Ghosts in the Machine (A David and Martin Yerxa Thriller - Book 3)

by Ed Markham

  “Absolutely,” Gould said, nodding as he dragged and dropped files from one location to another on his computer. As the files loaded onto the flash drive, the student crossed his arms and turned to David. “I’m very, very fortunate. Vince only has two grad assistants a year, and almost every Ph.D. student and post-doc in CS wants to work with him.”

  “How’d you get so lucky?” Martin asked him.

  “I did a project he thought was interesting.”

  “Tell us about it,” David said.

  Gould was obviously proud of his work, and happy to discuss it. “Sure. By analyzing strings of words appearing in blocks of text in social media updates and posts, I was able to create idea maps showing the time points at which topics took hold and how they accrued popularity. Kind of like what Pithy and other sites do with ‘trending topics,’ but a little more high-level.”

  David made a face to show he was impressed.

  He glanced at his father, and saw Martin had lost interest and was picking through Beatrice’s books. David knew much of the Internet talk was lost on him.

  Speaking to Gould, he said, “For a guy who spends so much time with computers and the Internet, Vince doesn’t seem like a big fan.”

  The student considered this. “I wouldn’t say that. He’s just all about conscientious usage. He calls it learning to control the flame before starting a fire. He’s not anti-fire. He’s just trying to help people recognize the risks that come with the rewards.”

  “How long have you been his graduate assistant?”

  “Since the start of fall quarter—so eight months, roughly.”

  “Notice anything odd or concerning during that time?”

  “Anything odd?” Gould looked puzzled. “Like what?”

  David’s gaze was unflinching. “Just focus on my question. Anything odd or concerning. Does something pop into your head?”

  Gould started to flash his easy smile, but seeing David’s expression restrained him. He was quiet for a moment. “I wouldn’t call it odd. But I think the ideas summit really stressed Vince out.”

  “Why do you say that?” Martin said, taking interest again now that the conversation had moved away from the Internet and computers.

  Gould answered, “He told me, for one thing. That it was stressing him out. And since then he’s been out of the office more than usual. He said he hasn’t been sleeping, so he’s been working long hours at home and not coming in every day like he normally does.”

  David recalled what Beatrice had said about working his normal schedule in the weeks before and after the ideas summit. He peered around the office space and said to Gould, “Do you know why we’re speaking with you today, Derek?”

  “Not really,” the student said. “Vince told me some people from the FBI needed the ideas summit videos and transcripts. That’s it.”

  “We’re investigating Brad Ketchner’s death, and Garrison Pool’s disappearance.”

  He watched Gould’s eyes flit from side to side as the young man grasped the significance of this disclosure. For the first time, all the cheerfulness left the student’s face.

  “Hold on,” Gould said. “The FBI thinks Vince might have something to do with Brad Ketchner’s death?”

  David took his time answering. “The ideas summit was the last time Brad Ketchner and Garrison Pool were seen together in public. We thought it would be worth speaking to Vince. Considering the overlap between some of his ideas and the message that accompanied the Ketchy video yesterday, we thought he warranted some scrutiny.”

  As Gould digested this, David said, “Derek, we’re exploring every person we can tie to both Brad Ketchner and Garrison Pool. Vince is one of dozens of people we’re looking into, so I don’t want to alarm you. But if there’s anything else you can tell us that might be helpful, we want to hear it.”

  Gould leaned back in his chair and scratched the back of his head with his hands. “Vince is an amazing man,” he said finally. “He’s a genius, and he’s been generous and kind to me. It’s unthinkable that he could have anything to do with something like this.”

  David nodded slowly.

  When it was clear Gould had nothing to add to his declaration of loyalty, David said to him, “We heard he and Brad Ketchner had an argument during the summit.”

  Gould immediately started to reply, but David raised a hand to silence him.

  “We appreciate that you have a high regard for your professor,” he said. “It’s noted. But I need you to answer honestly if that argument with Ketchner seemed out of character for Vince.”

