Brave New World - A Sam Prichard Mystery (Sam Prichard, Mystery, Thriller, Suspense, Private Investigator Book 15)

by David Archer

  “That’s a very good way of putting it,” Rice said. “One of the things that Joel can do is find out instantly about a particular building or place. All he’s got to do is query the Google maps system, which we’ve made it easy to do with the interface, and he can instantly know everything about the place. If he wants to know a particular route to a destination, he can even download turn by turn directions directly into his brain, so that he’ll follow them automatically.”

  “What about just getting through the day?” Sam asked. “Does any of this interfere with normal life for you?”

  “Oh, no,” Joel said. “If anything, it makes it all easier. I have access to unlimited amounts of information, and one of the interesting things is that most of that information can be applied real-time. Here’s an example: a couple of days ago, I was on my way to work and my car stalled on the highway. Now, I have absolutely no personal experience with auto mechanics at all, but I was able to Google the symptoms the car was showing when it died, and I instantly knew that it was a failure of the electronic fuel injection system. If I had actually had the tools with me, I probably could have fixed it, because the step-by-step instructions for my exact make, model, and engine were available in my head.”

  “So you can gain practical knowledge this way?” Sam asked.

  “Practical knowledge, yes,” Joel said. “Practical ability, not necessarily. One of the earliest experiments we did was to have me download a book on karate, and then I went into a room to spar with another of our employees who happens to be a brown belt. Now, in my head, I could see every move I needed to make, I could plan what I was going to do, I could even anticipate what my opponent was going to do, but I could not even come close to making my muscles cooperate. In the hour I spent in there with him, I got thrown and kicked and punched more than in all the rest of my life together.”

  “Other experiments,” Rice said, “were a bit more successful. Tell him about the piano.”

  Joel grinned. “I downloaded a book on playing the piano. It contained charts for the keyboard, reference charts for notes and chords and all that stuff, and so they sat me down at a piano. Now, the first few minutes sounded like there were a couple of cats fighting inside among the strings, but I was able to play a fairly recognizable version of one of Beethoven’s compositions after only about half an hour. Since then, I've been practicing and I can play just about anything as long as I have the sheet music, but I’m not really musically talented. Even though I can play it, it doesn’t really sound all that great. My sister, who happens to be a musician, says it’s because I don’t put any emotion into it.”

  “This is actually quite amazing,” Sam said. “I can see an awful lot of potential for it. Doctors could have all of the knowledge in all of their textbooks right inside their heads, but they’d still need a lot of training in order to put that knowledge to work. The upside would be that it would probably take a lot less time for them to reach a level of competency, and I guess that would apply to just about any field. Engineers, lawyers, dentists, even less prestigious occupations like construction workers or mechanics could greatly shorten the time it took to learn their trade.”

  “All true,” Rice said, “but before we get too excited about those things, remember that there are much more practical applications. The greatest benefits of BCI technology are in the field of regenerative and reconstructive medicine. With the fourth-generation chip that Joel has, for instance, we could blindfold him and use the camera on his cell phone to transmit visual data to the chip, which he would then be able to ‘see’ through the transmission of information with the LEDs. Now, his chip is not quite sophisticated enough to give him true vision, equal to what you and I see now; it would be more like an old black and white TV, but the latest chip would certainly be able to do so. It can also be used to transmit a signal from the brain to a receiving unit implanted, for instance, below a break in the spinal cord, so that paralyzed legs can begin to work again. The gen-five chip is capable of sending clear signals to paralyzed limbs so that the patient could literally get up and walk. We are approaching the age when physical disabilities from trauma will be a thing of the past. Even things like deafness, loss of the sense of smell or touch or taste, all of these things will eventually be recoverable through BCI.”

  “And those benefits are more important to the world than the ability to store tons of information,” Sam said. “I can see that, even now.” He looked at Rice and Streeter. “So, shall we start talking about how to recover the stolen prototype?”

  Rice smiled from ear to ear. “Absolutely,” he said.

  7

  Rice had gone, leaving Joel Streeter behind with Sam. The young man seemed pleased about it, and peppered Sam with questions about some of his adventures.

  “Let me guess,” Sam said. “You discovered my wife’s blog, right?”

  Joel grinned. “She’s actually a very good writer,” he said. “Her only problem, in my opinion, is that she tends to leave out certain details. For example, I’m dying to know how you managed to trick the guy who wanted to be antichrist into giving up his accomplices. She only said she couldn't reveal it because it could affect national security.”

  “Which is part of the reason why I can’t tell you now,” Sam said. “The other part is that I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Ah, I see,” Joel said. “It's all still classified, right?”

  “I don’t know if it’s classified,” Sam said, “I just know that I don’t remember how I did it, assuming I did. I've come to the conclusion that she takes a little bit of literary license with her blogs about my adventures.”

  “No, seriously? Oh, man, that just sucks.” He stared at the floor for a moment, but then his face brightened. “In that case, you ought to tell her to expand the stories into books. She could probably make a lot of money selling them on Amazon, and you got enough followers on her blog and Twitter that you could probably sell a lot of them right off the bat.”

