electrophysiological signals are different processes within the brain, different ways we respond to stimuli. By studying the spatial and temporal correlation of the two different processes, we can better understand which neural impulses relate to which cognitive tasks.” “Wait a minute.” I stared at the device lying on Dr. Osbourne’s living room carpet. “You’re not saying this machine can read people’s minds?”
“No, no, no. Nothing that specific.”
“So not at all, then? Not even in a broad sense?”
“No.” He paused though, and his eyes wandered across the far wall. I had to believe he was at least considering the possibility.
“Theoretically, I suppose… this line of research might explore the possibility, but that would still be decades out.” I thought of DARPA and their research on the theoretical weapons systems of the future. I felt like I was slowly seeing all the threads weave together, but I hoped I was wrong.
Ralph scrunched up his face. “But you are telling us it can map the way someone thinks?”
“That’s one way to put it, yes, by identifying specific neural patterns.”
By mapping a person’s unique neural signature the government could identify someone by the one thing no one can cover up or mask or disguise-his brain waves.
Ralph must have shared my thoughts. “Law enforcement could use this instead of facial recognition,” he said. “Install it anywhere.”
A tense thought began scratching at the back of my mind-what if this device could be installed on the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency’s next generation of spy satellites? The NGIA would be able to map people’s neural patterns, and since the technology could “see through” buildings or rubble, it would be able to locate and identify someone whether he was indoors, or outdoors, or hiding in a cave. It was Calvin’s global video project taken to the most extreme level.
Ralph’s ringing phone jarred me back to the conversation. He looked at the number and stepped into the other room to take the call.
And then the final hammer blow fell in my mind. It would still be theoretical, of course, but if it ever became possible… I remembered what Tessa had said.
Think like Dupin.
As impossible as it seems, it did occur, so it must have been possible.
I had to consider it. “Rigel,” I said, opting for familiarity and hoping it would keep him talking. “Could the device be calibrated to do more than simply identify and map the pattern of neural impulses?”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Could it be used to affect those neural signals? Change them?
Disrupt them in some way?” He shook his head. With added urgency I rephrased my question. “Think. Is there any way at all this device could be used to identify a person by the unique neural signature of his brain activity, and then somehow disrupt that activity?”
“You mean cause a cerebrovascular accident?”
“Yes, give the person a stroke. Or maybe cause other irreversible brain damage that might affect behavior?”
“I can’t see how…” He shook his head. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I can’t think of any way you could…”
Ralph stepped back into the room.
“Maybe with the cesium-137?” I said. “Or somehow through the laser targeting? I’m not saying is it possible now, but is it theoretically possible? You have a PhD in neuropathology. Could it ever be possible?”
“No, of course not. You’d need…” He stared into space for a long frozen moment, and then at last his eyes quivered, and his face grew ashen. “Oh…”
That was it. That’s all I needed to hear. “Ralph, we need to get Dr. Osbourne out of here.”
“What? Why?”
“This is my home,” Dr. Osbourne exclaimed. “I’m staying right-” “It’s for your safety. They’ll come after you. You know too much. Listen, do you have any of your research here, or did you send it all to Building B-14?”
“I had some files with me at the conference. I was-”
“Where are they?”
“Mr. Drake,” he was stammering now. “He stopped by thirty minutes before you arrived. I gave him everything. Oh no… I can’t believe I’ve-”
I motioned to Ralph. “Take Rigel to the field office, assign some agents to protect him, then go find Drake and this guy Kurvetek.
Find out who the other researchers are. We need to get them all into protective custody. But keep this as quiet as possible. We still don’t know who’s involved, and it might be someone in the Bureau, or maybe the police department.”
“You think Drake might be Shade?” Ralph said.
I grabbed the device, slipped it back into the oversized laundry bag. “No. I’ve got someone else in mind. Just get Dr. Osbourne to the field office, make sure he’s safe. Then go find Drake. Get Margaret to help you, she’s the only one we can trust.”
“Margaret?”
“She’s not Shade.”
“You’re not really making a lot of-”
“Trust me on this, Ralph.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find Lien-hua.” I tied up the laundry bag with the device inside and carried it to the door. “Melice asked for her by name.
They know her. She’s not safe.”
On the way out the door, my phone rang. An electronically masked voice said, “You have something I want, Dr. Bowers.”
“Shade,” I replied. “I’ve been expecting your call.”
92
“I can assure you,” said Shade. “I’m not the only one looking for it.”
“Good. Let’s get together. You bring some of your friends; I’ll bring some of mine. We’ll have a party.” I started the engine and pulled into the street.
“Dr. Bowers, please. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
“Oh, now see? That wasn’t so smart, threatening a federal agent.
After I catch you, that won’t bode so well for you at the trial.”
Shade ignored what I’d said. “You need to know this goes much deeper and much farther than you could ever guess. The only way to protect yourself and the people you care about is to hand over the device. I’ll give you a time and a place. If you do as I say, you’ll never hear from me or my people again. But if you make me come and get it, this will not end well for you.”
“Bring it on,” I said.
And then I hung up the phone.
Cliche or not, it sure felt good to say it.
Things were beginning to get interesting.
General Cole Biscayne grew tired of the mindless reality show he was watching and turned off his sister’s television. The instant the volume died, he heard a voice behind him, and it wasn’t his sister speaking. “It’s been a long time, Cole.”
And that was the last thing Cole Biscayne ever heard, because then Sebastian Taylor, the assassin Cole had trained more than thirty years earlier, the man who had once been the governor of North Carolina and was now on the FBI’s most wanted list, fired the Glock he was holding, the bullet entered the back of the general’s head and
