by David Archer
“Air Force?” Sam repeated. “Where is he stationed, do you know?”
“It’s not in his personnel records,” Joel said. “Give me a moment.” He closed his eyes, but opened them almost immediately. “Found him. He’s stationed at Hickham Field, at Pearl Harbor. He’s an airframe mechanic.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Okay. This guy just seems to be one mystery wrapped in another.”
“Can I see where he worked?” Becky asked suddenly. Joel looked at Sam, who nodded.
“Sure,” Joel said. “We were going to the BCI lab next, anyway.” He led off down the hall, and the rest of them followed. They went about two hundred yards, and then Joel turned and opened a door on the left.
The room was a lot less impressive than Sam would have expected. There were a dozen people seated at desks, all of them working on computers. There were two empty desks, and Joel led them directly to one of those.
Becky sat in the chair and looked at the computer and other contents of the desk for a moment. “Nothing personal,” she said. “There’s nothing to indicate that a human actually worked here. No pictures, no flowers, no sign that he had any connection to the real world at all.” She looked up at Joel. “I’m curious, but can you find anything on when he was a kid?”
Joel closed his eyes for about ten seconds, and then they popped open suddenly. “Holy cow,” he said. “I can’t get into it, because the record is sealed, but apparently he spent time in a juvenile prison. I can’t see the actual record, but there is a notation in his personnel file saying he spent three years in the N. A. Chaderjian Juvenile Detention Center for assault and attempted murder. Went in when he was just short of being fifteen, and got out when he turned eighteen.”
Sam’s eyes were open wide. “Well, that’s interesting. That means he’s already got a criminal proclivity. Does it say anything about gang activity? Triads, that sort of thing?”
Joel shook his head. “No, there aren’t any details. Just that notation, that’s all.”
“Okay, so he did his time and got out, and then went to college?” Becky asked.
“Yes. I’m guessing he must have gotten his high school diploma while he was in the detention center, because he entered college only a few weeks later. According to his college record, he worked his way through four years of engineering school. He majored in electrical engineering, and took minors in physiology and anatomy.”
“It kind of sounds like he knew what he wanted to do,” Pat said.
“Well,” Joel said, “those would be the appropriate courses to take if you were looking at a career in bioelectrical engineering. I wonder what got him interested?”
“How long was he on the BCI project?” Sam asked. “I mean, did he work in any other department before that?”
Joel’s eyes closed, and then popped open again almost immediately. “Actually, he did. He started out in prosthetic design. His big interest seemed to have been in noninvasive nerve connectivity. That means finding a way to get electrical impulses from the nerves without having to insert needles into the skin. It was considered pretty important for a while there, because it would make fully functional bioelectrical prostheses much easier to put to work. He actually pulled off a couple of big breakthroughs in that department, designing a nerve impulse receptor. It looks like a sock made of some kind of metal mesh, but it can detect nerve impulses under the skin. He would have someone wear it while they were pretending to move arms, hands, and fingers and such, so he could read the particular impulses involved in each motion. That led him to designing a system that could interpret those impulses and deliver the proper instructions to a prosthetic device.”
“He sounds like a genius,” Sam said. “Was that the work that got him transferred to BCI?”
“I’m not really sure. It definitely got him some accolades within the company, so I guess they might have moved him to BCI as some sort of reward.”
“And I’m guessing that he exceeded expectations there, as well?”
“By orders of magnitude,” Joel said. “He was the one who came up with the ultra-miniature LED that allows the chip to implant information directly into the brain. Before he tried it, nobody thought there was any possibility that the brain could interpret flashes of light.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Sam said. “I can remember reading about experiments with light being shined on different parts of the brain and causing things to happen. Wouldn’t that be where that technology came from?”
“You’re talking about the photobiomodulation experiments. They found that certain mental and physical disorders responded to red or near-infrared light that was literally shined right through the skull, and it has shown a lot of promise. What Chang did, though, was demonstrate that other colors of light also affected the tissues of the brain when they were applied directly. When we combined his intracranial LED array with computers that can interpret impulses in the brain, it didn’t take long to realize that it would be possible for the brain tissues to receive data that way. To the brain, the light pulses mimic the firing of neurons across synapses, so it wasn’t long before we could put information directly into the brain. From there, it wasn’t that big a leap to get to the point of putting it directly into long-term memory, so it’s stuck in your head forever.”
“So what it seems to boil down to,” Sam went on, “is that Chang somehow figured out how to make the brain and computer communicate with one another. Right?”
“Exactly. His breakthrough was what we needed to make it work, to allow the computer to reply to the things the brain was doing. EEG’s have been able to read brain waves, which aren’t really waves at all, for years, and there are computers that have been able to read those impulses and actually interpret them with some startling accuracy. The problem has been finding a way to add information to the brain’s storage centers.” Joel frowned for a second. “It’s really hard to explain, but it’s like when you meet someone who doesn’t speak English. You want to ask him a question, but if he can’t understand you, he can’t reply, so you resort to simple sign language to try to ask your question, and then you hope you can understand his signs as he tries to answer. Without a common language, there’s no real communication, right?”
