by Tom Wheeler
“Not now, Mason. Just watch your back,” replied the general with an intense look.
“I thought that’s what folks like you did? I didn’t do anything wrong, but—”
“Please, Mason. I am doing my best, but powerful people with different agendas are involved. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to know who is doing what in this world. Like I said . . .”
“Watch my back. I suppose it won’t do me any good to argue. When do I leave?”
“The conference starts Tuesday.”
“This Tuesday?”
Crane nodded.
102
Martinez For President
October 26
US Capitol
Washington, DC
“Ma’am,” said Eva Cruise.
“Mm-hmm,” said Representative Martinez.
“I’d like you to take a look at the commercial.”
“It’s finished?”
“That depends on you, ma’am,” said Eva.
“When will you start calling me by my first name? It’s Alexandra, not ma’am,” said Martinez, smiling big.
“Yes, ma’am. Alexandra,” said Eva, smiling as she hit play.
“Joe Holmes was against Obamacare, voting with the Republicans to end the preexisting conditions exemption for 50 million Americans,” said Martinez, walking out of a hospital as the camera showed someone pushing a patient in a wheelchair into the building. Martinez smiled at the patient before returning to the camera. “Health care has become one of the most destabilizing topics of our time, for good reason; few of us who weren’t born with a silver spoon in our mouths can afford it,” she said as a middle-aged African American woman, visibly concerned, rushed by Martinez with what appeared to be her child over her shoulder. Martinez looked at the woman with an expression that clearly showed her own concern.
“On the other hand, Stanley Bernard wants to provide health care for everyone, without regard for private organizations that keep our government in check. Imagine rushing your child into a hospital like this and being told you can’t be seen until tomorrow,” she said as she looked into the hospital, where a nurse was taking the woman’s child from her arms, both now walking through the doors into the ER with a doctor. “I, too, have felt the sting of the health-care debacle, as my own mother, who raised me in the Bronx, found out she had breast cancer last year but was denied coverage,” she said, approaching a swarm of gathering people. “Why? Because the cancer had returned. It was a preexisting condition. My mother works at a local restaurant, making $10 an hour, for a man who cannot afford to cover his employees because it is too expensive to provide insurance and keep his doors open. My father was also hit with an unexpected illness. He was denied coverage for his heart problem after leaving his job and starting his own furniture business. If not for my support, my mother and father would be denied coverage; but that isn’t fair to all of you who don’t have a relative in Washington. Nor does it make any sense,” she said as the camera showed her shaking hands with the people who had gathered.
“The Freedom Bill,” came the voice-over, “which was authored by Alexandra Martinez, will provide every American with affordable health care, merging both the private and government sectors, while ensuring Medicare for all Americans who live below the poverty line or who have launched their own businesses.” Alexandra stopped shaking hands and looked directly at the camera. “America has had enough trauma and drama over the past four years, and I’m here to stop it. Not to make America great again, but rather to make you great, which in turn will allow our nation to prosper as our founders intended,” she said, turning back to the crowd. They all began clapping.
“Paid for by the Committee to Elect Alexandra Martinez for President.”
“I like it!” said Martinez, smiling at Eva. “That’s your voice?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean yes, Alexandra,” said Eva, smiling warmly.
“You didn’t add the standard ‘My name is Alexandra Martinez, and I approve this message,’ ” said Martinez.
“I left that out. You are the message; you don’t need to add that silly tagline,” said Eva as Alexandra smiled at the defiance.
“I never liked those silly endorsements anyway. But they are required by law, so you’ll have to add that at the end. When will it air?”
“Immediately, if you give me authorization.”
“Isn’t it a bit early?”
“We want your name out early and often. It will help us gauge what the voters are most interested in. We have focus groups looking at each ad.”
“Everyone has focus groups,” Martinez said.
“Ours cover all the different voting groups, including independent voters.”
“They can’t help us win the nomination.”
