by Robert Graf
Balsamo glanced down at his list. "Contrary to written history, Charlemagne did murder his brother."
Meyer motioned for Carlo to quiet, "Save that for later." He faced Balsamo. "Ten?" he asked dismissively. "That's hardly proof for such a fantastic claim. You of all people should know that. Where is your well-earned skepticism? I can't accept this claim. It's preposterous."
The others nodded in agreement, reminding Balsamo of bobble-head dolls. He persisted. "This machine is an imminent threat to the Church. Ignoring its incredible ability is a grave mistake. The Church is based on faith, two thousands years of faith. Our history is replete with ancient manuscripts, many of dubious authenticity. Witness the Apocrypha of the Old and New Testament. Ask yourselves: Are there not events that each of you has doubted, only to rely on faith that they happened as written? Now we are presented with a device that can tell the truth of the matter. There are those who will use the device to launch attacks on our fundamental beliefs. Don't you see? It is irrelevant whether or not the device actually works —it's the belief that matters."
Cardinal Carlo interrupted again. "Your imagined attacks will just be mistaken, failed attempts by unbelievers to discredit the Church. Maybe one or two insignificant historical events will be refuted. So what? It's an old, old story. What little fuss develops will soon pass; it always has and always will. Contrary to Cardinal Meyer's faith in you, I'm convinced you've wasted our time over nothing." He stood, strode to the double doors, pulled one open and exited.
Balsamo kept his expression calm. Inwardly he cursed their stubborn arrogance. "It was my duty to bring this matter to your attention to prepare for the inevitable attacks. There is no predicting what form they will take. Make no mistake, they will occur. In God's name I urge you to warn your clergy to be especially vigilant and listen for such rumors."
Meyer met his gaze. "Your diligence is duly noted, and I for one appreciate your concern. However, there is nothing on which to base an action. Bring us better proof, and we will act upon it."
He was defeated. If Meyer didn't go along, no one else would. "I shall gather the proof. I regret wasting your time. We are adjourned."
The Cardinals avoided looking at Balsamo as they pushed their chairs back and quickly left. He remained seated, staring at the empty room. There would be a price to pay for ignoring his warning. As God is his witness, he had to try.
◆◆◆
Morning prayers finished, Brother Isaac strode back to his tiny ufficio, pondering his dilemma. Ann's revelation disturbed him more deeply than he wanted to admit. He found himself questioning his own faith. Why had he become a Jesuit? It wasn’t just the long ago discussions with Father Fogarty. He longed to be part of something larger than himself. His experience with nuclear disarmament NGO’s and botched implementation had embittered him. Was no one above corruption and venality? He could still hear Ann’s exasperated voice: “Isaac, you can't save the world."
He was so preoccupied he nearly bumped into the tall figure standing outside his ufficio. "Your Eminence," he stuttered. Cardinal Balsamo gestured and Isaac opened the door. Balsamo stepped in; Isaac followed and closed the door.
Balsamo faced him. "Two things, Brother Isaac. First, you may tell Dr. Grey the responses were correct. Second, I am sending you to America. We, the Curia, need more proof of this fantastic claim. You will get that proof from Dr. Grey, whether good or ill. We must know."
Isaac stared at Balsamo, stunned. "How am I to proceed?" he managed to ask. "There's no protocol for such a device."
Balsamo pinned him with his fierce gaze. "You have access to the Church’s entire history of the beatification of saints and authentication of miracles. Of course it's unprecedented. You are intelligent and experienced. I have faith you can devise something. And you know Dr. Grey. At first I thought that disqualified you, but after reflection decided that made you the ideal candidate."
Isaac struggled to collect his thoughts. "Forgive me, aren't you presuming too much? Just because she agreed to your test doesn’t mean she'd let me access the device. I'm certain her company would refuse. Anyway, it's now in NASA's hands."
Balsamo's expression didn't change. "You will make the effort; if that fails, you will go to Houston. We have contacts in NASA."
