The Immortality Code

by Douglas E. Richards

  “That’s admirably honest of you, Dr. Keane.”

  “I didn’t bring it up to be honest. I brought it up to be skeptical. This seems fishy to me. I just don’t buy that anyone could be as interested as you seem to be at this point.”

  “That’s because you’re missing a key data point, Dr. Keane. It turns out that we have completed the experiment that you’re speaking of. Just this morning. And the results do match your prediction precisely. Congratulations.”

  Allie’s breath caught in her throat. “Impossible,” she said. “It would be exceedingly expensive to carry out, and require specially made equipment and significant expertise to run. I can’t imagine it taking less than seventy-two hours to complete, no matter what.”

  “We did it in sixty-seven. I’ll pass along your compliments to the team. We began very soon after you posted your theory and predictions.”

  Allie found herself momentarily speechless. This kept getting more and more surreal.

  “I’d need to see and confirm the experiment and results for myself,” she said, excited beyond words that what John was saying might be true, but forcing herself to stay calm. “But even if you’re right, even if my theory is proven, that’s not the whole story. I’m sure you saw where I mentioned that the organic molecule critical for room-temperature quantum computing can’t be synthesized.”

  “I did,” said Conway. “But what you’ve done was thought to be impossible. Literally impossible. Finding a way to build this molecule of yours, on the other hand, is just a matter of time, effort, and resources. We will solve it.” There was a long pause. “I don’t suppose you want to give me a hint as to its structure.”

  Allie smiled. “Not at the moment, no,” she said. “Not that I could, anyway, at least not verbally. It’s quite long and complex.”

  “I understand,” said Conway. “But have I convinced you that my interest is genuine?”

  “You have,” said Allie.

  “Does that mean you’re in?”

  There was a long silence. “I do have one additional question,” she said. “Why the urgency?”

  “Carpe diem, Dr. Keane,” replied Conway immediately, clearly having expected the question. “Seize the day. It’s my business philosophy and it’s served me well. We’ve already sunk a considerable sum into verifying your theory, so you can tell that we’re quite enthusiastic about it. And when I see something I want, I’m willing to pay a premium to get it.”

  “I’m grateful for your confirmation of the results,” said Allie. “I am. And when I see them for myself, I’ll be nothing short of euphoric. But while we’ve been talking, I took the liberty of glancing at the transcripts of three of the voicemails I discovered when I turned on my phone. All three are extremely interested in gaining access to the missing pieces of my work, and taking a license—like you. Two of the three implied I could name my own price. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but too much is happening, too fast, for me to make such an important commitment. And I worry that I’m being rushed so I don’t get the chance to speak with other interested parties.”

  “I can’t deny that’s a small part of the urgency,” admitted the caller. “Why risk losing out if I don’t have to? And I do understand how you feel. But remember, I’m offering two million dollars right now if you’ll just give me the chance to make the first pitch. Again, if you decide to pass on my offer, you keep the money. You have to admit, that’s a lot of money. More than many people make in a lifetime.”

  Allie considered. It was tempting—very tempting—but it seemed too good to be true, and she was a woman who had developed serious trust issues. “I’m grateful for the offer,” she said. “I really am. But I can’t take your money. Not that way. I’d feel too guilty if I backed out. So I would love to speak with you, but this is too important to rush. I hope that you’ll understand. Perhaps you could send over your proposal. I’ll take a look, and after I’ve spoken with other parties, and done some serious thinking, we can schedule a meeting.”

  Allie paused. “And there are factors at play here other than money,” she continued. “Will all interested parties require me to relocate? Would anyone consider letting me maintain my post here and just consult? What are the expectations? I’ll have dozens of questions. It’s just all so . . . overwhelming. But just because I’m not ready now doesn’t mean I’m not very interested in learning more about your company and offer.”

  “Of course,” said Conway graciously. “If you want to do this at a more measured pace, that’s what we’ll do. I’ll send you additional materials. And you have my number on your phone. Call anytime, day or night. And let me know when you’re ready to schedule a meeting.”

  “I will. Thanks so much for your understanding. And believe me, given that you’ve completed the key experiment that proves my work, you and your company will be very hard to beat.”

  A few short minutes later Allie ended the call and closed her eyes.

  Had that really happened?

  She glanced at the still unread and unlistened-to messages on her phone.

  Was it still happening?

  And had she handled the situation correctly? Half of her still feared that John Conway’s offer was too good to be true, that it would turn out to be a mirage. The other half feared that she had made a huge error not jumping at such a life-changing amount of money, and that some flaw in her theory was about to be discovered, so she’d never get this chance again.

  But what troubled her most was what she’d be giving up if she did go forward. With any interested party. Because it was clear that no one would pay this kind of money to put her full theory in the public domain. No, they’d want to keep the aspects she had yet to reveal strictly confidential. She imagined Albert Einstein selling out, agreeing to never publish his General Theory of Relativity in exchange for a bulging bank account, and couldn’t help but shudder.