“But they will be essential to winning the presidency,” said Eva, smiling.
“I like you, Ms. Cruise. Okay, run it.”
“Yes, Alexandra,” said Eva, her smile widening.
“Listen,” Martinez said, “I need to go to Helsinki, Finland, for a conference on robotics.”
“I didn’t know you were still active with robotics,” said Eva as if she was a human being rather than an android—her standard demeanor.
“I didn’t, either, until I was put on a Congressional Oversight Committee. Anyway, I’d like you to go with me, unless you have something pressing that would prohibit you? ”
“Really? Sure, I’d be happy to tag along.”
“Well, I want you to do more than that,” Martinez said. “I want you to be my eyes and ears. I know this is asking a bit more of you than I hired you for, but I’d like you to be my assistant on this trip.”
“I can do that, too. When?”
“The conference starts tomorrow and lasts all week. We are leaving in the morning. I’ll send details to your phone.”
“You said Helsinki?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never been,” Eva said. “I should tell you, I have a titanium plate in my hip from an accident. I won’t be able to go through security without them patting me down. I’m only telling you so you aren’t surprised when the alarms sound.”
“I know, but thank you,” said Martinez. “You were hit head-on in an automobile accident, right?”
“How’d you know?” asked Eva.
“You were stopped by security before your interview with me at the Capitol,” said the congresswoman, smiling. “I was shown the security footage.”
“I was fortunate to live through that accident,” said Eva. Martinez nodded.
“We’ll be flying on a Gulfstream C-37A for security reasons, compliments of President Tense, although I’m not sure why. But I do appreciate the heads-up.”
“He’s probably trying to butter you up,” said Eva.
“Before he eats me. You’re probably right,” Martinez said, smiling. “Actually, he feels bad because he put me on an intelligence committee and didn’t tell me in time to book a commercial flight.”
“Right,” Eva said, and Martinez nodded.
Jonah smiled as he watched through Eva’s eyes. The plan was set.
103
Helsinki Adventures
October 27
MARSS Conference
Helsinki, Finland
“Mason!” said Capucine as I walked off the jet at the airport in Helsinki for the International Conference on Manipulation, Automation and Robotics at Small Scales (MARSS). “It is so good to see you,” she said, looking into my eyes. My heart did somersaults as I tried to maintain some composure. She is breathtaking.
“It’s good to see you, too, Capucine,” I managed to say as we embraced. “You remember Dr. Hannah,” I said fairly stoically. She looked at Dhilan, who was standing off to the side of the passing traffic of di
sembarking passengers. He was dressed in tan slacks, a yellow shirt, and a white baseball cap.
“Yes, it is good to see you again, Doctor. I am so sorry about . . . ,” Capucine said, looking at Dhilan with a sympathetic expression but stopping before finishing. Dhilan appeared to be staring at Capucine, as if already reading her thoughts.
“Dhilan?” I asked, snapping him out of it.
“Thank you,” he said without elaborating, his eyes jerking away.
“His memory is flaky from the accident,” I said, knowing Dhilan didn’t remember meeting Capucine at CEDRA a few months ago while he was teaching us about robotics.
“I thought a representative from the conference was meeting us,” I said, breaking a short and awkward pause. “Not that I’m complaining,” I added quickly.
“Well, fortunately for me, I’m that representative,” she said as Dr. Mescher approached.
“Hello, Mason,” he said, then extended his hand to Capucine.
“Dr. Mescher, you remember Capucine Foushé,” I said playing the game. Capucine took his hand.
“C’est un privilège de vous rencontrer, Mademoiselle Foushé,” said Dr. Mescher, now kissing Capucine on both cheeks in traditional European fashion.
“De même, monsieur,” said Capucine.
“Dr. Hannah, how was the flight?” asked Dr. Mescher.
“Awful,” said Dhilan, without explaining that the pressure changes during the flight had caused him excruciating pain. I was aware of it, not because of anything he’d said, but because of the expression he’d worn for the entire journey.
