Amped

1

Seth Rosenblatt paused on his way to the parking lot to take in his surroundings. No matter how many visits he made to this place, how many times he walked the tranquil, idyllic wooded grounds, he always felt awe-struck and privileged to be here, where giants had stood on the shoulders of other giants to see ever farther into the previously impenetrable secrets of nature. Here was a cloistered retreat that had welcomed and financed the likes of Albert Einstein, John von Neumann, Kurt Godel, Alan Turing, J. Robert Oppenheimer, and Freeman Dyson. For a physicist there was no more hallowed ground.

He soaked in the ambience of Princeton’s fabled Institute for Advanced Study one last time before walking to his rental car, wanting to put off leaving the grounds for as long as he could manage, especially since he was going straight to the airport for a brutal flight to Tokyo. He hated flying. He hated lines and pat downs and cramped seats with too little legroom for his lanky body. He hated stale, recycled, dehydrating airplane air. A trip from the East Coast to Japan, with a stop in California, seemed never-ending.

Just as he entered the nearly deserted lot where he had parked, a white minivan appeared out of nowhere and began hurtling toward him. Rosenblatt froze, waiting for the driver to see him and take corrective action. Precious seconds passed before he was finally able to comprehend the incomprehensible: the driver hadn’t just failed to see him for a brief moment; the driver had seen him and was intent on turning him into road kill.

His muscles tensed for action but he knew at a visceral level that it was too late: he couldn’t possibly remove himself from the vehicle’s path in time. He closed his eyes and braced for the bone crushing impact.

Mercifully, the impact never came. At the last instant the minivan swerved sharply and screeched to a halt in front of him, its side doors only two feet from his face.

Rosenblatt’s profound terror transformed into pure rage, directed squarely at the asshole who had dared to scare him so intensely. “What in the hell are you doing?” he bellowed. “Are you crazy?”

While he was shouting the minivan’s side door began to glide open. As the sight of this pierced through his fog of rage, alarm bells blared in his head. Panicked, he began to spin around to face what he now guessed was there.

Before he could turn, his arm was seized in an iron grip. As Rosenblatt’s instincts had warned him, someone had stealthily—almost magically—maneuvered behind him. The man twisted Rosenblatt’s arm painfully behind his back and used the limb to propel him through the now open minivan door, where a partner was waiting to catch him as he spun inside.

As Rosenblatt struggled to grasp what was happening he felt the bite of a syringe as it was plunged into his leg, straight through his pants. He tried to make sense of the pain message coming from his thigh, but his thoughts were strangely disjointed, and by the time he realized he had been stabbed, and with what, his body went totally limp and a blanket of darkness rushed up to greet him.

“Well done,” the driver said to his two associates. And with that, he pulled out of the lot and drove calmly through the streets of Princeton, as though he were a senior citizen intent on nothing more than enjoying the scenery.

2

Seth Rosenblatt’s return to consciousness was sudden, but his eyes were still heavy and he only managed to open them halfway. Seated across a small metal table from him was the driver of the minivan, holding an empty syringe, which no doubt had been used to revive him. The man had the patient look of someone who was happy to give his prisoner time to fully regain his faculties and take stock of his situation and surroundings.

Both of Rosenblatt’s hands were cuffed to a steel chair that was affixed to the floor, and he was inside a small, windowless steel shed, a portable structure you might buy at Home Depot to put in your yard and store your rakes and lawnmowers. But this one was pristine. For all he knew it, and he, were still in a Home Depot.

He realized with a start that his watch and clothes had been removed, and he was now wearing a zippered one-piece gray jumpsuit. He tried to ignore his drug-induced lethargy and growing panic and focus. He had to concentrate.

A large dose of adrenaline hit his bloodstream and blasted the last bit of grogginess from his system, but he retained his slumped posture and nearly closed eyes to buy more time.

What was going on? He was the last person anyone would want to kidnap. Unless these men knew. But how? It couldn’t be. But even as he thought this he realized there was no other explanation for his abduction and the care, speed, and precision of his abductors.

How long had he been out? He had no way to tell for sure, but he didn’t think it had been long. The makeshift nature of the shed lent support to the thesis that whoever had grabbed him was in a hurry. The fact that they suspected or knew he had advanced technology imbedded in his clothing that could be used to send a distress signal was highly troubling. He had to also assume they knew he would be missed if he was out of touch for too long, which added further support to his hypothesis that little time had elapsed and he wasn’t very far from the Institute. They had also snatched him right before his long flight overseas, when he would be expected to be out of touch for as long as twenty-four hours. Coincidence? He doubted it.

He felt an odd throbbing in both ears and had an eerie suspicion that his every orifice had been probed, and every inch of his body, from his scalp to between his toes, had been checked and rechecked—for what, only his attackers knew.

Rosenblatt fought to steady his still racing pulse. He was terrified to a depth he had never before experienced. He studied his abductor, the only other inhabitant of the shed, from the corner of one heavily lidded eye as the man continued to wait patiently for him to become fully alert. The steel structure was illuminated by two tall patio lamps that had been set up inside. The man seated across the table had a calm but intense air about him, a head of short black hair, and a lean, athletic build. Rosenblatt estimated he was in his late thirties.

Rosenblatt guessed his chances were less than even money to live out the day. These men were too professional. And they had let him see their faces.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes all the way for the first time. He shook his head as if to clear it. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

The driver tilted his head but did not respond.

“Look,” continued Rosenblatt anxiously, knowing he needed to pretend that he didn’t know what this was about. “You can have anything you want. I’ll give you my ATM code. Whatever you want,” he pleaded. “Just let me go and I promise to forget this ever happened.”

The slightest of smiles played out on the driver’s face. “That’s a very generous offer, Dr. Rosenblatt,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”

“How do you know my name?” demanded Rosenblatt, feigning surprise. “Who are you?”

The driver studied him dispassionately, as though he were an insect under a magnifying glass. “Call me Jake,” he replied at last. “I’m with the government—the military.” He shrugged. “Well, more like outside of the government. Congress and the president vaguely know of our existence, but they don’t want to know more. They can’t. Plausible deniability. I run a black-ops unit responsible for keeping our country safe from weapons of mass destruction. From threats so great I have a free hand to do whatever I have to do to stop them.”

“Weapons of mass destruction?” repeated Rosenblatt in disbelief. “Are you mad? You’re making a horrible mistake. Whoever you’re looking for, I’m not it.”

“I agree with you,” said the man who called himself Jake. “But you’re the key to finding who I’m looking for.” He paused. “Look, Dr. Rosenblatt, I’m a reasonable man. And I happen to think you’re an innocent caught up in something way over his head. So as long as you’re completely honest with me, we’re going to be good friends.” He spread his hands out in front of him, palms up. “But if you aren’t totally forthcoming, things can get uglier than I suspect you’re capable of even comprehending. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes. You’re threatening to torture me.”

Jake sighed. “Not at all. I wouldn’t think of using physical torture. What I have in mind is worse. Far worse. Trust me, if you don’t tell me what I want to know you’ll wish in every fiber of your being that I had tortured you.” He shook his head and looked sincerely troubled. “Please don’t give me any reason to elaborate further. There’s already more than enough unpleasantness in the world.”

“This is crazy. The reason we have laws is to prevent mistakes like this from happening. To prevent innocent people from being terrorized by their own governments. Groups like yours, not answerable to anyone, abuse their power every time. It’s inevitable.”

“Don’t believe everything you see in the movies, Dr. Rosenblatt. Military units like mine have become the go-to villain in Hollywood, but we are answerable, just like every other agency. Someone has to watch the watchers, after all.”

“Like who?”

“Other black-ops groups review our actions on a routine basis. In the heat of battle, soldiers have to be able to make life and death decisions. They have a license to kill, and tragically, sometimes innocents become collateral damage. But their actions are reviewed, and if they exceed the rules of engagement, abuse their power, they are brought up on charges. The same goes for us. If I go off the reservation, if I kill innocents who aren’t clearly collateral damage, I’ll be judged and put in a military prison—or even executed.”

“And what happens when— ”

“Enough!” said the black-ops agent in a clipped whisper that, while low in volume, was off the charts in intensity and so commanding it was impossible to ignore. “We’re not here to talk about me, or for me to justify my existence. I’ve told you more than I should have already.”

Jake reached down into his lap and revealed a sleek tablet computer. He used its outer case to prop it up on the table facing Rosenblatt. He slid his finger across the screen and a document appeared, the pages turning automatically every few seconds. Each page was crammed with exotic, multicolored geometric shapes that could only be generated by a computer and dense equations that to the layman looked like nothing more than Sanskrit written by pigeons.

The black-ops agent rubbed the back of his head absently as he studied his prisoner. “Recognize this?”

Rosenblatt shook his head.

“Really?” said Jake skeptically, raising his eyebrows. “Well, let me help you out. I’m told it’s a stunning advance in the mathematics and physics of the Calabi-Yau manifold. I had no idea what this was. But my science people tell me it’s a six-dimensional space that results when the ten dimensions of superstring theory are rolled up. This means nothing to me, of course, but I know it does to you. You sure you don’t recognize it?”

“Positive.”

“That’s interesting. Because we got this from your computer.”

Rosenblatt’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”

“You’re a far better physicist than you are actor,” said Jake, shaking his head in disappointment. “Now I wouldn’t know a Calabi-Yau manifold if one bit me in the ass. But the three world-renowned physicists we gave this to were salivating over it so much I’m surprised they didn’t collapse from dehydration. They’re stunned by it. They seem to believe this leapfrogs everything known about the mathematics and physics of this area. That it contains numerous breakthroughs—at least the stuff they’re capable of grasping, which is only the tip of the iceberg. I’m told they feel like primitives trying to grasp calculus.” He leaned closer to Rosenblatt. “What I’d really like to know, professor, is how you were able to do work this advanced.” He voice was soft but with a razor edge of intensity and menace. “I’m all ears.”

“You actually think I did this?” said Rosenblatt, an incredulous expression on his face. “Look, if you say you found this on my computer, I have no choice but to believe you. But I didn’t put in there. Yes, I’ve dabbled a bit in this area, but that’s it. You said yourself that this is far beyond even the top people in the field—and I’m not even one of these.”

“Okay. I’ll humor you for a moment. If you didn’t put this on your computer, then why don’t you tell me who did.”

“I have no idea,” responded Rosenblatt with a shrug. His eyes narrowed in thought. “The only possibility I can see is that it was done by a modern day Ramanujan.”

“Ramanujan?”

“Yes. Srinivasa Ramanujan. He was a math prodigy who grew up in India with virtually no formal training. Out of the blue he sent a sample of his work to a world class mathematician at Cambridge named Hardy. Hardy recognized his brilliance right away.” He paused. “You ever see the movie Good Will Hunting?”

The black-ops agent shook his head no.

“Well, that’s not important. My point is that this Ramanujan was unknown to the world, but was in a class all his own. A guy like that must be responsible for this. What else could it be? I bet he designed a worm and sent it to the computers of thousands of scientists. Don’t know why he’d do it anonymously, but that’s probably what happened.”

A slow smile crept over Jake’s face. “Very creative, doctor. I’m impressed. But I’m afraid this work was done by an intellect that couldn’t have arisen naturally.”

“Do you even hear what you’re saying? What does that even mean, couldn’t have arisen naturally?”

“You know what it means. It means the work required an IQ in the thousands.”

“In the thousands?” echoed Rosenblatt, rolling his eyes. “I guess that leaves out humans, doesn’t it. So are you suggesting this is the work of aliens?” he finished in amusement.

Jake stared intently at the physicist for several long seconds, but didn’t respond.

“I’m sure you’ve overestimated the work,” insisted Rosenblatt, his smile now gone. “Einstein was a low-level patent clerk when he helped usher in multiple revolutions in physics; revolutions that stunned the greatest minds of the day. Or was he an alien too?” He shook his head. “Every year breakthroughs are made that seem beyond the capabilities of human intellect.”

Jake steepled his fingers and considered the man in front of him. “The difference, as you well know,” he responded finally, “is that even though these breakthroughs seemed beyond human capabilities, other humans could understand them once they’d been made. At least a few.” Jake sighed. “But I’m done humoring you,” he said, his tone both weary and disappointed. “We both know the truth of what I’m saying.”

The black-ops agent slowly rubbed the back of his head and stared off into space in thought. Several seconds ticked by in total silence. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said at last.

As the door opened daylight streamed into the structure, further evidence that Rosenblatt hadn’t been unconscious for long. The black-ops agent returned only a few minutes later, holding two plastic bottles of ice-cold water. He uncuffed Rosenblatt’s right hand, screwed the cap off one of the bottles, and set it in front of the tall, wiry physicist.

The man called Jake sat down across from his prisoner once again, took a sip from his own bottle, and considered the physicist carefully. “You’ve been lying to me, Dr. Rosenblatt,” he began disapprovingly. “I know that. But I’m willing to overlook the past in the interest of remaining friends. But trust me, actions have consequences. Lie again and you’ll be in a realm of misery few have ever experienced.”

Jake paused to be sure this had time to sink in.

“As a measure of my good will, I’m going to tell you a story. I have no doubt you’re familiar with it, but I want you to appreciate that I already know so much, it makes little sense for you to continue trying to be evasive. But I’m not telling you everything I know. Remember that the next time you consider lying to me.” He paused. “Okay then. This is a story about a remarkable woman named Kira Miller.”

Jake watched Rosenblatt’s face carefully, but the physicist showed no outward reaction upon hearing this name.

“Kira was a brilliant genetic engineer who found a way to alter the wiring of her own brain—for about an hour at a time. Pop a cocktail of genetically engineered viruses housed inside a gellcap and, presto, in the mother of all chain reactions her brain is rewired, and she has an IQ that’s beyond measure.”

Rosenblatt frowned in disbelief. “When you said you would tell me a story,” he said evenly, “I didn’t expect it to be science fiction.”

Jake’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “I’ve been more than patient with you, doctor,” he said icily. “But my patience isn’t endless. Don’t test my good nature any further.” He paused and then picked up as though Rosenblatt hadn’t spoken. “So after developing this capability, Kira Miller murdered several people and fell off the grid. Disappeared. She was known to be behind a lot of bad shit, like working with jihadists to wipe out millions of people. That sort of thing. A lot of people were sent looking for her, but none were successful. Then an ex-special forces operative by the name of David Desh was sent after her. Tough and smart and patriotic. And he found her. But as patriotic as he was, she turned him somehow. With an immeasurable IQ, we can only assume she knew which buttons to push.”

Jake stopped and took a deep drink from the water bottle he had been holding. Reminded that he had his own bottle in front of him, Rosenblatt did the same.

“Interestingly, every classified military computer in the land contains a report from unimpeachable sources showing that what I just told you is all wrong. That the evidence and accusations against her were totally false, and that she was never anything more than a misunderstood girl scout. That she was framed for it all. Desh too. Worse still, she and Desh were killed before this came to light.” Jake stopped and locked his eyes on Rosenblatt with an air of expectation, as though he refused to continue until his prisoner made some kind of utterance for him to gauge.

“But you don’t believe these records are accurate,” said Rosenblatt on cue.

Jake studied his shackled prisoner for a few seconds longer. “Correct,” he said finally. “In fact, I know these records aren’t accurate. Kira Miller and David Desh are still very much alive. Even without her IQ cocktail they would make a formidable pair. But with the ability to give themselves an insanely high intelligence the world is at their mercy. They could turn entire countries and governments into their playthings. We also know they’ve been recruiting a select group of others for unknown reasons. We suspect most of them are just dupes, unaware of Miller and Desh’s endgame—whatever that might be. Impossible to predict with mere human intelligence.”

Jake paused. “But despite our knowledge, we’ve never been able to identify any of their recruits.” He gestured suggestively toward the wiry physicist. “Until now, that is.”

“Me?” spat Rosenblatt incredulously. “That’s what this is about? You think I’m involved with these two people? I’ve never heard of either one of them before. Or of this magical elixir of yours.”

Jake ignored him. “They’ve done a remarkable job of covering their tracks,” he continued, almost in admiration. “Even more impressive when you consider they had no reason to believe anyone even knew they were alive. We finally realized our best hope was to find work that was being kept anonymous and that was too advanced to be done without Kira Miller’s IQ boost. We hacked into hundreds-of-thousands of computers, including those belonging to scientists and mathematicians who were tops in their fields, like you, and those used by employees of science-based companies and institutes. And we analyzed the contents of these computers. We used our most advanced supercomputers and expert systems.”

Jake paused and brought the plastic bottle of water to his lips once again. “I can’t begin to understand the techniques that were used to sort through it all,” he continued, “to determine if any of it represented a transcendent advance. But we succeeded.” He paused. “True, the system mostly generated false alarms, but your work was the real deal. A breakthrough of inhuman proportions.”

Jake raised a single eyebrow. “You may be interested to know the computer pointed us to one other man, in addition to you. Responsible for bits and pieces of work that didn’t really lead anywhere, but that were very advanced. The CEO of a private physics lab named Advanced Physics International in Davis, California.”

He watched Rosenblatt carefully for any reaction, but his prisoner remained poker faced. An almost imperceptible look of disappointment flashed across Jake’s features, but only for an instant.

“Is he the next innocent man you’re planning to abuse?” said Rosenblatt.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” replied Jake, ignoring his prisoner’s pointed barb. “I would have liked to have a little chat with him, yes. But he died from a gunshot wound to the stomach, apparently after surprising an arsonist who had torched his lab. Eleven months ago, in fact. As I’m sure you’re aware. When we tried to trace his background further, we hit an absolute brick wall. Which even makes us more sure he was involved with Miller and Desh.” He raised his eyebrows. “But no matter. I have every confidence that, among other things, you can tell us all about his history. Help clear things up.”

Rosenblatt opened his mouth to reply but then thought better of it and remained silent.

Jake leaned forward and his eyes bored into those of his prisoner. “We’ve come to the moment of truth, Dr. Rosenblatt. I need you to tell me everything. This is your last chance. I can’t stress this enough. I won’t tolerate anything less than a hundred and fifty percent cooperation from here on out.”

“I am cooperating,” insisted Rosenblatt. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I have no idea how this work ended up on my computer. All I know is that I didn’t put it there.”

Jake frowned deeply. “To say I’m disappointed doesn’t begin to cover it,” he growled. He snatched his tablet computer from the table and his fingers slid over its surface. When he set it back down, the manuscript was gone. In its place was a live image of Rosenblatt’s living room back in Omaha, Nebraska. Two of Jake’s men, heavily armed, were sitting on his maroon leather sofa, looking bored but very dangerous.

And sprawled on the floor, on their backs, were Rosenblatt’s wife and three young children.

3

Rosenblatt gasped and color drained from his face. “What have you done to my family?” he screamed, pulling away from the chair so hard he nearly broke his left wrist still handcuffed to the chair. The pain didn’t even register.

“I tried to warn you that I wasn’t playing games,” whispered the black-ops agent. “I tried to tell you that you’d prefer physical torture.” He shook his head almost sadly. “The good news is that nothing has happened to them.” He paused for several seconds and then added, “Yet.”

The black-ops agent removed a cell phone from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. “How long this continues to be true is up to you.”

The camera began to pan around the room, beaming the picture to Jake’s tablet. One of Jake’s men was standing on Rosenblatt’s beige carpeting, in front of his mahogany bookshelves and baby grand piano. The camera settled on a picture of the physicist and his family. Rosenblatt, tall and thin with curly brown hair, cut close, holding his five and seven-year-old daughters, one in each arm. His wife, short and on the plump side, standing behind their eight-year-old son Max. All wore contented smiles.

Jake raised the silver cell phone to his mouth. “Show him they’re okay,” he ordered.

Seconds later the faces of Rosenblatt’s family returned, and the camera zoomed in close on one of them at a time. Long enough for Rosenblatt to see their chests rise and fall in each case, ever so slightly.

“They’re only unconscious,” said Jake. “Sleeping peacefully. We entered this morning before they awoke and administered a knockout drug. I’m trying to do this as compassionately as humanly possible. If you cooperate, they’ll never know what happened, never know they were in any danger. No psychological scars to bear for the rest of their lives.” His expression hardened. “But I’m all done with warnings. The next time you lie or don’t cooperate one of them dies. Period. Fail to cooperate after that and a second one dies. And so on. Starting with the youngest.” He paused and leaned in closer. “Jessica, isn’t it?”

“You bastard!” screamed Rosenblatt hysterically. “You fucking bastard! You lay a finger on them and I’ll see you rot in hell.”

“Do you think I want to threaten your family?” said Jake softly. “Did you think I get some kind of twisted joy out of hurting helpless kids? It’s the last thing I want to do. But I will do what I have to do. Make no mistake. And yes, I have no doubt that I will rot in hell, but I can’t afford to be squeamish. Kira Miller represents the single greatest threat to humanity the world has ever seen.”

“Kira Miller represents humanity’s greatest hope!” shouted Rosenblatt.

There was absolute silence in the steel shed for several long seconds.

“I’m relieved that you’ve decided to admit your involvement and cooperate,” said Jake.

Rosenblatt gestured bitterly toward the tablet computer. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Still, I’m relieved that you recognize that. Please understand that regardless of whatever lies they’ve told you, Miller and Desh have to be stopped. Miller called off her planned bioterror attack, yes, but she’s got bigger things brewing.”

“Kira Miller is the most brilliant, generous, compassionate woman I have ever met.”

“She’s brilliant, all right. No denying that. But she’s also a fraud. A serial killer who comes across as a saint. It’s a remarkable talent.”

“I don’t know where you get your information, but it’s all wrong.”

“Is it? Kira Miller is a pure sociopath to begin with. But did you know that her therapy has a side effect? It turns even model citizens into megalomaniacs. Into the kind of power mad, unbridled monster you think I am.”

“Of course I know that! I’ve used it myself. You know that’s the only way I could possibly do the Calabi-Yau manifold work you found.” Rosenblatt shook his head. “But I’ll say it again—you have her all wrong. She enhances herself—that’s what we call it—far less often than she could. Why? Because she knows better than any of us that it leads to sociopathic tendencies and is terrified of letting that Genie out of the bottle too often. And do you know why the group is so small? Because the core counsel sets a higher bar than you can imagine before allowing a new member in. The personalities and ethics of those considered for membership are rigorously tested in ways that only an enhanced intelligence could devise. Only those predicted with near one hundred percent certainty of being able to withstand the effect without turning into a monster are recruited—no matter how promising they seem. She’s careful to the point of absurdity,” finished Rosenblatt.

And this was true. The purpose of Rosenblatt’s visit to the Institute had been in the hope of adding at least one additional world-class mathematician or physicist to the team, but the trip had been a total failure. They had identified three brilliant men at the Institute who had passed their first level screens and he had come to Princeton to test them further, without their knowledge. All of them had failed. At least by Kira’s standards. He had thought for sure van Hutten, from Stanford, had passed a few weeks earlier, but Kira had given him a thumbs down. They had not added a new recruit in several months now, and he was becoming convinced that they wouldn’t. Kira and Desh had grown too afraid. The more the core council underwent enhancement, the more they realized the dangers of near absolute power and the stakes they were playing for, both positive and negative, the more paranoid they became about making a single wrong choice.

They had been extremely lucky with the five founding members of the group: Miller, Desh, Griffin, Connelly, and Metzger—the core council, now down to four after Metzger’s tragic death. Each of them had been extremely stable, moral, and compassionate before they had been enhanced. Even so, none of them would have met the current standard. Knowing this, they didn’t even trust themselves while enhanced. They insisted that all members of the group, themselves most of all, only take a gellcap while inside a specially built room, that was locked from the outside.

But Jake was correct. A single loose cannon, a single mistake that got away, could threaten the entire world. Kira’s own brother, Alan, had been the prime example of this. If he hadn’t been stopped, there was no telling the damage he could have inflicted.

“She has you fooled,” said Jake simply. “Did she promise you extended life? Is that why you’re so loyal?”

“I’m loyal because I believe in what she’s doing: what they’re doing. You’ve seen the advances I was able to make while enhanced. In five hours! Imagine the improvements we could make to the human condition.”

“You’re being naive. First, the extended life thing is phony. The injection doesn’t do a thing. It’s just the ultimate lure to snare anyone gullible enough to believe it. Do you know what she and Desh have been up to during the past year? They’ve been responsible for several major terrorist attacks around the world. And I have incontrovertible evidence that they’re planning worse.”

“If it’s so incontrovertible, why don’t you show it to me?” snapped Rosenblatt skeptically.

“Because it would take too long for you to convince yourself of its veracity. And I would lose the element of surprise.”

“Very convenient,” said Rosenblatt.

Jake’s demeanor darkened. “This conversation is now at an end,” he said through clenched teeth. “I need you to tell me where I can find Miller and Desh. And after that, the names of everyone who is a part of their little cabal.”

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” said Rosenblatt. He glanced at the computer once again. At his helpless family, and the armed men looming nearby. “But I can’t tell you how to find them,” he added, panic creeping into his voice. “They and the other two members of the core council are more careful than you can imagine. They move around all the time, and even they don’t know each other’s whereabouts unless they have to. And I’m just a junior member.”

Jake’s expression could not have been grimmer. “I warned you, doctor,” he said evenly. He spoke into his cell phone once more and on the tablet computer one of Jake’s men pulled out a high-caliber weapon and a small red circle appeared on the forehead of Rosenblatt’s sleeping five-year-old daughter. She was wearing a bright yellow sun dress and had the serene look of an angel.

Rosenblatt shook his head in absolute terror, his eyes bulging from their sockets. It was impossible to love anyone or anything more than he loved this beautiful little girl; a girl whose inner spirit and zest for life were infectious and a never-ending joy to be around. He choked back bile.

“You have thirty seconds to tell me how to find Kira Miller, Dr. Rosenblatt. And don’t make up a fake location to buy time. If Miller isn’t where you tell me, I’ll wipe out more than just your daughter. I hope to hell you believe me.”

Rosenblatt forced himself to turn away from the tablet computer and think. Would they really kill a five-year-old child in cold blood? He refused to believe it. But how could he possibly take that chance?

But how could he give up Kira Miller? He knew what she and the group were trying to accomplish. What was at stake for the entire human race, including vastly extended life for billions, and possible immortality within a generation. His captor had told him this was a lie, but he had seen the evidence himself. And he knew Jake’s other accusations were fabrications as well. Desh and Miller and the entire group were being framed somehow. He didn’t know by whom, but he knew it was happening.

Kira Miller was the key to unimaginable improvements in the human condition. The key to the next step in human evolution—directed evolution. She was the harbinger of an eventual galaxy or universe spanning intellect. Rosenblatt had been enhanced himself, and was well aware of the dangers, but he was also intimately aware of the breathtaking potential.

Far too much was at stake for him to betray Kira. But he had to protect his baby girl. He would sacrifice the entire universe if this is what it took to save his daughter.

But did he have to? Jake had to be bluffing. He had to be. He couldn’t be certain that Rosenblatt wasn’t telling the truth. This was simply a test. If Rosenblatt stuck to his guns and didn’t waver, even in the face of an impossible threat, Jake would have to believe him. No father would lie when up against this kind of compulsion.

