Game Changer (32 page)

50

Mizrahi’s eyes fluttered open and it took him several long seconds to get
his bearings. He was seat belted in on the passenger’s side of the Land Rover
with Dmitri Kovonov at the wheel.

“What happened?” he said, still feeling groggy.

Kovonov smiled warmly. “You were exhausted. Maybe you need more vitamin C,
Yosef. Or caffeine at any rate. Anyway, I insisted you take a nap.”

He looked around. “Where is Daniel?”

 
“You really are
tired,” said Kovonov.

Mizrahi searched his memory and recent events slowly
came back to him. They had left the twenty members of the church group behind, all
relieved that their ordeal would soon be coming to an end. He remembered that
Kovonov had asked Eisen to watch the group for another five hours before
releasing them. Given that the US was ramping up a manhunt to find Dmitri
Kovonov, he was vulnerable, and it was important that he be given a head start.

The rest of the recent past began to seep into Mizrahi’s
brain as he awakened more fully. Before he and Kovonov had left, the great man
had asked to speak privately with Eisen, to give him a new assignment after he
finished babysitting the evangelicals. Mizrahi hadn’t been told the nature of Eisen’s
new assignment, but he knew it must be important. He wondered when he would see
his colleague again.

A sheepish expression came over Mizrahi’s face. “Dumb
question,” he said. “Daniel’s back at camp, of course, waiting to free the
prisoners. How could I have forgotten? I must have been groggy from the sleep.”

“Must have been,” agreed Kovonov sagely.

51

In addition to funding civilian scientists at top universities to
conduct research in their own labs, the United States government and military
maintained secret laboratories throughout the country, working on advanced
weapons, computers, drones, satellites, aircraft, nanites, and just about every
other area of science and technology in existence. Rachel Howard had received
grant money from the government in the past, but she never imagined her results
might be funneled into a secret netherworld where brightly lit labs existed in
the figurative shadows.

Now that she was actually
in
one of these secret labs, it was a lot easier to imagine.

And not just any secret lab. A notorious one. She had not known
this offhand, but even the simplest online query was enough to reveal an
avalanche of infamy extending back many decades.

Plum Island was three miles long
and one wide, not far from New York City and quite near the Hamptons, a famous
seaside resort. Owned by the government for over half a century, most recently
the Department of Homeland Security, it was the known site of labs working on
biological warfare
—
defense
only, if the military was to be believed
—
and the suspected site of considerable additional secret biological
research.
 

The island was rumored to have been
the site of work on so many esoteric and lethal microbes, including those
engineered by its scientists, and the subject of so many lapses in containment,
it was widely considered a toxic cross between Area 51 and Three Mile Island.

What Rachel had learned from Cris
Coffey
—
while being
whisked to the island with Kevin Quinn like so much illegal black market cargo
—
was that the military had been responsible
for these very rumors, borrowing from a playbook that had long served it well.
If you wanted to discourage curious reporters and civilians from trying to
breach the robust security on your secret base and gain entry, ensuring they
were terrified of being exposed to lethal contaminants was a good way to do it.

In 2020, with great fanfare, DHS
had announced they had sold Plum Island to a reclusive Internet billionaire,
but Coffey explained this was also a ruse. Ownership had changed hands all right,
but only from one shadowy government organization to another: from DHS to a
Black Ops group that had not only assumed command but had upgraded the
facilities with the most expensive equipment and the latest breakthrough tech
coming from other government labs.

The military man running the
advanced neuroscience lab on the island, Major Roger McLeod, had once reported
to Coffey, and had agreed to ensure that no one on Plum Island would disclose
the identity of their honored guests, even to the president or Greg Henry.
Coffey had fully briefed him, explaining that the stakes were so high they
couldn’t afford to have even a single person in the loop who didn’t absolutely
need to be.

McLeod had simply laughed and
reminded Coffey that he had been out of Black Ops too long, and that they
weren’t in the habit of reporting their activities to the president and DHS
anyway.

