Trial Run (16 page)

K
evin drummed on the steering wheel as he said, “Basically, the objective of quantum computing is the same as a regular computer. To manipulate data and arrive at real-time solutions. From that point on, everything else is different. A quantum computer makes direct use of subatomic phenomena known as superposition and entanglement.”

Reese only half listened to Kevin. She stared at the Starbucks, trapped inside the thought that perhaps one of Gabriella's team had suddenly just appeared here in Santa Barbara. Everything to do with the Swiss group, as far as Reese was concerned, defined entanglement. Little flashes of uncertainty jerked Reese about, like a beast in a mental cage. She had no idea how far ahead of the curve they might be. The fear that Gabriella's group might be scoping them out, here and now, left Reese severely spooked.

She realized Kevin was waiting for her response and searched her brain for what they were talking about. “So what makes a quantum computer different?”

“Traditional computers are built around transistors. They manipulate bits of information. These bits carry an electronic charge of either positive or negative. In numerical terms, these bits can be either a zero or a one. Nothing else. All these ads you read about how microchips grow faster and smaller and more powerful, they're still based upon the same concepts of transistors and binary bits.

“A quantum computer works on the manipulation of qubits. A single qubit can represent a one or zero, and on top of that, a superposition of four more states. These additional states are based upon probabilities, also known as spin. But here's the thing. If you increase a quantum computer from one qubit to two, the number of possible answers rises at an exponential rate. A three-hundred-qubit quantum computer would hold more potential states, or possible answers, than the number of atoms in the observable universe. This offers us huge potential to resolve questions that standard computers just can't handle.”

“Like encryption, right? That's what you're working on, isn't it?”

“My team is working on several issues. But encryption is definitely top of the list. Virtually everything on the internet, all online banking and shopping and supposedly confidential file sharing, they're all based upon what is known as RSA encryption. This is also known as open-key security, because it allows the passage of the security key, or access code, from one person to another. Without both of these keys—the user's ID and the password—the system remains basically invulnerable. It's calculated that our fastest supercomputer would require six centuries to break an RSA-encrypted code system. But using what is known as Shor's algorithm, a 128-qubit quantum computer could break this in eight seconds.”

On the level of logic, Reese knew she was probably removed from any possible threat that Gabriella and her Swiss group might pose. But Reese had glimpsed the concept's potential and saw a bit more every time her team went out on transit. She knew it really didn't matter whether the blonde woman she had spotted actually belonged to the Swiss team. The threat was real. They had to be taken off the grid. Now.

Kevin spoke with the quiet passion of a typical engineer. As though nothing in the known universe was more important than taking the next step along the scientific ladder. “Quantum computing faces huge difficulties. Our team focuses on the two biggest issues. The first is interference, sometimes referred to as decoherence. Each qubit must be able to transfer data to another qubit without outside interruption, otherwise they come out of superposition and the calculation is lost. This means separating our system from the slightest interaction with the external environment. We're building isolation chambers, and we're working with particular molecules that have very special qualities.” Kevin glanced over again. “Imagine my surprise when we discovered that our boy in the coffee shop there was working on the same concept.”

Reese searched her memory and came up with the correct term. “Prions.”

“Right. These are very special protein molecules. Very complex, so long they create their own internal electromagnetic state, which results in the molecule folding a particular way. If you look at the atomic makeup, prions are the same proteins that form the essential structure in the human brain. But these prions are folded differently. We think there is a unique relationship between this pattern of folding and the manner in which the brain stores data and calculates responses. We are hoping that our work with quantum computing will someday duplicate the brain's essential power.”

Sunlight through the tree beside their car etched slow-motion shadows across the windscreen. Santa Barbara's main street was filled with tourists and locals enjoying a perfect California afternoon. The air through her open window was laced with Pacific salt. Normally Reese did not care for Santa Barbara at all. The place lacked everything she fed off, the edge, the energy. But just then she found great comfort in the city's tame feel.

She took a deep breath, released the remaining strands of tension, and glanced at her watch. “Shane Schearer is late.”

Kevin shrugged. “Our guy doesn't look bothered.”

“Is Trent talking with someone?”