“I’m waiting, Dr. Rosenblatt. You have ten seconds left.”

Tears began streaming down the physicist’s face. “I really don’t know,” he said, his voice distilled panic. “Really,” he pleaded. “I would tell you if I did. Oh God, I would tell you. I’ll do anything. Don’t do this.”

Rosenblatt wasn’t near the edge of hysteria, he was over the edge. He was betting his daughter’s life he could convince Jake he was telling the truth, so his terror at the prospect of losing her forever—worse, of miscalculating and being responsible for her death—couldn’t have been more real. “Miller and Desh are insanely paranoid,” he babbled on. “I’ll tell you anything you want. But I can’t tell you what I don’t know!”

Although his vision was distorted by tears, Rosenblatt saw a deeply troubled look come over Jake’s face. What did this mean? Was he convinced that Rosenblatt didn’t know Kira’s location? How could he not be convinced? No father on earth would hold this information back in these circumstances. That’s all Jake was after. He had produced the ultimate threat to be absolutely certain he had gotten all the information there was to get. And now he could be sure.

Jake whispered into the phone, and on the computer screen the man aiming the gun at Rosenblatt’s lovely daughter pulled the trigger. Jessica’s small head exploded like a melon dropped from a skyscraper, scattering blood and brain matter across the room and spraying the other unconscious members of Rosenblatt’s family.

“Nooooo!” screamed the wiry physicist, almost losing consciousness—his mind unable to cope with a blow to his psyche this great. “Noooo!”

“Should we move on to your next oldest daughter, or are you beginning to remember where I can find David Desh and Kira Miller?”

An expression of pure, thrilling hatred wrapped around Rosenblatt’s face, even as the tears continued to pour down his cheeks, but only for a moment. He was too shattered to maintain any emotion other than profound guilt, and bottomless grief. “I’ll tell you what you want,” he tried to say through sobs and the heaving of his body, but the words were unintelligible.

Jake nodded anyway. “Good,” he said, having easily guessed their meaning. “But you need to compose yourself first. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Jake exited the steel shed, never glancing back at the emptied husk of a man behind him, who was sobbing into the one arm that wasn’t handcuffed to a steel chair.

***

The moment the door of the shed swung shut, Jake steadied himself against the trunk of a nearby maple tree. He was shaking and fought to stop the moisture accumulating in the corners of his eyes from sliding down his face.

He closed his eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths. Finally, regaining some semblance of control over his emotions, he walked the twenty or so yards to where the white minivan was parked. One of his men was monitoring the area for trespassers, but this was possibly the most secluded spot in Princeton and they hadn’t expected to have to turn anyone away.

He opened the door to the minivan and slid inside. His second in command, Major John Kolke, who had been monitoring the interrogation on a video monitor, was waiting inside, along with a lieutenant.

Jake turned to the lieutenant, his eyes still wet. “Please excuse us,” he barely managed to get out. “I need to be alone with Major Kolke.”

The moment the man left, the major caught his commander’s eye. “Are you okay, sir?” he asked softly, concern written all over his face.

Jake didn’t answer the question, but looked deathly ill. “What kind of hold does Kira Miller have on these people?” he whispered, his eyes wide with horror. “How could he have been willing to risk his daughter’s life?”

Kolke shook his head solemnly but did not reply.

“I can’t do this anymore,” muttered Jake, his eyes becoming moist once again. “I’ve been in firefights against overwhelming odds, and I’ve never complained. But this is too much to ask of anyone.”

“Colonel, I know the scene was devastatingly realistic. And I know you had to commit to the bit a thousand percent. But you’ve immersed yourself too deeply into method acting. Pull yourself back. You know it was only a special effect. That little girl is probably scribbling in a coloring book at her preschool even as we speak.”

Jake shook his head. “I know that. But what I did to that man’s soul wasn’t a special effect. I tortured him far worse than if I would have pulled out his fingernails. It was beyond cruel.” He looked away. “If you could have seen the look on his face.” He shuddered. “I have a little girl myself. I can’t even imagine . . . ”

Jake lowered his eyes and fought once again to compose himself.

“You had to learn if he was holding a bluff all the way to the end,” said Kolke. “And now you know. He was. The important thing is that we’re within twenty-four hours of bringing down the most dangerous person on the planet. You’ll be saving millions of lives.”

Jake nodded but didn’t look any better.

“Colonel, you’ve just proven once again that you’re the right man for this job,” continued Kolke. “Rosenblatt wasn’t the only one being tested. If killing a single innocent girl to save millions—or even just pretending to do so—eats at your soul, you’re the right man. If you can do something like this and it doesn’t tear you apart, then you’re the last person who should wield the kind of power that comes with this job.”

Jake looked away, alone with his thoughts for almost a minute. Finally, he took a deep breath, put his hand on the arm of his second in command, and said, “Thanks, John. This helps.” In reality it hadn’t helped much, but Jake knew it would have to be enough. He had a job to do.

“Now that you’ve cracked Rosenblatt,” said Kolke, “do you still want four men surveiling his family?”

“No. That’s overkill. Recall Perez and Ferguson. Tell the other two we don’t expect trouble, but to be cautious since there won’t be any backup for them to call in. And that if anything suspicious happens, don’t hesitate to use the satellites.”

“I’ll tell them.”

Jake nodded and turned to the small monitor. Rosenblatt had sobbed himself dry. His head was still down on the table and he was whimpering softly. “He’s shattered,” said Jake. “But I think he’s reached the point where he can make himself understood. I’d better go back in and get the information we need.”

“What’s the plan once you do?”

“He’s just an innocent pawn. Once we kill Miller and imprison Desh and the others in the core council, we just have to make sure none of the peripheral players have access to her treatment. She’s the only one capable of developing it from scratch. Once she’s dead the threat is over. We’ll hold him until we’ve taken her out, and then we can let him and the others go back to their lives. We can keep them under surveillance for a few years, just to be sure. . .”

He stepped out of the minivan, but turned back to face John Kolke before he left. “I’d love to tell him the truth the moment he gives Kira Miller up. Tell him his little girl is fine. That it was all just a computer generated illusion.” He sighed. “But I can’t, of course. Not until we’re sure we’ve got Miller. Just in case we still need leverage on him.” A pained look crossed his face.

“Keep in mind how many lives you’re about to save,” said Kolke once again. “The country needs you.”

“Yeah,” said Jake in disgust. “I’m a fucking hero.”

He moved away from the minivan as its door slid quietly shut behind him. When he reached the steel shed, he took a deep breath, gathered himself, put a stern expression on his face, and opened the door.

Where are you, Kira Miller?

He was just seconds away from—finally—finding out.

4

Dr. Anton van Hutten, full professor in Stanford’s department of applied mathematics and theoretical physics, stepped lightly onto the steep escalator, moving to one side of the grooved silver steps to let those in more of a hurry rush down unobstructed. He had a broad cherubic face, thinning hair that was turning white, and black-framed Harry Potter glasses that contrasted with his hair and light complexion. Several men and one woman formed a rough semicircle fifteen feet from the bottom, each holding up a sign with a name on it. He walked over to one of them, a man wearing tan slacks and an Oxford knit shirt who had an air of self-assurance and competence.

“Dr. van Hutten?” asked the man as he approached, lowering the sign on which van Hutten’s name was written.

The professor nodded.

“Welcome to Denver. Did you check a bag?”

Van Hutten shook his head. “I’ve only brought myself, I’m afraid.”

The driver nodded and motioned for him to follow. Van Hutten knew they were proceeding to the vehicle that would transport him to the somewhat mysterious Center for Research Excellence, abbreviated CREX, a think tank nearby.

Van Hutten had received a call two weeks earlier from a woman who introduced herself as Devon—no last name given. She was affiliated with CREX, a think tank near Denver, she explained, and wanted to sign him up as a consultant. Was he available for a full day in two weeks time?

He wasn’t sure, he had told her. He had several important meetings in the morning and early afternoon on the day she had suggested.

But Devon had assured him they’d be happy to host him from five in the afternoon until nine at night. While normally they would ask him to fly commercial, in this case they would schedule a chartered flight so he could return home that night. And when she described the pay—one thousand dollars an hour—van Hutten quickly decided that her proposal would work just fine.

One thousand dollars an hour.

And if he would spend the late afternoon and evening at their facility, they would guarantee a minimum of ten thousand dollars.

A limo would pick him up from his home and drive him to the airport for his flight to Denver International. All they asked was that he sign an ironclad confidentiality agreement, which included a provision that he not disclose how much he was being paid.

He wasn’t sure if he could believe it, but the next day he received an express package with a five thousand dollar advance.

Intellectual rewards appealed to him far more than financial ones, but ten thousand dollars for a day was ten thousand dollars for a day. Besides, he was intrigued. What could they possibly want from him that would warrant that kind of money? It wasn’t as if he kept any of his research confidential. If they wanted access to his work they could read his scholarly papers in one of several journals.

He had tried to get the woman to tell him what the consulting engagement would entail, but she had only assured him he wouldn’t need to prepare and he was the right man for the job. When he had asked for the center’s address, he had been told not to worry: that a driver would meet him at the airport and make sure he was taken the rest of the way to the facility in comfort.

A quick Internet search revealed a very professional webpage that spoke of the think tank’s mission—to extend the boundaries of human knowledge—and the large endowment it had received from anonymous donors. Other than this, there was not a single mention of CREX anywhere else online. Hard to imagine a think tank with such a professional website and money to burn wasn’t mentioned somewhere. If he’d Googled the name of the kid who bagged his groceries he’d probably get a dozen hits. In addition, the website didn’t have a “contact us” page, nor could an address be found anywhere.

Curioser and curioser.

He had considered backing out, but decided this would be an overreaction. It was no crime if a think tank backed by anonymous donors wanted to keep a low profile, and he was certain there were any number of perfectly legitimate reasons for wanting to do so.

His mind returned to the present, where the driver was leading him through a busy parking lot. The man stopped beside a silver industrial van, with no windows on the sides or back and no descriptors of any kind stenciled on. Van Hutten might have expected their facility to be depicted on the van, or at the very least the words, “Center for Research Excellence,” but once again they had decided to keep a low profile. At least they were consistent.

The driver opened the side doors. “Do you need a hand up, sir?” he asked.

Van Hutten hesitated. He liked the idea of being able to see where he was going, and the back of the van was a self-contained compartment that offered no means to do so. He opened his mouth to ask if he could sit in the passenger seat in front when he noticed it was unavailable—several large computer monitors had been carefully placed on the seat and floor. He frowned. “No, I can make it,” he said. “I’m not that old yet,” he added with a forced smile as he stepped into the van.

It was beautifully appointed, as luxurious and elegant as the inside of a high-end limousine, except more spacious. The ride was smooth and remarkably noiseless. Thirty minutes later the van wound up inside a small, underground parking lot and the driver led him through a door into what looked to be a newly built and very modern office building.

As he entered he was immediately met by a three person welcoming party. The first of these was a bear of a man who towered over all the others. He had long wavy hair and a bushy brown beard, and must have weighed three hundred pounds—although he was far from obese, just a land mass of his own. “Matt Griffin,” he said, sticking out a massive paw that looked capable of grinding van Hutten’s hand to paste, but which was soft and gentle as they shook. “It is a rare privilege and honor, sir,” added the human mountain, his voice as erudite and proper as the stodgiest Harvard professor.

“Thank you,” replied van Hutten as the man next to Griffin stuck out his hand. He was the oldest of the welcoming committee. His features were angular, his hair and mustache neatly trimmed, and he had a distinct military bearing about him, much like the driver.

“Jim Connelly,” said the older man as they shook hands. “Welcome to our facility.”

“Glad to be here.”

For the first time van Hutten turned his attention to the lone woman in the group, who had been partially hidden behind the gentle giant calling himself Matt Griffin, and his breath caught in his throat. She was absolutely stunning. She flashed him a dazzling, sincere smile that added even further to her appeal. Just standing there, doing nothing, she had a force of personality, a radiance, that was magnetic. His eyes decided they were quite content to rest on her for long periods of time and would not be easily coaxed to move on.

“Thank you so much for coming, Dr. van Hutten,” she said as she shook his hand, her hand and wrist delicate but strong.

“Please . . . everyone. Anton is fine.”

“Anton it is,” said the woman for them all. “Welcome to The Center for Research Excellence. I assume you recognize my voice.”

“Yes. You were the one who contacted me by phone. Devon, I believe.”

She winced in such a way that it was both devilish and apologetic at the same time. “Well, yes. But I have to say I mislead you about my name. Just in case you weren’t interested, I thought it better to go by Devon. Sorry about that. But no need for any subterfuge now. My name is really Kira. Kira Miller.”

He was already suspicious of this outfit, and this revelation only made him more so. He almost wanted to flee back home now, but a sinking feeling in his gut told him he was past the point of no return. And this woman, who had unabashedly admitted to giving him a false name, wore an expression so open and sincere, and was so clearly enthusiastic about meeting him, that he found himself strangely at ease.

His eyes refused to leave her face until he felt a gentle nudge from behind. The man who had driven him here was still present, and now his hand was outstretched. “I’m part of CREX as well,” he said. “I thought I’d wait until you met the others and then introduce myself properly.”

Van Hutten took the offered hand. He had suspected there was more to this man than met the eye.

“David Desh,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, David.”

Matt Griffin could barely contain his excitement. “You’re undoubtedly wondering why you’re here,” he said.

Van Hutten stifled a smile. For some reason he wanted to say, “undoubtedly,” in reply, but resisted the urge. “No question about it,” he replied instead.

“Good. We’ll get right to it then,” said Griffin, leading van Hutten and the others toward a conference room at the center of the building.

Kira Miller strode beside the physicist and said, “Just to warn you, some of what we’ll be telling you will seem a little outrageous. We fully expect you to be skeptical at first. All we ask is that you keep an open mind and give us the chance to convince you.”

The queasy feeling in the pit of van Hutten’s stomach returned with a vengeance. “You’ll have my full attention,” he replied.

He had no idea what he was getting into, but if worst came to worst, if they revealed themselves as some kind of quasi-scientific cult—the church of the quantum cosmological spirit or something equally lunatic—he was prepared to humor them: at least until he could remove himself from their company.

“You have me intrigued,” he said, deciding to begin humoring them now, just in case. “It sounds as if today may be more interesting than I thought.”

Kira glanced up at him without replying, but an amused bearing came over the affable giant lumbering next to her. “You have no idea,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “You really have no idea.”

5

Colonel Morris “Jake” Jacobson exited the F14 Tomcat that had rocketed him to Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs, and boarded a car that was waiting to take him to a civilian helicopter waiting nearby. Landing a civilian helicopter on a street or field in Denver would attract far more attention than he would like, but not nearly as much as a military chopper would attract. The night sky was crystal clear and dense with stars, but this was the last thing on Jake’s mind.

“Give me a situation report, Captain,” he said into his cell phone.

“We found the glass building precisely where you told us it would be, Colonel,” said the special forces captain who had been on scene for some time now. “And the warehouse eighty yards to the east as well. Our teams have established a hundred-yard perimeter around them both. We arrived in civilian vehicles and used maximum discretion during our deployment. We have twenty-four men who are dug in, including four snipers. We’re in an industrial area, poorly lighted, and it’s well after work hours, so our confidence is high we weren’t observed by anyone in the vicinity.”

“And you can confirm that Kira Miller and David Desh are in the building?”

“Yes, sir. I saw them enter with my own eyes. They matched the photos you provided exactly. There’s always the chance one or more of them has a body double, or has altered their appearance as a decoy. But if so, they did a masterful job.”

Jake considered. While masterful was well within the capabilities of these two, he believed the chance they were not who they seemed to be was virtually zero in this case. He had broken Rosenblatt, of that he was certain. The physicist had given Jake this location less than seven hours earlier, breaking into tears periodically as he did so and begging him not to hurt his remaining children.

It had been heart wrenching, but Rosenblatt had been beyond the possibility of deceit. And if the captain had seen only one of them, perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity, but both Desh and Miller together entering the building Rosenblatt insisted was their working headquarters was too much of a stretch.

“You’re certain no one has left since they entered?”

“Positive. They’re still in the center of the glass building. Judging from the spacing, it may be a kitchen area, but we believe it’s a conference room. We’ve been reading the heat signatures of five humans for hours.”

Jake searched his mind for anything he might be missing, but came up empty.

He had them, he thought triumphantly, but the sober part of his nature returned almost immediately to restrain his enthusiasm. From what he understood, they had been in situations just as hopeless before and had slipped the noose. He couldn’t allow himself to be overconfident.

“Thank you Captain Ruiz. I’ll be coming in by civilian helo, with an ETA of about twenty minutes. I’m going to have the pilot land in as secluded a spot as possible about three miles out, just to be certain the sound of the chopper blades doesn’t alert them.”

“Three miles, Colonel? Civilian helos are quieter than military ones.”

Ruiz was correct, but he hadn’t been briefed on the exact nature of what they were dealing with. Who knew what kind of technology Miller and Desh had up their sleeves? Who knew what kind of automated listening devices they might have invented for sniffing out incoming choppers? The more he thought about the capabilities of a group who could amplify their intelligence to levels that made the brightest humans seem like gorillas, the more nervous he became.

“Very true, Captain, but I’d like you to spread the word to the team. While on this op, assume we’re facing hostiles with capabilities and skills even greater than our own. It’s critical that they not be underestimated.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Jake inhaled deeply. It was time. He needed to make several critical decisions, and he needed to make them quickly. The current tactical situation could not be more ideal. But if Miller and the others entered the tunnel to their warehouse the situation would grow more complex and uncertainties would make the op more difficult.

He vowed that whatever it took, he would see to it that Miller and Desh would not slip the noose again.

6

Van Hutten and his four escorts arrived at the conference room, which was large and bright and packed with life. Kira loved plants, believing they were both good for the human soul as well as the quality of indoor air, and there were more plants within the facility than could be found in many outdoor gardens. The conference room itself was home to three Chinese fan palms, each of which reached the ceiling, and two amstel-king-braid ficus trees, all potted in round, one-hundred-gallon brushed silver containers that fit with the conference room’s theme of contemporary simplicity.

They took seats around an elegant glass conference table that was shaped like a giant’s surfboard, pointed at a fifty inch monitor on the wall.

Kira studied van Hutten with barely concealed enthusiasm. A physicist of his caliber who had made it through all of their screens was potentially huge for the project. They had told Seth Rosenblatt that van Hutten wasn’t acceptable, but this was part of their security plan to compartmentalize information, especially personnel information, whenever possible. What Rosenblatt didn’t know couldn’t hurt him—or others.

“Anton,” she began. “We really are honored that you could join us. But I’d like to get right to the point. And once again, I’ll ask for your patience and open mindedness. I promise you everything we tell you is completely accurate. And we’ll prove it to you before we’re through.”

Van Hutten’s face tightened, and he looked understandably uneasy, but he just nodded and said nothing.

Kira had always been the type who liked to tear band-aids off swiftly. “I’m a molecular biologist,” she said. “Several years ago I developed a gene therapy. For about an hour at a time, this therapy can boost human intelligence to . . . well, there’s no other way to say it: to immeasurable levels.”

Van Hutten blinked several times as if he had no idea what these words meant. A quizzical expression came over his face. “Immeasurable levels?” he repeated, as if his ears hadn’t been working properly.

Kira nodded. “That’s right.”

She could tell van Hutten was trying hard to remain expressionless, but even so the slightest sneer of disbelief flashed over his face. He glanced at the three men at the table, as if looking for an expression that would confirm that this was an elaborate joke, that he was being put on. She could only imagine what must be going through his head. Was he wondering if this was an initiation rite? If he was being tested to see how he would react? More likely, Kira knew, he probably thought he was in the company of a group of dangerous, delusional zealots.

“The human brain has nearly unlimited potential,” she continued. “But it’s wired for survival rather than pure intelligence. Autistic savants give us a small window into the possibilities. There are autistic savants who can memorize entire phone books in one reading and can multiply ten digit numbers faster than a calculator. What if you could unleash capabilities even greater than these across all areas of thought and creativity?”

Van Hutten’s eyes narrowed as he considered this argument. He tilted his head and his expression became slightly less skeptical; slightly more thoughtful. “Go on,” he said.

Connelly and Desh excused themselves from the room as Kira forged ahead. She described how she had experimented on animals before eventually turning herself into a human guinea pig. She described the enormous plasticity of the human brain, which allowed for a ten-fold range of human intelligence, from an IQ of twenty-five to above two hundred, even without being engineered to optimize the potential of what was basically an infinite number of neuronal connections. She explained how she had ultimately developed a cocktail of engineered viruses contained within gellcaps, which delivered a genetic payload that rewired the brain in minutes—in a chain reaction that ordered neurons in a way that random evolution never could. And she explained that they were telling him all this because they wanted to recruit him to their cause, which they would elaborate upon later.

Along the way van Hutten began asking questions and making comments, seemingly unable to avoid becoming intellectually engaged by the discussion, despite himself.

Finally, Kira presented video footage of early experiments she had done on lab rats, who unlike the repulsive sewer rats of horror movie fame, were gray faced and had pink, Mickey Mouse ears that made them look almost cute and cuddly. The footage showed the rodents learning a classical water maze, swimming in a panic inside what looked like a rat hot tub, the water made opaque with powdered milk, until they found the quadrant with a submerged platform. While natural swimmers, the rats always looked to be on the verge of drowning. Many repetitions were required before the test subjects spent most of their time searching for the platform in the correct quadrant.

The video then showed a rat that had just arrived at the facility, one that had never been trained. This rat was injected with Kira’s virus cocktail and twenty minutes later placed in a cage overlooking the water maze, able to observe an untreated cousin flail around in the water until it finally, randomly, found the platform.

The moment the cocktail treated rat was placed in the water maze it swam straight as an arrow for the platform.

Kira explained how stunned she had been the first time this had happened. The rat had learned how to beat the test just by watching a single one of its brethren. A single time. It was unheard of.

Toward the middle of the video, Desh and Connelly had returned to the meeting carrying water, soft drinks, and a tray of heaping roast beef, chicken club, and tuna salad sandwiches, which had undoubtedly been prepared ahead of time and stored in a nearby refrigerator. By the time the video ended and Kira had finished her narration, the men had eaten their fill.

Kira clicked off the screen with a small black remote and turned her attention to van Hutten. He was deep in thought. She sensed from his questions and reactions that he wanted to believe, but her claims were so fantastic, so audacious, that he couldn’t get beyond his last shred of skepticism. She was no stranger to this reaction.

“Now we all know that everything I just told you could be an elaborate hoax,” said Kira. “And the rat footage could have been faked.” She paused. “I could also go on to show you discoveries and inventions that are clearly beyond the current state of the art. We’ve done this before as well, with mixed results. Some who’ve been where you are, Anton, believe us and let down their guard, while some continue to be skeptical. Once you’ve seen a few Vegas magic acts, you believe that anything can be faked in close quarters. Inventions, videos, what have you.”

Van Hutten allowed himself a shallow smile. “True. But at least I’m convinced you’re a molecular biologist. Your knowledge of the brain and genetic engineering is impressive. And I have to say your arguments make the impossible seem almost reasonable.” He paused. “But you’re right. I still can’t help but think this might be nothing more than a magic act—although admittedly a dazzling one.”

The room was totally silent for several long seconds. Kira removed a roast beef sandwich from the tray and caught Griffin’s eye, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. Her part of the show was now over. Desh had insisted long before that she not be involved in the part of the discussion that could often get unpleasant. Not because she was a woman and they were men, but because she was the unanimously acknowledged leader of the group and they all thought it important that she stay above the fray.

The giant blew out a long breath. “The only way you’ll believe us the proverbial one hundred and ten percent,” he said, “Is if you take a gellcap and see for yourself.” He paused to give van Hutten time to digest this statement. “I promise you that the effects are not dangerous. And they only last for about an hour. You’ll be famished afterwards, but we’ll supply you with plenty of high-glycemic-index food.” Griffin smiled. “For those of us who experimented a little in college with cannabis sativa,” he added, “these are better known as munchies.”

Desh fixed an intense gaze on van Hutten. “Are you willing to try it?” he asked.

The physicist removed his black framed glasses, rubbed his eyes, and placed them back on his face. “And if I’m not?” he said finally.

“We can respect that,” replied Desh. “I was reluctant myself. It’s as if you’re being pushed to take LSD. We’re telling you it’s harmless, and there are no after effects, but this requires you to trust us implicitly. And it is mind altering. No one could blame you for not wanting to rush into something like this.”

“Then you’re okay if I pass?”

Desh grimaced. “Actually no,” he said. “I’m afraid we’d have to insist. We know that forcing this on you couldn’t be more unethical. We try to make ourselves feel better by using the ends justify the means argument, but we know this argument is the last refuge of the incompetent. But I also know you’ll be thanking me when this is all over.”

“For forcing me into something I don’t want to do?”

Desh nodded. “Unlike you, we know it won’t have after effects.” He tilted his head. “Suppose you come across a man from a primitive culture dying from a bacterial infection and you have penicillin. Suppose this person believes he can get better and refuses to take the penicillin, knowing nothing about it and not certain he can trust you. But you know this antibiotic will cure him, and he’ll die otherwise. Do you force him to take it?”

“Yes,” replied van Hutten with only a moment of thought. “Some wouldn’t, I suppose, but I would.” He shook his head. “But this is the most strained analogy I’ve ever heard. I’m not a primitive dying of a bacterial infection. This is far from life and death. The comparison you’re trying to draw couldn’t be more flawed.”

Desh grinned. “Quit beating around the bush, Professor, and tell me what you really think.”

Griffin smiled as well. “Can’t say you don’t have a point, Dr van Hut . . . um, Anton,” he added. “The problem with recruiting brilliant people is that they’re so damn . . . well, brilliant. Not easy to persuade.”

“Look,” said Desh, “we’re asking you to do this voluntarily. But again, we’re prepared to make this happen by force if necessary. Even knowing we have no ethical ground to stand on. We’re not proud of it. But we can’t let you leave until you’ve been what we call enhanced.”

“Why? Why is this so important?”

“Because no one who has been enhanced even a single time has not joined our efforts,” said Connelly, who had remained largely quiet throughout the proceedings. “If you don’t experience this for yourself, realize that everything we’ve told you is true, the security risk is too high. You know too much about us.”

“Will you volunteer?” pressed Desh.

“I’m not sure we have the same definition of volunteer,” responded van Hutten. “Basically, my voluntary choices are to take the gellcap myself, or be manhandled and have the pill forced down my throat. Is that about right?”

Desh frowned. “I’m really very sorry about this. You’re a good man and a brilliant scientist. We’ve studied you closely, and we’ve all come to admire you. The thing is, I’m certain you’ll forgive me once you’ve experienced what we’ve all experienced. And you’ll understand the tradeoffs we felt we were forced to make.”

