by Robert Graf
Alex walked in and kissed her. "Penny for your thoughts?"
"That was the embassy. The prototype is shipping in a day or so." She motioned towards her tablet. "I was trying to figure out who would know and care enough to do something."
He glanced at the screen then back at her, lips tight with worry.
Uh oh. She was learning to read his moods. "What is it?"
"I gave you bad advice about not telling your FBI buddy. Call and tell her everything, and I do mean everything, including your speculations."
"Why? What’s changed?” she asked getting annoyed. "I agreed with you because deep down I distrust the government."
He held up his hand. “I’m not saying that's irrational, but we're sitting ducks. The more I thought about your company’s disasters and the attempts to kill us and Farid’s horrific ordeal, the more worried I became. Please."
She couldn’t see the future. All she could do was react, and that was a losing strategy. "I already decided to confess to that reporter. As for the authorities, don't forget Farid. I'm afraid they'll get hold of him, suck him dry and stuff him away in a dark hole."
"So long as he stays in Cairo I feel he's safe. I saw the expression on his brother's face when you told him about the bombings. I bet you his so-called family is a clan or tribe. I saw how that works in Afghanistan. No, I'm worried about you."
She gazed at his concerned, unbandaged face for a long moment. "All right." She picked up her phone and tapped Winslow's code. A brief buzz and…
"Winslow."
No visual. Why does she do that? "It's Ann Grey."
Winslow’s annoyed face appeared. "Another problem?"
"No, a confession."
“I'm listening."
"I talked to Farid. He knows who kidnapped him the second time, it was a Member of Parliament named Swales."
No change of expression. "The British have informed us about his escape. What you're alleging is their problem. My responsibility and authority are here in the US."
"There's more. All this started weeks ago after MacDougal informed Swales about the EntComs; they're old acquaintances."
Winslow’s eyes narrowed. "When did you learn this?"
She consulted her Diary. "Three weeks ago."
"Dr. Grey, listen to me very carefully. I'm going to forget this conversation. Hire a lawyer." Winslow vanished.
Ann's hand shook as she put down the phone. "I'm so screwed."
"What's wrong?"
"She told me to get a lawyer, and that she'd forget the conversation." She felt sick. "I'm scared, Alex. She all but said I'd be arrested." She slammed her fist on the counter. "God damn it, why did I listen to you?" she yelled.
He flinched but held her gaze. "It was the right thing to do. The longer you waited, the worse the consequences. If she'd found out on her own I have no doubt you would have been arrested."
"Now she doesn't trust me."
"Maybe not, anyway it’s MacDougal who's in deep shit. And before you go off defending him, consider your situation. You admire this guy, no, don't try and deny it, I've seen your expression when you talk about him. There's stuff he's not telling you, and this isn't jealousy talking."
It isn’t? "I know he was in British intelligence, maybe even a spook, but that was years ago." She trailed off. What about that court martial? "Does that have anything to do with today?"
"No way to know, just be careful. I'll bet there's a tap on his phone before lunch. That abomination, the Patriot Act, was never rescinded." His expression turned contrite. "Still want that portrait?"
She calmed down. "Yes, and a separate copy to throw darts at."
He grinned. "I'll call Lynn, she might know a good criminal lawyer."
Her phone chirped. "Enough already!" She glanced at the phone. Colette.
“That reporter is back."
"It's that damn reporter” she told Alex. “I told him to call ahead, but he's here."
"Might as well get it over with. Want me to hide?"
"No."
"I'll talk to him," she told Colette. She strode to the front door and opened it.
The same stocky, casually-dressed man stood looking at her. "Come in Mr…," she'd forgotten his name.
"Gerome Litton, Dr. Grey, I cover science issues for the Chronicle," he finished, proffering a business card. "I promise to not take much of your time."
Right, and she’s the Queen of Hearts. She motioned him inside and closed the door. "Let's talk in the kitchen," she said, leading the way. She sat next to Alex, noticing her tablet was off. She glanced at him, and he winked.
