Sigma One (31 page)

His mind then flitted to the description of the demonstration Amanda had said she had seen while out on the West Coast. In that conversation she said she had witnessed a new process (referring, of course to Mr. Grayson) for digitizing pictures and in less than five, maybe ten seconds, Grayson had memorized every detail of her face, disassembled it into 256 gray scales, assigned intensity values to them representing the various shades and hues of her skin, and then digitized the whole data stream of over ten megabytes and produced a replica of her image on the screen.

If Grayson really did this, there was no doubt in Pat's mind he had the talent to reprogram a simple series of guidance commands in a missile computer. The question was, could he do it from a distance? Pat had to know the answer to that and had after Amanda's call, devised a special experiment to get that answer.

His experiment consisted of a series of electromagnetically treated screens each, with varying degrees of opacity. By stacking a number of screen in between Burt and the guidance chip, he could emulate the range squared distance loss which Burt would encounter if his thoughts were transmitted electromagnetically to the computer as he suspected they were. And if Burt could program the computer through the screens, it would be a simple matter of counting the screens to determine just how much range he did have. If it were substantial, they wouldn't need Kamarov, and it wouldn't matter to Pat one way or another if they did kill him.

But what if Mr. Grayson's demonstration to Amanda had been fixed? Then the need to keep the Soviet alive would even be greater. SIGMA ONE was too important to him to risk that. He had to say so.

"Don't kill him!" he demanded and stood up.

Radcliff winced,
then replied. "Why? We have to. You know what the Soviet can do. He could start world war three. Besides, killing him is the only way we can keep your precious SIGMA ONE alive."

"Don't be too sure," Pat replied and then described his reasons for feeling as he did, reasons which, of course, depended upon Grayson's help and cooperation.

In the end, Radcliff acquiesced and agreed to do nothing for at least forty eight hours. After that, and if Grayson failed, Radcliff knew he'd still have another day before Kamarov was scheduled to take his trip north over the missile fields. That would allow Walker plenty of time to eliminate him. And once Kamarov was out of the way, there would still be two more weeks before the hearings on SIGMA ONE --ample time to prepare the evidence they'd need. This evidence would show the members Kamarov was not the only Soviet with the power to reprogram missiles. That evidence, of course, would be false. (Their agent's last tape clearly indicated Kamarov was indeed the only Soviet with such power.) But the committee didn't know that, and Radcliff was sure the members out of fear of what would happen if they didn't, would vote to continue funding as a result.

He smiled as he thought of the implication that Kamarov's elimination would have on his political future. What better way to get what he wanted for the NSF than to convince the members that a threat of such terrific magnitude existed where there wasn't any threat at all?

And with SIGMA ONE continued, he could continue his liaison with Ms. Hunt; and Pat, his project, both of which were fine by him. And all this would happen simply because of the Soviet. In a way, Radcliff owed the Soviet a lot. And so did Pat.

After their discussions, Pat began his drive home, back to a very angry daughter and a probably equally irritable wife either of which he would have preferred to face rather than to face the fact that the Soviet was coming over to the U.S. that very night and unless he was able to do something about it, would probably be dead in less than three days. The full implication of the earlier-than-planned visit fell on him like a heavy weight. He had been able to buy nearly forty-eight hours for Kamarov's life, but after that, he would be dead, and his secret buried with him. He had little hope of stopping that and that depressed him. Now all he could do was to hope that the meeting with the Soviet to which Radcliff had agreed would allow him to get the information that would tell him why their research had been successful and his had not. But he wasn't even sure he could do that. It all looked so hopeless.

As he pulled out on Constitution Avenue, all he could think about was Kamarov and the limited amount of time he would have with him before he had to be eliminated. His thoughts then turned to Mr. Grayson again, and with that, the new hope he offered to the project came to mind.

Amanda and Grayson would be arriving in less than three hours, Pat thought as he looked at his watch. Completely forgetting about the promise he had made to his daughter earlier, Pat turned his oar toward the office and accelerated. He had to get to the lab and get it ready. Grayson might be his only chance. They would start testing him as soon as he arrived and during those tests assuming they were successful, they would interview him to find out everything he knew about thought programming.

Maybe if he interviewed the kid before flying out to Vegas for his meeting with the Soviet, Pat could gain some critical insight that had been missing before and in so doing could maximize the information he would receive in the meeting. If Grayson knew how to thought program, that is. He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to know as much about Grayson as he could before meeting Kamarov. Maybe there was some similarity between the two young men. Maybe in that similarity there was some other secret which his people had overlooked. Maybe they had found the answer to controlling the body's release of dopamine after a successful link which had finally been determined as the real reason for O'Shaunnesey's death. He had to know. His scientific curiosity was piqued and he pressed on the accelerator, simultaneously reaching for his car phone to summon his other scientists in to make the lab ready for their visitor. He only had three hours for that, and only twelve hours after that to catch a plane to Nevada. He had to hurry.

Burt and Amanda were the first to get off the plane. Amanda had slept the whole trip and, as a result, had mellowed out considerably. She had become so relaxed, in fact, that when Burt tried to help her with her carry-on luggage, she allowed him to and even thanked him afterwards. He was glad for her unexpected change in attitude. He didn't like there to be hard feelings between them especially since she was the one responsible for him getting the chance to further his research at her organization's expense. Little did he know that her change in attitude had nothing to do with
him. She was just glad to be back so that she could see Pat. While she was sleeping, her mind had fulfilled the fantasy she had had while staying at the Madonna Inn and the subsequent sexual release was the reason for her pleasant attitude, not his chivalry.

