by Alex Lukeman
"Spiteful and ambitious isn't a good combination," Selena said.
"All the same, it's up to us to find out what happened. It's our best shot at blocking her and staying in business."
"What if it really was an accident?" Selena asked.
"That's what we need to find out. If it was an accident, everyone can move on. If it wasn't..."
Elizabeth left the sentence unfinished.
"What happens next?" Nick asked.
"We need to find out more about that transmission sent to the Wayne. I'm going to put Stephanie on it. She might be able to determine where it originated and whether or not it had anything to do with the collision."
"Sounds like a long shot," Nick said.
"Maybe so, but it's a place to start."
"And if she can pinpoint where the transmission came from?"
"Then I'm going to send the team to do something about it."
CHAPTER 4
Marvin Edson's IQ was something over a hundred and eighty, but it was hard to be exact when it was that high. In school he was bullied and called a freak. It didn't help that he was thin and gangly, or that his face was constantly covered with acne. His teachers thought him too smart for his own good, and turned a blind eye to the torments inflicted upon him by his classmates. At night he lay in bed, seething with anger and thinking about revenge.
Edson discovered ways to express his rage. His parents never realized what he was doing. They simply thought it was odd how his pets kept dying or running off. Disappearing.
Edson built his first computer when he was eleven years old. He graduated high school when he was twelve. That was the same year little Sally Anderson disappeared, the six-year-old girl who lived next to the Edsons. A few fingers pointed at the strange little boy next door, but nothing came of it.
At fourteen, Edson was enrolled in an advanced computer engineering class at MIT. When he wasn't studying, he spent his time on the dark web in the world of hackers. His screen name was Dragon's Breath. When he succeeded in breaking into the CIA's secure servers, his reputation in the hacking community was made.
At seventeen, he graduated MIT with honors and was recruited by a Silicon Valley tech giant. They gave him an office, a six-figure salary, and a condo. Then they introduced him to their development team.
Edson had never learned the social skills needed in the real world. He didn't bother to hide his frustration when his teammates were unable to grasp complex concepts and ideas that to him were glaringly obvious. In the company where he worked, the worst thing someone could say about another employee was that they weren't a "team player." There were plenty of people who said that about Marvin.
After a year, the company tried moving him into blue sky research. Edson argued with his manager about what he was supposed to be doing. After another eight months the company gave up.
The day he was fired, Marvin went back to his office, closed the door, and turned on his computer. With a few strokes on the keyboard he sent a virus to the company's servers that would turn their main database into garbage. He programmed in a delay to avoid drawing suspicion upon himself. When the virus took effect, the company would be crippled. In the competitive world of Silicon Valley, it might even be a death blow.
That will show them, the ungrateful morons.
Edson began putting his personal possessions into a box. A man dressed in a neat gray suit, white shirt and blue tie came into the office. His shoes gleamed. His hair was cut short in military style. He had the kind of face you would notice in a crowd and avoid.
"Marvin Edson?"
"That's me," Edson said.
"My name is Carstairs. I have a proposition for you."
"What kind of proposition? I'm kind of busy right now."
"I can see that," Carstairs said. "Too bad they didn't know how to use your potential. What would you say if I told you I represent someone who does?"
"Are you serious? What do you know about my potential?"
"We've been watching you, Mister Edson. You've been treated unfairly here. I work for someone who can give you the recognition you deserve."
"You've been watching me? What are you, CIA or something?"
"Something."
The man reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a flat, white envelope. He held it out.
"What's this?"
"Open it. I think you'll be interested in what you find."
Edson took the envelope and ripped it open. Inside was a single sheet of typewritten paper and a cashiers check for one hundred thousand dollars, made out in his name. Embossed at the top of the paper was a black phoenix rising from orange flames.
"The letter is an offer of employment, subject to an interview with the owner of the company," Carstairs said. "The check is payment for coming to the interview. If you are accepted, there will be another similar check as a bonus."
The letter offered Edson a salary of five hundred thousand dollars a year to develop a computer with artificial intelligence.
"What's the catch?" Edson said.
"No catch. However there is one condition. Because the company is working with the government on this project, you'll be required to sign a secrecy agreement. Breaking that agreement will make you subject to criminal proceedings."
"What's with the phoenix?"
"It's our logo. Phoenix is a private corporation. The owner doesn't like publicity."
"What kind of facilities will I get?"
Carstairs smiled. There was no warmth to it.
"What would you like?"
"I want privacy. I don't want people telling me how to do my work."
"I can guarantee you'll be left alone to do your work. As long as you apply yourself."
"Where will I be located?"
"That depends. We have several facilities, some quite remote. For now, you'll be here on the West Coast."
"I have to give up the condo where I've been living."
"Luxury housing will be provided," Carstairs said. "We really want you to come work for us, Mister Edson."
"When do I do this interview?"
"Today. I have a car waiting outside. Are you interested in the offer?"
"Who wouldn't be?"