Litton took the end stool and removed something resembling an oversize phone from his pocket. "Dr. Grey, I like to use this recorder for interviews. Is that acceptable?"
"That's fine. So, what do you want to know?"
The reporter studied Alex. "And this is?" he asked, taking in the bandaged face and blue arm cast in the sling.
"This is Alex, ask away."
"You're aware of the latest developments with NASA's Jupiter project?"
Feign ignorance. Maybe she could learn something. "Which ones?"
"The arrest of a suspect charged with causing the engine explosion and fatality that crippled the mission?"
"I read about it. What a horrible thing."
"Isn't it, though. I was intrigued enough by a rumor about the Jupiter ship on the NothingButTruth to do some digging. My sources tell me you were at the Space Center monitoring your EntCom devices and made a direct contribution to the arrest. Can you explain that?"
She’d asked for it. "I had nothing to do with any investigation or arrest. I happened to be present when a message describing the faulty engine components failed to transmit and was able to remedy the problem."
"This was before any repairs were made?"
"Yes."
His brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "I don't understand. What did that have to do with the saboteur?"
"I determined that the failed message was false, factually incorrect. The only way that could have occurred was through unbelievable negligence or a deliberate act."
He frowned. "How could you possibly know that?"
"Not me, the EntComs. An unexpected feature of their entangled state is they know whether a message is correct or not; they're fact-checkers."
The reporter stared at her as if she'd grown another head. "Excuse me?"
"What I said, Mr. Litton." She enjoyed the expressions flitting across his face.
He shook his head. "My background inquiries say you're a competent physicist, respected in your field, and you're telling me something straight out of the National Enquirer?"
"That's correct. Ask Assistant Director Toffler or Dr. Morito at NASA for corroboration."
"I intend to." The reporter seemed at a loss for words. "Give me an example."
"I tried sending 'In 1492 Christopher Columbus did not discover America '; it failed. The correct fact went through. I've successfully tested hundreds of messages. NASA has done its own testing."
"That's impossible."
There's that look again. "I agree, but there it is."
"You expect me to believe this?"
She laughed at his wide-eyed expression. "Yours is the exact response I've had from everyone I've ever told. At first I was annoyed, then angry, and then resigned. Now I'm amused." She regarded him a moment, why not? "In a few days I'll have my prototype up and working. Call me, and I'll demonstrate it."
His eyes lit up. "You're on. I live in town and would jump at the chance. Who else knows about this miraculous ability? I've seen nothing on the Web."
"I couldn't say, dozens certainly, including the FBI and the Vatican."
The reporter's eyes widened even more. "The Church?"
"Yes. Are you Catholic?"
"No. Why would the Church be interested?"
"You said it, miraculous ability. Their research group, whatever it's called, that investigates miracles is keenly interested." She nearly blew it a
nd mentioned they bought a system.
The reporter's professional demeanor had vanished, and he acted quite flustered. "How does it work?"
Ann spread her hands. "That is the question. I intend to find out, and that'll take time, maybe years. The one hard fact I have is that testable events must predate entanglement. The ability does not include the present or future relative to that date."
"Global Communication is investigating it?"
"I wouldn't know. This time tomorrow I'll have officially resigned."
"Because?"
"Personal reasons."
He waited for her to explain, but she remained silent.
"Would you give me the name of a contact there?"
"Sure. Roger Hooper, the CEO."
"Change of subject. Why the security?"
"Surely you know about the letter bomb?"
"Yes, that's on my list of topics to discuss. Why would anyone target you?"
"I don't know,” she lied. “You'd have to ask the FBI. As for the security, I'm trying to stay alive."
He eyed her suspiciously. "Is this tied to the saboteur?"
"I wish I knew. I have nothing to even speculate on, and it makes me paranoid."
"I can imagine."
Ann doubted that. "Are we finished?"