Van Hutten sighed and then nodded. “Okay,” he said in surrender. “Let’s do this thing. Since it’s clear I’m getting a dose of this no matter what I say or do, I might as well take it, um . . . voluntarily. I do have to admit to being intrigued. And if you are a group of dangerous lunatics, you have to be the most reluctant and respectful group of dangerous lunatics I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks,” said Desh with a wry smile. “I think.”

Desh and Connelly remained in the conference room while Kira and Griffin led their visitor to a spacious room nearby, completely transparent, with a single steel chair bolted to the ground in front of a mouse and a laser generated virtual keyboard. Four computer monitors were hung just outside the room, but all were easily visible from the chair through the thick Plexiglas walls.

“This is our enhancement room,” explained Kira. “Once you’re locked in it’s escape proof. Even for someone as brilliant as you’re about to become.”

Kira waited while van Hutten surveyed the room.

“The keyboard and mouse are connected to a supercomputer outside of the room,” she continued. “Which is connected to the Internet. But only in such a way that you can access the web for informational purposes. An even more powerful supercomputer monitors your activities, and if it detects any attempt to hack into a site, or affect outside computers in any way—unless these activities are preapproved—it will block them. You’d be smart enough to get around any firewall built by a normal programmer, but Matt put this in place while his IQ was amped.”

Kira paused for breath. “When you make breakthroughs, you should enter them into the computer as fast as you can. The good news is that you’ll be able to type at many times your normal speed with perfect accuracy.”

Kira was working on a brain/computer interface, and after a few more sessions with a gellcap she was confident she could come up with a system that could send human thoughts directly to a computer, eliminating the need for typing and facilitating the transfer of gellcap induced breakthroughs a hundred fold.

“We’ll be monitoring you,” she told him, “but we won’t try to communicate. For your first time, we want you to be able to soar without having to divert even a fraction of your attention to converse with dullards like us.”

“Very considerate of you,” said van Hutten drily.

“Are you ready?” asked Griffin.

Van Hutten nodded.

Kira handed him a gellcap and a bottle of water, and after taking a deep breath, the Stanford physicist downed the pill without ceremony.

Kira recovered the bottle and she and her colleagues retreated to the thick door, which they would lock behind them tighter than a vault.

“It will take a few minutes for the effect to kick in,” said Kira. “But when it does. . . Well, let’s just say that you’ll know it right away.”

7

Jake weighed possibilities from within the cocoon of the helicopter as it darted northward. The cleanest and most obvious choice, he knew, would be to breach the facility with overwhelming numbers and take them out at point blank range, bin Laden style. It was the surest, most direct route.

But it was far riskier in this case than it would have been if this were any other group. If one of them could elude his men long enough for a gellcap to take effect, the odds could well turn in their favor. Their minds would then work too quickly—their reaction times would be too fast. He had seen footage of this in action, and it was truly impressive.

There was far too much at stake for him to take any risk at all. He could leave nothing to chance. He lifted the right side of the heavy black headphones he was wearing just long enough to slide an earpiece into his right ear, connected by a thin cord to his cell phone. A small microphone attached to the cord hung near his mouth.

“Captain Ruiz,” he said into the mike, “what have they been doing in there?”

“It’s impossible to know for sure just from heat signatures, but they’re mostly seated. Over several hours they’ve gotten up to move around, separated for brief periods, and fidgeted. In my experience this looks like a very long meeting, with occasional bathroom and drink breaks.”

Jake nodded. “Are they together now?”

“They are, sir.”

Desperate times called for desperate measures, thought Jake. This was why his group existed in the first place. Sure, he would get second guessed by those judging his actions. The threat wasn’t a nice tidy nuke wrapped up in a bow. Unlike a nuke, it could be argued that the threat presented by Miller and crew was overblown. If he wasn’t steeped in knowledge of their activities and their potential for destruction, he might think so himself. But there was no turning back. He knew what had to be done.

“Okay then, Captain,” he said. “Here’s the plan. I’m going to scramble a bomber to fly overhead at an undetectable altitude and drop a five hundred pound JDAM down their throats.” This would vaporize every living thing inside the building, right down to the cockroaches.

“A JDAM, sir?” said the captain in disbelief.

Jake couldn’t blame him for reacting this way. It didn’t get more unlawful than dropping a smart bomb on a civilian building sitting on U.S. soil. But the situation was perfect for it. Their target was a building not too close to any others. And there was little traffic in the neighborhood.

“You heard me, Captain,” responded Jake. “We’ll set it so it doesn’t explode until it’s entered the building. Miller and Desh won’t have any warning, and there won’t be any chance it will be seen by anyone in the vicinity.”

This would reduce the building to rubble with such accuracy that there should be no collateral damage—not unless someone was within fifty yards of the building. But even so, he wanted to be absolutely certain. “Have some of your team set up unmanned roadblocks at major points of ingress to the target. Make sure no friendlies get inside your current perimeter. I’ll want you patched through to the bomber pilot so you can give him the all clear when the time comes.”

“Roger that. How will you explain the explosion, sir?”

“Gas leak? Grease fire? I don’t know. We have some very creative people who can handle that end. I’m confident we can pull this off.”

“Sir, are you certain all of this is necessary? Even if they’re all better than we are, we have superior numbers and tactical position. We can capture them or take them out without the need of a JDAM. I’m sure of it.”

A scene from a movie materialized in Jake’s head. It involved several policemen breaching a building to apprehend a lone woman. The police were certain they had the situation well in hand. I think we can handle one little girl the lieutenant in charge had said. Jake put on the deadpan voice of one of the characters in the film, an agent named Smith, and whispered his memorable reply: “No, Lieutenant—your men are already dead.”

A confused voice came through Jake’s earpiece. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but I didn’t quite make that out.”

Jake cleared his throat. “I said, proceed as ordered, Captain. Proceed as ordered.”

8

Van Hutten sat in the room’s only chair and closed his eyes, waiting for . . . he had no idea. The pill could have been nothing more than a placebo, but he suspected it was either a strong hallucinogen or worse. It could well be lethal.

There was nothing he could do about it now, in any case, regardless of its effect. Whatever was inside that gellcap was coursing through his bloodstream, and no power of will or sleight of hand could remove it now.

He turned his thoughts to the group he had just left. They seemed genuine and caring people. Not that a psychotic who had been told by a humming bird to kill his wife for the good of mankind couldn’t be genuine and caring as well.

One thing was certain, though: Kira Miller was a force of nature. She had a potent combination of physical and intellectual appeal that he had never seen matched. A persuasiveness, a charisma, and a winning personality that were off the charts. If he were a younger man he could see himself falling in love with that one in a hurry.

His mind exploded.

A hundred billion neurons rewired themselves in a chain reaction that was almost instantaneous.

He gasped.

His thoughts had been traveling at pedestrian speeds, but they had suddenly been punched into warp drive—and then some. His mind experienced the equivalent of a starfield rushing toward it; a starfield that elongated and blurred as his mind made the impossible leap into hyperspace.

Everything they had told him was true! Everything.

He diverted a tiny portion of his mind to ponder the implications of this while the rest explored its newfound power.

Somehow he knew that only 1.37 seconds had elapsed since the effect had hit him—exactly 1.37 seconds. He wasn’t sure how, but his mind was now as accurate as a stopwatch.

An hour—a period of time that once seemed stingy—suddenly seemed generous beyond measure.

He turned his attention to problems in theoretical physics that had proven to be insurmountable and epiphanies presented themselves almost as quickly as he could focus on them.

His fingers began flying over the keyboard, faster than he had thought they were capable of moving.

He hadn’t wanted the effect brought on by the mysterious gellcap to begin. Now he wished fervently that it would never end.

***

The Stanford physicist shoved yet another glazed devil’s food cake donut into his mouth and washed it down with his second sixteen-ounce bottle of apple juice.

“That was unbelievable! Extraordinary,” he said to Kira and Griffin for the third time, not realizing he had settled into a verbal feedback loop.

“Even if I had believed you completely, nothing could have prepared me for that! I could have never come close to even imagining it.”

“Sorry we had to force it on you,” said Desh with a sly smile, just having entered the room with Connelly.

“No you’re not,” said van Hutten happily as Desh took a seat. “And I’m not either. Thank you. I couldn’t be more grateful. Maybe that penicillin analogy wasn’t so bad after all. Although penicillin is like an incantation from a medicine man compared to that gellcap of yours, Kira.”

“Make some astonishing breakthroughs in our work, did we?” said Griffin.

“Absolutely,” replied van Hutten, as this part of the experience came rushing back to him. “I had a perfect memory of everything I’ve ever seen, heard, or read; and every thought I’ve ever had. And I could access all of this instantly. Incredible. I contemplated problems I’ve spent my entire career trying to solve. I just had to focus on one for a few seconds and an answer revealed itself like . . .” He paused, searching for the right metaphor. “Like an exhibitionist in a peep show,” he finished

“Wow,” said Griffin. “Well said. Linking the powers of an amplified intellect to live pornography is truly inspired.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me rephrase that?”

“Why would you want to?” said Griffin.

Van Hutten smiled and turned to Kira. “Okay, then. Consider me a true believer. Can you bring me fully up to speed?”

A delighted smile lit up her face. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said.

“You and David are in love, aren’t you?” he said out of the blue.

“One of the things you picked up during your hour?” responded Kira in amusement.

He nodded. “You just seemed like close colleagues to me. But to my improved mind, you both might as well have been holding billboards advertising the fact that you’re madly in love.”

“An unexpected bonus to heightened intelligence,” explained Kira. “Body language and other subtle clues to human behavior become so clear you can almost read minds.”

“I assume you also discovered your ability to direct every cell and enzyme in your body?” said Matt Griffin. “And to change your vital signs at will?”

The physicist grinned. “Oh yeah,” he replied giddily. “That too. All in all, it was the ultimate ride.”

The group spent the next hour sharing their history with van Hutten. They covered Kira’s early days after her first batch of gellcaps were stolen. How she was framed for a bioterror plot and hunted by the government. How David Desh was recruited to find her, and how lurking in the shadows, orchestrating it all, was her brother Alan, whom she had thought was dead.

They explained how the therapy altered personality in a dangerous way—creating megalomania at best and sociopathy at worst.

“Did you notice this kind of change in your personality?” asked Desh.

“Not really. I was having too much fun solving problems.”

Desh nodded. “These effects start mild for most, but seem to build,” he explained.

“And you’ve been vetted far more than you know,” said Griffin. He grinned and added, “or as David might say in that more direct vernacular of his favored by the military, we screened the living crap out of you.”

“You’ll be happy to know you’re at the very top of the scale when it comes to ethics,” said Kira, “as well as the innate stability of your mind and personality.”

“How do you screen for something like that?”

“In ways that only someone using Kira’s therapy could devise,” replied Desh, clearly not wanting to sidetrack the conversation with any details. “Given the stability of your personality and the fact that, as Kira once put it, the first time you’re enhanced you feel like Alice in Wonderland, it isn’t all that surprising that this effect didn’t hit you yet.”

“Just for the record,” said Griffin. “I never went through the Alice stage. The treatment seems to have hit me the most negatively of anyone. Along with everything else, I become the most outwardly arrogant.”

“The team has come up with a more technical term to describe good old lovable Matt when he’s enhanced,” said Desh with a broad smile. “He’s what we call a total asshole.”

Van Hutten laughed, now completely at ease.

“Okay, okay,” said Griffin. “I’ll admit it. I turn into an asshole. But a prodigiously productive asshole,” he added proudly—the word prodigious long since having become an inside joke among the group.

“That’s the only kind of asshole we allow,” said Desh.

Kira didn’t want to spoil the mood, but there was still a lot of ground to cover. “Colonel, do you want to walk Anton through the logistics of the operation,” she said.

“Colonel?” repeated van Hutten.

Connelly nodded. “In a past life.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Connelly, taking the small remote from Kira. “So given our history, and some troubling events that occurred early this year that we’ll brief you on later,” he began, “our security is tighter than ever. The building you’re in is our headquarters, so to speak. The four of us are the leadership. Not because we’re more intelligent or capable than any other recruit—well, other than Kira here, of course—but because we were the founders. Grandfathered in.”

For many months Kira had objected to the steady stream of flattery from the rest of the core council, which she considered greatly exaggerated, but had finally given up. Desh had explained that anyone who created a tool that led to breakthrough after breakthrough, and that was certain to alter the course of human history as profoundly as fire or the wheel, deserved to be put on a pedestal.

“The think tank and this building are fronts, of course,” continued Connelly. “It’s not a place of business—basically it’s our home. It has bedrooms, kitchens, etc. Maybe a better way to think of it is an apartment complex. We’re not zoned for it, but then again . . .” Connelly shrugged. “That’s the least of our worries.”

Connelly pressed the remote and an image of a long corridor came up on the monitor, about as wide as a two-lane highway, its concrete floors and walls painted white. “At the far south end of this building is a corridor—a concrete tunnel—about twenty feet below ground level and eighty yards in length. It leads to a hundred-thousand-square-foot warehouse.”

An aerial image of a windowless warehouse, which looked to be abandoned, flashed up on the monitor. Connelly explained that it had been sealed up tight and the only entrance was now through the corridor linking it with the headquarters building they were in. They had purchased the warehouse first and then built the headquarters and tunnel, using a number of different groups of contractors and carefully disguising, erasing, or confusing all records of the work.

Connelly then showed images of a row of standard golf carts in the tunnel that were used to cross back and forth between buildings.

Images of the inside of the warehouse came next. Each photo showed different views of a number of state-of-the art labs. The first to be shown was the biotech lab, within which Kira produced additional gellcaps and her longevity therapy. Then additional labs were shown in quick succession; high-energy physics, chemistry, electronics, optics, and others. Each was pristine, and no expense had been spared on equipment.

“Hopefully, we’ll have time to take you over there and give you a tour before you leave,” said Kira. “Showing you photos is a bit, well . . . lame, but we still have a lot to cover. Besides, being enhanced is physically taxing, so we’ll let you relax and eat donuts for a while longer.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” said van Hutten, realizing that he hadn’t yet consumed the last of the dozen dense black donuts and reaching for it as though he hadn’t eaten in a day. “Impressive set-up,” he added.

Only the core council knew that there was a second facility, nearly identical, in Kentucky, also connected by tunnel to a distant warehouse filled with labs, and also housing a room in which Kira’s therapy could be given securely.

The group recruited from across the country and the world, although they had focused primarily on the U.S. to begin with for logistical reasons. All recruits were signed up as consultants, which gave them an excuse to visit their respective facilities frequently, although they kept as low a profile as they possibly could about this.

Both facilities were within a thirty minute drive of a major airport, and had been located so that no one in the contiguous United States would be more than two or three hours flight away. They had taken a map of the United States, split it into equal east and west halves, and then tried to pick international airports in approximately the middle of each half that could be reached by direct flight from surrounding states. Denver International was the winner in the western half, and the Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International airport held this honor to the east. The core counsel split their time between both facilities about equally, even though they considered the Denver facility to be their true headquarters.

“Thanks,” said Desh. “We’ve put a lot of thought into this. Not to mention a mountain of money. The good news is that enhanced Matt is basically able to create money at will.”

“Really?” said van Hutten, raising an eyebrow.

Matt shrugged. “Just change a few pixels and bytes in computer systems around the world and your bank account never runs dry. There are safeguards and checks against doing this, but by removing relatively modest sums from thousands of the largest banks and businesses in the world, and overcoming the cross checks, it can be done. I also make sure all the accounting is fixed to show that those pixels and bytes never existed in the first place. So the money is never missed.”

“Nice trick,” said van Hutten.

“We try not to abuse it,” said Kira. “But we do go through, um . . .” she glanced at Griffin mischievously, “prodigious amounts of money. We contract out a lot of manufacturing and other work, which tends to be expensive, especially since we’re not the patient type. And doing things in a way to maximize security and cover our tracks takes even more money.”

“What’s nice,” added Desh, “is that if you need something, or think an item might be of use to you, even in the slightest, all you have to do is ask.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Jim and I, for example, wanted phones that could survive a war, but that look like normal phones anyone would have. This is a ten thousand dollar phone, but it’s as rugged as it gets: military grade and fully submersible. I could use it to pound a steel spike into concrete and then check my messages.” He paused. “So don’t be shy. If you want something, we’ll get it for you.”

Van Hutten nodded slowly. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied thoughtfully.

“But back to the briefing,” said Connelly. “Recruits are organized in groups of six.” Individuals were placed in groups based on their collective proximity to one of the two facilities, but since they all thought only one facility existed, they were unaware of this. “You could think of these groups as cells. But since this word is usually used in connection with terrorists, we decided not to use it. We call them hexads.”

“I see,” said van Hutten. “Like a triad. Except for six.”

“Exactly,” said Kira. “On most days the members of a given hexad congregate here and take turns being enhanced. I dole out the gellcaps, which are meticulously accounted for. And there’s a scheduling program that ensures the hexads are always kept separate.”

“We’re a bit on the paranoid side,” added Griffin.

“Yeah, just a bit,” said van Hutten with a smile. “So however many recruits you have—which I’m sure you won’t disclose—each one only knows you four and the five other members of their hexad?”

“Exactly,” replied Jim Connelly. “We ask recruits not to use their real names and not to attempt to identify each other.”

“We also try to get single people like you with few attachments,” added Desh. “Just in case. If they are married, we prefer those without children. Or with grown kids who are on their own. We’ve mostly adhered to this, although we’ve had to make an exception in a few cases. If a hexad is compromised, this policy helps make it easier for them to go to ground. If this were to happen, anyone with a wife and kids would have it pretty tough. They’d have to join our equivalent of a witness protection program. For everyone else, given a worst case scenario, it would just be a simple matter of faking their deaths and then keeping them off the grid.”

“Faking a death doesn’t sound like a simple matter to me,” said van Hutten.

Desh smiled. “Well, we’ve gotten pretty good at it,” he said. “It’s our best trick.”

There was a long silence in the conference room as the team let van Hutten digest what he had been told up to that point. Jim Connelly took the opportunity to politely excuse himself from the proceedings once again.

Kira thought the aging physicist was holding up surprisingly well. They had escorted him on a few bathroom breaks during this marathon session, and they had taken a few themselves, but other than this they had plowed ahead relentlessly.

Kira gestured at the pink faced physicist. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “We can take a twenty minute break if you’d like. We’re throwing a lot at you all at once. It must be like drinking from a fire hose.”

Van Hutten laughed good naturedly. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “These are all once in a lifetime revelations, so I think I can keep my mind from wandering for a few more hours. What you have going here is truly remarkable. You’re like a well-oiled machine. With these kind of facilities, funding, and the kind of brilliance you can unlock with your therapy, utopia might not be a pipe dream after all.”

Kira frowned. Van Hutten had hit a nerve. Utopia was a far more difficult concept to pin down than she had ever realized. Even if she could wave a magic wand to accomplish anything she wanted to, the issues just got thornier and thornier.

What if you could magically invent ways to totally free up humanity, to mechanize all labor, to make the world so affluent there would be no need for anyone to work to make a living? Would this be utopia? Her study of the science of happiness indicated that this might actually be a disaster.

Humans were worriers by nature. If a person’s mind wasn’t fully occupied they would find endless things to stress about. This trait allowed early humans to anticipate unseen and far future dangers, helping physically unimpressive hominids survive to become the dominant species on the planet. So while leisure and pleasure in moderation were good things, humans needed to be engaged in challenging activities, during which their attention was so utterly absorbed that there was no room for fear or worry or self-consciousness.

Kira knew that contrary to popular belief, humans were happiest, not during lengthy periods of leisure, but when they were growing as people. When they were achieving. When they were striving to overcome difficult and worthwhile challenges, and then overcoming them. When they were feeding a sense of accomplishment and self-esteem through effort. Even the accomplishments of menial labor brought a sense of personal satisfaction far greater than most realized.

Make your utopia too utopian and boredom would set in. And malaise. Some would continue to work hard and challenge themselves at every turn—even if all of their physical and financial needs were taken care of. But many more would fall into the trap of being lulled into a low energy state of endless leisure—and little true happiness. A state of dependence without any real sense of progress, or growth, or accomplishment. A slow poisoning of the soul of the species.

Kira had become convinced that a true utopia was impossible for humans in their current state—no matter what the conditions.

Desh threw her a glance, with an expression that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking and that he was about to take the reins of the conversation for a moment. They had discussed the human condition and utopian dreams at length, and were on the same page, although she didn’t expect him to get into any of this with van Hutten. He didn’t. Instead, he took the opportunity to bring the understandably euphoric physicist back to earth, a place he would need to be for the rest of their discussion.

“Not to burst your bubble,” said Desh, “but while we have some pretty grandiose goals, things are not going nearly as well as we had hoped.” His expression darkened. “On a number of fronts,” he finished grimly.

9

Jake was minutes away from landing, but he wasn’t about to delay the operation just so he could have a ringside seat. Every minute was precious. Between one instant and the next he could lose the element of surprise. Miller and Desh could decide to leave. Anything could happen.

And failing at this point would be unthinkable. To finally have found and cornered them and then squandered the opportunity would be the ultimate tease, far worse than never having found them at all.

From the intel Rosenblatt had delivered, their organization was structured as brilliantly as he had expected. Six member cells, with each member discouraged from learning the identities of the others. Even so, from the descriptions and other clues Rosenblatt had given them, Jake was confident they would identify the other five members of the physicist’s cell—eventually.

The structure of Miller’s group had the advantage that no cell had any knowledge of any other cell. But it had a critical flaw. While the cells had no connections to each other, each was connected to the hub. Which meant that each member knew the identities of the core leadership. Jake was surprised they had allowed this, but then again, given they were all legally dead and thought that no one knew of their existence, this arrangement should have been more than sufficient.

And they had continued to exercise as much caution as they could. They had taken care to make sure that none of their recruits ever learned the address of their facility. Rosenblatt had described how each member of the group was always driven to the facility in the back of a van, with no way to see outside. More polite than asking guests to wear a blindfold, but with the same net effect.

But Rosenblatt had known enough to lead them to the right place anyway. Miller had made one mistake. During one of the many updates she presented to Rosenblatt’s cell, which they called a hexad, she had thrown the wrong presentation up on the screen. It had only remained there for a few seconds before she caught her error, but it had been long enough. The slide had been entitled, Headquarters Building—Artist’s Rendering. An Icon of Denver International was shown at the bottom of the slide and their headquarters was depicted to the northeast. Its perimeter was nothing but large panels of mirrored glass, reflecting its surroundings. The structure was a perfect rectangle two stories tall, and judging from several trees drawn nearby, it wasn’t all that big; perhaps confining fifteen or twenty thousand square feet of space.

They had been lucky. Without seeing this particular slide, Rosenblatt would never have known the approximate dimensions of the building or that the outer perimeter was mirrored, having no way to tell this from inside. Nor would he have known its position with respect to the airport.

Once Jake knew the size and style of building they were looking for; one northeast of the airport and eighty yards from a massive warehouse, he had more than enough to go on. Marshalling the vast resources at his disposal, computer, satellite, and otherwise, his black-ops group had found it almost immediately, and Desh and Miller’s presence there had confirmed it.

And now he was just minutes away from ending a threat unlike any other in history.

Jake put in a call to his second in command. “The strike on Miller is now immanent. What’s the status of your search, Major?”

“We’ve been working the computer guys hard,” replied Kolke. “We’re confident we’ve identified two members of Rosenblatt’s cell: the two who were the most physically distinctive.”

“How confident?”

“Extremely. Both are accomplished scientists. Not tops in their fields, but solid. One is at a university and one at a company. Beginning about six months ago, both began flying to Denver on a regular basis, something they had never done previously. Bank records indicate that both cashed five thousand dollar checks just prior to their first flight, which fit with what Rosenblatt said of the group’s MO.” The major paused. “While you were in route to Peterson, I alerted teams near their locations to ready themselves and await instructions.”

“Good work, Major. Have them raid the homes and offices of these two as soon after we take out Miller as possible, placing a premium on stealth and discretion. At this time of the night your teams should be able to slip in quietly and not attract any attention. And I want the scientists treated as gently as humanly possible. No lethal force under any circumstances. Bring them back for questioning, and everything else you can get your hands on, with computers being the highest priority.”

“Roger that,” said Kolke.

10

“Given the miraculous effects of Kira’s therapy,” said the Stanford physicist, “it’s not surprising you’d have some pretty far-reaching goals. So what do you have in mind?”

“We’re thinking big picture,” replied Desh. “Very big picture. Immortality. A galaxy or universe spanning civilization. And ultimately, perhaps, a galaxy or universe spanning intellect.”

“Wow, it’s too bad none of you are ambitious, or this could be an interesting group to join.”

“Which is why inventing a killer shoot-em-up video game isn’t on the agenda,” complained Griffin. “In some parallel universe somewhere, the goals of this group aren’t quite so soaring, and I’m a superstar in the gaming industry. With beautiful women flocking all over me, I might add.”

Van Hutten shook his head in amusement and then turned to Kira. “David mentioned immortality. I’m not a biologist, but do you really think this is possible?”

“Yes. With enhanced intelligence, probably in the next fifty to one hundred years,” she replied. “While enhanced, I’ve managed to design a therapy that can double the span of human life. But biology and medicine alone won’t get us much farther than this. There’s a limit to how much you can do with the human organism. Along with neurologists, immortality will require enhanced physicists, roboticists, and computer scientists to find a way to transfer the precise quantum state of a given human mind to a more stable artificial matrix, in an artificial body. A mind that will be indistinguishable from the original down to the last spin of the last electron. Then all you’d need is to have your personality matrix automatically backed-up each night. The same way you do with your computer’s hard drive. So if your artificial body is destroyed, your mind can be automatically reinstalled in another one.”

“Not a big believer in the soul, I take it?” said van Hutten.

“Let’s just say I hope the soul is inherent in the complexity of the infinitely grand workings of the human brain. And that no matter where the mind is housed, the soul will follow.”

“Poetically said,” acknowledged the physicist. “But issues of the soul are just the beginning. Do you know how many other thorny religious, ethical, and philosophical cans of worms this would open up?”

Kira nodded. “So many it boggles the mind. Even the enhanced one. What is the meaning of life? How much are emotions a function of our neuronal circuitry and how much are they a function of hormones? Without an endocrine system, can we experience love? Can we experience any emotions? And if not, will we lose all drive and purpose? Will we still even be human?” She paused. “For those who believe in an afterlife, would this process rob us of this? Or would our original, organic selves, upon death, still go on to the afterlife, and look on in horror at the pale imitations of themselves running around the cosmos. And what would stop someone from loading thousands of copies of their mind into thousands of artificial bodies? And even if an identical copy of your mind was reborn the instant you died, the original you would still cease to exist. So is this even immortality?” She sighed. “And these questions only scratch the surface. I could go on all night.”

“You obviously haven’t done any thinking about this,” said van Hutten with a broad grin.

Kira laughed. “None at all.”

The smile stayed on van Hutten’s face for several seconds before finally fading. “Growing up,” he said, “my favorite author was Isaac Asimov, the science fiction writer. Have any of you ever read the short story The Last Answer?”

