by Robert Graf
"Cardinal, please don't blame Isaac, his presence is a great comfort to me. I want to thank you for allowing me to use your questions, but right now I have other problems."
He was at a loss for words. Stall. "Dr. Grey, by now you must appreciate just how serious some people take your claim. You and Brother Isaac have convinced me, now I must convince my peers."
Dr. Grey's green eyes narrowed. "Yes, some would say a bombing and two dead and two shot is serious. I can provide nothing without an EntCom. Surely you understand this."
Balsamo needed to shake up his brethren, and here was the God-given opportunity. "Dr. Grey, would you come to the Vatican and address the Curia?"
Isaac nodded with a satisfied smile.
The woman’s eyes widened in astonishment. "I don't know how to respond. Why?"
"In a few days or weeks all this secrecy will be irrelevant. I want the Church to be prepared for whatever comes when your fantastic claim becomes public knowledge. The Curia doesn't believe me, they won't do anything without more proof. I'm convinced that's a mistake."
Dr. Grey glanced at Brother Isaac who shrugged.
"I'm not the least religious, and your Church's concerns are not at the top of my list."
"Understood. What is your main concern, if I may ask?"
"To understand how this incredible process works. It contradicts everything I’ve learned about quantum mechanics."
Gamble. "We could assist you."
She didn't blink. "If I help you."
Good. She wasn't naive. "Exactly. From what Brother Isaac has told me, we could at least provide better security." Was this how the serpent felt? He would pray long and hard for forgiveness—later.
She tapped her fingers on the counter. "There is the matter of the NDA."
His puzzlement must have shown for Brother Isaac interrupted. "That's a Non Disclosure Agreement, Eminence. It’s like a vow of silence specific to the EntCom."
Balsamo curbed his impatience. She already broke it. "I repeat, these concerns will be irrelevant when your discovery becomes known. Your corporation's patent will be worthless. No legal technicality will stop someone from acquiring the technology, as you've already found out. Let me be blunt. You, your husband, and anyone else with direct knowledge are at great risk.” What did she need? "I offer you sanctuary."
"Sanctuary?"
"Political asylum. Vatican City is an independent state just as America is. The offer is not to be dismissed out-of-hand."
Her expression defined skepticism. "I have no intention of becoming a Catholic anything."
"You don't have to, it's not a requirement." She was tempted; her body language gave her away. "Don't decide now, think it over. Brother Isaac knows how to contact me." He turned his attention to the Jesuit. "Brother Isaac, I agree that your presence in Dr. Grey's residence is a good idea. Let me know of any developments."
"Yes, Your Eminence."
Balsamo killed the window. Now what? It was clear that two different groups were involved. One destroyed with no attempt to steal; the other stole. NASA would soon find out about her discovery, the two hostile agencies knew and he knew. He'd convene one more meeting and present what he'd learned. He had a sinking feeling it still wasn't convincing enough. He would pray that Dr. Grey accepts his offer. He had gone out on a limb, and he would pay, yet he had his duty to the Church. He wouldn't shirk it.
[Sunday, Petaluma]
Ann stared at the blank tablet. She didn't know what to think. The Cardinal’s blunt assessment had confirmed her fears. Just what did she want?
"Is this for real? Sanctuary?"
"Absolutely,” Isaac answered. “It's an ancient tradition in many cultures and religions, especially Christianity. In the late twentieth century, churches across America, not just Catholic, offered sanctuary to refugees from Central and South America, Mexico, from anywhere." He grinned. "The government wasn't amused. And when Trump came along, sanctuary became even more complicated."
She didn't trust the Cardinal. "What's his real motive? No way do I believe he's doing this for my benefit."
Isaac shrugged, looking embarassed. "Cardinals don't consult junior Jesuits. My gut feeling is that he's scared of what your discovery will do to the Church. The Vatican is the head of a huge world-wide bureaucracy. Cardinal Balsamo sees the Church losing control if parishioners begin to ask and get actual answers to questions the Church doesn't want aired. As it is, Church membership has been flat if not declining for years."
