The Housewife Assassin's Ghost Protocol (10 page)

Abu shakes his head. “More than likely he’s exporting it
out
of the Middle East. Similarly sized shipments have been discovered on other private yachts and jets of wealthy Arab businessmen who are known to straddle both sides of the political discourse.”

Ryan frowns. “Believe it or not, you stumbled upon our most recent assignment.”

Jack and I stare at each other before turning to face him. “How so?” Jack asks.

“When Arnie hacked into the
Divide & Conquer
’s computer system, he pulled up something even more important than the yacht’s security codes and schematic. Arnie, why don’t you fill them in on it?”
 

Preening under Ryan’s rare praise, Arnie says, “On a whim, I decided to snoop around Salem’s personal computer. He’d received an encrypted file within a very recent email. I guess he hadn’t had time to upload it into his secure cloud because his hot and heavy party—or should I say orgy—was underway.”

“What’s in the file?” I ask.

Arnie nods toward Ryan.

“I’ve been waiting for you and Jack before briefing the rest of your mission team. The file contained white papers from a top-secret project run by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency,” Ryan replies. He pauses, then adds, “DARPA is creating a prototype for a ‘super soldier.’ It’s called ‘Operation Hercules.’” His pause comes with a frown. “The Quorum somehow got wind of it, then breached the program’s security measures. I made POTUS aware of this. In turn, he’s given Acme the mission of discovering how the breach was committed, and how much of the program has been compromised.”
 

“Wait…‘super soldiers?’ You mean, like, cyborgs?” Arnie asks. “Awesome!”

Ryan frowns. “No, of course not. We’re talking about human assets who will undergo some physical and mental enhancements so that they’d be larger, stronger, and smarter before going out into the battlefield.”
 

I shiver as the memory of the new and improved Salem comes to mind. “Is Captagon part of the program? Is that why the yacht’s hull was filled with it?”

“The white papers don’t mention Captagon. Unlike the Quorum using drugs for a false, addictive high, DARPA’s goal is more holistic—that is to say, body, mind, and soul,” Ryan counters.

“That sounds so airy-fairy,” Jack mutters.

“In fact, it’s pure science, not science-fiction,” Ryan insists.

Jack’s eyes narrow. “In what way?”

“Three teams of scientists are working on different portions of the project. Up until the presentation to the NSC oversight committee, they worked around the clock, independently—in fact, in different secure locations—and completely unaware of each other.” Ryan hits a key on his computer that brings up our mission’s case file notes on one of the conference wall’s video screens.
 

The first page shows a man in his mid-thirties. He wears the Valley’s ubiquitous uniform of a man of his stature—that is to say, black long-sleeve T-shirt, worn over jeans and sockless loafers—and sports tortoise-shell glasses, a pony tail, and just enough boho scruff on his lantern jaw to pass as a hipster.

He stands beside a man with one arm that is of normal size, and another that looks doll-like. “An important component of the project is stem cell research, especially as it pertains to DNA editing,” Ryan explains. “One team is conducting research on regenerative bioengineering. It’s headed up by Doctor Rudy Brooks, who works at DNA 10Squared, a biotechnology firm and DARPA contractor on several projects. The company is located in Palo Alto.”
 

“How will it be used?” Emma asks.

“Great question. Imagine if a soldier who lost a leg because he happened to step on an IED could grow a new one within a few days,” Ryan explains. “It’s worked successfully in lab rats. This veteran—who, as you see is an amputee—volunteered to be a human test subject. His new arm is already growing.”

“What you are talking about, old man, are biolimbs,” Dominic pipes in. “My God! Imagine its use in the private sector!”

Ryan nods. “Like most of our military’s innovations, it will eventually impact civilian lives in a significant way. There are over two million amputees today in this country. Close to one hundred and fifty amputations happen every year. Think of how their lives will be affected.” He shakes his head at the wonder of it all. “Another application for his research is genome-editing technology.”

“What is that, exactly?” Abu asks.

“A lab tool called a CRISPR allows scientists to manipulate DNA in the nucleus,” Ryan continues. “Imagine tiny ‘molecular scissors’ guided by satellite navigation that have the ability to reach within any cell—be it sperm, a one-celled embryo, or an egg—and
 
either insert good DNA, or snip out the bad stuff prior to replication of DNA in the next generation.”

