Game Changer (15 page)

23

Rachel wanted to spin around to confront the intruder but realized
she was paralyzed. Instead, she could only study the man in her rearview mirror.

She was certain she had never seen him before. Only part of
his head appeared above the row of seats, but from what she could see he was
clean-cut and looked professional, although he was wearing a black baseball hat
that seemed out of place somehow, as if he was trying too hard to look casual. A
pair of too-large sunglasses were folded up and tucked into his breast pocket.

The man studied her image in the mirror in return and nodded,
wearing an apologetic expression, perhaps trying to come across as unthreatening.

The intruder was handsome and controlled, and his eyes
showed an alertness and intelligence, which in her view was preferred to wild
eyes and a jumpy demeanor. Her instincts said he wasn’t insane. A ruthless
psychopath, possibly, but not crazy.

How could this man be in her car? She was certain she had locked
up when she had parked at Siam Nara. She hit a button to unlock her doors so
she would have the option of flight, but the locks clicked closed once again a
moment later. This trespasser must somehow have a remote to her car. How could
that be?

“I’m not going to hurt you, Professor,” said the man, attempting
to make his voice calm and reassuring. “Please don’t run. I’ve learned that
you’re in danger, and I’m here to help.”

Rachel tried to decide if she believed him, finding it hard
to think with her heart continuing to pound away in her ears. She was still terrified,
but the way her visitor had proceeded did give her reason to hope he was
sincere in not wishing her harm.

Most importantly, he hadn’t pulled a gun on her. He had also
tried to lessen the shock his sudden appearance would cause her. By thumping on
the back of the seat to get her attention first, he had ensured she was braced
as much as possible before he revealed himself, rather than jumping up like a
jack-in-the-box with no warning, which would have caused her to scream loudly
enough to shatter glass and would have probably turned her hair white.

He had also waited until she was stopped at a light, so no
matter how much his Houdini act had freaked her out there was no risk of an
accident. This was the act of a sane and rational mind, supporting her initial
impression. Hopefully.

“How did you get into my car?” she demanded. “Did you steal the
backup remote from my house?”
  

“No, I used an electronic device that cloned your key fob,”
the man replied. He nodded toward the road ahead. “The light has turned green, Professor.
Please drive. I’ll answer all of your questions, I promise you.”

Rachel pulled gingerly forward and began to pick up speed.

“Thank you,” said the stranger earnestly.

Rachel kept her eyes on the road and took the next right
turn, away from her house and toward the nearest police station, about three
miles away, which was now her destination.
 

“My name is Kevin,” continued the intruder. “Kevin Quinn. And
I really am here to help. I need you to believe me. I realize my . . . approach
makes me look like a bad guy
.
But
I’m a highly trained American . . .
operative, and your life is in jeopardy.”

“An operative? You have to be kidding me. What is
that
supposed to mean? Like a spy?”

“Something like that.”

“This is crazy! You do know I’m a harmless egghead, right?
Not Bond, not Bourne—harmless egghead.”

“Take a right here,” said Quinn, gesturing at a wooden sign
that read
St. Peter’s Episcopal Church
and a parking lot that was empty. “Pull behind the building,” he instructed,
“and kill the ignition.”

Rachel did as he asked.

“I’m going to join you in the front seat,” said Quinn. “Not
that riding around while kneeling in the back of your SUV isn’t totally
normal
,” he added wryly, “but being in
the passenger’s seat might raise fewer eyebrows. Not to mention making
conversation easier.”

The man continued to seem likable, but Rachel knew it could
all be an act.

“While I’m popping the hatch, please don’t try to run,” he
added. “I’m very fast, and I’d be forced to catch you—for your own good.”

Rachel thought about flight, but decided she wouldn’t have
much of a chance.

Quinn proceeded to join her in the front seat, carrying a
large gray rucksack that he placed on the floor before him, leaving barely
enough room for his feet.

“That’s better,” he said once he had belted in beside her,
placing the bag of Thai food on his lap.
 

She studied him further, and her instincts told her that she
wasn’t in danger. She had no idea if anything he said was true, but she sensed
he really didn’t wish her ill. And she knew better than anyone that her
instincts had a better chance of being accurate than her rational mind.

