Quantum Lens

by Douglas E. Richards

  Déjà Vu. Alyssa would never forget the shock of being in a moving vehicle whose tire had been shot out, but just in case, she was being treated to a repeat performance. Except this time there were woods on both sides instead of corn and wind turbines.

  As the car came to a complete stop, a bullet pierced a hole through the driver’s side window and entered Patel’s brain. The same would have happened to Craft if not for his freakish defensive abilities, but Patel was dead before his head hit the steering wheel.

  Ahn pulled open the door on the passenger’s side and yanked Alyssa from the car, but as he crouched down behind the car to protect him from whoever had shot Patel, he heard a sound and pivoted around, spinning Alyssa with him as he did.

  A second man was on their side of the road, almost entirely hidden behind a tree. Only one of his eyes, and a hand gripping an H&K .45, could be seen around the edge of the trunk. The gun was pointed at Ahn.

  Alyssa had never been a student of military tactics, but she didn’t need a second demonstration to understand that an out-of-the-way two-lane road, with endless places to take cover on both sides, was perfect for an ambush.

  “Drop it or I’ll kill her!” shouted Ahn, using Alyssa’s body as a protective shield.

  A thunderous explosion blasted into Alyssa’s ears, and at the same time half of Ahn’s face was blown away, and his lifeless body crashed to the pavement behind her. Apparently, Ahn hadn’t shielded himself entirely from the gunman behind the tree, who was either an amazing shot or who wasn’t troubled by the possibility of hitting Alyssa.

  She barely managed to remain standing as the shock and horror of Ahn’s demise made her dizzy and caused her heart to pound furiously against her chest.

  The man who had shot Ahn left the cover of the tree and approached her, his gun still extended.

  Alyssa’s breath stuck in her throat.

  The team that had captured her in the cornfield had wanted her alive. But if whoever was responsible for this ambush didn’t feel the same way, the man who was approaching might be the last thing she would ever see.

  35

  Eben Martin was tall, handsome, and charismatic, and having a net worth among the highest of anyone in the world seemed to greatly enhance all three of these attributes. Power and vast wealth couldn’t make one taller and more handsome, but it certainly seemed that way to most people.

  He was currently in a late morning meeting in his private conference room with the CEO and CFO of a Japanese multinational when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He had a number of settings he had programmed into his cell, and for this meeting he had selected one that would only ring through for a very select group of people, and then only after they had confirmed it was an emergency to a recorded message by pressing the number nine.

  As the phone vibrated again, Martin said, “Excuse me,” and checked it, interrupting the CEO, Masayasu Kobayashi, in mid-sentence. Kobayashi was one of the most venerated men in all of Japan. There were only a handful of people in the entire world who would dare interrupt him. Martin wished he didn’t have to be one of them.

  Martin read the name, Brennan Craft, on his phone, and his pulse quickened. Bren would never call in on his emergency line if it were not truly an emergency.

  “Kobayashi-San,” said Martin quickly, “I cannot apologize enough, but I must take this call. I’ll make it quick. Please ask my assistant to show you around in the interim,” he said.

  Kobayashi and his subordinate rose quickly, hiding their distaste at this rude behavior, having not been treated in this manner since before they could remember. Martin completed a bow to the men that was at exactly the right depth for the occasion, something that had been drilled into him by his protocol experts, and walked through the door to his office, answering the call as he did.

  “Bren, what’s going on?” he said into the phone.

  “We were ambushed!” shouted Craft. “I’m calling from the middle of a cornfield near Bloomington.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Martin couldn’t help but smile as this thought picture came into his head.

  “Eben, they’ve taken Alyssa!” said Craft, his voice raw. “I thought your men were in place before we left the restaurant this morning.”

  “They were,” said Martin with a frown.

  “They sure weren’t from what I could tell!” barked Craft. “It was a disaster. The ambush was orchestrated by Al Yad. And the men who carried it out were pros. I’ve completely lost her trail,” he finished, unable to keep the panic from his voice.