There were blank stares all around, except for Kira, who nodded appreciatively. “I have to admit to being a science fiction geek,” she said. “Asimov was a bit dated when I grew up, but he was still a favorite. And this might have been his most thought provoking piece of all.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said van Hutten, obviously delighted to have found a fellow fan. “But for the benefit of those who haven’t read it, let me tell you a simpler story that makes a similar point, although not quite as interesting and thought provoking as Asimov’s.”

Van Hutten gathered his thoughts for a few seconds and then began. “A guy dies and finds himself welcomed to the afterlife by a brilliant, all encompassing light; by an almighty being who tells him that he can now pursue his wildest dreams for all eternity. There are no rules. He can do whatever he wants. And he can travel anywhere in the universe in an instant. For the first ten thousand years or so the guy is having the time of his life. But after a million years, he’s got the been there, done that syndrome. He’s bored out of his mind and weary of the burden of consciousness. So he finds the almighty being and asks that his existence be ended. But he’s told that this is the one thing that isn’t possible. So he goes off for another billion years. Finally, he’s so fatigued, so bored, that he begs for his existence to be ended. And once again he’s told this isn’t possible. ‘Well if that’s the case,’ he says angrily, ‘then I’d rather be in hell.’ To which the almighty being, from deep within the all-encompassing light, replies, ‘Where do you think you are?’”

There was silence around the conference room for several seconds.

Kira finally nodded and said, “It’s a fascinating point. Seems like there is no perfect world. All I can say is that at least future immortals will be able to end their own existence if they choose to. And maybe boredom and weariness from the drudgery of existence is only a factor of our limited intellect and perspective. Or our endocrine system. It’s possible the enhanced mind won’t have any problem with eternity.”

“Maybe,” allowed van Hutten, but he still seemed unconvinced. “And sorry to be diverting the conversation,” he added. “I’ve just always been fascinated by the philosophical implications of immortality.”

Matt Griffin rolled his eyes. “you’re really gonna fit right in here, aren’t you?”

“I have to admit, I enjoy kicking around big ideas. And since this group has the chance to turn just about any big idea into reality someday, it’s even more intriguing.” He motioned to Kira. “But let me circle back to something you said earlier, if I may. You’ve really found a way to double the span of human life? Why haven’t I heard about this?”

Kira described her longevity treatment further, and then the subsequent analysis that convinced her its release would lead to disaster. “Since this time, we’ve been careful to examine any major breakthrough we come up with to see what impact it might have if unleashed. Unintended consequences. As you pointed out, even immortality has them.” She sighed. “But I have to say we’ve been rethinking this position.”

“Why? It seems like a reasonable one.”

“Centralized planning doesn’t work,” replied Desh. “History has demonstrated this over and over, although many refuse to accept the evidence. Besides, in any advance there are winners and losers. If we had invented the car in the nineteenth century, would we have released it? Or would we have concluded it would be too big a blow to the thriving horse industry? Too radical a change for society to digest?”

“Think The End of Eternity,” said Kira, raising her eyebrows. “By your favorite author.”

In The End of Eternity, Asimov envisioned a huge bureaucracy existing outside of time, which could make changes to the time stream wherever it wanted. The group was genuinely devoted to ensuring the best outcome for the most people, and so would change history away from wars and other disasters. It would eliminate risky discoveries and innovations. It opted for the status quo, for not upsetting the apple cart. But this benevolent intent ended in disaster.

Progress and evolution, by their very nature, could be painful and cause upheaval. A sober, safe analysis would often steer civilization away from dramatic advances. Yet sometimes the birthing pains of a revolutionary advance were the price of survival and advancement of the species.

Van Hutten rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Interesting. Haven’t thought of this book in ages. But I understand what you’re saying.”

“We’re smart enough while enhanced to realize we’re not smart enough to be central planners,” explained Desh. “Still, we’re clinging to our paranoia just a little longer. And as far as doubling the span of human life, this is too far beyond the normal progression to be absorbed, even in a traumatic way. Doing this in one fell swoop will break civilization’s back.”

“That’s why you’re so important to our efforts,” said Kira. “You could be the key that allows us to disclose this discovery—and all others as well.”

Van Hutten tilted his head in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“The bottom line is this,” said Kira. “Inexpensive and efficient faster-than-light travel makes all of these problems go away. Right now, humanity has all of its eggs in one basket. As a species, we’re exceedingly vulnerable to catastrophe. If Earth gets hit by a meteor—we’re done. If we blow ourselves up—we’re done. But if we colonize the cosmos,” she said, her voice becoming passionate and her eyes more alive than ever, “even if the Earth is destroyed, humanity lives on. We can extend our lives as long as we can manage without fear of overpopulation. No invention would ever have to be withheld. Humanity’s place in the universe and continued growth would be assured.” She paused. “But it all hinges on our ability to rise from our planetary cradle and put our eggs in many other baskets.”

Van Hutten nodded vigorously, dazzled by the vision Kira had laid out in her typical, mesmerizing fashion. “It’s obvious once you point it out,” he said. “Truly a cause worth believing in. It goes without saying that I’m at your disposal.”

“You’re not making that offer just to Kira, personally, are you?” asked Griffin playfully.

Van Hutten chuckled. “I meant the entire group, of course,” he replied innocently. “I’m at the disposal of the Center for Research Excellence.”

“Actually,” said Griffin, “there is no such thing. We make up a different name for our fictitious think tank for every recruit.”

“The true name of our organization is Icarus,” said Kira.

“ Icarus?”

“Yeah,” said Desh with a grin. “We figured every good radical, covert organization should have a name. And Al-Qaeda was already taken.”

Van Hutten laughed.

“Jim Connelly and I wanted to go with something less symbolic, less comic-booky,” continued Desh. “But the geeks are in the majority here, so we were outvoted.”

“I see,” said van Hutten. “I have to admit, it is a geeky name. But once you think about it for a second, it’s a good one. Icarus. The Greek who flew too close to the sun. A cautionary tale of the dangers of hubris.”

Kira nodded. “We thought it was appropriate,” she said. “A reminder not to get carried away with ourselves. And given that hubris becomes overwhelming when we’re enhanced, not a bad thought to keep in the back of our minds.”

“So welcome to Icarus,” said Griffin. “It’s great to have someone of your caliber join our efforts.”

The other three members of the group nodded their agreement.

“Thanks,” replied van Hutten.

The physicist turned to David Desh with a more sober expression. “You said earlier things weren’t going so well. What did you mean by that?”

Desh paused for a moment as though deciding where to begin. “Recruitment has gone slower than we anticipated,” he replied. “Finding accomplished scientists who can pass our screens has proven more difficult than we had thought. We could lower our standards—after all, the four of us couldn’t have passed—but the danger of a single mistake is greater than you might imagine.”

“And cheap, efficient faster-than-light travel is proving far more intractable of a problem than we had guessed,” added Griffin.

“Yeah,” said Desh in amusement, “even expensive, inefficient FTL travel is proving impossible.”

“We naively thought that if we enhanced any good physicist a few times,” said Kira, “they’d come up with revolutionary solutions. But this hasn’t been the case. The few physicists who’ve joined us have made remarkable advances in many areas. But as far as FTL is concerned . . . not so much.” She frowned deeply. “And everything—everything—depends on us solving this problem.”

“What makes you so sure I can do it?”

“We’re not. But in this area, you’re in a league of your own. So we are hopeful.”

“Thanks for the compliment. But what if I strike out as well?”

Kira sighed. “There is one other possibility I’ve been working on,” she replied. A pained expression crossed her face and she looked as though she wasn’t eager to elaborate further.

Van Hutten waited patiently for her to continue.

“There is a higher level of enhancement,” she said finally. “Far higher.”

“Far higher?” repeated van Hutten dubiously. “I don’t believe it. Hard to imagine how what I just experienced could possibly be surpassed.”

“Not just surpassed. Blown away. The first level is impossible to imagine, also, unless you’ve been there. But the second level . . .” Kira’s eyes widened and she shook her head in awe. “I was there for five minutes. But my mind was moving so fast it felt like five days. I can’t recall most of the thoughts I had, but I do know this: this level was as far beyond what you just experienced as this level is beyond normal. And it came with the greatest bonus of all: it was so transcendent that the pull of sociopathy and megalomania was totally gone.”

“That’s fantastic,” said van Hutten.

Kira’s eyes fell and she turned away.

“Something went wrong, didn’t it?” said van Hutten softly.

Kira nodded and she wore a pained expression. “I barely survived it,” she replied. “The first minute or two afterwards I felt great, but my body crashed almost immediately after that. At this level your mind burns too brightly. You saw how starved you were for glucose after being enhanced. This was worse. It was complete depletion of, well . . . just about everything.”

“We rushed her to the hospital,” said Desh. “Just after we arrived she lapsed into a coma. It lasted for almost two weeks.” He looked deeply troubled, as though it were happening right then. “She pulled through at the end, but it could have easily gone the other way.”

There was more to the story, but it was something that only she and David Desh would ever know. While at this transcendent level of intelligence, when she had perfect knowledge of every cell in her body, she had discovered that she was newly pregnant, long before this would have shown up on any diagnostic test. But the drain on her body had been too much for this new life to continue. And afterwards, she and David had reluctantly come to realize they should wait to have children. It had been a painful decision, but she knew it was the right one. With all due modesty, she and David would likely play a pivotal role in human history. No matter how badly they wanted to be parents, their responsibilities were too great to allow themselves the luxury.

“What if someone was preloaded with nutrition and anything else that might get depleted?” asked van Hutten. “You know, hooked up to an IV for a few days before undergoing this second level of enhancement. Isn’t it possible that this would make it feasible?”

“We had the same thought,” said Griffin. “And given the importance of FTL propulsion, and the lack of real progress, a physicist on our team volunteered.” He paused. “We did our best to talk him out of it, just to make sure he was absolutely certain. But he insisted that having the chance to glimpse the mind of God, as he put it, was worth the risk.” He shook his head somberly. “He didn’t make it. Despite intravenous preloading. Despite the advanced medical equipment on site. When he returned to normal, his eyes went wide, he whispered, ‘the answer is obvious,’ and then he lapsed into a coma from which he never recovered.”

The incandescence left Kira’s eyes and her expression left no room for doubt that she blamed herself for what happened.

“I’m so sorry,” said van Hutten. “But it wasn’t your fault, Kira. He knew the risks. And after having been at the first level, it’s easy to see why he was willing to volunteer. His death couldn’t be more tragic, but during the last five minutes of his life . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine the insights into the nature of reality he must have had.”

“That’s at least some consolation,” agreed Kira, but she was clearly unconvinced. She visibly gathered herself and continued. “I’ve been working to understand what happened and perfect the therapy. I’ve also been trying to modulate it. If the first level is ten and the second is one hundred, maybe I can engineer a setting of fifty or sixty. Something transcendent, yet survivable. This is what I’ve been spending most of my time on.”

“Any progress?

“Some, but not enough. It’s a neuronal chain reaction. A crystallization process that has discrete endpoints. There doesn’t seem to be an intermediate setting.”

Desh glanced at his watch. “I hate to say it, but I’m afraid we need to start wrapping things up.” He gestured to the Stanford physicist. “We wouldn’t want you to be late for your flight.”

A delighted smile slowly spread across van Hutten’s pink, cherubic face. “At this point I’m so euphoric I could probably float home. This has been the most remarkable day of my life.”

“Well, there’s a lot more going on,” said Kira, “but we can bring you more fully up to speed next time. The good news is that we’ve managed to hit all of the highlights.”

Desh shot the physicist a troubled look. “Well, almost all,” he said.

Van Hutten raised his eyebrows.

“We can’t let you leave without making you aware that there are dangers associated with joining Icarus.”

Desh recounted what had happened with Ross Metzger. How they had purchased a private physics company, Advanced Physics International, about two years earlier while the current facilities were being built, and how the lab was raided by mercenaries, with Ross being killed. Someone out there knew of their existence. Someone who was lethally competent.

Van Hutten rubbed his chin in thought. “I take it the cold fusion reactor hasn’t turned up, or it would have been all over the news.”

“That’s right,” confirmed Kira. “But this isn’t surprising. The energy it produced was barely above break-even. Enhanced Ross was convinced it could be dramatically improved, but whoever took it would have no idea how to do this.” She shook her head and a grim expression settled over her face. “To be honest, I think the raid was more about sending a signal to us than about stealing this particular invention.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“None,” replied Desh. “And the only suspect we came up with was Ross Metzger himself. But we quickly ruled him out.”

“The guy who was killed?”

Desh nodded. “The raid was nearly flawless. So good I can’t help but think it was the product of an enhanced mind or an insider,” he explained. “In either case this would point to Ross. But Ross was the most stable among us. The one who handled the therapy’s ill effects on his personality the best. He was enhanced over and over and his personality was largely unchanged, unlike the rest of us. He’d be the last of us to go rogue.”

“And this was what ruled him out?” said van Hutten. “Not the fact that he was killed during the attack?”

Kira smiled. “You’ve experienced how easy it would be to fake your own death while enhanced. You have absolute control of your autonomic nervous system. You can see to it you don’t have a pulse whenever someone is checking for it. If Jim Connelly was in the room he could tell you all about it.”

“Like we mentioned earlier,” said Griffin, “it’s our best trick. Everyone you’ve met today is thought to be dead. If Ross had decided to go rogue and remove himself from the board, it’s the first idea he’d have.”

“But in this case, Anton, you’re right,” said Kira. “His death did rule him out, because he couldn’t have faked it. He would have needed a gellcap, and he didn’t have one. I produce them and keep meticulous inventory. They couldn’t be more secure, and there’s never been one that was unaccounted for.”

“So the short answer,” said Desh, “is that we have no leads or ideas whatsoever.”

Van Hutten paused to digest this. “So you have an unknown but powerful enemy out there gunning for you. Have you ever considered coming out of the closet? Maybe not to the public at large, but at least to the government?”

Griffin laughed and then immediately looked guilty about it. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to make light of your idea. And it’s not as though we haven’t discussed it now and then ourselves. But Kira’s therapy offers absolute, unlimited power to whoever controls it. Along with a side effect that can gradually turn even a Gandhi into a selfish, power starved dictator. Would you really want our government and military to have knowledge of this particular golden egg, and with apologies to Kira, the goose who lays them? Can you even imagine?”

“Yeah,” said van Hutten sheepishly. “I clearly hadn’t thought this through. But after hearing your argument, the image that comes to my mind is a huge bloody carcass in a steel cage being lowering into the world’s most shark-infested waters. It would be the feeding frenzy to end all feeding frenzies.”

“Now we’re on the same page,” said Griffin in amusement. “Take away the steel cage and I think you’ve got the picture exactly.”

11

“Arm the JDAM, Lieutenant,” ordered Jake as the chopper he was in settled down for a landing several miles from the target. A car would be picking him up momentarily to drive him to the site.

“Roger that,” came the response from the bomber pilot. “JDAM is armed and ready.”

“Captain Ruiz, how is the perimeter looking?”

“The perimeter is clear, Colonel. I repeat, the perimeter is clear. You are good to go.”

Jake took a deep breath and held it. “Engage target, Lieutenant,” he said.

“Target engaged,” came the reply.

And six miles above Colonel Morris Jacobson, a five hundred pound bomb streaked angrily away from the jet that had restrained it, like a rodeo bull when its gate was pulled open. The munition hovered for just a moment as its onboard computer got its bearings from the continuous stream of GPS data being fed to it. Then, satisfied that it could achieve its mission parameters and arrive within ten feet of dead center of the mirrored glass building, and only then deliver its devastating payload, it made a slight turn and accelerated downward.

12

Madison Russo finished making love to her boyfriend of four months, Greg Davis, and a warm sense of both physical and emotional contentment settled over her. Only two days earlier he had said “I love you,” to her for the first time, and given that this same sentiment had been threatening to burst from her for weeks, this was a very good thing.

Her life couldn’t be going any better, she decided. And falling in love was only partly the reason.

In high school she had been socially awkward, and while her figure and looks were slightly above average, her confidence was well below. And winning the state science fair hadn’t exactly cemented her reputation as one of the cool kids. Given that her intelligence was already intimidating to almost every guy her age, she could have bottled her science fair victory and sold it as male repellent. Upon graduation from high school she had yet to be kissed.

But this situation changed quickly in college. As a physics major she was around other bright people who shared her passion: other bright people who were predominantly men. And the further she went forward in her major the greater the men outnumbered the women. The incoming class for the physics graduate program at the University of Arizona consisted of eighteen men, her, and one other woman who was now her closest friend. While many red-blooded males in physics departments around the world welcomed relationships with women who could understand their work, most had to seek relationships outside of the field. It was either that or get used to being very, very lonely. But as for Madison and her friend, they tended to get their pick of the litter.

But she still hadn’t been happy during her first three years in graduate school. There was more to life than dating, and she had struggled to find a thesis project. Everything in cosmology these days was string theory. It was the cool kids’ table from high school translated into academia. If string theory wasn’t your thing—and it was definitely not hers—then you were a second class citizen. She found herself foundering, and there were times when she contemplated dropping out of the program with a master’s degree and going into industry.

But then, just this year, new developments in the emerging field of gravitational wave astronomy had come along—just when she needed a new direction the most. Gravitational wave detectors had previously cost hundreds of millions of dollars, had required oscillation of the mass being detected, and their sensitivity—if one could call it that—had been laughable. But a new breed of detector had emerged. A breed that took advantage of novel theoretical principles, could be built for just a few million dollars, and had off-the-charts sensitivity.

In fact, if anything the new technology was too sensitive, generating the equivalent of a library of congress full of data each day. If not for supercomputers capable of many trillions of operations each second nothing meaningful could have ever be extracted from the morass, unless one was looking for the Sun, which Madison was pretty sure had already been found.

She had leaped onto this new bandwagon immediately. This powerful tool was sure to launch careers like so many bottle rockets on the 4th of July, and catapult gravitational wave astronomy to an unforeseen level of prominence in the cosmological quiver. And she was perfectly positioned to be in on the ground floor. Given the ocean of data a single detector could generate, if she used the most powerful tool of all, the one between her ears, she was confident she could find a way to make a major breakthrough.

The U.S. physics community, having been denied the Supercoliding Superconductor—ensuring Geneva’s Large Hadron Collider would become the particle physics capital of the world—was hungry to take a leadership position in this emerging field. Centers around the country had embraced the new technology, even before all the bugs had been worked out, and once perfected, additional waves of adoption had occurred overnight. Now almost seventy percent of all detectors in operation were located in America. While this advantage wouldn’t last long, U.S. physicists couldn’t have asked for a better head start. And The University of Arizona had been in the very first wave. Madison had truly been in the right place at the right time.

As she basked in the knowledge that her life had come together more perfectly than she could have dared to hope, her computer monitor on a desk ten feet away began blinking. The light from the full screen was vivid in the darkened room. Greg Davis groaned beside her. “You’re not going to check that, are you?”

She smiled. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“I think we need a new rule. We turn off our cell phones during sex. I think we should turn of computer monitors also.”

“But this isn’t during sex,” she pointed out. “It’s after sex.”

“Well, given how often that false-alarm generator of yours goes off, a case of false-alarm-us interuptus is only a matter of time.”

“And you’d like to make sure that doesn’t ever happen?”

“Right. I mean, you wouldn’t interrupt Da Vinci while he was painting a masterpiece would you?”

“So you’re suggesting you’re the Da Vinci of sex? Wow, really?” She rolled her eyes. “So what are you worried about Leonardo—that your brush might go limp?”

Davis laughed. “Not at all. You just don’t want to interrupt a master at work.”

Madison kissed him briefly and then grinned. “We could always stop having sex,” she said. “Then you’d have nothing to worry about.”

“As great as that sounds,” he responded wryly, “I’m going to have to pass.” He shook his head and gestured toward the computer. “Go ahead. I know it’s killing you not to check it out.”

He glanced at the clock on the end table nearest him. “We can probably catch the late movie if you’re still interested, but we’d better drag ourselves out of bed and get ready. How about if I take the first shower while you take a quick look at your data.”

Madison had her robe on and was seated at her computer almost before he got the sentence out. Davis just shook his head and wandered into the bathroom.

Madison’s desktop was tied into the university’s supercomputer, which sifted through the billions and billions of pages of data generated by the physics department’s detector at incomprehensible speed. For months now she had been perfecting a program that would alert her if it spotted anything truly out of the ordinary. And Davis had been right. She received several alerts each day, and each time they were false alarms. But even so, these false alarms pointed out flaws in her programming. With each one her program got a little bit tighter, her filters a little better.

She looked at the data from a few angles, wanting to determine as quickly as possible the ordinary occurrence she had failed to take into account this time. But after several minutes of thought and study, her jaw dropped as low as it could go.

Nothing about this occurrence looked ordinary. In fact, the data were impossible.

“Nah,” she mumbled out loud. “Must be a glitch in the detector.”

She ran a quick diagnostic. The detector was working perfectly. But how could that be?

Madison Russo was checking her calculations for the third time when Greg Davis emerged from the bathroom, clean, fully clothed, and ready for a late night on the town.

She frantically began to run other crosschecks on her data, her eyes so wide they looked unnatural.

Davis watched her in fascination, knowing better than to interrupt—if this were even possible. He suspected he could have played a trumpet in her ear and she wouldn’t have noticed.

After several minutes she finally turned away from the screen for just a moment and he said, “You found something big, didn’t you?”

Madison nodded, her stunned face communicating awe—but also more than a hint of fear.

“What is it?” he asked breathlessly.

“Something that will change everything,” she whispered. Then, exhaling loudly, she added, “Forever.”

13

The JDAM penetrated the two story structure and erupted into an orange-yellow fireball nearly twice the size of the building before collapsing into a raging firestorm. Every inch of the mirrored glass perimeter shattered and the inside of the building was vaporized in an instant.

Over a mile away the explosion shook the car Jake was in and the resultant fireball was impossible to miss against the night sky, even at this distance, and even if his eyes had been closed at the time.

The moment it hit, Jake felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. There was no end to possible threats from WMD, but none were like this one. Given Miller’s ability to dole out superhuman intelligence and Desh’s training and skills, he had eliminated what he was convinced were the two most formidable people on the planet.

This was a rare moment to savor. The execution of the entire operation had been flawless.

Jake arrived, congratulated Ruiz and his team, and waited patiently while a dozen firefighters arrived in three large trucks to battle the resultant blaze. He had contacted the Denver Fire Chief using an alias—one with considerable authority that could quickly be verified—and insisted that the firefighters on the scene leave immediately once they had conquered the blaze, after which Jake, Ruiz, and a select group of his men would move in, scrub the scene as best they could, and look for remains that would prove that Kira Miller’s short time on earth had come to an end. Given that ground zero was basically at a point halfway down her throat, this would likely prove quite challenging.

A call came in on Jake’s cell phone from his second in command, thousands of miles away. “How’d it go?” he asked Kolke, his tone upbeat.

“Not well, I’m afraid, Colonel. The assault teams went in, but came up empty in both cases. Neither scientist was in his home or office.”

“Any chance this was just coincidental?”

“No, sir. They’d been warned. Their computers were either gone or wiped. They knew we were coming.”

Jake’s expression hardened. He didn’t care about missing the two scientists. Now that he had cut off the head of the snake, they had become nothing more than harmless bit players he needed to interrogate for the sake of thoroughness. But the fact that they were warned introduced just the slightest uncertainty into the results of the operation he had just conducted. Shit. “How long after I gave you the signal did your men arrive?”

“The soonest twenty minutes. The latest forty-five.”

“Any evidence of disarray or hasty packing?”

“None.”

Jake frowned. This was getting more troubling by the second. Still, if the destruction of Miller’s headquarters had set off a warning signal the two scientist’s had received immediately, they would still have had time to disappear. They could have kept a suitcase packed and money on hand as a precaution. Given Miller and Desh’s paranoia, each cell member was almost certainly prepared to disappear at a moment’s notice.

Even so, the possibility that they’d been warned before the JDAM hit couldn’t be ruled out either. And if this were the case, it could only mean that Miller and Desh had known he was coming.

Jake walked the short distance to where Captain Ruiz was watching the firefighters at work through a pair of high-powered binoculars. “Captain, I want to go through this entire op from start to finish. I need to be sure there’s no chance they slipped the noose somehow.”

“Slipped the noose, sir?” said the captain dubiously. “We recorded their heat signatures the entire time, right up until the instant the building was turned into slag. They couldn’t have escaped. And they couldn’t have survived.”

“I appreciate your assessment, Captain, but let’s do this anyway. You saw both of them enter the building. And the physical match was unmistakable, correct?”

“Correct.”

Jake stared off into space for several seconds in thought. “Okay, I assume this was before you were fully in position. Any chance they saw you as well?”

“None at all, sir. I was five miles away at the time. We had just identified this facility as the likely target and wanted eyes on the scene as soon as possible. While in route, we discovered there was a street camera close enough to get clear images of the facility’s entrance. So we commandeered it.”

Jake reeled as though from a physical blow. His eyes widened in horror, and for a moment he looked to be in danger of exploding into a bigger fireball than had the building behind them.

It was impossible for the captain not to notice his superior’s reaction and he swallowed hard. “Colonel, it was real-time video,” he said defensively. “And it was Miller and Desh. Their images couldn’t have been any clearer.”

Jake nodded and walked quickly away, knowing that this was the only way to prevent his mounting fury from escaping and lashing out unfairly at the young captain.

Their quarry had escaped. He was sure of it.

But it wasn’t the captain’s fault. He hadn’t been briefed on the Rosenblatt intel. It was Jake’s fault, and his blood almost boiled from a mixture of frustration, anger, and self-recrimination.

He had been duped. Miller had been on to him even before the captain and his team were in place around the facility. But how?

Even as he posed this question, one possible answer presented itself. This group—Icarus according to Rosenblatt—could have hacked into defense computers and placed watchdog programs that would warn them if anyone was using satellites and pulling records looking for specific real estate northeast of the airport. He should have been more cautious. He should have located their facility without using satellites or computers.

And he should have considered this possibility earlier. He hadn’t because things had been going so well. Too well. He should have known an op against a team as formidable as this couldn’t have been as easy as this one had seemed to be.

Rosenblatt had told him the Icarus team had invented technology that could prevent street cameras and satellites from getting a clean image of them. The core council carried this technology in a tiny device on their key rings and kept it with them at all times. While the scientific expert listening in on the interrogation had said this was flat out impossible, and that Rosenblatt was lying to him, Jake knew otherwise. Rosenblatt’s psyche was truly shattered. He was well beyond the ability for elaborate deception. And Jake thought this scientific expert was a narrow-minded idiot. Electricity had once been flat out impossible. The microwave oven as well. And the cell phone. The word impossible had little meaning where Kira Miller was involved.

The fact that the captain had seen a clean image from a street camera—especially one they had allowed to point at their headquarters—was a dead giveaway. This could only have happened if Miller and Desh wanted it to happen. The images had been faked. And the heat signatures must have been faked as well. No known technology could do either of these things as effectively as they had been done, but this was hardly noteworthy. Being able to interfere with cameras was just the beginning of Icarus’s capabilities. Rosenblatt had told him Miller’s group had perfected any number of breakthroughs in the fields of optics, electronics, and holographics over the past several years.