I shake my head. “It sounds as if we’re now playing God.”
 

“Humans weren’t supposed to fly either,” Ryan argues. “Today, going to the moon is an afterthought. Imagine if you were able to snip the BRCA1 breast cancer out of your DNA, and in doing so, eradicate it in your descendants. Would you do so?”

The vision of my mother’s final days on earth come to mind. “Without hesitation,” I murmur.
 

“For DARPA, this generation of super soldiers will be surgically enhanced. But the next generation will be created at inception,” Ryan points out.

“Gee, whatever happened to free will?” Emma mutters. “I mean, what if the dude wants to dance ballet instead?”

“Trust me; he’ll get offers from every dance company in the world,” Dominic declares.
 

“He’s right,” Ryan adds. “And diseases such as cystic fibrosis, hemophilia, muscular dystrophy, and sickle cell will be things of the past.”

I shrug. “The commercial application will be a stockholder’s wet dream, not to mention parents who want a designer baby.”

“Do the agency’s experiments include DNA editing with other species?” Emma asks warily.

“By that, do you mean is it creating chimeras?” I wonder out loud.

“Half man and half beast? That’s pretty scary!” Abu shakes his head at the thought.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, people. DARPA doesn’t want mutants. The ethics issue alone would kill the program,” Ryan warns. “It’ll look more like this.” He hits the computer key again.
 

A different picture appears. An older gentleman—portly, with a goatee—is working with a man wearing a prosthetic arm. The man’s head is taped with electrodes. He appears to be lifting a heavy weight. “This is Dr. Norbert Welles, who heads up the second group of researchers who is working on neural implants that can control robotic prosthetics. He’s the founder of MesmerMind, a start-up based in San Francisco.”
 

“A reboot of the Bionic Man?” Arnie’s fist pumps the air. “Awesome!”

“This isn’t one of your comic book fantasies, Arnie,” Ryan growls. “This is real life.”

“What does the third team’s research entail?” Jack asks.

“Memory modification,” Ryan answers. “Operation Hercules is providing the most comprehensive research that has ever been conducted in the physiology of memory. Dr. Shelley Wollstonecraft leads this team. She works at UC Berkeley’s BioEngineering Department.”

He taps the key once more. This time, a woman appears on the screen. She is in her mid-thirties, and stunningly beautiful. Her long dark hair curls to her shoulders. Dr. Wollstonecraft stands beside a CT scan of a green-hued brain. While in mid-conversation with someone not in the photo, she points to an area of the cerebral cortex that is highlighted in a vibrant red color.
 

“What exactly is memory modification?” Dominic asks.

I presume it’s what every woman who has had the misfortune of being sweet-talked into having sex with Dominic must do in order regain her self respect. Still, I wait for Ryan’s answer.

“Consider the changes that would occur in our lives if there were a way in which we could effectively block bad memories,” Ryan explains. “Like those which cause veterans Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
 

“Cool! Sort of like the movie,
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
!” Arnie proclaims.

“Yes…I mean
no
!” Ryan rubs his eyes as if doing so might make his annoyance with Arnie somehow disappear. “Again, this is real life. If the research holds, Operation Hercules’ assets will be emotionally unified in their mission. And, once again, their success means civilians soon reap the benefits of the research as well. Be they combat vets or everyday citizens who have found themselves in trying circumstances, over five percent of our country’s citizens have experienced some form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It will also help the millions of others who’ve suffered some crippling phobia, or a debilitating anxiety—not to mention those with addictions.”

Still in doubt, Emma shakes her head. “Come on, Ryan! What we’re talking about here is mind control!”

“What’s wrong with the good old-fashioned way of dealing with mental health issues—you know, like talk therapy, or a correctly prescribed program of drug therapy?” Dominic asks.

“Again, it’s memory modification, Emma. And, to answer your question, Dominic: pyscho-phramaceuticals and behavioral therapies don’t do as good of a job. All pharmaceuticals have some form of side effect. And, unfortunately, behavioral therapy often lapses over time.”

