by H. L. Wegley
Joe and Louie stood side-by-side with hands on their heads.
Jess stood, put her hands on her head, and sidled up to Vince.
Patrick stood in front of the shed, eyes closed and lips moving.
Was he praying?
Sal lay on the ground, still. Blood drained from his upper torso a foot above where Vince’s head had been when he tackled the man. Good thing Vince had tackled Sal at the thighs, like Vince’s high school football coach taught him. If he had tried to wrestle Sal to the ground like an NFL defensive lineman, Vince would have gotten a severe headache, his last one.
In a few seconds, crashing sounds came from bushes on Vince’s right and his left. Several men wearing FBI SWAT uniforms rounded the house.
“It's over.” Jess blew out a sigh.
Vince sidestepped toward her. “If no one does anything stupid, it's over.”
Their gazes locked. “But how?” They’d asked the question in unison.
A policeman separated Jess and Vince from the others. “Are you two okay?”
“Yeah,” Vince said. “But we wouldn't have been much longer. How in heaven’s name did you know about us?”
The man pointed at Patrick, who was being escorted toward them by another member of the SWAT team.
“Patrick contacted you?” Jess’s eyebrows rose.
Vince looked at Jess. “I'm also curious about how the goons found us.”
Patrick stood in front of them now. “Joe put a GPS tracker on your pickup while you were in the lab, Vince.”
“That was my fault, Jess. I should have hidden the truck. But, Jess, did you really booby-trap the source code?”
“What do you think?” Somehow, Jess had gathered enough composure to give him her enigmatic smile.
“You bluffed them?”
“Yes.” Jess circled Vince with her arms. “But I was desperate. I tried to stall, making them think they needed us to get Virtuality’s code. Thanks for not giving us away, Patrick. But I do have a bone to pick with you.”
Patrick's focus darted between Jess and him. “Uh, what's that?”
“You lied to Vince about Paul and me. We weren't having an affair or any kind of relationship. I worked for Paul for a few months, that's all. And you knew it.”
“Sorry about that. I … I was sort of desperate too, trying to keep you from destroying our work. I thought if I could get you two to stop cooperating … maybe …”
Jess gave Patrick a look Vince had only seen a few times, right before—”
She whirled and delivered a powerful kick to Patrick's rear that sent him sprawling on his face in the dirt.
“Is everything under control over there?” The leader of the SWAT team looked their way from his position beside the two cuffed thugs.
One of the SWAT members near Jess and Vince smirked. He pointed at Patrick on the ground. “Everything is just as it ought to be, sir.”
“See that it stays that way.”
The policeman nodded toward the team leader, then turned toward Patrick lying on the ground. “Mr. Michaels, maybe you should stay down in the dirt. After what Ms. Ninja did to you, I don't think you would survive what the big guy would do. But …” He turned toward Jess. “There will be no more reprisals, however deserved they are. You do understand and will comply, Ms. Jamison?”
She nodded then looked down at Patrick. “Divide and conquer didn't work, did it?” She gave Vince a warm hug. “As you can see, you greedy little geek.”
Patrick got up from the ground, wiping the dirt from his hands.
Vince kissed her forehead. “Don't be too hard on him, I'm guessing he called the police, even though the man's got dirt on his hands.”
“Louie’s not so sharp,” Patrick said. “He didn’t know that I prepared a text for the police and sent it along with our GPS coordinates when we pulled into the driveway.”
“Why the change of heart?” Vince asked.
Jess turned toward Patrick and hooked an arm around Vince. “I'd like to know that too.”
“Make it quick,” the officer beside Patrick said. “We're about to go for a ride to a place where there'll be a lot more questions for Mr. Michaels to answer. And some for you two.”
Patrick wiped his hands on his pants. “By the time Vince left the lab, something I tried to ignore was … well, I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Everything was out of control, the technology, the Army contract, my programming staff. And then, somehow, organized crime got involved.”
He shook his head. “I think they got involved through LACO. I had to end it.” Patrick paused and shook his head again. “You know, money turns a lot of heads. Billions of dollars turned mine. Now I’ve got a lot of things to try to make right.”
“You’re right about that. I’ve got some things to make right too.” Vince looked down into Jess’s eyes. “Then I'll call McCheney and see if there's any hope of getting this project back on track.”
Patrick blew out a sigh. “I'll probably not be much help. I didn’t exceed the contractual budget, but technically, what I did was misuse of funds. That will probably send me to prison for a while. But I deserve it. You and Jess try to give the Army what they deserve and kill the deep-brain stimulation. After you explain things to McCheney, I think he'll agree. It was a freebie, something we just added on to the contract.”
While Sal, AKA Curly, was loaded into an ambulance, Larry and Moe were taken away in the back of police cars.
Vince and Jess had a much nicer ride in a large sedan driven by an FBI agent from the Seattle Field Office.
Their driver stopped before pulling onto the street in front of the cabin. “Before you two get too comfy back there, just a couple of things. Rumor has it that a general is flying in to meet us at the field office. The other thing … did you play football for Kentridge, van Gordon?”
