Turn or Burn (11 page)

I spent ten minutes cross-legged on the floor meditating and then flipped on the tube. Maybe there were some overnight revelations. It took me just a few minutes to find CNN. No, I didn’t care about some twenty-year-old celeb skipping out on her community service in Hollywood. A few tick-tocks later, they brought up the Summit. The journalists had been just as quick as the rest of us. First thing they showed were pictures of Erica and Lucy. And guess what? They were both prostitutes. They showed an interview with one of Lucy’s old friends confirming the rumors that Lucy had been known to sell her body. Then they discussed Erica Conway. Meth, cocaine, and prostitution were her hobbies.

So there it was. Two hookers—two drug addicts—break into a high security conference and attempt to kill a leader in the field of Artificial Intelligence. Why did they care? Was it something much more personal? Had Dr. Sebastian known these two women? Had he done something to them? Or with them? Was he a client? I had a real hard time imagining the cute little doctor with his high trousers swinging by and picking up hookers after spending all day in the lab working on his Fusion Project. Although he did have some lady’s man in him, prostitutes didn’t seem like his bag. Or was it all as obvious as it seemed: that they were after him for what he was doing in the lab?

I needed to speak to Dr. Sebastian’s wife again. We needed to talk more about that threatening phone call, and also learn more about his enemies. And it wouldn’t hurt if I knew a little more about the Singularity.

Francesca knocked on my door. She was showered and ready to go. “
Buongiorno
.”

“
Bongo cheerio
. Come on in.”

“You’re still in bed?” she asked. “I thought you said you didn’t sleep.”

“Not much. I dozed off around four. Just woke a bit ago. Let me grab a shower really quick. Don’t go anywhere.”

I popped into the shower and began to scrub. Francesca came into the bathroom and started talking to me, and it was only weird for a second.
C’mon in,
I was thinking. But she started chatting with me like we were two guys in a locker room. “So I know what that mark was all about.”

Lathering shampoo into my hair, I said, “Talk to me.”

“It’s called a
triskelion
, and it’s been around since the Neolithic Age. Depending on the era and culture—the Celts, Neo-Pagans, Christians, Buddhists, et cetera—it can mean a lot of different things. The cyclical motion can signify motion or man’s progress. The three legs can represent the cycles of life—you know, birth, death, and rebirth. Or it can refer to the phases of the moon. Or spirit, mind, body, or past, present, future, or even the Christian Holy Trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“That really narrows it down. I wish it could have been something a bit more specific. Maybe a swastika or something.”

“Well, who knows? This could just be something between the two of them. Like a tattoo that two friends get.”

“Having it burned into your skin is a bit more aggressive than getting a tattoo. That had to hurt.”

“No doubt about it. But I’d say everything about these two women is aggressive.”

“I’m thinking this is some sort of gang work.”

“Maybe so,” Francesca said, walking out of the bathroom.

I finished up and met her back in the bedroom. Sat down on the bed shirtless. Francesca was at the table now, watching CNN. She muted it. “I’m sure you saw this. We spent all last night trying to find out more about them when we could have just sat around and waited until these guys had it.”

“Yeah, well it’s good to stay ahead. At least we made a friend, even though the cops got to her as well.” I told her about my call with Detective Jacobs.

“We’re going to have to be more careful,” she replied.

“Dr. Sebastian has a lot of enemies, but what did hookers have to do with it? I can’t seem to come up with any kind of logical explanation.”

“Maybe someone paid them to do it,” Francesca offered.

“But they had to know they weren’t going to get out of there. Why would they do something so risky?”

“They might have been lied to. They could have been told there was an escape plan. I can’t imagine those two girls were the smartest on the planet,” she said.

“Francesca, that’s awfully mean of you.”

“Do you disagree?”

“Of course not,” I said. “They were giving blow jobs to fat, dirty baby boomers that couldn’t get any without paying for it. I’m not going to associate that with intelligence. Just saying it sounds like I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Enough,” she said. “Or maybe they thought they could handle some jail time. Could have been paid for it. Jail couldn’t be worse than what they were doing.”

“That’s subjective,” I said. “Don’t know about you, but they were getting more than I was.”

“Classy, Harper. Nobody screwing assholes these days? Shocker.”

“Not this one.” I stood and got my phone. “I’ve got an idea.” I dialed a number I knew by heart. A guy I went to high school with. “Jason, it’s Harper. How are you?”

“Oh, geez. Haven’t you run out of favors yet?”

I pulled a shirt over my head. “I was just calling to see if you wanted to join my bowling team.”

“Right. You know, saving my life more than a decade ago doesn’t mean I owe you forever.”

“You don’t owe me anything. This is more…just friends helping friends.”

“I’m going to lose my pension because of you.”

“No chance. A friend of mine was killed yesterday during the Singularity Summit. And I’m trying to figure out why.”

“Of course you are. I’m sorry to hear about your friend.”

“Thanks. A Detective Jacobs is running the show.”

“Yep, I know him.”

“I’d love anything you can get me on him. But more importantly, I need to know what they have right now. What do they know that they’re not telling the press?”

“Uhhh…okay.”

“One more thing. I need a list of everyone that was arrested during the protests. Names and addresses. It would help me a great deal.”

“What do I get out of this?”

“You still owe me, Jase. This is the last time—”

“I thought you said I
didn’t
owe you.”

“Please do this for me.”

“Jesus. All right.”

“Let’s meet at that Imperial Lanes Bowling Alley on Twenty-Second. At ten.”

Jason sighed. “Fine,” he said. “See you there.”

Two FBI men in an unmarked sedan stopped us as we walked up to the Sebastian’s house. I told them who we were, and they called Luan.