She could still feel Balsamo’s eyes. They reminded her of a Conquistador’s portrait she'd seen in a museum. The expression was identical –fierce and predatory. "He doesn't strike me as someone who frightens easily."
"Exactly, that's why his offer is not to be taken lightly."
What choices did she have? Global didn't need her, Hooper had made that painfully clear. The notion of being controlled by a government agency repelled her, but what was the difference between that and the Vatican? She glanced at Isaac. He made the difference, and the Cardinal knew it.
What about Alex? He was the best thing that had happened; she wasn’t giving him up. And Jon? Damn it to hell! What did she owe him? "Will your boss make the same offer to Jon?"
"Your husband? I don't know. I thought you weren't speaking."
"We're not; I just don't want to see him harmed."
"I can ask. Is that a condition for accepting?"
She hesitated. How much did she care? The fact she asked the question told her. "No. I'd just like to give him the chance."
"I'll tell him." He stretched. "What's on for the rest of the day?"
She didn’t want to think about Monday and the FBI. A bike ride would be good, but her knees hadn't healed enough. A change of scenery sounded good. "How about a trip to the coast. We might see some gray whales."
His eyes lit up. "You know, I haven't gone whale watching for ages. Should be fun."
Ann was tired and sweaty from hiking with Isaac on the Bodega headlands. The mild exercise did clear the gunk out, though she didn’t feel cheerful, just clear-headed. She closed the door to the garage.
"I'm for a shower, then food," Isaac said, standing in the kitchen doorway.
"There may not be much. I'll see you back here in a half hour."
In her bedroom she stripped off her pants and top and booted her tablet. The incoming mailbox was empty. Fine with her. She yanked off her underwear, stepped into the shower and adjusted the water to what Jon called her Goldilocks setting when they used to shower together. Her hair was barely wet when her tablet pinged, announced incoming email. Damn. She shut off the water, slipped into her terrycloth robe, returned to the bedroom, and tapped the mail icon.
Jon's face appeared. "Are we secure?"
The question surprised her, he never cared before. She found the lock icon. "Yes. Where are you?" He appeared to be in a motel room.
He radiated disgust. "Hooper's been keeping me in Houston. There's nothing for me to do, but he's the boss. I wanted to tell you NASA knows. I've been cut off from the EntCom, no explanation, just no access. Look, Ann, the game's changed. I fear that some government agency is going to panic and clamp a lid on the whole operation."
Her stomach clenched. "You sure?" she asked, hoping he was overreacting.
"Yeah. Their Science head cornered me Friday and asked point-blank." He shrugged. "I could hardly deny it, but I didn't elaborate. Then I spoke with Hooper. He wasn't pleased."
He doesn't know. "Jon, Hooper's been shot and the prototype stolen."
He stared at her, eyes wide open in shock. "Jesus Christ! What... Never mind. What are you doing?"
"I'm lying low at home. There's a guard staying with me."
His expression hardened. "That does it. I'm getting out of here as soon as we finish."
His reaction added to her unease. Jon was the calm, reasonable one. "Where will you go?"
"Don't know. I'll contact you later." His image vanished.
She stared at
the tablet, not seeing it. How many layers of management did NASA have? She snorted. A government agency? She had time. First, finish her shower.
Isaac was rummaging through the refrigerator when Ann strode in, barefoot, wearing her bathrobe, her hair damp. "Find something?"
"Just cheddar cheese and bread," he answered, lifting the items out and placing them on the counter. "Sandwich suit you?"
Wasn't this the domestic scene. Don't pick a fight. "Fine, mayonnaise for me." She brewed tea while he built the sandwiches. They sat at the counter, an empty stool between them, and ate in silence. She didn't look at him while she struggled with her hopes and fears. She finished her sandwich. “I heard from Jon. NASA knows about the EntComs' ability."
Isaac put his cup down and regarded her. "It had to happen. What do you want to do?"
Ann felt tired and old and uncertain. "I want to go back to physics research, improving quantum communication. Sometimes I wish I'd never stumbled onto this abomination." She was close to tears. She wanted someone to hold and comfort her, but Alex wasn't there. "What's it like in the Vatican?"
