“You’ve come a long way, and you’ve accomplished much.” A pause. “Don’t be frightened by my voice. Its appearance in midair is accomplished through a HyperSonic Sound system. This technology is commercially available. Would you like to hear a technical explanation? Yes or no?”
Gragg looked around at the ceiling and walls. There were tiny plastic pods of various sorts mounted there. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“A HyperSonic Sound system—or HSS—does not use physical speakers. HSS pulsates quartz crystals at a frequency thousands of times faster than the vibrations in a normal speaker—creating ultrasonic waves at frequencies far beyond human hearing. Unlike lower-frequency sound, these waves travel in a tight path—a beam. Two beams can be focused to intersect each other, and where they interact they produce a third sonic wave whose frequency is exactly the difference between the two original sounds. In HSS that difference will fall within the range of human hearing—and will appear to come from thin air. This is known as a Tartini Tone—in honor of Guiseppe Tartini, the eighteenth-century Italian composer who first discovered this principle.”
Gragg was feeling slightly faint.
“This is only the beginning of what you will learn. You do wish to learn, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he blurted.
“Then we must determine your sincerity.”
The whir of a precise electrical motor came to his ears, and Gragg glanced around the room. A small console had opened up in the wall next to the door. Gragg warily approached it, his feet squishing mud onto the concrete floor. He saw no other muddy prints. He must have been the first to make it this far. A smile stole across his face, and he approached the console with more courage.
The console appeared to be an array of biometric devices—a handprint reader, a camera lens with a rubber viewfinder, and a microphone. There was also a small LCD screen—like the type found on the backs of airline seats. It was not illuminated.
The voice was right next to him. “Place either hand on the reader. Place your eye against the viewfinder, and adjust the microphone to a position approximately three inches to the right of your mouth.”
Gragg did as instructed. It was not the most comfortable setup, but he didn’t think complaining was a good idea.
“Very good. I can administer this test in one of seven different languages. Is English your primary language? Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
Gragg cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“Good. I am going to ask a series of questions. You must answer truthfully—even if you think the truth is not the optimal response. This is not a test of your skills as a hacker. It is an effort to determine if you bear us ill will. A pattern of falsehoods will terminate the test. Early termination of the test will cause the air to be pumped from the room. This will create a partial vacuum that will cause the nitrogen to bubble out of your blood—resulting in an excruciating death. An MPEG video of your death will be placed on the Internet as a warning to others. Do you understand? Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
“Fuck!” Gragg pulled his head up from the viewfinder and looked back at the featureless cinderblock wall.
“Stop!” The voice was so loud that it actually hurt. Then it returned to a comfortable volume. “Your earlier work was impressive. Your future lies ahead of you. Not behind you. Please return your eye to the viewfinder.” There was a pause. “I will not ask you a second time.”
Gragg was suddenly sweating. He felt his palm damp against the hand reader as he quickly returned his eye to the viewfinder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
“Stop talking until you are asked a question.”
Gragg bit his lip and couldn’t stop shaking. The phrase excruciating death kept running through his mind. This was not an idiot he was dealing with here—he was the idiot. And he was truly afraid.
“Answer truthfully or die. Do you know who built this place? Yes or no?
“Yes.”
“Speak the name slowly—first name, then last.”
“Matthew…Sobol.”
“Do you dislike Mr. Sobol? Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Do you admire Mr. Sobol? Yes or no?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“Answer just ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
The sweating returned. “Yes!” Jesus H. fucking Christ…
“Would you be interested in playing an active role in Mr. Sobol’s plans?”
“Yes.”
“If you were generously rewarded with power, knowledge, and wealth, would you be willing to break the law and expose yourself to personal risk as required to fulfill the plans of Mr. Sobol?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Do you believe in God?”
“No.”
“Would you be willing to follow the instructions of a dead person?”
Ahhhh…The feelings welling up inside of him surprised even Gragg. Here he was strapped to the polygraph from hell, and he still hated taking orders from anyone—and yes, he had a subtle prejudice against the dead. They had no skin in the game. Sobol was impressive, but Gragg wasn’t going to spend the rest of his fucking life serving a macro on steroids. Goddamnit.
“Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
Fuck! “No.” Gragg closed his eyes and waited to die.
“Keep your eyes open.”
He complied immediately.
There was a pause. “To clarify. Your powerful intellect will be required to define the precise path to reach objectives set by Mr. Sobol. There will be a considerable degree of freedom in the means. The outcome will be all that matters. Knowing this, would you still have a problem performing in this role? Yes or no?”
Relief flooded over him. “No.”
“Would you be willing to direct others in the pursuit of Mr. Sobol’s goals—possibly resulting in the deaths of these subordinates?”
No problem. “Yes.”
“Do you have knowledge of a warrant out for your arrest in any state, territory, protectorate, or nation?”
“No.”
“Do you have a criminal record in any state, territory, protectorate, or nation?”
“No.”
“Do you take drugs?”
“No.”
“Do you have any significant medical condition or physical limitation?”
“No.”
“Are you currently in a significant romantic relationship?”
“No.”
“Do you have pressing family obligations?”
“No.”
“Do you have a history of mental illness?”
Hmmm. “Yes.”
“Have you ever purposely caused the death of another person?”
Gragg paused. “Yes.” He’d never really taken ownership of it before. He felt a strange pang of guilt that surprised him. It passed quickly.
“Are you available to begin work immediately?”
“Yes.” Gragg shrugged. Apparently this wasn’t a typical organization.
There was silence. It was deafening. Then—
“Mr. Gragg. You may lift your head from the viewfinder and remove your hand from the reader. Your convictions appear genuine. You are now under our protection. The remaining test is to determine your service rank and is a modified intelligence quotient exam. It was designed to assess your knowledge of human psychology, logic, mathematics, language, and your ability to think creatively while under pressure. It is not possible to fail this test, but performing well on it will greatly increase your personal power and the opportunities for your Faction.”
The LCD screen glowed to life, presenting a simple Web page with a crocus yellow background and a large title in Times New Roman font: Faction Multi-phasic Assessment Battery.