engaged in some form of teaching. Since these communications were public, the words of the teachers appeared in small blurbs hovering over their heads where they could be read. Lee was well aware that employees who were accessing these mini conferences via a 2-D chat room on a personal computer would simply read the words in traditional 2-D format. For most things occurring in 3-D space within the cathedral, there was a 2-D equivalent.
Most of the remainder of the room consisted of small kiosks where various researchers stood while they pored over manuscripts, typed notes or spreadsheets, viewed film, or completed other daily tasks. Lee passed by several of these kiosks, where the avatars sat or stood while engaging in whatever activity they happened to be involved in at the moment. Avatars engaged in restricted communications showed dialogue bubbles over their heads that were empty and grayed out, while idle ones had various Greek and Persian symbols floating fancifully above their heads.
Lee made her way to the Help Sponsor kiosks, where she joined a group of three other Sponsors. She would park herself here over the next few days, answering questions about the technology, and providing other assistance as needed, always with a keen eye as to the comings and goings of the employees within the Magus Project.
New York City
Friday, January 2, 6:57 p.m. EST
The cold evening was one of the nights Dr. Benjamin Halberstom was thankful for his Volvo, the weight of the vehicle helping the tires dig through twenty-four hours’ worth of loosely packed snowfall. The tires briefly flailed away at the snow before gaining traction as he accelerated slowly through the Upper East Side intersection of Lexington and East 93rd Avenue and, two blocks later, eased the car into an open parking space along East 95th between Park and Lexington Avenues. It was nearly seven o’ clock and, being early January, the sun had set and it had grown dark. An oak tree and a bicycle rack faded into blackness as he flipped off his car’s headlights, turned off the ignition, and grabbed his briefcase. He crossed the street in seven strides—less than usual—happy to be home after a long day’s work in Brooklyn. The warm glow of the kitchen light welcomed him, and he could virtually smell the fresh scent of his wife’s perfume and see the outline of her smooth, pale skin against her ebony hair in the soft candlelight.
He unlocked the front door using the light spilling through the windows onto the front porch to guide him, as he did most nights. His wife, Jora, always left the light on for him if she made it home first. Jora, a teacher during the day at a local Jewish elementary school, was usually home by five.
This evening, at first, was no different than any other. Her coat was hanging neatly on its usual hanger as he slid his in next to hers. Entering the kitchen, he noticed that the light was on, but nothing was on the stove. This wasn’t terribly unusual. If the kids were grouchy, she sometimes tended to them first, getting them into bed and saving dinner for the two of them. This was especially true on nights when he came home late.
Moving on into the kitchen, he picked the day’s mail up off the table and began sifting through it, settling himself on one of the dining room chairs. He first noticed the silence after he’d finished reading the mail. No television or children’s voices wafting through from the living room or upstairs. Concerned for the first time, he entered the living room. A set of crayons, a coloring book, and some colored pieces from one of Dalia’s favorite board games were lying haphazardly on the floor.
He called Dalia and his son, Levi, by name as he ascended the stairs to the second level where the bedrooms were located. His first stop was at the end of the hall, Dalia’s room. He flipped on the light. The room was, it seemed, just as Jora and he had left it earlier that morning. He turned the light off and re-entered the hallway. As he did so, he noticed a shadow moving along the wall at the far end of the hallway. Someone was walking up the stairs.
“Jora, is that you?” A black silhouette slid into the hallway. “You’re not Jora,” Halberstom said.
“No, I’m not,” said a male voice.
The figure slipped into the light coming from the restroom. It was a man—a Chinese man—in black clothes and brandishing a pistol with a silencer. Hearing scuffling noises behind him, Halberstom wheeled around to see four more men materializing from the two bedrooms he’d not yet checked, each bearing a weapon.
“Where are my wife and children?”
“They’re safe,” said the man who’d materialized from the staircase. “But you’ll be coming with us.”
Halberstom, unarmed and outnumbered, had little choice but to acquiesce as one of the men cuffed his hands. They led him out to a van parked in an access road behind the condominium complex. He was forced into the cargo bay of the van, alone, as the driver pulled it out of neutral and accelerated out into the Manhattan traffic.
New York City
Wednesday, January 7, 7:46 a.m. EST
Lyn Lee sipped at an ice water as she pecked at a fresh garden salad. She sat in a modest cafe in downtown Brooklyn, pondering the sudden and improbable appearance of the sapphire blue color that had invaded her immediate environment. The booth seats very nearly matched the purple-tinted blue of the long-sleeved blouse she was wearing, and she was beginning to feel as though she were a part of the permanent decor.
She frowned as she extended her arm down, hovering her left hand just above the booth seat next to her, examining the colors of a large bruise she’d sustained as a result of another sparring match earlier that morning. The bruise, at its center, was dark blue, but the colors faded from the center into gradated shades of dark blue, purple, and brown. One ring of color in particular closely matched the purple hue of her blouse.
