Chapter 38
Lewis took a step forward, but Boxall took a step back, the chrome automatic steady in a two-handed grip. “Don’t even think about it, you fucking prick. Hands up.”
June saw something twitching inside the tech executive, a kind of madness rising to the surface.
Lewis saw it, too, and raised his hands. His jacket rose up, exposing the Beretta tucked into the back of his pants. He glanced at June.
She knew Lewis would have a round in the chamber and the safety off. All she’d have to do is reach out and grab the pistol. Then she flashed back to the previous winter and the horror of watching him get shot. “Not worth it, Lewis. Back away.”
His face a mask, he retreated one step, then another.
“Keep going,” she said. If he went left toward the driveway, Boxall would have trouble keeping an eye on them both. If Lewis moved far enough, he’d be out of sight and could pull the Beretta.
Instead, he came to a stop, knees slightly bent, ready. “I’m not leaving you.”
He was still within range of the camera.
June looked at Boxall. “He dropped the shotgun. He backed away. Legally, if you shoot him now, you’ll be fucked.
Everything’s on camera. With your money, you’d be a flight risk, so they’ll deny bail.
Do you really want to be locked in a prison cell when the Dark Time comes? ”
The twitching thing behind his eyes stared back at her for a long moment. June could see how badly it wanted to pull the trigger, had been wanting it for a long time. Then he blinked, making some internal calculation, and the thing inside him sank down, waiting for another day.
“You better keep your nose out of our business,” he said. “Or things will get ugly in a way you really won’t like.”
“Things are already ugly for you,” June said. “You’re down two guys. And your little secret plan is coming out. Come clean now, maybe you’ll get a reduced sentence.”
He laughed out loud. “You’re funny, girl reporter. You think you know something but you have no idea.”
“So educate me,” she said. “Tell me the timeline, at least.”
A strange smile grew on his face. “Sooner than you think. We moved up the schedule. You better look to your own future instead of fucking with ours.”
Then he stepped back and closed the door in her face.
She backpedaled onto the wet lawn and sucked in a deep breath, heart pounding. “That was my fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked you to lose the shotgun.”
“And I shouldn’t have done it. Lesson learned.” He eyed the house. “In retrospect, I should have learned it after what Peter said about Enderby’s skills at the motel. These tech goobers may be amateurs, but they sure ain’t playing.”
“You always told me amateurs are more dangerous than professionals because you can’t predict what they’ll do.”
“Guess I forgot.” He flashed her a tilted smile. “Next time, remind me.”
Unzipping his jacket, he bent to pick up the shotgun. With the hem of his shirt, he wiped off any prints he might have left. “You believe what Boxall said about moving up the schedule?”
“You saw how happy he was just thinking about it,” she said. “So yeah, I do.”
“Me, too.” He dropped the shotgun into the mud and turned to go. “Guess we better figure what the hell that means, and in a hurry.”
They walked back to the Lexus, pulled a U-turn, and drove away.
—
Their next stop was the University of Washington, where Sanjay Mishra ran a robotics lab. In the last thirty-six hours, June had emailed him, texted him, and called his cell. She’d never gotten anything back. In fact, his voicemail was full, so she couldn’t even leave a message.
“I read about this guy,” Lewis said. They were back on Montlake, heading north across the bridge toward the university.
“Writer seemed to think he was a pretty good dude. Kinda the opposite of Troy Boxall. A family man. He put real money into tech scholarships for poor kids. Plus he made stuff that was actually useful, like the first fully functional robotic hand.”
“The hand was only the start,” June said. “Mishra’s new project is to use humans with teleoperated equipment to train robots on complex manual tasks. After thousands of repetitions by dozens of human trainers, the robot AI has enough data to perform the task on its own.”
“Like how training data enables chatbots to outperform a human being on the LSAT,” he said.
“After learning enough tasks, the AI will begin to teach itself, develop new skills on its own. The robot revolution is right around the corner.” He caught her looking at him.
“You know I invest in tech, right? I try to keep up on the latest.”
Because of his physicality and the aura of violence that surrounded him, it was easy to forget how smart Lewis was. On his own since the age of fifteen, and parentless long before that, he was entirely self-educated.
She smiled at him now. “Black man with a library card.” Referencing his favorite quote about the most dangerous man in America.
He gave her a smile back, full and genuine. “Damn right, Junebug.”
They drove past the UW sports complex, then turned left on Pend Oreille Road and angled up into campus proper.
In the last twenty years, academics had increasingly turned their research into for-profit businesses, often partnering with their universities and VC outfits to do so.
The result was to turn powerhouse institutions like the University of Washington, along with MIT and Carnegie Mellon and many others, into de facto tech incubators.
Sanjay Mishra was right in the middle of it.
With his name on more than a hundred patents, he’d already spun off three robotics companies.
He was in the process of leaving academia to fully commercialize his research and make a fortune in the process.
And the world would change forever, again. For the better, she hoped.
His lab was on the fourth floor of the Paul Allen building, a big new complex for computing and robotics.
She knew he wouldn’t work from home because he had four small children.
They rode the elevator up and emerged in a small reception area, where a tubular young man in a fleece quarter-zip sat behind a desk. “Help you, folks?”
“June Cassidy to see Sanjay Mishra,” June said. “We have an appointment.” By which she meant that she would have made an appointment if Mishra had gotten back to her.
“Uh.” He flushed slightly. “Professor Mishra’s not in today.”
June figured she’d have to talk her way into the appointment, but didn’t think they’d be denied outright.
Beside her, Lewis straightened his posture, dipped a hand into his pocket, and brought out a business card, which he handed over.
Instead of his usual street-inflected drawl, he had the clipped tones of an Ivy League graduate.
“Colonel Lewis, Department of Defense. Where is Dr. Mishra?”
“Oh, gosh. I don’t know.” The desk man’s face got pinker. “One moment?” He picked up the phone and punched in numbers. “Someone from the Department of Defense is here? For Professor Mishra?”
June raised her eyebrows at Lewis. He pretended not to notice.
Two minutes later, a small capable-looking woman with jet-black hair came through a set of glass doors. “I’m Jennifer Wong, the lab administrator. What’s this about?” The desk man handed her the card.
“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” Lewis said. “We need to speak with Dr. Mishra.”
The administrator looked at the floor for a moment, then back up at Lewis.
“I would also like to speak with Professor Mishra,” she said.
“Five days ago, he left the lab early, saying he had a meeting off campus and would be back the next day. I haven’t heard from him since.
He’s not responding to text or email. I called his wife and she hasn’t heard from him, either. ”
“I see. Have you spoken with the Seattle police?”
“Yes. They said he’s an adult and entitled to change his plans. They told me to call again if he’s been gone for more than a week.”
Lewis took a pen from the reception counter, retrieved the card from the administrator, and scribbled something on the back. “That’s my personal number. Have him reach out the minute you hear from him.”
Back in the elevator, June said, “Colonel Lewis?”
He gave her an elaborate shrug. “We in a hurry, ain’t we? Just trying to move shit along.”