“Say no more,” Giamatti said. “I take care of my people.” He turned to Cooper and gave him some instructions. “See that Mr. Morris is accommodated.” Cooper quickly nodded and began reaching into his attaché case of papers and files.
“I’ve been very fortunate in that regard,” Giamatti said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever made a bad investment.”
* * *
Steven Morris returned home to his apartment in Chicago’s Rogers Park neighborhood on the city’s northern border. His wife, Madeleine, sat at the kitchen table with Steven’s brother-in-law, Randy Phelan. The tabletop was littered with bills and account statements. A heavy mood hung in the air, countered by the cheerful shrieks of children in another room.
“Hey,” Madeleine said, seeing her husband. He circled over to the table and asked, with trepidation, “How’s it going?”
“A disaster,” said Randy, the husband of Steven’s sister Christie. He was a round, meek man with perpetually good intentions plagued by a history of bad outcomes. He was the classic ‘too nice and trusting’ soul married to someone equally naïve rather than an opposite who could keep him cynical and grounded.
Randy and Christie had become deeply suckered into a real estate investment deal that ended up being too good to be true, operated by a ruthless pair of scam artists who worked so fast and efficiently that they cleaned out the family’s savings in less than a month, before vanishing without a trace. The swindlers took full advantage of their mark, successfully engaging Randy and Christie into tapping other family members and friends to buy into the ‘once-in-a-lifetime, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, explosive-growth real estate investment opportunity’.
Randy and Christie had approached Steven and Madeleine to join them in the venture, and their enthusiasm was so genuine and contagious that Steven contributed a hefty investment of his own, not spending nearly enough time on research to see that, in fact, he could not ‘pull out any time in sixty days without losing the initial capital’.
The entire episode was a hard lesson for Steven’s entire family. Steven and Madeleine lost a huge chunk of their savings. Randy and Christie squandered far more money than they ever should have redirected to any single investment. Worse, the structure of the deal left Randy holding the bag with considerable debt as a principal in the fraudulent partnership.
Randy, ordinarily a jovial man, had become crushed and depressed by the rapid plunge into bankruptcy. “I can’t believe I did this to you,” he said to Steven with humiliation, and it was difficult for Steven to get mad at him. “I can’t believe I did this to my children.”
Steven and Madeleine vowed to help when Randy and Christie lost their house. They invited them to move into Steven’s apartment with kids in tow, creating an impossibly cramped living arrangement with no quick fix in sight.
Steven stood over the kitchen table, watching in glum silence as Randy and Madeleine separated bills into categories of urgent, super urgent and not yet urgent. He had a hard time coming up with words and just watched for a moment until Christie called from the other room, asking Randy to help with the baby.
Randy said he would be right back and left to watch the twin toddlers while Christie changed the baby’s diaper.
“How did your meeting go?” Madeleine asked.
“Fine.” Steven always kept conversation about his research project to a minimum.
“Did you ask your boss about an advance?”
Steven reached into his pocket. He pulled out a folded check and handed it to her. She opened it and looked at it, without any change in expression.
“A thousand dollars?”
“Yes,” said Steven. He wasn’t happy with it, either. Giamatti was a billionaire. That was the best he could do?
“All right,” Madeleine said. “I guess it’s better than nothing. It helps.”
The baby started crying from the other room.
“I love your sister, I love your brother-in-law, I love their kids, but if they stay here much longer I’m going to go out of my mind,” she said.
“They can’t live in their car,” Steven said in a sharp, weary tone. “We can’t just stick them in a tent somewhere. I’m sorry. I’m just uptight.”
“It’s okay,” Madeleine said, her voice warming. She reached for his hand. “It’s been a horrible week. You were mugged, for God’s sake.”
“I’m going to be fine. Just bad luck, being at the wrong place at the wrong time. I can probably ditch this stupid collar pretty soon.”
“Did you call the insurance company?”
He nodded. “Yes.” He felt uncomfortable; even a one-word lie sounded awkward in his mouth.
She moved on. “Steven, I’ve been thinking. Maybe I can quit my job. I can get back into the agency world.”
“You hated that world.”
“I also hate being broke.”
“We’re not broke.”
Madeleine’s career had started in the public relations industry. After five years and a bad case of burnout, she took a much lower paying job as a managing director at Chicago Food Bank, helping to feed the poor and homeless. In recent weeks, she had been outspoken about the irony. “That describes the situation here now. Poor and homeless.”
“I’m making good money,” Steven said. “You don’t need to change what you’re doing. It’s what you love, it’s your passion.”
“But you said it’s temporary,” she said. “I don’t even understand what you do anymore. Research, research. Why don’t you get back into a real practice with actual patients?”
“Let’s not go there right now,” said Steven tiredly. “You know I’m under contract. Listen, we’ll climb out of this hole.”
“Have you seen your sister’s finances? They’re wiped out. I mean totally wiped out.”
Steven nodded. “All for being too trusting.”
“We fell for it, too,” said Madeleine. “Hell, it seemed so buttoned up. On the surface, everything looked totally legit.”
