Brain Storm

15

Dr. Curt Newton hadn't slept for two days. At first it had been the exhilaration at unexpectedly finding the key to perfecting the Dynamic Interface System in the mind of an unwitting bank patron. But that had only been the first night. Now there was another reason for his restlessness.

He wanted to take the matter up with Lothar Holz, wanted to discuss what he felt was totally unethical behavior on the man's part.

But Holz wasn't in.

It was 7:00 a.m., and many of the lab people were already at work.

Even some of the paper pushers were trudging off the elevators.

Lothar Holz was generally in his office at seven on the dot. The day before had been understandable—he had been meeting with Dr. Smith—but where could he be today?

When he couldn't find Holz, Newton decided to Pass the nervous minutes until the confrontation by discussing some minor aspects of the interface program with the computer people. He was surprised to find that more than half of the programming staff weren't present.

Mervin Fischer, Ron Stern and several of their key people hadn't come in to work yet, either.

To make matters worse, the interface van was missing. Holz had sent Ron Stern out on some mysterious mission with nearly eight million dollars'

worth of equipment, and the dumb ox hadn't even brought it back yet. It was probably parked outside some Jersey City brothel getting picked over by scientists from Japan's Nishitsu Corporation.

Years' worth of research could be lost because of one man's abundance of testosterone. He'd take that up with Stern when he finally staggered in. He only wished he had access to the van now.

Newton wandered aimlessly through the lower levels of the Edison facility. He could be on the verge of something miraculous, but the tools to complete his work had been taken from him.

Holz had ensured that a duplicate file was created of the results obtained in the prior day's interface exercise, but Newton had no idea where the computer information was. All he had gotten from the van when they returned from Rye were a couple of CDs and a few other things grabbed in haste. The original file was, by and large, still in the van's system and Newton was anxious to take a look at it.

That man was incredible. But he also posed a problem for Curt Newton.

While he didn't enjoy going on Holz's little outing yesterday, Newton himself wouldn't necessarily forgo the opportunity to rifle through the mind of yet another unwilling test subject. It was, after all, in the name of science.

And some good might as well come out of something that he found personally distasteful.

Newton felt justified with the argument. Even though the information was obtained under questionable circumstances, the scientific benefits far outweighed any moral qualms he might have in not obtaining the prior consent of his test subject.

And after all, who was he to say what was or wasn't moral? He was just a scientist. A man who, in his mind, was already preparing his words to the press for his inevitable Nobel prize.

It was the increasing recklessness of Lothar Holz that was agitating Dr. Curt Newton. Didn't the fool know what was at stake?

If, God forbid, some unwilling test subject successfully pressed charges against PlattDeutsche, the whole program could be shot.

Some other company would surely take up the research where he'd left off, and all the laurels would go to them. A man who was locked out of his own scientific research didn't win Nobels.

Newton had been meandering fecklessly through the ground floor of the building and he was surprised-when he looked up to find that he was in the main lobby, beneath the huge bronze plaque bearing the company logo.

When he turned, he almost ran into Lothar Holz, who was marching in through the main doors. He was in the company of his assistant and a cross-looking old man. The three of them swept past Newton as if he were a common secretary.

"Lothar?" Newton called after him. He hurried to catch up.

Holz and his entourage were standing at the elevator that the assistant had summoned. When Holz turned, he looked displeased. "Yes? Oh, Curt. What is it?"

Newton was somewhat taken aback by the sharp-ness of his tone. The old man hadn't even turned to face him.

"Um, this is really kind of private," the scientist said, nodding toward the old man. "I just need a minute."

The elevator doors opened, and the old man stepped aboard.

"Sorry, Curt, I don't have a minute. Tight schedule." Holz tapped his watch. He stepped on the elevator, followed by his assistant.

The doors slid closed on the three of them before Newton was able to voice an objection. Holz didn't even glance his way again.

Newton was stunned. He stood, staring at the closed elevator doors for several long seconds. Lothar Holz had just blown him off. Him. Dr. Curt Newton. Physical cryptologist. That hadn't happened once in the five years he had been here.

A bell chimed nearby, startling Newton. He glanced up. The light above the doors indicated that the elevator had stopped on 4. That wasn't right. That floor wasn't even in use anymore. It housed all the original interface experimental equipment. It was virtually abandoned. He was sure Holz had made a mistake, but when the elevator car returned a few seconds later it was empty.

What were they doing on the fourth floor? And more importantly, who was the old man?

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to Newton.

What if that fossil was a scientist Holz had brought in to work on the final stages of the Dynamic Interface System?

Newton set his jaw firmly. One thing was certain.

If that ancient geyser wanted his name on Curt Newton's hard-earned Nobel Prize, he'd better damned well be prepared to kill for it.

A look of determination in his eyes, Dr. Curt Newton stepped on the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

"I told you to clean up in here," Lothar Holz snapped.

The bodies of Mervin Fischer and Zach Pendrake had been piled, one atop the other, against the wall near the door. There was a mop and bucket that had obviously been used to clean up Fischer's blood.

The water in the large bucket was a stained crimson. The blond-haired man nodded his apology and wordlessly took the handle of the mop and steered the wheeled bucket into a small side room. A moment later, the sound of water being slopped into a deep basin echoed out into the vast room.