"Good," Carstairs said.
Edson picked up his box and followed Carstairs to the elevators. People were watching from their cubicles. The elevator doors opened. Edson turned to face them and raised his middle finger in the air as the doors closed.
CHAPTER 5
Carstairs's car turned out to be a Bentley limousine. A chauffeur in livery took Edson's box and placed it in the trunk.
Edson sat on the comfortable rear seat, admiring the luxurious wood and leather interior of the car.
This is what I deserve, he thought. About time.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
The rest of the ride was spent in silence. They came to a pair of wrought iron gates set in a high stone wall. The gates opened as the car approached and they drove into a sprawling, park-like estate. Copper clad roofs turned green by years of weather rose above the trees. The car came over a rise, revealing a large house that would have pleased a European aristocrat of the nineteenth century.
The mansion was built from gray granite blocks fitted together by a master mason. Carvings of vines and leaves bordered tall, diamond paned windows. Winged gargoyles of stone leered down from above. The car circled a large fountain with erotic statues of nymphs and satyrs and stopped under a broad portico. Entrance into the mansion was through a massive wooden door decorated with black iron fittings.
"Wow."
"Impressive, isn't it," Carstairs said. "You'll find the owner can be quite generous. Of course, he expects complete loyalty in return. Be sure you understand that before you agree to accept the offer."
There was a hint of warning in Carstairs's words.
The doors opened onto a vast hall. The ceiling was forty feet above a floor of white marble. A chandelier of crystal that had once
hung in the palace at Versailles glittered overhead. At the other end of the hall, a broad marble staircase swept up to a balcony and the second story.
"This way," Carstairs said.
He led Edson to a set of polished oak doors on the left.
"He's waiting for you in the library. Remember, be polite. Mister Nicklaus doesn't tolerate disrespect in any form."
Carstairs opened one of the doors and waited for Edson to go in.
"Aren't you coming?" Edson asked.
"I'm not the one being interviewed. Best not keep him waiting."
Carstairs gestured at the open door. Edson stepped through.
Heavy drapes were pulled across tall windows at the far end of the room. Thick Persian carpets covered the floor. Floor to ceiling bookcases filled with books took up most of the wall space. The room smelled of the passage of time, of leather and old paper. There was an unfamiliar odor Edson couldn't identify, something musky and faintly unpleasant.
A man sat behind a desk near the windows, watching Edson approach. His hands were steepled in front of him. A single light shone on the desk. In front of the desk was a chair.
"Please sit down, Mister Edson."
The man's voice was soft, almost pleasant. His face was wedge-shaped and narrow, coming to a point at his chin. Thick black eyebrows shaded eyes that seemed to soak up the light. Jet black hair formed a widow's peak on a high forehead. His ears were close to his head, without lobes. He was dressed in a pale shirt, a dark suit of excellent quality, and a red tie. His skin was an intermediate color, hard to define. He could have been from anywhere in the Middle East. Syrian, perhaps, or Turkish. Edson guessed his age at somewhere around fifty-five or sixty.
Remember, be polite.
"Thank you, sir," Edson said.
He sat down.
"My name is Abbadon Nicklaus," the man said. "You may address me as Mister Nicklaus. I want you to build a computer for me."
"What kind of computer, Mister Nicklaus?"
"An intelligent one, Marvin. You don't mind if I call you Marvin, do you?"
"No, sir."
"You will be given the most powerful machine currently manufactured to work with. I want you to develop programming that provides true, artificial intelligence. Do you think you can do that?"
"Yes, sir, I can. It's something I've been thinking about."
"How long do you think it would take you to do that?"
"That's hard to say, Mister Nicklaus. Perhaps a year or two. No longer."
"I don't like to be disappointed, Marvin. Be sure you don't promise more than you can deliver."
Mister Nicklaus's eyes seemed to glitter as he spoke. For a moment, Edson felt afraid.
"I can do it," Edson said.
"Excellent," Nicklaus said.
He reached into a drawer of the desk and took out a piece of paper, a gold needle, and a small glass vial.
"This is an exclusive contract," Nicklaus said. "By signing it, you agree to a permanent position with my company."
"What if I want to leave in the future?"
"No one ever leaves," Nicklaus said. "Why would you want to leave? You can have anything you want, when you come to work for me."
He pushed the contract across to Edson.
"You'll see a place for your signature at the bottom. I also need to take a small sample of your blood. We use that as a DNA reference for granting access to our most highly secured facilities. The facility you will be using to build the computer has restricted access. Of course as the director of the project, you'll have as much or little help as you require, whatever you want. You will be completely in charge of all operations and procedures. Is that to your satisfaction?"
"Yes, sir, it is."
You can have anything you want.
The words echoed in Edson's mind. He reached for the contract and began to read. The paper was thick and heavy, incredibly smooth to the touch, almost like parchment.