“Yeah. How did you—”
“I thought I recognized you. I was just a water boy—taped ankles, took care of equipment. But I remember Ms. Jamison too. She broke a lot of hearts.”
Jess sat up. “I did not. I never encouraged—”
“No. But you did turn them all down. That was enough. Looks like you did the right thing, though.” Two brown eyes looked back at Vince in the rearview mirror. “That's all I had. You two can continue with … whatever.”
Vince did have a question but wasn't sure bringing up the past again was wise to do. He studied Jess’s face.
She read his eyes, his face, whatever it was that Jess used to read his mind. Twin frown lines appeared between her dark eyebrows. “Vince, I thought we had settled all of that.”
Jess knew. She always knew what he was thinking.
“It’s settled. But I'm curious about one thing. Why did you keep—”
“Why all the insults, lop ear?”
“Not again, please.”
“You deserved them, Vince. You, my best friend, the person I thought would be much more than a friend, started pulling away from me, started—”
“Started being a jerk. Would only let our relationship go so far.”
She nodded. “So somewhere in those high school years, the jerk became Vincent van Gogh.”
“And my ears got abused. But I deserved it, Jess. Amputated ears and all the rest. I told you that I spent most my life trying to measure up to Paul and failing. Eventually, I learned to live with that. But when I thought it was Paul you really wanted … I couldn’t live with that. And I couldn’t stand to stay here and watch you share with Paul what I could never have. So I left.”
Vince had more to say. He needed to say it, because it was time to clear the air, completely. “When Paul died, I thought you might settle for me, your second-choice. But you’d never be happy because you wouldn’t have the man you really wanted. I couldn't stand to do that to you. Then we swam the river. We survived the falls. And something happened.”
“You big fool. Something did happen. Something like ….” Jess kissed him. But this kiss wasn’t like at the falls, where an
experiment had ended up releasing their unspent passion from the past. This time, it contained a promise of a future for Jess and Vince, two people with no shadows over them, no serious misconceptions, a deep friendship, and a deep love.
The love brought Vince some deep brain stimulation, but this stimulation came from a person, not a machine. And Vince would describe it as a virtually perfect love. But this love wasn't virtual … it was real.
Chapter 29
For the past several hours, things had been going to blazes in a handbasket.
Whatever had happened near Seattle must be over by now. But Trent had heard nothing, and it had been more than two hours since Romano called.
Trent picked up his cell from his office desk. He had packed nearly everything he needed. The fake ID, with a passport, was waiting for him at a small office on Santa Monica Boulevard. He had cash in his wallet.
Now to see if he needed to run or stay.
He dialed Sal’s number.
The phone rang until voice mail picked up the call.
Trent ended his call.
Obviously, something had gone wrong. If Sal’s phone was in the hands of someone else, like van Gordon or the police—Trent needed to destroy his cell, get his new ID and say goodbye to old MMI.
He jumped when his cell rang. It did not play New York, New York. The number displayed looked like it might be a local cell number. Maybe it was the guy who had created his new ID. Trent had given the man his number to use in the event of an emergency.
He should probably answer, then play it by ear.
“Señor Del Valle, how are you today?” A gravelly voice with a Hispanic accent.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Si, but I will answer as I choose.”
“Look, I’m extremely busy right now.”
“Of course you are. Acquiring dangerous technology is so … labor intensive, si?”
The man’s accent and cold, arrogant voice sent a tingling chill up the back of Trent’s neck. “I’m not following you. What do you mean about dangerous technology?”
“This technology, Señor Del Valle, it is dangerous to me … in a very personal way.”
“I’ve got to go now, and I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“If you go before you and I reach an understanding, you will not leave your building alive.” The man paused. “Now, do I have your full attention, amigo?”
The nausea came on like gangbusters bringing an urge to run to the men’s room. Trent tried to calm his mind and his body. “I—I—” Why had he stuttered? He was Trenton Del Valle, the man always in control … or in the process of gaining control. Trent took a calming breath. “I’m listening. What do you want, mi amigo?”
“This technology, could cut into my business. It might ruin my business. So I let you have it on one condition, señor.” The man’s voice had hardened, now coming with the sharpness of a tempered-steel blade.
“One condition … what’s that?” Whatever it was, a bluff or not, Trent needed to hear this man’s rationale, because he clearly knew far too much about Trent’s plans.
“The three billion U.S. dollars you will cost me each year, you must pay me out of your proceeds. Or you must make me your partner. So either we work together and split fifty-fifty, or you may pay me a pittance, annually. You know, compensation. Take your choice, Señor Del Valle.”
“That’s ludicrous. Who are you to make such demands like—”
“I have a network of informants just as you do, amigo. In fact, some of yours are also mine. And who am I? I’m someone who can mail you the heads of your sons. Or, perhaps, mail them yours.”
Trent needed to end this call and get out of town. But the threat about leaving the building—Hispanic accent, assassin nearby, heads along roadsides. “Do you work for some organization like … the Sinaloa Cartel?”
“I work for no one. They work for me. But a Cartel? That has such terrible connotations. No, señor. I am a businessman, just like you.”
He was not like Trent. He was the head of some cartel, an international criminal, a murderer. Time to split.