  Her thoughts were interrupted for the second time that morning by yet another firm rap on the door. She hit the icon on her phone that would call up the door cam footage to see who it was. A tall man stood on her welcome mat, his hair short and raven-black, wearing slacks and a blue blazer. Behind him in the shot, parked on her driveway, was the longest limo she had ever seen.

  “Dr. Keane,” he said into her doorbell mic, “John Conway sent me to pick you up and take you to the airport. He has a private jet ready to take you to Tucson.”

  Allie shook her head. Apparently, had she agreed to go, Conway hadn’t planned on giving her any time to pack.

  She threw open the door. “Hi,” she said. “I guess Mr. Conway forgot to contact you after our call. It turns out that I won’t be going to Tucson, after all. Not yet. We’ve decided to slow things down. Sorry for the wasted trip.”

  The raven-haired driver shrugged. “No need to apologize,” he said agreeably. “Actually, he did contact me. And my trip won’t be wasted at all.”

  Saying this, the man lifted his right hand from where it had dangled near his waist to reveal a gun, which was pointed squarely at Allie’s chest.

  Before she could even gasp, the man squeezed down on the trigger, his calm, pleasant expression never wavering.

  PART 2

  6

  Commander Zachary Reed glanced at the satellite feed displayed on the periphery of his contact lenses, which continued to show an aerial view of Allie Keane’s home.

  All continued to be quiet, a very good sign.

  The Gulfstream was making record time, and he would land in Sioux Falls in only minutes.

  The scientist in question was still at home, still alone, and her phone was still switched off. Perhaps other parties had been just as derelict in keeping an eye out for Allie Keane as Tech Ops had been.

  “Dr. Keane’s phone is now on,” reported his AI, its pleasant feminine voice coming in with crystal clarity through his comms.

  “Place a call to her now,” he ordered out loud.

  He was also able to communicate with Eve privately, subvocally
, an ability he had perfected after many long hours of practice, as minuscule sensors implanted in his throat and mouth transmitted otherwise unnoticeable vibrations and muscle movements to the AI, who could translate these into words with perfect accuracy.

  “I’m unable to get through to her,” reported Eve. “She took another call almost the moment her phone came on.”

  “From whom?”

  “I’m unable to get an ID on the caller.”

  Reed frowned. “Break in and let me hear it.”

  “I can’t. I’m somehow being blocked from breaking in. Or listening in.”

  “Blocked how?” demanded Reed in alarm.

  “Unclear. I’ve never encountered anything like it. I’ve already tried dozens of workarounds, without success.”

  “You have access to all surveillance data on Dr. Keane from before I got involved. Are we certain that she’s alone?”

  “Affirmative. Which makes it likely that her phone is being altered remotely. I believe the caller must have managed to transmit a computer virus that reprogrammed her phone to make it secure, even from me.”

  Reed cursed to himself. Whoever was behind this was supremely sophisticated, and saw Allie Keane as important enough to warrant breaking out their most cutting-edge tech. “Can you narrow the origin of the call down at all? Even if only to a continent or broad geographic region?”

  “Negative,” replied Eve.

  The commander fumed, playing this unexpected sequence through his mind once again. “Call her the second she’s off the phone,” he ordered his AI.

  He had hoped that this mission wouldn’t be as challenging as the colonel feared, but that hope had now been dashed. And when he paid a house call on the good doctor, he hadn’t wanted to bring along the team of commandos Hubbard had provided, but Eve’s unprecedented inability to crack a simple call had given him no other choice.

  “Dr. Keane’s call has now ended,” said Eve, “but I still can’t get through. Either she turned her phone off again, or the caller’s virus disabled it from receiving any additional calls.”

  Reed found himself cursing yet again.

  He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, because tech advances could come from anywhere, but this had the earmarks of a technology China would develop. Not that Allie Keane would have any inkling they were involved. As tensions between America and the communist government of the most populous country in the world had intensified over recent years, the American public had begun to awaken to the threat this adversary represented. So China had begun to approach star scientists in the US much more covertly than before, hiding behind well paid Westerners and shell corporations. And when sabotage or force was needed, they paid small fortunes to ex-combat veterans turned mercenaries, a thriving group that collected in private armies called Private Military Contractors, and whose numbers were now in the tens of thousands worldwide.

  Reed heard the telltale sound of the Gulfstream’s wheels locking into place as the pilot prepared for landing. “Eve,” he said to his AI, “the armored van and the commandos Colonel Hubbard scrambled from Fort Carson should be on the ground already. Please confirm.”

  “Confirmed,” replied Eve simply.

  “Who are these commandos? Who leads them?”

  “The six commandos were pulled from a Green Beret A-team. They are led by Lieutenant Denny Quinlan.”

  “Put in a call to the lieutenant.”

  Seconds later he was connected to Quinlan, and both made hasty introductions.

  “Can I assume that Colonel Hubbard briefed you on this mission?” said Reed.