Coffey had been amazing and Rachel
could see why Kevin thought so highly of him. He was taking a big risk keeping
his superiors in the dark, a risk that could end up costing him his job
—
or worse. He had supplied her and Kevin
with untraceable phones and laptop computers designed for the leadership of the
NSA, with more speed and power than was yet available on the market, the equal
of the best mainframes only a few short years earlier.

They had confided in Coffey to a large extent, telling him about
Israel’s Matrix Learning program and that Kovonov was behind it, determined to
deploy advanced neurotech. But they had not let him know that Matrix Learning
had ultimately driven Kovonov mad, or that there were ticking time bombs in the
minds of untold members of Israel’s upper echelon: scientists, military, and
politicians. For now, they would keep this to themselves,
out of respect
for the wishes of Eyal Regev.

While Coffey was pulling strings to make things happen, he put his
two wards up at a bed-and-breakfast hotel in the Hamptons. Quinn under the
Kevin Moore identity and Rachel under the name of Angie Helms Loftin.

True to his word, Eyal Regev had provided Rachel with the
passwords she needed to access the Mossad’s entire database on Matrix Learning,
and Coffey had made sure she could do so in a way that couldn’t be traced back
to her location. When she wasn’t watching a movie in the hotel with Kevin, or
sharing a meal, she was poring over this data like a kid in a candy store,
twelve to fourteen hours a day.

She and Quinn developed an easy rapport and an undeniable
chemistry: the bad boy whose life had been shattered and the geek genius
scientist too busy changing the world to maintain a serious relationship. On
paper, it shouldn’t have worked, but in reality it did
—
only too well.

Finally, when it became clear they were falling for each other on
any number of levels, they had discussed it openly. Both had acknowledged the
elephant in the room, and both were determined to ignore it
—
for now. Rachel could be the key to
preventing widespread chaos and destruction, at minimum. Under the
circumstances, giving in to her attraction to Quinn would be a distraction she
couldn’t afford.

He agreed and also thought it unprofessional to have relations
with a woman he was protecting. He joked that he needed all of his blood
flowing to his brain when he was with her, and he was afraid that might not be
the case if he got any closer. She could have taken this declaration any number
of ways, but their relationship had evolved to a point that she took it as he
had intended, as amusing and flattering.

After three days of this they had arrived on the Island and to a
large five-story building overlooking the Atlantic that had been designated the
Advanced Neurotechnologies Laboratory
.
Since this abbreviated to ANL, or Anal, the building’s inhabitants referred to
it as
The Anus.
This had been an irreverent
joke in the beginning but had become so commonly used the scientists there rarely
considered its anatomical meaning anymore.

Living quarters had been made available to the two guests on the
Island, with Kevin’s quarters right next to Rachel’s. While they didn’t reside
with the rest of the Anus personnel, the major made sure to tie Rachel into the
lab’s computers and equipment.

With this complete, the major decided it was time to introduce
them privately to the scientific head of the lab, Dr. Karen Black, who was
exceedingly familiar with Rachel Howard and her work.

The major escorted Dr. Black to Rachel’s quarters, and her eyes
bulged from their sockets when the Harvard professor came into view. “
Rachel Howard?
” she said in disbelief.

She stared at Rachel for several long seconds and then, deciding
this wasn’t an illusion, extended her right hand. “It is a true honor,
Professor Howard.”

“Thank you,” replied Rachel simply, shaking the woman’s hand.

The head of the lab introduced herself and they quickly agreed to
use first names. Even if this hadn’t been Rachel’s habitual choice, it was
standard practice for scientists working together to eschew titles, as they
added an unneeded level of formality and all of their MDs and PhDs tended to
cancel each other out, anyway.

“I can’t tell you how often I’ve fantasized about getting the
chance to consult with you,” said Karen Black, and although Quinn had shaken
her hand as well, Rachel doubted she was even aware any longer that he and the
major were still in the room.

“You should have,” said Rachel. “I would have been happy to help
out.”

