Phil Sinclair was thirty, a rail of a man with thick-rimmed glasses, a receding chin, and a bobbing Adam’s apple.
And somehow, I’m in charge of all these experts. They should be in charge of me.
Amy Randall stood at the head of the table, meeting each one’s gaze. “People, you’ve all signed your security and confidentiality agreements. You’ve been briefed, seen the Schott article. Most of you have at least had a chance to skim Dr. French’s dissertation. Your job is to actually put Dr. French’s model to the test on a global level to identify any and all threats to America’s national security. My job is to see that you get that done as quickly as possible. So anything you need, see me or Dr. French, and you’ll get it.”
Around the room, quizzical glances fixed on Anika. She figured she knew what they saw, a twenty-something redhead with terrified eyes.
Randall said, “On that note, I’ll turn this over to Dr. French.”
Anika tried to calm herself. She was about to try and lecture experts with far greater abilities than hers.
Time to be Daddy’s girl. She stood. “From here on out, I guess this is deadly serious. Our job is to see if the model reliably predicts anything relevant about the modern world. There’s a… a hypothesis I’ve been toying with for about a year but was afraid to test. I discussed it with my former professor, Mark Schott.” She sucked in a breath and finished, “So I’m afraid the bad guys are already working on it.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mark Schott swore he’d fallen into paradise. Stephanie awakened him each morning in a most erotic manner. After showers and a quick breakfast, he accompanied her to the office, or lab as he’d come to call it, where he immersed himself in the work.
His team had proved astonishing, pouring themselves into the task. Days later, they had the Cahokia model down and, true to his prediction, were making refinements beyond his ability to understand. He would have given anything to have Anika’s take on what they were saying.
Leaving the lab each night, his head spinning with permutations of the model, he returned to his apartment where Stephanie redirected his thoughts to prime rib, escargot, steaming mussels, and other delicacies. Then, they would retire to the bedroom, sometimes to explore the kind of exotic sex that exceeded even his fantasies, other times to simply hold each other on the bed, while staring at some impossible landscape. On a dare, they even made love in the middle of a virtual Champs Elyse, mindless French passersby walking within inches of their heads.
And back to the lab.
He’d lost count of the days and was pondering a correlation coefficient with Terblanch when Stephanie stepped into the lab. He hardly noticed the man who accompanied her and absently checked his watch. Damn, time just seemed to fly.
“Mark?” Stephanie called.
He gave her a half-hearted wave, his attention centered on the statistic. “I’m just not sure these correlations are actually significant,” he growled. “Remember Schott’s rule?”
“Thou shalt not infer a causal relationship from statistical significance,” Terblanch muttered. “It’s just that these social systems aren’t clean. Give me solid economic data any…” His voice trailed off as he glanced at Stephanie’s companion. Then Terblanch was on his feet, almost standing at attention.
Mark made a face and turned. The man was tall, big, but not necessarily fat. He wore an immaculate Italian suit that seemed to shimmer, the shoes polished to a luster. But it was the face that grabbed Mark’s attention. It was almost bulldoggish, heavy of jowl, and hard-lipped. Something about the man’s skull kindled the image of a blunt artillery shell topped with a wealth of thick white hair. The eyes were blue, slightly squinted, over a flat nose.
The Big Man. He stepped forward offering a callused hand that enveloped Mark’s. The grip was just short of crushing.
“Dr. Schott, I am pleased to meet you. The reports on your activities here have been refreshing, to say the least. You are ahead of schedule, yes?”
“Mikael Zoakalski?” Mark guessed. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Excuse me.” A cold twinkle animated his eyes. “I sometimes forget to introduce myself.”
“There have been some setbacks but, yes, we’re making progress. I think, sir, that by next week, we’ll be able to run a test on a modern state. I’m thinking Indonesia.”
“Why Indonesia?”
“It has one of the world’s largest populations. Close to two-hundred-seventy-five-million people in a closed geographic area. The country’s economic profile, income spread, percent of urbanization, and internal resources almost match the global median. The added benefit is that it’s an island nation and, hence, isolated from easy immigration. But there are a few problems.”
“What?”
“The accuracy of their economic reports for one. We think the agricultural production figures are inflated. We’re also unsure about median family income.”
“You will have the real figures by tomorrow morning.”
“Uh, that may not be as easy as you think. Certain ministers keep those closely guarded. Call it job security.”
Zoakalski’s smile was hard-edged. “It won’t be a problem.”
Mark hesitated. “You’re aware, right, that we’re exploring new ground here? The first test might indicate that the variables we’re using may require substantial reevaluation on our part. Our results will not be concrete by any means.”
“Understood.”
“Good.” Mark rubbed his hands together, oddly unsettled. The guy was spookier than Gunter. Something was cold and efficient about his posture. If those blue eyes looked icy now, what would they be like when the guy was mad? “I don’t want expectations to be too high. I’ve found that when they are exceeded everyone can crow and be happy. When they are met, people slap each other on the back, roll up their sleeves, and continue. But when the results are below expectation… Well, I don’t want to find myself in that circumstance.”
Zoakalski’s smile thinned. “I understand you perfectly, Dr. Schott. Tell me. Have things here been to your liking?”