  “She did,” replied the lieutenant. “But she didn’t say much. She told me there’s a woman, Dr. Keane, who made a scientific breakthrough, which she didn’t describe. And that there may be hostile parties pulling out all the stops to get it for themselves. She told me that you’re in command, and that we’re backup, an insurance policy, in the off chance we’re needed.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Just that if we are needed, our role will be to protect you and this civilian scientist. While doing our best not to attract any public attention.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m landing now. And it looks more likely that I’ll need you than I originally thought. So bring your men in the armored van and meet me on the runway. We’ll be leaving for Dr. Keane’s home immediately.”

  The commander ended the connection as the plane touched down gently on the runway and rolled to a halt.

  “Alert me if there is any change to Dr. Keane’s status,” he ordered his AI. This should go without saying, but he wanted to be certain. “I want to know if she leaves, if someone arrives, if her phone begins working again. Anything and everything.”

  “Understood,” replied Eve in his ear.

  7

  The armored van that Hubbard had provided handled like a tank—which wasn’t far from its actual status—while being a perfect replica of the large Amazon delivery vans that seemed to swarm every neighborhood in America. But this one wasn’t filled wall to wall with boxes containing books, electronics, and other consumer goods. This one contained plain-clothed commandos and rucksacks crammed with military equipment, and an additional stash of weaponry, drones, and electronic gadgetry that an armory at a mid-sized military base would envy. And at the touch of a button, if necessary, Reed could turn all windows reflective, hiding every inch of inside space from view.

  Reed took the wheel, while Lieutenant Quinlan sat in the passenger seat. The five remaining members of Quinlan’s team were housed in the windowless cargo section. All seven wore advanced body armor under their shirts, made of carbyne, which scientists now considered the ultimate wonder material, possessing properties even more miraculous than graphene.

  Reed had closed the partition between the front seat and the cargo compartment, so the five Green Berets in the back couldn’t be seen. The men appeared to be fully civilian, and the extensive weaponry and other military equipment they were minding was all stored out of sight in rucks or built-in compartments. Still, even this many civilians in the back of an Amazon delivery truck would raise eyebrows.

  Reed found the current situation a bit of a role reversal for him. How often had he sat in the back of a windowless compartment with his fellow SEALs—in the belly of a cargo plane rather than a van—while the pilot and co-pilot navigated him to a possible war zone?

  Too often.

  Still, even given Eve’s inability to reach Dr. Keane, Reed didn’t expect his cargo of experienced special forces soldiers to see any action.

  The six Green Berets each carried a military issued cell phone, which mimicked a civilian model but with increased durability and functionality. Smart contacts were issued only to a select few, and as elite as the men Reed now commanded were, they didn’t rate this recent technological marvel, which was still prohibitively expensive. Perfected in black laboratories, the clear lenses wouldn’t be introduced for civilian use for several years.

  Reed’s contacts contained a nearly microscopic onboard computer and an invisible antenna, and were Wi-Fi enabled, allowing Eve to send photos, videos, schematics, and tactical displays to the lenses, which the commander could read hands free without anyone knowing. He could also zoom in on distant objects and put the lenses in night-vision mode, controlling these functions using a pattern of blinks, or by using his ever-present AI companion.

  The commander quickly described the contacts to his passengers, and let them know that he had access to a sophisticated AI and to all NSA supercomputers and data. Finally, he explained that any back-and-forth he had with Eve would be sent to their comms, and that any data Eve sent to his lenses would also be sent to their phones.

  While he was briefing the men, Reed continued to race toward his destination at a speed that was just short of reckless.

  “I have a change of status to report, Commander,” said Eve a few minutes after he had finished, words that were also heard by six other pairs of ears in the van. “Sendi
ng relevant satellite feed to you and your team now.”

  Before the AI even finished the sentence, a video feed appeared on Reed’s lenses, showing a hyperextended black limo pulling into Dr. Keane’s driveway, its windows so tinted it was impossible to tell if anyone was in its stretched backside.

  The driver exited the vehicle and took a few steps toward the front door. Unsurprisingly, the man carried himself with athletic self-assurance, the human equivalent of a panther, perfectly tuned for action, and although relaxed, was clearly primed to uncoil with lethal effect whenever necessary. Although subtle, to Reed’s trained eye, this was a man who was in supreme condition and who had seen plenty of combat. A worst-case scenario.

  The commander pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal without having made a conscious decision to do so, now accelerating to a speed that was undoubtedly not safe.

  Within seconds the full scene in Allie Keane’s driveway played out before their eyes—in Reed’s case, literally before his eyes. The limo driver spoke into a microphone. Allie Keane opened the door. They exchanged a few words. And then, without warning, her visitor drew a gun and shot her in the gut at point-blank range.

  Reed panicked for just an instant before he recognized the weapon as one that could only fire tranquilizer darts.

  Sure enough, a moment later, the lithe physicist’s knees began to buckle, and her visitor caught her with effortless ease, carrying her to the passenger’s side of the limo and carefully strapping her in.

  “Eve, don’t lose sight of that limo no matter what!” snapped Reed. “Follow with the satellite, and supplement with footage from street cams whenever available.”