“With advances in medical technologies, both drug and behavioral therapies can, and will, be tweaked with the patient in mind,” I counter.

“That may be the case, but no time soon—unless we’re able to crack the last frontier: the human brain, which is exactly what Dr. Wollstonecraft is doing,” Ryan replies. “PET and MRI scans allow neuroscientists to monitor the brain’s metabolic changes and blood flow, but this technology can’t measure neuron activity.” He sighs. “That’s where Dr. Wollstonecraft’s project comes in. She and her team have already identified and mapped pathways where the brain creates, archives, and recalls memories. By the end of the month, their research will be validated by human test subjects.”
 

“Since we police the world—for peanuts to our allies, and at the expense of a living wage to our military personnel—I guess super-sizing our soldiers is one way to throw them a bone,” Emma mutters. “But how will these so-called modifications affect them after their tours of duty?”

“Great question,” I murmur.

Obviously, Ryan doesn’t share my opinion, because he ignores it. Instead, his eyes shift from one of us to the other. “Ladies and gentleman, our world is swiftly moving beyond conventional warfare. If we are going to fight fanatical terrorism without the collateral damage of innocent victims, we need to be smarter, stronger, and more select in tracking down our enemies: on a case-by-case basis. Operation Hercules is the answer. And DARPA—not to mention POTUS—has put the program’s security in our hands.”

Our mission team can succinctly read in Ryan’s tone:
Get onboard, or get out.

After what Jack and I have seen these past forty-eight hours, we really don’t have a choice.
 

Jack shrugs his acceptance of the inevitable. “Okay, we’re in. Tell us about the security breach.”
 

“It was old school: there was no technological hacking because all three teams kept their notes on paper, and under lock and key. To assure this, anyone working on the project was kept under twenty-four-hour surveillance from day one.”

“Who had access to the papers?” I ask.

“The project’s three lead scientists presented white papers on their projects on Thursday.”

“That would have been the day before Salem hit Biarritz,” I reason. “Who is on this committee, and where did it meet?” I ask.

“The scientists presented their findings to POTUS, Director of Intelligence Marcus Branham, and the director of DARPA. The meeting was too large to hold in the Oval Office. My guess is that it took place in the West Wing’s Roosevelt Room,” Ryan reasons.
 

“Don’t leave us in suspense,” I chide Ryan. “Who are our prime suspects? Make my day and tell us it’s Todd and Blake.”

“No, sorry. It’s Dr. Brooks, for one,” Ryan says. “And Dr. Wollstonecraft.” He takes a deep breath. “And, er, President Chiffray.”

“Lee? Why am I not surprised?” Jack mutters.
 

He doesn’t need a reason to be at odds with Lee. He’s already got one:

Me.

“In his defense, Jack, only POTUS and his new Director of Intelligence, Marcus Branham, knew that each of the officially released copies has a light-sensitive halo that is invisible to the naked eye. Scanning, photographing, or photocopying will set off a silent digital alarm that allows the compromised copy to be identified with the time and date of the breach. And, by the way, it was POTUS who insisted that Acme be hired to investigate the leak, since we were the ones who exposed it.”
 

Jack shrugs. What can he say? In this matter, Lee’s actions speak volumes: he is not looking for a cover-up.
 

“I presume you haven’t divulged to POTUS his role in the breach,” Jack counters.

“You presume correctly. He only knows that a breach occurred, but not how and when. Frankly, I’d like to keep it that way. It assures his hands are clean during our investigation,” Ryan points out.

“What are the time stamps on the breaches?” Dominic asks.

“The meeting lasted all day,” Arnie replies. “All of the papers that were compromised happened sometime during the meeting, within hours of each other.”

“Other than POTUS and Director Branham, are any of the other participants aware that breaches were detected?” I ask.

“No. And, for now, POTUS and I agree we should keep it that way to see if other theft attempts are made,” Ryan assures us. “Interestingly enough, neither of the scientists’ compromised copies was the one regarding their own research. Dr. Wollstonecraft’s was of Dr. Welles’s neural implant research, and Dr. Welles’s was about the regenerative bioengineering research conducted by Dr. Brooks. POTUS’s compromised copy dealt with Wollstonecraft’s memory modification research.”