Game Changer (22 page)

35

Rachel Howard had a near mythical capacity for assimilating
new information and adjusting to new situations, but even she was reaching her
limit. One minute she was picking up Thai food for dinner and the next she was
catapulted on a fantastic series of events that seemed never-ending.

Learning that her home was bugged and fending off an attack
there. Hiding under her neighbor’s couch. And worst of all, being an instant
away from death, certain she had taken her last breath. And for the first time
in her life she had seen men die—be killed—right in front of her.

More than in front of her—one had died
on
her.

So much for her relationship with Debbie Steele. After
leaving two dead bodies in her neighbor’s home—which wouldn’t exactly do
wonders for resale value—Rachel had to believe her days of being trusted to
feed the cat were over.

And now she found herself under the protection of both a
Secret Service agent and an Israeli spy, and had learned that someone out there
had leapfrogged her research and was using these discoveries, not in service to
mankind, but to its detriment.

Surprisingly, she was drawn to both men more than she wanted
to admit, even to herself. As she knew and had preached, you liked who you
liked, with very little conscious control. They were both decisive and talented.
Both direct and down to earth. No putting on airs. And while she was sure they
were both accomplished liars, she was convinced their lies were never told for
the purposes of political jockeying or to backstab a colleague. Neither man was
an academic, but both were very sharp. She was astonished at how quickly the
Israeli had managed to learn enough neuroscience to fool her, even for a short
period.

Perhaps these men appealed to a latent bad-boy-seeking gene
she didn’t know she had. Perhaps she had been in academia too long. In a
politically correct university culture packed with too many spoiled rich kids
complaining of micro-aggressions, parsing every word and statement for any hint
it might give offense, no matter how convoluted the logic behind it,
desperately needing to separate the world into victimizers and victims. People
with so much time on their hands, and so few actual struggles, that the brush
of a metaphoric butterfly wing would send them howling in outrage.

Kevin Quinn and Eyal Regev lived in a world with
macro
-aggressions. They were too busy
dodging bullets and protecting their countries to worry that an innocently
delivered word might be misunderstood, or become crusaders for safe spaces in
which reality was never allowed to intrude. In their world, those who lost
didn’t get a trophy for participation, because the losers might not be alive to
receive one.

 
Both men were now
silent, mentally preparing for the vid-meet that was scheduled for three p.m. sharp,
less than five minutes away. Rachel realized she had been in this alternate
reality, this impossible reality, for almost exactly twenty-four hours.

When Eyal had said the meeting would be high-level, she had
no idea how much of an understatement this would be. Both of her male
companions had confirmed the guest list for the upcoming meeting, which she
still refused to believe. Not until it really happened.

She was actually going to be in a meeting with Matthew
Davinroy, virtual though it might be. The President of the United States. The
hit parade of absurdities was about to continue.

In addition to the president, attendees on the Israeli side
would be the Prime Minister, Ori Kish; the head of Mossad, Avi Wortzman; his
Deputy Director, Yaron Hurwitz; and, of course, Eyal Regev. On the American
side there would be Secretary of DHS Greg Henry and his second-in-command,
Matthew O’Malley, along with Special Agents Cris Coffey and Kevin Quinn.

And a Harvard neuroscientist who might well be dreaming it
all.

It turned out that her host had a special room for vid-meets
that was highly secure. She and her two companions took their places at the
small table in the room and waited for the meeting to begin. Their wait was
very short-lived, as holographic software from a set of cameras built into the
walls turned their tiny square table into an imposing oval specimen, and began
populating the virtual conference table with participants, looking for all the
world as though they were really in the Israeli’s home. The projections of the
participants, from multiple locations, was done even more seamlessly than
usual, and each had an identity and location tag floating nearby.

As the chair of Harvard’s neuroscience department, Rachel
was used to being the most senior and influential person at a conference table.
At this particular meeting—not so much.

The tags floating near the Israeli attendees indicated they
were all together at Beit Aghion in Jerusalem, the Israeli equivalent of the White
House. And they all looked weary, not surprising since six o’clock on a Tuesday
evening in Washington was one o’clock on Wednesday morning for them.
 

As the most powerful human on the planet, Rachel had
expected Matthew Davinroy to begin, but since Ori Kish had asked for this
gathering the duty fell to him.

“Mr. President,” he said. “Thanks to you and your team for meeting
with us on such short notice.”

“You made it quite clear how important you felt this was,”
said the president bluntly, looking slightly annoyed. Not exactly
you’re welcome
. The relationship between
Davinroy and Kish was rumored to be ice-cold.

“I’m confident you’ll agree that it is,” said Kish.

“I’ve been briefed on all relevant background,” said
Davinroy, “and the information you supplied us. Apparently, there are some
troubling events involving miniaturized drones and advanced neuroscience that
have arisen. And some further disclosures that you’d like to make.”

 
“Before we begin,”
said Greg Henry, “I did want to thank Avi for the heads-up on Azim Jafari and
the Hamza Mosque.”

“Yes, of course,” seconded Davinroy insincerely. “Much
appreciated.”

“Glad we could help,” said Wortzman, trying to be diplomatic
while his boss, the prime minster, couldn’t quite manage to keep all the
hostility he felt toward the president from his face.
 
“We’re relieved that his plan was averted, and
grieve with you over the loss of innocent life in the mosque.”

“Thank you,” said the president. He turned his focus to the
man sitting beside Rachel at the virtual table and his expression darkened. “Special
Agent Quinn. I must admit, you’re the last person I expected to be conferencing
with today. Or any day.”

“Mr. President,” said Quinn, “I don’t have words enough to
apologize properly. As you’ve been briefed, I wasn’t myself. I was manipulated.
I hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

The president glared at Quinn for several long seconds but
didn’t acknowledge his apology. He shifted his gaze to Rachel. “You must be
Professor Howard,” he said. “I’m told your presence is important. So thanks for
attending.”