Not for the first time Isaac regretted his vow of obedience. "Eminence, this is a task for a professional investigator, not a Jesuit with a little knowledge of physics."
The Cardinal frowned. "Don't give me that 'poor boy' excuse. It's beneath you. Investigator is exactly what you are." His eyes glinted dangerously. "Are you refusing?"
Isaac quailed. "No, Eminence. When do I leave?"
"My secretary will give you details and provide you with funds and a letter from me authorizing you as an agent of the Church. If you have any requirements, see him. Oh, stay in civilian dress. I'd rather not advertise the Church's interest more than necessary. Any questions?"
Isaac shook his head, overwhelmed. "I'm sure I'll have some later."
"One more item. Keep your assignment confidential. Report directly to me, and encrypt everything you send." He walked to the door, and swung around. "Notify me as soon as you arrive in America."
"Yes, Eminence," he replied to Balsamo's retreating back. He closed his door and collapsed in his chair. "Now what?" he asked the empty room. “What have I gotten into? How will Ann react? Will she even see me?” The questions swirled through his mind. Overriding everything else, how would he verify her discovery?
His tablet clock showed almost one o'clock, four AM in Petaluma. He'd call at six; hopefully she’d be at work. In the meantime he'd better find out what she'd been up to all these years.
Isaac settled into his chair and tapped Ann's link. An error window popped up: "Unable to connect. Check URL." He sat up, startled. He hadn't changed anything since they last connected. He opened the link and checked the URL against his scribbled notes —identical. He retried the link; same results. Now what? She said he could use her private link. He entered her code in the phone app. A message appeared, “Connecting”.
[Wednesday, Philomath]
Ann started at the muffled 'chirp' from her jacket. Was it Ian with more bad news or Hooper or Jon or... She pulled the phone out: caller ID: 39-06-698-83296. Nothing she recognized. What if it's the bad guy Ian warned her about? It's an international number she realized. She tapped through the menus; 39 was Italy. Isaac? She tapped Talk.
Isaac’s concerned face appeared. “Ann, I tried your office but couldn't connect so I tried this. Are you somewhere you can talk?"
Did she want to? Too much had happened since they last spoke. Curiosity won out.
"It's okay. Why are you calling?"
"My superior, Cardinal Balsamo, has instructed me to inform you your machine's responses were correct. Secondly, I'm to travel to the States and verify your EntComs really work as you claim."
She felt a thrill of excitement until his second statement sank in. "You're coming here to do what?"
"I've been ordered to personally verify your claim."
They have some nerve, she fumed. "I agreed to the test, and thank your superior for the feedback, but that's it. I don't work for the Vatican. There's no way corporate will allow it. If you ask, you'll get nowhere, they'll get very suspicious. What would you tell them your motive is? You can't tell the truth. You're better off buying a system, at a couple million they're a bargain."
"I have no choice. My superior pointed out this was my job. It just differs in detail from investigating miracles."
Miracles? "I never did ask. Just what do you do for the Church?"
He chuckled. "What I said. I work for the Congregation for the Causes of Saints. Its task is to verify candidates for sainthood and ensure any supposed miracles have no other explanation. Your claim qualifies as a miracle."
She laughed. "Isaac, the Catholic Church's own CSI. Somehow it's fitting."
"CSI? I don't investigate crimes."
"No, no. Committee fo
r Skeptical Inquiry. They have chapters all over the world."
"Oh sure. Here it goes by the acronym of CICAP. Officially I'm not allowed to contribute to their efforts, but I follow what they do."
She grimaced. "You're wasting your time. I repeat, there is no way you can access the EntCom. Don't your superiors know NASA has it?"
"I have to make the effort. I'll call you once I'm in the States, which will be in a few days. Will you at least see me?"
Same stubborn Isaac. "It's your nickel."
What's the old saying? "Oh what a tangled web we weave..." With Isaac sniffing around, MacDougal was bound to get suspicious. What would Hooper do if he found out? Technically she hadn't broken the non-disclosure clause. It was strictly about entangled communications, not fundamental physics. Anyway, the Catholic Church wasn't a competitor, though she doubted Hooper would appreciate the distinction.
