CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The following morning, Kate was getting dressed when her phone rang. It was Nora. “I stole a cell phone to make this call. How soon can you come to the hospital?”
“I can leave now. What’s wrong?”
“I’ll explain when you get here. Bring your gun. And extra ammo.”
She hung up.
Forty-five minutes later, at the hospital, Nora was sitting in a chair absorbed in a file folder when the door opened. It was her police guard.
“Miss Nora, you have a visitor. Detective Flynn. You want to see her?”
“Yes, I do. Thanks, Burt.”
Kate entered and closed the door. “Looks like you are getting very friendly with your guard.”
“Burt can’t help himself, it’s my lethal charm.”
“Why did you ask me to bring a gun?”
“In a few minutes, two of the most powerful men in Washington are coming to see me—a general and a top scientist from DARPA. I’m going to blackmail them. They may go a little crazy.”
Kate was wondering if Nora was even remotely rational. “You want me to protect you from a couple of bureaucrats?”
“They are guarded by two SEAL team in plain clothes who will do whatever they are told. I don’t know what will happen. Just watch me, play along, and expect anything.”
The door opened again; it was Burt. “Miss Nora, two more visitors.”
“Show them in.”
The two men entered, one in the uniform of an Air Force brigadier general, the other was a stocky civilian in an ill-fitting suit. General Wheeler was African American and described in the media as having the looks of the legendary General Colin Powell and the commanding presence of a pope. As Burt closed the door behind them, Kate caught a glimpse of the SEAL team bodyguards in the hall.
Both men silently glowered at Nora; the tension was instant.
She lit a cigarette that she had managed to sneak into the hospital. “I see that Deputy Secretary Heindorf got my message.”
“And here we are,” the general said.
“I’ll come to the point. Detective Sgt. Flynn is both a witness and my protection.” She looked at Kate. “These gentlemen are from DARPA. We go back a long way. General John Jay Wheeler and Dr. Erik Slovac, both from Cyberwar Division.”
“Dammit, Nora,” Slovac growled, “what is this about?”
Nora took a single page from the folder and held it out to him. “That’s a list of items I want from DARPA.”
General Wheeler took the list from Slovac and read it. “None of this exists.”
“Nevertheless, you will deliver everything to me within twenty-four hours.”
“Or what?” Slovac challenged. “You will reveal classified information to the media?” He stepped closer and Kate moved toward him. He stopped. “You faked your death for two years. You confessed to multiple homicides. Now I understand that you have been diagnosed as criminally insane. And you threaten us?”
General Wheeler chuckled. “You are one crazy lady. C’mon, Slovac.” He moved toward the door to leave.
“ICARUS,” Nora said. They both stopped and looked at her. She deliberately took a slow drag from the cigarette, making them wait. “General, at this very moment you have four sub-orbital fighter bombers each separately circling the earth whose two-person crews stay airborne for several weeks without landing. The pilot flies round the clock for six days without sleep, then the second pilot, who has been in self-induced hibernation, takes over. The ICARUS program has been running for over four years and is a direct violation of DARPA’s agreement with Congress that limits the development of human enhancement programs—so-called Super Warriors. Congress doesn’t even know ICARUS exists. If I make one phone call to Senator Reinhardt of the Intelligence Oversight Committee, by the time you two get out of prison, blacksmiths will be pounding swords into plows and war as you know it will be a legend.”
“You’re bluffing,” the general said. “Anyone inside DARPA could have heard of ICARUS. That doesn’t mean you actually know anything about it.”
“You want details? One of the pilots, Commander Wade Chesterton, is wakened from his sleep state with oxygen containing the aroma of fresh-mown alfalfa—his favorite. He’s an Indiana farm boy. He’s been conditioned so that this triggers his cardiac system to adjust his pulse from a hibernating 10 to an operational 82 to 88. You see, my NSA team developed the onboard computer’s neurological algorithms.”
Slovac looked rattled. General Wheeler glared but said nothing.