He lifted the bag of food and extended it toward her. “Go
ahead and eat before it gets cold. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“I’ll wait,” said Rachel.

“Why? I’ve already eaten, and you obviously haven’t. I
really didn’t mean to interrupt your meal.” He grinned. “Well, other than
popping out right after you bought it, and insisting that you not go home where
you were planning to eat it. Other than that.”

Rachel almost found herself smiling, but managed to maintain
a stern expression. She decided not to argue further. And she
was
starving.

“Are you a neuroscientist?” she asked after she had
swallowed her first bite.

“Not even close.”

Wow, she had been in the lab too long. Had she really taken
this intruder’s insistence that she eat her dinner as a sign he was familiar
with the Danziger study? She was truly losing it.

Years earlier, Shai Danziger had analyzed the rulings on
thousands of prisoners coming before parole boards, looking at which of them were
granted parole and which of them were not. After accounting for all other
factors she had found that it wasn’t age, looks, race, or nature of the crime
that was the best predictor of whether a prisoner would be granted parole. It
was the time of day of the hearing. If the hearing was just before lunch, when
the board members were hungry, prisoners had only a twenty percent chance of a
favorable outcome. If the hearing was just
after
lunch, on the other hand, this rose dramatically, to
sixty-five
percent.

The judges were certain their states of hunger or satiety
had nothing to do with their purely rational, fact-based decisions, but the
data showed otherwise. It showed that this hidden influence was profound. Yet
another example of the consciousness being the last to know.
 

Rachel couldn’t believe she had overanalyzed things to this
degree. Of course this intruder wasn’t aware of the Danziger study. He still
might be trying to manipulate her, since everyone knew that people were
grumpier and less cooperative when they were starving, but it was more likely
he was just trying to be nice.

The man who claimed his name was Kevin Quinn listened to the
news on the car radio while Rachel wolfed down her food, and seemed to be
encouraged by what he heard. She was grateful he hadn’t attempted to make small
talk while she ate, which would have made the meal even more awkward.

She finished quickly, already feeling better.

“Do you prefer to be called
Dr.
Howard, or
Professor
Howard?” asked Quinn while she was putting the last of the empty food
containers back into the paper bag.

“Just Rachel is fine,” she replied, not sure why she always
insisted on maintaining informality, regardless of the circumstances. Perhaps
in her formative years she had seen doctors and professors as old, stodgy
blowhards, or as intimidating elders.

Quinn was also surprised that she had offered up her first
name. “Okay . . . Rachel, please begin driving again,” he instructed. “Randomly.”
He shot her a sheepish smile. “Which means don’t continue on toward the police
station.”

She sighed. So much for that idea. “What made you think I
was headed there?”

“I mapped out its location before I hid in your car. You
were headed that way. I don’t blame you. It’s a smart move.” He made an
apologetic face. “I’m really sorry,” he said, “but I’m going to have to ask you
to toss your phone out of the window.”

“You can’t be serious?” she pleaded. “Please tell me this is
some kind of bad joke.”

Quinn winced. “All of your photos and data are in the
cloud,” he said. “And I’ll give you money for a new phone. When this is over,
you can just get a replacement and download your data—you won’t miss a beat.”

“But why?”

“I have a device that can check for bugs within a fifty-yard
radius. Your car is clean. But you can be tracked through your phone, so we
need to eliminate this as a possibility. While we’re driving, I’ll be checking
for a tail also.”

Rachel sensed that no amount of argument would dissuade him
from this course of action. Without another word she locked her phone and
handed it to him unhappily.

“Thank you,” he said as he sent the phone flying. “And I really
will pay for a replacement.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” said
Rachel as she pulled out onto the street. “You’ve said my life is in jeopardy. From
whom? And why?”

“I was hoping you could tell
me
.”

“Tell
you?
” said
Rachel in disbelief. “I have absolutely no idea.”

Quinn studied her, as though trying to weigh her sincerity.

“Look, if you don’t know what this is about,” said Rachel, “then
why are you here? What makes you think I’m in danger in the first place?”
 

“I discovered that you’re at the top of a hit list. A list
made by a very dangerous man.”

This Quinn may have looked normal and seemed likable, but
even an inmate in an asylum could come up with a better answer than that. “And
you have no idea who this man is, or why he wants me dead?”