Litton pocketed his recorder. "For now. I've been a reporter for twenty five years and pride myself in never being surprised at anything I hear anymore. Your revelation has completely punctured that belief." A rueful grin crossed his face. "My editor is going to react the way I did, but he'll publish, he wouldn't dare sit on it. May I offer a bit of advice?"
"Such as?"
"This story will become an international sensation. You have no concept of the pressures that will be put on you. Tell your security people what you've told me. One other thing, if this story proves to be true, you've given me a Pulitzer."
And her a Nobel, only not posthumously. "It's true, check it out," she said, standing.
She let him lead the way to the front door, opened it and ushered him out. She walked back to the kitchen, considering his warning. "Well, what do you think?" she asked Alex.
He frowned. "You shook him up. I think that's good, but his article will tell. He can shade it disbelieving, sarcastic, amazed, whatever. I suspect he's right about fallout."
"So, I should tell Behrendt?"
"Yes, and the police."
"Police?"
"I pray I'm wrong, but your house could become the focus of a circus, mobs surrounding it, TV vans, helicopters, tour buses..."
She listened with growing unease to his litany before the twitch at the corner of his mouth clued her in. She grabbed a dishtowel and threw it at him.
He laughed.
"Don't do that. You really had me going."
"I exaggerated, but not by much. Do call them before tomorrow."
"Yes, sir. What's for lunch?"
"PB and J, it's my usual lunch when I'm in the field. Is that OK?"
"Fine with me." She looked around the kitchen. "What say after lunch we download a movie and call it a day? I can't do anything 'till the prototype arrives."
He smiled. "You're on. I’ll try not to fall asleep"
Ann finished her sandwich just as the front door bell rang. “Now what?” She walked out to the living room and opened the front door. “Mr. O'Connor, what a surprise.”
"Dr. Grey, I've brought your replacement phones and tablets," he said, holding out a cloth bag. "There's postits on the devices with simple instructions and hardcopy manuals. I have another appointment, but you should have no problem setting them up. One ironclad rule: You may copy your personal data from your old devices, but under no circumstances are you to copy apps or any kind of software. Is that understood?"
Ann took the bag, surprised at its weight. "Yes and thank you," she said. "There's something I think you should know."
"Yes?" he said, eyeing her warily.
"This morning a Chronicle reporter interviewed me about the EntComs and fact-checking. His article will appear in the next couple days. He warned me that the publicity could be overwhelming."
O'Connor sighed. "More reporters and gawkers?"
"That's what he said."
"If that occurs I'll have to add guards, or you'll have to go into hiding. Pray that it doesn't." He turned, and she closed the door.
Hiding? She didn’t like that at all. She carried the bag into the kitchen and dropped it on the table. "Look what the Easter bunny brought."
With his good hand Alex unzipped the bag and removed two phones and cased tablets. He kept one set and pushed the other to Ann.
She booted the tablet, then spent several frustrating moments customizing it before she had anything resembling her old tablet. "You having any problem?"
Alex didn’t look up. "Yeah, I miss my customized icons and software. How about you?"
"Getting there. We're only allowed to copy personal data onto the new devices, no apps or other executables. I understand O'Connor's concern, even so it's annoying."
"He's very thorough, and he's correct.”
"At least we didn't have to get new accounts."
[Wednesday, Petaluma]
The DHL driver, in the distinctive red and yellow shirt, proffered his tablet. "Sign here, Ma'am." His assistant wheeled the last wooden crate on the handcart and deposited it by the spare bedroom.
Ann verified the bill of lading matched the crates, then signed at the designated 'X'.
The driver tapped a few commands and pocketed the tablet. "Have a good day," he said and strode out the door past the watchful Collette.
"Now what?" Alex asked.
"We unpack and figure out how to reassemble the prototype in the spare bedroom."
He regarded the crates and sighed. "Can't we call it something besides prototype? How about Fred?"
"Fred? That's weird." What did Ian call it? "How about Clio? She was one of the Muses, her specialty was history."
He shrugged. "Seems fitting. You have a pry bar?"
