Dr. Osbourne had swallowed all the spit in his mouth, so before he could begin telling us what he knew, he poured himself a glass of water, downed it in one great tenuous gulp, set down the glass, and then said, “I never met the shark woman, Cassandra Lillo. I swear. All I did was use some of her findings. We’re not allowed to meet each other.”
“Who’s not allowed to meet each other?” Ralph asked.
Stone silence. Dr. Osbourne had already told us more than he was supposed to. His hand was shaking. “All I know is that we each have one person to report to. One contact person. We pass our research along to him; he passes it along to someone else.” Dr.
Osbourne bounced his nervous gaze from Ralph to me to Ralph again. “There’s nothing illegal about it.”
It seemed like a highly unusual and inefficient way to do research, but it wasn’t unprecedented. In World War II only a select few people knew exactly what was being developed at the Oak Ridge National Laboratory in Oak Ridge, Tennessee-the parts and fuel for an atomic bomb. Only when the bomb was completed did the staff find out what they’d made. So it’s possible Osbourne is innocent, just another pawn.
I wondered what kind of weapon would warrant this kind of secrecy today, but decided for the moment to follow up on the process, not the product. “So,” I said. “Cassandra sent you her findings. Who did you send your findings to?”
“A man named Kurvetek. Dr. Octal Kurvetek.” “What do you know about him?”
“Nothing, except he works closely with Victor Drake.”
“Figures,” said Ralph.
“And you worked out of Building B-14?” I said.
Osbourne nodded.
“Listen carefully,” I said. “I want you to tell me what went on in Building B-14. Why would someone burn it down?”
“It’s where we collated the findings, kept all the files, all the research.” He motioned toward the device. “And that thing. The prototype. We kept everything in hard files, so no one could hack the system. The government was worried about the Chinese.”
In my mind I tried to gather up the fragments of information I’d collected so far, but they were still in disarray. “This prototype,”
I said, “it does more than just sense faint neural electromagnetic impulses, doesn’t it?”
He nodded nervously but didn’t say anything.
“I’d suggest you be a bit more forthcoming,” Ralph said to Dr. Osbourne, who rubbed his fingers anxiously together in response.
“Tell us about the connection to MEG technology,” I said.
He eyed Ralph, who was leaning forward, his shirt straining against his thick, corded neck muscles. Dr. Osbourne’s eyes quivered as he continued, “The device uses the same basic principles as magnetoencephalography, or as you said, MEG technology. An MEG machine is too big to be used in the field, and a patient needs to sit beneath it without moving for several hours. Also it needs cryogenic temperatures and a shielded room to block other magnetic-”
“So that’s where the sharks come in,” I said, speaking my thoughts and inadvertently interrupting Dr. Osbourne. “Sharks don’t need any of those things. They can identify the signals instantaneously, on the fly, using the jellylike substance in their electrosensory organs.”
“Mucopolysaccharides,” he said with a nod. “My point is, sharks don’t need cryogenic temperatures or shielding devices. And they do it over long distances.”
“Exactly,” said Dr. Osbourne. “So by combining a laser-guided targeting device with the neuromorphic and biogenetic engineering developed from electrosensory research on sharks, and including magnetoencephalography technology, we created an inorganic version of the shark’s ampullae of Lorenzini receptors and neural pathways.”
Surprisingly, I was following what he was saying. But there was more, there had to be more.
“What about the cesium-137?”
“That’s been one of the problems.” He walked over and pointed to the device. “See this removable pack?” He took a moment to slide the cesium-137 unit from the bottom of the device. “We weren’t able to figure out how to stop minute quantities from escaping-just during use, you understand. We’re perfectly safe right now.”
He reattached the cesium-137.
“OK,” I said. “I know that when the neurons in our brains fire synapses, they create minute electromagnetic impulses. That’s what the MEG records. But how does all this fit together?”
“With the recent strides in understanding how hemodynamic and electrophysiological signals relate to each other-”
Ralph threw his huge hands to his hips and stood like a drill sergeant. “He’s wasting our time, Pat.” The more irritated Ralph appeared, the more Osbourne seemed to open up. Ralph might have noticed that and been playing into the scenario, or he might have really been getting annoyed. Hard to tell.
“Talk us through the brain signals,” I told Dr. Osbourne.
He rubbed his fingers nervously together and edged back slightly from Ralph. “Hemodynamic and 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.”