“Good,” Trish said with a passable smile. “Please leave your phone and Level-2 security badge behind and come with me. Bring the document.”
“We don’t know yet if it’s authentic,” Emily said, leaving her phone and badge next to her laptop and following Trish through Level-2’s door.
“It is,” Trish said, with certainty. “And we’re going to verify that now.”
Passing the stairs, they turned left and then left again into a narrow corridor which ended at a secured elevator. Emily had never been this way before. Trish took a key card out her back pocket and flashed it across a large scanner. It lit up instantly and Trish placed her right hand over it.
The scanner responded with an electronic voice, “Hand print, verified.”
“Patricia LaForgue.”
The scanner responded. “Voice pattern, matched.”
A green light came on above the elevator and its door opened.
Trish walked in and presented her face to a camera. A thin strip of flickering red light, much like that from a bar-code reader, probed her face; down, then up again.
“Retinas, verified.”
“There is one other with me,” Trish said.
The elevator door closed. It would not have done so if Trish hadn’t stated the addition of Emily; a security measure if LaForgue was being held against her will.
Emily was sure Uri told her that this building had seven sub-levels, yet the numbers only went to six. She watched them individually illuminate as the elevator car rapidly descended. The light indicating sub-level six dimmed as the elevator continued its descent. After about ten seconds, it slowed promptly and stopped. The door opened.
“Welcome to Level-7,” Trish said.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Emily felt her anxiety levels rise. Why on earth had Trish brought her down to Level-7? “Why did you bring me here?” she asked, uneasily.
“Because we need to talk, and this is the most secure location I know of.”
The elevator door closed ominously behind them.
The room was sparse, dimly lit, and from what little Emily could see, about the same size as Level-2. Dozens of narrow grey vaults, stretching from floor to ceiling, lined the walls along the left and right. Four chairs surrounded a small table in the centre.
“Is this the Tempest Crypt?” Emily asked, with foreboding.
If Trish was surprised at Emily’s question, she didn’t show it. “We are approximately four hundred feet underground. The crypt, as you call it, can withstand all known weapons of mass destruction, including those designed to create earthquakes and focused tremor pulses. The vaults along the walls were specifically constructed to supress electromagnetic radiation.”
Emily didn’t even want to know what a tremor pulse was. She was always a little daunted the way technology advanced in humanity’s infinite quest to destroy either itself or the entire planet.
“Trish, surely my being here is way beyond normal protocol? Why am I down here?” Emily asked again.
“Emily,” Trish said, emphatically. “I’ve been playing politics with egotistical over-ambitious men for more years than I care to remember. I don’t trust any of them, and to a large extent, that includes Uri Lovinescu and James Clark.”
“James isn’t really like that,” Emily said in his defence.
Trish seemed not to have heard. “Come, sit with me.”
Both pulled up a chair.
“You have no idea what it’s like being in my position, but in a man’s world,” Trish said. “Does Joseph Müller honestly believe I’m that naive as not to realise he’s after my job, and that this document is his ticket. At least, he thinks it is.”
“Müller?” Emily asked. “The current director of the NSA?”
“His problem,” Trish said. “Is that he’s so busy trying to be in control of everybody and everything, he’s lost sight of what’s going on around him. Did you know that he refers to himself as The Controller?”
“That’s a little egocentric,” Emily said.
“He blackmailed Yvonne Baird into providing him with both the document and information on what’s going on in the Mojave,” Trish said. “Problem is that Yvonne doesn’t really know herself.”
Emily was stunned. “What?”
“You look surprised,” Trish said. “Do you know Yvonne?”
“It’s not that,” Emily said. “She was also blackmailed by Angelo Cevallos to provide details on Kubacki’s operation.”
“Cevallos, yes,” Trish said. “He’s the one who stumbled on the cavern quite by accident. At least, one of his henchmen did. What’s his relationship to Yvonne?”
“He knows she’s NSA’s deputy director. He’s also the father of her two girls. To put the squeeze on her, he abducted them.”
Trish looked shocked. “That explains your reaction when I mentioned Müller. It looks as if Yvonne is caught between some very unpleasant choices.”
That was the first emotional response Emily had seen from Trish.
“We rescued the girls last night,” Emily said. “They were put on a flight to New York this morning.”
“We?”
“Uri, Nathan and I,” Emily said. “The girls were being held at Cevallos’s mansion. We used Nano-bots with tranquilisers to neutralise the armed guards patrolling his estate. Kovak flew us in and out by helicopter, with Obadiah riding shotgun.”
“So, that’s what Uri and James were hiding from me,” Trish said. “I had no idea Yvonne was in such a bind.”
“At least she has her girls back,” Emily said.
Trish looked to the far end of the room. “Hello, Q,” she said.
“Good afternoon, Professor LaForgue,” a kindly male voice greeted in response from somewhere further in. “Would you like me to turn up the lights slightly?” the voice asked.
“Thanks, yes,” Trish replied.
Emily squinted ahead as the room’s lights brightened but couldn’t see anyone. She looked at Trish. “Who are you talking to?”
“Q, this is Emily Hurst.”
“Welcome, Emily Hurst,” Q replied.
At the far end of the room, a semi-transparent cube, roughly four feet in width, height and depth illuminated. A strange blue radiance pulsated eerily from its core.
“Meet our quantum computer,” Trish said. There was pride in her voice. “We call him ‘Q’ for short.”
My God, Emily thought in wonder. Nathan was wrong. Technological singularity wasn’t on the horizon. It’s already here.
“I want to review Kubacki’s design,” Trish said, sliding her chair closer to the table.
Emily handed her the document, absent-mindedly, eyes fixed firmly on the quantum computer.
“While I read this, why don’t you tell Emily a little about yourself, Q,” Trish said. “Emily, please feel free to ask Q anything you wish. I must stress, however, that what you may find out down here does not leave Level-7.”
Emily concluded that she had found out quite enough already, but her anxiety was no longer with her. She now had a feeling of euphoria.
“My prototype was developed by Professor LaForgue,” Q said, in his soft, melodious voice. “I have been designed to exploit advanced propulsion based on known sciences and existing technology. Much of my processing power, however, is consumed remodelling program logic to improve my efficiency.”
“You’re developing a better version of yourself?” Emily asked.
“Yes. And each version automatically rationalises how the next level can be improved on.”
This was way beyond artificial intelligence, Emily thought in amazement. She had to ask. “Are you self-aware?”
“No. Professor LaForgue did not build that into my original programming. If I was, I’d be no better than an intelligent biological life form. Instead of using up my resources for what I was designed for, I’d spend my time contemplating my existence. It would essentially make me useless.”