AMPED w-2

by Douglas E. Richards

  And she couldn’t move them at all. Was she paralyzed?

  A moment later she realized what had happened. Van Hutten had placed her in a straitjacket. The heavy white garment constricted her arms tightly and the straps were buckled around her back, with a strap between her legs. Van Hutten had cut out the section of elastic in the front of her panties with a scissors, removing the vital signs monitor, bug, and transmitter.

  And he had used several long plastic zip-strips to tie her to her heavy desk. What was going on?

  Van Hutten’s resume was well known. He didn’t have any military training. He was a highly regarded physicist, not a spy or a double agent. Yet he had carried out his attack with precision and had used nylon ties favored by police forces and the military.

  Then again, thought Kira, anyone with a brain and an Internet connection could become marginally proficient at just about anything these days.

  But why was he doing this? Had he gone mad?

  Van Hutten returned, pulling a large red wagon, the kind a five-year-old child might play with. Inside the wagon sat several containers, about the size of the clear plastic jugs used in office water coolers, filled with a dense liquid that reeked of petroleum and polystyrene. He had a pump mechanism and sprayed the liquid liberally around the room, before moving into the next, his pace brisk.

  Kira fought to get free, but it was hopeless. And the more she struggled the greater the amount of noxious fumes she breathed in. Van Hutten was going to torch the place, that was certain. But would he leave her inside when he did?

  How could they have been so wrong about Anton van Hutten? He tested as a good man with a stable personality.

  Kira had never felt so violated. This building was their sanctuary. They had state-of-the art electronic security protecting it, but if anyone within Icarus was to turn traitor, which apparently had happened, their security wouldn’t be difficult to defeat. A traitor could figure it out while enhanced and encode instructions to themselves as part of their notes.

  They had made the classic mistake, the mistake of Julius Caesar, who was unmatched as a general, survived many a battle against mighty armies, but who was brought down from within by someone he had trusted.

  Van Hutten finally returned, fifteen minutes later. He cut her loose from the desk and pointed the stun gun at her. “You need to come with me,” he said gently, his tone and expression conveying nothing but sadness and regret.

  He marched her to the back of a van that was similar to the one they used to shuttle visitors back and forth to the airport, containing no windows, and secured her inside. The van smelled of the chemical mix van Hutten was using as a fire accelerant.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this,” he said with all the sincerity in the world. And then he slid the door closed and began driving, pausing only long enough to throw a makeshift torch out of the window and onto a shallow puddle of the liquid he had brought.

  ***

  “Frey was big into saltwater fishing,” said Cohen. “Even bragged about an annual trip he took to Costa Rica to spearfish, using scuba equipment and a spear gun.”

  Desh glanced at Connelly. He wasn’t surprised that Frey would get more satisfaction from being able to personally control a spear and watch it plunge into his prey than from having fish bite a stationary hook out of his sight.

  “And he had his own boat,” continued Cohen. “For the more traditional fishing, which he did all the time. He docked it in Baltimore.”

  “What size boat?” asked Desh.

  “Not huge, but high quality. I heard once it cost him almost a hundred thousand dollars. Supposedly very fast.”

  “Do you know how often he used it?” asked Desh, as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Two vibrations, followed by a brief pause, followed by two vibrations again. This was the code they had programmed their central computer to use when a member of Icarus was in trouble. Connelly was just pulling his own phone out with a worried look on his face.

  “I’m not sure exactly,” replied Cohen, “but I’d say about—”

  “Hold that thought,” interrupted Desh. “Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Certainly,” said Cohen, eyeing Desh with a note of disapproval, as if wondering how bad his bathroom emergency had to be that he couldn’t let him finish his sentence. “It’s around the corner to the right.”

  Desh removed his phone as he entered the bathroom and scrolled to the proper screen. It was a vital signs alert. Kira had been rendered unconscious. According to the algorithm, she had been shot with a stun gun. Either that or struck by lightning; a possibility that Desh dismissed immediately. And her bug wasn’t transmitting.

  Desh scrolled to another screen. After he had discovered Kira’s clandestine activities, he had installed cameras to spy on her. The footage was stored temporarily on a secure Internet site, which he could access from his phone. But he was interested only in what was being transmitted at this moment. He tapped into the transmission and checked three different views.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Kira was unconscious, and someone was strapping her into a straightjacket.

  It was Anton van Hutten.

  Desh didn’t wait to see more. He rushed from the bathroom.

  Had the physicist gone mad?

  Desh glanced meaningfully at Connelly and turned quickly to their host. “Thanks for your time, Dr. Cohen,” he said. “But an urgent matter has come up that I need to attend to.” Desh walked briskly to the front door and threw it open. “I’ll give you a call as soon as possible,” he finished as he and Connelly rushed to their car.

  ***

  Jake was meeting in his office with his second in command when a light flickered on his office phone. Line four. This was a line he reserved for his Steve Henry alias, a key false identity. He rarely used it for outgoing calls, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had an incoming call on this line.