  “Somehow I don’t think Uncle Sam would care for that idea. Listen, Joel, I've got just enough time to go grab a bite of lunch. Would you like to come along?”

  “Sure. Do we get to ride in your Corvette?”

  Sam grimaced. “I guess she hasn’t brought the blog up to date, yet. I’m afraid the Corvette met its end a few months ago. I lost control while a nutcase was chasing us in a stolen police car, and the car was broken into three pieces. It's a miracle we even survived, but Indie actually gave birth to my son a few hours later, and thank God they both came out of it healthy.”

  Joel’s eyebrows looked like they were going to crawl over the top of his forehead. “Dude! You have got to tell me the story. I mean, I’ll go nuts if I don’t know the rest of it.”

  Sam winked at him. “Sure you don’t want to wait for the book?” He walked out the door with Joel trailing behind, begging for more information.

  The begging stopped, however, when they got to the parking lot and Joel saw the Mustang. “Holy geez,” he said. “That’s a 1969 Mustang Mach 1, isn’t it?”

  Sam grinned. “Yep. 428 Cobra Jet, four-speed, all numbers matching. Are you gonna get in, or would you rather make love to it?” Sam got behind the wheel as Joel scrambled to get into the shotgun seat.

  They drove out of the parking lot and headed toward the business district. “Anything particular you have a taste for?” Sam asked.

  Joel closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “There are eleven restaurants within five minutes of us,” he said. “Eight of them are sit-down places that would probably take too long, two of them are typical chain fast food places, but there is a spot called Bad Daddy’s Burger Bar that has pretty fast service and carry out.”

  Sam stared at him. “That was an example of what you can do with that chip?”

  Joel grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, sort of. Mr. Rice would probably get irritated if he knew I did that, but sometimes it’s just easier than trying to look it up on the phone
or something.”

  “Hey, I’m not complaining,” Sam said. “I’ve never been to Bad Daddy’s, but I've heard of it. Let’s give it a try.”

  “Cool. Take a left at the next intersection and go to the second light.”

  With Joel getting directions, they arrived at the restaurant only three minutes later. There didn’t seem to be a drive up window, so they went inside and sat at the counter while they ordered burgers to go. Sam had the Magic Mushroom Burger, with several different kinds of mushrooms, Swiss cheese, and other things Sam decided he couldn't even pronounce, while Joel went for the Bad Ass Burger, which Sam thought looked bigger than he was. The food arrived in less than ten minutes, Sam paid the tab, and Joel carried the bag back to the Mustang. They were back at the office only four minutes later, and Sam led the way to the break room.

  There was a large cooler in the break room that was stocked with many different kinds of soft drinks, which Ron and Jeff provided for free. Sam grabbed a root beer and Joel followed suit, and they sat at one of the tables to eat their lunch.

  A big man Sam didn’t recognize walked up to the table and smiled at him. “Are you Mr. Prichard?”

  Sam looked up and grinned, forcing himself to swallow the bite he had just taken. “Oh, excuse me,” he said. “I am.”

  “I’m Rob, Rob Feinstein. I was on your security detail the night your son was born. I didn’t get a chance to meet you then, but I wanted to come over and say it’s good to have you aboard.”

  Sam quickly wiped his mouth and hand with a napkin, then stuck out a hand to shake. Rob took it and they shook firmly, but without the hand squeezing pissing contest that seems common to big and muscular men.

  “Thank you,” Sam said. “I appreciate the fact you were there.”

  “Oh, we didn’t actually get to do anything,” Rob said. “From what I heard, you had the situation well under control before we ever got there. I just wanted to introduce myself and shake your hand, I’ll let you get back to your lunch.” He smiled at Joel and walked away.

  The two of them finished eating and went back to Sam’s office. It was almost two, which was when Sam had scheduled a conference with the investigators. Two of them, Steve Beck and Summer Raines, were already waiting in the anteroom when they got there. Sam told them to come in, and told Jenna to send the rest in as soon as they arrived.

  The others showed up only a few minutes later, and they all took their seats around the conference table. Jenna came in as well, and slid aside a large panel on the wall to expose a big video monitor. “I’ve got visuals ready for your presentation,” she said quietly to Sam. He nodded, as if he had some idea what she was talking about.

  Sam introduced Joel as their liaison with CerebroLink, and then began explaining what the case was all about. As he began explaining the incredible power of the BCI chip, Jenna used a tablet computer to put various images on the screen. The investigators were all, with the exception of Walter Rawlins, taking notes, scribbling them in simple little notebooks, and the visuals actually seemed to make it all easier for them to understand. Sam was just a little bit jealous that he hadn’t gotten to see such a presentation, but he wasn't about to let it show.

  When he got to the part about the theft and the resulting murders, he was a little surprised to see that Jenna had photos ready. Doctor Williamson’s picture was displayed on the screen as Sam was talking about how he was killed, and then the picture changed to Barton Medell. Sam continued, explaining how Medell had apparently contacted the same poison that killed Williamson, and died sometime later that night.

  The next photo was of Stephen McGill. Unfortunately, it was a morgue photo showing the bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Sam shared with the investigators the same information he had been given, and they jotted it all down.