As the two wearisome transcontinental travelers walked out of the motorized passenger carrier used at Dulles International (not the standard jet way used at other airports....no...our nation’s capital had to be different), the first thing Burt saw was a huge black man dressed in a chauffeur's uniform standing directly in front of them. He was holding a hand-written sign with two names on it: "GRAYSON? YATES", and, as soon as the names registered, Burt tugged on Amanda's arm to get her attention. The chauffeur was obviously there to meet them. A nice touch, Burt thought.

"Hey," Burt said to Amanda, "that guy over there, do you know him?"

Amanda looked up and seeing the sign, got a worried look on her face and answered. "No." As she spoke she slowed her gait slightly. She hadn't ordered a car. Pat had cautioned them to be careful. Was this a trap?"

Before getting all the way to the unexpected greeter, Amanda stepped forward and placed herself in front of Burt, not that she could protect him in case this was a set up, it just seemed the thing to do. She darted her eyes left, then right again to spot any accomplice, but all she saw were scores of non-descript faces of other people there to meet the plane, anyone of whom could spell danger to both Burt and herself.

Two paces away and just out of reach of the man's massive arms that hung off his sides like slabs of meat, she paused, and simultaneously grasped Burt's right arm with her left ready in a moment's notice to dash quickly to the left toward the exit if she needed to. As she moved, the chauffeur followed them with his coal black eyes momentarily, but then shifted his glance to the other passengers who were still unloading from the train. He barely noticed the way the young girl was shying away, and stood there searching the faces of the recent arrivals for his fare, paying little or no attention to Amanda and Burt.

Amanda's eyes were riveted to the chauffeur and when she saw he didn't seem the least bit interested in them, she took a half a step forward and spoke. "Your sign. It says Grayson--Yates. That's our names. Are you looking for us?"

The chauffeur raised his bushy black eyebrows and got a huge smile on his face, a smile that literally seemed to go from earlobe to earlobe revealing two rows of pearly whites contrasted against his chocolate skin. The smile diminished his threatening appearance and unconsciously, Amanda returned the gesture.

The chauffeur then spoke. "Why if yo' names is Ms. Amanda Yates and Mr. Burt Grayson, I certinly is here fo you two."

Burt and Amanda responded by nodding their heads up and down in unison and, as soon as they did, the chauffeur extended his huge hand toward Amanda and nearly swallowed Amanda's hand as he grabbed it from her side.

"I'm Jeremiah Washington," he said as he pumped her arm up and down. "And I'm yo driver." His accent was thickly southern, rich, deep and friendly.

Amanda took back her hand and then asked. "Who sent you?"

Jeremiah stepped forward and grabbed the luggage from Burt's hands and answered. "Mr. Patrick Huxley. He sent me. I'm to drive you right to the office," he replied and then lithely turned and started to walk left toward the baggage claim area. "Now hurry up and we can be off," he added as he lumbered forward.

Amanda beamed at Pat's thoughtfulness and started following Mr. Washington. Burt fell into stride behind her, but then caught up and took her hand as they walked. He was very impressed with the whole affair. First class tickets. A first class lady. First class chauffeur. He was going to like Mr. Huxley. He just knew it.

Amanda felt Burt grab her hand but didn't pull away as she wanted to. In spite of her previous civility toward her traveling companion, she was still royally pissed at him for leaving her high and dry at her motel, so instead of returning the friendly squeeze Burt was giving her hand, she merely let her arm go limp and lifeless--not so limp that Burt would be able to tell she would rather be sticking her hand in a garbage disposal than holding his, just limp enough so she could pretend it wasn't really her hand being held, that it was somehow disassociated from her body.

They arrived at the baggage claim a few minutes later and after they told him which bags were theirs, Jeremiah gathered them up and carried them out to the car. They followed him and quickly jumped into the back seat of the stretch limo to avoid the chilly night air. In a brief forty minutes, Jeremiah pulled the ear up in front of the NSF Building and stopped.

Before getting out, Burt bent down in the seat and then stared up at the non-descript logo which hung centered over the two thick glass entry doors. After all, he was going to be using this facility if he were lucky enough to get the post Amanda offered him and he wanted to remember this moment. The first thought that struck him when he stared upward at the logo was curiosity at just what the NSF did besides showing an interest in thought programming. He had wondered this from the start, but Amanda had purposefully been evasive earlier when he had tried probing her about this, and now, seeing the impressive stone building, his curiosity was piqued even more.

Amanda paid little attention to him as he sat there staring up and she got out and joined Jeremiah at the back of the car where he was finishing unloading the bags. There she watched the chauffeur as he brought her luggage up to the front of the building and marveled at how easily he lifted the suitcase she had had to struggle with on her trip out when she was alone. When he was finished, he tipped his hat and started to get back into the ear. Burt was still seated in the back.

"Come on, Burt. This is it. Let's go! It's getting cold out here!" Amanda said. Some of the earlier edge had returned to her voice as she reminded him she had been out in the cold longer than she liked.

Burt quickly complied and stepped out on the curb and the instant his foot hit the concrete, a cold blast of winter air hit him . A freak snow storm had blown in the previous day, and although most of the snow had melted as soon as it hit, the North wind was still howling and it cut right through Burt's pullover sweater making him realize that he was a true Californian and unused to the Eastern seaboard's colder winter clime.