Nora continued. “I want to spend my remaining time working at home. I can receive medical treatment there. Bert the cop can still guard me. You will use your influence with the Department of Justice to put all that in motion. Immediately. The items on that list are to be delivered to me at my house by noon tomorrow. You know the address.” She paused, then said: “Additionally, General, I will also need your help on a matter involving Dr. Winslow Fallon.”
The General frowned. “Fallon?”
“Yes, your boy Fallon.”
Without a word the two men angrily left the room.
Nora took a deep breath. “That was exhausting.”
Kate gave her a thumbs up. “Get some rest.”
As Kate walked down the hospital corridor, she was astounded by what she had just witnessed. This woman—part genius, part psychopath—who was barely kept alive by drugs, had completely outwitted two government super-players.
Now it was her move.
The next day, Kate arrived shortly before noon at Nora’s house. She was surprised to discover Nora lived in a traditional two-story Baltimore rowhouse complete with white marble steps. Burt was standing guard at the front door but in civilian dress. Nora was still technically under arrest. Inside, Kate discovered the first floor had the customary twelve-foot-wide bay with a two-room living space. The entire second floor had been remodeled into a single-room work area. Kate found Nora lying on a sofa waiting for the delivery she’d demanded from General Wheeler and Dr. Slovac.
“Kate, I’m sky high on oxycontin. I’m going to lie here until the goodies arrive.”
“I still don’t understand exactly what the goodies are.”
“Candy from Oz. Chemical compounds developed to create Super Warriors.”
“Sounds like a video game of action figures.”
“But it’s all too real, Kate.” She closed her eyes. “Poke around all you want, since you will anyway.”
Kate relished the opportunity to profile Nora from her environment. She went back down to the first floor living space. The DOI had given her a background file on Nora. She had lived here for over ten years. Kate’s surreal impression of the first floor was books, books, books, everywhere. Each wall was lined with shelves of books, and there were multiple stacks on the floor with barely room to walk, as if a library imploded. The few pieces of furniture were spare and utilitarian to the extreme. There were no personal items, not a single picture of friends or family. Only a clutter of ashtrays marked Nora’s presence. The bookshelves were jammed with rows of volumes and manuscripts on science and mathematics, titles as meaningless to Kate as if written in Arabic, no novels or light reading.
There was a small kitchenette where Kate found canned tins in the pantry: sardines, mackerel, chili, assorted beans, and potted meats. The refrigerator was empty except for five cans of diet soda. Obviously, Nora did not cook. Nor, apparently, did she drink.
Kate went back upstairs. She noticed against one wall a vintage entertainment center that played cassettes. She checked the artists—mostly Queen, Springsteen, and Elton John, nothing later than the 80s. Nora’s music taste was stuck in a time warp.
Kate surveyed the room. The workspace was as orderly as an algebra equation: a worktable, a large desk with two different size computers and printers, two telephones, one red with multiple lines, a super-sized Rolodex, and file cabinets. Unlike the first floor with its glut of books, the walls of the second floor were totally free. There was a workboard covered with mathematical numbers and symbols. No television. Little of the outside world intruded. Kate was surprised to find this cozy sanctuary. Nora’s workspace was predominantly in her head; she could work in noisy chaos immune to distraction. Kate remembered that at the hospital with all the commotion around her, Nora, unperturbed, was absorbed in working a mathematics problem.
On the sofa Nora had drifted into a twilight sleep. Kate sat in a nearby armchair and began collecting her thoughts for the profile. There were three Noras: the genius mathematical prodigy, the private woman of whom there was little evidence, and the psychopath serial killer. All were driven by one extraordinary mind. From her purse Kate took out a recorder and began dictating.
“As a brilliant scientist Nora fits the description of a chronic loner impossible for an outsider to understand. They communicate best with their own kind. She was a superstar prodigy at NSA even though she was barely twenty when the government recruited her. Exceptional mathematicians bloom early, do their best work in their twenties, and coast on their genius after that. This was true of Einstein, Bohr, and many others. Nora is unusual in that she has continued working at a very high level.”