He regarded her with a wry expression. "You remember academic politics— back-stabbing, sly insults, power-hungry petty minds, sexual predators. Multiply that by a thousand, and you get the sense of the Vatican bureaucracy at the Cardinal's level. He didn't get to his position being nice. He reminds me of Machiavelli’s the Prince. In my cynical moments I think the religious pap is just means to an end. You know, 'it hurts me more than it hurts you'. Other times I'm convinced he is the real thing, a true believer; that's when he's the scariest."
"But..."
He held his hand up. "At my level, the bottom, I'd say we're more what Christianity should be, people trying to do the 'right' thing for humanity, so long as that 'thing' is accomplished according to Catholic rules. It's what Gandhi supposedly said about Western civilization — it’s a good idea.'"
His description appalled her. "Yet you like your work?"
"Yes. Rooting out fake miracles is fun, and the Church provides a structure I find comforting."
Implying there are real ones? She almost laughed. What about hers? She gathered her courage. "No sex? That seems unnatural. Wasn't that the root cause of that pedophile scandal years ago?"
"That was a horrible, disgusting, and unforgivable crime. Doesn't sound very Christian, does it? The root cause? I think it was more due to poor vetting of priesthood candidates than any vow of celibacy.” He shrugged. “As for sex, or the lack of, I keep busy, though I'll confess to being tempted. I'm only human, and that's the whole point of the confessional."
"If I go, what would I do, where would I live? Who pays me, who's my boss?"
"Cardinal Balsamo hasn't told me anything. You'd do what you stated you want —research truth-finding. Presumably you'd be provided the materials you need. Living? A tiny apartment in the visitor’s wing. Pay?" He laughed. "I get free room and board which counts as income. I get a small stipend for miscellaneous expenses. I cannot inherit and must give away any money I don't need. You'd get a stipend, just don't expect much. I assume Balsamo would be your boss." He grinned. "Think grad school without the sex or drugs or wild parties."
She listened in dismay. Did she want to give up her home and restaurants and bike rides and sex? “Celibacy applies to me?”
Isaac laughed. “No. You can do whatever since you’re over eighteen.”
No way. She wasn't taking any vows, and she had money from the buyout. "What about my political status. I have a US passport, would I lose that if I’m granted asylum?"
Isaac shook his head. "I don't know anything about that. I'm an American citizen even though I have a Vatican passport."
"What about divorce?"
"You're not Catholic so it's a non-issue."
Get to the scary part. "Security? How would that work?"
"Another subject I know nothing about. Within the Vatican that's the job of the Gendarmerie and Swiss Guard. Forget the weird medieval costumes you see in the news. These guys are top-notch professionals."
She stared at him. He didn't shift his gaze. Can she trust his Church?
"Would you give up your Church, abandon your vows, if you became aware of a situation that went against your ethics and morals?"
He dropped his gaze. "An impossible question, yet I'd be a fool to say that could never happen." He hesitated. "Ann, you could become the focus of an international incident. I can envision your government demanding you be extradited to the US because you’re a national security risk."
Her government? He's a US citizen. "If I do nothing, I fear I'll be locked up in some black box so far underground I'd never see the light of day again."
"Or you could end up very dead, and I don’t want that."
She shivered at his serious tone. "You're scaring me."
He didn't smile. "Good. Sanctuary is only in effect within the Vatican, not Rome."
"I won't be held prisoner."
"You'd have to work that out with the Cardinal." He glanced at the kitchen clock. "I need to go to mass. Is there a Catholic church nearby?"
How would she know? "I suppose. You'll have to find it, though."
"Right. I'll be back in an hour or two." He grinned. "Try and stay out of trouble."
[Monday, San Francisco]
Ann shifted her gaze from Ian, in a pin-stripe suit, to the two FBI agents seated across from her: Agent in Charge Winslow and Agent Drew. They were just as she had imagined: gray, look-alike business suits, polite non-smiles. Winslow, the older, fortyish, short-haired brunette, and he, the younger with a buzz cut. Ann considered her charcoal gray skirt and jacket equally formal but more feminine.
