Quantum Lens

by Douglas E. Richards

  Alyssa looked at him questioningly.

  “In addition to being a highly accomplished scientist, well published and well respected, Haisch wrote a book in 1997 called The God Theory. Craft became enthralled with this theory.”

  “Was Haisch trying to start his own religion?”

  “No. He just wrote a book with his ideas. Why?”

  “You used the word, disciple.”

  “You’re right. Student might be better. And actually, since Craft never even met this Haisch, student isn’t right either. Let’s say proponent. Believer.”

  “The God Theory?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t read it, but I’m told it has something to do with all of us being a part of God. That we and the universe are a result of subtraction rather than addition. I don’t know it well enough to do it justice, but I do know Craft fell for it in a big way.”

  The major downed the last of his water and placed the empty bottle on the table. “And then, inexplicably, he spent two years immersed in the world of something called Inedia. Have you heard of it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s Latin for ‘fasting.’ People who subscribe to this—I’m going to call it, cult, for want of a better word—believe that food isn’t really necessary. Reportedly, Inedia adherents have fasted for decades and are still alive and kicking.”

  “Don’t you think they’re probably, you know . . . cheating now and then,” said Alyssa, rolling her eyes.

  “I do, yes. But people into this sort of thing swear they know of cases that were documented and carefully monitored. Another term for this phenomenon is Breatharianism. Whatever you call it, they believe that there is no need for traditional nutrition. That they can be sustained by light alone, or through something called prana, which I understand is the vital life force from Hinduism.”

  “Okay, so first The God Theory, then fasting. So the guy has some eclectic interests, that appear to be getting stranger and stranger.”

  “But this last interest he acted on,” noted Elovic. “He began fasting himself. Had to be rushed to the emergency room several times over a period of six months and given IV’s or he would have died.”

  “Sort of disproved the subject of his fascination, didn’t he?”

  “You would think. But you’d be wrong. Because after this, he traveled the globe—ending up in Afghanistan, of all places—seeking out people who had reportedly survived extended fasts. We’ve done some research, and let me tell you, some of these fasters were beyond lunatics. Saying they were delusional, deranged, schizophrenic—whatever—would be being very generous.”

  “But that didn’t dissuade this Craft.”

  “Not a bit. He spent years at this. Probably because he had become totally unhinged himself.”

  Alysssa frowned. “He may be unhinged, but he can fool you. He seemed to me to be the most together man I have ever met. Sane, rational, charming.”

  “A lot of people who are seriously delusional can pull this off when pursuing a goal. Suppress their crazy, so to speak.” Elovic paused. “We know he also purchased a number of very expensive scales. The kind that weigh fractions of ounces. So maybe he was selling drugs as well. Not exactly unheard of in Afghanistan,” noted the major. “We only found out any of this after he became a person of interest. None of his activities that I’ve described would warrant any attention from us.”

  “So what did put him on your radar?”

  “You ever hear of someone named Omar Haddad?”

  “Am I supposed to have?”

  “No. Stupid question. There is no way you could have. He’s Syrian. Saying that his past is unremarkable would be giving him too much credit. But recently he’s been going by two names. The Great One. And Al Yad. Which translates to The Hand, by the way. Short for The Hand of Allah. I’m told yad means hand in Hebrew as well as Arabic.”

  “Sounds like a real nut job.”

  “Yes. But a nut job whose power and influence is growing at unprecedented speed. He’s gathered a huge following. It is our understanding that the Syrian government is considering asking for our help to rein him in.”

  “You’re kidding, right? The Syrians asking their least favorite country, the Great Satan, to help them? With a domestic dispute? Why would they need help reining in one of their own?”

  “We don’t know. But reports are that they’ve tried themselves. We aren’t clear on all of the details, but Al Yad has them spooked. And given his speedy rise to prominence, he has us spooked also. His followers really do think he’s divine, either a messiah or some kind of extension of god. His rhetoric is off the charts. He will destroy the West, destroy the infidels. The streets will run with blood. He will cleanse the population, and only those who accept him as the Hand of God will be allowed to live as he reshapes the planet to his whim. That sort of thing.”

  The major leaned in toward Alyssa. “He’s now the State Department’s number one priority. We don’t know what to make of him, but people are scared. And I mean terrorists in Syria. Terrified of him.”

  “Has he committed any major terrorist acts?”

  “That’s just it. None. At least none of which we’re aware. And this makes no sense given his following. And his rhetoric, which is so venomous he makes Hitler look like a tree-hugging pacifist. We’ve been pulling out the stops to get a handle on him, and we’ve gotten nowhere. We’ve heard rumors, but no one has gotten near him. I can’t go into all of our eyes-only intel, but he has a lot of people very worried.”

  “So what has this got to do with Craft?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. In researching Haddad’s past, pulling satellite surveillance imagery looking for him before he showed up on the international scene as Al Yad, we found a number of shots with him and Craft together. Seems they were buddies.”

  Alyssa pondered this for several seconds. “So you see Craft as a way to get a handle on this Al Yad? The only way right now?”