“I’m sorry. Please excuse me,” said Dr. Mescher, looking each one of us in the eyes, “someone is holding a sign with my name on it. I’d better see what they want,” he said, smiling. “I’ll see you all at the conference.”
“The peons go this way,” Capucine said, smiling, leading us toward the exit. “You’re still booked at the Clarion Hotel, right?” she asked as I walked next to her, Dhilan following. I nodded. “Why don’t we get you checked in,” she said.
“I’m sorry about Pierre, Dr. Hannah,” Capucine said, looking at Dhilan.
“Who?” he asked with a stoic look.
“I have to make one stop,” I said. Capucine’s eyes reflected the hurt for Dhilan, who obviously didn’t remember Pierre, his best friend.
“Where to?”
“I need to pick up a car,” I replied.
“The rentals are just over there,” she said, pointing as we walked.
“Oh no, not a rental. Here’s the address,” I said, handing her a card.
“Hernepellontie 19, 00710,” she read out loud. “Where is that?”
“It’s a Porsche dealer. I’m getting—”
“Don’t tell me they’re giving you a 911 Carrera?” she said, knowing my secret lust for that car.
“Actually, it’s the Taycan; I’ve gone green,” I said with a slight smile, unable to share the real reason, since nobody knew but General Crane, President Tense, and the Congressional Oversight Committee who had made this happen. And, despite my relationship with Capucine, we both have to keep some secrets—secret.
“Jonah would have shipped you an Akula if you still worked for Phoenix,” she said as we headed toward a silver Peugeot 3008 SUV. She popped the back door open, and we tossed our bags inside.
“How’d you pull off a 3008?” I asked, sizing up the car.
“I still work for Peugeot,” she said, smiling.
“Dhilan, why don’t you hop into the passenger’s side; I’ll get in the back,” I said, admiring what looked like a spaceship, similar to the Akula, although the Akula had doors that slipped open like those of a real futuristic spacecraft. We all hopped into the car, which looked brand new. I took a deep breath, admiring the new-car smell that was still noticeable inside.
“The conference is at the Sokos Hotel Presidentti. The first session is at 8 a.m.,” said Capucine. “Who else was invited to this meeting, do you know?”
“Leon Tuss, of course, as well as Jonah, I believe. Oh, Alexandra Martinez and an associate of hers are also coming,” I said as Dhilan looked out the side window, appearing not to be listening, although he was taking in every word.
A short while later, the GPS indicated we’d reached our destination.
“Well, I think this is the place,” she said, pulling up at the Porsche dealership.
“Can you wait here while I check on the car?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said as Dhilan and I got out.
“Dhilan, go on ahead; I’ll be right there,” I said as Dhilan headed toward the entrance. I waited.
“So Dhilan is reading my mind?” Capucine asked, getting out of her car.
“Mm-hmm,” I said. “Careful what you think.”
“Fortunately, I was taught mind control. I reveal what I want revealed,” she said, turning away.
“It’s so sad, but Dhilan seems—”
“Like I said,” I interrupted, “his memory is flaky. He remembers facts more than emotional attachments. Be careful, Capucine. You know they suspected you of being a Russian spy?” I said.
“So did my own government. Listen, we can’t talk about this, but we have to figure out a way of communicating. I want you to get some burner phones. Just buy a handful of phones and airtime from an MVNO and activate it.”
“What’s an MVNO?”
“Mobile virtual network operator. I’ll do the same. Then we can talk freely, just not long; they can still be traced.”
“So you have Cedra?”
“Yes. It was either us or the Iranians. My government didn’t want Cedra falling into the hands of Ahmadi. But we haven’t been able to extend his power beyond his current three hours. That’s why I told you I need your help.”
I took a deep breath.
“I told you I can’t help,” I said, digging into my right front pocket and pulling out a flash drive that I handed to her. She pocketed it. “But your engineers may find that helpful. I am no longer officially under any restrictions by NASA over work I did at Phoenix.”
