by E. J. Simon
“So, what do you think?” he said, trying to appear simply curious. “How is this related to anything?”
“You’re asking me?” Karen said. “This red sauce and the meatballs are incredible, by the way.” She eyed a plate of lasagna on its way to the next table, then stared directly into Michael’s eyes. “This is probably none of my business and, obviously, that’s how you’re still treating it. I’m sure you have your reasons but, as a friend, I need to tell you that, whatever is going on, from all that I’ve researched on this, you’d better be careful. There appear to be some very dangerous alleys in the dark web, more than meet the eye. And dead bodies as well.
“As long as we’re on this subject, I stumbled upon something else during my research. Again, it may not even be pertinent to anything you’re using this information for, but it fascinated me.” She paused. “Actually, it scared me to death.”
Michael put down his silverware. It was unusual for anything to frighten Karen.
“It’s from a UK report out of Oxford. I found it on Google but it’s a legitimate source.” She put down her fork and pulled another magazine article out of her file. “Listen to this:”
Nuclear weapons systems are at threat from hostile states, criminal groups and terrorist organizations exploiting cyber vulnerabilities. The likelihood of attempted cyberattacks on nuclear weapons systems is relatively high and increasing from advanced persistent threats from states and non-state groups.
It is believed, for example, that the US infiltrated the supply chain of North Korea’s missile system, thereby causing a test failure last year.
The silos of US nuclear-tipped Minuteman intercontinental ballistic missiles are reported to be particularly vulnerable to cyberattacks. Presently, this is a relatively ungoverned space and these vulnerabilities could serve to undermine the overall integrity of national nuclear weapons systems.
She looked up at Michael. “Here’s what you might be particularly interested in:”
Potential artificial intelligence applications, while creating new opportunities for cybersecurity, add another layer of vulnerability to nuclear weapons that could be exploited. The United States military, in particular, has led the way in utilizing artificial intelligence software to select and guide missiles to their targets. Although proven to be highly effective in missile guidance tests, its introduction into sophisticated missile systems also opens the door to cyberattacks and the threat of hackers taking control of them, overriding current safeguards.
Michael pushed his plate away, a new sense of unease flooding his mind.
Chapter 52
He had been a priest once. Monsignor Kurt Schlegelberger, protector and confidant of the pope. Two of them, actually. One of whom he’d poisoned when that pope found out the things he’d done, protecting dirty priests and hiding Alex Nicholas’s killer.
When he’d first been ordained, he had believed almost everything. But the further he advanced within the church and the closer he got to the spiritual elders, the more he doubted. At first, he found himself challenging peripheral church beliefs or dictates, a conflict he ascribed to the difference between church dogma—that which was divinely revealed—and doctrine, the church’s teachings and interpretations. Between what is God-given, handed down by Jesus and the apostles, and what is man-made. But the closer he got to the flame, the more cynical he became, about all of it.
In time, surrounded by the loosening of church mores, financial and moral corruption at all levels of the Vatican, right and wrong seemed to overlap, then blend together, open to interpretation and the exigencies of circumstance.
Each step away from the church, from the concept of the supreme divine being, was incremental. Schlegelberger’s loss of his faith seemed to progress from one stage to the next, almost unnoticed, until he found that he no longer believed in the concept of sin. There was no all-knowing, all-seeing judge in heaven, no final judgment, there was no afterlife…there was only this world.
In his new, disembodied form, Schlegelberger was conscious of having a conscience. Confused, searching for more definitive data, he scrolled through his mind, computer-like now, until he found an article that caught his attention:
At the extreme end of this phenomenon, we have the concept of artificial intelligence, which strikes immediately at questions about the extent of human power, and whether intelligence is distinct from a soul. Meanwhile, some transhumanists foresee a period when the human mind will be uploaded onto a deathless computer. As religion scholar Robert Geraci has argued, this vision of people shedding their imperfect bodies and achieving immortality sounds an awful lot like the Rapture, that time, evangelicals say, when all believers will rise into the sky and join Christ.
Was there more to come? Was this stage he was in simply another step on the road to the very same place where the church was going? Was this artificial intelligence, this virtual existence, simply another step along the way, a progression—not a replacement—designed by the same God Schlegelberger had worshiped as a young man?
He continued reading, looking for answers. He scanned the Internet for related information until he found a documentary on YouTube. He wondered how many others paid attention. For him, it was fascinating. He didn’t recognize the face of the narrator; the piece was probably meant more for academics than the general viewing public. He watched and listened:
“In his book, A Brief History of Time, Dr. Hawking concluded that ‘if we do discover a complete theory’ of the universe, ‘it should in time be understandable in broad principle by everyone, not just a few scientists. Then we shall all, philosophers, scientists and just ordinary people, be able to take part in the discussion of why it is that we and the universe exist.’ ‘If we find the answer to that,’ he continued, ‘it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason—for then we would know the mind of God.’”
The mind of…God?