Yes, he had destroyed their headquarters, set them back, but that was all. They had managed to disappear again without sustaining so much as a scratch, and had done so in a way that seemed effortless. And the remaining members of Rosenblatt’s cell had gone to ground as well—at least for now.

He had held all the cards. He had wrung their location out of Rosenblatt in record time and then hadn’t hesitated in the slightest before mounting an attack.

Yet still he had failed.

He had been so sure that he would find and eliminate Kira Miller—eventually. But his confidence was now badly shaken.

And for the first time, he was beginning to wonder if he and his unit might have finally met their match.

14

The entire group drove van Hutten to the airport. Kira, Desh, and Connelly kept him company in the back of the van while Griffin drove. Seven hours earlier van Hutten was a total stranger and now, because of the shared experience of enhancement and a shared vision to better humankind—he was now family. He shook the men’s hands warmly and hugged Kira as he exited the back of the van, both exhausted and exhilarated.

As soon as the door was closed, Griffin hit a switch that threw his image on the screen in the back of the van, and video of his three colleagues appeared on a small monitor next to him. “Where to, gentlemen?” he said somberly to his two special forces colleagues. “Or will you be leaving us here to take a flight?”

“Drive to the trailer park,” said Connelly. “We’ll fill you in on the way.”

“Will do,” acknowledged Griffin, moving back into traffic.

“They bombed the shit out of the decoy facility,” reported Desh grimly. “Just like we thought.”

“Under the circumstances,” said Kira, “you and Jim did an impressive job of keeping your focus on our meeting.”

When Kira had kidnapped David Desh almost three and a half years earlier, she had stripped him totally naked. At the time he had said something on the order of, “What are you worried about? Do you think I’ve imbedded some kind of subtle tracking device in my underwear?” At the time she had laughed and admitted this was pretty unlikely, but always liked to err on the side of caution. But Desh had given her an idea.

Once Icarus was up and running, she turned her attention to creating undergarments more technologically advanced than cell phones. She had already invented a powerful but tiny bug and transmitter combination; one easily hidden, which worked on principles so unlike those in use that it was undetectable even by the most advanced equipment. Desh had been at the wrong end of this technology once, having been sure that he was clean, while all the while Kira had listened to his every word.

Kira had simply combined this advance with technology capable of non-invasive monitoring of certain vital signs, which was already available. She had married the two technologies, seamlessly, in elastic waistbands, and while this was never discussed during a first recruiting meeting, each member of Icarus was issued a set of custom made undergarments to wear at all times with this technology imbedded. She made sure the components were nearly microscopic and able to withstand the immersion and thrashing they received in a washing machine.

If an Icarus member was in trouble, they could press the section of waistband below their navels and the bug/transmitter would activate. It their vital signs indicated they were having a heart attack, stroke, or had been rendered unconscious in any way other than sleep, the bug/transmitter would activate automatically. In this way the core council would be alerted to any attack, whether the member remained conscious or not, and would also be alerted to medical emergencies—very useful functions for a pair of underwear to have.

While Jake had taken the precaution of removing all of Rosenblatt’s clothing, including his underwear, and scanning it for bugs—not finding any, of course—he had left the clothing near his second in command, Kolke, who had listened in to the entire interrogation.

But he hadn’t been the only one listening in.

The Icarus core council had been totally blindsided by the emergence of this black-ops colonel, this Jake, and the threat he posed could not be overstated. But there hadn’t been time to cancel with van Hutten, so Desh and Connelly had done their best to multitask. They had told their guest about the attack that had killed Metzger, but not about the one they knew was ongoing even while they spoke. What would they have said? “No hexad has ever been compromised—well, until today that is.” Not exactly something to inspire confidence in the newbie.

Desh and his old commander, Connelly, were in charge of security and operations, which were more than full time jobs. While enhanced, both men had come up with numerous security related inventions and innovations.

They hadn’t built just one headquarters set-up in Denver and Kentucky. They had built two. Not identical, but very similar. A real facility and a decoy facility in each city. Both of the Denver facilities had mirrored exteriors, were the same approximate size, and were in proximity to similar warehouses, outfitted in the same way. Kira made sure each recruit was accidentally shown a slide pointing them in the direction of the decoy rather than the actual facility being used—just in case.

“Isn’t the fact that they bombed it rather than raiding it a good thing?” asked Griffin from the front seat. “With a raid they’d know they’d been tricked. This way, the colonel will be convinced we’re all dead.”

“He will be for a few days, at least,” replied Jim Connelly. “But when he doesn’t find even a hint of physical evidence he’ll eventually conclude that we’re not. The good news is that he’ll never guess he hit a decoy building. He found the structure he was looking for, and he’ll find labs in the warehouse that we’ve cluttered up to look like they were in use. He’ll decide we figured out he was coming and used advanced technology to plant false heat signatures. He’ll know we’re alive and well, but he won’t doubt for a moment he took out our headquarters.”

“Are you positive?” pressed Griffin. “Seems like if he gave it some thought, it would be pretty obvious.”

“All magic tricks seem obvious once you know their secret,” said Desh.

Kira turned to Connelly with a pensive expression. “How are the rest of Rosenblatt’s hexad doing?” she asked.

“They’ve all checked in,” he replied. “And they all followed the evacuation plan perfectly. After I gave them the signal they had plenty of time to get to an airport before this colonel was anywhere near them. I’d like to visit with each of them personally, make sure the transition to ghost is going well, but we don’t have that luxury.”

“Let me guess,” said Kira. “You’re going after Rosenblatt’s family?”

Desh nodded. “Good guess. This Jake will continue to keep them under surveillance. We need to get them started on our version of the witness protection program.” His expression darkened. “We’re going to have to uproot a family with three young children. It’s going to be a nightmare for them.”

Kira met his eyes and nodded sadly. “Omaha is three or four hundred miles from here,” she said softly. “Why not fly?”

“The colonel and I discussed this while van Hutten was being enhanced,” replied Desh. “We have some weapons and other equipment we’d like to have with us that makes flying, uh . . . problematic. Also an RV is kid friendly. The Rosenblatts can live inside until we spring Seth and come up with a more permanent arrangement.”

Kira Miller had made great use of RVs to help her stay off the grid before she had met Desh. They were mobile, and yet when they were parked inside a trailer park they could offer a stable address. And while authorities would leave no stone unturned when it came to residences and hotels, trailer parks would fly beneath their radar, having been stigmatized as bastions of ignorance and poverty. The idea of Ph.D. scientists living in trailer parks was something not likely to ever occur to them. So Icarus maintained a number of these vehicles around the country, with several near their headquarters buildings in Denver and Kentucky.

“Won’t it be dawn when you arrive?” said Griffin. “Wouldn’t it be better to go at night? To avoid satellites?”

“It wouldn’t help much,” replied Connelly. “The NRO has launched several IR and radar satellites that can see in the dark.”

“They’re supposed to be secret,” added Desh, “but the NRO purposely leaks their existence. After one supposedly secret launch they passed out patches with the slogan, we own the night, written on them. Raised a lot of eyebrows in the press at the time.”

Griffin parked next to one of Icarus’s RVs and announced they had arrived. He slid open the side doors of the van and peered inside as his colleagues rose from their seats.

Desh caught the eye of the brilliant hacker and said, “Matt, I need you to take a gellcap. I need you to get as much intelligence on this black-ops colonel and his unit as you can, including this Major Kolke. And we’ll need to find a way to free Seth Rosenblatt. So anything you can learn that would help in this effort would be great. You know the drill. But wait a few hours. I’ll call you beforehand with further instructions.”

“Why wait?”

“While we’re driving, I’ll put myself in this colonel’s shoes and think about how he’ll try to find us. Now that we’ve been compromised he knows our MO. Hiring recruits as consultants, paying them an advance before they fly out, etc. Before now, it wasn’t critical to totally cover our tracks. But now I’ll need you to hack into banks, change the records of Icarus members, that sort of thing. To more properly erase any trails.”

“Makes sense,” acknowledged Griffin.

Kira stared into Desh’s eyes worriedly, and then shifted her gaze to encompass both her husband and Jim Connelly. “Don’t forget about your key rings,” she said.

“We shouldn’t need them,” said Desh. “But we won’t be shy about it if we run into trouble.”

After the raid that had killed Ross Metzger, the core counsel decided they should each carry a single gellcap with them at all times, after all, as a measure of last resort. Kira had devised a gumball-sized container for the pills that attached to their key rings. The container would detect the fingerprints of whoever tried to open it, and if it wasn’t the owner, would dissolve the gellcap inside.

Kira sighed, and lines of worry continued to mar her delicate forehead. “Good luck, gentlemen,” she said. “And be careful.”

15

Desh and Connelly arrived in Omaha, Nebraska just after five in the morning. They had switched off driving duties during the long trip and had each managed a few hours sleep. During the time they were both awake, they had performed a virtual recon of Omaha via computer and had planned out their mission.

They had two objectives: extract Rosenblatt’s family and capture one of Jake’s men to interrogate. They couldn’t waste any opportunity to learn what they were up against. They had come up with an elaborate plan to accomplish these objectives—probably too elaborate—but they had always erred on the side of paranoia and overplanning and it had served them well.

They parked the RV at a campground deep within an Omaha woods and jogged the quarter mile to where they had instructed a cab to meet them. Fifteen minutes later the cab deposited them at a twenty-four hour rental car company where their vehicles were waiting for them, which they rented using false identities.

Desh drove to Rosenblatt’s house in a blue, family-friendly Toyota SUV, with three rented children’s car seats strapped in, amused at himself. It seemed like all he ever drove anymore were RVs, vans, and minivans. Why didn’t any of his missions ever call for expensive sports cars?

When Desh arrived at the professor’s small Tudor home just outside the University of Nebraska grounds, he drove around the neighborhood in ever larger circles to recon the area for physical surveillance, but found none, as expected. Rosenblatt’s family was harmless and would never suspect they were under surveillance. And Jake had no reason to believe anyone would be trying to extract them just now, so a physical stakeout was a waste of effort and manpower.

Even so, the colonel’s men had certainly hacked into the Rosenblatt family’s computers. And they must have been inside their home to gather the video footage that, with special effects added, had been used to break the lanky physicist. While inside, they were sure to have hidden bugs, cameras, and intruder alerts. Seth Rosenblatt was Jake’s only current lead to Icarus, and even though the black-ops colonel thought their leadership was now dead, he would make certain that any communication to or from the physicist’s family was intercepted and recorded.

Desh and Connelly could have devised a cleaner extraction, especially with some of the technology they could access, but in this case flawless execution wouldn’t serve their needs. They needed Jake’s men to come after them, so they could capture one for interrogation.

Desh returned to Rosenblatt’s residence and pulled the SUV quietly into his flagstone driveway. He disabled the alarm and broke silently into the house. He guessed he had from ten to fifteen minutes before the two men responsible for surveillance were alerted to his breach and arrived on the scene. If they arrived while he was still there this would put the Rosenblatts in greater danger, which he didn’t want, but he was confident he could take care of a few men at the low end of Jake’s field hierarchy who had been assigned this tedious job.

It was just after six when he slipped into the master bedroom and leaned over Lauren Rosenblatt, who was sleeping peacefully. These would be the last few seconds of peace this poor woman would have for a long time to come—and she had done nothing to deserve this. He frowned and shook his head. This was his fault. Rosenblatt had been compromised only because he had failed in his security responsibilities.

Desh reached down and put his hand over Lauren Rosenblatt’s mouth as firmly but as gently as possible, and held her head steady with his other hand.

She bolted awake instantly and began screaming. The sound was muffled by his palm.

“Seth sent me,” said Desh quickly as her muted screaming continued. “Lauren, listen to me. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Recovering from her initial shock, she stopped fighting and trying to scream and her eyes almost returned to their sockets. Desh loosened his hold, but didn’t remove his hand from over her mouth. “I’m with the think tank Seth consults for in Denver. There are some very bad people who want to get their hands on something he invented,” he added, knowing this wasn’t true, but needing to give her a simple explanation she could grasp instantly to justify his actions. “Your husband isn’t in Japan. He’s in trouble and so are you.”

Desh could tell she was fighting to get her panic under control and concentrate on what he was saying, which was a good sign. “Your phones and computers are tapped, so I couldn’t warn you,” he continued. “But I’ll do everything I can to protect you and your children. I’m going to remove my hand now. You can scream, but you’ll only panic your kids and make it harder for me to help you.” As he finished he released his hand from her mouth and took a few steps back.

She flipped on a dim lamp by the end table. “Where is my husband?” she blurted out in a tone that was just shy of hysterical.

“He’s in danger,” said Desh. “But he’s being looked after and he should be fine.” This last was a stretch, but he knew it was necessary.

“Why should I trust you?”

“Seth told you not to mention his consulting to anyone, correct?”

She nodded.

“So how would I know about it? Or that he wanted you to keep it secret? If I wanted to hurt you or your family, I could have done so already. The men I told you about are monitoring this house. The second I broke in I put myself in as much danger as you’re in. If we don’t work together, we don’t have a chance.”

She looked scared and unconvinced, and Desh sensed she was seconds away from either becoming paralyzed with indecision or breaking down. He made a decision instantly. “Look,” he continued, “we have to trust each other. So I’ll go first.”

He removed a taser from his pocket and tossed it gently beside her on the bed. “I’m guessing you’re not comfortable with a gun, but this will give you some protection.” He turned his back to her and sat on the floor by the side of her bed, facing away.

Lauren pressed the button on the black device, which looked like a smooth, extra-wide TV remote, and tiny bolts of brilliant white light arced between the electrodes at its business end, emitting a crackling, buzzing sound that was unmistakable. The device was only inches away from Desh’s neck, but he made no effort to move away or protect himself.

After a few seconds, she removed her finger from the button and the mini lightning bolt and the buzzing sound disappeared.

“We have to get moving,” urged Desh, lifting himself from the floor. “Get your kids and tell them we’re going on a surprise trip. No school today. Try to keep them groggy so they’ll fall back asleep when they’re in the car. I’m parked in the driveway. I’ll be in the car waiting. Every minute counts.”

Lauren stared at him uncertainly.

Desh gestured to the taser, still in her hand. “Look, there’s nothing else I can do right now to gain your trust. Either you’re with me or you’re not.”

Lauren Rosenblatt considered him for several additional seconds and then slipped the taser into one of her pajama pockets. She blinked as though fighting back tears. Given what he had thrown at her all at once, that she and her family were in jeopardy, and that her life was about to take a dramatic change in course, she was handling this well.

She wiped away a few tears that managed to escape, despite her best efforts. “Have the car doors open,” she said, her features hardening in determination. “I’ll be with you in two minutes.”

Desh returned to the driver’s seat of the SUV. True to her word, the garage door opened almost immediately and she walked out to his car. She carried one little girl on each hip, and her eight-year-old son Max trailed behind her like a baby duck, dressed in Iron Man pajamas and clinging to a small stuffed lion. All three kids looked at least half asleep.

Lauren’s eyes bored into Desh’s face. “You’d better not be some kind of psychopath,” she whispered to him as she began placing children in car seats in the back of the hulking Toyota.

Desh began driving the moment the door was closed, while Lauren continued to seatbelt her kids.

“Mommy,” said tiny Jessica sleepily from inside her pink, heart covered pajamas. “I have to go potty.”

“I know, Honey, and we’ll stop soon. Just hold it for a little longer.”

“I’ll try, Mommy,” she mumbled, closing her eyes once again. Her brother and sister had already fallen back asleep.

Lauren Rosenblatt leaned forward toward the front seat. “Where are we going?” she said in low tones.

“To just before an on-ramp near the intersection of the I80 and 480,” he whispered back. “Where several intersecting overpasses will screen us from satellites.”

“What?” she said in disbelief. “You’re not saying there are satellites watching us, are you?”

“Maybe not this second, but there will be soon enough.”

Lauren digested this for several seconds. “This is totally insane, you know.”

Desh sighed. “I know. And I couldn’t be sorrier.”

There was silence in the car for the next ten minutes. Desh checked his mirrors often, but saw no evidence they were being followed, although he was confident that this was now the case. Once a satellite was locked on, their pursuers could follow at a leisurely distance and not have to risk discovery.

Desh called Jim Connelly.

“Everything on track?” asked the colonel upon answering.

“So far. Our ETA is approximately five minutes.”

“Copy that,” said Connelly. “I’ll be ready,” he finished, breaking the connection.

“What’s going on?” asked Lauren from the back. “Who was that?”

“We’re about to arrive at our destination. There’s a traffic signal there. We’ll stop at it, whether it’s red or not, and conduct a bit of a fire drill. My partner, who is a very nice man, by the way, will be in a Chrysler minivan pointing the other way, with his hazards blinking.”

“What do you mean by a fire drill?”

“The instant we stop, you and your kids are going to switch to the minivan. As quickly as possible. I’ll continue on, taking the eyes of the satellites and any followers with me. No one will have any idea you’re in the minivan.”

“And then what?”

“We have a large RV parked at a campground nearby, close to the Missouri River. With plenty of trees to block the view of satellites. You’ll leave Omaha in that.”

“I thought you said no one would know we were in the minivan. So why are you still worried about satellites?”

“Just paranoid. Two switches out of sight of prying eyes are better than one. And the RV is very nice. Big. With a bedroom, bathroom, living room, kitchen—the works. Have your kids ever been in one?”

“Never.”

Desh nodded. “Well, this is a horrible situation, but being driven to your next destination in an RV will at least be more fun for the kids than being strapped in a car.” He paused. “We’re almost there. If you’ll carry the two girls into the minivan, my friend can carry Max. I need to stay in the driver’s seat so I can pull away the moment the light turns green.”

Lauren took a deep breath and nodded. She reached over and shook her son gently. “Max, honey. Wake up.”

“Huh?” he said sleepily.

“Wake up, Honey. In a minute we’re going to do something kind of silly. We’re going to switch from this car to another one—in the middle of the road. But it’s a little dangerous, so I’m going to have an old friend of mine carry you. Okay, Max?”

Max stretched as best he could in the car seat he was in and tilted his head. “Okay,” he said, not understanding this new game but willing to play along. He was still at an age where he often didn’t understand why adults did some of the crazy things they did.

A snarl of crisscrossing overpasses loomed only a few blocks away. As Desh approached the light was green, but he slowed considerably, which elicited an angry honk from the driver behind him. The light turned red and Desh stopped the SUV under the concrete overpasses, making it invisible to prying eyes gazing down from space. A white Chrysler minivan, its hazards blinking and its side door open, was facing the opposite direction one lane over, just as Desh had said it would be. Jim Connelly pretended to inspect the front tire on the passenger’s side.

“Go,” barked Desh the second the car came to a rest.

Lauren threw open the door and jumped out of the vehicle while Connelly appeared magically beside her. She leaned in and removed her two girls while Max stood and let Jim Connelly carry him across the space between vehicles.

The colonel and Lauren Rosenblatt were still depositing kids in the back of the minivan when the light turned green and Desh accelerated through the intersection and onto the highway on-ramp, heading north. Less than a minute later, Jim Connelly turned off his hazards and drove calmly out from under the overpasses, heading south, with his hidden cargo safely belted in back.

Desh felt more relieved than he would care to admit. Part one of the operation could not have gone better. Lauren Rosenblatt had cooperated and had marshaled her children like a champ. The gamble he had taken to earn Lauren’s trust had worked great, which was a good thing, since if he had miscalculated he could have easily found himself incapacitated by his own taser.

Now it was time for part two. And while this part of the operation was more dangerous, with the innocent civilians now out of the picture, Desh was confident it would end successfully.

16

Desh drove for another fifteen minutes, secure in the knowledge that the two men Jake had left in Omaha were following him, and because satellites couldn’t see in the back of an SUV, were still convinced the Rosenblatt family was along for the ride.

He arrived at his destination, a road that ran beside the tree line of another thick woods. When he saw a section in which the spacing between trees was greater than average he drove off the pavement and slowly into the woods, maneuvering the large SUV between trees, the Toyota’s oversized tires, built for off-roading, having no trouble climbing large, fallen branches, high underbrush, and thick cords of roots protruding aboveground.

He picked his way forward for almost thirty yards, stopped the car, and began rooting through a duffel bag that had been on the floor of the passenger’s seat, gathering the equipment he needed.

Desh stepped out of the vehicle and onto the floor of the woods, where he could not have felt more comfortable. He was surrounded by elms and tall cottonwoods. It was spring and the woods were vibrant and alive, producing a clean, outdoor scent that he had always loved. Birds trilled repetitively high up in unseen branches.

Desh had a gift for operating in the woods. Traversing terrain such as this without making the slightest sound, without causing the faintest rustle of leaves or crunch of a twig, required balance, athleticism, and experience, as well as uncanny instincts. Desh could move through the densest forest more silently than another man could walk across a plush carpet, and he could do this so cleanly that nothing short of a bloodhound could track him.

But on this occasion he wanted to be tracked. He did a sloppy job of moving away from the SUV, leaving faint but obvious footprints in his wake. This would ensure he was followed—and underestimated.

He travelled north for twenty yards, still in sight of the SUV, and then walked dead center between two cottonwoods that were twelve yards apart, like a human football splitting two goal posts. He continued north for several minutes with reckless abandon and then circled back, this time with feline grace, and carefully strung a tripwire between the two cottonwood goal posts, eight inches off the ground. He settled in to watch the SUV.

He didn’t have to wait long. Off in the distance a small gray sedan was approaching the bulky Toyota, having followed its tracks from the road. Since this vehicle was low to the ground and not built for off-roading, it had been scratched and dinged and was littered with brush and leaves and dirt. The car stopped a good distance from the SUV and two men exited cautiously, their guns drawn. Both were dressed in casual civilian clothing, one in tan slacks and a black t-shirt and one in blue jeans and a thin gray sweatshirt.

They approached Desh’s rental from either side, crouching low, with their eyes never leaving its windows in case someone popped up from the seat or floor and began shooting. When they were ten feet away they both rushed forward and hazarded a look inside the vehicle, making sure their guns shifted along with their eyes, ready to fire at any hidden danger.

When the two men were satisfied the vehicle was empty they scanned the woods in all directions and then had a quick, whispered conversation, before spreading out and moving at a slow jog through the trees.

Desh knew what they were thinking, because it was what he wanted them to think. They were now panicked that Desh and the Rosenblatt family were getting away, and could emerge from the woods at any one of thousands of places. They might get lucky with the satellites and find them once again, but on the other hand, they might not. So they needed to hustle and catch up to the young family, counting on the three children Desh and Lauren had in tow to slow them down. Desh was certain it would never occur to these men that they were chasing a highly skilled operative not weighed down with any civilian baggage, who had no intention of running away.

As the two men moved forward, Desh took a wide angle around their perimeter and maneuvered behind them. His timing was perfect. Just as he got into place, the gunman to the west hit Desh’s tripwire and did a face-plant into the dirt with a loud grunt.

The fallen man rolled and jumped to his feet in alarm, gun at the ready, but he was too late. As he was turning Desh shot him in the neck with a tranquilizer dart, and he fell once again into the undergrowth, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

One down, one to go, thought Desh.

The unconscious man’s partner rushed to his comrade’s aid while Desh sprinted off through the trees as fast as many men could have run on a track.

The remaining gunman watched Desh’s retreat and kneeled by his fallen partner, shoving two fingers into his carotid artery. His face registered surprise when he detected a steady pulse. He had clearly thought his colleague was dead, or at best, fighting to cling to a life that was ebbing away. He found the tranquilizer dart protruding from his partner’s neck a moment later and pulled it out to examine.

Desh’s retreat had been noisy, but when he circled back to his original position he was whisper quiet, and the remaining soldier, still in a crouch by his partner, had no idea Desh was behind him until a tranquilizer dart buried itself in his thigh and injected its fast acting drug.

The man collapsed beside his colleague, as neatly as two slabs of meat arranged side by side at a butcher shop.

That was relatively straightforward, thought Desh. Now all he had to do was lift one of these men in a fireman’s carry and meet Connelly and his minivan at the designated coordinates.

He contacted Connelly. “Mission accomplished,” he reported.

“What took you so long?” said Connelly wryly.

“I guess I’m losing my touch,” replied Desh with a smile. “How are the Rosenblatts?”

“They’re doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I’ll tell them to sit tight for a minute while I pick you up. Do you want to drive a family to Denver in an RV, or a prisoner to Denver in a minivan? Your choice.”

“Definitely the family,” said Desh. “I should reach you in about fifteen minutes.”

“Roger that. See you in fifteen.”

Desh hung up the phone and approached the two unconscious men. Hopefully the one he chose could provide useful information about Jake and his operation.

Desh saw movement in the corner of his eye.

He dove to the ground before his conscious mind fully registered what he had seen, just as a bullet drove through the air where his head had been a moment earlier and imbedded itself deep in an elm.

He rolled to his feet and darted off through the trees. As he ran bits of bark exploded near his head as his assailant continued shooting. Hitting a moving target in a heavy woods was not easy, and Desh knew it would take a lucky shot. Even so, being shot at did wonders for one’s speed and concentration.

When Desh had put some distance between himself and his pursuit, and he was no longer being shot at for fifteen full seconds, he risked a quick look around.

There were four men working their way cautiously but rapidly through the woods behind him, each dressed from head to toe in black. Four of them? And everything about their movements and style shouted special ops.

So much for Jake’s men not having access to any backups. What was going on?

Desh resumed his sprint through the woods, but this time he took a course that was at a right angle to his initial one. He knew the strategy that was surely being used against him—it was one he had used himself. They had organized their forces both behind and ahead of him before revealing themselves. Had he remained on course, he would have been stampeded straight into an ambush.

As he ran he tried to put the pieces together. Jake had told his second in command, Kolke, there would only be two of his men in Omaha, and to warn them that backup wouldn’t be a possibility. So Desh had set a trap for these two men.

But Jake had used Desh’s own trap against him. He had been a step ahead. How? Somehow this colonel had figured out the core Icarus team had escaped the bombing of their headquarters. Somehow this man had figured out they were on to him. The speed with which he had come to this conclusion, and had acted upon it, was impressive.

Jake must have reasoned that the only way they could have been warned of his attack was if they knew Rosenblatt had been captured. Which meant they probably knew his family was under surveillance. From there it was a simple, logical step for Jake to predict that Icarus would try to extract them.

Jake’s team must have arrived in Omaha hours before he and Connelly had, and had waited patiently until they could spring a trap of their own. And Desh had made it easy for them.

Desh put on the brakes, removed a flashbang grenade from a pocket, and threw it in a long arc behind him, into the vicinity of the men on his left flank. It hit a tree and exploded with a deafening blast that could be heard for miles, and a flash that was so bright it could temporarily blind anyone who got an eyeful, even during the day.

He hastily strung a trip wire between two trees. This one would be ineffective against men as good as these, but the flashbang and tripwire would give them something to think about. Slow them down a little. Keep them the tiniest bit off balance.