Rachel was frozen for just a moment, unable to believe the
man she had seen so often addressing the nation was now addressing her. For
once she decided not to ask the participants at this meeting to call her by her
first name. She already felt small enough.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, hearing these words as if
they were spoken by someone else.

“Professor Howard,” said the Secretary of Homeland Security,
“Greg Henry here. I should tell you that during the past several hours we’ve had
swarms of people picking through your background in a bit of a frenzy. As of
ten minutes ago, you’ve been granted our nation’s highest security clearance. We’ll
give you a more formal rundown of what that entails another day, but I thought
you should know. Every word said in this meeting is confidential. Do you
understand?”

Rachel nodded woodenly. “Of course.”

“Can I assume you’ve implemented the jamming protocol we
sent you at each of your locations?” said Avi Wortzman.

“We have,” said Henry.

“Good,” replied the head of Mossad. “This will ensure any
possible listening devices get nothing but static.”
 

“Are we ready to begin?” said Davinroy, making no attempt to
hide his impatience.

“We are,” said the Israeli prime minister. “This will not be
an altogether comfortable meeting for us, I can assure you. But it’s time to
bring our great friend and ally up to speed on some . . . issues we’ve been
encountering. Despite having to air more dirty laundry than we’d like.”

For the first time, Rachel detected a glimmer of enthusiasm
from the president, who hadn’t realized the coming disclosure might be
humiliating to Kish, and was relishing the prospect.

“This being said,” continued Kish, “let me give the
floor to Avi Wortzman.”

“Thank you,” said the Mossad leader. “Everyone here is
now aware that yesterday, Special Agent Quinn discovered a working fly drone
and sent it to Special Agent Coffey for analysis. I understand that the result
of this analysis showed that this drone is very advanced, beyond any known
technology.”

Rachel was transfixed, even though she knew what was
coming, since Eyal Regev had come clean with her and Kevin that morning. Kevin
had taken time to carefully explain to her the full significance of what had been
disclosed.

Every major country in the world had been working furiously
on drone tech for many decades. She already knew that drones, civilian and
military alike, had become as plentiful as the stars in the heavens—who didn’t?—but
she hadn’t known that the ultimate military and intelligence goal was to
perfect a drone that could perfectly mimic a tiny insect. If a technology that
was impervious to state-of-the art bug detection could be perfected also, such
a drone would be the perfect spy device. A bug that was actually a bug.

Small. Mobile. Self-installing. Undetectable.

The phrase,
I’d
like to be a fly on the wall
had come into common usage for a reason. A
housefly was the ultimate spy. Which is why Kevin’s discovery had created such
interest, and such angst. In one’s own hands such a device was a godsend. In
the hands of one’s enemies an unmitigated disaster, a cause for serious alarm, perhaps
panic.

Even Cris Coffey didn’t know where Avi Wortzman was
heading. Kevin had contacted his old boss at eleven that morning and asked him to
tell the secretary of Homeland and the president about the fly drone, and Dr. Beam’s
analysis, despite having insisted that he not do so only the day before. Quinn
had explained he needed to get Davinroy’s attention so he would accept a
meeting request from the Israelis that would shed light on this.
 

Coffey had been stunned. How in the world had the
nation’s most hunted man managed to suddenly get into bed with the Israelis?

Quinn had assured him all would become clear during
the meeting, and had ended the conversation. Now, less than seven hours later,
Coffey was about to get his answers.

“Your understanding is a little off,” said Greg Henry,
ever cautious with information. “We believe the drone
may
represent a leap forward. But it isn’t yet clear. It came to us
damaged. So we really couldn’t put it through any paces and verify its effectiveness.
But why don’t you tell
us
how well it
performs. When Prime Minister Kish asked for this meeting, he said you know who’s
behind it.”

“More like which country,” said Wortzman. He opened
his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” spat Davinroy, “a
drum-roll? Which country is it?”

Wortzman grimaced uncomfortably. “Ours,” he said
simply. “
We’re
behind it. Israel. After
putting our best minds on the problem for decades we got a few lucky breaks and
perfected the drones. They can fly great distances, blend in with surroundings,
and plant themselves in cars and offices. They’ve been in deployment for the
last four years.”

“Four years!” thundered Davinroy. “You’ve used these
things for
four
years
and kept us entirely out of the loop?”
 
  

Ori Kish blew out a long breath. “Yes. Both our countries support
numerous Black projects. With all due respect, Mr. President, are you telling
me you don’t have advanced tech you haven’t shared with your allies?”

“That means nothing!” barked Davinroy. “The difference is
that
we’re
the superpower here. The
mother ship. And we provide you with substantial support. Financially, militarily,
and at bodies like the UN.”

“And we’ve given you substantial intelligence in exchange!” retorted
Kish, not backing down an iota. “Even before this drone was perfected. We’re
your only true friend in the most deadly region in the world, where scores of
countries think of America as the Great Satan and want to destroy it as much as
they want to destroy Israel. I know you’re aware that we’ve upped the intel we
provide to you considerably in the past four years. What you don’t know is that
we’ve given you even more anonymously. I won’t disclose specifics, but intel
from our fly drone program enabled us to stop Kim Jong-un from nuking six of
your cities a few years back, including Washington DC. We had him bugged for
years. Believe me, that was one crazy bastard, but he managed to sneak the
nukes in and bury them in these cities. This wasn’t just an idle threat. He
couldn’t
wait
to carry it out. If we
hadn’t stepped up, President Davinroy, neither Washington nor
you
would be here right now. I know for
a fact that he planned to be sure you were at the White House when he set his
devices off.”