Kate paused, thinking. The next section was more difficult due to lack of information. “Nora, the woman, is difficult to evaluate except that geniuses often have troubled personal relationships. The wives of mathematicians lead the statistics in suicide. Nora does not reveal any association with family, personal, or a love life. It shows in her appearance. She never wears makeup, her hair is blunt-cut short, requiring no grooming, yet many consider her to be attractive. Despite this outsider persona, her intellectual presence dominates any group she is in.”
The last section was easier and straight forward. “Nora the serial killer is different from the typical like Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, and Jeffery Dahmer. They were driven to kill for no apparent reason. For Nora, murder is merely an objective solution to a given problem and not a helpless compulsion. She kills as a solution; there are no moral limitations.”
Kate reflected a moment, then added; “I believe that Nora, in her long involvement with Fallon, has realized their similarities—they think and behave very much alike. As Gandhi said, ‘You become what you hate.’ ”
Kate was interrupted by a knock at the door. Burt had opened it, revealing three men, one with a black duffle bag chained to his wrist. The other two stood behind him, obviously his bodyguards. Both men made no effort to hide the assault weapons holstered beneath their open suit coats. One of them produced a key and unlocked the first man’s wrist chain; he then gave the duffle bag to Kate. Without a word, the three men walked away. Burt closed the door and took his post outside.
When Kate came back upstairs, she found Nora waiting at the table. “Put the stuff here. This will be our playground.”
Kate watched as Nora opened the bag and began laying out its contents. There were various sealed packages and boxes containing packets of paper and plastic containers of assorted pills and capsules in various colors.
“That is Oz Candy?” Kate asked.
“It’s just one part of the Super Warrior Enhancement Program, which has been in development for over a decade under various cover names. Super Warriors is the new arms race. What you see here requires the highest security clearance, Crypto 14. Kate, they somehow did a provisional background on you since yesterday. I’m impressed.”
“And they simply left it here with you?”
“This building is small and easy to control. There are no hiding places. They’ve got round- the-clock snipers with spotters targeting every door and window in case anybody comes calling. Their orders are shoot to kill, so don’t order a pizza delivery.”
“How does this stuff work?”
“I know how it works on a warrior in top physical condition. I haven’t a clue as to what it does to a fifty-something woman with cancer and loaded on prescription drugs,” said Nora, as she sorted everything on the table into separate groups.
Kate was confused. “You think these drugs can make you some kind of Super Warrior?”
“No. But they may help us get Fallon.”
“How?”
“Oz Candy works by enhancing the body and mind functions. It must be taken in the right sequence.”
“What if you make a mistake?”
“Probable organ damage.” Nora paused. “Before we start, Kate, this material is extremely technical—chemical combinations with lots of letters. To make it easier for the candidates, each formula has an easy to remember nickname. So, when you keep track of what I’m taking, just use the nicknames.”
“Thank God,” Kate said. “The only chemistry I know is explained to me in ‘dummy’ terms by forensic experts.”
Norma held up a container of pills. “This is SS Two—think speed on steroids. Forget sleep. It will keep me awake around the clock for days.” She picked up an inch-wide roll of paper with red licorice backing. “We call this Flypaper. Suck on it instead of eating and your metabolism re-fires—more work on less food. It allows Super Warriors to go for weeks on minimal calories and still be highly functional. Instead of bulky food, they carry Flypaper. A warrior who can go without sleep or food has a tremendous advantage over their enemy.”
She picked up a red capsule. “When you become tired, this is instant high energy. Z for zombie; it can make a corpse walk. Use too much—cardiac arrest.”
Nora indicated a separate group. “Now we get tricky. The brain. It stores data throughout its structure and is divided into left and right hemispheres. This yellow capsule is Tsunami ONE. It floods the brain divider like a dam-busting tide, allowing simultaneous access to both hemispheres of the brain at the same time. It was patterned after the brain activity in autistic savants.”
“Unbelievable.”
“It gets better.” Nora picked up two hypodermic syringes. “The Twins. Everything that has ever happened is stored someplace in the brain. These two drugs injected together affect memory. One contains psilocybin, used in drug-enhanced interrogations. Any subject that I know, but have forgotten, I will recall. When I concentrate on Fallon, it’s like watching a movie. And that’s where you come in. With what I remember, you will be able to build a complete profile on Fallon. We can exploit his weaknesses, like his incredible egomania and his eccentricities. Do you know he can’t drive a car? Or that he’s obsessed with redheads? I once found a file that I thought was porn. It was all redheaded women, no nudes, just headshots. Classic obsession. We’ll focus on his predictable behavior—like the way Fallon is compelled to shock people by saying he married his stepmother.”
