by Tom Wheeler
“Can you tell us what you hope to gain from this meeting?” asked Emmrich.
“Sure,” said Capucine, and the device began typing letters.
“How about what you think of this technology?” he asked.
What is he doing? I asked myself as I watched what appeared to be some sort of interrogation of Capucine without anyone in the room having any idea what was going on.
“I’m going to step out,” said Crane. “Capucine, thank you for the picture of Dominika Vladimirovich. You two do look similar. That picture—did you get it from the school?” he asked.
“No, I had it,” she said as she took off the device. “Nice to see you, General.”
“I will be back in a moment,” said the General, again, a bit awkwardly, as if the interrogation was happening under my nose.
“How about you, Mason? Will you try it?” Capucine asked.
I nodded. “Why not?” I said, placing the device on my head.
“Look at the monitor and think about what you want to do on the screen,” directed Dr. Mescher, and I asked the monitor to google ‘Telepathic Auditor.’ The computer screen brought up Google and typed in ‘Telepathic Auditor’ as if I had spoken. Then Capucine asked me several questions as if I was being interrogated.
“Does NASA have androids currently in use? I am referring to Robonaut,” she corrected as if the slip was purposeful since all my mind had to do was think something, at least if she was somehow able to read my mind.
“No,” I said.
“Just seeing how good this device really is,” clarified Capucine.
“Very good, Mason. Could you please pass me the Auditor?” asked Mescher as if that ended the demonstration. I removed it from my head.
After an hour and a half, the meeting ended with a modified demonstration of Nero’s technology, including the extended battery, fueled by maltodextrin. Dhilan gave them all just enough information to show them NASA was competitive in the area of androids, without exposing Nero as an android. It appeared to go smoothly, but something seemed odd, as if there were more reasons for the meeting than I had been told. As if the state of neurotechnology was more advanced than the conversation indicated.
87
Code of Silence
The day quickly passed and everyone departed, except Capucine, who was staying the night. We decided to have a quick dinner at Longboards Tiki Beach Grille, at the Hilton. It was located beside the pool with the ocean in the distance, the sound of waves making its way to our ears amid the Caribbean songs playing in the background. The atmosphere was laid back and the sea breeze moved through the entire area.
“You want to talk about this, Mason?” asked Capucine as I stared at the ocean.
“I love you, Capucine,” I said, turning to look her in the eyes. “It’s just I know something’s wrong, even though I can’t put my finger on what that is,” I said, and tears formed in her eyes.
“Why are you crying?” I asked.
“Despite what we’ve been through, what we have, I feel like it isn’t enough for you. You aren’t willing to try to make it work. I’m only here for the night,” she said. She moved closer to me, placing her hand on my arm.
A few moments later, the waiter appeared at our table. He took our order.
She was right. There was no need to ruin time with the person I longed to spend time with, particularly because of events we had no control over. The waiter returned with the wine, leaving it on ice, capped, at my request. I pulled the bottle from the bucket and twisted the already-loosened cork, and a gentle popping sounded as the cork fell into my hand. I poured two glasses, which we consumed quickly.
With the wine causing my body to relax, dinner turned my icy disposition back into the side of me that believed all things would work out. We headed to the beach after dinner, Capucine taking off her sandals and setting them on the sand. I took off my shoes.
“Mason, I know our lives are complicated and far from one another. I also know the easy way out is to move on. But is that what you really want?” she asked, taking both my hands and looking me in the eyes.
“No. But I’m not sure I see this working out the way we both thought, particularly with the state of the world. And, truth be told, I had a dream that you turned into a bird and flew away,” I said, blurting it out.
“A bird?” she asked with a quizzical look.
“Yep,” I said, and she looked away as if I’d struck a nerve. Then she swallowed hard.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to believe it,” I said.
“Did I go anywhere?” she asked, stopping in her tracks.
“You landed on a wall of some sort; I thought it was the Kremlin, but I was never certain. Do you have something you want to tell me?” I asked, looking into her glistening green eyes, the prettiest I’d ever seen.
She took a deep breath.
“I can’t, Mason,” she said, turning away.
“So there is something to my dream?” I asked as my heart sank. But if she confirmed it, at least I would know there was some justification for my wishy-washy behavior.
“Yes. But I can’t . . .”
“. . . tell me the truth? Do you work for a government?” I asked, waiting for the knife. “Is that why you slipped that picture to Crane and asked me those questions?”
“Yes, I work for the DGSE, or French General Directorate—H4. Your government thinks I am the other girl in that photograph. That is why I brought the picture.”
“How did you even know our government suspected you?”
“My boss told me.”
“Why were you at CEDRA?” I asked, my heart trying to deal with the ubiquitous subterfuge.
“The French want to build androids,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It is Macron’s attempt to revolutionize France. They wanted me to find out who was doing what in the world of technology.”
“And me?”