  Gould crossed his arms, and his knees bounced up and down as he considered this. “Yes I would describe it as out of character for him,” he said finally, looking as though this acknowledgment was some form of betrayal. He began to say more, but then stopped himself.

  David and Martin waited, and after a few seconds Gould went on. “I was surprised by it. I think everyone present was surprised by it. Vince is usually so mellow and in control, but as soon as Ketchner got into the tailored-search stuff he just lost it.”

  “Do you have video of the exchange?” Martin asked.

  “Oh,” Gould said, shaking his head as though he felt foolish not to have mentioned it earlier. “Yeah I do. I actually watched it again afterward just to be sure I hadn’t imagined the whole thing.” He clicked through several files and a video playback box appeared.

  When the video began, David saw Vince Beatrice standing on a small stage wearing a white button-up shirt and dark slacks. While the crowd was not visible in the shot, it was clear Beatrice was addressing a small but full room of spectators. A few feet behind him and off to one side stood Brad Ketchner.

  Beatrice began, “Now I have the pleasure of introducing one of our spotlight guests.”

  Ketchner stood with his hands clasped tightly at his waist, a pained smile twisting his face to one side as Beatrice enumerated his many achievements.

  David saw at the bottom of the video that it lasted nearly forty minutes, and he asked Gould to fast forward to the segment they’d been discussing. The student did as he was told, and picked up the video again just past the thirty-five-minute mark.

  “Brad, let’s be honest,” Beatrice was saying. It was clear from his tone and the expression on his face that he was already annoyed. “The people you’re addressing here aren’t naive. This personalized search algorithm”—he said it with naked disdain—“sounds like, among other things, a way for Ketchy to control the narrative and the type of content its visitors are directed to. I mean, how is that OK?”

  He looked around the room, attempting but mostly failing to laugh away his annoyance.

  “Vince, I have to respectfully disagree with that,” Ketchner replied smoothly. “I realize there are folks out there who see any kind of organization or filtering of information as harmful, but the reality is that the Internet is just so vast and getting more vast all the time. Some type of data funneling is necessary.”

  “I have no problem with organization or even funneling,” Beatrice replied, his voice rising. “But what you’re talking about here opens a door to all kinds of manipulation.”

  Ketchner frowned at him. “Let me ask you this,” he said, his own voice rising. “When your video streaming service suggests films or shows you might enjoy based on what you’ve watched in the past, do you consider that manipulative?”

  “Yes!” Beatrice shouted, his face reddening. “But that’s entertainment. I can live with that. The content Ketchy sorts and siphons is much, much broader and more significant. You’re the de facto gatekeeper of the World Wide Web, Brad. If it’s not on the first page of your search results, it might as well not exist. You have a responsibility.”

  Now Ketchner was raising his voice. “We have a responsibility to help our users find what they’re looking for with as little wasted time and effort as poss—”

  “Yes, what they’re looking for,” Beatrice interrupted. “Not what you decide to show them.”

/>   “Our responsibility—” Ketchner started to say again.

  “Is to your stakeholders,” Beatrice said, cutting him off. “Whoever the hell they are.”

  “Vince,” Ketchner said, wide-eyed and visibly stung by this last attack. “I don’t know what this is, but I’m not going to stand up here to be hectored.”

  Beatrice shot back, “If you’re not prepared to honestly answer questions about your company’s initiatives, then I’m not sure this summit is the right forum for you to present your ideas.”

  “No, I’m certain it’s not.” Shaking his head, Ketchner turned his back to the professor and walked off the stage.

  Beatrice watched him go. He stood for a moment, and then seemed to remember that there was an audience watching him. He forced a tight-lipped smile and said, “All right, everyone. Hope you enjoyed the show. Thanks.” With a small, distracted wave, he quickly departed the stage and the video ended.