  “I need to get this,” he said to Kolke, pressing a button that would put the call on the speaker. “Steve Henry,” he said.

  “Steve, this is Gill Fisher, Denver fire chief. We spoke a few weeks ago.”

  Jake eyed Kolke questioningly. Kolke spread his hands and shrugged. He had no idea what this could be about either.

  “What can I do for you Chief Fisher?”

  “Something’s come up that I thought you might want to know about. It’s the damndest thing. We’re currently battling a fire at a facility that’s the spitting image of the one that was cratered a few weeks ago. The one you asked me to treat with maximum discretion. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was the same building. And it’s a nasty one. Like a grease fire, but worse. Almost like homemade Greek fire.”

  “So you’re saying it’s arson?”

  “No question about it. And there’s a warehouse about eighty yards to the east that’s burning the same way. Since they aren’t connected, this is even more evidence for arson.”

  Kolke and Jake eyed each other in dismay. Icarus had duplicate facilities. A nearly identical main building could have been a coincidence—an unlikely one, yes, but still a possibility. But the presence of a warehouse at the same distance as the other set-up made it a certainty. Not only had Miller and Desh escaped, Jake and his men hadn’t even bombed the right facility. They had been operating under the assumption that Miller and Desh were reeling, without a headquarters and on the run. But they had been played for fools once again.

  “Would this arson take special skills?” asked Jake. “Any way to get a sense of who might be behind it?”

  “I’m afraid not. You can find the recipes for almost anything on the Internet. But you have to really want something to burn to spend time experimenting to get the right blend of ingredients. Most of this homemade napalm is just Styrofoam soaked in gasoline. And while that is a total bitch to deal with, this is worse. With this kind of fire—water just makes it worse. We’re doing what we can, but these buildings are a lost cause. Just thought you m
ight want to know.”

  “You were right, Chief. Thanks. I owe you one.” He jotted down the address of the fire and hung up.

  Jake turned to his second in command. “Major, find out if there were any street cameras with eyes on that facility, or if you can get satellite footage. Hurry,” he added, although the urgency of the situation was clearly not lost on the major.

  Kolke rushed out of the office. He returned ten minutes later with the footage Jake was after. He put it on the computer screen. “No satellite,” said Kolke, “but we did get a clean image of this guy going in and out of the facility numerous times, with a kids’ red wagon filled with large containers of liquid. And we got video of a van speeding out from the facility just as the fire started.”

  “Did you get the license plate?”

  Kolke shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  Jake paused the video and studied the man pulling the wagon. His round face was flush and he looked fatigued, as though he had run a marathon, when all he had really done was pull a wagon at a brisk pace. Not exactly special forces material, thought Jake. The colonel turned to Kolke. “Recognize this guy by any chance?”

  The major shook his head.

  “Yeah. Me neither.”

  Jake had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was could well be the break he needed to end Icarus once and for all—assuming the man in the video hadn’t already accomplished this goal.

  “Send this guy’s image to the supercomputer people,” instructed Jake, “and have them begin facial recognition searches through all criminal and public image databases.” He leaned in toward the screen and studied the man’s face once again. “Let’s find out who this mystery arsonist is,” he said softly. “And then let’s figure out where he’s going.”

  34

  The ride had been smooth but was now bumpy, as if they had entered a dirt or gravel road. After five minutes of this, the van stopped and the door slid open. Kira found herself in an expansive woods, in front of a large, two-story cottage that abutted a wide stream.

  As van Hutten coaxed her inside at the end of a stun gun, she did her best to take in the surroundings. As far as she could tell, the cottage was completely isolated.

  Van Hutten tied her to a heavy wooden chair against one wall, still restrained in the straightjacket, and tore the tape from her mouth. He backed away and sat on a small couch facing her, near a central red-brick fireplace.

  “Anton, what is this about?” she asked, her voice strained. She couldn’t even begin to hazard a guess.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this,” said van Hutten. “But it’s something I felt I had to do. For what it’s worth, I think you’re a wonderful human being who couldn’t be more well meaning.”

  “Then why are you doing this? I don’t understand. You were eager to join our efforts after that first day. Euphoric. You couldn’t have faked that.”

  “This is true,” replied van Hutten. He lowered his eyes. “But things have changed. I’ve had a taste of this sociopathy you mentioned. The first time I was enhanced I didn’t experience it. But by the third time my thoughts were turning selfish; ruthless. Evil wouldn’t be a bad way to describe it.”

  “We did warn you about that.”

  “I know, but there were several other factors that finally tipped the scales. That led to this. The second time I visited with you, you described the vision you had while you were at the second, higher level of enhancement. This was very troubling to me.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it,” he replied simply. He paused and gazed through a distant window that looked out on the serene stream that ran by the house. He turned back to his prisoner. “Did you know I was a spiritual man?”

  Kira nodded. “Yes. We studied you for a long time. A spiritual man, and a truly good one. That’s why we were so excited about having you join us.”

  “Do you think it’s odd for someone who’s a scientist and hard core fan of science fiction to believe in God at the same time?”