She frowned again at the sharp stinging as she pressed the center of the bruise with her right index finger. Might have to tape that up tomorrow morning.
Her thoughts were interrupted as a shadow fell upon the table, signaling the arrival of her dinner companion. She smiled and greeted FBI Agent Jillian Frank as Frank slid her slim, athletic frame into the booth opposite her. Per Frank’s request, she’d taken a table toward the back of the little café and away from the front window and had, therefore, not seen Frank enter.
Frank greeted Lyn with a smile, the first semi-casual expression that had come from either of the FBI agents since they’d been introduced. It was a Wednesday and she hadn’t seen either Frank or Reardon since she’d finished her testing at the FBI building
in Manhattan the previous week. Everything about that experience had been utterly professional, which Lee felt was a very good thing.
“Thank you again, Ms. Lee, for accepting our request for your assistance.”
Frank was dressed in black dress pants, black low-heeled shoes, and a black sport coat over a white blouse. Frank sat, Lee noticed, almost ram-rod straight at the table, her movements gentle, but precise. Her mahogany hair, a red-ish tint to it, was cut short and hung straight. Her thin, dark eyebrows led naturally into her nose and then to her lips, which were thin and distinctive on her smooth, pale complexion. Lee noticed she had applied a dark wine-colored lipstick. The lipstick accentuated the unusual M-shape of her lips, which curled a bit at the ends into thin laugh lines.
“No problem,” Lyn said.
“Agent Reardon wanted to be here, but he’s busy with another case at the moment. He’d like to send his regards.”
Lyn nodded. “Will I be meeting mostly with you, then?” Lyn asked.
“Yes, for the time being anyway. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
Lyn Lee, Frank noted, had come across in the initial interview as a very sophisticated young woman. Her dress had been quite formal and conservative, which certainly fit the general profile of Brooklyn Venture Capital. However, in this second meeting, there was an air of casualness and a spontaneity to her that she hadn’t picked up on before. She noticed that Lee hunched ever so slightly at the table and, while eating, often kept both elbows resting on the table. This observation, as well as her chipped fingernail polish, gave her the impression that Lee was from more humble means than she had originally anticipated.
“How are things going with your observations? Any initial impressions?”
Frank noted a brief smile flash across Lee’s face.
“Well, it’s…different I guess. It’s kind of interesting.”
“In what way?” Frank asked.
“I guess I’m just trying to convey that it doesn’t exactly fit the usual job description.”
It was Frank’s turn to smile. “Oh, I see. It definitely does not fit the normal job description, particularly the hours that are required,” Frank said softly. “We’re glad you’re working with us. We can use your help.”
“Thanks, Agent Frank. It’s an honor to have been asked.”
The waitress appeared, and the two of them ordered. Once the waitress left, Frank inquired as to whether Lee had noticed anyone in particular spending an inordinate amount of time in the Project Magus portion of the portal.
Lee pulled a slip of paper from her purse, which she’d placed on the booth seat.
“I have a list of employees who, generally, have been spending the most time in the Project Magus section of the portal.”
Frank saw five names penned in Lee’s tidy handwriting: Dr. Keith Drescher, Dr. Michele Owusu, Donovan Abrami, Dr. Wu Xiang, and Samuel DeGrasso.
“Owusu and Abrami specialize in the thermal aspects of cloaking, whereas Xiang, Drescher, and DeGrasso are more involved in optics,” Lee explained.
“What kinds of questions have you been fielding from these people?”
“It’s really just routine questions. For example, questions on how to navigate our database system to locate information, technical questions on how to install and use applications—things of that nature.”
Frank nodded. “We have some FBI technicians working alongside some of your people analyzing the logs in the portal,” Frank said, after losing herself for a few moments in some documents she’d pulled from her briefcase. “Those same employees are showing up with our analysts, as well.” Frank took another sip of her water. “I understand you’ve been working on Project Magus for quite a while yourself.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Lyn said, irritated a bit that Frank had seemingly forgotten that bit of information. She’d already been over that in the initial interview. “I’ve been working as a technician within the optics side of the project.”
“Were you familiar with Xiang prior to your time as a Sponsor in the portal?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Lee said. “I looked him up in the company database and it looks like he’s based at our facility in Brooklyn. But there are probably hundreds of scientists and other support personnel attached to Magus, spread out all over the world. I hadn’t ever heard of him prior to last week.”
“Xiang is scheduled to take part in a conference here in Manhattan next week,” Frank said. “It’s a professional conference being held at the Kimmel Center on campus at NYU. You’re familiar with the venue?”
“Yes, I am. I’ve been there on a number of occasions.”
“We’ve booked a spot for you at the conference,” Frank continued. “We’d like you to try to introduce yourself to him there.”
This took Lee by surprise.
