John was in the kitchen making a pitcher of iced tea. I could also smell a pot of coffee brewing.
“We’ve got bagels, pastries and other odds and ends that should get you through until lunch. Anything in particular you like?”
“This is good,” I replied. “What exactly is it you want me to be doing here?”
John smiled. He seemed to like getting right down to business.
“We need to know more of what’s in the robot’s head. The timing of the meteor storm is critical. That’s your top priority.”
“Is it still in the trunk of the car?”
“I put it in the communications room — seemed kind of appropriate to me.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, just don’t connect it to anything you don’t want it to know about. It’s got a mind of its own and it learns fast.”
“Technology can be our friend or our enemy.” John said. “It all comes down to our attitude toward it and other people. Bureaucrats and the military see technology as a device to gain power and control over other people. I see it as a tool to help people become better at being of service to others.”
“Interesting perspective,” I said.
“It’s more than a perspective,” John replied. “It’s a philosophy of life. It’s a force versus power kind of thing.”
“How so?”
“George Washington said government isn’t reason, it isn’t eloquence; it is force. I have come to understand that true power resides in reason, in eloquence, in compassion and in honest service to others. Power unites people in a common goal, a common cause, and unified action, empowering everyone in the process. Force divides people and seeks to conquer others, empowering one at the expense of another. In life, we must recognize the difference between power and force and decide which one we will follow.”
In my younger years, as I railed against the system, striking at the targets I perceived as oppressive and wrong, it never occurred to me that older, more mature people, might be fighting the same war, just in different ways. Maybe John was right. Maybe I am one of his people. Maybe I’m in the right place, after all.
“Come on; let me show you the communications room.”
He led me down the stairs off the kitchen and into the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, John pushed the door open. I could see the door was padded with sound deadening material on the basement side. The room was as large as the ground floor of the house and lined with screens and displays. A man sat at one of several desks central to the room, and turned toward us as we entered.
“Carl, this is Alex. He’s our Communications Officer.”
We shook hands.
“We have a satellite dish complex just to the other side of the trees off your room,” John said. “All controlled from the central console here. We can track different communications satellites and receive signals from anywhere in the world.”
“John,” Alex said, “something is coming in you need to see.” He turned back to his console and typed at the keyboard. The large display in the center of the long wall switched over to a breaking news story. I was horrified to see my picture on the screen.
“Federal authorities are looking for this man, Carl Palminteri, who appeared on the Cy Cobb Show yesterday morning. He is wanted for questioning in connection with a known terrorist organization and is possibly involved in a terrorist plot against the U.S. Government. If you see him, do not approach him yourself. He is considered extremely dangerous. If you see this man, call the FBI, the U.S. Marshal’s Office, or inform any law enforcement officer immediately.”
I started to wobble and tip to the right side. I reached out my right hand and rested against an equipment cabinet for support. “John… I…”
“Hey, it’s all right,” John said. “I know who you are. You’re not a terrorist. Come on, sit down.”
I stumbled forward into a chair Alex was holding for me. The room was starting to spin.
“Head down between your legs,” Alex said firmly. “Breathe.” He gently pushed me forward and down. I was staring at the floor and it seemed to be spinning, too. “That’s right,” he said. “Easy does it. Breathe.”
In a few minutes the spinning slowed and stopped. I gradually sat up.
“We need to get some food in you, too,” John said. He and Alex helped me up the stairs and into a chair at the kitchen table. “I got it,” John said. Alex went back down into the communications room and closed the door.
John threw a steak on the grill and cooked two eggs and hash browns. I felt a lot better after the food and coffee.
“How much biometric data do they have on you?” John asked.
“Pretty much everything.”
“Did they have fingerprint cards or were they scanned?”
“Both.”
“Retinal scan?”
“Yep.”
“DNA?”
“Yeah, the whole nine yards. I told you what I did. They don’t let you anywhere near that level of access without knowing everything about you.”
“How would you feel about us reinventing you?” he asked.
“I’m okay with it, wouldn’t be the first time.”
“But this time it’s going to be quite a bit more serious. Everybody’s looking for your face. We need to change that.”
“Isn’t that expensive?”
“That’s relative to the benefits,” he replied.
“It’s gotta beat going back to prison,” I said.
He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Dr. Hamuz. I’ve got a special project if you’re interested. Yes, the expedited fee schedule is fine. Thank you, I’ll see you tonight.”
CHAPTER 6
My surgery took place in the middle of the night at a private clinic in Aurora, Colorado. I awoke feeling like road-kill. The nurse took my blood pressure, temperature and oxygen saturation measurements, recording them on her chart.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Like I’ve been beat up, you?”
She smiled. “I’ve got pain medication for you. Everything went well. You will experience some swelling and soreness that will resolve over the next week to ten days. Get plenty of rest. Be very careful with your hands for the next forty eight hours. The micro-surgery is delicate and needs to be undisturbed for two days. After that you can take the bandages off. No heavy lifting or strenuous activity for a week. Any questions?”
I looked at my hands. They were bandaged up to my wrists. “How do I work with my hands like this?”
“You don’t,” she said. “You will need some help eating today and tomorrow. Soft foods only.”
I sighed. “Any more good news?”
“Yes. Your driver is waiting outside. It’s time for you to leave so I can clean up before the clinic opens for the day.”
“I guess a thank you is in order, so thank you for your care.” I got up, still feeling a little queasy and unstable.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Here, let me help you.”
She helped me walk out the back door of the clinic. John’s limo was there with the driver holding the car door open. Once I settled into the back seat, the nurse handed me a white paper bag with the medication in it.
“Directions are inside. John will let us know if there are any complications.” She closed the car door and went back into the clinic.
“I’ve got another guest to pick up on the way back. I hope you don’t mind,” the driver said.
“Whatever.”
He drove to the private airport that John used for his jet. He pulled inside John’s hangar and parked with the front of the limo facing the open hangar door. Within two minutes I recognized John’s Learjet 45 landing. It taxied over and swung into the hangar. Once it stopped the door to the plane opened and a young lady emerged carrying a suitcase. She was slim, and a little on the tall side with short blonde hair, nicely styled. She wore a medium blue skirt, white silk blouse, a wide black leather belt with shoes to match. I liked what I saw. A lot.