The Windchime Legacy Page 5

  The terror that flowed through her mind that night was hers alone to feel, but the knowledge that Justin was close by afforded a much-needed comfort.

  At eight o’clock the following morning, she would go into surgery. She would wake up either a whole woman or mutilated. She thought she’d die from the fear. Justin phoned her twice more that evening from the lobby to try to comfort her and fill her full of confidence. He managed to make her laugh a few times, and it was great medicine.

  The next morning she had vague impressions of people being around her and saw the overhead lamps that illuminated the operating table. She heard the doctors’ comforting voices. When she finally closed her eyes, Justin’s name was on her lips.

  The next thing she remembered was being in recovery. She felt no pain and could hear voices. A nurse tried to waken her gently, to determine how far out of anesthesia she had come. Then she slept.

  She remembered being lifted to another small bed on wheels and seeing bottles with running IV. She still felt no pain, but the bottles frightened her. She tried to speak to ask what had happened, but could not. The words never came. Then she remembered being wheeled out into the hallway again and seeing Justin’s smiling face. He leaned down and kissed her softly on the cheek and told her she’d be fine. Then she slept.

  She finally came to in her room. When she looked up, she saw Justin—beautiful Justin. She tried to speak, but he kissed her again. Then he held up a pink-lace bra and smiled.

  “I thought you’d want this for when you go home,” he said. “It’s just the thing you need for those gorgeous boobs.”

  Her eyes flooded instantly. She held up her arms and, crying, drew Justin’s face close to hers.

  “I got you bottoms, too,” he said.

  She looked into his eyes and said, “I love you.”

  He kissed her tenderly, then said, “Do you want to see the bottoms?”

  She smiled, kissed him back, and said, “You hold them for me. We won’t be needing them for a long, long time.”

  No other man she knew would have done what Justin did for her. He was there, ever there, when she needed him. To her, the man was incredible, courageous, and the dearest thing to her life—her beautiful Justin.

  The rest of the day at his father’s house went by with the usual routine. The visits were all the same. They talked about the same things and the same people. They were both lonely men in their own way.

  The hours passed slowly, and it came time for Justin to leave. Justin bid his farewells and got into the Impala. He drove up the block and turned off his father’s street.

  BEEP!

  The tone in his implant sounded.

  “Pilgrim,” the soft voice began, “you are needed…”

  SIX

  National Socialism had many obstacles to overcome in its rise. To accomplish this it used violence and brutality, which have a propaganda value all their own. They focus discussion around the source, repelling many, but attracting more. People develop a distaste for disaster after repeated doses of it.

  The will to resist died, the obstacles fell one by one, until there was only one way. The way of National Socialism.

  Entry No. 9 from the partially

  recovered Wolf Journal

  The day seemed to have taken forever to pass for Edward Bridges. He had spent most of it going through the thick volumes of schematics in his inner office, to determine which ones he would need. He had settled on twenty-four sheets that gave the very heart of the most advanced systems, as well as the revolutionary memory-mass data that made SENTINEL possible. With this information, and a competent team of computer scientists, he could build another SENTINEL, anywhere in the world.

  He had also devised a simple, but effective, plan to get the information out. It would be nearly impossible to get a camera into, then out of the complex. It would be equally impossible to copy the information. Every piece of paper copied within the complex was scanned and cleared by SENTINEL. At the end of each working day, SENTINEL reminded every person holding copies to destroy them. Destruction was also monitored. It was impossible for even a single copy to survive a day, much less the twenty-four that Bridges needed.

  But there was a blind spot, which Bridges was able to detect, that solved all of his problems. The schematics making up the volumes in his inner office were the only ones in printed form in existence. Normally, all data were stored in SENTINEL’s memory mass and would be flashed on console viewing-screens or large wall-display screens when required. But Bridges’s job necessitated many continuous hours with the schematics, and the long sessions with the screen gave him bad headaches and caused excessive eye strain. He had spoken to Elizabeth Ryerson about it, and she had agreed that he should have a printed set—the only printed set.

  They were kept in his inner office, to which only he and Elizabeth could gain admittance with their security plates. The schematics were seldom let out of the inner office. On the few occasions that they were, a log was signed with a special impulse pen that sent the handwriting impressions to SENTINEL for verification. It was virtually impossible for an imposter to get through the rigid security maintained at Alpha, but this precaution was employed to prevent the possibility of one person taking out a schematic, while signing another person’s name in the log. All schematics were returned at day’s end, or no one left the complex.

  The simple blind spot in this—and the flaw that Bridges would take advantage of—was that he didn’t have to sign the log to remove schematics. It was his inner office. The schematics were in his care. They were made primarily for his use. He decided to take the originals. He could take them out on the last day and be out of the country before they were even missed.

  To get them out he would simply wrap them around his shins, hold them in place with his socks, and walk right out with them.

  The day finally dragged to an end. Bridges was anxious to test his method. He intended to make dry runs as many times as he could, using blank report forms. They were slightly smaller than the schematics and of a lighter bond, but he guessed that the slight difference would pose little or no problem.

