Chapter 25
The Pacific Ocean
Juan and Max were the only hands in the op center. It was well past midnight, and they were on station for what Cabrillo had officially dubbed “Operation Snipe Hunt.”
Overholt sent over the coordinates of the reported sightings of the mysterious demon ship supposedly haunting the vast and desolate eastern Pacific.
Eric Stone ran those coordinates through his own variant of the Israeli targeting program Gospel.
Stone’s AI-powered decision-making software generated a search grid for the Oregon, designed for the highest probability of contact given the previous incidence reports.
It was still a long-shot, Hail Mary play, but if Overholt was willing to write the check, Cabrillo was more than happy to cash it.
The Oregon had been on station and following its preprogrammed course for over three uneventful hours.
Max monitored the navigational sonar and radar systems, but nothing had popped up.
The Oregon’s mil-spec equipment wasn’t picking up any mystery ships.
They hadn’t seen a single fishing trawler or even a vagrant shipping container bobbing in the sea since arriving on station.
They were in a literal dead zone, about as far away from civilization as an abandoned satellite circling Mars.
Overholt’s phantom threat was likely just a phantom and no threat at all.
But Cabrillo had other things on his mind.
He wasn’t at all happy that neither Linc nor Raven had reported in since their arrival in Colombia three days earlier.
In theory, all that meant was that they hadn’t found the Quds Force base yet, which wasn’t at all surprising.
He preferred regular radio check-ins, but they were undercover and it wasn’t possible.
He had complete faith in his two Gundogs, but no amount of planning or preparation could prevent unforeseen catastrophes.
Juan’s eyes scanned the small monitor on the Kirk Chair console. Raven’s and Linc’s trackers were still blinking active and on the move. That was a good sign—unless the trackers were located in the bellies of a couple of engorged crocodiles meandering down the river.
“We’re like a worm on a hook dangling over my momma’s bathtub,” Max said. “Not much chance we’re gonna get any bites.”
“I’m not looking to get bit.”
“You know what I mean.”
Cabrillo yawned and checked his Doxa Sub 300T wristwatch. “Twenty minutes until we’re relieved. After that I’ll head on over and hit the pool and turn some laps.”
“Knock yourself out. I’ll be heading for the galley. There’s a tray with a hot meatloaf sandwich and a couple of fingers of Buffalo Trace waiting for me.”
“I know there’s a biting joke in there somewhere, but I’m too bored to go find it.”
“Why don’t you head down to the pool now?” Max circled his finger in the air, indicating the op center. “I can cover this shindig from the Chair.”
“I’ll sit tight, but thanks.” Cabrillo never cut corners, especially on shifts. Max knew that. But the hopeful look on Max’s hungry face betrayed his true intentions.
Cabrillo grinned. “And don’t worry, your meatloaf sandwich will taste just as good cold.”
★
Bangalore, India
A torrential downpour nearly flooded the street where the UberGo pulled to a stop in front of the quiet, out-of-the-way restaurant.
Dr. Jagadeesh Gowda dashed the short distance between the parked cars along the curb and to the front door without bothering to open his umbrella.
He arrived beneath the awning dripping wet and watched the Tata Tiago pull away, satisfied he had arrived only a few minutes late.
The storm had snarled Bangalore’s already tortured traffic to a near standstill.
The front door opened with the tinkle of a familiar bell.
The candlelit restaurant was one of Gowda’s favorite haunts, its understated elegance heightening its romantic ambience. He was greeted by the manager, who helped him off with his stylish Burberry trench coat. The sweet aromas of jasmine and cardamom perfumed the air.
“She’s waiting for you.” The manager nodded toward a high-backed booth at the far end of the restaurant before turning to hang up his raincoat. They stood near the restaurant’s big plate-glass window overlooking the street.
“Thank you,” Gowda said. From the corner of his eye he saw the faint blue glow of a video camera screen inside a dark car parked across the street.
“The usual, sir?”
“Of course,” Gowda said with a pleasant smile. “Only, make my whiskey a double.”
“A long day at the office, sir?”
“More like a celebration.”
“Very good, sir. Your dishes will arrive shortly.”
“Excellent.”
Gowda worked his way past the tables of couples devouring plates of some of the best-cooked dishes in all of Bangalore, home to India’s “Silicon Valley.” Not a few female eyes raked over his athletic build as he marched by.
Dr. Gowda slid into the open bench opposite a stunning woman, whose face lit up the moment she saw him. Her natural beauty required no adornment, but the gold-chained pendant around her neck drew Gowda’s attention.
“So glad you made it in this storm,” Gowda said. They both wore forced smiles.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Her eyes darted down to the condiment tray on their table. She discreetly held up a car key fob—in reality, a miniature radio-frequency detector. It flashed a silent red light, indicating the table had been bugged.
“Traffic was terrible,” Gowda said, lifting his smartphone from his pocket and setting it carefully next to the condiment station. “I’m famished.”
The two of them locked eyes and then nodded slightly in perfect synchronicity.