“None.”

“Whatever you think you’ve discovered, it must be some kind
of mistake.”

“No mistake. I learned about you after two mercenaries abducted
me. I was slated to eventually be killed myself, but I managed to turn the
tables. Turns out your bio was on their phones, and you were their next target.
Ordered by the man who hired them, a Russian. So this threat couldn’t be more
credible.”

Rachel barely avoided rolling her eyes, but Quinn picked up
on subtle body language clues, nonetheless, or perhaps even he knew that his
story was preposterous.

“I know how this sounds,” he said. “I’d have trouble
believing it myself if I were in your shoes. But this is what happened.” He
sighed, and there was something uncertain about his expression, despite these
words, that made Rachel wonder if he didn’t doubt his own sanity, at least a
little.

“Why did they abduct you?” she said. “Under what
circumstances? Who are you, really, and what is your background? You have to
give me
something
to go on.”
 

The intruder looked even more troubled. He paused in thought
for several long seconds. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know. But
before I’m completely honest with you, I want to have more of a dialog. I need
you to get comfortable that I don’t mean to hurt you. Because what I will tell
you is a little . . . tricky. Complex. So let’s begin by learning more about
you. First, are you telling me that you don’t even have a wild, far-fetched
idea as to why someone might want to kill you?”
 

“Not a single one,” she said emphatically. She thought about
this a little longer and shook her head. “I’m even nice to marketers who call
me during dinner to sell me aluminum siding.”

Quinn laughed. “Any chance you work on a secret government
team? Or consult for a Black Ops lab somewhere?”

“None,” said Rachel as she steered the Acura into the left
lane. “I’m just a harmless neuroscientist.”

“Okay, let’s start there. What is that? What do neuroscientists
do? Humor me. I have more than just academic interest. Something you tell me might
help me understand why you’re being targeted. After that, I have some questions
about memory. But first, tell me about neuroscience.”

She couldn’t see how a quick survey of her field would
help him determine why someone had it in for her, but she was prepared to humor
him for at least a little longer.

“You sure about this?” she asked. “Sure I won’t just
be boring you?”

“I’m willing to take that chance,” said Quinn with a
smile. “And between you and me, I could use a little boredom right now.” He raised
his eyebrows. “And how often will I have the chance to discuss a field with the
scientist who is widely regarded as the best the field has ever seen?”

 
“Well, if you
keep breaking into their cars and forcing them to drive around,” replied Rachel
Howard, smiling for the first time since Quinn had revealed himself, “I’d say
your chances were pretty good.”

24

Dmitri Kovonov expertly landed the white helicopter in a clearing
at the edge of a small mountain summit that mankind had forgotten. Kevin Quinn
had chosen well, he thought to himself.

He checked coordinates on his phone and exited the craft, a
2018 Robinson Turbine he had purchased just a week earlier when he had first
arrived in the States. He walked at a leisurely pace toward the shack he could
just make out in the distance, and then beyond, to the woods.

Kovonov missed being alone, and relished the opportunity
this stay in the United States was affording him. At his base of operations in
an industrial park in Switzerland—hiding in plain sight—he was now surrounded
by soldiers and scientists he had collected to his cause, many who worshiped
him like a god.

While there was comfort in being the queen bee at the center
of the hive, forcing anyone after his scalp to fight through a gauntlet of
warrior drones who would gladly sacrifice their lives to protect him, traveling
with a hive throughout the US wasn’t exactly the best way to avoid attracting
attention. And if he did decide he wanted one or more followers to join him on
one of his errands in the States, he could always have them meet him at any
location he chose.
 

But there was a greater efficiency in traveling alone, not
to mention that it took less mental energy not to have to interact with anyone
else for long stretches of time, even if only to bark orders at them.

Even with none of his team with him at the moment, his reach
remained formidable. He had established a network of mercenaries to work for
him in the States, which gave him all the resources he might need.

And while being alone was inarguably less safe for him, he
wasn’t worried. He could handle himself. Besides, he was at least three steps
ahead of anyone left who still opposed him, and these misguided souls would
either join him or be nullified as a threat soon enough. He was forced to
prioritize carefully and just hadn’t gotten around to converting or eliminating
all of his enemies just yet.