  Martin grunted. “Didn’t look like Ketchner realized he had signed up for an inquisition.”

  “No,” Gould said. “Though to be honest, it was poor form for him to use the summit as a venue to announce a new Ketchy initiative. I think that’s part of what pissed Vince off.”

  Picking up on this, David asked him, “What was the other part?”

  “What?” Gould asked,

  “The other thing that might have contributed to Vince’s being pissed off.”

  Gould looked momentarily taken aback. “I don’t know why I put it that way,” he said. “I just meant that alone didn’t seem like enough to set Vince off.”

  At that moment David felt his cell buzz. Before answering it, he apologized to Gould for the interruption.

  The caller was Fred Takagi, the medical examiner David, Martin, and Andrea Dean had met with shortly after arriving in San Francisco.

  Takagi’s voice was somber. “Regarding the antibodies we discovered in Brad Ketchner’s blood serum samples, I have some news for you. I’m fairly certain I know now what stopped Mr. Ketchner’s heart.”

  .

  Chapter 21

  Mark Weissman was half awake for several minutes before consciousness fully dawned on him. As it did, his mind was first aware of the pain.

  He felt it everywhere. But then, gradually, both his thinking and the pain grew focused—like a flashlight beam walked toward a wall. He realized the pain was concentrated in his neck and his left knee. He blinked a few times, and the pain further tightened into two tight, throbbing loci.

  While he couldn’t recall the Taser, which was the source of the sharp ache in his neck, Weissman did remember tripping over something on the Presidio trail.

  During his youth as a standout attackman on his high school lacrosse team, a frustrated defender—trailing him as he blazed toward the net—had taken a desperate whack at the bottom of his stick. He had connected with his knee instead. Weissman had crumpled to the ground. Several of the major ligaments in his knee had snapped from the force of the blow, and he had never regained his former quickness and fluidity. Now he was sure several of those same ligaments had been torn again as he’d pitched forward and landed awkwardly on the trail.

  Reflexively, he reached to grope his injured joint. But his arm drew forward only a few inches before stopping fast. Turning his head to one side, Weissman felt the pain in his neck double. But through the pain, he understood that his hand was bound by some kind of restraint.

  It was only at this point that the last bits of fog cleared from his mind, and he noticed something was also wrong with his mouth. He hadn’t noticed it at first because it was not painful; it was simply present. His mouth was filled with something. Running his tongue over it, he could feel it was solid, round, and smooth.

  He tried to move his jaw, and as he did he took notice of his surroundings. The room around him was filled with a cool, indirect daylight—as though he were on the dark side of a house in a space with few windows. As he tried to discern the nature of the object that filled his mouth, he lifted his head. Despite the pain in his neck, he was able to look around. The walls were painted cinder blocks, bare of any decoration. Turning his head and making a butterfly motion with his arms, he could see they were bound by nylon cord. He also saw the wall to his left was much closer, and the bed on which he lay was pushed almost against it.

  Keeping his lower body immobile in order to avoid angering his injured knee, he tried to sit up and found his tethered arms would allow him to raise his head and torso only a foot off the bed. This was enough for him to see that his feet were also bound, and that the room around him was—like the walls he had glimpsed—an empty space.

  As the pain in his neck jabbed upward into the back of his skull, he let his head fall back onto the bed. He lay there, breathing through the object in his mouth and trying to will the pain away. And soon enough it dissipated, just as terror slipped into its place.

  Someone had abducted him, he thought. Someone had abducted him and bound him to a bed.

  His mind went first to Brad Ketchner, and then to the text messages he had received and the news of Garrison Pool.

  I’m a dead man, he thought. Despite the presence of the ball gag jammed into his mouth, he began to scream.

  .

  Chapter 22

  Fred Takagi invited David and Martin into his office. He closed the door and took a seat behind his desk. “Before I begin,” he said, “I want you to know I have not yet shared this information with anyone at the Bureau, including Section Chief Dean.”