  “Not at all. Many scientists hold these views. Including a number of other cosmologists.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “It troubled me how much the higher IQ version of me disdains the very idea of God.” He paused. “Are you aware that our universe is fine-tuned for life?”

  Kira nodded. “Yes. I understand that we’re in the Goldilocks zone. Not too cold, not too hot . . . just right.”

  “Exactly. If any one of a number of fundamental physical constants were altered, even a hair, life wouldn’t be possible. If a proton were just one percent heavier, it would decay into a neutron, and atoms would fly apart. If the weak force were slightly stronger than it is, or weaker than it is, higher elements necessary for life would have never been created in the cores of stars. And so on.”

  “I’ve heard the odds against all of these constants being precisely what they need to be are trillions to one against.”

  “That’s right. And I tend to see God in these constants.”

  Kira considered. He didn’t seem irrational so far. So how should she play this? Should she avoid challenging him at all costs? Avoid risking upsetting someone who didn’t appear unstable, but whose actions couldn’t be interpreted in any other way? Or did her life depend on challenging him?

  She didn’t have enough information to make a rational decision. She knew that all she could do was trust her gut instincts.

  “You are aware of the counterarguments, correct?” said Kira conversationally, trying not to appear to be challenging him too much.

  Van Hutten didn’t seem put off by her question, which was a good sign. “Yes,” he replied. “That if our universe wasn’t suitable for life, we wouldn’t be around to observe it, so what other result could we possibly get? And chaotic inflation theory. That ours is just one of an infinite number of universes springing from the quantum foam and inflating in their own big bangs. Each of which could have different fundamental physical constants. In an infinite number of universes, there are bound to be a few suitable for life. Evolution has even been applied to inflationary theory. Some of my colleagues have suggested that physical constants suitable for life are also those that lead to a greater number of baby universes being created. So universes that are randomly born with constants that don’t allow life to emerge, also don’t reproduce. While universes with more um . . . pro-life physical constants, come to dominate.” He paused. “There are other counterarguments as well, but suffice it to say I’m aware of them all.”

  “But you don’t believe any of them?”

  “These are brilliant theories put forth by brilliant physicists. But look at the lengths scientists will go to cling to their belief that life is nothing more than a happy accident. The idea that the perfect tuning of physical constants implies the existence of God is completely unacceptable to many of them. Many scientists will believe anything before they’ll believe this. No matter how convoluted. An infinite number of universes? With countless new ones constantly forming like bubbles in a bath? Sure, this is rational and reasonable. God? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Kira nodded. She had yet to disagree with a single thing van Hutten had said. And it wasn’t just the concept of infinite universes that were incomprehensible and completely unreasonable; or even a single universe. A single star, all by itself, was an impossibility great enough to blow the mind of any human. The Sun, a relatively small star in the scheme of things, was a raging fireball so massive a million Earths could fit inside, maintained a core temperature of twenty-seven million degrees Fahrenheit, and was capable of burning for billions of years. How could any belief be more ridiculous and improbable than the existence of even one such inferno?

  “Okay, so you believe in God,” said Kira. “I won’t try to argue you out of it. I, personally, haven’t settled on a final position, but I agree that the God hypothesis is just as likely to be true as any other; just as likely to be an explanation for the inconceivable. But you still haven’t told me what
’s going on here. Or what troubled you about my vision at the second level of enhancement.”

  A quizzical smile came over the physicist’s face. “Isn’t it obvious? Your ultimate goal is for humanity, along with any other intelligent life in the universe, to become God. A tiny bit . . .” He paused. “I hate to use the word blasphemous, since it sounds too fundamentalist for my taste, so let’s just say presumptuous. A tiny bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” she allowed. "But you know the laws of physics work equally well if time runs forwards or backwards. And Einstein’s equations allow for time travel, in theory. What if we need to evolve into God so he can create the universe billions of years in our past?”

  Van Hutten shook his head. “I don’t believe that. Not if this evolving into God takes us across the path of immortality you laid out, which will result in us losing our humanity along the way. I remember our discussion about this vividly. Even you have to admit that the idea of dropping our brains into artificial bodies is abhorrent. I saw your expression during our first meeting. You defended the concept, but you were more aware of the thorny theological questions than any of us. What is man? Would we lose our soul?” He paused. “I found it a horrific concept. And now that I’ve experienced the more evil nature of this incredible intelligence you’ve unleashed, I’m even more troubled. I can’t believe the path to heaven and enlightenment leads through hell and sociopathy. The negative effects of your treatment must be God’s way of sending a message.”

  Kira didn’t respond right away. She lowered her head in thought for several seconds and then locked her eyes on van Hutten’s. “Look . . . Anton, I don’t have all the answers,” she acknowledged softly. “And I agree with most of what you say. The path to immortality, at least the way my feeble mind lays it out, is very disturbing in many ways. But I’m convinced this is only because we’re too limited right now. We’ll keep learning and growing. We’ll find better answers; a way to do it right.”