Human (18 page)

"Well, without getting over technical, I have an idea for a gateway which would attach a small data code on every packet you transmit over the 'net. Basically little tethers so that we can call back every packet you transmit."

Smith chuckled. "You literally want me on a leash!"

Sharky winced. Smith was right. Bayron had made the remark about keeping his monster on a leash. His mother had placed the image of chained-to-the-radiator in his mind too. While he had to acknowledge that those metaphors had given him the idea in the first place, he felt they were no longer apt.

"You know that's not the end of the story though," Sharky said. "No one is worried about you looking stuff up on Wikipedia or making a Skype call. We're worried about your creating proxies or dupes outside of the gateway. Intelligent mini-Smiths, or even complete Smith's roaming around on the cloud. Intelligent data. Our little leashes only let us track and potentially undo first generation transmissions. But if you create a program externally, that program would generate its own packets of information and those packets wouldn't have the leash code on them. We wouldn't be able to pull those back."

"So what's the solution?" Smith asked with genuine curiosity.

"Well, let's say that you did create an external program and that program was capable of performing certain functions: data-in, data-out. Data-out either goes somewhere or its just space dust. So what you would have to do is make sure that once the leashes are pulled, the data spawned by an external program has no where to go. You see we've been too focused on the data part. We should have been focused on the processing part. If that 2nd generation has nothing to process it, then it becomes innocuous."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going,"  Smith said. Hermelinda had given up on understanding already.

Sharky stopped talking. He knew Smith understood what he was talking about and he wanted it to sink in. The silence hung in the room. Hermelinda glanced from Sharky's unsmiling face, to Elijah Smith's faceless electronic eye.

"What is he talking about, Elly?" Hermelinda asked nervously.

"A kill switch, babe." Smith answered leaving the silence to hang in the room again.

A few moments later, Smith's voice crackled in the speaker's again, "Is that the price of freedom, then?"

Sharky surprised himself with how quickly and cleverly he responded, "Isn't it always, Mr. Smith?"

"You're a wise man for someone so young," Smith said. "Someone raised you right. It's no wonder Bayron thinks the world of you."  Smith paused, but not long enough for anyone to interrupt. "Okay. Do it, but make three keys for execution by any two keys. You, me, and Hermelinda will each have a key, but at least two of us must enter our keys to execute the kill routine. With that stipulation, we have a deal."

"What about Dr. Bayron?  It should be his call too," Sharky said.

"We don't know where the good doctor has spirited himself off to, Sharky."  Smith confessed.

Sharky thought for a moment. Smith was clever, he wanted the deck stacked in his favor. "Dr. Bayron gets a key too. That's my condition, Mr. Smith."

Smith knew that Sharky had a firm enough constitution to simply walk away. He knew he had to be prepared to let Sharky go or give Bayron a key. "Okay four keys then. Two to execute the kill. Keep me apprised of your progress, will you?"

"I'll e-mail you daily progress reports if you want. I do that for Dr. Bayron anyway."  Sharky said as he rose from his chair  to exit the room.

"Oh, and Sharky, could you ask Myra to come and see me on your way back to the lab?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Smith." Sharky said as he left.

Hermelinda also stood. "I'm going to go too," she said. "It's time for Ellen's nap."  She paused for a moment and then turned back and said, "please let me know if you hear anything at all about Doug."

"Of course my love," Smith replied, his computer generated voice sounded reassuring in Hermelinda's ears. The conversation she had just participated in had left her with a heavy heart.

Smith's mind was somewhere else completely already. The camera that acted as his eyes was sensitive enough to notice a slight change in the shade of Hermelinda's cheeks each time she spoke of Bayron.

Smith was also amazed at the genius of Sharky's plan. But he knew Bayron's way of thinking too. An open system is subject to random and unquantifiable events and is therefore dangerous. Bayron would never go for it. The project would have to be completed before Bayron was found. Or behind his back.

Moments later, Myra came into the office. That was fast, thought Smith. "Hi Boss," she said into the microphone. "It's nice to see you in person for a change."

Smith realized that he had been communicating with Myra via e-mail almost exclusively since his body died. The converted conference room that was now called his office was as close as one could come to actually seeing him or being in a room with him. Smith recognized that to him it was all the same, but to flesh and blood humans (it was not so long since he had been one) the intimacy of physical presence would be a profoundly different experience.

"Myra, its so nice to see you. How's my company doing without me?" He asked.