  Martin’s phone vibrated again and he glanced down at the screen. It was Adam Turco, almost as if he had been cued.

  “Hold on, Bren,” said Martin. “My guy is on the line now. I’ll patch us all on together.”

  Martin hit an icon on his phone to conference Turco in on the call and then answered. “Adam. What happened?”

  “We ran into some trouble,” came the immediate reply. “Craft and Aronson were ambushed.”

  “You saw it happen and you didn’t intervene?” thundered Craft.

  Before Turco could respond, Martin said, “Adam, that was Brennan Craft. He’s on the other line. Brennan, this is Adam Turco.”

  “My partner and I didn’t intervene,” said Turco coolly, ignoring the introduction, “because we were following the instructions of your friend, Eben Martin. I was tasked to discover if you had a tail, and get rid of it if you did. To ensure you were off the grid once more. Eben told me if you did have a tail, there was no way they would attack. He’s the boss, but I have to question his definition of the words, no way.”

  “Shit,” said Craft. “Eben was just relaying what I told him,” he admitted, taking responsibility for the bad intel.

  “We had identified two men tailing you from the waffle house, but wanted to keep to the periphery until we were sure we had them all. The ambush took us too much by surprise to intervene in time.”

  “Even so,” snapped Craft. “The attack dragged out for several minutes. So you did nothing?”

  “No. We didn’t do nothing,” said Turco icily. “I was also told if the shit ever did hit the fan, Alyssa Aronson was my top and only priority. That if you were surrounded by a hundred men with machine guns, and she was about to break a nail, we should abandon you and see to her.”

  “Excellent!” said Craft, as quick on the uptake as always. Martin had passed on his exact instructions. “So can I assume from this, um . . . Adam, that you took off after her? That you know where she is?” he added hopefully.

  “Yeah. I know where she is,” replied Turco. “She’s right here with me and my partner. Safe and sound.”

  Craft inhaled sharply in relief. “Thank you!” he said, his voice ecstatic. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Adam Turco, not quite ready to forgive Craft’s earlier accusations.

  “Where are the two men who were with her?” asked Craft.

  “Remember how these men were alive the last time you saw them?” said Turco. “Well, that’s not so true anymore.”

  “Is Alyssa okay?”

  “She’s fine. A little roughed up from her abduction, but we didn’t put a scratch on her.”

  “Well done!” said Craft with such palpable enthusiasm and relief that it was almost contagious. “If I could reach through the phone I would kiss you,” he added. “Sorry about being kind of an asshole before. Eben told me he had hired the best. I should have had more faith.”

  “I really didn’t hire him,” said Martin, grinning. “The man sort of hired himself. He was so good he didn’t really give me any other choice.”

  “We’re circling back now,” said Turco, ignoring the compliment. “Where are you, Brennan?”

  “Would you believe the middle of the cornfield where Alyssa was first taken?”

  There was a brief pause. “Okay. Get back to the road. I’ll be there in about five minutes to reunite you with Alyssa.”

  “Fantastic!�
�� gushed Craft appreciatively. “And sorry again.”

  “I accept your apology. But there is one thing you need to know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you try to kiss me,” explained Adam Turco grimly, “I’m going to have to kill you myself.”

  36

  By the time Craft discovered that he had also unknowingly killed the driver of the sedan on the wind-turbine side of the road, and was returning to his SUV, Adam Turco was just arriving. He pulled his silver Acura sedan over as far as possible toward the corn, behind Craft’s vehicle. He and Alyssa exited the car and stood just outside the first row of corn.

  When Craft reached Alyssa he threw his arms around her and drew her close. “Thank god you’re okay,” he said as several tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

  A moment later they were kissing, at first tentatively and then hungrily, as if they were lovers who hadn’t seen each other in years, their emotions heightened to a fever pitch by the assault and its aftermath.