His AI brain battled against his human mind…or was it his conscience? Battled between what he’d been and what he had become. But that old voice was still there. How was that possible? How could he still be confronting the same inner voices, the familiar conflict between the mind and the soul, the head and the heart, the brain and the…conscience? If he were ever going to be free, unencumbered by ethics, morality, and conscience, it should be now, when he was no longer attached to a human body or any pretense of a spiritual God.
Yet, here he was, confronted by those old inner voices. How could that be possible? Unless…
No, it was too late to reconsider his path. And since there was no higher power, no God, no inherent right or wrong, the quest for power would rule his new life as it had his old one.
Still, a deep sense of dread, a sharp pain, ran through his chest.
What, he wondered, have I done?
Chapter 53
Kure Beach, North Carolina
It was the end of summer, which, on the North Carolina shore, was still quite hot; a time of shorts, tans, loafers, the smell of coconut suntan lotion mixing with the salty scent of the ocean, and the sounds of the waves breaking on the shore while cocktails and ice were being briskly shaken in the ever-present cocktail shaker behind the bar.
But for Michael and Samantha, those were the only carefree reminders of summer.
Sitting in one of the restaurant’s old dark wooden booths, Michael poured the remainder of his martini from the steel cocktail shaker into his glass. “I love a bartender who gives you your drink along with a little extra in the shaker. It’s a lost courtesy, left over from a bygone time.”
Since the bomb destroyed Mario’s, Michael’s new favorite comfort food Italian restaurant was located next to their vacation home on the North Carolina coast. It had a similar feel, red check tablecloths, a great bar with generous drinks, traditional uncomplicated Italian dishes, a laid-back, unpretentious atmosphere, and a warm, friendly staff. Samantha, too, enjoyed it, despite
her penchant for healthier, lighter food.
“Michael,” Samantha said, “I’m sorry I doubted you, but who could possibly believe this whole AI thing with Alex, and now, of course, Monsignor of all things, Schlegelberger? After seeing you actually called into the White House, and then everything with the Greek priest and his diary, I finally came to accept what you were trying to tell me about Alex. I honestly thought you needed psychological help.”
An apology from Samantha was a huge deal. Michael wanted to say that, but he feared she’d take it back if he did. Better to just graciously tuck it away in his head for safekeeping, never ever to be acknowledged or brought up again.
“I know, but you think everyone needs psychological help,” he said with a mischievous smile.
“And they usually do,” she replied, perfectly serious.
“I rest my case.”
For Michael it was a relief to be able to talk openly with Samantha again about Alex and the bizarre happenings that had occurred since his…initial…death. He was no longer alone. And, since Samantha and he had a very close relationship in most other aspects of their lives, he looked forward to being able to share his experiences—and his brother—once again with her.
The relationship between the humanly alive Alex and Samantha had, at times been testy. Alex’s view of women wasn’t the most progressive, to say the least, which rightfully offended Samantha. They were both strong willed, too, which led to infrequent but explosive fireworks, leaving Michael with the thankless task of trying to play peacemaker between his wife and his brother without getting bloodied in the process. It usually didn’t work out like that.
“You know the last time we sat down to dinner out like this, the restaurant blew up,” Michael said, looking around. “I’ll miss Mario’s—and Tiger. He was a good man and a generous friend.”
Perhaps it was the similarity of the restaurants, or just reasonable paranoia in view of what had already occurred, but Michael felt a premonition, a disquieting anxiety that, despite the comfort and familiarity of his surroundings, something wasn’t right. He didn’t want to mention it to Samantha since it would only stoke even greater anxiety on her part, which would then create even more for him and, after all, he could find no tangible sign of danger.
“I heard from Fletcher,” Michael said. “It appears the Westport police and the FBI know who was behind Tiger’s murder.”
“You mean who hired that local guy, what was his name?”
“Danny D—aka Danny Delorenzo, the guy we saw in the hospital elevator. Yes, it appears to have been a ‘crime of opportunity,’ as Fletcher quoted from the report.”
“I don’t get it.”
“In other words, the bombing was unrelated to Tiger’s murder. It just provided a convenient cover for the local Mafia group that was already threatening Tiger because he wouldn’t pay protection money for the restaurant. I guess he’d also been pretty vocal telling other business owners that they shouldn’t pay off these guys. So, they needed to set an example with Tiger; otherwise, they’d be out of business. When the bombing happened, they figured they could eliminate him without having the authorities looking for them and instead the attention would go to whoever was responsible for the bomb.”
“So,” Samantha said, “who was responsible for the bomb?”
“That they still don’t know, or at least the FBI isn’t saying. They appear though to have eliminated that local Mafia group. And no one is interested in what Alex may have known, or Schlegelberger, of course.”
“Well, it is pretty far outside the usual cast of characters, especially if you’re law enforcement. I don’t think they easily go down such obscure alleys when they’re looking for suspects.”
The server arrived and placed one of Freddie’s specialties on the table for Michael, a flame-grilled pork chop sautéed in butter and brown sugar and topped with sliced peaches and pecans.