“Yes.” He fought the urge to glance at Stephanie.
“Good.” Zoakalski half turned. “We have great expectations for your work, Dr. Schott. You have already taught us a great deal, given us insights we’ve never explored before. Knowledge, especially in the world to come, will determine a great many advantages to those who provide it.”
“Thank you.”
Mark noticed a curious excitement sharpen in Stephanie’s eyes.
Turning to her, Zoakalski said, “Reward the good doctor tonight, my dear.”
And with that, he walked out.
Mark’s team promptly relaxed, some venting sighs of relief. The effect was as if the room were suddenly warmer, safer.
Stephanie gave him a satisfied smile, then turned to the others. “Why don’t you all wrap things up and leave early? It’s Friday night. As hard as you’ve been working, no one would say anything if you didn’t convene until noon tomorrow.”
Terblanch, Liu, and Kalashnikov, instead of looking relieved, almost looked cowed as they began putting their things away.
Stephanie waited while Mark stowed his work, then took his arm as they left the lab.
“Special night,” she murmured.
“Every night with you is special. What’s Eduard cooking up this time?”
“Nothing,” she replied as they exited the elevator and strode down the hall. “Change of plans.”
“Really?”
“Just wait,” she promised.
To his surprise, she led him to a sleek silver Jaguar XKR parked at the curb. “Get in.”
He slipped into the passenger seat, delighted by the mechanically perfect snick of the door as it latched. He wiggled in the form-fitting seat, clicking the seat belt.
Behind the wood-finished steering wheel, Stephanie pressed the start button. The Jaguar gave a throaty roar as she slipped it into gear and gave it gas. She added, “S
upercharged. Five-hundred-horse engine. She’s my toy.”
“Nice toy. Where are we going?”
“I promised you a night on the town. You’ve earned it.”
“The team did,” he replied. “They’re good people.”
As they rounded the palace, half of its windows glowing with yellow light, she gave him a sidelong glance. “Are there any who aren’t working out?”
He shrugged. “Francine Inoui is a little intense. The forcing statistics drive her a bit nuts. She insists on absolute certainty and only gets probable responses.”
“Should I remove her?”
“What? No. I mean, she’s all right. I don’t mind a skeptic. Her critique keeps us focused.”
“What else?”
“Oh, nothing. Really. I’m mean, I’m always a little irritated when Pierre goes off task, but—”
“He goes off task? How?”
“He veers into genetic vulnerabilities when I’ve assigned him a different—”
“For example?”
Mark made an airy gesture. “For example, yesterday I told Pierre to analyze the effects of a change in precipitation patterns in California’s San Joaquin Valley, decreasing average rainfall by two inches. Instead, he used the model to analyze what would happen if a deadly virus was engineered that only killed people with the EPAS1 variant.”
“What is that?”
“Tibetans, mostly. That’s what I mean.” Mark rolled his eyes to display his frustration. “It’s a waste of my time to model wild hypotheses that will never be implemented.”
“Would such a virus also affect the Chinese? They’re related to Tibetans, aren’t they?”
“Tibetans diverged from the Han Chinese about 4,725 years ago, so targeting EPAS1 wouldn’t significantly—”
“Explain what that variant does.” It was an order, not a request.
A little annoyed, he replied, “It’s a genetic adaptation to hypoxia, specifically the low oxygen levels experienced by people who live at high altitudes, like Tibetans. Red blood cells carry oxygen through the body, right? People who live at high altitudes undergo evolutionary pressure to produce more oxygen-carrying red blood cells. That’s what the EPAS1 variant does.”
“Interesting. Then it would be a clean way for China to eliminate its Tibetan problem, wouldn’t it?”
He turned to frown at her.
Stephanie gave him a disappointed look. “Oh, come on, you’re not that naive. Do you still think COVID was an accident? The Chinese have been using genetic surveillance since 2019. That’s how China identified and detained Uighur Muslims so they could be interred in concentration camps. Though, of course they called them “re-education” facilities. It was called ‘total surveillance’. The instant scientific papers began being published that identified genes unique to different ethnic minorities, human beings began using it to weed out the undesirable elements of their society.”
Mark’s chest suddenly constricted. He knew about the Uighurs. But, somehow, it had never occurred to him that genetic surveillance would be systematically used around the world as an authoritarian tool. It was the twenty-first century. “Surely, the world community will stop this sort of—”
“Surely you jest.”
Mark ran the probabilities, observing the cascade of events if nations banded together to try to halt such activities in other sovereign nations. War, of course. Economic devastation. For most countries, it would simply be less devastating to turn their heads.
“Please tell me that’s not where ECSITE is headed.”
“Of course not,” Stephanie insisted. “We’re not monsters. I’m just saying there are no safeguards on this kind of technology, and ECSITE must model what will happen if someone—say a nation-state—uses it as the Chinese have in the past.”
A little relieved, he exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “I guess that makes sense.”
“All I’m suggesting is that you allow Pierre to run his models. What harm is that?”
“None, I suppose.”
