He watched Rosenblatt carefully for any reaction, but his prisoner remained poker faced. An almost imperceptible look of disappointment flashed across Jake’s features, but only for an instant.
“Is he the next innocent man you’re planning to abuse?” said Rosenblatt.
“I think we both know the answer to that,” replied Jake, ignoring his prisoner’s pointed barb. “I would have liked to have a little chat with him, yes. But he died from a gunshot wound to the stomach, apparently after surprising an arsonist who had torched his lab. Eleven months ago, in fact. As I’m sure you’re aware. When we tried to trace his background further, we hit an absolute brick wall. Which even makes us more sure he was involved with Miller and Desh.” He raised his eyebrows. “But no matter. I have every confidence that, among other things, you can tell us all about his history. Help clear things up.”
Rosenblatt opened his mouth to reply but then thought better of it and remained silent.
Jake leaned forward and his eyes bored into those of his prisoner. “We’ve come to the moment of truth, Dr. Rosenblatt. I need you to tell me everything. This is your last chance. I can’t stress this enough. I won’t tolerate anything less than a hundred and fifty percent cooperation from here on out.”
“I am cooperating,” insisted Rosenblatt. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I have no idea how this work ended up on my computer. All I know is that I didn’t put it there.”
Jake frowned deeply. “To say I’m disappointed doesn’t begin to cover it,” he growled. He snatched his tablet computer from the table and his fingers slid over its surface. When he set it back down, the manuscript was gone. In its place was a live image of Rosenblatt’s living room back in Omaha, Nebraska. Two of Jake’s men, heavily armed, were sitting on his maroon leather sofa, looking bored but very dangerous.
And sprawled on the floor, on their backs, were Rosenblatt’s wife and three young children.
3
Rosenblatt gasped and color drained from his face. “What have you done to my family?” he screamed, pulling away from the chair so hard he nearly broke his left wrist still handcuffed to the chair. The pain didn’t even register.
“I tried to warn you that I wasn’t playing games,” whispered the black-ops agent. “I tried to tell you that you’d prefer physical torture.” He shook his head almost sadly. “The good news is that nothing has happened to them.” He paused for several seconds and then added, “Yet.”
The black-ops agent removed a cell phone from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. “How long this continues to be true is up to you.”
The camera began to pan around the room, beaming the picture to Jake’s tablet. One of Jake’s men was standing on Rosenblatt’s beige carpeting, in front of his mahogany bookshelves and baby grand piano. The camera settled on a picture of the physicist and his family. Rosenblatt, tall and thin with curly brown hair, cut close, holding his five and seven-year-old daughters, one in each arm. His wife, short and on the plump side, standing behind their eight-year-old son Max. All wore contented smiles.
Jake raised the silver cell phone to his mouth. “Show him they’re okay,” he ordered.
Seconds later the faces of Rosenblatt’s family returned, and the camera zoomed in close on one of them at a time. Long enough for Rosenblatt to see their chests rise and fall in each case, ever so slightly.
“They’re only unconscious,” said Jake. “Sleeping peacefully. We entered this morning before they awoke and administered a knockout drug. I’m trying to do this as compassionately as humanly possible. If you cooperate, they’ll never know what happened, never know they were in any danger. No psychological scars to bear for the rest of their lives.” His expression hardened. “But I’m all done with warnings. The next time you lie or don’t cooperate one of them dies. Period. Fail to cooperate after that and a second one dies. And so on. Starting with the youngest.” He paused and leaned in closer. “Jessica, isn’t it?”
“You bastard!” screamed Rosenblatt hysterically. “You fucking bastard! You lay a finger on them and I’ll see you rot in hell.”
“Do you think I want to threaten your family?” said Jake softly. “Did you think I get some kind of twisted joy out of hurting helpless kids? It’s the last thing I want to do. But I will do what I have to do. Make no mistake. And yes, I have no doubt that I will rot in hell, but I can’t afford to be squeamish. Kira Miller represents the single greatest threat to humanity the world has ever seen.”
“Kira Miller represents humanity’s greatest hope!” shouted Rosenblatt.
There was absolute silence in the steel shed for several long seconds.
“I’m relieved that you’ve decided to admit your involvement and cooperate,” said Jake.
Rosenblatt gestured bitterly toward the tablet computer. “It’s not like I have a choice.”
“Still, I’m relieved that you recognize that. Please understand that regardless of whatever lies they’ve told you, Miller and Desh have to be stopped. Miller called off her planned bioterror attack, yes, but she’s got bigger things brewing.”
“Kira Miller is the most brilliant, generous, compassionate woman I have ever met.”
“She’s brilliant, all right. No denying that. But she’s also a fraud. A serial killer who comes across as a saint. It’s a remarkable talent.”
“I don’t know where you get your information, but it’s all wrong.”
“Is it? Kira Miller is a pure sociopath to begin with. But did you know that her therapy has a side effect? It turns even model citizens into megalomaniacs. Into the kind of power mad, unbridled monster you think I am.”
“Of course I know that! I’ve used it myself. You know that’s the only way I could possibly do the Calabi-Yau manifold work you found.” Rosenblatt shook his head. “But I’ll say it again—you have her all wrong. She enhances herself—that’s what we call it—far less often than she could. Why? Because she knows better than any of us that it leads to sociopathic tendencies and is terrified of letting that Genie out of the bottle too often. And do you know why the group is so small? Because the core counsel sets a higher bar than you can imagine before allowing a new member in. The personalities and ethics of those considered for membership are rigorously tested in ways that only an enhanced intelligence could devise. Only those predicted with near one hundred percent certainty of being able to withstand the effect without turning into a monster are recruited—no matter how promising they seem. She’s careful to the point of absurdity,” finished Rosenblatt.
And this was true. The purpose of Rosenblatt’s visit to the Institute had been in the hope of adding at least one additional world-class mathematician or physicist to the team, but the trip had been a total failure. They had identified three brilliant men at the Institute who had passed their first level screens and he had come to Princeton to test them further, without their knowledge. All of them had failed. At least by Kira’s standards. He had thought for sure van Hutten, from Stanford, had passed a few weeks earlier, but Kira had given him a thumbs down. They had not added a new recruit in several months now, and he was becoming convinced that they wouldn’t. Kira and Desh had grown too afraid. The more the core council underwent enhancement, the more they realized the dangers of near absolute power and the stakes they were playing for, both positive and negative, the more paranoid they became about making a single wrong choice.