He was only one person, extraordinary though he might be,
and there was only so much even
he
could accomplish in a given period of time. But it would all get done. One didn’t
dramatically change the world in a single day, although with his unprecedented
talents and capabilities the day of reckoning would arrive faster than anyone
would dare conceive.

Even as a scrawny nine-year-old boy growing up in the mean
streets of Moscow he had known he was destined for greatness, destined to
change the world. But even his prodigious genius, his unparalleled imagination,
was unable to conceive of just how profound this change would be.

Now, thirty years later, he
had grown into a tall, ruggedly handsome visionary with a classically Slavic
appearance: gray eyes, thin lips and eyebrows, and straight, ash brown hair.
And he possessed charisma and genius to spare.

He had already ensured his place in history. He would go
down as a man having a greater impact on civilization than Socrates, DaVinci, Newton,
or Einstein. But if he was successful in reaching his ambitious goals going
forward, he would soar even higher, accomplish even more. For many years,
despite his historic achievements, he had been held back from reaching his full
potential. By fear. By misguided empathy.

But no longer.

He had been soft and pathetic. But he had recently shed
these traits as completely as a snake shed its skin. To borrow a phrase from Christendom,
he had been blind, but now he could see. Everything. With incredible clarity.

He had had fantasies about what needed to be done, but he
had always held back. He had been a coward. Afraid to make the hard choices, caged
by a counterproductive set of ethics sewn into his psyche.

But now he understood. The ends really did justify the
means, no matter how devastating the means might be. Only the weak and unworthy
allowed themselves to be squeamish when the future of humanity was at stake.

He entered the thick woods and admired the beauty he found
there. The air was cool and fresh and he could hear the rustle of several small
animals rushing off through the undergrowth to get out of his way.

Always a good idea.

His immersion in the natural world was short-lived as he
came to his destination almost immediately. His two hired guns were each
hugging a tree, literally, five feet from each other, their wrists tied
together with plastic zip-ties and their mouths duct-taped shut. No doubt the
very same duct tape and zip-ties these men had brought with them, judging from
the empty trunk of the abandoned Tesla he had passed on his way here.

He had vetted these men himself, and both had come highly
recommended. But with their faces staring at a tree trunk and their arms
forming a circle around it, they looked like circus clowns.

“Hello, Captain Ridley,” said Kovonov with a sneer to the
taller of the two mercenaries, the man he had put in charge.

The Russian ripped the tape from Ridley’s mouth, not
bothering to warn him to tighten and curl his lips, although he noted absently
that Ridley’s lips were not torn and bleeding, so he must have remembered to do
so. “You want to tell me what happened here?”

Ridley turned his head to eye the newcomer, having to press
his right cheek into the tree trunk to do so. “I’ll save my report for 302.”

Kovonov shook his head in disgust. “I am 302, you idiot!”

Ridley swallowed hard, and his pony-tailed partner, RJ,
still silenced by duct tape, suddenly looked a bit pallid. Relief at the
arrival of a rescuer had turned to abject fear.

“You knew something was wrong when we failed to check in as
scheduled,” said Ridley. “But how did you know where we were in the woods? And
how did you know Quinn hadn’t staged an ambush?”

“I tracked your phones,” replied Kovonov simply.

Once Quinn had been captured he had stopped monitoring his
fly drone, and had put it into an autonomous, low-energy mode.
 
He was too busy for constant control and
monitoring, and had assumed the situation was well in hand, had assumed he
would retrieve it when he arrived. And now he wasn’t receiving a signal from it
at all.

When he had tracked Ridley’s phone he found it was over a
hundred miles away and on the move, while RJ’s phone had remained here near the
hand off coordinates, motionless. It didn’t take a detective to know that Quinn
had slipped the noose and taken Ridley’s phone. When RJ hadn’t answered Kovonov’s
attempted call, he had further assumed his two hired hands were both dead.

But he had been wrong. Quinn had been too soft to make what
he surely must have known was the right move. When being hunted, a scorched
earth approach was the only way. You didn’t send a player to the penalty box.
You destroyed him utterly.

Quinn was a fool.

“You tracked our phones?” repeated Ridley in disbelief.

“Am I going to have to say everything twice?”