The other new face belonged to the corporate attorney, Harold Van Meter, a middle-aged African American in a black suit, gray shirt and white tie.
"Mr. MacDougal, shall we begin?" asked Winslow. "This is an informal inquiry, still we're recording everything." She turned to the lawyer. "Unless you object?"
"No objections as long as I get a copy," he answered in a pleasant tenor.
"Good." She turned back to Ann. "Dr. Grey, we have Mr. MacDougal's statement regarding the destruction of your Petaluma lab. Do you have anything to add to what you told him concerning the car you observed and its driver?"
"No. Did you get anywhere with the photo?"
"We're working on it. Was there anything you remembered about his clothing, the car, anything?"
"No, the car was an older Honda. As I told Ian, I thought it odd he asked for directions."
"License plate, dents, anything out of the ordinary?"
"I didn't notice the plates, the car was a light blue, same as dozens of others around town." She hesitated. "He appeared Middle Eastern."
No change in expression. "Meaning?"
The questioning flustered her. "With the black mustache and darker skin he reminded me of my chief engineer, Farid. He's Egyptian."
"I see." She glanced down at her tablet. "Would you be willing to be hypnotized and asked the same questions? We've had good results using this approach. Witnesses recall details that turn out to be valuable clues."
Van Meter coughed. "That's inadmissible."
An annoyed expression slid across Winslow's face. "We're not in court, and I'm aware of the posthypnotic suggestion rules. Any questions would be given to her in writing beforehand, and you may be present."
The idea of being hypnotized made Ann uncomfortable. She glanced at Ian who gave the tiniest shake of his head.
"I can't decide just now."
"Dr. Grey, you've had extensive written and verbal discussions with other physicists about quantum communication. Do you recall any discussion that you felt was inappropriate, even hostile?"
The question floored her. She'd given dozens of talks, published papers and contributed to numerous blogs over the years. "That's too big a subject. I'd need to review old papers to try and remember anything like that."
"Could you email us your answer in a f
ew days?"
"I can try." After I check with Ian.
"Good." Winslow typed something in her tablet. "Can you add anything about the woman asking for you at the River Inn?"
Ann shook her head. "No, just what the clerk told me."
"Have you noticed anyone following or watching you or acting in a strange manner?"
"Sorry, I've noticed nothing." The would-be rapists didn't count.
Winslow glanced at her tablet. "The most puzzling issue is the motive for these attacks. Mr. MacDougal suggested industrial sabotage, can you think of anything? "
Ann swallowed and didn't look at Ian. "The EntCom system is the first absolutely secure communication system ever. Transmissions are unbreakable, so I could envision someone being unhappy about that. I can't fathom anyone killing for it."
Winslow's gaze focused on Ann, making her squirm. "Could you explain that?"
"It's simple. A transmitted message is received instantaneously, zero time lag. It's impossible to intercept. I'm no cryptographer, though I could make a case that encryption schemes are unnecessary, even irrelevant."
Agent Drew broke in. "Isn't that already in use? Aren't there systems that send entangle photons that if intercepted would be obvious to the receiver?"
"Yes, but that requires repeaters, it still operates at light speed; EntComs make that technology obsolete. The system appears to operate faster-than-light, like in sci-fi stories, only it's no longer fiction."
Winslow typed more notes on her tablet. "That's very interesting, anything else?"
Decision time. Her gut instinct was to say nothing, but what if that interfered with catching the killers?
"Dr. Grey?" Winslow prompted.
A muttered "Shite" broke her tangled thoughts. She switched her gaze to Ian who had his phone pressed to his ear, his expression grave. He locked eyes with Ann and shook his head.
Ian cleared his throat. "That was Allan. Doug died a few moments ago."
Ann felt like someone had punched her. "What about Hooper?"
"He's in ICU but will recover."
Agent Winslow spoke up. "That's Roger Hooper, your CEO?"
