with a scene from last year’s Super Bowl.
“Another parlor trick,” said Rubeo, this time with a touch of pride.
The video ended abruptly, replaced by the seals of the CIA and the Department of Defense.
“The Office of Technology is involved in a lot of projects,” said Breanna. “We work very closely with a number of government agencies. Some of us work for the Defense Department, and some of us for the CIA. You might say our responsibilities are intramural.”
The CIA still had its own technology department, separate from Breanna’s operation. The Wizards of Langley were responsible for a host of innovations, everything from supersonic spy planes to microscopic bugs. But changes in the organizational structure of the intelligence and military communities, along with severe budget cuts, had moved a great deal of their work over to the Defense Department. Some research had always been outsourced in any event, and many of the changes simply meant that the scientists, engineers, and other technical experts simply had a different paymaster.
Whether directly funded by the CIA or through the Defense Department, the problem wasn’t coming up with new technology. It was getting it out of the developmental labs and into the hands of field agents. Breanna, with her Dreamland background, had been picked to make that happen. One solution was to simply eliminate much of the bureaucratic infrastructure. Where once layers of liaisons and department managers had fought over turf in both Defense and Intelligence, now a handful of people worked with her and the scientists directly.
“Is Whiplash going to be a CIA command?” asked Danny. “Or military?”
“Neither,” said Breanna. “It’s more like a hybrid.”
“How?”
“We’re going to work that out. You’re going to help.”
“OK.”
Breanna glanced at her watch. Reid and Nuri Lupo were due to meet them in a half hour.
“Let’s introduce him to MY-PID,” she told Rubeo. “We have a meeting soon and I’d like him to be familiar with some of the technology.”
Rubeo closed his eyes. He hated the nickname; it was very 1984. “Very well. Come with us, Colonel. And please don’t touch anything. It may blow up.”
Rubeo was so deadpan that Freah didn’t know whether that had been a joke or not.
The scientist led the way down the hallway — more nano walls — to a small room set up like a library. Small armchairs were clustered around a large cube at the center of the room. The cube that was a display unit for MY- PID. Breanna took one of the chairs and pulled it close to the cube. Danny did the same.
“Ray Rubeo, 13–13–13,” said Rubeo.
“Acknowledged,” said a disembodied voice.
“I need the weather in Moscow. Display it please.”
A graphic showing a sun covered by a cloud appeared on the center screen. The temperature, in Celsius and Fahrenheit, appeared under it.
“The weather tomorrow, in Moscow,” said Rubeo.
Rain.
Rubeo made a number of other requests for data, all instantly answered by the computer. Danny was used to computers and their ability to quickly produce data from their memory banks. While the cube and its graphics appeared very slick, the system didn’t seem to be anything unusual. Even the voice command interface was familiar from Dreamland.
Rubeo produced a small button from his pocket and placed it on top of the cube.
“Locate Colonel Freah and project his image,” said the scientist.
Danny’s image — captured by the tiny video bug — was displayed on the screen.
“How does it know it’s me?” asked Danny.
“Produce positive identification of subject,” said Rubeo. The computer complied, displaying a skeletal biometric image next to Danny’s face.
Danny still wasn’t impressed.
Rubeo took a set of earphones and a small, iPodlike device from his other pocket and handed it to him. Danny put on the device, and heard the computer’s voice ask him to identify himself.
“Danny Freah.”
“Identity confirmed. Please calibrate voice level.”
“It wants to get a feel for how loud you’re going to talk to it,” explained Breanna. “There are microphones in the wire.”
“How loud should I talk?”
“Whatever level you’re comfortable with,” Breanna said.
“Testing, testing,” said Danny.
“Ask it any question you wish,” said Rubeo.
“Who won the World Series?” asked Danny.
“Which year?” asked the Voice.
“Last year.”
“The Boston Red Sox, four games to two, over the Chicago Cubs.”
“Who’s going to win this year?”
“Insufficient data.”
Rubeo rolled his eyes. He glanced at Breanna, then left the room.
“Locate Dr. Rubeo,” said Breanna after he was gone.
The screen moved its schematic, showing Rubeo in the maze of rooms about fifty meters away. He was in a lounge area, making himself a cup of tea.
“It’s tied into a satellite system that can be used to track individuals all over the world,” Breanna explained. “The system uses biomarkers that can be picked up by the satellites. There are some limitations, but as long as a subject is aboveground, the system can find him. Down here, a separate system is used. The rings. The Voice can plug into a number of different systems, not just its central core here. It’s like an automated assistant. The idea is that it will help CIA officers in the field. And Whiplash.”
“How close to going operational is it?” asked Danny.
“We’ve been using it for a little over two months on a special project. You’re going to hear about that project in about twenty minutes.”
“Where is this MY-PID?”
“It’s not in a specific place.” Breanna always had trouble explaining exactly how the system worked. “Think of it as a cloud, or even the Internet. The computers you just passed are part of it, but they’re not the sum total. The network is scattered around the world, and then there are the different sensors. Different video bugs can be plugged in, and the system can ask to be admitted to some databases and other intelligence systems.”
“Who controls it?”
“No one. The Voice is completely automated. It’s on its own — just like your laptop would be. Because, that’s what it is: a personal computer for field operators.”
Danny wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that — a computer system that had no one running it? The parallel to personal computers didn’t reassure him.
“All right. How does Whiplash fit into this?”
“MY-PID will be one of its tools. The unit itself will work on different projects. We want you to support Nuri on Jasmine — he’ll explain that.”
“Support?”
“Yes. The whole idea is to get technology onto the front lines. Whiplash is part of that.”
“Are we testing, or doing?”
“Both. Just like we were at Dreamland. Whiplash and all of us.”
Danny felt comfortable with the parallel to Dreamland, but using a computer system that had no human supervisor sounded impractical. There had been a few automated systems at Dreamland — the robot Ospreys, for example, which were part of his security at the base. But even there, someone on watch was always supervising them, prepared to jump in and override if necessary. Here, there was no supervision.
“I was hoping that we would have more time to build things up, but this situation seems more serious than