  “Now, the only thing we genuinely know at the moment is that the chip is missing. We are currently assuming that Doctor Williamson is the one who took it, and that Mr. McGill arranged for it to be sold or traded, or otherwise delivered, to whoever wanted it. All of this is nothing but conjecture at this point, because we have no physical evidence to back it up. From what I was told earlier today, there is no security footage that shows Doctor Williamson taking the chip, because the camera in the clean room where it was stored was apparently disabled by simply unplugging the computer that was recording the video. Without that video evidence, and lacking any physical evidence like fingerprints which were not found, it’s impossible to be certain that Doctor Williamson was the one who actually took the chip from the facility.”

  “So,” Steve Beck said, “we’re actually flying blind here. We know the chip was taken, and we know that Williamson and these other men were murdered, but the only actual connection we’ve got is a guess.”

  “Exactly,” Sam said. “For that reason, I’m going to approach this case as having a number of unknown factors.” He ticked off items on his fingers. “One, we need to ascertain exactly who took the chip from the clean room. Two, we need to know whether Williamson was ever actually in possession of the chip or not. Three, assuming that Williamson did carry the chip out of the facility, we need to determine where it was taken. Four, we need to know why Williamson was killed. Five, we need to know why McGill was killed. Six, we need to know who received the chip. Seven, we need to know who killed Williamson, Medell and McGill. Eight, we need to know where the chip was taken. And nine, we need to know the motive behind the theft. Now, we don’t necessarily need to determine those things in order, but they are all questions we have to answer. If we can find answers to at least five of these questions, we can probably determine where the chip is and what we’ll have to do to get it back. Any questions?”

  Steve nodded his head. “Considering that Williamson and his driver both died the night the chip went missing, I think we should devote some resources to tracking their movements in the days prior to their deaths. It looks to me like a fairly straightforward connection, that Williamson was killed, and his driver became collateral damage, in order to prevent him ever revealing what he did with the chip. I realize I’m assuming he stole it, but I don’t think I’m that far off the mark in doing so.”

  “I agree completely,” Sam said. “Steve, I’m going to send you to San Francisco to work on that yourself. I want you to take Walter with you, and let him see if he can come to a conclusion about how the theft occurred.”

  “I can see it, I can see it,” Walter said. “Show me the way, I can see it.”

  Steve grinned at him. “I’m cool with that,” he said. “Me and Walter get along good, don’t we, Walter?”

  “I get along with Steve,” Walter said.

  Sam nodded. “Okay, that’s settled. Joel will arrange for someone to meet you at the airport and provide transportation, and see to it you have access to the clean room and any other part of their facility you need to see. Right, Joel?”

  Joel had his eyes closed for twenty seconds, then opened them. “It's already arranged,” he said. “Stanley Harper is one of our drivers, he’ll pick them up at the airport. All I need to do is let him know when their flight will arrive.”

  The investigators were looking at Joel closely, and Sam saw the same question on several of their faces. He decided not to answer it just yet, though. “Okay, who’s next?”

  Jade waved a finger in the air and Sam pointed at her. “Go ahead,” he said.

  “I think motive would be pretty obvious,” Jade said. “We’re talking about something that’s incredibly valuable, what with all the medical potential it has, let alone all the other possibilities. Seems to me that someone would have bought it for an awful lot of money just to be the first to take it to market.”

  Sam grimaced. “And you could be right, but there are other possible uses for this technology that could change the situation drastically. Let me give you a very graphic example. You all looked at Joel kind of funny when he said arrangements for Walter and Steve were already made. The reason he could say that is because he ma
de them while he was sitting right there. Joel is actually the first human recipient of one of these chips, the only one who actually has one at the moment. He got the last one before the one that was stolen. Generation four, they call it. Using it, he just sent a message back to San Francisco to arrange for someone to pick them up. Am I right, Joel?”

  “Yes and no,” Joel said. “While I was the first recipient of the gen-4 chip, I’m not the only one. There are four other people who have had the procedure, although only one other has the generation four chip, like me. There are two who had generation three, and one who has generation two. As for my arranging for someone to pick them up, that was absolutely correct. My chip can access the internet through this special phone that I carry,” he held it up, “which contains the transceiver that allows my chip to send and receive messages through cell towers, or if necessary, directly through satellite relay.”

  Everyone, except for Sam and Walter, was staring at Joel.

  “But,” Jade said, “you mean you can communicate telepathically with this thing?”

  Joel shook his head. “It's not telepathy,” he said. “It's really no different than making a call through VoIP, except for the fact that my chip can read the electromagnetic pulses in my brain and interpret them into language, which is sent out from my phone. I've heard what it sounds like on the other end, and it’s a lot like any other computer generated voice. It's pretty dry, no emotion or anything, but the information gets through just fine. When I receive a reply, the phone relays it to my chip, which then uses the LED light pulses to embed the response directly into my brain. I don’t as much hear it as I simply know it; it’s like I ‘remember’ the information instantly. It took a lot longer for Harper to say his response than for my brain to receive it when it arrived. Because of the chip, though, the entire conversation actually took a lot less time than if I had called him on the phone and said and heard the exact same things.”