Testing went well, her “Columbus” spiel passed. She walked back to the kitchen. She wasn't limping as much, and the bruises were turning a lovely yellow and purple, yet her hand hurt. Allan was seated at the table drinking coffee and munching a plain donut. ”Any more of those?"
"Sure, Dr. Grey." He pointed to a cardboard box on the counter. "Help yourself."
She filled a cup from the teapot, dropped a tea bag in, took a plain donut and sat across from Allan. "I don't mean to be nosy, but don't you get bored? I mean, what's there to do?"
He grinned. "Sure, it's boring work, but I'm used to it. On my time off I go fly fishing in the river. There's some big trout in there, and I aim to catch and release some."
She sipped her tea and bit into the donut. She'd never cared to fish. Try another tack.
"Did you know Craig and Ricardo? I never had much time to really talk with them."
His expression hardened. "No Ma'am, we're from a different unit. That was a bad business."
"It was horrible. Have you heard anything about the investigation?"
He shook his head. "No, other than the ATF and FBI are involved. They'll get them."
She prayed he was right. "Thanks for the donut," she said and returned to the lab. Maybe the little bit she’d told Ian would help catch the murdering bastards, yet how? What had she seen? A guy and an old car.
Ann stared at the cylinders containing the entangled exotic matter. She never tired of watching the cloudy gas shift colors as it danced to the lasers’ tune. Those were her fish; she'd caught them fair and square. No way would she release them; that would break the entanglement.
A glimmer of an idea ghosted across her mind. If she re-entangled them without first breaking entanglement what would she have? A new date. The lab's destruction would be in the past! She could help catch the killers.
If she were careful, very careful, she could empty one cylinder into the other. The pressures were low enough that the cylinder should hold. Reconfigure the lasers to the initial entanglement, lase the gas, and let the newly entangled gas return to the first cylinder. When the pressures equalized, seal the cylinders. With a little luck it should work.
First, she connected the vacuum pump's intake to one entangled cylinder and the output to the other. She crossed her fingers and started the pump. A soft whir indicated it was working. The pressure gauge rose on the second and dropped in the first. Minutes later it registered zero, and she shut the valves. Good so far.
She glanced at the wall clock, almost noon, where had the time gone? Her stomach growled. She hadn't brought lunch as she needed to get away from the lonely lab. Today she'd try the little taco joint near the inn.
Ann suppressed a burp, tasting the spicy tacos; she'd pay later. Now for the lasers. They should be correct, locked in their respective cradles, beams focused at ninety degrees in the cylinders. Still… She carefully rotated the micrometer adjustment for the IR laser to zero before locking the adjustment lever. She repeated the procedure for the green laser at ninety degrees. The digital indicator kept jumping past ninety, and try as she might, it wouldn't hold steady. She stepped back, exasperated at the old equipment. Focus, you can do it. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and three tries later she had it.
At least the power switches were digitally synced. She slipped the protective eye shield over her face, set the power settings to maximum, crossed her fingers and pressed the ON button. Even with the shield she had to squint against the glare from the green laser. Three minutes ticked down on the readout. At zero the lasers switched off, and she removed her eye shield.
Now to reverse the process. Twenty agonizing minutes later the pressures equalized and remained steady. She shut the valves and removed the pump. She hoped the residual gas in the line wouldn't affect the operation, though there was nothing she could do about it. She reset the four lasers to normal power.
Here goes. She sat down, entered "I married Jon Grey" and pressed F1.
Nothing.
Her stomach clamped into a knot. What's wrong? Had she broken entanglement? She stared at the screens. Her message remained on the transmitting screen, unblinking. The receiving screen remained blank. Try again. She toggled the error switch, retyped the message, hesitated, and sent it.
"I married Jon Grey" appeared on the other screen. She'd done it!
But had she really changed the date or was the exercise a waste of time or worse? What to test? She didn't know what to ask about the destroyed lab. Keep it simple.