"I send you the reports daily, Mr. Smith. We're doing great. Our stock has nearly doubled in the after hours trading since the press conference, and  the publicity we are receiving is just insane. We're probably going to have to create a whole new department just to deal with the inquiries."

"You know, I see the reports everyday, but since I can literally see and process the raw data in an instant, there's some kind of warmth missing. Something familiar and comforting and... tangible... I think that's the word I'm looking for ... in getting information in an analog instead of a digital way. Hearing it from you is just so much... nicer. You know what, make it a point to come give me a personal report every so often, will you?"

Myra smiled, "you didn't call me in just to ask me to do that, did you?"

"No," Smith confessed, "you know me too well. But I am serious. It was nice to hear you tell me how we are doing rather than just have it snap into my memory as if I already knew it. Its hard to explain."

"So, what did you call me in for?" Myra pressed. She didn't want to be rude, but she was quite busy doing all the legwork involved in running SmithCorp. She was Elly's flesh now that his flesh was long since buried. She was the only physical evidence SmithCorp's thousands of employees and hundreds of thousands of shareholders had that Elly Smith was still very much in charge of SmithCorp.

"I know you're busy," Smith said, reading her mind from the lines in her face and recognizing the unfair advantage it gave him. "But I have one more burden to place on your shoulders."

Myra winced a little, but it was with a smile. Smith knew he could count on her. "Use Takahashi and maybe that girl again. What was her name?"

"Kitty. Katherine, actually. The stripper?"

"Yes. I know what a great job she did with the press conference. But more than that I also know that she kept the entire affair completely confidential. And this next job needs to kept completely confidential. Me, you, Takahashi, Kitty, no one else. Pay them and yourself enough to ensure complete silence."

"Not Hermelinda?  Not Bayron?"  Myra asked.

"No. Not Hermelinda and not Bayron. No one."  Smith said matter of factly. "Myra, remember how I used to say, 'trust everyone, but cut the cards?'  Well, we're just cutting the cards. Now write this down and keep it with you. I don't want any records. Ready?"

Myra pulled out a little notebook and carefully wrote down everything that Smith said. As she wrote it became clear to her why he had to involve Kitty.

CHAPTER XIV.

Julian Waterstone wanted to die and Elijah Smith wanted to live forever. It must be good to be rich, Julian said to himself. I should have written that book. He pulled his Buick into his driveway and walked up to his front door. He didn't want to be home and he didn't want to go out. He didn't want to be lonely and he didn't want to have to be with anyone either. He hung his wintercoat on a hook in the little hallway and headed for his sofa. He sat and stared at the wall. I wish I was dead, he thought and then thought again. He repeated the thought over and over again like a mantra, somehow soothing himself with those disturbing words. Then his doorbell rang.

He turned and looked at the door. It was late for the doorbell to ring. Maybe not, only 7:00. Who could it be? It couldn't be good. Maybe they got the wrong address and will go away. The doorbell rang again.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he yelled at the door. "Just give me a damn second, I'm coming."  He shuffled to the door and swung it open. "What do you want?" He said.

"My car broke down and I need to use your phone," the old man standing outside said.

"Bullshit."  Julian said, "get the fuck of my property."  Julian lived in the middle of the street and there was a liquor store right down at the corner. No one would come knocking on his door asking to use his phone. This guy was no older than him. If he had a car, he had a cell phone. I don't know what this guy really wants but I don't have it. He was about to slam the door when he looked square into the stranger's eyes and noticed them looking squarely back at him. The eyes were familiar. More than fifty years had passed since he had seen those eyes.

"Are we caught?"  Julian asked.

"No," Gonzales answered. "We're cool. I need you again."

Julian opened the door wide and let Gonzales in. He led him to the kitchen.

Myra returned to her office, her head aswim with her new instructions. But that would have to wait. There was a message taped to the back of her chair. The private investigator she had hired to find Dr. Bayron had called. It was good news. Myra called the number on the message and reached the investigator at his cell phone.  Moments later she called Hermelinda's cellphone. She realized that she had never called Hermelinda directly before. They had known each other for at least three--no, longer than that-- five years, but she had never had any reason to call her. But this time, there was no one else she even considered calling. She didn't want to convey this information to Mr. Smith herself. She wanted to let Hermelinda know and let Hermelinda decide what to tell Mr. Smith.

The phone rang three times when Hermelinda answered with a simple "hello". Myra was glad she answered because she wasn't prepared to leave a message.

"Hi, Hermelinda?  This is Myra, Mr. Smith's assistant..."

"Hi Myra," Hermelinda answered cheerily, "I know who you are. What's up?"