“Go right up,” he said after speaking with her.

Luan answered the door of her home with an apron on. An ironed apron. Even in cooking mode, she was all nice and neat. Her hair was still in a bun. Perfectly applied makeup. “Good morning,” she said. “I never got a chance to thank you for yesterday.”

“Our pleasure. I’m glad we could help,” I said.

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend.”

“Thank you. We wanted to have a few words. We’re trying to get to the bottom of all this.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “How’s your husband?”

“He’s fine. Back to work already, of course.”

“How about your boys?”

“They’re great. Playing upstairs. You guys come inside.”

“We won’t be long,” I said as Francesca and I entered. “Just a few questions.”

We followed Luan inside and took a seat in the living room. Something about “modern” always means uncomfortable. I was going to need a masseuse after a few minutes of sitting in their chair/contraption with a circular ottoman.

“Tell us about the threats,” I started. “I know you’ve already spoken about them many times.” And I’d heard about them several times from Ted, but hearing things straight from the source can often open new doors.

“Well, for the first one, we were all here. I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. The phone rang. No one else picked up so I got it after a few rings. I said hello. A man’s voice I’d never heard before answered. He said, ‘Those that interfere with God’s greater plan must suffer in hell’s eternal flames
.
’ Then he hung up. That was it. That’s when my husband contacted you guys.”

“How about the others?”

“There were three calls before we changed our number. The first two were from the same guy. The second time…he quoted something from the Bible, but I was so shaken up I honestly can’t remember what he said. It was similar, though; about flames and hell. My husband picked up the last one. He didn’t say anything but stayed on the line for a long time. That was it.”

I ran a hand over my beard. “Does he have any specific enemies? I mean, outside of the medical world. Anything not having to do with his profession?”

“I didn’t realize he had a life outside of his profession.”

She said it awkwardly, but I let it go with a little forced smirk.

“Neighbors; the guy at the grocery store. Anything?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“How did you two meet?” Francesca asked. She was on the couch with Luan.

“At MIT. We were in a lot of the same classes.”

“This was grad school?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What were you studying?”

“We were both studying chemical engineering at the time. He switched over to the biology department after a year.”

“And you chose not to finish? I think I remember you saying that.”

“I got pregnant. We did, I mean. So I took some time off.”

“Were you ever going to go back?”

“Sure…that was the intention. I never found the time, though. Raising two boys was about all I could fit onto my plate.”

Francesca said, “Can I ask you something a little more personal, Luan?”

“I suppose.”

“Have you and your husband ever had problems with your marriage? Did you ever split? That kind of thing?”

“No, of course not. Sure, we’ve had our ups and downs, but we never split.”

“Has he ever cheated on you?”

“No. That’s absurd. He doesn’t have time to.”

“Nothing with his partner, Dr. Kramer?” I asked, just throwing out anything that could get a rise, thinking that there had to be some jealousy over the fact that Luan’s husband worked so many long hours with Dr. Nina Kramer, this young Scandinavian blonde. From my experience—though I can see the women of the world shaking their fists at me—all women have a bit of insecurity when it comes to other attractive women. So it was a good way to stir the pot.

“Of course not,” she said in a snappy tone. She didn’t like that question. You see…as I had suspected, ladies.

“Luan,” my Italian partner interjected, “Please, don’t get upset. These are just standard questions.”

“How about the chimp?” I asked. “Any possibility there?”

Francesca brushed me away. “Harper, please shut up.”

“You ask me this because of the prostitutes?” Luan asked. “You think he knew them?”

“We have no idea,” I said, jumping back in. “It just makes sense to pursue any possibility.” She was a bright one, that Luan Sebastian. And oddly more outgoing than she had been in our past encounters. Perhaps nearly losing her husband had softened her some.

“I can assure you he has never had a prostitute in his life. They disgust him. Not to mention he is OCD about cleanliness. Despite what all these religious yahoos are saying—that Wendy Harrill woman on TV especially—he’s a really good man. I wouldn’t say he believes in God and Jesus Christ, but he is as spiritual as anyone I know. Whoever those women were, he did not know them.” A little defensive, but I tended to agree with her.

“I hear you, Luan,” I said. “I don’t doubt your husband’s character.”

“Why don’t you just ask
him
these questions?” she asked.

“As you can imagine, our questions are not welcome by the authorities. He’s a little hard to get to at the moment without drawing some attention. I
am
going to find Dr. Kramer soon, though. You don’t happen to have her address?”

She gave me the address in Green Lake and told me how to get there, which I wrote down on my trusty notepad.

Then I said, “I know there are plenty of reasons, but I want to hear this from you. Why don’t people like what your husband is doing? What’s wrong with it?”

“Because of what it leads to, Mr. Knox. Once this technology goes into the first human brain, how far are we from putting whole computers inside the brain? Inserting terabytes of memory? How far are we from copying one’s entire brain onto a hard drive? How far are we from mind uploading? Being able to take one’s entire mind—the memories, the thoughts, the experiences, the knowledge, the individuality—and upload it all onto a hard drive. That’s when it gets scary. One day, they’re going to be able to hook you up to a computer and make an exact copy of everything that makes you 
you
. Then, when your body dies, you will not.” She looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

“So it’s more like making an exact copy, as opposed to actually sucking out the mind from the body?”

“Right. From what Wilhelm told me, there would be two of the same thing, the exact same thing. And the new brain would grow just like the old one had.”

“It doesn’t sound like it would be the same person.”

“There are arguments both ways. We’ve talked a great deal about it. Think of a Word document. If you save a copy onto a disc and open it on another computer and continue to modify that one after deleting the original, then is that the real document?”