She sent "Ann Grey did drive to Philomath on Monday". The statement flashed on the second screen. She changed "did" to "did not.".
The message began blinking.
"Yes!" she yelled, jumping up and shaking her fist at the screens.
A loud "Dr. Grey, are you all right," startled her. She turned to see Allan's standing on the steps, his face creased in worry.
She laughed. "Very all right," she answered, feeling foolish.
He appeared relieved. "Just checking." he said and disappeared. The door snicked shut.
Now she needed Ian. She selected his entry on her phone.
"Yes?”
No visual. "It's Ann. Can you talk?"
She heard murmured conversation in the background. Was he in a meeting?
"Keep it short."
"I've reset the entanglement date to today. That means we can ask questions about anything older, specifically the lab, but I don't know what to ask."
His loud "You did what?" nearly deafened her.
She held the phone away from her. Whatever happened to the reserved British manner? "Reset the entanglement date. Can you get up here?"
"My God, Ann, you're a flipping genius. I'll fly up this evening. Tell no one."
She heard a 'click’ and powered the phone off, annoyed. He didn't have to remind her. What does he think she was? She smiled, a genius. Enough for today, tomorrow promised to be interesting, and her hand hurt.
She toggled the reset switch, powered down the computers and left the lab.
[Thursday, Philomath]
Ann stripped off her wet jacket, glad to be out of the wind and rain. "Where's Ian, I mean Mr. MacDougal?"
"The boss is in the kitchen," Allan answered.
"Thank you." She hung up the jacket and hurried through the door and into the tiny kitchen. Ian, also dressed in jeans and shirt, was seated at the small table sipping a cup of tea and studying something on his tablet.
"Good morning, Ian. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting."
"Not at all. There were some loose ends I needed to take care of.” He stood and picked up his tablet. “Ready to start?"
"Yes, let's do it." She led the way to the lab, pleased she barely limped anymore. The green lasers shone bright, waiting for her. She sat in front of the transmitting PC and motioned to her left. "Have a seat."
Ian sat and placed his tablet on the table.
"Turn on your screen, the switch on the bottom," she instructed and switched hers on. "Just watch."
She sent "Ann Grey drove to Philomath on Monday" Ii appeared on Ian's screen. One down. She sent “Ann G
rey drove to Philomath on Saturday ".
The message began blinking.
“That’s to show you the entanglement date is yesterday.”
"I see, but the machine appears broken now."
"Not broken, just interrupted. We restart it with this switch, just like a breaker panel." She toggled the switch, and the screens lit up.
“Like the icon on the EntCom.”
"Yes. Give me a fact to test, something only you know the truth of."
He raised his eyebrows. "Can't I type it?"
"No. The prototype is only one-way. Wait a sec." She pushed her display and keyboard between them. "Move over."
"Righto." He slowly typed “Jonathan Swales faked the intel about the Khost drug operation in 2005."
"Now what?"
"Press F1."
The message flashed on the receiving screen.
Ian sucked in his breath. "The murdering bastard."
"Now send the opposite."
"Why? You said everything was working."
"It is. But I've learned some messages are ambiguous, so I always test both possibilities, same as I did in Petaluma."
He changed "faked" to "did not fake". The message blinked.
"The reset switch, Ian."
He pressed it, and the screens lit up.
She wondered at his grim expression. "May I ask what significance that has for you?"
“That event started a series of events that led to several deaths. Years later I found documents that implied the same as what your device showed; by themselves they were insufficient proof." He shook his head. "It’s a terrible, dangerous instrument you’ve invented."
Was that the court martial she’d read about? She didn’t ask. “I didn’t invent fact checking, it just is. Do you see the way statements need to be formed?"
"Yes."
“To be meaningful, a statement must be as specific as possible. Here’s a silly example. A car crosses a busy road and is hit broadside by a truck. In the ambulance the driver turns to his passenger and asks why he told him the road was clear. His passenger replied, ‘you asked me if any cars were coming, not trucks’."