  “Exactly. The man you just went out with. The man who miraculously slipped our net at your house. He might just be the key to unlocking the enigma that Omar Haddad—Al Yad—represents.”

  The major frowned and blew out a long breath. “And if even a fraction of the rumors we’ve heard about this Al Yad are true, he’s the most dangerous man on the planet.”

  9

  Brennan Craft raced through the woods that abutted the home of Alyssa Aronson.

  Wow, that was really, really stupid, he thought, but in an effort to stay centered he forced a wry smile on his face and tried not to beat up on himself. Okay, so I’m not perfect. If I were, life wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.

  This pep talk didn’t help as much as he had hoped. Telling himself not to worry about this mistake couldn’t entirely divorce him from the reality of normal human wiring.

  It was so obvious in retrospect. Of course the clandestine services were going to monitor key members with top-secret clearance who put their profiles, fabricated or otherwise, on wide open dating sites. And who could blame them, really? You’d have to be suspicious of strangers trying to work their way into the lives of key personnel, hoping to gain leverage, exploit them, or learn secrets. Had he thought he was the only one who ever had this idea?

  Stupid!

  He forced himself to look on the bright side. He had chosen Alyssa Aronson because of the handful of those with her expertise, she was the one he thought he could get close to. Develop a relationship with. And he had been right. He had truly hit the jackpot.

  Their date could not have gone better. Within a few weeks he had no doubt he could have won her trust, and then confided in her. Made her an ally.

  But now . . . .

  Now she would be wary of him. No, that wasn’t strong enough. She would likely hate him.

  Even so, he took their compatibility as a sign. They were meant to work together.

  But he had certainly made things more challenging for himself.

  The powers that be had thought he was dead. Now they kn
ew he wasn’t. The good news is that he had hacked all the right computers and changed the software for the government’s biometric algorithms. He knew the exact pattern of his face—the features, skin texture, and so on—to which the recognition software would respond.

  So he didn’t modify the endless cameras operating around the country—that would have been impossible. And he didn’t remove himself from the system. His face was very much present. He just made a subtle change in coding so that any image of him that would otherwise score a hit in the system would be corrupted just enough to miss matching up. And even now, when they realized he had done this, he was confident they would never be able to find the subtle change he had made.

  But while he had reprogrammed computer recognition software, he couldn’t reprogram the human brain. He was still vulnerable to a single pair of eyes.

  Still, the people chasing him had become too reliant on traffic cams, store cams, and the like to help catch their prey. Which meant they’d be unlikely to send their people to areas they could easily surveil with cameras. So if he stayed in plain sight of cameras at all time, he had less chance of running into a pair of eyes that could identify him.

  Craft emerged from the woods and checked his phone to get his bearings. He had made a major blunder, but he was confident he could find a way to recover. And while he had been running through the woods he had devised a plan.

  He walked to a nearby diner and called a cab, which he instructed to take him to Indianapolis International Airport a little less than an hour away. When he arrived, he paid his fare, smiled, and entered the terminal, where he purchased clothing at a small shop, and changed into it.

  He then rented a car under an assumed name, secure in the knowledge that his computer tampering would make certain this didn’t trigger any alarms.

  Less than an hour later he was parked in a lot at Indiana University, a heavily wooded campus with magnificent limestone buildings that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Hogwarts. They would expect him to flee. Instead, he would stay right in the heart of Bloomington.

  But he wasn’t doing this for tactical reasons only. He still had his sites on Alyssa Aronson and wanted to be very close. And he needed access to the most advanced computer in the region, which was certainly at the university. Named Big Red II, IU’s supercomputer was housed in their Cyber Infrastructure Building, and possessed an incomprehensible processing speed of one thousand trillion floating-point operations per second.

  Within minutes Craft had located one of three computer rooms on campus, filled with dozens of terminals tied into the central university computer. Craft could tap into Big Red II from the central computer without much difficulty. There were large windows encircling the room, making it somewhat of a fishbowl, but this couldn’t be helped.

  Only a handful of students were scattered around the room on this Saturday afternoon—most of the terminals were empty. The door was locked, requiring a keycard for entry. Craft rapped on the door repeatedly until the closest student, an unshaven young man wearing a gold and blue sweatshirt that read Alpha Epsilon Pi, finally responded, and pulled open the door.

  “Hi,” said Brennan Craft. “I’m visiting my nephew. He’s working on a group project in the next building over.”

  The student’s eyes narrowed, and Craft knew he wanted him to get to the point.

  “Anyway,” continued Craft, “for some reason my phone isn’t connecting to the web. Would you mind letting me in to work on a computer while I wait for him to finish up?”

  “Sure,” said the kid amicably. “But you won’t be able to access anything without a student ID and password.”

  Craft smiled. He had no doubt he could hack onto these terminals in short order. “Actually, I know Luke’s—my nephew’s—password. So I’ll be okay.”

  The student shrugged and opened the door wider so Craft could enter.