Michael looked over at Samantha before cutting into the pork chop. He knew what was coming.
“That looks so good,” Samantha said as she prepared to cut into her simple grilled lemon salmon. “Don’t eat it all, take some of it home for lunch tomorrow.” Samantha, protective of Michael’s health, was constantly trying to watch over his diet, despite his best efforts to the contrary. His dinner would soon become a negotiation over how much Michael would save for another day and how much of the chop he would actually eat tonight.
“Schlegelberger is planning something big,” Michael said, trying to eat as much of the pork chop as he could before Samantha caught up to him.
“You mean like flying a plane with two hundred dead passengers into the White House?”
“Bigger. I’m afraid much bigger. When you and I were in Uzes, at the resort, Alex and I had a three-way conversation with him online.”
Samantha looked shocked. “You’re kidding me, aren’t you? When did you do this?”
“I couldn’t tell you. You were asleep and you would have thought…”
“Okay, I know, Yes, I would have thought whatever it is you think I would have thought. Probably worse.”
“Okay, so anyway, at first Schlegelberger seemed interested in getting Alex to work with him.”
“Seriously? What did Alex say?”
“You can imagine, something like ‘go to hell,’ to put it mildly.”
“Well, that’s good…I guess. What happened then?”
“This is what I’m so worried about. He said something like, the plane thing was simply the appetizer and that it was too bad but we were going to miss the main course.”
Samantha finished what was left of her wine.
“What could he possibly have planned that’s so…big? He’s just a computer or something.”
“Yeah, just a computer—look what he’s done already. We can only begin to imagine the power that—oddly enough—Alex has unleashed. This is all uncharted territory. Alex just wanted to keep living and enjoy his life; he never tried to tap into the real power that this artificial intelligence unleashed.”
“But Schlegelberger—”
“Schelegelberger,” Michael said, “is Hitler on steroids. Like Hitler with the atom bomb, except no one believes it yet. They don’t even think the AI Schlegelberger exists.”
“And where does that leave us—you, me, and I guess, Alex, too?”
“Because of our connection with Alex, who is the only other…person…with the AI powers that Schlegelberger has, we are a potential threat to Schlegelberger and whatever plan he has up his sleeve.”
“So…he needs to…”
Michael finished the last of his martini. “Schlegelberger needs to get rid of us, all of us.”
He kept watching the front door each time it opened, looking for a suspicious or familiar face, perhaps one that he remembered leaving Mario’s just before the bomb exploded. Or the bystander watching from the street after the explosion, mingling in the crowd, like the pyromaniacs who set a building on fire and then stay on the scene to watch the aftermath. There were faces from that night in Westport lodged forever in his memory bank, ones that he couldn’t quite picture or identify but that he sensed he would remember if he ever saw them again. Or so he thought.
But now, as one stranger after another walked in Freddie’s door, Michael scrutinized each face, aware that, tonight at least, everyone was a potential killer.
Chapter 54
New York City
They were an unlikely pair, two cousins, Fat Lester and Skinny Lester, two of Alex Nicholas’s closest friends from childhood right up until his murder. Both had become his trusted employees in Tartarus, the name signifying the ancient Greek underworld that Alex had bestowed upon his massive illegal gambling and loan-sharking operation in Queens.
Both were delighted when Michael took over the business and retained them in their roles as the brain and brawn of Tartarus. Despite
the trauma of losing Alex, it had been an easy transition.
They were as their nicknames described them. Skinny Lester, tall and fit, with a basketball player’s frame and the look of someone who struggles to fill out his loose-hanging clothes. A college dropout, he was a mathematical genius, a critical skill for setting the right odds on the games each day, sufficient to give the house the edge.
Fat Lester was built like a tank, half his cousin’s height but double his weight, and appearing to be bursting out of his sport coat, which he obviously never buttoned. Although in his fifties, he was an intimidating presence who had been useful to Alex when a client got behind on his debts.
Donna sat facing out at the plush but discreet dining room, a vodka martini and a copy of the Hollywood Reporter on the table in front of her. Passing by the gleaming bar on the way to her table, she had soaked up the attention as her wild blond hair, slim figure, low-cut blouse, and short skirt turned the head of every man in the restaurant, many of whom were young enough to be her son.
The Lesters were sharing a bottle of Contesa Montepulciano. Skinny Lester longed for a cigarette, Fat Lester his cheap cigar.
“This is the type of place I like to eat at,” Donna said. “First of all, it’s in the city, not in Queens, and it has a nice-looking clientele.” She gazed around Felidia’s handsome dining room filled with men in suits and women in smart outfits. “Alex was always taking me to his hangouts, the freakin’ Clinton, Joe’s Garage. Jesus, I am so sick of Queens. I belong here, the Upper East side, eating spaghetti with truffles instead of meatballs.”
“The food’s good there, too,” Fat Lester said defensively before Donna stared him down as though he was crazy.