Desh considered taking the gellcap he had with him. Skilled as he was, he had very little chance of surviving with normal human faculties. But this wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly. Being judicious in the use of force wasn’t the strong suit of an enhanced mind. Once Desh was enhanced, he would be looking out for number one, with zero regard for life—other than his own. It would be difficult for him to prevent his alter ego from mowing through these men without mercy or remorse.

And this was a big problem. He had served in units just like these, and he considered these men the good guys. They were soldiers risking their lives to stop those trying to kill millions of helpless civilians. Children. The innocent. They had been led astray with respect to Kira, but he and these men were on the same side.

Several more bullets whistled by him and he knew he had no choice. He had to boost his capabilities and he had to do so now. He just prayed that he could somehow find the force of will to deflect his enhanced self, that his alter ego would retain enough of his values to get to safety without slaughtering these good men. He pulled the key ring from his pocket, put on an extra burst of speed, and then dove behind the wide trunk of an ancient cottonwood tree. He put his thumb over the small silver container attached to the ring and the top slid open.

As he reached for the gellcap, bark flew up around him as shots came in from another direction. He dove to the underbrush and rolled, sending the gellcap flying. He searched for the small pill frantically, but a wall of gunfire prevented him from trying to recover it, even if he was able to spot where it had landed.

He spun around and everywhere he looked, black clad men were moving in on him, slowly and inexorably. He was in the center of a slowly collapsing net with no gaps, and he now had no means to improve his mind and reflexes.

“I surrender!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, knowing he was seconds away from being turned into hamburger. “Cease firing! I surrender!” he screamed again, emerging from behind a clump of trees with his hands held high over his head.

The gunfire halted as he came out in the open, but well over a dozen guns were trained on him as he stood there. A colonel emerged from the pack of elite soldiers.

“David Desh,” he said in amazement. “I’ll be damned.”

And then without another word, he raised a gun in one smooth motion and fired.

Desh had just enough time to realize he had been hit with a tranquilizer dart before he sank to the dirt, unconscious.

17

Kira Miller paced across her bedroom inside Icarus’s industrial headquarters once again, continuing to feel sick to her stomach. A framed picture of her and the man she loved mocked her from the end table. It wasn’t her bedroom—it was their bedroom. She saw David’s smiling face in her mind’s eye. His strength. His compassion. His intelligence. His sense of humor. She loved him with all of her might. If she lived an eternity, she knew she would never meet his equal.

Knowing he was alive was the only thing holding her together. The bug and vital signs monitor in the waistband of his underwear had been activated and had transmitted data. Desh had been rendered unconscious, and the bug had transmitted numerous military voices before he had been stripped. At least the last vital signs reading she had received had been strong.

And she needed to be strong. As strong as she had ever been.

She checked her watch. It was noon. Connelly was driving back with the Rosenblatts and would arrive in an hour or so. He would deposit the RV and the family in a nearby trailer park and come immediately back to headquarters.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed a number Griffin had given her. It was answered after the fourth ring.

“Hello?” said a deep voice questioningly, clearly confused as to why his phone had failed to identify the caller.

“Admiral Hansen, this is very important. Don’t hang up.”

“Who is this?” he demanded. “How did you get this number?”

It was one thing for a stranger to dial the closely guarded private cell phone number of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff by mistake. It was another for a stranger to call it and know who was at the other end. He would attempt to trace the call, but it would be a waste of time.

Kira ignored his questions. “I need you to deliver a message to a Colonel Morris Jacobson. It’s a national security matter of extreme importance.” Jake’s first and last name had never been spoken while their bug was in range, but since the bug had revealed he was working with a major named John Kolke, Griffin was able to use his amplified intellect to learn the colonel’s true identity almost immediately.

“I’m not a messenger and I’ve never heard of this colonel. Contact him yourself. If you can find my number, you can find his.”

“You’d think so, but no,” said Kira. “He’s in charge of a group that carries out black operations. You’re the high profile Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Your information may be heavily protected, but at least you’re a public figure. He isn’t.”

“Black-Ops are performed independently. I don’t know this colonel of yours, this . . .” The admiral paused, obviously having forgotten the name Kira had given him already.

“Morris Jacobson.”

“Right. Morris Jacobson. I have no idea who he is.”

“Maybe so, but if you expect me to believe you can’t find out, you must think I’m a fool. How many people have managed to hack your private number, Admiral? Don’t you think you should be taking me a little more seriously?”

“If I wasn’t taking you seriously, we wouldn’t still be talking.”

“It’s a matter of national security, Admiral. And it’s a simple message.”

There was a long pause. “What’s the message?”

“Tell him to call Kira Miller. That’s a code name,” she lied. “But he’ll know who it is.”

“That’s the entire message?”

“Yes, and he has to make a computer to computer connection. The call has to be video as well as audio. I’ll text you with the exact time and instructions for making contact.” She paused. “I can’t possibly overstate the importance of this. Even you can’t be in the loop on everything, Admiral, but trust me, this is big.”

“Okay,” said the admiral. “Send your text.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Kira. “It should be there any second.”

***

Colonel “Jake” Jacobson appeared on Kira’s large computer monitor precisely at the time she specified. She had expected nothing less. She studied his lean face, black hair, and dark five o’clock shadow that looked as though it was perpetual, burning details of his appearance into her memory.

He looked a little wary, but mostly intrigued.

“Thanks for calling, Colonel,” she began.

He nodded slowly. “Well, you did extend an invitation I couldn’t refuse. The great Kira Miller. Since I consider you to be the most remarkable woman who ever lived, having the chance to speak with you in person is impossible to pass up under any circumstances.”

“Remarkable for my accomplishments? Or remarkable for what you think is the blackness in my soul?”

“Both,” admitted Jake without hesitation. “By the way, how did you discover my name?”

“Lucky guess,” said Kira.

The corners of Jake’s mouth turned up into the hint of a smile, which quickly vanished. “Look,” he said, knowing that pressing this question further wouldn’t get him anywhere, “I’m on camera like you asked. How about letting me see who I’m talking to? It seems only fair.”

Kira shook her head. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that life isn’t always fair?”

Jake frowned, but she could tell he wasn’t surprised by her response. “Nice trick getting Admiral Hansen to contact me,” he said. “But for someone of your capabilities, far less surprising to me than it was to him.”

“Did you tell him what this is about?”

“Of course,” replied Jake immediately.

On the bottom of Kira’s screen two words appeared. He’s lying.

She glanced at Jim Connelly inside the enhancement room, who was watching Jake and monitoring the conversation on his own screen, and nodded her thanks. They had timed things so Connelly would be enhanced throughout the call, diverting a tiny portion of his amplified focus to act as a human lie detector.

Those who were enhanced learned immediately that they could read the combination of facial expressions, body language cues, and vocal intonation in normals so well they could predict what they would say next with an accuracy that bordered on mind reading. And as far as determining the truth or falsehood of anything a normal actually vocalized, their accuracy was absolute.

Kira welcomed learning Jake’s statement was a lie. The last thing she wanted was for the Admiral to be brought up to speed and enter the game.

“So let’s cut to the chase,” said Jake. “What can I do for you?”

“I believe you’re holding a few friends of mine.”

“Friends? Plural? My understanding from the one friend I’m holding is that the other one is more than just a friend. Word is you’re in love with him.”

Kira’s heart ached just thinking about David Desh, but she couldn’t afford the slightest sentimentality. “Really?” she said. “Can a person with a soul as black as you think mine is fall in love?”

“In their own fashion, maybe. I understand that even Adolf Hitler had a girlfriend.”

Kira sighed in frustration. “I trust both Seth and David are in good health?”

“Desh is still unconscious and hasn’t been touched. Rosenblatt couldn’t be healthier.”

A message scrolled onto her screen faster than she could read, put there by someone with superhuman typing skills.

He’s hedging. Rosenblatt is fine physically, but Jake is worried about his psychological state after the stunt with this daughter. He continues to feel quite guilty about that, and regrets the damage he felt forced to inflict on someone he believes is an innocent man.

How fucking pathetic, added Connelly coldly, an editorial sentiment that his normal self would never have shared.

Jake’s eyes narrowed and he checked his connection, no doubt wondering why Kira was taking so long to respond.

“The reason I wanted you to contact me,” continued Kira finally, having finished reading Connelly’s note, “is to propose a trade.”

“A trade?”

“That’s right. Me for the two of them.”

As good a poker player as Jake was, he couldn’t hide his surprise.

He expected you might bribe or threaten him to attempt to get them back, but he never expected this, wrote Connelly unnecessarily. His mind is racing, weighing the offer, weighing possibilities, with a high level of excitement.

“I give up two prisoners and I only get one in return?” said Jake, sounding almost bored. “Doesn’t sound like a fair trade to me.”

Kira laughed out loud. “Come off it, Colonel. Either we deal with each other honestly or I’m rescinding the offer and hanging up.”

The corners of Jake’s mouth turned up once again into the slightest of smiles. “Okay,” he said. "I won’t deny it. I’m interested.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m just having trouble believing you’d really put yourself in my custody.”

“Believe it,” said Kira. “But I need something from you. I need your absolute assurance on a few matters. Your word of honor.”

Jake looked at the screen in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. My word of honor? Why would you possibly believe anything I told you?”

“I’m a good judge of character, Colonel. If you give me your word, that’s good enough for me.”

He doesn’t believe this for an instant, but sees no point in arguing further.

“Okay,” said Jake. “I’m listening.”

“First, I want your assurances that you’ll let me live once I’m in your custody. Don’t answer immediately. Think it through. Be absolutely sure you’re willing and able to honor your commitments before giving your word.”

Jake pursed his lips in thought for an extended period. “I won’t kill you,” he said finally. “You have my word. But I won’t promise anything else. And if you resist or try to escape, all bets are off.”

He’s telling the truth, typed Connelly. His plan was always to kill you—just to be sure the threat he thinks you pose is nullified—but he’ll honor his word now that he’s given it. His new plan is to interrogate you thoroughly and then lock you away in a high-security cell for the rest of your life.

“That’s acceptable,” said Kira Miller to the colonel. “Second. I need your word that you won’t interrogate Desh when he regains consciousness and that no harm will come to either prisoner.”

Jake considered again and then finally nodded. “You have my word,” he said.

He’s telling the truth.

“Finally,” said Kira, “I want your word that you’ll hold up your end of the bargain. That if I give myself up, you’ll let Desh and Rosenblatt go, in perfect health, and not try to follow them. And neither will any of your men. Or your satellites. Think very carefully about this one, Colonel.”

Jake paused, and rubbed the back of his head, as though this would help in the thinking process. “Okay,” he responded finally. “You have my word. If you give yourself up—which I’m still not convinced you’ll do—I’ll release them in perfect health. And I won’t have them followed.”

He’s telling the truth, but he’s trying to deceive you in his own way. Good for him. I didn’t think this giant pussy had it in him, wrote enhanced Connelly callously. He’ll let them get away, but he’ll use what he gets out of you to do everything in his power to recapture them as soon as possible.

Kira caught Connelly’s eye and nodded. This was good enough for her.

“I’m counting on you to be a man of honor, Colonel, and not decide later to go back on your word.”

“I won’t,” said Jake.

He won’t, typed Connelly. But he still doesn’t believe you really trust his word. He’s convinced he’s missed something. So he’ll be exceedingly cautious and prepared for anything.

“While we’re at it,” added Jake. “How about giving me your word that you’ll hold up your end of the bargain.”

“What prompted that?” asked Kira. “My word means nothing to you, and we both know it.”

Jake smiled. “You have a point. Even if I thought I could trust you, I’m a firm believer in the trust-but-verify process anyway.”

“Don’t worry,” said Kira. “I won’t jeopardize my friends. You’ll have me on a platter.” She paused. “But I do have one other condition before I agree to the trade. Once this is met, you can call back in thirty minutes and we can hash out the details of the, um . . . personnel exchange.”

Jake’s expression was easy for Kira to read, even without Connelly’s help. He had been thinking this was too easy, and he expected this final condition to be an unpleasant surprise that would mean she had no intention of giving herself up, and that this had been an elaborate tease for unknown reasons. “Go on,” he said guardedly.

“I need you to tell Seth Rosenblatt that little Jessica is alive and well. That what he saw was concocted by your special effects wizards.”

Jake’s eyes widened.

He’s wondering how you have any fucking idea that this happened. There was a pause. Now he’s putting it all together. He’s figured out you must have been listening in, although he can’t imagine how you pulled it off.

“Gladly,” said Jake at last.

“Then we have an agreement,” said Kira. “Go talk to Seth.”

Jake nodded. “I’ll call you back in thirty minutes.”

18

Madison Russo could barely breathe. She had never suffered from stage fright before and was comfortable in front of large crowds, but in addition to the many hundreds of reporters in the massive convention center ballroom, well over a hundred million more were watching on TV.

She had sent her findings out to the gravitational wave astronomy community at the speed of the Internet. This was too important to wait, even until morning. Within hours her findings had been confirmed at a dozen centers around the world.

The governments of almost every nation instinctively tried to suppress the data. After all, information this explosive needed to be analyzed endlessly before a determination could be made if the hapless citizenry could handle it. But governments quickly realized that the genie was out of the bottle and there was no way to cram it back in. They’d have better luck trying to stop the eruption of an active volcano with their bare hands.

As it was, Madison’s discovery caused sleepless nights around the world and a flurry of activity the likes of which had never been seen. If the entire Earth were an anthill, her findings had just kicked it like a planetary-sized boot, and seething masses of its inhabitants were scurrying every which way.

Dr. Eugene Tobias, the head of NASA, was at the podium first. Across the world similar press conferences were taking place, headed by government officials and scientific luminaries. In the United States, dozens of politicians and scientists had jockeyed all night to be the featured speaker, but since one of their own scientists had taken the shot heard ‘round the world—which wasn’t surprising since the majority of work in this field was being done in America—Madison Russo was the obvious, and fair, choice. Also because she was still a grad student, it would make the press conference less formal and intimidating, and enhance the human interest angle.

Most of the untold millions tuning in already knew of her discovery, of course, at least the punch line, but this was the first formal announcement. Panicked speculation and rumors had gone viral almost as quickly as had the discovery.

Eugene Tobias stood at the microphone until the audience chatter gradually ceased. When the room was silent, he began. “As many of you are now aware, at 10:23 Pacific Standard Time last night, a graduate student at the University of Arizona named Madison Russo made a discovery that has shaken the foundation of science, cosmology, and religion. Indisputable evidence of not just extraterrestrial life, but of intelligent extraterrestrial life. This discovery has now been repeatedly confirmed.” A thirty foot image of Tobias also appeared on a screen behind him, so those in the back could detect his every facial expression.

“I will now ask Miss Russo to make a brief, prepared statement. She will be followed by Dr. Timothy Benari, an expert in something called zero point energy. He will make a prepared statement as well. Then we will introduce our full panel and open up the floor for questions.” He gestured to Madison. “The microphone is all yours.”

Madison approached the lectern in flats and a dark suit, consisting of a pencil skirt and matching jacket. She hated formal wear and found the outfit restricting and uncomfortable. But if there was ever a time to dress formally, headlining a press conference in front of most of America was probably it. She adjusted the microphone and cleared her throat.

“Hello,” she croaked, and to her own ears her voice sounded tiny and meek. “As Dr. Tobias said,” she continued, managing to increase her volume despite the trouble she was having taking in oxygen, “my name is Madison Russo. Before I describe my findings, I thought it was important to give a quick—and I hope painless—review of Einstein’s theory of relativity.”

She half expected to hear a unanimous groan from the crowd of reporters. She hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours, so didn’t entirely trust her judgment, but while everyone had heard of relativity, she guessed that few non-scientists fully understood its implications. Or how profoundly it had turned mankind’s intuitive sense of how the universe worked upside down.

She smiled nervously. “Naturally, this will be a huge oversimplification. But relativity is critical to understanding the discovery that Dr. Tobias spoke of.

“So here is a three minute course. Suppose I threw a ball twenty miles per hour at a boy racing away from me on a bike, also going twenty miles per hour. How fast would the ball gain on him? The answer is, it wouldn’t. Relative to the boy, the ball would be going at zero miles per hour. If he was racing toward me at twenty miles per hour, the ball I threw would be closing the gap at forty miles per hour.”

Madison looked out over the audience to see how the reporters were reacting, but they might as well have been made of stone. “So relative velocities are just a matter of addition and subtraction,” she continued. “Pretty simple, and true for every object ever measured.” She paused. “But then light came along. It travels at an incomprehensible speed of 670 million miles an hour. And as impossible as it seems, it doesn’t obey this simple rule. The speed of light measured by an observer is exactly the same, no matter how fast he or she is moving toward it or away from it. If you were traveling at ninety-nine percent the speed of light, and chasing a beam of light, it would still be moving away from you at the full speed of light.”

She turned a page of notes and continued. “This would be like being in car going fifty-nine, chasing a car going sixty, and the car you’re chasing is still gaining on you at sixty miles an hour. Just as fast as it would if you were standing still. Seems impossible, and defies common sense. Newtonian physics couldn’t explain it. Fortunately, Albert Einstein developed a physics that could.”

Madison paused for just a moment and looked out at the sea of reporters. They still could have been made of wood for all the interest they were showing. Oh my God, she thought. I’m boring an entire nation to death. Her throat tightened, and breathing became even more difficult. But there was no turning back now.

“Einstein devised a theory and set of mathematics to account for light’s strange behavior,” she continued, forcing the words out. “According to him, speed changes everything. As objects get faster, to an unmoving observer, they shrink in length and increase in mass. At just a hair away from light speed, an object’s length would be very near zero. And its mass would approach infinity. And time would slow down for it as well. If you traveled very near the speed of light for just a few minutes—at least for you—a million years could have passed for your sister on Earth.”

Madison could tell from the body language of the room that interest in the subject matter was growing.

“Pretty mind-blowing stuff. And it seems totally crazy. But Einstein’s predictions have now been proven over and over again. Particles that decay at one rate when they’re slow, take far longer to decay when traveling near the speed of light. Precisely as the equations of relativity predict. Even GPS satellites are corrected for relativistic effects using Einstein’s equations. The reason these effects seem so ridiculous to our intuition is that they only take place at insane speeds, far faster than anything on earth can travel.

“Einstein also provided a new take on gravity. He realized spacetime is like a trampoline, which is dented by any object with mass. Put a bowling ball in the center of a trampoline and it causes an indentation, so that anything else you put on it wants to roll downhill toward the ball. This is gravity. When a mass indents spacetime it sends out gravitational waves at the speed of light. Until very recently, these were all but impossible to detect. But a new theory has arisen which has allowed for super sensitive detection of these waves.

“My research gives me access to such a detector. I designed software to sift through billions of pages of gravitational wave data from endless masses, big and small. From asteroids to planets to suns. My software crunches this data and alerts me if it detects anything unusual.” She paused for effect. “And last night it did. It detected a mass the size of our moon in interstellar space, in the plane of the ecliptic, hurtling towards us from the direction of galactic center. Dr. Tobias has provided the exact coordinates in your information package.”

She paused and took a sip of water from a glass on the lectern. “Now a moon sized mass by itself isn’t all that interesting. But the mass of this object was falling precipitously as it went. First it was the mass of the moon. Then this moving object was only half as massive. Then only a fifth. Then a tenth. And so on.

“This made no sense at first. But then I remembered relativity. Remember that an object’s mass increases as it gets closer and closer to the speed of light. If an object were traveling very near the speed of light, and then began to decelerate, one would observe exactly what I had observed.

“But objects in interstellar space don’t travel anywhere near the speed of light. So I was sure I was mistaken. But when I drove this data through Einstein’s equations, it fit perfectly. Crosschecking its apparent mass at different time points and at different locations gives a precisely consistent picture mathematically. I’ll spare you the math, but the picture that emerged from the equations is as follows: a spherical object that, when not moving, would be roughly the size and weight of a small car, was traveling at greater than 99.99999 % of light speed. It then began braking smoothly. At its initial speed its apparent mass was huge, but as its speed fell its mass decreased dramatically.

“As most of you now know, further gravitational readings and further math indicate that this object is headed directly toward Earth. As of an hour ago, it was travelling just over a million miles per hour, and it is still slowing. If it continues to decelerate smoothly, it will intersect our planet in exactly twenty-two days time.”

19

John Kolke waited patiently for his commander to return to his office, one of several the colonel maintained at military bases across the country.

Colonel Morris Jacobson entered and took the chair at his desk, facing his second in command, and he didn’t look good.

Kolke was confused by his demeanor. “You did tell Rosenblatt about his daughter, right?” he asked.

Jake sighed. “Yeah, I told him.”

“Then why do you look so miserable?”

“It didn’t go the way I thought it would. I might have made things worse.”

“What? How is that possible?”

“Part of him is desperate to believe me. But part of him thinks this is some kind of cruel mind fuck. That I’m giving him hope, just so I can snatch it away later to destroy him even more. So he’s afraid to believe me, just in case it isn’t true. If he believed me, and then it turned out I was lying, it would be like losing his daughter twice.”

“I see what you’re saying,” said Kolke.

Jake checked his watch. He had about twenty minutes before he called Miller a second time. His people had gotten nowhere tracing the call or finding Miller’s IP address, as expected.

“So what did you think of Kira Miller?” asked Jake. Kolke had listened in on his call, but Jake had wanted to delay any postgame discussion until after he had spoken with Rosenblatt.

“She’s impressive,” replied the major. “Her reputation is well earned. Her charisma comes through, even when you can’t see her. And from her pictures, I can only imagine how much seeing her in person adds to the effect.” He paused. “You can’t possibly believe she’s sincere about this trade, though.”

“No,” agreed Jake. “Not for a second. But we need to figure out what her angle is. She didn’t go through this charade for her health.”

“It has to be a rescue attempt.”

“I agree that’s the most likely explanation. She’ll set up the handoff so she’ll know where we’ll be with her people. Then she’ll attack. Or members of her group will. She’ll count on those pills of hers giving them the advantage, no matter how we protect ourselves.”

“So how do you want to play it?”

Jake didn’t answer for almost a full minute. Kolke waited patiently while the colonel weighed options in his head. “We restrain Desh and Rosenblatt at a location far away from where we acquire Miller. Metal handcuffs, plastic handcuffs, leg irons, the works—we bind and gag them so thoroughly we can walk away without any worry they’ll escape. In an apartment, maybe. Or a hotel room.”

“What about in a self storage facility? In one of those little steel rooms you can rent out?”

“Perfect,” said Jake. “When Miller is safely in our custody, we tell her people where to find Desh and Rosenblatt. This way, ambushing us does them no good. Not if they want their people back.”

“I like it. But she’ll never agree to it.”

“If you’re right, I’ll have at least forced her to show her hand. She’ll still be intent on outsmarting us, so the discussion won’t end there. The ball will be in her court, and you’d better believe she’ll hit it back.” He paused. “But for some reason, I think she’ll agree to just about anything I propose.”

Kolke’s face wrinkled in confusion. “Why?”

“Because she’s a lot smarter than we are. Even without her magic pills. We’re just thinking a move or two deep and congratulating ourselves. She’s playing a different game. I think she already factored this play into her equation.”

“If that’s true, then you should refuse to deal. Period.”

Jake smiled. “Yeah. Probably. But if I do that she’ll have won forever. She already has me second guessing myself, jousting at shadows. But if I believe no matter what I do, she’s a few steps ahead, then I’m paralyzed and may as well pack it in now.”

“So what else do you think she might have up her sleeve?”

Jake rubbed his head. “There is one flaw in my plan. Even if she can’t directly free her friends, she could try to capture me and force me to give up their location.”

Kolke considered. “Not if you don’t know it,” he said.

“Good thought, Major. Very good thought.” Jake paused for several long seconds. “So we can play it like this. You and I separate. You leave Desh and Rosenblatt bound somewhere, but you don’t tell me their location. But now it should be in an apartment. Far more of these than there are storage facilities. If she really does give herself up, you tell her people where to find our two guests. If she kills or captures me and our team while we’re trying to take her into custody, you just re-gather the prisoners and she’s no better off.”

“Not to rain on this parade or anything,” said Kolke wryly, “but under this scenario, she might not get her people back, but you’re still captured or dead. Doesn’t seem like much fun on your end.”

Jake laughed. “Well, I’ll do my best to see that this doesn’t happen. It’s just a worst case. We can have her rent an SUV and give her driving instructions as she goes, so we can’t be ambushed. We’ll find a stretch of low ground between two cliff walls—like a shallow canyon,” he said, his head tilted back as he thought it through and tried to envision the handoff in his mind’s eye. “One she can get to quickly by off-roading. We can have helos overhead making sure she isn’t followed and snipers on both cliffs. Most with live ammo—but a few with tranquilizer rifles, just on the off chance she doesn’t try anything.”

“That seems like . . . adequate . . . protection,” said Kolke, and Jake could tell his second in command was convinced this was overkill. Maybe so, but this woman’s capabilities had him spooked.

Kolke was about to continue when Jake said, “hold that thought,” and picked up the phone on his desk. He described the kind of terrain he was looking for in the Colorado area to the woman who answered, and that he needed the GPS coordinates of such a place communicated to him as soon as possible. He hung up and gestured to the major. “Go on,” he said.

“I was just going to say, if she agrees to this—a huge if in my book—she’ll have zero chance. Even if she takes one of her pills when you encounter her.”

“Don’t forget that she and her Icarus friends can come up with breakthrough technology every time they’re enhanced. Very little is beyond the reach of their minds. And even without a technology advantage, if she’s able to take a gellcap, you don’t want any part of her. That’s where the tranquilizer comes in. We use one to put her to sleep. When she’s down, we maintain our positions—snipers and helos—for ninety minutes. Even if she enhanced herself just prior to the encounter, the effect only lasts about an hour. After ninety minutes, we tape her mouth shut so she can’t surprise us and take a pill, strip her naked to eliminate the possibility of hidden technology, and take her in.”

“Easy as pie,” said Kolke dryly. “What are we waiting for?” He paused and shook his head. “It’s a good plan, Colonel. But I’m still afraid she’ll never agree to it,” he added.

“That’s funny,” said Jake grimly. “I’m more afraid that she will.”

20

Madison Russo finished her prepared statement, took a seat on the podium, and Dr. Timothy Benari replaced her at the lectern. He glanced down at his notes.

“I’m going to keep this short and simple,” he began. “As Dr. Tobias mentioned, my work is in the field of zero point energy. I’m glad Miss Russo described relativity to you. The other major breakthrough that occurred around this time, which Einstein also had a big hand in helping to launch, was quantum physics. I’m not going to explain this to you now, simply because it’s so strange that it makes relativity seem intuitive. Even Einstein could never bring himself to really believe the implications of this theory. This being said, modern electronics wouldn’t be possible without it, and it is arguably the most successful theory of all time.”

He paused. “But it is unbelievably bizarre. What it says is that particles can be in two places at once, can be linked over unlimited distance, and can pop into and out of existence. Oh, and it suggests something else: that there is a nearly infinite amount of energy in every square centimeter of vacuum. That the vacuum really isn’t a vacuum. That as close to a free lunch as this universe will ever offer is just waiting to be harvested. Zero point energy.

