by Darin Gibby
“That’s right.” Perry stood up. “You’ve got the fight in you. That’s the Addy I’ve always believed in. Forget about the charges, forget about being disbarred, just give the world the technology, and we’ll sort everything else out after that.”
Perry was right. This was her dream. Spending the next three years defending herself with legal briefs and depositions was not going to get her anywhere.
“You’re right, Perry, and thank you for helping me remember. Quinn has a technology to change the world, like the telegraph or the airplane, but everyone is fighting to control it. The result? I’m caught in the middle, and nobody gets the water-powered car. And the patent system is being manipulated by both sides to get what they want.”
She leaned forward, the fog of depression dissipating. “I like your idea a lot! It’s time to yank this out of the clutches of the Patent Office and the DOJ and Korea and WTG and the labyrinth of our courts and just hand it over to the world. Then, after the dust settles, maybe someone will figure out I’m innocent.”
Perry nodded. “There’s a point when you need to step outside the legal system and do what is best. There’s precedent for this. Just look at our Founding Fathers. When the system fails and all the players are corrupt, you need to make a clean break.”
“I’m in,” she said. She uncrossed her legs, stood and gave Perry a hug. “Thanks for believing in me.”
“Just know that I’m here for you. Don’t worry about the legal case against you. We’ll be working on it from our end. All I want you do to is start putting together a plan. Can you get the catalyst?”
Addy pulled her hair back and tied it in a bun. Perry was risking his own career by helping her, and she needed to be as brave as him. The federal agents had come to the Patent Office with a search warrant looking for the catalyst. If Addy knew anything about its location and told Perry, it would place him in an ethical dilemma. He would be complicit in a crime. She was determined to shield him from harm.
“Leave that up to me. I’ve read the patent applications, so I know how they make it. The problem is that you need a billion-dollar factory to do it.”
“So you don’t have any?” he pressed. “I thought you had some to show the examiner.”
“Had some,” Addy said.
“They claim there’s more.”
“None that I have,” she said truthfully.
“But you can get some?”
“I’ll let you know. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Got it,” Perry finally relented. “The first thing you’re going to need is a car. You can use my hybrid. It’s on level two. I have Keri’s Mercedes, so I won’t miss it.”
“And I’m going to need a phone so we can communicate.”
Perry tugged his wallet out of his pants and tossed a few bills onto the desk. “For now, get one of those prepaid phones.”
Addy understood. The red tape in dealing with her current phone plan was going to be insurmountable.
She hugged him again, comforted by his body warmth as much as his encouragement and belief in her. She had to trust Perry. If he failed her, there was no one else.
26
THE FIRST THING Addy noticed when she pulled Perry’s Prius into the WTG parking lot was that the building’s front door was propped ajar. Tucking an empty cardboard box under her arm, she squeezed through, expecting to greet a beefy security guard. Instead, the lobby desk was unmanned. She sidestepped the body scanner and wandered down the hall, hoping there were at least a few of her personal belongings still in her office. Sung-soo’s office was empty, but papers were scattered across his desk, with a few that had floated to the floor.
“Is anyone here?” she said.
“Just me,” came Janice’s voice.
Addy scampered to her office, finding Janice shuffling office supplies into a cardboard box. She tossed in a stapler, then a roll of tape.
“I’m only kind of sorry for you,” Janice said looking up.
“You heard?”
“Who hasn’t? Ever heard of CNN? By the way, everyone here’s cleared out. I don’t have a job, and you don’t have any stock options.” She tossed a paper at Addy, which fluttered to the ground. “Notice on the lease. I found it on the front desk. It’s been terminated.”
“Sung-soo?”
“Like I said, everyone’s cleared out. They must have known this place was going to be ransacked by the Feds, because they cleaned out all the equipment and high-tailed it out of here. You know I love you Addy, but you did me wrong. I’ve got no job, no severance, no last paycheck. Nothing.”
“Wyckoff?”
“Perry agreed to take me back, thank God. But I have to tell you that I’m really scared. How do I know I’m not next? What if they accuse me of stealing patent applications? Sung-soo was camped on my computer for weeks.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Addy reassured her. “It’s me they want.”
Janice grunted. “WTG left me a text. They said if I ever speak to anyone, they’ll make sure I can’t ever talk again.”
“WTG?”
“Uh-huh. They said they’d hurt me, and it wouldn’t be like your bicycle accident.”
Addy’s heart nearly stopped.
“You lied to me,” Janice continued. “That bump on your head—it wasn’t an accident.”
Addy fumbled for something to say. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”
Janice hefted the box and shoved her way past Addy. “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”
Addy followed her. “You’ll see. I’ll make this all up to you.”
“Tell it to the man upstairs,” she said sidestepping to squeeze through the doorframe. “By the way, your request under the Freedom of Information Act came today. It’s on your desk. You were right about one thing—the Patent Office was deliberately suppressing WTG’s patent applications. It’s all there in black and white—program ‘Protect America’—and they’re not talking about protecting US citizens from harmful weapons. They’re talking about making sure the US knows first about every kind of alternative energy idea.”