“Your name was on a list of people H4 wanted to follow,” she said.
“To spy on?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Mason.”
“So this has all been a facade?”
“No, no, Mason! I love you, I really love you,” she said convincingly. “That’s the problem.”
I paused, knowing this was obviously the time to put everything on the table, regardless of the perceived relevance or importance.
“Well, since we’re revealing our secrets, six years ago I had sex with two girls, and a guy was involved,” I blurted out. “And someone filmed it. It just cost me my job at NASA. Well . . .”
“Well?”
I steeled myself to tell her the rest. “My code may have been given to Hassan bin Laden or Rama Rhamine and somehow used in Diablo 8-16.”
Capucine’s eyes widened.
“What? Seriously? But you do work at NASA now?”
“Because Dhilan was shot. They needed me to return.”
“You’re not gay? Right?” she asked.
“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I was drunk. I met these three strangers, and, well . . . ,” I said, and it was as if a lightbulb lit up in Capucine’s mind.
“The guy’s name wasn’t Matt, was it?” she asked as if taking a shot in the dark. “Blond surfer boy?”
“You saw the video?” My face flushed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“No, Mason. I met him in France. Evidently he worked for Jack Dawson.”
“What? You knew Jack?” I floundered, trying to piece together this crazy puzzle.
“No! I was out one night and met three strangers,” she said. “Matt, Angela, and one other girl. Matt tried to drug me, but someone warned me before it happened.”
“Oh my God,” I said.
“You?” she prompted, looking me in the eyes.
“I was inebriated, but they didn’t need to drug me. I was played, evidently because of my thesis on biobatteries. I was looking for a good time in all the wrong places,” I said, now wondering if I had been drugged.
“Oh, Mason,” she said, stopping and hugging me like a bear. “I’m so sorry. And I don’t care about what you did.”
“Really? I thought that was why you turned into a bird and flew away,” I said. “Although the government building was revealing. Who is the DGSE?”
“The General Directorate for External Security, France’s external intelligence agency. Mason, lots of people have explored being with the same sex—they just never tell anyone, nor do they have it recorded.”
“Have you?” I asked.
“No, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it,” she said.
“What happened?”
“When?”
“With Matt,” I said. “How do you know he tried to drug you?”
“I was out with my friends. Just before I drank my drink, a stranger warned me that it was spiked. I used my persuasive female qualities to get Matt to drink it himself,” she said. “He did, reluctantly.”
“And?”
“He passed out.”
“Who was the stranger?”
“I don’t know that, either,” she answered. “Another mystery. All I know is she had a Miley Cyrus haircut and a dragonfly around her belly button. Oh, and slanted—”
“Eyes?” Mason filled in.
“How’d you know?” Capucine looked dumbfounded.
“Good guess,” I said, dismissing the thought that the person could possibly have been Rihanna, the same girl who was my helicopter pilot in the Middle East.
“Why do they suspect your code was used by terrorists?”
“My computer was taken from me when I was kidnapped at CEDRA.”
“I remember.”
“Well, I’m not sure what is going on, but . . . ,” I said, interrupted by Capucine, who appeared to understand.
“Mason, do you trust me?” she asked.
I looked away. “I did. Now I don’t know, Capucine. It doesn’t appear anyone is telling the truth. Should I trust you?”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier about the dream with me turning into a bird?”
“Like I said, I didn’t want to believe it. Nor did I want to tell you about my exploits years ago.”
“Ditto, although telling you the truth in my case can get me killed. I pledged a code of silence.”
“The first thing Dhilan told me when I was offered the job was that I could no longer tell the truth when it regarded NASA. I get it. I just didn’t think . . .”
“Qui, c’est nul ici,” she said as I gave her a strange look. “It sucks, pardon my French,” she said, clarifying, putting her head on my shoulder for a moment before we both put our shoes back on and walked back to the hotel. “Yes, you can trust me. I just can’t—”
“Tell me any more, I know.”
“Not without endangering us both.”
“One last question and then I’ll stop. What was really going on in that meeting?” I asked directly.
“Not sure. But you’re right—there was a secondary agenda for gathering that group of minds.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mason, I can’t . . .”
“If you trust me, Capucine, then tell me.”
“I have an implant,” she blurted out.
“A chip?”
“No, an implant on my neuron.”
“So that’s why you were comfortable meeting Dr. Mescher. Did he perform the surgery?”
“Yes. That’s likely why they invited me to the meeting. They wanted to know what I am up to.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Listen, Mason, I’ve already said too much. I’ll tell you more later, but for now you can’t tell anyone about this, particularly not Dr. Mescher. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“D’accord,” she responded as I grabbed her hand and walked toward her room, which was right down the hall from my own.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back,” she said after we entered, heading to the bathroom. I turned on the television, clicking the remote in search of something worth watching as I lay back, hands behind my head, legs crossed pondering just what I am supposed to do. My mind racing. Moments later, Capucine appeared, her pajama top open. She dropped it to the floor, revealing her perfect body, all the way down to a white line just under her pajama pants.