“Yeah, the day they ‘took Daddy off life support.’ ”
“Kate, want to guess the color of step-mommy’s hair?”
“Damn. Really?”
“By knowing how he thinks, we can better predict how he will react in a given situation. It’s a mental chess game, Fallon against the two of us.”
“But isn’t taking these drugs dangerous?”
“I’m dying of cancer. How much damage can it do? It’s my one shot to get Fallon. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”
“Where do you begin?”
Nora selected a blue tablet. “With this. C Two. It aids concentration by shutting out extraneous stimuli and isolates whatever I’m working on.” She popped it in her mouth and swallowed it with water from a plastic bottle.
She stared vacantly for a few seconds then moved to a wall. “I just had a weird thought. If I write on these walls, I can see everything at once without turning pages.” She picked up a marker from items on the table. “Poor Kate, you’ve got the boring part—watching me think.”
“Is it okay if I ask questions?”
“My concentration will become very intense; I may not respond.”
Kate sat on the sofa with her notebook and the recorder. Nora began aimlessly pacing. After a few minutes she started writing on the wall while talking.
“Mission: prove that Fallon used the GOLEM computer to commit murder,” Nora said, then wrote CYBERCIDE in capital letters on the wall, and continued dictating aloud while writing. “Based on the neural algorithms that I worked on, the computer as a weapon has unique features.”
As Kate watched, Nora’s words began tumbling out. The effect was robotic.
“Jesus,” Kate muttered.
Nora had written:
CYBERCIDE
The Computer communicates to an implanted chip that stimulates specific brain circuits. Communication with the computer is via satellite spanning the planet. The Computer can be operated from separate locations by a computer, laptop, cell phone, or similar device.
Nora continued dictating and writing very fast:
“My god,” Kate said as she stared at the board. “It’s a homicide detective’s nightmare.”
“And think of what’s coming.” Nora’s eyes were bright, her brain was at revving speed. “Computers and implant chips will affect our lives even more in the future. They have already changed medicine, making us dependent on them—think of cardiac pacemakers, artificial hearts, and a whole range of brain devices. Supercomputers are evolving that will make GOLEM look like a toy. One of their abilities will be to non-invasively access anyone’s implanted discs and control them. In other words, if you’ve got a chip, they’ve got you.”
Over the following days, they worked around the clock. They were only interrupted when a nurse practitioner gave Nora her medications intravenously. Kate dictated everything in her diary: which Oz Candy Nora took and its effect, including comments on what Nora wrote on the walls. Nora never ate unless Kate insisted, and then only nibbled a few bites. Kate kept a pot of coffee brewing for herself to keep going. There was only one bed and it was downstairs, so Kate catnapped on the sofa. Nora never slept. She would take a break only long enough to shower.
One night at around two am, Nora took two capsules of S ONE, the savant drug that breaches the separation between the left brain’s logic and right brain’s creativity. She was writing a sentence on the wall when suddenly she stopped. She moved to the blank wall on her left and began writing a string of mathematic equations with her left hand. Some savants write with their right hand for right-brain function, left hand for left-brain.
“What’s that?” Kate asked.
“A mathematical expression of a verbal statement.” She re-read the equation. “Gotcha.”
“What does it mean?”
“A theory about how Fallon instructs GOLEM to create algorithms for categorizing data.”
Nora resumed writing a flurry of equations.
Kate made a fresh pot of coffee. It was going to be another all-nighter.
As the days wore on, exhaustion began taking its toll on Kate. Sometimes, she found herself thinking about Thomas though he was no longer in her life. She also sensed that the more she worked with Nora, her attitude was changing. Ironically, as cop and perp, they were forming a plan that actually might convict their mutual enemy, Fallon.