Addy nearly sprinted to her office. She scooped up the documents produced under the Freedom of Information Act and scoured their contents. It was true! The Patent Office had been directed to flag every new patent application that related to energy production. They were then forwarded to the DOE for scrutiny. If the DOE believed the technology could “impact domestic energy interests,” it would be tagged with a secrecy order “until such time as the impact can be determined.”
In other words, it was a way for the DOE to protect America’s interests by refusing to grant patents to energy technologies detrimental to America’s energy policy, which seemed to be protecting investments in oil production. All applications that in any way related to hydrogen production were to be specially culled from the stack.
Things were beginning to make sense. Quinn’s applications were being watched—and suppressed. He was right to worry that the US would get its own patents and try to block any foreign interest from participating in the US market.
She folded up the documents and stuffed them into her pocket. Somehow, this information was going to help her case.
Addy’s next stop was at a strip mall less than a mile away. She used Perry’s cash to purchase a phone with a hundred minutes and thirty megabytes of data. That would be plenty, considering she’d only be sending text messages.
She thought about sending Lynda a text, but struggled over what to say. She should at least tell her she wasn’t coming, though, something she’d failed to do with her father.
While she typed in a short message giving her regrets, Addy’s fingers were trembling. Surprisingly, Lynda responded immediately.
We understand, the message said. Let us know when things settle down. You’re always welcome.
That was all Addy needed, the assurance that someone else believed in her. That is what family should be about, she told herself.
27
ADDY’S HOPE OF being exonerated and making the water-energy technology hinged on whether Examiner Johnston still had the vial in his pack. With any luck, it had fallen to the bottom along with pens, candy wrappers and whatever other mulch he had accumulated. Back in Perry’s hybrid, she took back roads to San Jose, then ventured to the City Hall, watching to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
The South Bay corridor looked like a Mardi Gras celebration, with NFL banners streaming from light posts, and flags draped from buildings celebrating the upcoming Super Bowl Sunday. This would be one Super Bowl she’d likely have to miss.
The moment she saw the white cement façade of the Silicon Valley Patent Office, her head felt light. It was less than a week since she was arrested, and these same streets had been filled with reporters poised to make her a household name. She circled the block twice, searching for something—anything—that would spark an idea for a strategy.
She couldn’t just march in and demand to see Johnston. More problematic, even if they let her in, and Johnston still had the catalyst in his pack, why would he give it to her? If anything, he’d turn it over to the police, making sure to tell them that Addy was the one who’d secreted it away.
She decided to park across the street, then find a café for coffee and a muffin. Back in her car, she could wait until his day ended and see if he came out with his pack. It would be easy to spot, bright red, just like his mop of curly hair. The sun was shining, so Addy rolled down the windows and reclined the seat. With her feet perched on the dashboard, she waited. Twice she caught herself dozing off and shook her head to stay awake.
Just after five o’clock the short, energetic figure of Daniel Johnston emerged, his red curls bouncing with every step. Slung over his right shoulder was the crimson daypack. She nearly broke out laughing when she noticed his blindingly white legs, barely covered by striped running shorts that looked like they came from Richard Simmons’ wardrobe.
Addy bolted upright, pressed the starter button, and waited for Johnston to turn the corner. Keeping her distance, she followed him for two blocks, where he climbed into a white Chevy Malibu. She stayed on his tail when he zipped onto the 280 Freeway, going north toward San Francisco. After ten miles, she wondered where he could possibly be going, especially wearing his outlandish running garb. Certainly not to a Pilates studio.
When he shot off the Foothill Boulevard exit, she figured it out. Rancho San Antonio park was an open space preserve in the foothills of Los Altos, and it had twenty-four miles of trails that both runners and nature enthusiasts flocked to for a retreat from the bustling city life. The Malibu was barely shoved into park when Johnston flung his door open and emerged. In a flash, he bolted down the gravel path, his pale legs glowing in the fading light.
Most serious runners pounded out at least five kilometers, usually ten or more. That meant she had a safety zone of around thirty minutes to get to the pack, inspect its contents, and hightail it back home. Addy parked several spots away and jumped out, squinting against the sun to make sure Johnston wasn’t coming back, but he was out of sight after only a few hundred yards.
Addy prayed he’d left in such a hurry that he hadn’t bothered to lock the doors. Otherwise, she’d need another plan. Breathing heavily, she ventured to the Malibu, pulling her shirtsleeve over her hands before she touched the vehicle. When she tugged on the handle, she heard a click and the door popped open.
Sometimes you just get lucky, she told herself. She quickly scanned the parking lot and, finding it empty, slipped inside and peeked into the back seat. The pack felt like it was filled with lead as she lugged it onto her lap. Addy yanked on the zipper and spread the pack open. It was jam-packed with textbooks. She shimmied the first one out. Torts.
Addy laughed. He’s going to law school. One at a time, she hefted them out, setting the legal treatises on the driver’s seat. Not having a phone, she didn’t know how long she’d been inside, but already began to worry that time was running out. She glanced around the parking lot. A pickup had pulled into a spot on the other side of the lot, and a younger couple emerged and began stretching. In the rearview mirror, all was quiet.