She made her way over to me and began kissing me as passionately as we had ever kissed. I took her in my arms as her hands found their way around my body without ever staying in one place for longer than a nanosecond. Mine found hers as well.
“Restez avec moi, Mason,” she asked. “S’il vous plait,” she whispered in my ears.
I was not fluent in French, but I knew what that meant. Stay.
My heart was pounding; Capucine’s face flushed. Our eyes met—the war raging in my mind. One voice screamed stop; the other begged to continue. There was no more talking as our lips met and our hands found the heat of each other’s affection, now burning with an unstoppable desire. The fuse was lit. The world faded. If there was a heaven on earth—I had just found it.
88
Operation Cyborg
October 17
Cape Canaveral Hospital
Cape Canaveral, Florida
Capucine’s departure back to France allowed me time to prepare for the surgery, although my mind was distracted by the smell of her perfume, which lingered on my shirt. For an unexplainable reason, I trusted Capucine despite the secrecy, which was its own miracle since I didn’t trust many people on the planet. Problem was that this technology we were involved with made Orwell’s “thoughtcrimes” a potentially real threat. If the government got enough people to implant chips in their minds, it could read their minds, and the thought police would be a real thing. Tom Cruise’s Minority Report was coming, I thought to myself as I grabbed a yogurt, tossed the contents of a protein powder packet into the blender with some chocolate almond milk, chugged it down, and made my way to the hospital. Dr. Mescher was waiting in his office at 6:45 a.m.
“Nice to see you again, Mason. Ready?” he asked, looking up from his desk, glasses sitting on his nose, a strap preventing him from losing them.
“I believe that is a question I should ask you,” I said. “Although I have prayed for success.”
“I had a good night’s rest, nobody cut me off on my way to work this morning, and my ex-wife isn’t suing me,” he said, smiling. “So yes, I’m ready to get inside Dr. Hannah’s head.”
I nodded.
“Did you study the Anatomage Table?” he asked.
“I did,” I said, nodding again.
“What’s his greatest risk?”
“In Dhilan’s case, clotting and swelling.”
“Close; the greatest risk is SSIs,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Surgical site infections. Scrub well,” he said. “Infection is his greatest risk, even with brain surgery.”
“Right, yes, scrub,” I said.
“Do you have the CPU?”
“It’s in the sanitation container, per your instructions.” I pointed to the unit. “Where will you put it?”
“In the back of his head, near his neck. Why are you shaking your head?” asked Mescher.
“You are placing an entire roomful of computers into his head.”
“Our smartphones carry more computing power than NASA had when it landed a man on the moon 50 years ago,” he said. “This is just another step.”
“Still, it’s a big one. I’m just afraid we are heading down a dangerous path, technologica
lly.”
“Or we are taking huge steps to save lives and give people hope. A fatalistic attitude doesn’t suit you, Mason,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “Leave that to Leon.”
“How’s Dhilan?” I asked, not wanting to provoke an argument for several reasons, but mainly for the sake of Dhilan’s survival.
“Let’s take a look,” he said as we made our way to the third floor. A moment later we were peering through the glass at a formless body attached to numerous tubes connected to a nearby console. Dr. Mescher pushed the door open and we walked in. Dhilan’s unconscious body wore a hospital gown and blue shower cap. The nearby monitor made the notorious beeping sound, showing a BP of 100 over 68 and pulse of 60, along with the accompanying squiggly lines. An endotracheal tube was taped in place over his chin, connected to a ventilator that was keeping air flowing through his lungs, and a series of electrodes was stuck on his head.
“He is in an induced coma. Mason, don’t forget, the support staff has no idea that the device I am installing in Dhilan is a CPU. They believe it’s a plate to stabilize his neck,” he said as the beeping continued in the background.
“But they know about the microchips, right?”
“Yes, but they don’t know what they’re for. They believe the patient’s name is Lawrence Newman, who is experiencing multiple tumors that have impacted his ability to function. This is an attempt to resolve those issues. One last thing, Mason.”
“Sir.”
“There is never a guarantee when working on the human body, let alone the brain. I have done more brain operations than anyone on the planet,” he said. “But still, you have to be prepared for the worst.”
“And hope for the best. I know.”
“Listen, I still have a few things to finish. I also have to bring more equipment into the room. The surgery doesn’t start until 8 a.m.,” he said, heading out of the operating room. “I’ll meet you back here in 30 to scrub in.”
I nodded. Then I closed my eyes and squeezed them hard as if it would somehow help. It didn’t.
89
MYSTERY WOMAN
October 17
Paris, France
Capucine was unpacking her Chauvet bag after an uneventful trip back to Paris. Her thoughts drifted to Mason, making her blush.
