AMPED (3 page)

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.”