  Alyssa knew in her heart that this man wasn’t faking his interest. He looked like he had been through an emotional wringer—because of his worry about her—and his tears of joy and relief were too heartfelt to be anything but genuine.

  They didn’t separate for several minutes. “In case I didn’t answer this clearly enough before,” she whispered into his ear when they finally had. “I’m in.”

  “I know you are,” he replied happily. “And thank you.” And with this, he drew her back into his arms and kissed her once again.

  When they finally parted for the second time, Adam Turco looked at Craft and shook his head. “I guess you really needed to kiss someone,” he said in amusement. “You made the right choice,” he added dryly.

  Turco held out his hand, and Craft shook it firmly. “I am forever in your debt,” said Craft.

  “No, that would be your friend Eben Martin,” replied Turco with the hint of smile.

  “What happened to your partner?”

  “He left. His work is done. I hired him, but he doesn’t know who I work for. I promised Eben I would be the only connection to him.”

  “And we won’t need him?”

  “Not right now. They threw everyone they had at you. Unless you know otherwise, there aren’t any of this batch left.”

  Craft shook his head miserably. “They’re all dead,” he whispered. “All of them. I checked.”

  He shot Alyssa a troubled glance. “I don’t know what happened,” he said. “I must not know my own . . . strength.”

  Alyssa saw the concern and horror in his face. Apparently his ability to use the zero point field offensively had become somewhat stronger under duress. He had killed one or more of the attackers, and she could tell he was taking it hard.

  Turco watched the exchange between his two wards carefully. “Not that I don’t believe you could have taken these men out with your fists,” said Turco sarcastically, rolling his eyes, “But you should know that Eben told me how you were able to survive.”

  Craft studied him warily. “How?”

  “He said you’ve invented an advanced sonic weapon. A prototype. One that’s directional.”

  Craft nodded, trying not to look relieved. “Yes. I wasn’t aware he had told you. Apparently I used it on too high a setting.”

  “Well, don’t mourn for these men too much. Trust me, they would have killed you without blinking.” Turco opened the door to his car. “But we need to go. If we don’t leave now, we risk that the party who ordered this ambush will locate you again.”

  Turco gestured toward Craft’s SUV. “And I’m afraid you’ll have to lose your car. They know it now, obviously.”

  “At least it’s a rental,” said Craft with the hint of a smile.

  Alyssa insisted that Craft take the front seat next to Adam Turco and she slid into the back. Craft immediately called Avis, told them where to find their car, and hung up on a clerk who was in the middle of insisting that Craft couldn’t just abandon the vehicle by the side of a road.

  Alyssa smiled to herself. After all that had happened—mercenaries, explosions, machine gun fire, men dying, high-stakes negotiations—who else other than Brennan Craft would worry about the welfare of a rental car company?

  Turco headed east, back the way they had come.

  “We were headed to Bloomington,” said Craft. “Which is west of here.”

  “I know. Eben filled me in.”

  “Are you really on a first name basis with Eben Martin?” asked Alyssa.

  “He insisted,” replied Turco. “Anyway, he told me you needed to rob a lab on the outskirts of the IU campus.”

  “I wouldn’t put it exactly that way,” said Alyssa from the back seat. “But close enough.”

  “I can get you back there by tonight. If you still want me to. In the meanwhile, we have a lot to do. First, we should clean the two of you up.” He turned to Craft. “And Eben told me you wanted his help getting Alyssa a flawless fake driver’s license and passport, under an alias.”

  Craft nodded. “Yes. Her ID was taken. And she can’t risk returning home for her passport. I’ll need another set as well. They can trace the SUV back to the fake license I used to rent it, so that ID is blown.” He stared at Turco. “You can take care of that?”

  The man nodded. “I’m well connected. Cincinnati is the closest major city, and I know someone there who can set both of you up.”

  “Not just the physical documents,” said Craft, “but matching computer records as well?”

  “Yes,” said Turco. “You and Alyssa will waltz right through any airport. I’m told you’re both immune to facial recognition somehow. A neat trick. Someday you’ll have to show me how that’s done.”