“My parents would be so ashamed. Thank God they’re not alive to see this. We squandered the inheritance money.…”
“Lesson learned,” said Madeleine. “No one is what they seem.”
Steven pulled out a chair and took a seat across from Madeleine. “Speaking of.… I have something to tell you.”
“This better not be more bad news.”
“What you just said: no one is what they seem. Do you remember my friend Tom Nolan?”
“Yes. Tom. Of course.”
“He’s in the news.”
“In the news? For what?”
“He committed some crimes. A couple of robberies.”
“Tom Nolan?”
“It’s like he snapped.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe he’s drinking or on something. Whatever it is, he’s not himself.”
“What do you think happened?”
Steven felt his stomach churn as he lied. He wanted to bring the conversation to a quick close. The only reason he initiated it was the inevitability she would hear something and he needed to get ahead of that. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. I haven’t seen him in forever. It’s showing up in the news. I thought you should know.”
“He was at our wedding!”
“I know.”
“This is so bizarre.” She looked into her husband’s bloodshot eyes and his grim face stuffed above the neck brace. “Why is everything falling apart? It’s like our whole world is coming undone. Are we going crazy, Steven?”
“No. It’s not us. It’s the world that’s going crazy.”
Chapter Fifteen
Alex and Dmitry arrived at Orlov Shipping to pick up eighteen tightly wrapped bundles of electronics delivered by air from Miami, Florida to Moscow. Orlov was known for its eagle logo, international operations, and
unspoken willingness to accept bribes in exchange for circumvention of common customs procedures. An advance word from the Kremlin helped ensure the cost for this added service would not be applied, as ordinary citizens often found their goods held hostage for exorbitant fees and mysterious taxes well beyond expectations. The Kremlin’s interest in these parcels also eradicated any temptation that may have existed for workers to preview the contents or appropriate a portion of them as a tip.
Zakhar Sokol, the manager of the warehouse, personally supervised this particular account. His men delicately placed the eighteen parcels onto dollies and delivered them to Alex’s van under Alex and Dmitry’s watchful eyes.
“It is extremely fragile,” said Alex. “If anything is missing or broken, we will be back, and you will be missing or broken.”
Zakhar smiled nervously and said he understood fully. He provided a clipboard of paperwork for signing and accepting the goods under the guise of a vague technology company. Alex signed it briskly as Dmitry counted and inspected the packages for any signs of damage or resealing.
In particular, Dmitry inspected a square box, heavily taped, that he knew contained a very special, round object – a head – padded in a slathering of bubble wrap to avoid a broken nose or worse.
The disassembled parts of Tom Nolan’s robotic twin came to Russia labeled as ‘computer parts’, more or less accurate, untroubled by any toxic or explosive elements. The most important component, the digitized brain, extracted from the head, traveled personally with Alex as part of his carry-on luggage, nestled inside a false laptop, resembling nothing more than a computer hard drive.
The computerized mind scan was the most valuable acquisition by far. Over the past decade, the Russians had made considerable advances of their own in creating androids with lifelike functionality. However, they could not unlock the secrets to digitizing brain functions and transferring them to robotic creations for full integration of human thought and mechanical movement. In Alex’s fifteen years undercover in the United States, living and learning as Dr. Alan Farron from Detroit, Michigan, he had accumulated all the knowledge – and now, actual working parts – needed to take the Kremlin’s accomplishments to the next level.
Once the van had been loaded, Alex reminded Zakhar to keep all evidence of the delivery masked and confidential. To emphasize the importance, he told the tale of a man from another shipping company who was careless and said things he shouldn’t at a social gathering where the vodka flowed freely. The man was later discovered in the front seat of his car with his throat cut, a most unfortunate legacy for his wife and four children.
Zakhar promised, “I have forgotten you already.”
Alex placed a hand on his shoulder, smiled, and said, “You are a wise man.”
* * *
Several members of the Kremlin’s Evolution Team waited in a haze of drizzle to greet Alex and Dmitry upon their arrival to the large, nondescript warehouse on Moscow’s outer limits. When the van rolled up, they formed a line to help unload the eighteen packages with delicate reverence, as if they were handling something sacred.
The packages were brought inside and placed on a long table in a meeting room at the front of the warehouse. They were arranged to form a human shape: a square box containing the head at the top, narrow rectangular boxes positioned to indicate arms and legs, and thicker boxes representing the torso. Dmitry and two men conducted a quick sweep of the space for bugs. Once they were satisfied and everyone had settled into seats, Alex addressed the group and updated them on his discoveries and acquisitions.
Wearing gloves, Alex held up the black cartridge that housed the brain of Louis Karp. A fully digitized mind. The holy grail.
The men around the table applauded.
“We have taken the technology from the Americans and we will go further with it, and faster, to make major advancements in every area of society. We will remind the world that Russia is its unparalleled leader. We will do this with our sophistication and our might. This little black box, my friends, is not only a medical breakthrough. It will unlock the gates to a military force that is second to none.”
A new round of applause broke out.