“This was confirmed in 1997, an event the The New York Times described particularly well in an article entitled, Physicists Confirm Power of Nothing, Measuring Force of Universal Flux. I’ll read a few excerpts from it now:

“For half a century, physicists have known that there is no such thing as absolute nothingness, and that the vacuum of space, devoid of even a single atom of matter, seethes with subtle activity. Now, with the help of a pair of metal plates and a fine wire, a scientist has directly measured the force exerted by fleeting fluctuations in the vacuum that pace the universal pulse of existence . . . Dr. Lamoreaux’s experiment was the first direct and conclusive demonstration of . . . the Casimir Effect, which has been posited as a force produced solely by activity in the “empty” vacuum. His results came as no surprise to anyone familiar with quantum electrodynamics, but they served as material confirmation of a bizarre theoretical prediction.

Quantum electrodynamics holds that the all-pervading vacuum continuously spawns particles and waves that spontaneously pop into and out of existence on an almost unimaginably short time scale.

This churning quantum ‘foam,’ as some physicists call it, is believed to extend throughout the universe. It fills empty space within the atoms in human bodies, and reaches the emptiest and most remote regions of the cosmos.”

Dr. Benari stopped reading. “So why is any of this relevant?” he said. “Because speeding up an object the size of a car to near light speed takes some serious energy: more than the total output of our sun over a fifty year period. With current human understanding, the only way this could be done is if a civilization found a way to tap this zero point energy. Even taming antimatter wouldn’t provide enough power. I’ve spent my entire career trying to find some way to tap this infinite free lunch, and so have my colleagues. We haven’t gotten very far, to say the least. Many of us believed it couldn’t be done.” He nodded his head slowly. “Well, now we know otherwise.”

He paused for several seconds. “I’ve theorized that if this zero point energy, or ZPE, were tapped,” he continued, “it would change something called the Planck constant. I’d be happy to explain what this is later on. The bottom line is that an object harvesting this energy would change some fundamental properties of the universe around it, including light, and result in a telltale spectroscopic pattern that I’ve called Casimir Radiation.”

Dr. Benari smiled broadly, unable to help himself. His theory had been attacked without mercy, and until yesterday, his prediction had been considered to be untestable. What a difference a day made. Einstein had predicted that light from a distant star coming close to the Sun would be bent, but it was years before an eclipse occurred and proper equipment was in place to measure it. Once it was, the deflection of the light turned out to be 1.7 arc seconds, matching Einstein’s prediction exactly, proving his vision of gravity and spacetime and making him the most famous scientist on the planet. Now it was Benari’s turn.

“Turns out my theory isn’t just a theory anymore,” he continued. “We’ve discovered this Casimir Radiation coming from the object, precisely as my theory predicted. Whatever is coming towards us is not only alien life, and intelligent alien life, it’s from a highly advanced civilization that has conquered the ultimate energy source.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And assuming it doesn’t veer off course, I, for one, am dying to get a peek under the hood.”

21

Jake trained a pair of binoculars on the red SUV that had just entered the center of the wide ravine. Hundred-foot cliff walls rose sharply on both sides.

“Nice choice,” noted a self-assured voice from the earpiece in his left ear, coming in clearly despite the whipping sound made by the blades of three helos circling overhead, maintaining a three mile surveillance perimeter. “How many men do you have on each cliff?”

“One or two,” replied Jake noncommittally.

“More like five or ten, I’m guessing,” said Kira Miller. “And helicopters to boot. Looks like someone was paying attention the day they taught how to take the high ground in military school.”

“Just a sign of how much respect I have for you,” said Jake.

“Lucky me,” she mumbled wryly. “I’m getting out now,” she added. “How about reminding your men of our little agreement. No killing the helpless girl.”

“They know,” said Jake.

A moment later the front door of the car sprung open and a lithe woman stepped out wearing faded blue jeans and a teal, v-neck blouse. He could see her well enough but he used the binoculars to zoom in on her face. His heart picked up speed. It was Kira Miller in the flesh. At least it seemed to be. With this woman you could never be sure of anything.

“Walk ten or fifteen yards away from your car with your hands in plain sight,” he instructed.

She was wearing a headset as he had asked, so her hands were completely free. She raised them above her head and began walking. “As you can see, it really is me,” she said into the microphone extending toward her mouth. “I’ve done everything you asked for. I’m in your control. Now how about living up to your end and texting my associates where to find your prisoners?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll stick to our agreement. But I’m not quite satisfied. Not yet.”

“Another sign of respect?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m going to add someone to the call. She’s going to ask you a few questions.”

He manipulated his phone and a second later a woman joined them on the line. “Tell me the properties of a Type III restriction enzyme?” she said, her voice low and scratchy.

A wide, unselfconscious grin came over Kira Miller’s face, which Jake saw clearly through his binoculars. “Okay, now I’m impressed,” she said. “You take caution to whole new levels, Colonel. If this isn’t really me in the middle of nowhere, who do you think it is? You think I found a perfect double and convinced her to give herself up in my place?”

“Probably not. But I thought you were in the building I destroyed, and I was wrong about that. You can never be too careful. I promised to give up Desh and Rosenblatt for Kira Miller. Not a stand in.”

“A fair point,” allowed Kira. “Okay. A Type III restriction enzyme cuts DNA about twenty to thirty base pairs from its recognition site, which consists of two, inversely oriented, non palindromic sequences. They have more than one subunit, require AdoMet for DNA methylation, and need ATP as a cofactor. They methylate only one strand of DNA, at the N-6 position of adenosyl residues.” She paused. “Are we done?”

“Not quite yet,” said the woman. She went on to ask four additional questions, each of them more difficult, and several which could only be answered by someone with a practical knowledge of genetic engineering, rather than just book knowledge.

When Kira had answered the last question, Jake’s expert told him that in her professional opinion the woman on the phone was a top flight molecular biologist, and left the call.

“Satisfied?” asked the stunning woman in the gorge below.

Jake signaled to a sniper nearby, and seconds later Kira Miller crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Completely,” replied Jake to no one in particular.

***

Jim Connelly broke the lock on the door labeled 47J in the Pinewood Knolls apartment complex east of Denver and carefully stepped inside, although he knew this wasn’t an ambush. He had complete confidence in the assessment his altered self had made of Jake’s veracity, and would have bet his life the man would not go back on his word. In fact, he realized, he was betting his life.

As he entered the unit, Connelly found David Desh and Seth Rosenblatt bound together in the center of the living room in multiple ways, with layers of gray duct tape firmly affixed to their mouths. Connelly found the keys to multiple pairs of handcuffs and leg irons in a potted plant in the corner, as he had been told he would. He quickly removed these devices from both men and used his freshly sharpened combat knife on Desh’s bonds first, sawing through the tough plastic handcuffs and other fasteners that continued to immobilize him.

While he was doing this he pulled the tape from his friend’s mouth in one quick motion.

“How could you let her do this?” demanded Desh the instant his mouth was free. “She’s more important than all of us combined!”

Connelly continued cutting through his bonds. “When Kira Miller is intent on doing something,” he responded calmly, in marked contrast to his friend’s rage. “No power on earth is going to stop her.” He gestured toward Rosenblatt. “But let’s talk about this later.”

Seconds late Desh was free, and within another minute they had both managed to free the tall physicist. Desh was still fuming, but he remained silent.

“David, you’re with me,” said Connelly. “Dr. Rosenblatt, I’m going to ask you to stay here for just a few minutes.”

Rosenblatt looked confused but nodded his acquiescence.

Shortly after Desh and Connelly left there was a knock at the door. The physicist eyed it warily and then opened it.

His wife was standing at the entrance, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

Below her, a tiny figure looked up at him.

“Daddy!” squealed little Jessica excitedly, her voice tiny and endearing.

Seth Rosenblatt fell to his knees, and his daughter ran forward and launched herself into his arms.

He drew her close, hugging her as though he might never let go, drawing sustenance from this tiny, precious, perfect little girl—one he had been sure he had lost forever.

Quiet tears poured down his face. Jake had not lied about her, after all.

“I love you, Honey,” he said. “I love you so much.” He continued to cling to her as desperately as if she were a life preserver in a roiling sea.

“Daddy, are you okay?” asked Jessica, pulling away and looking at his face uncertainly. She had never seen her father shed a single tear, yet multiple streams continued to roll down his cheeks.

He nodded. “I’m more than okay, Sweetie.”

Jessica’s mother knelt down beside her. “Sometimes grown-ups cry when they’re happy,” she explained.

The little girl looked up at her daddy, who was smiling through his tears, but she still wasn’t entirely convinced. “Are you happy, Daddy?”

Seth Rosenblatt pulled his daughter close once again and squeezed, his tears continuing to fall. “Oh yes,” he said euphorically. “Happier than you can even imagine.”

22

Kira’s eyes finally fluttered open as the last of the tranquilizer was reversed by the agent Colonel Jacobson had administered several minutes previously. She was dressed in a gray, zippered jumpsuit, and every means of ingress into her body—ears, nostrils, throat, anus, and vagina—throbbed slightly, or in some other way advertised that they had been thoroughly probed. Her hands were bound together with tough plastic cuffs and had been placed in her lap.

She shook herself fully awake and took in her surroundings. She was in a large office, although it was non-descript and hadn’t been personalized in any way. She was sitting before a large desk, facing the man who had appeared on her computer screen to arrange the swap, this Colonel Jacobson. Behind him, an eight-by-ten picture frame was lying face down on a credenza.

The colonel studied her calmly, in no apparent hurry to get the proceedings started.

She gestured to her surroundings with her head. “What, no interrogation room? No leg irons? No spotlight shining in my face and a team of experts behind a two-way mirror?”

“I like to start on the civilized side when I can. And in these days of video cameras, two-way mirrors are only useful in bad spy movies.”

“Good point,” she admitted. “I must still be a little groggy from your knockout drug.” She raised her eyebrows. “Although I can’t say I’m sorry I was unconscious for my proctology and gynecology exams.”

“Sorry about that,” said Jake, with enough sincerity that Kira believed he really was. “If it makes you feel any better, we had a woman conduct the examination below the waist.”

“How gallant of you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Find anything interesting?”

Jake shook his head. “Not for lack of trying. On the other hand, after my experience with Seth Rosenblatt, we’ve taken your clothing—including your panties and bra—to a lab where everything will all be taken apart atom by atom. And we’ll assume we’re being listened to when we do. We made a mistake with Rosenblatt’s clothing. When our scans indicated no activity, we didn’t examine it further. Now we have, and we’ve found some advanced electronics in the waistband of his jockeys, very nearly microscopic. Desh’s too. I’m looking forward to finding out what’s inside your panties.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” said Kira with a wry smile.

Jake couldn’t help but return the smile, but this quickly faded. “We’ve already begun reverse engineering the technology. We should know how you’ve managed it soon.”

“Good luck with that,” said Kira, unconcerned. “But before we go any further,” she added, “can I assume you held up your end of the deal? That David and Seth are free and unmolested?”

“I held up my end of the deal, yes. Which means I have no idea if they’re free. All I know is that I texted their location to the e-mail address you gave me.”

Kira studied him. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where we are and how long I was out for?”

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me about your work on WMD and interactions with terrorist leaders and dictators? And details of your husband’s activities?”

“Since I’ve been framed—yet again—and none of this is true, I’d be more than happy to tell you everything I know.” She paused. “But you first. Where are we? And how long was I out?”

Jake studied her with a renewed intensity, perhaps seeing if she would begin to squirm. She waited patiently, her cuffed hands folded in her lap, the scrutiny not appearing to intimidate her or make her uncomfortable in the least.

“It’s funny,” he said. “My instinct is not to tell you. You’re cuffed and have no weapons—or gellcaps. No technology, period. You’ve been stripped and probed extensively. Even if you had an invisible bug and transmitter—which this time I’m sure you don’t—your friends couldn’t rescue you. You’re going to tell me what you know, one way or another, and be a prisoner for the rest of your life. So I have no reason not to answer your questions.”

Jake stared at her once more for several seconds. “But you’re so damned relaxed,” he continued. “You’re not playing the captured terrorist about to rot in prison. You’re playing the carefree, affable young woman, chatting with a friend. Almost as if you arranged this just to size me up.” He paused. “What have I failed to take into account? Is there another shoe about to drop? Tell me, Kira Miller, what am I missing?”

“Not a thing. I’m not nearly as dangerous as you seem to think I am. You’re as thorough as they come. I did have a few rabbits up my sleeves,” she added with a grin. “But then you took away my sleeves.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “Your charisma is remarkable. They say Steve Jobs was so charismatic, he projected something that came to be known as a reality distortion field. But I’ve never experienced something like this in person. Until now. And Jobs didn’t have your looks.”

“Thank you, Colonel. To be honest, I had expected to be beaten around the head with a bag of doorknobs, not to be given compliments.” She frowned. “But for all of my supposed charisma, I can’t even get you to tell me where we are or how long I was out.”

“You were out for seven hours. And we’re at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs.”

Kira digested this information. Given Icarus was headquartered in nearby Denver, she knew Peterson well. It housed NORAD, as well as the air force and army space commands. And it was within a hundred miles of where she had been captured. “Isn’t Peterson a bit obvious?”

“Maybe. But your colleagues won’t expect someone as careful as I am to do the obvious. And since you could be anywhere, they’d have to be absolutely positive you were here to risk a raid to extract you. And even if they did they wouldn’t succeed. Not from a base this secure.”

“Impressive reasoning,” said Kira. She leaned forward. “By the way, is this conversation private, or do you have those video cameras you spoke of sending it out to a bunch of your friends?”

“Why do you care?”

“Maybe I’m not the exhibitionist type,” she replied dryly. “If I’m going to bare my soul, I prefer to know who I’m baring it to.”

“We’re being videotaped, but just for my own use. No one else knows about that. For this session only, our discussion will be private. But just so you don’t get any ideas,” he added, “there are three guards outside of this room. While you’re here, they’re checking in every ten minutes with my second in command. If they fail to check in, special forces teams will descend on this area like locusts.”

Kira lifted her hands and nodded toward the plastic cuffs locked around her wrists. “Are you sure three guards and handcuffs are enough? I mean, if you think it’d be safer to use leg irons attached to a cannonball, I’ll wait while you get them.”

“Don’t test me,” he warned. “My instincts tell me you’re still dangerous. Maybe I should restrain you further.”

Kira realized she had miscalculated and decided it was time to change the subject. “So tell me, Colonel,” she said, as if the prior exchange had never taken place. “How did you figure out I was alive? And learn about my ability to boost IQs? And most importantly, where did you get your misinformation as to my intentions?”

“Not misinformation. Unimpeachable evidence.”

“So you’ve said. How about showing me some of it then?”

Jake nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Why not?” His eyes narrowed in thought. “We’ll start with your, um . . . good friend, David Desh.”

He worked the touchscreen on a thin laptop on his desk connected wirelessly to a monitor on the table behind him. A video appeared on the screen.

Kira saw herself and David Desh sitting on the floor, their backs against a concrete wall in a gray, dimly lit basement. Heavy steel rungs had been bolted into the wall, and both prisoners had their wrists bound together behind their backs and through one of the rungs with plastic strips.

The scene came rushing back to her with a dizzying intensity. Her brother’s puppet—who they had first known as Smith, but who had later turned out to be a man named Sam Putnam—had captured them and moved them to the basement of a safe house.

The events of that night were seared into her mind. Putnam had taunted her, and had convinced her he had implanted an explosive in her skull that could liquefy her brain.

She hadn’t thought about this for a long time. Watching this footage brought back too many bad memories, but she couldn’t look away. Desh had managed to take a gellcap, and had faked illness. On the screen, sweat began pouring out of him in the cool basement, forced through his pores by the conscious application of his amplified intellect, which gave him exquisite control over his every cell and bodily system, autonomic or not.

Kira watched the video in horror and fascination. There was no doubt in her mind that this footage was real.

Three armed men now entered the frame. Desh had convinced them the contents of his stomach were about to erupt onto the floor, and that they needed to let this happen in the bathroom rather than suffer the mess and smell for an entire night.

One of the men freed him from the steel rung and began to lead him to the bathroom. A few steps later Desh doubled over and pretended to vomit. In the instant the guards looked away in disgust, he snatched a knife from the man beside him and buried it in the chest of one of the other guards. The moment Desh released the knife, he spun the man who had freed him to his left, just in time for him to take a tranquilizer dart meant for Desh.

The third guard was highly trained in several forms of martial arts, but Desh dismantled him as if the guard were moving in slow motion.

Desh had taken out the three men like an over-the-top hero in a martial arts film, with timing and fighting skills impossible in the real world. His actions were effortless. And just like in a highly choreographed stunt fight, Desh had known every move the men would make, almost before they did.

After having disabled the three armed men, he ducked behind the wooden staircase. A fourth man came rushing down to check on his comrades, and Desh calmly buried a dart in his leg through the opening between stairs. The man rolled down the last few stairs, unconscious.

Desh then freed Kira, and they both rushed up the stairs.

The footage continued, but the basement was now still.

“Okay,” said Kira. “This did happen. I’ll admit it. But so what? We were obviously justified in escaping. And David used non-lethal force when he could. Hardly evidence that he’s an enemy of the state.”

Jake shook his head grimly. “Nice try. But you can’t really think we don’t have the rest of the footage.”

“What are you talking about?” she said.

Jake touched his laptop and the video jumped ahead. David Desh was now bounding down the stairs. Kira had forgotten he had returned to the basement briefly, while she had waited upstairs, to see if any of the guards had carried wallets or ID.

The guard with the knife protruding from his chest was dead. The other three were unconscious, but in good health. Desh made no move to check their pockets. Instead, he calmly took a knife and surgically slit each man’s throat, one by one, using great care so he wouldn’t get blood on himself. Like a butcher slaughtering cattle.

Kira’s eyes widened in horror and she choked back vomit.

It was his total lack of expression, his clinical detachment, that was the most frightening of all.

“Good acting, Miss Miller—or Mrs. Desh—whatever you’re calling yourself these days,” said Jake as the video stopped. “You do shocked and horrified about as well as I’ve ever seen.”

“This footage was doctored,” croaked Kira weakly, still not recovered. “It had to have been.” But she looked even less sure than she sounded.

Jake frowned and shook his head. “Sure it was,” he said sarcastically. “You do realize we’ve analyzed the hell out of this footage. Not a single frame has been altered in any way. It’s one continuous shot. If the first part you saw is accurate—and you admitted as much—than the last part is also.”

Kira turned away with a look of revulsion. David Desh was the most compassionate man she knew. Yes, he had killed in battle, but never helpless men. Not like this. True, her therapy brought out the worst in human nature, and it could be brutally difficult to control this Mr. Hyde personality. But a loss of control this great was shocking. And worse, he had never told her about it after he had returned to normal.

This would have been important information for her to have. At the time, they had little experience with the effects of enhancement. And she would have expected him to be horrified by the actions of his alter ego, to be beating himself up for not finding a way to prevent them. Yet he hadn’t said a single word, nor had he appeared the least bit remorseful.

They had been through so much together. But what she had just seen made her question everything she thought she knew. Could she trust David Desh? She would never have believed this possible of him, even enhanced. How could she possibly have misjudged him so greatly? And if he could keep this from her, what other secrets might he be keeping?

But as she turned her thoughts back to the video she had just seen, she had a startling realization, one just as disturbing as her husband’s betrayal of her trust.

23

The object continued to hurtle toward Earth, its speed now below a million miles per hour. Nearly every gravitational wave detector on Earth, and every space and ground-based telescope, tracked every inch of its arrival. It continued to decelerate with smooth and steady perfection, never deviating one iota from its direct course to the birthplace of humanity.

The world kept revolving. People still needed to work and feed their families. Planes still flew and buses still ran.

But alien visitation was the topic on everyone’s mind, spurring endless debate and endless speculation. It filled up all news and entertainment forums almost absolutely. And rightly so.

It was a seminal moment in history. Perhaps the seminal moment in history. Humanity was no longer alone in the universe. A stunning development. Nothing would ever be the same.

Everyone had an opinion on the subject. Religions took the news in a variety of ways. Some clergy embraced the idea of intelligent alien life. Others saw it all as a ruse, the work of the devil, to test the faith of true believers. God had made man in his image. If intelligent aliens existed, why hadn’t God, or Allah, or Christ, not made mention of this important fact?

And of course the crazies came out in droves. The nutcases. The conspiracy theorists. The end-of-the-worlders. Only this time they had almost as much chance of being right about events to come as were the most sober and rational scientists.

Science fiction had speculated about aliens and first contact for decades, but with every last one of Earth’s billions now engaged in their own speculations, all ideas ever considered by this burgeoning genre were touched upon in a matter of hours by someone around the globe, along with scores of ideas that had never been previously contemplated.

The object was small. Was it filled with aliens the size of ants? If so, was there a minimum brain size necessary to support intelligent thought? Was it simply a hotrodding robot? A computerized probe? Would it send out a signal to awaken huge colony ships buried under miles of ice in the arctic, or under the ocean floor? Was it coming to bring the final enlightenment? To welcome humanity into a vast intergalactic community? Or was it coming to destroy humanity? Was it a modern day flood sent by a vengeful God to punish the race for turning the entire planet into a den of iniquity that would make the residents of Sodom and Gomorrah sick to their stomachs and flush in embarrassment? Or was it just a scout? Would it simply fly by, record activity, and then never be seen again? Was it randomly sampling planets, or was it aware of the presence of humanity and actively seeking it out? Had it been sent by an alien army corps of engineers to puncture a hole in spacetime and create a stargate for the good people of Earth to use? Was it pure good? Pure evil? Pure indifference?

The conjecture never ended. Peaceful prayer meetings sprang up across the globe, conducted by a number of different religions. Riots broke out. Con artists, crazies, and spotlight seekers arose who insisted they were in contact with the incoming craft, and who declared themselves prophets.

But the majority of the world’s inhabitants continued going through the motions of living their lives. Billions upon billions adopted a wait-and-see fatalism.

Oblivious to the commotion it was causing on its target world, the small craft effortlessly tapped into the near infinite amount of energy available in every square centimeter of vacuum, and hurtled onward.

The people of Earth watched. And waited.

24

Kira had been so intent on watching the video Jake showed her, she had failed to consider the implications of its very existence.

The footage had come from Sam Putnam’s basement. From the safe house they had been in. But her brother, Alan, had never seen it. In the last minutes of his life, he had wanted to know how they had managed to escape from Putnam’s concrete dungeon.

So Putnam hadn’t been fully forthcoming to Alan. He had been playing a game of his own.

And why not? He was an intelligent, highly placed operative in the NSA, who had amassed power that was unequaled. And he was a true psychopath. Alan was an even bigger psychopath, true, and was behind Putnam’s meteoric rise through the NSA, but it would hardly be surprising to learn Putnam hadn’t been the loyal puppet he had appeared to be.

But both Putnam and her brother were dead. So how had Jake ended up with this footage? The most likely explanation was that it was recovered by someone who had been working closely with Putnam or her brother. And if this were the case, all bets were off.

“Before you showed this video,” said Kira, “I had asked you for your source of information about me. The existence of this footage has raised some disturbing possibilities. So the answer to this question is more important than ever.”

“What possibilities?”

“I’ll tell you, but it’s better if you start. Really.”

He considered. “Why do I continue to feel that you’re interrogating me?”

Kira didn’t respond.

“I received an e-mail from someone I consider a mentor,” said Jake. “The most patriotic, heroic man I’ve ever known. A man of Islamic heritage who has spent years deep undercover, infiltrating the highest levels of Hezbollah.”

“Born in America?”

“Yes, but able to speak unaccented Arabic. Anyway, the message had a large file attached that detailed everything about you. Your history. How you were hunted because of your involvement in a bioterror plot. Your IQ cocktail. How David Desh was sent to stop you. Your longevity treatment, along with proof that it was a hoax. Everything.”

“Any mention of my brother, Alan?”

“Only that you had burned him alive. Again, you were later cleared of this, but my mentor knew otherwise.” He paused. “In addition, there was unimpeachable evidence of you meeting with terrorist leaders—that’s how he knew about you—working on WMD, both nuclear and biological. And also of your involvement in major terrorist attacks around the world.”

“And where did he say he got this evidence? Did he claim all of this activity was somehow tied up with Hezbollah?”

“I don’t know. He’s in very, very deep. I can’t contact him. He only risked contacting me once before. With information that was instrumental in stopping a plan to sabotage the San Onofre nuclear reactor in Orange County—which would have turned Southern California into Chernobyl. The fact that he risked another communication shows how important of a threat he thinks you are.”

“But if you never followed up with him, how can you be sure he sent you the message?”

“It was him. The e-mail and IP address matched up. He referenced history that only he would know about.”

Kira considered. She had no reason to doubt Jake that the evidence against her was airtight, and had been vetted repeatedly for authenticity. So what did this mean? Either she really was an evil terrorist set out to destroy the world, or . . . or all of this had been set up by someone with access to her therapy. It was the only way this could have been handled so flawlessly. But none of the gellcaps she had produced had been involved. She was certain of that.

Which meant that somewhere out there, there was someone who could make active gellcaps. Putnam had blackmailed a molecular biologist, a man they later learned was named Eric Frey. Kira’s brother had stolen a number of gellcaps from her, and he had fed some of these to this blackmailed biologist, pushing him to recreate her work. When Putnam and her brother were killed, this Frey had been close to succeeding. But without access to several more doses of Kira’s therapy, he was sure to fail.

But maybe not. Maybe he had been playing a double game as well. Maybe he had made more progress than he had let on. He may have been in league with Putnam to cross her brother. If so, this Eric Frey could well have access to the video footage she had just seen.

And if there were others, unknown to her, who could amplify their intelligence, they could have easily managed to fabricate airtight evidence against her. And could have hacked into the right computers to get the IP address and background information necessary to convince Jake the evidence had come from a trusted friend, conveniently deep undercover so this couldn’t be checked further. It all fit together perfectly.

And then another piece of the puzzle suddenly slid into place.

“Colonel, there’s something you’re not telling me,” she said. “When you read your friend’s message, you should have thought he had gone off the deep end. You should have never believed in IQ enhancement. It’s too fantastic. I know how improbable it is, and I developed it. Even with my genetic engineering abilities and study of autistic savants, it’s astonishing that nature allows for it.”

“My friend saved my life more than once. I trust him implicitly. If he’s convinced of the power of your therapy, that’s good enough for me.”

She shook her head. “I think you’re lying. Even if you believed in enhancement, you’d still never be able to imagine the transcendent capabilities of an enhanced mind. No way. But your actions suggest you can imagine it. I’ve seen your paranoia in action when you’re dealing with me. You’ve been ridiculously careful. Too careful.”

“What’s your point?”

“Your friend didn’t just send you an e-mail. He sent you a small package as well, didn’t he?”

Jake gazed at her and sighed. “Very perceptive. I have to remember you’re one of the few people in this world who are off-the-charts brilliant, even without any artificial help.”