Addy dove her hand to the bottom of the pack. With the exception of a stray peanut and a wrapper containing a wad of gum, it was empty. Again and again, she swept the bottom. Nothing. Frantically, she searched the pockets, but there was no sign of the vial with the catalyst. Addy rotated the pack upside down and shook it violently. Out came a paperclip and a pencil lead, but nothing else. Where did it go? Had Johnston discovered it and turned it over to the federal agents? If that had happened, her plan was ruined.
She peered out the driver’s window and noticed a white SUV veer into the parking lot. She continued to monitor its progress while she mindlessly shoved the books back inside. Then it dawned on her. The bag’s colors were the same, a dark red, crimson, like the Stanford colors, but it wasn’t the same bag. When Johnston toted it into the conference room, he had it slung over his shoulder, but it was more like a duffle bag, kind of like the large bags tennis players used. This one was for school supplies, books and notepads.
Then where was his gym bag? Had he taken it home? Was it shoved into a corner in his office? She knew guys in college who wore the same shorts for weeks on end. Was he one of those?
The vehicle crept closer. She noticed it had yellow lights on the hood, some kind of official vehicle. It continued in her direction.
Addy picked up her pace and opened the glove box, where she found his wallet and phone. She flipped open the leather flap. His driver’s license. At least she should could get his address. It was dusk, and the lettering was hard to read; she was thinking about using the flashlight feature on his phone when she heard gravel crunch as the SUV pulled beside her.
Her heart stopped. She needed to act unconcerned, like this was her car.
She craned her neck to see down the valley where Johnston had disappeared. The patent examiner could be back any minute. Calmly, she flung the phone and wallet into the glove compartment and looked up.
The SUV’s white door had black and green lettering. SECURITY. Some kind of logo with a poppy was below it—the official flower of the State of California. A heavyset man inside rolled his finger as a signal he wanted to speak with her.
Not being able to roll down the window, she cracked the door.
“Everything okay?” said the security guard.
“Yeah,” Addy said getting out of the car. “Can’t let those cell phones run your life. I’ve got to get on my walk before the sun sets.”
The officer nodded and shut down his engine. Addy closed the car door and pretended to stretch, pretended to be calm. Yet in the distance, she could see Johnston’s bright shorts churning down the hill toward the parking lot.
She had to do something. She glanced back at the SUV, noticing that the man with the double chin was talking into some kind of radio. Addy once again studied the lettering on the SUV, realizing this wasn’t an official parks and recreation vehicle after all. Her heart raced. Who was this? Johnston was getting closer. Addy realized she couldn’t make a dash for her own car. This fake security guard would certainly follow her.
“Gotta go,” she said, then zipped across the parking lot and onto the jogging trail, careful to stay clear of the returning patent examiner. As soon as she reached the trees, she made a beeline for the hills, disappearing into the forest.
After she’d gone about a hundred yards, she stopped and listened. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but she couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of a bird chirping and leaves rustling in the breeze. The security guard hadn’t followed her. She jumped up and darted through the bushes and downed trees until she reached a small clearing. Addy peered down onto the parking lot. Both the SUV and Johnston’s Malibu were gone.
Still, she didn’t venture out. The obese ma
n in the SUV could be waiting for her, perhaps with reinforcements. How had he found her? Addy tried to calm her breathing and remained crouched behind a large eucalyptus tree until dark, shivering in the damp night air. Finally, she sneaked back to her car.
* * *
Addy had been prudently paranoid ever since Quinn smashed her SIM card. She’d learned that carrying a smart phone was equivalent to a deer wearing a tracking device during hunting season. She didn’t have that problem with her prepaid phone. Now, however, she wondered whether a bug had been attached to Perry’s car. That was the only way to explain what had just happened.
She was too scared to go home, since her address was a matter of public record. If someone thought she had the catalyst, they could easily find her there. But Perry often worked late, so she turned north and raced toward Palo Alto.
Reflecting on her next move, she came to the conclusion that it was time to quit holding back. She had to tell Perry about hiding the catalyst.
When she reached Wyckoff’s office building, she was relieved to find his wife’s BMW still in the underground parking lot. With her eyes glued to her rear view mirror, she made sure no other cars had ventured down the ramp into the parking garage. She hurried to the elevator, pushed the button for the second floor and was soon standing in Perry’s doorway.
Her mentor had his sleeves rolled up, and his bifocals were resting on his nose while he studied a file. Startled at her appearance, he sat upright and peeled off his glasses. “Addy.”
“Don’t get up for me.” Addy came in and sat across from her aging friend. “I need your help,” she said before she lost her courage.
“That’s what I’m here for. I’ve been working on your defense.”
“That catalyst,” she blurted. “I might know where it is.”
Perry cocked his head. “And why is that?”
“When Quinn and I were in the Patent Office interview, the agents burst in, and I didn’t want them to take it.”