"These are the ones you told me about?" von Breslau asked, ignoring the noise. He indicated the corpses on the floor.

Holz nodded. "The one in the dress shirt was our test subject. He literally put his fist through the body of the other one," Holz said, his tone like that of a proud parent whose child had just won a spelling bee.

Von Breslau stooped and examined the bodies. He removed a pen from his pocket and prodded Pendrake's shattered hand. As he did so, the blond assistant reentered the room, having disposed of the matter of the cleanup.

"How long was it before this man exhibited an increase in strength?" von Breslau asked.

"A minute. Two, perhaps. It happened very quickly." He suppressed a giddy laugh.

"Yes," von Breslau said. "Perhaps too quickly."

Holz furrowed his brow. "We pushed him too fast? Was that the problem?"

"I do not know. That is what I am here to find out." With difficulty he straightened up. "I want to test this procedure of yours immediately," he added, walking back over to Holz, removing his jacket and throwing it to the floor. When the assistant moved to retrieve it, the old man told him not to bother.

"Wouldn't you like to review the data first? I can have one of the scientists explain the interface technique."

"I cannot be bothered with that now. I understand this—" he tapped Holz on the chest "—what you can feel, what you can touch. My world is the physical. I need to see this incredible discovery for myself to judge whether or not my journey has been wasted."

"Surely you want to review my report on this one?" Holz indicated the body of Zach Pendrake.

"For background?"

"I trust my eyes. I do not trust reports."

Holz nodded in understanding. "You're right, of course. I'll see if I can find—" He fell silent, a startled look on his face.

Curt Newton had just stormed through the door to the lab. The scientist's eyes were angry as he searched out Holz. When he found him over by a disused mainframe, he marched purposefully over.

"I don't appreciate being shut out of my own research," he said accusingly.

"Curt, this is not the time—"

"Don't tell me that. Don't you dare tell me that.

Not when you're bringing in this...this amateur. I did all the work. It's only fair I get the credit."

"You will. Please, Curt." He was leaning and twisting, trying to interpose himself between Newton and the bodies on the floor. His gyrations weren't successful.

"Oh, my..." When he at last saw the bodies, Newton's voice was small.

"Who is this?" von Breslau demanded impatiently.

Newton had stepped past both of them, inching closer to the two corpses. "That's...oh, my. That's Mervin, isn't it? And that's, that's Pembrake. He's a company lawyer or something. What happened?"

He squatted on his haunches by the bodies, more curious than repelled.

"It is an internal problem, Curt."

"Not by the looks of it," Newton scoffed. He was looking at the hole in Mervin Fischer's chest through which some indistinguishable organs had slipped.

"Did he impale himself on his keyboard?"

"We are looking into the matter," Holz assured him. Still squatting, Newton turned. "I think it's safe to assume he's not a cop," he said, indicating von Breslau.

"Who is this man?" von Breslau asked again.

"Dr. Curt Newton. He pioneered the interface technology."

"He is the inventor? Good, I have need of his expertise."

"Wait a minute there, Grampa," Newton said, standing.

Holz held up a staying hand. He seemed to consider something deeply. When he seemed to reach an internal decision, he beckoned Newton to him.

"You remember that difficulty you had three years ago?" Holz whispered. "The traffic accident?"

Newton felt as if he had just been punched in the stomach.

He remembered a Christmas party that had gotten a little out of hand. He also vaguely remembered a body lying in some snow. It was an indistinct memory, almost like a dream. He didn't know what Holz had done that horrible night. All he knew was after the phone call he had left his car at the scene and been driven home. The vehicle was in his driveway when he awoke the following morning, washed and waxed and gleaming as if nothing had happened.

Newton had forced the incident from his consciousness. For his part, Holz had never breathed a word of the incident. Until now.

Newton gulped and nodded.

"It is good to remember some things, good to forget others," Holz remarked, nodding toward the bodies. Again Newton silently indicated his understanding. "You have made some remarkable advances here, Curt," Holz said approvingly. "With the aid of Dr.

von Breslau, you will make even more."

Newton gulped. "Breslau? That wouldn't be Erich Von Breslau, would it?"

The old man ignored the question. Holz leaned in closer to Newton. He said crisply, "You will not tell anyone. The doctor is involved in the management structure of PlattDeutsche International. If this is discovered, there are forces who would argue that all of our research is tainted. Including your own."

Newton's mind was racing. His brain conjured up images, countless photographs he had seen over the years, depicting horrific scenes of a war that had ended three years before he was born. He saw London after the blitz; merchant vessels sinking, torpedo victims, orphans crying in the streets, wasted figures in tattered clothes lined up along barbed-wire fences, shallow mass graves stacked with rotting corpses.

Putting all of that on one end of a scale, he placed his own career on the other. His career won out.

He heard the voice of Lothar Holz, breaking through his thoughts.

"Curt? Do you have a problem with this?"

Newton blinked. He glanced at Holz, then at the small aged man standing impatiently next to him. He didn't look all that dangerous.

Newton extended his hand. "I'm certain I will enjoy working with you, Doctor." And the smile Curt Newton flashed was sincere.