Karen shook her head wistfully, her short brown hair barely
moving. “I know you would have. But when these type of research facilities
decide they want someone with a particular expertise, they tend to recruit
right out of graduate school. And they can be more persuasive than you’d
imagine. They offer futuristic resources to draw on and funding that never runs
dry. The chance to work on important, leading edge science right out of grad
school. And compensation triple what you could have gotten elsewhere.” She frowned.
“But there is a catch.”

Rachel nodded. “Let me guess,” she said. “It’s harder to consult
with people like me. And you can’t ever publish your findings.” She was at
least somewhat familiar with the work of every scientist in the field, and
hadn’t heard of this woman, so she was sure her assessment was correct.

“Exactly. You become invisible as a scientist.”

“Regrettable,” said Major McLeod, “but necessary. But I can tell
you, Professor, Dr. Black has done some brilliant work. If she were in academia,
I’m sure you would find her a peer.”

“Thank you, Major,” said Karen. “I am proud of the work I’ve done.
But the professor here is in a league of her own.”
 

52

Rachel had been told by Karen Black that the Anus housed sixteen
PhD or MD neuroscientists and an army of fifty-nine subordinate lab technicians.
Since she had not become acclimated to this nickname for the Advanced
Neurosciences Laboratory, she found this highly amusing at a sophomoric level
she had thought she’d long outgrown.

But apparently not.

If the question, “What’s inside the anus?” ever did arise, she had
been quite sure the correct answer would never be, “sixteen neuroscientists and
fifty-nine lab techs.”

Which just went to show how dramatically her life had changed.

They had also learned that a team of six ex-special forces
commandos handled security on the island. Quinn had commented dryly that after
surviving a number of years in the special forces, joining the Secret Service
or defending Black sites like Plum Island was considered light duty.

To extend the childish scatological humor further, the security
team had taken to calling themselves Prep H. When Rachel had asked why this
was, they had grinned and told her it was short for
Preparation H
. In their view a fitting designation since they and
this product had both been tasked with protecting the Anus.

Again, Rachel couldn’t help but smile. On an island full of
stir-crazy scientists and soldiers, naming the primary facility ANL was just
asking for trouble. She had considered advising them to change it to
Progressive Neurological Sciences
, or
PNS, and had laughed out loud at the thought of the penis jokes that would soon
follow.

The Prep H group had been ordered to make protecting her their
highest priority until they were told otherwise, so she knew that they would be
patrolling outside of her quarters and giving her their every attention. She
had felt guilty about this and had suggested Kevin Quinn was protection enough,
but they had told her politely that this decision wasn’t up to her, and they
would make sure she was protected whether she liked it or not.

She had begun her research right after meeting Karen Black, with
the scientific head of the laboratory happily conducting experiments at her
request, dropping her own projects and giddy at the opportunity to work with
one of her scientific idols.

The head of the lab and Major McLeod were the only two on Plum
Island who had been fully briefed on everything Rachel and Kevin knew, other
than the fact that Matrix Learning eventually led to madness. Since Rachel
couldn’t allow herself to be seen by others in the Anus who might recognize her,
she worked from her residence a short distance away.

 
The progress Rachel made in
just a few short days was nothing short of breathtaking. First, she had climbed
the learning curve on Kovonov’s original Matrix Learning procedure in record
time while still at the Hamptons. The Mossad’s data was quite comprehensive and
well laid out, and she had spent many years thinking about the problem. But
more importantly, Kovonov had used
her
insights,
her
ideas, for ninety
percent of what he had done.

He had made a few lucky guesses that did extend the work, but he
would have been nowhere without her theories, which she had formulated just out
of grad school. He was only able to perfect the technique because Israel had
poured so much money for so long into this research that they had developed
specialized technologies to accomplish it.

No wonder he worshiped Rachel, who had been an unknowing collaborator.
He could never have succeeded without her.

She felt like Alan Turing, a man whose vision had outrun the state
of technology in his era, who had developed sophisticated concepts for modern
computers that he didn’t have the means to turn into reality.