“I hope you are not thinking of leaving, Señor Del Valle. You will not reach your Mercedes.”
The knot in Trent’s gut tightened. He ran toward the men’s room.
If this man made his money trafficking drugs, he didn’t need Trent’s technology or the uncertainty of a new business venture. He would probably prefer Trent dead and out of the way, so he could continue his current operations.
As Trent reached for the restroom door, a muffled pop sounded. It came with a blow to his back that drove him to the floor.
His world and his dreams faded to gray fuzziness.
Emily had been right to leave, because …
Thoughts and images faded, until Trenton Del Valle merged with the enveloping darkness.
Chapter 30
Four weeks later, Washington, D.C., Rayburn Office Building
Jess, Vince, Dr. Scoggins and General McCheney sat behind a long, conference-room table with a microphone in front of each seat. Jess said, “I do,” to the oath given them by the chair of the House Armed Forces Subcommittee on Readiness, Joseph Wells.
Vince looked her way and put his hand over his mic. “You look nice in a blazer and a skirt. I think it suits you much better than that mini-skirt.”
Jess gave him her bug-eyed stare, but she ended it quickly when her eyes focused on the video camera, reminding her that the entire proceedings might end up on YouTube and clips of it could be shown on the evening news.
She didn't reply to Vince's questionable compliment.
Vince scanned her again and covered his mic. “You look more than nice. Too bad those long legs are hidden behind this desk.”
Would he ever forget that morning at Starbucks? Jess certainly did not want to hear about it now as she rehearsed her testimony for the committee. “Go cut an ear off or something, Vince. And stop looking at me like that.”
“I'm not the only one. See the congressman from Illinois? He can't take his eyes off —”
“Ms. Jamison, do you want to go on the record as recommending Mr. van Gordon cut off his ear?”
Great! She hadn't covered her mic. Her remarks to Vince would probably go viral on the Internet before the day was over.
Her face heated to what was probably hot pink. Jess looked down at her desk waiting for some measure of composure to return.
“I didn't think so,” Chairman Wells said.
“General McCheney?” Wells, the committee chair, a distinguished looking white-haired congressman from Missouri, waited for the general's attention. “Please remind us what was so urgent that we had to squeeze this investigative hearing into our packed schedule.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman, for recognizing the importance of the issue we're here to discuss. Criminal investigations are being conducted by the DOJ regarding the misuse of funds and disclosure of classified information and technology at a facility run by Virtuality Incorporated, a DOD contractor. We requested this hearing because of the disclosure of Top-Secret information and the potentially dangerous—no, the disastrous consequences related to possible commercialization of the technology involved.”
“General …” The chairman flipped a couple of pages in a document on his desk. “Without disclosing any sensitive information, please tell us what you mean by disastrous consequences.”
McCheney sighed. “The three witnesses here with me can attest to the validity of my conclusion. But, in a nutshell, if members of organized crime and the adult entertainment industry—”
“Excuse me, general. Do you mean the porn industry?” Wells said.
“Yes, Mr. Chairman. If they seize this technology and introduce it into the general population, they would not only make billions, perhaps trillions of dollars, but it would likely end civilized society in the United States of America and could impact the entire world.”
“That's quite an assertion. We’re
anxious to hear the supporting testimony. But first, remind me why the Readiness Subcommittee is hearing this evidence.”
McCheney nodded. “Because the system being developed—and this is not classified information—would be used to train combat troops for enhanced readiness. And this work was funded directly by legislation recommended to the house by this subcommittee. Consequently, this seemed to be, not only the logical place to start, but the quickest way to inform the federal government about an issue that needs the government’s oversight.”
Chairman Wells leaned toward his mic. “I think that we are about to tread on sensitive information. Please cut the video and audio recording and turn off all cell phones. The remainder of this hearing, until I declare otherwise, should be considered classified or highly sensitive. It is not to be discussed or disclosed outside of this room.” He looked at a technician in the back of the room. “Mr. Davison, let me know when all recording has been stopped.” The chairman waited.
“Recording is stopped, Mr. Chairman.”
“Now, let's continue with the testimony of our four witnesses.”
General McCheney laid out the basics of the Army contract, the scope of Virtuality’s work, and the general nature of the security breach.
As the general neared the conclusion of his explanation, the pounding of Jess's heart grew to a wild percussion solo in her chest. Her testimony would come next.
After Jess introduced herself and her role in developing the algorithms used by Virtuality’s products, the chairman allowed the congressman from Illinois to question her.
Vince was right. The congressman had been ogling her, making her uncomfortable. Maybe she would return the favor.
“Ms. Jamison, what do the algorithms you mentioned actually accomplish?”
Evidently, this guy hadn’t gotten it the first time around. Maybe the congressman needed a more direct approach. “By efficiently decompressing the nerve-impulse data, we can saturate the human body with so many impulses, in real time, that the subject will experience nearly the same sensations as the person from whom the nerve impulses were recorded. Combine that with the vision from virtual reality goggles and we can put you on a battlefield and let you respond to any combat situation that is recorded or simulated. Without rapid decompression of a large volume of nerve data, this approach wouldn’t be feasible. Hence the need for the algorithms I coded.”