“So you admit it?”

He nodded. “Yes. You’re right, of course. He sent me a package. With a single gellcap inside. He said the only way I could truly understand the threat, truly understand what I was up against, was to try it myself. If it had been anyone else I wouldn’t have done it. But it was him. And the evidence was compelling.”

“Only one?”

“Only one.”

“So you learned firsthand just how amplified your intelligence becomes, and the spectacular capabilities that come with it.” She paused in thought. “And the sociopathic tendencies must have hit you hard. Very hard. That’s why you’re so overzealous when it comes to the threat you think we pose.”

A faraway look came to Jake’s eyes. “That’s right. The information I was sent detailed the side effects—the changes in personality. I thought I was prepared for it, but not by a long shot. I became ruthless. Savage. I had access to a computer and the Internet, and in that single hour, I doctored files, removed funds, and destroyed the careers and finances of two rivals of mine. Friendly rivals. I’m not a computer expert, and to this day I have no idea how I did it.” He made no attempt to hide his self loathing. “I tried to undo the damage later, but got nowhere. I’ve been helping get them back on their feet anonymously, but they’ll never be where they were.”

“Does anyone know you were behind it?”

“No. I would have admitted it, but I couldn’t recall how I had done it. And I couldn’t even find evidence against myself. A confession would have raised too many questions I couldn’t answer. I tried to undo the damage, but I couldn’t.”

“Now it all makes sense. Why you have so much respect for what my therapy can do. And why you believe I’m more dangerous than the devil. You’ve experienced the awesome power of an enhanced mind, and know this can turn even a saint into a tyrant. And you’ve been given evidence that I was a psychopath even before any therapy. So killing me, stopping me, became your crusade, your obsession.”

He nodded. “I’m the only one outside of Icarus who knows how truly dangerous you can be. How truly creative and brilliant you become. Einstein and Edison times a hundred.”

“You’re being played, Colonel,” said Kira evenly. “I’m not saying my therapy isn’t dangerous in the wrong hands. Or even in the right hands if not enough precautions are taken. But the e-mail you received wasn’t sent by your friend.”

“And what do you base that on?”

“Did your friend tell you where he got the gellcap he sent?”

Jake shook his head no.

“Well he didn’t get it from me. I know where every last one of them has gone. So whoever sent this message has their own source. Which means they have gellcaps for themselves. How hard do you think it would be for an enhanced mind to hack your buddy’s IP address and history to fool you into thinking the message was from him? No matter how deeply buried it was. How hard would it be for an amplified intelligence to fabricate evidence to frame me? Evidence that could pass your every test for authenticity.”

“Not hard, I’ll admit. Maybe I’ll buy this level of intelligence could have come up with ways to fake video footage well enough to stand up to the classified authentication methods we used, even though they’re considered foolproof. But not half of a continuous shot. Not without leaving some evidence. And the footage I showed you was one continuous shot. You’ve vouched for its authenticity yourself.”

Kira frowned. This was true, and certainly didn’t help her argument. “Maybe it’s the one authentic piece of evidence mixed in for good measure.” She leaned forward and stared intently at the colonel. “But I’m telling you the message didn’t come from your friend.”

“If it didn’t,” challenged Jake, “tell me why anyone would go to the trouble. Why would anyone introduce me into the game?”

“So whoever is behind this can sit back and have you do all the work to root me out. To root Icarus out. Then they’re free to do whatever they want. They can bide their time, build up power and resources, until you’ve knocked off the competition. Until you’ve eliminated the only people who can possibly stand in their way. Once we’re gone you go back to blissful ignorance, thinking enhanced intelligence is a thing of the past.”

Kira realized this was the reason whoever was behind this had gone out of their way to discredit her longevity treatment. After even her brother had failed to pry or trick it from her, they must have decided not to make an attempt. But they had learned that the lure of the fountain of youth was so powerful it could corrupt anyone, and they didn’t want to give Jake and his group any reason to keep her alive.

“You’re being used, Colonel,” she said. “They’ve taken a page out of my brother’s playbook. He framed me and used the military also. The difference is, he unleashed them to keep me running and to set me and David up for his perfect storm. Whoever is pulling the strings this time wants me eliminated.”

“What are you talking about?” said Jake in confusion. “You killed your brother. Even before Desh was sent to find you.”

Kira frowned. “If only,” she said. “My brother didn’t die in the fire. He was behind it all. I’m not surprised that whoever sent you the information didn’t mention this little fact.”

She went on to tell him about Putnam and Alan and everything that had happened.

“Very inventive,” said Jake when she had finished. “Even you have to realize how farfetched all of that sounds.”

“I do. That doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Besides, how could I come up with a story this complicated without tripping up even once? Because the truth is much easier to keep track of than a lie.”

“If you were anyone else this might be convincing. But you’re inventive enough to spin a web of bullshit on the fly without contradicting yourself.”

“Colonel, you and I are on the same side. All I ask is that you at least consider the possibility that the information you have is false. Review it again with a more skeptical eye. And do the same with any new information you get. If you’re right, no amount of reexamination will change the fact that I’m an enemy of civilization. But if I’m right, you’ll discover you’re pointed in the wrong direction. That the true enemy is waiting patiently for you to do their dirty work. What do you have to lose?”

Jake considered. “Despite your legendary persuasive abilities, I’m still convinced you are who I think you are. But I won’t close my mind completely to other possibilities.”

“Thank you,” said Kira emphatically. “Again, we really are on the same side. I’d love to prove that to you. I know you’re on other projects, trying to keep the world safe from WMD. If you’re ever in a bind, hitting a brick wall on an important op, and think an enhanced mind could help break it open, I’m willing to help. You know how to reach me.”

Jake tilted his head. “I know we’ve been having a pleasant little discussion here,” he said. “And you’ve made some interesting points. But I still plan to lock you away for the rest of your life. Nothing has changed. So yes, I do know how to reach you.”

Kira couldn’t believe her own stupidity. What could possibly have possessed her to make a statement like this? To suggest so clearly she thought her stay was only temporary. She was very lucky she hadn’t put him on guard. She could have found herself surrounded by twenty men and encased in cement if he chose to exercise his usual paranoia. At exactly the wrong time.

She quickly changed the subject, asking Jake about the base, the responsibilities of his group, and anything else she could think of to stall for time. She estimated she only needed to engage him in conversation for another ten minutes, but it turned out she was wrong. She only needed seven.

Kira’s neurons reordered themselves in the mother of all chain reactions.

Her mind surged.

As familiar as the effect was, it never ceased to take her breath away.

She immediately turned her attention to analyzing various escape plans. She hadn’t bothered putting any effort into this beforehand, unsure of what situation she’d find herself in, what location, how heavily guarded, or what state of physical incapacitation. But she hadn’t been worried. She knew once her mind had jumped by orders of magnitude, she could figure it out on the fly.

A simple analysis made it clear that she should kill the colonel in front of her. It would make her escape easier. And he was talented, as far as normals went, and would be relentless in coming after her and the group. But she had to factor in the wishes of her pathetic alter ego, who controlled their body for all but a vanishingly small proportion of the time.

And moronic Kira thought Jake was a good man who was simply misinformed. Who fucking cared? Her analysis should only take into account the level of danger he posed, not whether he was good or bad, honorable or dishonorable, or just unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Moronic Kira was pathetic and weak, and her superior self had come to loath this weakness. Kira’s brother had been right. She was nauseatingly self righteous, and managed to do everything the hard way, never willing to capitalize on the full potential of her invention. Always so worried that someone might get hurt, or she wouldn’t get her good Samaritan badge.

Nonetheless, she would honor Kira’s wishes in this case, and escape without killing anyone—if she could. Her first order of business was to incapacitate Jake and use his computer to plan her escape. Then she would take care of the guards patrolling outside his office.

She caused adrenaline to pour into her bloodstream to give her an added boost of strength to go along with her amplified reaction time.

Then, for the first time, she let the full power of her intellect shine through her eyes, and transfixed the colonel with a contemptuous, penetrating stare. She drew back her shoulders, tilted her head back haughtily, and her body language sent a shouted message of inhuman competence—and inhuman arrogance. The change in her bearing was unmistakable and intimidating on a visceral level.

The colonel gasped at the inner fire blazing in Kira Miller’s eyes and became a mouse, momentarily mesmerized by a cobra.

Recovering from his initial shock, he shoved back his chair and rose, drawing his sidearm as he did so. But during his brief hesitation Kira had snatched the heavy stapler from off his desk, and in a blur of motion she tomahawked it two-handed at his head, before he could get off a shot.

He slumped to the floor, dazed.

She moved around his desk and was on him in seconds, prying the gun from his hand and shoving it against his forehead.

She then turned a small fraction of herself into a dimwitted avatar, so she could communicate slowly enough to be understood. “Pounding your desk doesn’t impress me!” she shouted, in case any of the guards beyond the closed door had heard the commotion and needed reassurance that it was benign. “And don’t you dare touch me like that again,” she added for good measure. That should give the guards something to think about.

Jake’s eyes were only half open and he was just clinging to consciousness. “But how?” he whispered. “We checked every inch of you for a hidden gellcap.”

“You pathetic idiot!” she whispered with a sneer. “So worried about high-tech inventions that you forgot about a technology that’s been around for decades. I took a controlled release capsule, dumbshit. Timed to release its contents in eight hours. I swallowed it before entering the ravine.” She shook her head in contempt. “I hid a gellcap in my stomach, you fucking moron.”

With that she lowered her gun and maneuvered behind him. Despite having to keep her hands together, she was able to lock one slender arm under his chin in a chokehold, and slowly increased pressure to his neck until he bridged the short gap that separated him from unconsciousness.

25

Earth was home to almost two hundred sovereign countries, including dictatorships, democratic republics, theocracies, and constitutional monarchies, among others. And in every one of these countries, within every government, a frenzy of activity was taking place.

No one knew exactly what the alien craft would do once it arrived at its destination. But it was clear that whichever country controlled it might well control the secrets of the universe. It could contain a computer with blueprints for technology thousands of years more advanced than human technology. Even if it only—only—yielded the secret of zero point energy, the advantages this would give the country who discovered it were immeasurable.

So if it did come down to earth, where would it land? If its landing were random, it would most likely end up in the sea, which covered more than two-thirds of the planet’s surface. If it came down on land, the largest countries by land mass were Russia, Canada, the United States, China, Brazil, and Australia.

But even the largest countries were well aware that the chance of it landing inside of their borders was small. For all anyone knew, it might set down in one of the smallest countries, like Tuvalu, Macau, or Monaco. The cosmos had a way of playing absurd statistical tricks on mankind. And if it happened to land in the world’s smallest country, Vatican City—which comprised less than a square kilometer of the earth’s surface—what would that mean? Or the Western Wall in Jerusalem? Or the Taj Mahal? Would this validate the religious beliefs embodied by these locations?

The level and intensity of communication between allies and enemies alike was unprecedented. Each government jockeyed for position. None held back a single card in whatever hand history had dealt them. Seen by an omniscient observer, the maneuverings would look like a two hundred piece game of chess, played in fifteen dimensions. Only more complicated.

Endless simulations were run. If the ship landed within the borders of a major military power, all other major powers would almost certainly ally in an attempt to take it away. If it landed in a small, helpless country, the world would be thrown into chaos as all other nations battled to take it by forging complex alliances, or using their own economic, political, or military power—like two hundred starving hyenas fighting over the scraps of a wildebeest.

In the end the complexity of trillions of possibilities quickly boiled down to an elegant simplicity. Regardless of where it landed, and what alliances were struck, the ending would be the same: chaos and disaster.

There was only one simulation that worked. If all the countries of the world agreed beforehand to cooperate. If every government—Islamic fundamentalist, socialist, and democratic republic alike—agreed that wherever the alien ship landed, it would be the property of the world, examined by representatives of each of the world’s countries.

Different countries arrived at this conclusion at different speeds, but they all got there eventually. As more and more governments signed on, even the most independent, reluctant regimes had no choice but to do so as well. No nation could stand alone against the world. Or take the chance of not being a part of first contact with an envoy from an advanced alien species.

26

Kira found a paperclip in the top drawer of Jake’s desk and unwound it. With her hands so close together, cutting through the hardened plastic around her wrists was nearly impossible, even if she found a knife or scissors, but Desh had taught her how to remove these restraints with a paperclip or pin. Some magicians had incorporated this more modern mode of handcuffing into their acts, since freeing oneself from metal handcuffs had been done so many times it was no longer interesting. Success required a high level of skill and precision, but Desh had drilled her on the technique until she could perform it even with her normal intelligence.

Plastic handcuffs were simple in design. They were slipped around a prisoner’s wrists and ratcheted tight by threading the ends of the plastic straps through a centered retaining block. But the ratchet system housed in the sugar-cube sized plastic block could be disabled by shoving a paperclip inside in a precise way, between the roller lock and the teeth on the straps. Once this was done, the straps would slide out, almost as easily as they had slid in.

Kira calmly freed herself and dropped the intact plastic handcuffs on the floor. She lifted the photograph Jake had not wanted seen, although she was nearly certain of who it depicted. As expected, it turned out to be a young girl, probably ten or eleven years old. It didn’t take an amplified intellect to figure this out. This was the daughter Jake spoke of to Kolke. The colonel didn’t wear a wedding ring, and his divorce had probably occurred years earlier. He was in a line of work that made marriage very difficult, and any man who had five offices spread out across the country was never home. The failure of his marriage had been all but preordained.

Kira sat in Jake’s chair facing his laptop, and her fingers flew over the keypad and touch screen at a furious pace. She digested entire screens of information as fast as they appeared before jumping to the next. In minutes she had hacked into the base’s personnel files, which weren’t all that secure, and found what she needed.

Her escape plan set, it was time to leave. She just had to decide how to accomplish the simple task of getting by the three highly trained men outside. She could lure them into Jake’s office and shoot them, but this would likely result in their deaths. And if all three didn’t enter, the last could close the door and call in reinforcements and she would lose the element of surprise.

If she exited, however, all three guns would be trained on her before she finished opening the door. She calculated she would still have a ninety-four percent chance of taking all three men out before one could get off a shot, but these odds weren’t high enough.

The zipper of the jumpsuit she was wearing ran from just below her chin to just below her navel. She zipped it down all the way, pulled the jumpsuit open, and then, gripping the fabric with both hands, forced a jagged tear lower still, so that her vagina was now fully exposed along with her breasts.

She lowered herself to the floor near the door and calmly forced her tear ducts to release their contents from the corners of her eyes. She banged on the door, about six inches off the ground, with both fists together.

“Help me,” she yelled hysterically. “Oh, God, please help me.”

The door was thrown open almost immediately. The moment it was she rolled out into the hall, keeping her hands behind her, and lay sprawled on her back as if she were injured, tears streaming down her face. “Your boss is an animal,” she whispered through sobs. “He tried to . . . to rape me.”

The three guards all had their guns drawn and pointed at her, but her tears, her torn jumpsuit, and her nakedness had the desired effect. They had been trained to react decisively to almost any situation, but this was an exception. She counted on their chivalrous instincts to lead them astray, and they didn’t disappoint. They each lowered their weapon to assess this unthinkable turn of events, and determine the extent of injuries that had been inflicted on this beautiful naked woman, dangerous though she might be.

Two of the guards leaned through the opening in the door to see how the girl had managed to fend off the colonel as he had tried to assault her.

This was all Kira needed. She swept the legs out from under one of the guards so viciously, and with such precision, that he had no time to cushion his fall. His head hit the ground with a loud crack and he lost consciousness. She sprang up from the floor acrobatically and drove the heal of her palm into the neck of a second man, knocking him out cold. As he slumped to the floor she kicked the gun from the third guard’s hand and faced him.

Just before he assumed a fighting posture, his eyes darted down to her bare breasts for just an instant. The single-mindedness of the male brain, even during a crisis, was surprising even to the enhanced version of Kira Miller.

He attempted several blows that would have knocked out a moose had they landed, but none came close. Kira read his body language precisely and knew where his attacks were coming from, and going to, as soon as he did. She waited until he tried to land several more blows, with both his feet and hands, and then calmly drove a knife-hand into his neck while he was lunging at her, knowing he would miss and wouldn’t recover fast enough to block her. Sure enough, her strike landed with stunning force and accuracy, and he fell to his knees. Before he recovered his senses, she threw an arm around him in a choke hold and coaxed him gently to sleep.

She stepped out of the jumpsuit and began stripping the smallest of the guards, who was still quite a bit larger than she was. The clothing was ridiculously baggy but better than a torn jumpsuit, and would make a soldier hesitate before firing, if only for a moment. One of the men had a small night vision scope in his belt, which she confiscated, along with a gun and a number of spare clips. She returned to the office and retrieved Jake’s laptop and cell phone.

While she had been unconscious, day had turned into night, and she slipped out of the building and ran to open ground, where she shot out two lamps that were providing the only illumination for the area. She only had minutes before reinforcements would be arriving. She sprinted west and shot out several more lights in a straight line toward the nearest gate. She paused to toss the colonel’s phone into a thicket of trees, where it would serve as a decoy and draw a crowd, and then circled back to where she had started.

The men coming after her would quickly discover she had taken the night vision scope, and given her attack on lamps, would assume she planned to cling to darkness. But she had no intention of relying on night vision to gain an advantage. Their night vision equipment was superior to hers, so she would do the opposite. She would stay in lighted areas to the east while they were running around with their goggles down searching the darkness to the west.

She was almost half a mile to the east when reinforcements appeared, fanning out from Jake’s building westward. She continued sprinting at a pace she could have only maintained for a minute or two if not for her ability to optimize oxygen delivery to her muscles.

She had covered several more miles and was sprinting across a deserted parking lot when a shot rang out behind her. Apparently, not everyone was looking to the west.

Shit! she thought. Even she wasn’t immune from bad luck. She had already determined this was the riskiest stretch of ground she had yet covered, since she was somewhat visible, despite the lot not being lighted, and there was absolutely no cover to be had.

“Halt!” shouted a deep voice behind her, and she calculated from its direction and distance that even with her amplified reflexes and reaction time, she needed to follow this order. She stopped abruptly and turned around. A lone commando was holding an assault rifle on her unwaveringly, fifteen feet away. “Hands up!” he barked.

She lifted her arms straight up, gripping the colonel’s laptop in one hand. When her hands reached as high as they would go she released the computer, which fell to the ground and smashed into the concrete near her feet.

The commando followed the dropped computer for only a few seconds, but this was enough. Having precalculated the effect of her diversion, Kira was a blur of motion from the instant she released the laptop. Before he could return his attention to her, she had removed her gun and shot the weapon from his hand, and then, already racing toward him, put a bullet through the meaty part of his leg, making sure on behalf of her pathetic alter ego that the wound was one from which he would fully recover.

She closed the distance between them in seconds, not wanting to give him a chance to alert others to her whereabouts. She reached him just as he finished drawing a second gun and kicked it from his hand before he could squeeze off a shot. He tried to fight her off, but he would have been no match for her even with a fully functioning leg, and like the others who had faced her previously, he, too, was soon unconscious.

And Kira Miller continued on into the night.

27

The colonel walked along the east perimeter of Peterson Air Force Base and frowned deeply as he spotted several helicopters in the distance, returning to base after yet another unsuccessful search-and-destroy mission. His forehead was bandaged, and he had a nasty headache that had lasted a full twenty-four hours and showed little sign of subsiding.

“At this point, we’re probably just wasting our time,” said John Kolke walking along beside him.

Jake nodded. “Four more hours, and I’ll call off the search. At least from the air.” He shook his head in disgust. “By now she could have reached anywhere in the world.” He stopped walking and stared up at the razor-wire fence, wondering if the girl had pole vaulted over—or perhaps levitated.

“I have to admit,” said Kolke, “I always thought you were giving this woman too much credit. She couldn’t possibly be as good as you thought. But I was wrong. I still can’t quite believe what she was able to do. In addition to you, she took out four of our best men without even breaking a sweat, and then managed to run a gauntlet and somehow escape. I spoke with Lieutenant Doherty, the guard outside of your office who fought her hand-to-hand—at least tried to. He told me he never came close to landing a blow.”

“If only I would have been conscious,” said Jake, knowing there were a number of ‘if only’ scenarios he’d be beating himself up over for some time to come. “We’d have probably stopped her. Or had her at the fence line. The second it was clear she was heading for the west perimeter, I would have sent all of our forces east.”

“I’m not sure that would have mattered. Yes we concentrated our forces and technology on the west perimeter, but it’s not as though the east was unprotected or unwatched. You can’t just waltz out of a base when it’s on high alert, no matter which perimeter you choose.”

A burst of rage surged through the black-ops colonel, but this only served to heighten the pain in his head to excruciating levels. He forced his emotions to settle down and the pain subsided to merely throbbing.

Now they were almost back to square one, he thought in disgust, but this time he kept his anger in check. No Rosenblatt, no Desh, and no Miller. And she had all but telegraphed her escape. She had offered her help and told him he knew how to reach her, as though she wasn’t even a prisoner. Her audacity was mindboggling. She had practically dared him to take greater precautions, and he, like a fool, had ignored his instincts.

But why had she spared his life? And the lives of everyone else she had encountered? They had been hers for the taking. By not killing them, she had slowed her own escape and increased the chances she would be caught.

Jake had turned into a ruthless monster when he had been under the influence. The tiny voice that was his true self had tried to rein in his altered self, but had been ignored. The force of personality it must have taken for Kira Miller to stop her enhanced self from killing anyone during her escape must have been off the charts. Jake was certain he could not have done it.

Did this mean that she wasn’t the monster he was led to believe? Was her story true after all?

He frowned, and shook his head, almost imperceptibly. More likely, this was exactly what she wanted him to think. She was a monster fooling the villagers into thinking she was docile, to put future hunting parties off guard.

Kolke gestured in the direction of their offices. “Should we head back?” he asked, interrupting the colonel’s musings.

Jake took one last look at the perimeter fence in both directions for as far as he could see, as if somehow a clue to how she had managed it would emerge where none had before. “Yes. Let’s go,” he said as he began walking. “We have a lot of work to do.”

28

David Desh and Matt Griffin pulled up to the guard gate in a van, the technology on their key rings ensuring any camera that picked them up wouldn’t get a clean enough imagine to satisfy the needs of facial recognition software. Desh had altered his appearance enough that even if the guard had a picture and description, he was sure to let him pass. And Griffin was still off the grid as far as the military was concerned, which was good, since no wig or application of makeup could hide this bearded bear of a man.

“Bill Sampson,” said Desh to the guard. “Crazy Eddie’s Carpeting. We’re here to install carpeting for a . . .”

Beside him Matt Griffin consulted a tablet computer he was holding. “Captain Hernandez,” he offered.

“Right, Captain Hernandez,” repeated Desh. “I have the work order right here. I’m told you’ve been notified to expect us.”

“Why isn’t there any writing on the van?” asked the guard suspiciously. “Shouldn’t it say Crazy Eddie’s Carpeting?”

Desh smiled. “We’re independent installers,” he replied smoothly. “Eddie sells it, we install it.”

“Mind if I look inside?” the guard asked politely. But Desh knew it wasn’t a question.

“Sure thing,” replied Desh.

The guard opened the sliding door. There was nothing inside except a long wooden box along one wall, about the size of a coffin. He lifted the lid, which was on hinges, and peered inside. The container was completely filled with a tightly rolled section of thin carpeting.”

“What’s with the box?”

“Makes it easier to carry the carpet,” explained Desh. “I’ve got a bad back.”

“Doesn’t look like a lot of carpet,” noted the guard.

“It isn’t. We’re just doing a few closets. Shouldn’t take us more than an hour or so.”

Satisfied with Desh’s answers, the guard tore off a sheet from a pad of paper, with each page depicting a map of the base. “You’re here,” he said, drawing an X on the pad. He ran his pen straight, then right, and then left. “On-base housing is here,” he added, marking another X. “Do you have the captain’s address?” he asked, handing Desh the map.

Desh nodded and the guard waved him through.

Once they were out of sight of the gate Griffin’s fingers moved over the tablet. We’re in, he wrote. Be ready for pickup in approximately six minutes.

He hit send and the message appeared seconds later on the computer of a Major Hank McDonough, received by an e-mail address unknown to him.

Kira Miller sat in Major McDonough’s comfy mesh chair and breathed a sigh of relief. Not that she had expected them to have any trouble. Griffin had seen to it that the forged work order to install carpet for the actual Captain Hernandez was sent to the guard station computers. Still, you never knew.

I’ll be waiting, she sent back. With bells on.

Actually, her three nights and two days as an uninvited house guest of the major and his family, who were happily on leave in Cancun the entire week, had been just what the doctor ordered. When she had used Jake’s computer during her escape to tap into the base’s personnel records, she had learned that nineteen families were on leave that week. And her enhanced self had chosen well. Her temporary hideout had been perfect. The major’s wife was very nearly her size, and had tasteful clothing that was quite comfortable. And they had a well stocked cupboard, which was more important than ever after she had come down from her gellcap induced adventure. She had been pushed to her limits—this time physically as well as mentally—and her hunger had seemed unquenchable.

The major had a smooth Internet hookup, and she had been able to spend hours reading scientific literature; planting information she wanted to be accessible by her amped mind in the future. She was careful not to do anything that could tip off the neighbors that the major’s house harbored a squatter, which including going outside, getting too near a window, or turning on a light at night—all of which had done wonders for her—ensuring she did little else but read and relax. For the first time since she could remember, she was able to catch up on her sleep. She felt like a new woman.

But, alas, it was time to go. The hunt for her had cooled off enough and she had too much to accomplish to waste another second convalescing here. But she would miss this place. She hadn’t been in a homelike atmosphere for some time, and sipping cocoa and reading in a comfortable bathrobe—even if it wasn’t hers, was a welcome respite from a life that had grown ever more complicated and intense.

She had to remember to have Griffin anonymously pick up the tab for the McDonough’s weeklong stay in Cancun. It was the least she could do—especially since she’d practically cleaned out their cupboard the very first night. Good thing the refrigerator and freezer were well stocked as well.

Any trouble finding the magician’s prop? she e-mailed the two men in the van.

Given the heightened alert the base was still under after her supposed escape two days earlier, she knew the guards manning the gate would conduct a thorough search of the van on the way out as well as in. But lithe magician’s assistants had been crammed into small, secret compartments in coffin-shaped boxes for decades. This was a simple illusion requiring a simple prop. And Desh and Griffin didn’t even need to saw the box in thirds while she was inside and pull the pieces apart. They just needed to ditch the carpeting somewhere it wouldn’t be found, wait an hour or so, and then leave.

No trouble at all, came the reply. When money isn’t an object, all things are possible.

There was a pause, and then another message appeared on Major McDonough’s computer. David says to tell you we’re one minute out, he loves you, and if you risk yourself like this again, he promises to kill you.

Kira laughed. She still couldn’t help but love David Desh. Now she just had to be sure she really knew him. And decide if she could trust him.

Part of her was tingling in anticipation of seeing him again. Of melting into his arms.

But another part was wary.

She and her husband needed to have a little talk.