She had been working for years on ways to get Matrix Learning to
work remotely, bypassing the more limited method the Israelis had developed,
not content to get there in stepwise fashion. She had no interest in working
toward technology that would require multi-million dollar MRI-like equipment,
subjects to have electronics surgically implanted, and the need for them to be
tethered to the equipment for the knowledge download to occur.

So after coming up to speed on Kovonov and his team’s original
process, she began working to understand the new, more mobile process he had
developed, which had given him the tools he needed to go rogue. Despite this
being the area of her greatest expertise, Kovonov had hidden his notes and data
from the Mossad, so she would normally have had no way to make progress on this
front.

Except that a way had been handed to her in the form of a Secret
Service agent named Kevin Quinn. A priceless tool that had magically fallen
into her lap from out of nowhere
—
or
into the back of her SUV in any case.

Quinn had been tampered with remotely, seamlessly. She was certain
that the evidence of how this was accomplished had been left behind inside his
brain, and she quickly discovered she was correct.

Again, Kovonov had built on
her
work, using her theories, thoughts, algorithms, and experimental protocols. Much
of it material that she had yet to publish. He had clearly used fly drones or
hack-ware to get her passwords and steal her most innovative work.

She felt totally violated, but at the same time she was flattered
and gratified that he had gotten her ideas to work. She couldn’t wait to study
what he had done.

On the third day of her stay on Plum Island, Rachel asked the
major to set up a meeting so she could provide a status update. She hadn’t even
had the chance to discuss her findings with Kevin Quinn, her primary research
tool. She was working so hard she had temporarily become a recluse, unaware the
outside world even existed. The few times she had tried to catch the news
online or on TV, one story dominated the coverage, about a massacre at a place
called Cockaponset State Forest in Connecticut, the latest of a long line of horrific
terror attacks carried out by Islamic extremists.

The meeting took place in Rachel’s quarters, which the major had ordered
modified on her first day there. Contractors had cut an opening between her and
the apartment to her north, which had been transformed into an office fitted
with expensive computers and monitors. Quinn, still to her south, teased her
about her decadent quarters and royal treatment, but she reminded him that as
her personal bodyguard he benefited from guarding her in larger environs.

When those attending physically
—
Kevin Quinn, Roger McLeod, and Karen Black
—
had seated themselves around a glass table
on the office side of her twin dwelling, vid-meet software created a virtual
table and integrated Cris Coffey’s 3-D image into the meeting.

Rachel sat at the head of both the virtual and real tables and
welcomed all participants.

“Thanks for accommodating my schedule,” said Coffey before they
began. Since he hadn’t told his superiors about this project he had very little
flexibility.

Rachel smiled warmly. “For you, Cris, anything.”

“If only my wife would say that once in a while,” said Coffey dryly.

There were smiles all around. Rachel waited a moment for them to
fade and then began. “As you all know, Karen and I have been working around the
clock for the past three days trying to understand how Kovonov was able to do
what he did. With the goal of finding a way to stop him
.”

She didn’t mention her other goal:
learning why the process ultimately led to madness.

“In the days before I arrived,” she continued, “I studied the
Mossad’s files on Matrix Learning. So I first want to bring everyone up to
speed on my progress.” She gestured appreciatively toward Karen Black. “On
our
progress,” she amended.

“How far over our heads will it be?” asked Coffey.

“It won’t be. I know you aren’t trained in neuroscience. I’ll be
giving you simplified explanations and I’ll try to focus on the big picture.”
 

She went on to explain how the Israeli Matrix Learning technology worked
as best she could for twenty minutes.

“Rachel makes it sound simple,”
said Karen when she had finished her summary, “but believe me, it isn’t. Turns
out the Israelis based most of this technology on her theories. I’ve worked in
the leading edge of this field for many years and
I
still have a long way to go to truly understand this, even with
the professor’s tutelage.”