As she slowed down at the gate, Stephanie’s blue eyes glittered in a way that made him distinctly uneasy. She rolled down her window when the guard stepped out and shone a light inside to check the occupants.
As they pulled away, Mark added, “Is this security really necessary?”
“We can’t be too careful, and having a secure retreat will turn out to be a comforting thing when the dominoes begin to fall, don’t you agree?”
Mark just looked around at the massive high-tech security. He hadn’t really noticed it when he’d arrived but, now, it occurred to him that ECSITE employees were virtually prisoners. Extremely well-paid prisoners… but prisoners, nonetheless.
She stopped at the highway, waited for a break in traffic, and made a left, flooring the Jag.
“Yaa hoo!” Mark cried as tires shrieked and he was pressed back in the seat. Stephanie, it seemed, liked driving hot cars.
“What did you think of the Big Man?”
“I wouldn’t want to piss him off.”
“Good, you will live longer that way.” She steered smoothly around a truck and paddle-shifted into third. “More than anything, Mikael values loyalty and rewards it accordingly. That is one rule you must understand. He demands results.”
Mark’s stomach began to crawl. Damn, just how fast was she going? It wouldn’t be macho to crane his neck to see the speedometer. But nervous as he was, Stephanie was as cool behind the wheel as if they were doing thirty. “So, what’s his story?”
“He came up through the ranks in the old KGB.”
“Why did he leave?”
“He got crossways with his best friend, a fellow named Vladimir Putin.”
Mark frowned. “What happened?”
“I have no idea. Whatever it was, Mikael thought it was a prudent time to flee Russia. You can relax. His specialty was as an analyst, not a field agent. He understood trends. How nations were developing, where opportunities for sound investments could be found. He made a killing in both Afghanistan and Iraq working for the American government. They needed ways to move men and material into both countries and he facilitated.
“Smart guy.”
“Brilliant, actually. Never underestimate him. He thinks five steps ahead.” She shook her head. “It’s almost uncanny.”
“No wonder he’s so interested in predictive models.”
“Of course. Your model can apparently predict human actions, and the consequent economic fallout, hundreds of steps ahead in any direction. That’s impressive. Of course, we need to test verify that.”
As they entered Garmisch proper, she took a right, pointing. “Traditional Bavarian? Braustuberl is the best.”
“It’s your town.”
She parked, stepping out. Mark took a deep breath, aware his heart was still pounding from the trip. The Jag beeped as Stephanie set the alarm. He took her arm as they walked, heels tapping on the sidewalk.
“Charming,” Mark noted as they stepped through the crowd at the door. To the left, he saw a traditional beer hall, straight out of the movies. And just as loud. Stephanie led him right, to the restaurant. After chatting in German with the host, they were led to a table beside a great enameled stove. The waitresses wore cute Bavarian dress and all seemed young and athletic.
“Skiers mostly,” she noted. “They work here to pay for their habit.” A pause. “Do you trust me?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Then let me order.”
He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I’m game.”
In short order, two large glass mugs of beer appeared and Stephanie leaned forward, offering hers in a toast. “To the future.”
“Which isn’t all that bright.”
She shrugged. “Those who keep their heads find opportunity where others find disaster.”
“And that’s what Oberau is all about?”
“Can you imagine a better place to spend a global apocalypse?”
; He cocked his head. “So, how does this work between us? Down the road, I mean.”
Her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “Don’t get maudlin on me.”
“I’m not. It’s just that, well, I have to admit, I like your company.” He raised a cautionary hand. “I’m a big boy, Stephanie, and I’d just like to know the rules.”
The frost melted from her eyes. “Fair enough. And, yes, if you’re wondering, I’m completely mercenary. My job was only to ensure that you landed on your feet. The sex was entirely my decision.”
He sipped the beer. “So, what happens when I’m fully settled in? You just go away?”
She studied him, fingers slipping down the sides of her mug. “Mark, just what kind of woman do you think I am?”
“Just so we’re clear, why don’t you tell me?”
“Never forget that I’m known as a heartless bitch. For which I make no apologies. I told you once, I’m a problem solver who’s very good at what she does. My loyalty is to ECSITE, and they pay me accordingly. The work is challenging, demanding, and I enjoy the hell out of it. What you really want to know is will I be sticking around? The long and complicated answer is no.” Her intent blue eyes held his. “Please tell me that won’t be a problem.”
“Like I said, I’m a big boy. But I’ll miss your company.”
She gave him an ironic smile. “Your bed won’t be empty for long.”
“Really? I hope whoever she is, she knows how to run that waterfall program again.”
“I’ve developed your profile. I know what kind of women you like. Tell me if I’m wrong. Intelligent, worldly, and educated, poised, attractive, and sexually adventurous, interested, but not clingy. You’ve had your share of subordinate females as a college professor and the wife thing didn’t really work for you. In fact, one of the reasons I chose to sleep with you is because you’re not inherently monogamous. What I don’t know is do you prefer blondes, brunettes, or redheads?”
“For tonight, I’ll take blonde.” He sipped the beer. “Is it really that easy? I get lonely and ECSITE provides a woman? They’ve got a name for that where I come from.”
Fracture Event: An Espionage Disaster Thriller Page 10