  David nodded to show he appreciated that his warning of the previous day had been taken seriously.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Martin said. “What’s our mystery murder weapon?”

  “Based on the immunohistochemistry analysis I received today from our Sacramento lab, I feel confident saying that Mr. Ketchner died due to exposure to the rabies virus.”

  None of them spoke for a moment.

  “Rabies,” Martin said, breaking the silence. Then, to himself, he mumbled, “Mar-vin kwi thu.” He looked at his son.

  The black beast, David thought to himself.

  “Christ,” Martin said, “how did I never put that together? Shows how sharp your old man is. We all just assumed the kid had some crazy Vietnamese disease.”

  Takagi looked at them questioningly, and Martin told him, “Seeing that video of Brad Ketchner reminded me of a sick boy I saw while I was in Vietnam. I didn’t know the boy had rabies.”

  David said to the medical examiner, “Why wouldn’t the virus turn up during your post mortem?”

  Takagi folded his hands together and tapped his thumbs against his chin. “Rabies is not a virus I have much experience with, but I know that it kills by causing severe inflammation of the brain and spinal cord.” He paused. “Ironically, the body’s aggressive inflammation response is very effective at eradicating the rabies virus, which dies before its host succumbs. The host still has no hope of recovery, but all this makes it hard to identify the rabies virus post mortem.

  “No hope of recovering?” Martin repeated. “None at all?”

  Takagi shook his head. “Absolutes are virtually absent in the science of epidemiology, but in the case of rabies the virus is deadly in every case. It’s a perfect killer.”

  “So if I’m bit by a rabid animal, that’s it for me,” Martin said. “I’m a goner? End of story?”

  Takagi shook his head. “Depending on the site of your bite, the virus can take months—even years—to reach your brain. At any time during that incubation period, vaccine treatments can successfully kill the rabies virus before it can do you harm.”

  David asked, “What sort of symptoms indicate the virus has reached its host’s brain?”

  “Fever, headaches, gastrointestinal pain and other influenza-like symptoms are all common.”

  David thought of the reports he had heard from both Amelia Pool and Brad Ketchner’s doctor. Both Ketchner and Pool had been sick in the days leading up to their disappearances. E
ven before they were taken, David realized, both men were as good as dead. They just hadn’t known it.

  Takagi went on, “Those symptoms last one to four days, and after that time neurological and behavioral symptoms dominate.”

  “I’m assuming those include the kinds of things we saw yesterday in that video of Ketchner?” Martin asked.

  The medical examiner nodded. “Mania, motor hyperactivity, and incoherent or illogical speech are all hallmarks. Also, famously, a fear of water. People find themselves unable to swallow even when lucid and complaining of dire thirst. They attempt to bring water up to their lips, but cannot drink. The virus’s activity is impinged by hydration, and so it ensures its host cannot tolerate water.”

  Hearing this, David remembered the foamy spittle he saw collected at the corners of the mouth of Garrison Pool’s corpse. He asked Takagi, “Is it possible to test someone for the presence of rabies before they show symptoms?”

  The medical examiner shook his head. “If a person was bitten by a rabid animal, the animal can be tested for rabies. But until the person shows symptoms—that is, until it’s too late—there is no test for the virus. Those who suspect they may be infected are vaccinated as a safeguard.”

  “How long could a person live once these symptoms set in?”

  “Usually no more than five days,” Takagi said. “The inflammation of the brain and spinal cord leads to cardio-respiratory failure, though faster deaths due to seizure are also common.”

  “So if this is our murder weapon,” Martin said, “how would someone get their hands on it and weaponize it? I mean, how do you infect someone with rabies?”

  Takagi considered this. “Any number of animal- or disease-research facilities would have samples of the virus. We have samples ourselves at our Sacramento lab. Any method of injection would lead to infection. Ingestion might also, though that would be far less certain and likely slow to take effect.”