“But that isn’t possible. These phones are absolutely untraceable.”

“I’m sure they are. To everyone but me.”

Anger flashed across Ridley’s face for just a moment.

“Unhappy that I didn’t tell you I could track you?” asked
Kovonov. “Feeling violated?”

“Not at all,” lied Ridley.

“Good thing I could, right? Otherwise you idiots would rot
out here. And I’d have lost Quinn. As it is, he’ll be as surprised that I can
track your phone as you were.”

Kovonov paused, and the icy smile he had been wearing vanished.
He shook his head in disgust. “So tell me how he managed to escape.”

Ridley did so without interruption. Kovonov couldn’t help
but be impressed. Bound hand and foot, outgunned, Quinn had escaped using his
fingernails and a bluff. What guile and resourcefulness. These were traits the
man was known for, but his failure to kill Davinroy and his refusal to kill the
two mercs was
pathetic
. A reminder of
how detestable the man really was.

“Look,” pleaded Ridley when he had finished his report, “tell
us where Quinn is and we’ll make this right. No charge. We’ll throw in the next
job free of charge as well,” he added, his voice as strained as if his life
were on the line, which he somehow sensed it was.

Ridley’s partner was unable to speak but nodded his head vigorously
up and down in agreement.
 

 
 
“That’s a very gracious offer,” said Kovonov
tiredly, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. It’s like telling a restaurant you
hate their food, and then having them offer your next meal free to make up for
it. If you aren’t satisfied with the food, more of it for free doesn’t help.
Surely you can appreciate my perspective.”

He calmly removed an H&K 9mm handgun from a holster
while Ridley pressed his cheek even harder into the bark of the tree to extend
his field of vision.

“Don’t do this,” whispered Ridley. “We’re pros. We screwed
up this time, but it won’t happen again.”

“I know it won’t,” said Kovonov calmly, pulling the trigger
four times, drilling two holes in each of the mercenaries’ heads, carefully
choosing angles to spare any damage to the trees, which had done nothing wrong.

“You don’t deserve to be alive,” he mumbled to the now
deceased men as blood began running down their bodies and to the forest floor. “Quinn
should have killed you before I arrived.”

He wet his finger with each man’s blood in turn and used it
as a stylus, writing a large red F on each man’s cheek. F for failure. F for
fuck-up.

The Secret Service agent had indeed chosen his hideout well,
and Kovonov wondered how many months or years it might be until the remains of
these men were discovered, by that time nothing but polished white skeletons,
picked clean by nature.

Given Quinn’s current location, the man must be paying a
visit to Rachel Howard. It was the only conclusion possible. He hadn’t even
bothered to ask Ridley if Quinn had learned she was their next target, as the
answer was obvious.

Kovonov tilted his head in thought. Should he rethink his
strategy? Should he now try to take them
both
alive?

Was
using
Rachel
Howard a better choice than killing her?

After all, her mind was a treasure. Not just for what she
knew, but what she had forgotten—for her rich experience. She was a proven genius
whose creativity was boundless. Putting a saddle on this thoroughbred was
tempting, no doubt about it. And she was attractive enough to screw, which was
always a plus in his book—not that he didn’t already have access to all the sex
he could ever want.

But once again, his intuition warned him this would be a
mistake. Better to just put her down, take her off the board. He continued to
have a strong sense that Rachel Howard would prove difficult to tame, and alive
she posed a danger to him like no other. Why take any chances?
 

He would need to scramble two other hired hands for the job,
but he had resources to spare. With Quinn in the picture, his new team would
need to proceed with caution, with a healthy respect for Quinn’s capabilities.

But given the element of surprise this shouldn’t be a
problem.

Quinn’s escape had been a setback, but a minor one in the
scheme of things. The truth was that he didn’t really
need
to acquire Quinn. Killing Rachel Howard was the more important
task, and even this was just a precaution. Even if she were never touched, his
plan would almost certainly succeed.

But he did hate loose ends, and why allow even the possibility
of a fly in the ointment? He could continue pursuing his plan without
interruption, while others focused on these minor inconveniences.

Kovonov thought for a moment longer, selected a contact from
his phone, and brought the device to his ear. One quick call and he could get his
ship precisely back on course.