Rachel nodded to acknowledge the
compliment.
“Understanding stationary Matrix
Learning with the help of copious data files is one thing,” she said. “But as
you all know, Kovonov has now advanced beyond this technology. No more plugging
into pricey machinery. Now he can manipulate minds on the go. This is a more
challenging problem that wasn’t outlined in any Mossad database.”

“Were you able to get anywhere?” asked Coffey.

“Yes. Because of Kevin.
Without someone Kovonov had
manipulated I’d have some guesses, but I’d never know for sure what approach he
was using.”

 
Rachel shook her head. “Ironically,” she
continued, “if he hadn’t been so set on killing me, I’d never have known about
any of this, or made any of the progress I’ve made.”

She had become convinced that this
obsession with ending her life was a byproduct of his madness rather than any
rational thinking.

“And maybe someone up there is
looking out for us,” said Rachel. “Kevin Quinn alone doesn’t pose any danger to
Kovonov. My work alone wouldn’t either. But the two of us together at this research
facility is his worst nightmare.
Doesn’t
mean I can figure out what he’s doing and stop him. But not only did he fail to
kill us, he actually provided the catalyst that drove us together. This was a
big mistake on his part, and at least gives us a
chance
.”

“So what have you found?” asked Coffey.

“Let me start by explaining
how
I found it,” said Rachel. “I began by taking a sample of neurons from Kevin’s
brain.”

“She assured me I wouldn’t miss them too much,” said Quinn good-naturedly.
“But if I ever say or do anything stupid in the future, just know that this is
the reason.”

“Glad I could give you an excuse,” replied Rachel, breaking into a
smile.

She touched the screen of a tablet computer and a four-foot by
four-foot image of a small group of neurons appeared above the center of the
virtual table and began to slowly rotate. The 3-D image was almost neon blue in
color, shining from an inner glow, and displaying a number of what looked like misshapen
octopi with far too many over-elongated tentacles.

“This is an image from ANL’s electron microscope that Karen was
kind enough to generate,” explained Rachel. “Depicting eleven neurons from
Kevin’s brain.”

“Neurons that no longer have to fear being killed by alcohol,” added
Quinn wryly.

Rachel smiled and continued. “Notice that they’ve been dyed blue
for better clarity.”

She pressed another button on the computer and red circles now
appeared around two distinct neuronal structures, which both resembled barren
shrubberies.

“These are dendrites,” she said, pointing at the branches of a circled
shrub that extended from a main cell body. “They receive impulses.”

She pointed at the other circled shrub, which extended from the
end of a long octopus arm. “And these are axon terminals. Which send impulses.
But for the sake of our discussion, their identities and roles aren’t important.
There won’t be a test.”

She touched her tablet again and the image of one of the circled
dendrites exploded in size, while the rest of the image disappeared. “I’ve
magnified a dendrite extending from one of the cell bodies. Note that even at
this magnification nothing appears amiss. But if I zoom in even farther,” she
said, making this happen as she spoke, “you can see a disk clinging to the main
branch. Notice that this disk is perfectly circular.”

“I take it that this is a structure that shouldn’t be there,” said
Quinn uneasily.

“No it shouldn’t. Extrapolating from our small sample, Karen and I
calculated that there are about two hundred billion of these in your brain. And
they are perched on every important neuron you have, like small birds clinging
to telephone lines. But birds capable of affecting neuronal transmission. We’ve
studied several of these at great length under the electron microscope.”

“What are they?” asked Coffey.

Rachel touched her tablet and the image disappeared entirely. “Collectively
these particles are called
smart dust
.
They’re designed and deployed using specifications that
I
came up with,” she said in frustration.

“Think of them as nano-electronic devices, smaller than bacteria,”
she continued. “Nanites for short. So small they would make a particle of
talcum powder look like Mt. Everest. Yet each has enough intelligence to know
where they are within the brain, and also in relation to their brethren. And
they can react to external commands—induce the firing of a neuron, block the
firing, and so on. Think of each as having an individual IP address.”