“Right, I’m with you.
“Well, Chang discovered that light pulses were close enough to the basic chatter of the brain—the firing of neurons—to allow a common language. As we experimented with it, we found that it became easier to understand what the brain was saying, and so we could send back more accurate information.”
Sam stared at him for a minute. “And now the communication is perfect?”
Joel blinked. “Well, let’s say we’re close to perfection. Probably about ninety-eight percent accuracy, I’d say.”
“So there’s a two percent chance of something getting garbled,” Sam said, his eyes half closed in thought. “Joel—something I hadn’t thought about until now, but just what are the side effects of having that chip in your head?’
32
Summer got the call from the San Francisco Field Office of DHS as they were leaving the hotel and swung by to pick up the warrant. Armed with authority, she and Denny headed to Petaluma. The drive took another twenty-five minutes, and they were surprised to find a couple of police officers waiting for them.
“Ms. Raines?” asked one of them as Summer and Denny approached the building. “I’m Officer Tony Merkle, and this is Officer Anita Jamison.” He indicated the female officer with him. “We were told to be here in case you need police backup. We just got here a minute ago, so I think the people inside are starting to wonder what’s going on.”
Summer flashed him a smile, which got her a slightly dirty look from Jamison. “Awesome,” she said. “I’m Summer, and this is Denny Cortlandt.” They each showed their IDs to the officers. “Shall we go on in and give them a reason to be really upset?”
Merkle smiled. “After you.”
Denny held the door open for Summer and the officers, th
en followed them inside. Summer walked directly to the reception desk, where a receptionist and a security guard were waiting. She produced a copy of the warrant and flashed her ID, being sure to flip it over to show the DHS endorsement.
“I’m Special Agent Summer Raines, Department of Homeland Security,” she said. “This is Special Agent Dennis Cortlandt, and these are Petaluma PD Officers Merkle and Jamison. This warrant grants us authority to conduct a search of the premises and to interview any and all of your employees.”
The receptionist glanced at the warrant, then handed it to the security guard. He read through it carefully, and Summer waited patiently until he was finished.
He looked up at her. “It does seem to be in order,” he said. “I’m Wayne Proctor. How can I be of assistance?”
“Well, first, we’d like to see the surgical operating room you have here. After that, we’ll need to begin interviewing your staff, beginning with management. We’ll need two offices for the interviews.”
Proctor nodded as he got to his feet, then looked at the receptionist. “Brenda, would you arrange for the offices? I’ll show them to the surgical lab.”
“Sure, Wayne,” the receptionist said.
Proctor led them down a hallway, the same one Denny had come through the night before, and straight to the door across from the stairwell entrance. He opened the door and they stepped inside the fully functional operating room.
Summer looked carefully around, recognizing some of the equipment and finding herself completely stumped by other items. After a minute, she turned to Proctor.
“Who is in charge of this part of the facility?” she asked.
“Well, Dr. Xian is the staff physician. He uses it from time to time, mostly for minor procedures with test patients. One of the things the company is big on is developing permanent prostheses. He and some other staff are experimenting on ways to attach a prosthetic directly to bone, so you never have to take it off. They’ve got a few test subjects now, people with legs that are mounted right to the original bone above the amputation.”
“Wow, really?” Summer asked. “It just sticks right out of the skin?”
Proctor grinned. “There’s a small mounting device that sticks out, yeah. A doctor in Denver is the one who developed a way to make that possible, but Dr. Xian has made some design improvements that make it less likely to allow infections.”
“Okay,” she said, “you said Dr. Xian uses this room from time to time. Does anyone else use it?”
“Well, there have been some guest doctors here. They’re usually working with Xian on something, but once in a while they come in and do something on their own. I don’t know a whole lot about that, and some of it is still hush-hush.”
“I can imagine.” She turned away from the device she had been looking at and faced him, a smile on her face. “What about the surgery that was supposed to happen today? Do you know anything about that?”
Proctor’s face screwed up. “Today? I hadn’t heard about it. Dr. Xian won’t be in all week, and that would be something he’d have to set up, in order to get the anesthesiologist, nurses, all that.”
“You don’t have nurses working here, then?” Denny asked.
“Well, there’s Liza,” Proctor said. “She’s a nurse who works here as our first aid specialist, but she doesn’t assist in the surgeries. Other than that, Dr. Xian calls them in from the local hospitals when he needs someone. Same for anesthesia and all that.”
Summer nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s start the interviews. Will you work with us on that? Bring the employees in for us?”
“Sure. I think they’d hand me that job, anyway.” He grinned at her.
He led them toward the front, and Brenda, the receptionist, showed them the two small consultation rooms she had chosen for the interviews. They were at the back of the building on the ground floor, directly behind the operating room.
“These are where we talk to people about their specific prosthetic needs,” she said. “I thought they should work for what you want.”