It was as Mister Nicklaus had said. The terms stated that he was signing a lifetime work agreement with Abbadon Nicklaus for a beginning salary of five hundred thousand dollars a year. Annual increases of one hundred thousand dollars or more would be added according to progress and completion of work assigned, specifically to build an artificial intelligence computer, but not limited to that alone.
All living expenses and necessary taxes would be paid by Nicklaus. An additional bonus of one hundred thousand dollars was to be paid immediately upon signing.
"This is very generous," Edson said.
"I like my employees to be happy."
He handed Edson a pen. It was heavy, made of gold, an old-fashioned fountain pen. Edson weighed it in his hand, then signed the contract with a bold flourish.
"You will not regret your decision," Nicklaus said. "Now I need to take that sample of your blood. Hold out your hand. It will only be a small prick."
Edson extended his hand. Mister Nicklaus reached out with his left hand and grasped Marvin's wrist. His grip was strong, his fingers hard. Marvin noticed that the fingernails needed trimming.
Nicklaus took the long needle and pricked Edson's middle finger. Blood welled up. It felt strange, the needle hot and cold at the same time. Nicklaus dipped the needle into the blood and moved it to the glass vial. As he did, a drop fell from the needle onto the contract, next to the signature.
"Welcome to Phoenix," Mister Nicklaus said.
CHAPTER 6
Stephanie Willits pulled a shawl around her shoulders. The computer room was cold with air conditioning that kept the big Crays happy. Stephanie was responsible for the computers and communication systems that made the Project a player in the same league as the NSA and Langley.
Steph was one of Elizabeth Harker's secret weapons. Firewalls and security systems were no more than interesting challenges to Stephanie's mind. Somewhere in the world there was probably a computer she couldn't hack into, but so far she hadn't found it.
Langley and the NSA had thousands of people working to analyze and sort through the endless streams of intelligence data pouring in every day from all over the world. The Project had Stephanie's quirky mind and Freddie. It was usually enough.
Freddie was a maxed out Cray, modified to Stephanie's unique specifications. The manufacturer would not have recognized the programs she'd created and installed. Freddie was Stephanie's crowning achievement, a computer with true, artificial intelligence. Only a few people knew Freddie existed. Stephanie was determined to keep it that way.
She sat at a console shaped like a half-moon, with three monitors spread before her. The lines of code sent to the USS Wayne before the collision were displayed on the left-hand screen. Next to the monitor were pictures of her husband and her infant son.
"Freddie, pull up schematics for the navigational computers used on the Wayne."
The central monitor lit.
On monitor two, Stephanie.
The computer's voice was masculine, with an odd electronic quality that came across in the intonation and phrasing.
Stephanie scrolled through the schematic drawings, looking for the weak point that had let the enemy in. There had to be one. A modern warship was a slave to computerized technology. Millions of lines of code controlled the electronic systems of the Wayne. The navigational system was a case in point. When everything worked as it was supposed to, the ship was a formidable weapon. If something happened to those computers, she became little more than a floating target.
"Things were a lot simpler when ships were steered with a big wheel and a bunch of ropes," Stephanie said.
She'd gotten in the habit of thinking out loud around Freddie. Sometimes it got lonely down there in the computer room. Freddie was always good for a conversation.
Modern technology is far more efficient.
"Yes, but it takes all the romance out of it."
I do not understand why obsolete technology would be considered romantic.
"It's not important, Freddie."
I have noticed
that humans often talk about something and then say it is not important.
"That's true, but right now what's important is that we try and find out who sent this transmission to the Wayne and if it caused the collision. I need to know where the transmission originated, as well as its content. Please run an analysis."
Processing.
Half a dozen gold bracelets on Stephanie's left wrist flashed in the lights overhead as she brushed a lock of dark hair away from her forehead. While she waited for Freddie, she looked at the picture of the baby. Matthew was pushing six months old and beginning to sleep several hours at a time. After months of waking five or six times a night, she was beyond tired. At least the shadows were starting to recede under her eyes. Maybe one day she'd finally catch up on her sleep.
She might even be able to revive her sex life. That had changed for the worse with Matthew's arrival. Lucas was Director of National Clandestine Services at Langley, a demanding job. Most of the time he was exhausted when he got home. Matthew had fussed through the night for months. Neither one of them had seen more than a couple of hours of sleep at a time since she'd given birth.
People get worn down when they're as tired as we are, she thought. It will pass.
With the stress of their work, lack of sleep, a new baby, and the odd hours together, things weren't going well between them. What worried her was that maybe it wasn't only lack of sleep that was keeping them apart. She'd put on weight when she was pregnant. She was still overweight, and she was flabby. The stretch marks would never fade. She felt unattractive. She'd even taken to making sure Lucas didn't see her completely naked, afraid he would turn away. She'd heard about things like this, problems after a baby was born.
Freddie's voice broke into her thoughts.
Analysis complete. Origin of the transmission cannot be determined with certainty at this time.
"Why are you unable to identify the origin?"