  Craft ignored this. “When your man is done with the ID’s,” he said, “I’ll need his computer. I’ll need to check out the security situation at Alyssa’s lab for tonight’s visit.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” said Turco. “But what’s the rush? I don’t know what you need in that lab, but if you can wait, you should. You have a powerful ally now in Eben Martin, and you’re back off the grid.”

  Craft turned to Alyssa. “It’s been an exhausting day already,” he said. “And you lost a good amount of blood recently. Now that we don’t need to do everything ourselves, we do have the luxury of waiting a few days. Would you rather postpone?”

  Alyssa thought of the drive to Cincinnati they had yet to complete, followed by a busy afternoon, followed by a drive back to Bloomington, where they would have to wait until late at night to raid her lab. Then what? A drive to the Indianapolis airport?

  Her overnight stay in a hospital had helped her recover from her blood loss, but she felt as though she had already been awake for forty-eight hours.

  Please, she thought. It’s too much! For the love of God, we have to postpone!

  “I’ll be okay,” said Alyssa pleasantly.

  How had these words come out of her mouth?

  “Do what you think is best,” she added, still unable to believe the voice she was hearing was her own.

  “I can hack into your central computer system,” said Craft. “But that won’t tell me if the major has people watching your lab. He’s sure to think I’m behind your kidnapping. And to guess that I might force you to return there.”

  “You should wait, then,” advised Turco. “That way I can recon the building the night before. So you can know for sure.”

  Craft rubbed his chin. “Agreed,” he said. “Instead, after we get our IDs, let’s have Eben recommend a place we can hole up in for a while. He can meet us there.”

  “Eben’s thoughts exactly,” noted Turco.

  They continued driving, mostly in silence. Alyssa didn’t feel comfortable discussing their situation in Turco’s presence. Eben Martin seemed to have considerable confidence in the man, and while she knew Martin hadn’t shared Craft’s secret, she wasn’t sure how much else Turco knew. Until she was clearer on this, she would err on the side
of keeping information confidential, and it was obvious Craft felt the same way.

  After another thirty-five minutes, Turco stopped for gas and to use the restroom. Alyssa motioned for Craft to stay inside the car when their guardian exited. They would only have five or ten minutes of privacy, and Alyssa wanted to make the most of it.

  “What the hell is going on, Bren?” she said, the moment Turco shut the door.

  She hadn’t fallen for a man this hard in years, and kissing him had been amazing, but that didn’t get him off the hook entirely. “How did Eben Martin get involved in this?”

  Craft sighed. “I contacted him a few days ago. You know he and I go way back, right?”

  “No. I knew you licensed him the software he used to start Informatics Solutions. And that you cashed out for fifty million. But that’s all.”

  “We grew up together. We were best friends. After I left the priesthood, we decided to form a company. Think Ben and Jerry. Or better yet, Jobs and Wozniac. That sort of thing.”

  “So what changed? Why didn’t you end up at Informatics Solutions with your friend?”

  “I came up with my crackpot Inedia theory. I shared it with Eben. Even at that time we knew that the informatics algorithms I had developed were, with all modesty, revolutionary. That a company based on this software could become the next Apple or Google. Eben thought it was crazy to give that up to chase a wild theory that had little chance of being correct.”

  Craft sighed. “I, on the other hand, had a gut feeling about it. And a growing compulsion to find out for sure. Maybe the better word would be, obsession. And how much money does one man need, anyway?”

  Alyssa had any number of questions, but Turco wouldn’t be pumping gas and using the restroom forever. “Did you stay in touch with Martin after you left the country?”

  “No. I was completely absorbed by what I was doing, and I didn’t want him trying to sweet-talk me into coming back. And he was a great friend. So if he had a problem he thought only I could solve, I would have felt obligated to solve it. After I had made my breakthroughs, I wanted to keep them secret until I published.”