“They’ll do fine,” Summer said. “Let’s do it this way: Denny, why don’t you take the ladies, and I’ll talk to the men. Officer Jamison can stay in the room with you, so the women won’t feel uncomfortable, and Merkle can stay with me, so I can’t make any inappropriate advances on the men.”
Denny chuckled. “Righto,” he said. He and Officer Jamison stepped into one of the rooms as Proctor went to fetch the first two employees.
Summer had asked to start with management, and a moment later, Proctor ushered in a Chinese man who looked to be in his sixties. “This is Dr. Cheng,” he said. “He’s the manager of this facility, and a vice president of the company.”
Summer gave the old man a big smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” she said. “Have a seat, please.”
Dr. Cheng took a seat across the table from her, while Merkle stood against the wall. “I am happy to be of service,” Cheng said.
“Thank you,” Summer replied. “Dr. Cheng, you’re aware of the reason we’re here, right? Your company has been implicated in the theft of a prototype BCI chip from CerebroLink. Can you tell me what you knew about that?”
“Of course,” Cheng said. “I knew nothing about it. I was informed a couple of weeks ago that one of our developers had made a discovery that would allow us to introduce our own BCI mechanism, and the research I was shown seemed very promising, but it was going to require some further testing and experimentation. I was expecting a test subject to receive the chip any day, so that we could begin to evaluate its potential.”
“But you had no idea the technology was stolen?”
“No, of course not. I would never be a party to such a scheme. It would dishonor my company, and my family.”
“This research you saw—was it complete? Did it go into detail about what such a chip could do?”
Cheng smiled. “I would not have understood it if it did,” he said. “My doctorate is in physics, not medicine. There was a time when my education was helpful in this company, but I have been little more than a manager for many years, now. I saw only that the device would make us great profits when it went into regular production, and so I approved the research and testing.”
“Who was the developer who brought this to you?” Summer asked.
“That would be Ms. Davidson. She is an engineer in our small BCI department. She came to me with a proposal to develop prototypes of the device and integrate them into volunteer test subjects, whom she had arranged. She explained to me that the device had the potential to correct a great deal of human suffering, even to the point of making it possible to reanimate paralyzed limbs. Of course I approved it. The company who brings such a thing to market will earn a fortune in profits.”
“You’re aware now that all of the research she showed you was based on the work done at CerebroLink? Is that correct?”
“I am aware of that allegation. I do not know whether it is factually accurate.”
Summer laughed. “Are you sure your doctorate isn’t in law? That sounded like a lawyer’s statement.”
Cheng smiled back at her. “It is,” he said. “It is what the attorney told me to say if I was asked that question.”
“You’ve already spoken to an attorney, then?”
“When the police arrived early this morning to search the facility, our security guards notified me, and I notified my superiors. They arranged for me to meet with the attorneys earlier this morning.”
Summer nodded. “That makes sense,” she said, and then she picked up her phone from the table. She called up a photo of Li Chang and showed it to him. “Have you ever seen this man around here?”
Cheng’s face froze for a split second, and then he smiled. “Yes,” he said. “I believe he is a friend of Ms. Davidson. I've seen them talking in our cafeteria once or twice.”
Summer put the phone down and smiled. “All right, then, I think that’s enough for now. I may have more questions for you
later, though.”
“I am sure you will,” Cheng said, bowing his head. He rose to leave, and Proctor stuck his head in the door a second later.
“Proctor,” Summer said, “is there a Ms. Davidson working here?”
“Yes,” he said. “She works in the brain labs, but she hasn’t come in this morning.”
Summer frowned, and turned to Merkle. “You might want to send a car to check on her. If she’s bolted, then she’s probably the one who worked with Fei on the theft, but if she knows too much, he’ll want her dead. Proctor can get you the address, right?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” the security guard said. “I can get it from her personnel file right now.”
“Let’s do it,” Merkle said. He followed Proctor out of the room, and a second later another elderly Chinese man came in and sat down.
“I am Ding Chuanfu,” he said. “I am the Chief Financial Officer for this facility.”
Summer smiled at him.
*
Denny was smiling, as well. The young woman sitting across from him was quite lovely, and she seemed completely at ease.
“And what’s your name, luv?” Denny asked.
The young Asian girl across from him smiled nervously. “I’m Robin Jianlu,” she said. “I’m the personnel manager.”
“And you speak perfect American.” Denny smiled back. “I take it you’re not an import, then, like some of the others here?”
“Oh, no, I’m fourth generation Chinese American. Grew up in San Luis Obispo and went to UCLA. I don’t know if I’m gonna be much help to you, though, I don’t really know much about the company. All I do is make sure everybody knows the rules and gets their paychecks.”
“So, then,” Denny said, “you don’t have much to do with the research end of the business? In the labs and such?”
“Oh, no,” she said, smiling. “I don’t think they’d want me messing around in there, I’m a klutz. I trip over my own two feet even when there’s nothing in the way, I don’t think I need to be around any of their expensive equipment.”