  He began by wrapping four sheets around each leg and walked about the office to test them. They were comfortable and quiet. He added more sheets and tried it again. Still smooth. He decided not to risk the full number of twenty-four sheets until he could successfully make a dry run with the lesser number.

  With the sheets in place, well secured by his high socks and concealed by his baggy pants, he left his office for the first run.

  He passed through security without a hitch. When he built the next SENTINEL inside of Russia, he’d have to correct this security flaw in the system he’d set up there.

  He drove off for the club and his meeting with Ross. Today had been a very good day for him, and it was going to get even better, he was sure. He had the feeling that this was the day for the offer. Ross had called and said that he wanted to see him.

  He arrived at the club and saw Ross in the lounge sitting at the bar. He walked over to him and took a seat beside him.

  Ross didn’t turn his head when Bridges slid onto the stool. There was an awkward silence for several long moments.

  “Hi, loser,” Bridges finally began, referring to the beating he had given him at backgammon after the dinner at Kinzie’s. “I thought that shellacking I gave you would scare you away for good. I figured that I’d seen the last of you and your money,” he kidded.

  “Bullshit,” Ross said, “I’m still about three hundred bucks up on you. The only money you saw was your own. I don’t mind losing when it’s somebody else’s money.”

  Ross was trying to sound jolly, but he looked nervous, and Bridges smiled slightly in anticipation. He raised a hand to the bartender to order himself a drink.

  The bartender produced a Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks. “Got it ready when I saw you come in, Dr. Bridges,” the bartender said. He took good care of his better tippers.

  “Remind me to double
your usual tip to a dime tonight, Sam,” Bridges joked. He was in an unusually good mood.

  He turned to Ross. “How much tonight? Five? Ten?” he asked.

  “Actually, I don’t feel much like playing tonight, Ed. I was thinking that maybe you’d like to join me for dinner again, then just call it an early evening.”

  “Sure,” Bridges said, nodding his head, “but only on the condition that you let me buy.”

  “All right. Kinzie’s again?” Ross suggested.

  “Excellent.”

  Ross breathed a mental sigh of relief. His instructions were to try to get Bridges to Kinzie’s, where Ringer would be waiting. If the initial overture from Ross went well, Ringer would come in to make the deal. If not, they’d again have to consider compromising him, to force his cooperation.

  They finished their drinks. Bridges paid the tab and threw the bartender a five. They left the club and caught a cab for Kinzie’s.

  On their way to the table, Bridges thought he recognized a man who had been there the night of his and Ross’s last dinner. The man had a face that was easy to remember. It reminded Bridges of a weasel’s.

  The man had an earpiece in place, with a small flesh-colored wire running down into the collar of his shirt. Probably a recording device on him as well, Bridges thought to himself.

  With the customary small talk, the waitress brought them their cocktails. After she left, Ross looked around the room. Bridges saw his eyes stop in the exact direction of the man with the earpiece. This is it, he thought.

  After several moments, Ross looked back to Bridges. There was a slight tremor in Ross’s hands, which Bridges picked up immediately. Ross was coming apart. He must be ready to shit in his pants, Bridges thought.

  “Ed…Ed, eh…I’ve…I’ve been thinking, you know, about… about the other day and what we talked about,” Ross stumbled on nervously, his voice quivering.

  Bridges wanted to laugh and almost did. It took considerable effort to keep a straight face.

  “What I meant was…you know, about your job…job.” Ross cleared his throat. “Did you…were you serious about going to work for someone else, if you had the chance? I mean, if it were… you know, really possible?” Ross looked like he was going to vomit.

  Bridges squinted at him. “What are you getting at, Carson?” he asked.

  “First, were you serious?” Ross asked.

  Bridges didn’t answer right away. He wanted to make it appear as if he were weighing his answer. He unwrapped one of his cheap White Owl cigars and stuck it in his mouth. “Yes, I was serious,” he said through the bite. “If the offer were right and all of my conditions were met. Yes, I certainly would be interested.”

  Bridges watched Ross’s nervous eyes flick quickly at the man with the earpiece again, then back. Ross’s left eye began to twitch.

  “I…I have some friends…” Ross began. He was searching for his words. “…some friends who are interested in your situation…and are in a position to possibly help you out. At the…eh…at the same time help themselves, too.” Ross was about to break wide open. This was the offer that constituted treason, and he knew it. He looked at the other man for a long moment, then back to Bridges. He took a sip of his drink and choked.

  Bridges nearly exploded into laughter, but just barely managed to keep control.

  After a brief, embarrassing coughing spell, Ross cleared his throat and said, “It would involve a relocation…a move on your part. Are you interested?” he asked, his voice low and barely audible, his fists clenched, to keep the hands from shaking.

  “Relocation? To where?” Bridges toyed.

  “It would be a foreign country…foreign country.” He had to repeat to make it audible.

  “Which country?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Ed,” Ross said. “You know damn well what I’m getting at. And I don’t think I should say more until you give me some evidence that you intend to follow through.” Ross was regaining his control. The ice had been broken now, and he was in it, sink or swim.