Anyone watching them would have missed the gesture.
Gowda pushed a button on what appeared to be a cell phone but in reality was a phase inverter, a higher-tech version of a noise-canceling device.
The phase inverter recorded all ambient noises in the room, including their conversation, then processed it in real time to invert the waveform, which created a destructive interference pattern.
The software was careful to allow a few innocent words to dribble through.
The overall effect would garble their conversation but not entirely destroy the bug’s reception in order to avoid suspicion that it had been discovered and disabled.
“We don’t have much time,” Gowda said in a low whisper. “You saw the two crows across the street?”
“You mean Dumb and Dumber?” The young beauty giggled.
“RAW needs to find better recruits.” The Research and Analysis Wing was India’s version of the CIA.
Their agents routinely kept tabs on high-value persons like Dr. Gowda, one of the most prominent computer science researchers at the Indian Institute of Science.
He was currently working on a top secret organoid intelligence project under contract with the Ministry of Defense.
“With any luck, the RAW boys would chalk up the bug’s interference to the weather. If not, they’d do something about it.”
“Why the urgency?” she asked.
“Why do you think?”
Gowda reached into his sport coat and gripped the package. He hesitated. India only used the death penalty in extreme cases—and this was about as extreme as it got. But it was necessary, and she understood the risks as well as he did.
They were both Guardians.
Originating as a faction of rebel Japanese computer scientists, the Guardians had recruited like-minded scientists and technologists worldwide, united in their belief that the advent of AGI was a human-extinction and potentially planet-killing event.
Because the movement began in Japan, they adopted the Japanese mythology of the tengu.
These were the spiritual protectors of both the natural and cosmic orders, opposing the pride and vanity of arrogant monks and unscrupulous samurais—the corporate CEOs, university academics, and military generals of their day.
All were legitimate targets wherever they may be found.
The Guardians’ cause was as sacred as it was practical.
Humanity was ill-prepared for the godlike powers AGI would confer upon the most ambitious and amoral among them.
Nuclear weapons paled in comparison because they could never be used without harming the planet.
But AGI could be deployed covertly, collapsing whole societies at the virtual flip of a switch with literally no fallout to the attacker.
Gowda took her hand in his and gently kissed her fingers in what appeared to be a romantic gesture straight out of a Bollywood soap opera.
In fact, he was passing off to her a necklace identical to the one she was wearing, the pendant of which contained a miniature hard drive.
In a few moments she would excuse herself to the restroom, switch necklaces, and return the other one to him.
They had developed this little ruse of extramarital misbehavior in order to deceive their watchers.
Gowda needed a trustworthy and reliable person to pass off the intelligence he gathered from his work at the institute.
Meeting someone regularly would have drawn suspicion unless that person was a gorgeous young lady with whom the RAW agents themselves would have liked to become entangled.
She was, in fact, married to his brother, a brilliant scientist in his own right, who had recruited the two of them into the Guardian organization.
Their drinks arrived. The waiter set a cosmopolitan in front of her and a double shot of Johnnie Walker Black Label in front of Gowda.
“Your meals will be arriving shortly,” he said. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” the woman said with a smile. She watched him step away. “So, quickly, what’s this about?”
“Do you remember the woman from Hyderabad whom we saw practicing Bach’s fugues a few years ago?
I can’t remember her name.” Gowda was making a cryptic reference to organoid intelligence via the great composer’s organ fugues and to Dr. Bose, who had conducted her pioneering research in a lab in Hyderabad, India, several years prior.
“She’s no longer with us, as I understand it.”
“No. She’s very much alive apparently, and still playing. And getting quite good.”
“How good?”
“Rumors are she might be ready for her first full concert.”
“Where?”
“Not sure. I hope to find out. That’s one concert I’d hate to miss.”
Another waiter appeared with a condiment tray. He was unfamiliar, and the sleeves of his ill-fitting serving coat were three inches too short.
“Excuse me, sir, madame. I noticed your condiment tray needed to be refreshed. May I?”
Gowda fought back a hearty laugh. Where does RAW find these clowns?
“Yes, of course. Thank you for noticing.” Gowda picked up his smartphone/interference device and pocketed it as his sister-in-law handed the RAW agent the old condiment tray.
“Thank you both. I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” the agent said as he carried the old condiment tray and his bug back to the kitchen.
Gowda thought about activating his phase inverter again so they could continue the conversation, but that would only draw suspicion.
He saw the concerned look in his sister-in-law’s eyes.
She fully understood the gravity of the situation.
More important, she now had possession of the scant documentation he was able to download in her pendant.
She would hand it off to his brother and he would pass it up through the network.
They exchanged a knowing glance just as another waiter arrived with their mouthwatering dishes.
The RAW boys were listening hard now. Time to play the game of lovers once again, and enjoy an incredible meal together.
As inept as their watchers could sometimes be, it was possible the two of them had made a mistake somewhere along the line.
If so, this could be their last meal together, and his sister-in-law would be swapping out that pretty pendant for a noose around her perfect neck.