Alex sat down. General Stepan Popov rose from his chair and stepped to the front of the room. He wore a green uniform decorated with medals. Deep into his sixties, his face was lined with years of countless conflicts. His remaining hair was combed forward in a sporadic reach of his forehead. There were rings under his eyes. He did not smile. But he spoke with hope.
“Gentlemen. We are on the brink of a military advancement I could not have imagined in my younger years. One that replaces the vulnerability of flesh and blood with the strength and resilience of hard steel. One that creates a battlefield advantage unlike any other in the history of warfare. With the ability to program a thinking machine, we can build a new breed of warrior, one that is freed from limitations of human anatomy in dimension and fragility.”
General Popov turned to face Alex. “Mr. Nikolaev, while you have been immersed in your studies in America, we, too, have been deep in research. What we have achieved this past month is also remarkable, the perfect companion for your breakthrough. We have been very excited for your return so that we may share our creation, an experiment we call Ares. Unlike your black box, I cannot display it in this room. For this, we must tour the back of the warehouse, with the tallest of ceilings.”
General Popov’s expression loosened and he smiled, lifting away a lifetime of struggle to convey something like victory. “We will mark this day in history. Please, allow me to lead the way.”
Popov left the meeting room, walking with a proud stride as the others followed. In an organized line, they moved through a blank corridor, turned a corner and entered a passage that blossomed into a wide, sprawling space the size of an airplane hangar. One by one, the members of the Kremlin’s Evolution Team entered, stepped to the side and admired the sight before them.
An eleven-foot-tall, broad-shouldered steel warrior stood in silence, casting its shadow across the room. The facial features, twisted at hard angles, conveyed intimidating fierceness. The thick arms rippled with advanced weaponry. The feet ended in claws to grip the ground for maximum stability.
Popov spoke in a loud voice that echoed in the cavernous space. “The Americans are only interested in duplicating life as it currently exists. They desire a vain and lazy reflection of themselves. We see a much greater opportunity to create true evolution. We will establish a superior human specimen of massive strength and ability.”
In detail, he described the warrior’s components and appendages. The prototype was coated in deep black to more easily immerse itself in darkness. The head was equipped with bright spotlights to probe a path or blind an enemy at will. The body and limbs were impenetrable yet flexible, capable of great strength and fluid movement. Popov declared that while the entire shell weighed 2.6 tons, it could move quickly in broad strides at speeds up to seventy miles per hour, designed to run and jump with perfect, synchronized balance.
“Imagine,” said Popov, “a day in the future, where thousands of such warriors can be sent into battle, fully equipped with a wide range of armaments, from flamethrowers to missile launchers. That day, comrades, is in our sights.”
Popov touched the smooth leg of his warrior, almost tenderly, with affection. “Our superman Ares is complete except for one important accessory,” he said. “The coordination of all this mass through a fully integrated, thinking mind of human intelligence. Our hero, Alex Nikolaev, has today brought us the missing link between man and machine: a digitized brain. It is the first, but not the last. We will conduct our own mind scans with the knowledge Alex has brought from his studies and research in America.”
General Popov faced Alex. “Are we ready, now, for the ultimate test?”
Alex raised the small black box that contained the digitized brain of Louis Karp. “Ye
s, we are.”
Two men quickly rolled a tall ladder to the warrior’s side, providing steps that led to the robot’s oversized head.
Alex took a deep breath and began climbing as the gathered team watched in complete silence. His feet struck the metal steps, creating the only sound, a series of echoing clangs.
When he reached the top, he opened a small compartment in the back of the warrior’s skull.
“Today, we give birth to a new future for the Russian empire,” announced Alex. He inserted the cartridge and it locked in place with a sturdy click.
Chapter Sixteen
Cleared by security, Giamatti walked the main corridor of the West Wing, led by Jarret Spero, the president’s chief of staff. They stopped just outside the open door of the Oval Office. After a signal from inside that the president was ready to receive them, Giamatti and Jarret advanced. They joined a semi-circle of high-level advisers seated before the president’s oak desk with bright windows around them, filled with the colors of the Rose Garden.
Before taking his seat, Giamatti shook his old friend’s hand. It was clammy. President Gus Hartel did not look well. For his public appearances, he wore makeup to cover his pale complexion and the heavy look of sickness under his eyes.
“Thank you for flying out on such short notice,” said Hartel.
“Absolutely,” Giamatti said. He looked at the men and women seated on either side of him. Some he recognized, some he did not.
Hartel introduced Giamatti to Jason Wallers and Meg McGrath from the CIA.
“Jason and Meg are part of a very small team within the CIA privy to the Gemini Experiment. When you alerted me to the disappearance of the test subject, we enlisted their assistance and resources to retrieve him. We were able to pinpoint the subject’s location by satellite to a motel in southern Florida, but when we arrived, he was gone, leaving evidence of a violent struggle.”
Hartel looked to McGrath with a solemn expression. McGrath picked up the conversation.
“Yes, we arrived about three a.m., Central Time. The local police were on the scene. There was evidence of gunfire and what appeared to be an abduction of our subject.”
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