  Bridges rested his chin in his hand and chewed on the cigar. “I want to talk to somebody with the authority to make a firm deal,” Bridges said.

  “First, I need more information,” Ross said. “I’m in this for the pudding, too. You’ve got to appreciate my position in this, Ed. I have certain interests to protect.” He seemed to be almost pleading.

  “You’ve been told enough to get you what you need already. The fact that they’ve sent you here to make the offer—and your friend over there to listen in—tells me that,” Bridges said, tossing a thumb at the other man.

  Ross flushed. “How did you…” He stopped himself and looked at Ringer.

  “If he’s the man that can make the deal, get him over here,” Bridges said, “but as far as you and me are concerned, you’ve learned all that you’re going to.”

  Ross’s mouth fell open.

  Ringer stood and walked over to their table. He sat beside Bridges and looked into his eyes, studying the round face. He motioned to Ross, who got up and walked away from the table and out of the restaurant.

  “I will be your new contact. You will know me as Ringer. Now let’s talk terms.”

  This man was direct and to the point. Bridges enjoyed the direct dealing without the phony pretenses.

  “Three times my current salary, I select my own team from your top scientists, and I am to be undisputed head of the project from the technical aspect. You must also agree to get me out of the country quickly, before my absence is discovered and, once inside the Soviet Union, provide complete protection,” Bridges finished, and waited.

  Ringer smiled. “How do you know that I represent the Soviet Union?” he asked.

  “I know a lot more than you think I know,” Bridges said.

  Ringer reached up and removed the earpiece from his ear. He stared at the scientist.

  “Your terms are too steep,” the Russian said.

  “My terms are final,” Bridges countered quickly.

  The Russian thought for a long moment. “Agreed,” he said at last. “Now, tell me what we get for meeting your terms. We pay a high price for very uncertain goods. I must know more.”

  Bridges smiled. “And you shall,” he promised, pausing to light the cigar. “I will deliver to you certain schematics that will enable you to build the most advanced computer ever built by man. We call it SENTINEL. It’s the heart of the United States defense and intelligence systems. With my services, you will have what you need to build a SENTINEL of your own,” Bridges explained.

  “And what makes this computer so advanced?” Ringer asked. “I believe that you told Ross you could explain that with one word. Now I am waiting to hear it, Dr. Bridges.”

  Bridges looked evenly at Ringer. “Intellect,” he said. “A true intellect, but with one million times the ability of the most highly developed mind.”

  An unsettled look crossed Ringer’s face. “Semantics, Dr. Bridges. No computer has true intellect.”

  “This one does.” Bridges smiled, pausing to relight his cigar and study the expression on Ringer’s face. “We’ve made the breakthrough into biocybernetics. We’ve left the dark ages of computers. And we’re advancing at a rate that we can’t even keep up with. SENTINEL has designed systems that we don’t even have the technology to build. It’s teaching us that now.

  “It’s the same breakthrough that your people have been trying to make for over thirty years,” Bridges said, puffing white clouds across the table.

  Ringer was at a loss for words. If this were true, it was the most significant achievement in the history of man. “What makes you think that we do not have a computer such as this already?” he asked.

  Bridges laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess you’ve got a whole warehouse full of them. You’re here, my friend, and you’re here to deal. That tells me. And if you did have one before ours, we’d have been a pile of ashes by now. There’s no way we could have stopped you, just as there’s no way you cou
ld stop us now, if the right button were to be pushed. But you’re fortunate in that SENTINEL is not maintained as an offensive threat. Its function is purely defensive. And that’s where I can give you the upper hand. I will build yours to be offensive. You will be the most powerful nation on earth, second to none.”

  “How long would it take to make this computer operational?” Ringer asked.

  “About three years,” Bridges replied.

  “In three years the American SENTINEL would be too advanced to ever catch it,” Ringer said.

  “I can take care of that,” Bridges told him. “It’s possible to work out an intercept formula that would enable your SENTINEL to learn all that this one knows in a few one-second bursts, by selectively tapping certain portions of the memory. You would then have their knowledge before they even knew the tap had been made.

  “Don’t forget that their computer is not offensively oriented. Yours will be. And I can improve it. Then it is you who will have the advantage. You would know its entire defensive system and could overcome it if you wished, leaving but one SENTINEL in the world—yours.”

  “What would happen if the Soviet Union were to launch a preemptive strike against this country right now, assuming the proper target sites could be selected?” Ringer asked.

  Bridges chuckled lightly. “You’d probably lose the war in about two hours. Not a single missile would hit American soil in a vital location. SENTINEL would completely neutralize your strike capacity within a few moments of the first confirmed missile firing bearing on an American target. You’d be without communications, without power—you’d be defenseless. Nothing could leave the ground but a hand-propelled snowball from Siberia,” Bridges concluded.

  “Would it then destroy us?” Ringer asked.

  “No, it doesn’t have the killer instinct that I can give yours. But your days as a world power would be abruptly ended.”

  “How long would it take you to get your information together?” the Russian asked.