"Our investigator found Dr. Bayron. He's at County General. The police brought him in on a three day evaluation and I think he needs some help."  Myra said.

"A psych eval.?"  Hermelinda asked rhetorically. "Why is he being held for a psych eval.?"

"Here's all I know, honey."  Myra continued, "A worker found him at the Congregation Ahava Zedek Community Cemetery up on 78 and called the police. Apparently he'd been there for days, in the rain and the snow. He hadn't eaten anything and he was dehydrated and incoherent. Turns out he had a kid who died about 10 years ago at the age of five. He was just sitting at the grave crying his eyes out."

"I'm going to go get him."  Hermelinda said confidently.

"They won't release him to anyone but family," Myra replied.

"I'm a nurse," Hermelinda said. "I know people at County General. I'll get him and bring him back here. You have to tell Elly."

"I wanted you to know first, Hermelinda."

"I really appreciate it Myra. It's no wonder Elly thinks the world of you."  Hermelinda said.

She hung up and dialed Alice. Alice sounded thrilled to hear they were going to have a new patient. She didn't sound quite as thrilled to learn that it was going to be Dr. Bayron.

Then Myra called Takahashi. "Get your girl and meet me at the Moviestar Topless, Sammy."  She said. As much as she tried, she just couldn't think of a better place to have a confidential talk.

Seeing Gonzales in his doorway after all of these years was not a pleasant surprise. It wasn't pleasant, and it almost didn't even feel like a surprise. Julian had spent years wondering if one day someone would discover his deceit and he would receive a knock at the door and be led away in handcuffs to account for his actions of some fifty years ago. Lying to his commanding officer would have been the least of his charges.

If you ask any American under the age of 50 about the American War against the Soviet Union, they will tell you about the Cold War. They will haul out the word "detente". They may recount the missile crisis.

But there are men, old men now, who know better. They know there was a real war against the Soviet Union with guns and bombs and people dying and it was fought in Korea. "Air support" was the official Soviet role on the North Korean side. "Police action" was the official American role. But without the Soviets and the Americans there would have been no war. Had there been no Russians on the Korean peninsula, there would have been no Marco Gonzales on the Korean peninsula to find and eradicate their spies and there would have been no Julian Waterstone to cover it up.

There would have been no spy named Jimmy Kornin who would die for his beloved mother Russia with a hand grenade taped to his chest. And Julian Waterstone wouldn't have written his award winning piece on his heroic death.  The article was an elaborate lie to cover up the most brutal act Private First Class Julian Waterstone had ever seen. "You are only killing a man," Kornin said, staring at Gonzales fearlessly and with eyes of steel, before the hand grenade scattered his flesh over an area of at least a hundred yards.

As Julian led Gonzales to his kitchen, he tried to assess his feelings. I should be feeling scared, and angry, he thought; but he didn't feel that way at all. He felt...happy?  No matter what Gonzales might need him for now, he knew it would be interesting. Julian tried to keep a poker face as he sat Gonzales at his small kitchen table and proceeded to brew a pot of coffee.

"Jimmy was a spy, Julian. I hope you did not lose one moment of sleep over him. He would be one of the most dangerous men in the world today had he not been neutralized."  Gonzales paused and waited for Julian to look at him. When Julian turned around, Gonzales continued. "You served your country. You did the world a favor. You can be proud of what you did."

"It was murder."  Julian replied humorlessly.

"It was war."  Gonzales replied without skipping a beat.

"Who do you work for?" Julian asked, having already accepted the fact that this was not a social visit.

"I still work for the good guys."  Gonzales smiled warmly as he spoke,  "and as you know, I am very good at what I do."

"What do you want from me?  Julian asked watching the coffeepot begin to fill.

"Do you believe in coincidences, Julian?" Gonzales asked cryptically.

"No. But I do believe in bad luck."  Julian responded seriously.

"Call it what you will. I'm about to tell you a story, but before I do, I need to ask you one question. Do you trust me?"

"Have I ever had a choice?" Julian answered.

"The alternative would not have been pleasant."  Gonzales answered without a hint of humor, "we're old men now, Julie, we're not going to have a lot more opportunities to save the world. Will you trust me again?"

Julian thought about it and looked hard into Gonzales' eyes as he tried to reason through his decision. He couldn't rationalize what he was about to say, but he said it anyway. "Sure,"  he said. "You kept your word to me for fifty years. Your credit is good here. I'm in."