  Craft chose the most isolated work station he could find, one with a monitor that couldn’t be seen from outside of the room. He knew it would take some time for him to accomplish all of his goals. As good as he was with computers, there were still limits.

  But he had no doubt that if he stayed steady, he would end up where he needed to be. Within a day or two, he would be able to co-opt DOD and NSA computers to allow him to conduct surveillance on Alyssa Aronson. Track her. Learn even more about her. Find out how her superiors were reacting to his reemergence.

  NSA computers were the best protected in the world. But he had hacked them before, and he was one of only a few people in the world skilled enough to leave a hidden passageway back inside. One capable of surviving countless security scans and updates.

  Even so, he would have to dig in at his current location. First hacking the university computer to create a skeleton passkey and parking permit, and then using the offices of professors on sabbatical. He could bring in bedding and food late at night, and could use the university’s public restrooms to brush his teeth. But he also suspected he could find a building with at least one private shower. It was just a matter of hacking all of the floor plans.

  He would sleep here, shower here, and eat here. But mostly, he would work here. Tirelessly. He had dug himself a hole, and he would find a way to dig out of it. He would track Alyssa Aronson and carefully determine his next course of action.

  And he would learn about the recent activities of a man named Omar Haddad. Craft knew he had screwed up. Huge.

  But now it was time to find out if his blunder had awakened just one sleeping giant. Or two.

  10

  Alyssa Aronson left the major in her conference room while she used the restroom.

  She had finally learned what the raid on Craft had been about. Elovic had desperately wanted to interview him in the hope of getting a handle on this Al Yad character. But the major hadn’t been at all certain Craft could help him. Elovic had just hoped he could. So could this really justify his actions?

  She returned to the conference room and retrieved a second bottle of water from the refrigerator. It had been a very long day. Without any hyperbole, the most eventful in her entire life. Getting snatched from her porch, being witness to a special forces raid on her lawn, and getting shot, each, by itself¸ would have qualified the day for this distinction.

  When Alyssa returned to her spot across from the major, he was studying his phone, but quickly returned it to his pocket and faced her.

  Alyssa sighed. “Okay,” she said. “So let me get this right. You need to speak with Craft and find out what he knows about Al Yad. But Craft, himself, hasn’t done anything wrong or illegal. Correct?”

  Elovic nodded. “For that matter, we aren’t aware of any terrorist acts committed by Al Yad. But so what? Hitler was still Hitler before he invaded Poland. It’s going to happen. And when it does, it’s going to happen in a very big, very dramatic way.”

  “You changed the subject, Major. I was talking about Craft. You’ve made it very clear why this Al Yad person is important. But what happened this afternoon at my house—this is the kind of thing that gives the Black Ops, and the military, a bad name. And bad isn’t even the right word. Look, I’m furious that Brennan Craft tried to use me. But unless I missed something, he’s a US citizen, and doesn’t even have an outstanding parking ticket. Yet he found himself the target of a special ops commando team, on domestic soil. Is there any way to abuse power, or a US citizen, any more absolutely?”

  Elovic shook his head. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. Really. We were going for containment. I don’t know how it got out of hand. And I do realize, even containment was pushing it.”

  “You think?”

  “But if things had gone according to plan,” said the major. “If no shots had been fired, and we just had a conversation with him . . . . I mean, at some point, the ends do justify the means. This Al Yad is going to kill many thousands—possibly many millions—if we don’t get a handle on him. I can feel it.”

  “Even though he hasn’t committed
any terrorist acts as of yet?”

  “We don’t know what he’s waiting for. Which in some ways is even more worrisome than if he had been committing terrorist acts. We’re somehow missing the big picture. But the carnage will come. This guy is too deranged, and too reckless, for it not to.”

  Alyssa found herself not easily swayed by the ends justify the means argument. How many atrocities had been papered over using this same argument?

  “And there is something else,” continued the major. “ Something that, even if Al Yad wasn’t in the picture, could justify us forcing a conversation with Brennan Craft.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When we were getting information on Craft, we uncovered some of his Internet search history in the cloud. He’s done a lot of research lately into world governments. Autocracies, totalitarian regimes, theocracies, and democracies. He’s studied revolutions. How to topple governments in the most efficient manner. Weak spots. Tipping points. How to manage governments with the fewest people. As though he were preparing to take over the entire world with minimal resources and organization.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just making this up as you go along?” muttered Alyssa sarcastically. “Let me make sure I have everything. Brennan ‘Bren’ Craft goes from brilliant scientist high schooler to reluctant priest,” she began, ticking each point off on her fingers. “From there to quantum physics genius. During which time he uses his software skills to become a multimillionaire. Followed immediately by disciple of The God Theory.” She tilted her head in thought, making sure she wasn’t missing anything. “And then, that fasting thing.”

  “In-E-dia,” said Elovic.

  “Right. Inedia. Craft then becomes an Inedia disciple, almost dying several times in the process. Finally, he’s a buddy of a self-proclaimed god. Long before this god is on anyone’s radar screen. Then Craft follows all of this up by becoming a student of all political systems and the best way to topple them. Have I missed anything?”