Frank was watching her intently. “How do you feel about that?”
“It’s okay,” Lee said. “I’ll do what I can.”
Frank smiled.
“Okay, good. Just try to engage him in conversation if you can, if it feels natural. I want you to report back what you think of him. How does he dress? What’s his personality like? Any general qualities or characteristics of note? Do you think you can handle that?”
“Okay,” Lyn said. “I think so, yes.”
Frank smiled again. They engaged in small talk for a long while as the food arrived and they ate. Frank filled Lee in on the conference date and time.
“Thank you again for your help. You’re doing important work for us, Lyn,” Frank said as they parted ways outside the cafe.
Chapter 3
New York City
Tuesday, January 13, 6:39 p.m. EST
Lyn Lee stepped through the glass doors at the front entrance to the Kimmel Center, located off of 4th Street on Washington Square Park in Manhattan on the campus of New York University. She pulled out the identification tag given to her by Agent Frank and pinned it onto her charcoal dress coat. She wore a black blouse under the coat and a matching charcoal cotton skirt and black heels. Men and women in professional attire were strolling into the building, heading to the top two floors where a conference on transformational optics was to begin within the hour.
Lee followed the flow of traffic into an elevator, exiting on the ninth floor, where three conference rooms contained tables with hors d’oeuvres, water, and juice for the guests. Lee stood briefly in the main hallway, pulling her mobile phone from her black purse. On her phone, she pulled up a series of photos the FBI had given her of Wu Xiang. From the photos provided, Xiang appeared younger than most of his peers. Only thirty-six, he’d earned his doctorate at the age of twenty-eight from Cal-Berkeley and had already made significant contributions to Brooklyn’s research. Lee thought his face, overall, was pleasant with a smooth, natural complexion, high, dark brown eyebrows, thin nose, and thin lips that spread into a comfortable, though toothy, smile. His unremarkable dark hair was cut short, but not parted. In a couple of the photos, he wore thick, dark glasses. Lee placed the phone back in her purse and entered one of the conference rooms.
She stood at the hors d’oeuvres table, picking at a number of selections when a small contingent of men and women entered, speaking in hushed tones. In the group she plainly saw Xiang, a bit taller than she’d expected. Xiang and another man separated themselves, heading for the hors d’oeuvres table. When the second man left, Xiang was still there, helping himself to a cup of water. A moment later, she could feel Xiang’s gaze upon her. She turned toward him, a curious look on his face. It seemed he recognized her, but couldn’t quite figure out why. She was about to introduce herself when another man called for him, gesturing him to rejoin the group. Lee frowned as Xiang grabbed the cup and rejoined the conversation.
After finishing her snack, Lee took the elevator up one flight of stairs to the tenth floor, where a crowd had gathered in the Rosenthal Pavilion. She slid into a seat at the back of the pavilion, listening to the speake
r’s discussion on transformation optics, a method for cloaking objects from electromagnetic rays, including visible light.
After the presentation, Lee waited in a hallway outside the pavilion as the crowd departed. Xiang and two of his earlier contingent entered the hallway and stopped, quietly discussing some aspect of the presentation. A few moments later, the other two fell away, leaving Xiang standing alone, his hands in his pockets. Lee stepped forward to introduce herself but Xiang, an uncertain look on his face, stepped forward as a small smile crept across his face.
“Do I know you?” Xiang asked.
Lee extended her hand. “I’m Lyn Lee. Maybe you know me from Brooklyn? I work as a research analyst there.”
“You work as an analyst for which project?”
“Project Magus. I’ve been working under Robert Olholm, Gregor Stanislov, and Kathleen Nelson, as well as a number of people over at Zephyr Materials working to cloak objects using transformation optics.”
Xiang’s eyes sparkled. “I’m impressed. The results of that work were phenomenal. The physics is really cool. I was working on Magus for quite a while myself, working with Oleg Wolfson and Kris Bailey on work related to determining wave dispersion relations on plasmon polaritons and a three-dimensional carpet for cloaking electromagnetic waves.”
Lee smiled. “I will agree with that,” she said. “I mean, I agree that the work was phenomenal. The intent, originally, was to figure out how to cloak electromagnetic waves within the visible light spectrum by extending the Maxwell equations. When the project started, the ideas behind metamaterials were in their infancy. We were trying to control the path of light by varying the permittivity and permeability of light. Of course, we’ve come a long way since then, but I certainly can’t take much of the credit for that.”
“Without question we’ve come a long way,” Xiang said. “The research at Zephyr Materials as well as at the related institutions has really opened up a lot of interesting research and new applications. My colleagues and I are currently working on a means of creating lenses that allow people to see things that are smaller than a wavelength of light. Some of our other work is also an extension of the work they did at Zephyr. I can’t discuss too much of my work, since much of it is classified.”
The Thought Cathedral Page 4