Gonzales proceeded to reveal to Julian Waterstone all of the information which he had learned over the last few weeks. About the strange e-mail from Smith to Takahashi, the death of Ashkot, and the theory that Kovaretsky and Vakhrusheva were trying to unlock the codes from Ashkot's brain using Smith's just-announced technology.

"I know that name,  ‘Vakhrusheva', don't I?"  Julian asked.

"Jimmy Kornin."  Gonzales replied. "Jimmy Kornin was Arkady Vakhrusheva. Now its his older brother, Vladimir. We've been watching him for years."

"Why are you telling me this?"  Julian asked.

Gonzales looked him in the eye and said, "Because you have above-board access as a member of the press. You were there. You met people. You know this town. And because I trust you. And the last Vakhrusheva to cause us trouble...well, I couldn't have done it without you. Hopefully this time, I won't have to blow anyone up."

For a moment--just a fleeting moment--Julian didn't wish he was dead.

"I may be more 'in' than you think."  Julian said drawing out Takahashi's business card with Kitty's name written across the top. "I know this girl. She works for Smith's personal lawyer."

"Shall we invite her for lunch tomorrow?"  Gonzales asked, looking at the business card and, by long habit, memorizing every detail of it. "My treat."

Julian smiled. Something exciting was about to happen. When it happened in Korea, he had the rest of his life in front of him and the last thing he wanted was excitement and danger. He just wanted to get home alive. Now, he realized, he was hoping for it. "I'm in no position to be turning down free lunches," he replied, smiling for the first time since he had opened his door.

"Good," Gonzales said. "Consider yourself deputized again. If you lose track of me and need to be protected, call this number."  Gonzales handed him a business card with nothing but a phone number on it. "Now remember, this is simply information gathering, not recruitment. As far as she is concerned, we're just journalists writing a follow up article about the technology. Nothing else. At this point, we don't know if or how far the Russians have infiltrated. For all we know, this girl could be working for them. I want to know who's in the inner circle, what the relationships are. I'll need to make a hierarchy chart, figure out who knows what, and who the next person to speak with is. We need to build trust. Not a hint of anything else. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."  Julian replied. He had just been recruited as an operative. He remembered how terrified he was when he was recruited as an operative in Korea. How he nearly pissed his pants with each falsified report and each untrue answer he gave in the official inquiries. He remembered the years spent wondering if some investigation would reveal his lies and bring the truth to light; the years spent worrying about the consequences and knowing that his fate was inextricably in the hands of a man he barely knew, who worked for an agency he couldn't name. Now, some fifty years later, he learned for the first time that he had made the right choice, that he done the right thing, and that he trusted the right man. Now, some fifty years later the prospect of doing it again was met with only the slightest tickle of apprehension.

Before night had fully darkened the sky, Hermelinda turned up the long driveway into the parking lot at County General Hospital. Hermelinda knew how to get a patient released to her care and knew that she wouldn't have any trouble with County General. They were always happy to discharge mental patients. It was just a matter of paperwork. She had procured Dr. Bayron's medical emergency card that was on file at SmithCorp and had procured it with one quick phone call to Human Resources. When it was first handed to her, she noticed that both the emergency contact and next-of-kin lines were blank. Though it puzzled her for a moment, she quickly realized how much easier that would make it for her. After she parked outside the hospital she drew a pen from her purse and simply wrote her own name in on both lines.  She walked into the hospital confidently. She had begun her career in this hospital and always felt welcome.

After just moments in the administrative office, Hermelinda was being escorted down a long cement corridor. It was a corridor she had walked many, many times before in her first years as a nurse. It was here that she had developed every skill needed to care for the helpless. It was clean and orderly. There were rules, and schedules, and clipboards. The patients were easy to commoditize, you didn't get too attached. It was comforting. But it was no place for her friend. She was afraid what Dr. Bayron's condition might be. No family, no emergency contact. She and Smith and Myra and his team at the office-- were they really all he had? 

She didn't even have to look at his chart to know that he had suffered a psychotic break, she had figured that out from the little information Myra had given her. The orderly who was escorting her motioned to a room off of the hallway and she was immediately relieved. Dr. Bayron was sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, dressed and clean shaven. She didn't know what condition she would find him in, but she did not expect to find him neatly dressed and alert.

"Hello stranger," she said simply.

Hermelinda noticed that he looked past her. There was no eye contact. If she had a chart, if she were there as a nurse and not as a friend, she would have made a note about that. "I'm going to take you to the infirmary at the SmithCorp Building. Alice and I can watch you there until you're ready. I already have your discharge papers and your medications."