“Thank you, Mason.”
“Did Jonah contact you? I believe he wants to discuss business,” I said.
“About?”
“Apparently a merger, but at this point, who knows?”
“What goes around . . . ,” she started to say.
“Except Jonah may not have had anything to do with the recent tragedies,” I said. “Of course it appears everyone is lying.”
“I’m sorry, Mason,” said Capucine. “Be careful with him. He’s still suspect.”
“Oh, Martinez wants to meet you, too, separately, Capucine. Did you know that?”
“Why would she want to meet with me? How does she even know me?”
“Evidently the president appointed her to some oversight committee. She’ll likely give you details if and when you meet with her. You’re listed as a genius neurologist in the field of artificial intelligence, although I’m not sure that’s how they describe you,” I said, smiling. “I am meeting with her in the morning.”
“For what?”
“Don’t know. But I’ll find out soon enough. We’d better go. I love you, Capucine. Watch your back,” I said.
“Idem. Pardón, ditto. I’ll wait until you have your car,” she said, pursing her lips. “I love you, too, Mason. Next time I see Dhilan, I’m going to start speaking with him through my thoughts,” she said with a slight smile.
“He’ll know you know,” I warned.
“Our nations are supposed to be cooperating. I am not sure of the politics, but perhaps it’s time we both found out what our politicians are up to,” she said, and I nodded.
“You told me to be careful regarding Jonah, which I will. But you need to be careful, too, Capucine. I don’t think you can trust anyone.”
“I don’t,” she said as she started to get into her car. “Oh, do you know an Émilie du Châtelet?”
“No. Should I?” I asked, my eyes locking with Capucine’s.
“How about a Rihanna Zeva?”
“She was Ahmadi’s pilot. How do you know her?” I asked, recalling our conversation about the strange girl who’d tipped off Capucine about the spiked drink.
“She’s the stranger who warned me,” she said.
“I knew it; well, I suspected.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“What are the odds? She was delivering me to Hassan bin Laden, from what I remember,” I said, vaguely recalling my time with her. “What was she doing?”
“Warning me, in France.”
“Warning you? Why?” I asked. “How? Geez, that just doesn’t make sense. Who is she?”
“Good questions,” said Capucine. “I don’t know—yet.”
I took a deep breath, speechless.
“I love you,” I repeated, before turning to walk into the Porsche dealership, where Dhilan waited. I scanned my chip and was given the keys with little trouble at all. Capucine smiled as she watched me and Dhilan jump into the car that was brought out to the front of the building.
In our two vehicles, we made our way to the Clarion Hotel, which overlooked the South Harbor, reminding me of my days in Annapolis, Maryland—particularly since St. Nicholas’ Church had a familiar dome like the State Capitol building in Annapolis, not that the two could be compared. The church’s green dome towered over what appeared to be the White House, although a smaller version; not something I would have thought was a church. It was absolutely magnificent. We arrived at the hotel 20 minutes later, after hitting some unexpected traffic.
104
Ms. Martinez
October 28
MARSS Conference, Sokos Hotel Presidentti
Helsinki, Finland
After waking up groggy the next morning, most likely from sleeping too much because I had missed my scheduled run, I showered, changed, and quickly drove the few blocks to the Sokos Hotel Presidentti. After parking the Porsche in the hotel garage, I made my way through the lobby and down the stairway leading to the fashionable Bistro Manu restaurant. I grasped the gold rail as a group of people flooded past me in the opposite direction at the same time the normal cacophony of chatter from eager guests cluttered my ears. At first glance, the bistro appeared sophisticated; simple chandeliers hung over each of the 20-or-so small, light brown tables with two to four purple chairs and perfectly manicured table settings. I scanned the area to see what appeared to be Alexandra Martinez at one of the tables, reading a briefing of some sort—at least her expression made it appear to be something of concern to her rather than simply a conference document.