Another detail she'd neglected. The crates’ lids were fastened shut with thick, u-shaped wire clamps. "Let me check.” In the kitchen she rummaged through the miscellaneous drawer and found a screw driver and a hammer.
He frowned. "Should work… ”
“You be careful of that hand."
"Yes, dear."
With much cursing and a little sweat they managed. Only once did she mash a finger that hurt like hell and required a Band-Aid. One crate held a 240 to 120 volt converter which she left. Another contained her notebooks and photos taken by Ian's man so many weeks ago. She slit open the plastic wrapping with scissors and laid the photos out on the couch.
Alex studied the photos. "This is Clio, the repository of all knowledge? It’s a plumber’s nightmare."
"That's her. All we have to do is make her work again. Piece of cake."
Alex rolled his good eye but prudently didn't comment.
It wasn't a piece of cake. Alex suggested removing the mattress and box springs and using the bed frame. She found a sheet of plywood in the garage that they laid across the bed frame slats. They arranged the electronics, lasers, and exotic matter cylinders in their respective cradles on the plywood. Power supplies lay on the floor. The flat screens and keyboards and printer were connected side-by-side on bedside tables.
By then it was past noon, and they quit for lunch. Ann prepared cheese sandwiches while Alex mixed a carafe of iced tea.
"You think it will work?" Alex asked, munching his sandwich and sipping from a tall glass.
"I'll get it working, there's no doubt about that. The problem is the entanglement. If that's broken, I can’t re-entangle Clio. It could be weeks before I can get more natronium from the Israeli supplier." She finished eating. "We’ll need to go shopping this afternoon."
"For what?"
"A vacuum pump. I intend to try the trick I used in Oregon."
"Which was?" he asked in an exasperated tone.
"Natronium is a gas at room temperature. I need to remix it, lase the mixture to re-entangle it, split it and put it back in the individual containers."
"I read a little about exotic matter. I can't say I learned much other than it's different from, say, this sandwich. And I’ve gotta say entanglement is very weird."
"Entanglement is the heart of quantum mechanics. Einstein called it 'spooky' and couldn’t accept it. He claimed quantum mechanics was an incomplete theory. And my discovery demonstrates he was right, yet he didn’t know the half of it. If the books I picked are too technical, try popular media like Scientific American.” Seeing his doubtful expression she added, "You can handle the math.”
"As for the exotic matter, by chance we discovered a gas used in quantum physics experiments, that when entangled using appropriate frequency lasers, allowed for instant communication. By entangled I mean the gas molecules were now inseparable, in a quantum state sense, on a sub-atomic level, sort of a molecular orgy. We split them into two separate populations and maintain entanglement with the lasers.
When Clio changes quantum properties in the transmitting gas, that change is instantly echoed in the receiver. Clio controls the changes allowing information to be exchanged. No data passes between the transmitter and receiver. That’s what bothered Einstein, and, I should add, many other physicists, even today. John Bell developed a mathematical proof in the 60’s that was verified experimentally. "
"You and your husband figured this out?"
"Yeah. That was a long time ago, and we had a lot of fights over it. We were laughed at, even ridiculed. We eventually published our theory, built the prototype, Clio, and here we are." She sighed in frustration. "Fact-checking forces me to rethink everything, even reconsider the existence of wormholes. It's a mess." His stare made her uncomfortable. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You seem so ordinary, but..." He shook his head.
"Alex, I pull my pants on one leg at a time."
He leered at her. "So I noticed."
She blushed. "Enough, I need to get our bodyguards, or do you want to stay home?"
"I'm going stir-crazy, let's go shopping."
They waited an hour for their security to show up. The apologetic Ellen and Jerry explained O’Connor wasn’t given enough warning. Ann accepted their apology with ill grace. She hadn’t wasted the time. Web searches found local sources for the equipment. By the time they found and purchased a surge suppressor, a vacuum pump, hoses and eye protectors, and brought them home, they were tired and grumpy.