After several round-the-clock days and nights, they were taking half a day off. Nora was staring into space when she suddenly asked, “Kate, what will you need to arrest Fallon?”
“Hard evidence. Here in Baltimore, Detective Dan Swartz has jurisdiction. He’s a good cop; he’ll take a lot of convincing. We know Fallon used GOLEM as a weapon, but how? Fallon was in Baltimore when Brother Simon dropped dead of a stroke in Santa Barbara.” She pointed to the wall and said, “Just like your example in CYBERCIDE. Fortunately, Fallon is the only person with a motive to kill Brother Simon.”
“Kate, when did Brother Simon die?”
“April second at the monastery. Thomas said Simon died after vespers, that’s six in the evening, the end of the day; the end of his life.”
“On the first week in April, Fallon was here in Baltimore at a hotel leading a seminar convention of techie geeks. He was under constant observation when Simon died. So, that doesn’t help us.”
“But it does,” Kate countered. “It means he went to great lengths to be seen by witnesses at the time he knew Simon would die. Establishing an alibi means he needed one. It also tells us exactly when the homicide was committed.”
“Ha! I never saw that.”
“Fallon is the only one who could have done it. But how did he trigger GOLEM?”
“No problem,” Nora answered. “He could have pre-programmed GOLEM to kill Simon at a specific time while he was talking to the group.”
“Except that’s not Fallon’s way.”
“What do you mean?”
Kate tapped the desk with her knuckles. “Ego, ego, ego. Given everything we know about him, Fallon needs an audience. Pre-programming GOLEM is too easy. But by performing, his audience is actually watching him commit a murder, but they don’t know it.”
“While they provide him with an alibi.” Nora laughed. “He probably got so excited he had to change his underwear.”
Kate was scanning Nora’s writing on the other wall. “All murderers have motive, means, and opportunity,” she said. “We know Fallon’s motive. And he created his opportunity by killing Simon while everyone was watching him do something else. But what does he need as a means to use GOLEM as a weapon?”
Nora, concentrating, was moving her fingers as if working an invisible abacus. “BCI, Brain-Computer Interface,” she said. “A computer chip. It’s the common factor between GOLEM and all the Super Warriors. ”
“Then Fallon must have a chip implanted too!”
They both laughed; it was so obvious, they missed it. Nora added, “And, given Fallon’s devout paranoia, he has kept it secret from everyone. What happens next?”
“We show Lt. Swartz exactly how Fallon did it. Give him a demonstration.”
“How?”
Kate grinned and said, “We find a subject, implant them with a chip like Brother Simon’s, and have GOLEM activate it.”
“Love it. Who do we kill?”
“A lab rat will do nicely. But it doesn’t explain how Fallon triggered GOLEM miles away while he was talking to an audience.”
They were silent again. Nora lit a cigarette, slowly savoring the smoke. “Kate, how do detectives get someone to confess to a homicide?”
“The quickest way is if the killer has an accomplice. You put pressure on both until one flips on the other. Unfortunately, Fallon didn’t have an accomplice.”
“Oh, but he did.” Nora pointed to the equations. “A whole lab full, working on JANUS. Most importantly, Dr. Wolf Meyer.”
“Who is Meyer?”
“A world-class neurosurgeon. He performed the implants in an ambulance. Fallon couldn’t have accomplished JANUS without him. If Fallon has an implant, Meyer had to do it.”
Kate had an idea. “How would you describe the good Dr. Meyer?”
“Simple. He’s Dr. Mengele to Fallon’s Hitler.”
“Ambitious?”
“He’d carve up his mother without an anesthetic if it got him the Nobel Prize in Medicine.”
“What’s his relationship with Fallon?”
“He worships him. Meyer would never turn on Fallon.”
“He’ll have to. He’s our only candidate.”
“But how can we persuade him?”
“Look him straight in the eye and lie like hell,” Kate answered. “The best con man I ever caught, Joey Rico, said that to trick someone, you don’t need the truth, just enough bells and whistles to give the appearance of reality.”
“Isn’t the brilliant Dr. Meyer too smart for that?”
“So, the smarter the mark, the more bells and whistles we’ll need.”
An idea was already forming.