Kevin squinted through the windscreen. “There's nobody else at his table.”

Reese could not see the blonde. But the room's back recesses were lost to late afternoon shadows. She was about to ask what made Trent's work so special when a shape appeared by the front windows. Reese flung the file at the backseat and shrieked, “That's
her
!”

“What's the matter?”

“Start the engine!” Reese stabbed the windscreen. “Drive, drive!”

“Why? Trent is still—”

“Do it!”

Elizabeth Sayer had pushed through the café's exit and rounded the corner and was gone. Fast as a pro. Like she knew she was under surveillance.

“Straight ahead. We're losing her!”

Kevin slid through the intersection and started past the hotel. He flinched when Trent Major turned toward the window, as though he watched their progress. “I think we just got made.”

“Forget Trent Major. Our target is a female in her late twenties, five nine, 120, white-blonde hair worn short and spiky, wearing a red leather jacket and black skirt with matching stockings.” Now that the target was identified, Reese was coldly together and functioning on full alert. “Take this left! Can't this thing go any
faster
?”

Kevin goosed the engine. The alley was so narrow he dragged Reese's door against the first of two hotel dumpsters. “Tell me what is happening!”

“We are in pursuit of a highly dangerous operative. Elizabeth Sayer is one of the opposition's original team. Did you catch my description of the target, Kevin?”

“Of course. Sayer. I know that name.” Kevin frowned. “The pharmaceutical giant.”

“Same family. Elizabeth is the black sheep. Disowned. Turn into the parking lot. Slow down. I need to check . . .” She leaned out the
window, checking the shadows beneath parked cars for any sign. “She's gone.”

“I never even
saw
her.”

“Stop the car.” Reese climbed out. “I'm going to cover the terrain again on foot. You use the car and circle the block. I'll meet you back where we were parked.”

“I thought we were here to watch the pair.”

“Do it, Kevin.” She walked through the lot, checking under each car. When she reached the empty alley she pulled out her cell phone. Held it to her chest long enough for a couple of tight breaths. She had to call this in.

F
ifteen minutes later, Trent Major was still watching the coffee shop's front door when Shane Schearer entered.

Actually, it was more like a controlled dance. The lady floated across the floor, high on whatever lit up her face from the inside.

She wore a new outfit of beige and white, a skirt and matching jacket, very simple, very elegant in a businesslike fashion. Her legs were sheathed in tights a shade lighter than the suit. She wore new shoes with mid-level heels. They matched the beige-gold bag that was slung over her shoulder.

Shane set the bag in the middle of the table. “Ferragamo's finest. It's designed to serve as a briefcase as well as a purse. What every successful woman will give her eyeteeth to carry this season.”

She was happier than Trent had ever seen. Her hair had been done. Trent knew she was not doing this for him, at least not directly. He was simply the audience that she needed. Which was wonderful. It was not merely that she trusted him. She considered him part of something real. Something she could rely on.

Such a shame, Trent thought, that he had to burst that bubble.

He said, “Put your bag on the chair.”

Shane looked hurt. She recovered swiftly, but the light had faded from her features. She pulled out the chair to his left. “What's the matter?”

“Not that chair.” Trent pointed at the one by the window. “Set it over here.”

Which was when Shane saw the other bag. Identical to the one she had just bought.

She whispered, “What's going on?”

Trent shook his head. “I have no idea.”

C
harlie Hazard entered the alley behind the Hotel Santa Barbara. He scoped out the streets at either end. He saw no parked car with multiple heads pretending not to observe him, no pedestrians loitering too long, nothing. When he decided the threat was either gone or invisible or had never existed, he reached for his phone and dialed Elizabeth's number.

The dumpster to his left chimed.

A very shaky voice called softly, “Charlie?”

“It's me. Come on out.”

Which was when he spotted the warning sign.

“That is the absolute worst place to spend a hot California afternoon.” Elizabeth took hold of Charlie's hand, gripped the dumpster's edge, and pulled herself out. Her legs came free with a sucking sound. “And it was probably all for nothing.”

Charlie continued to scope out the alley and the surrounding buildings. “Tell me what happened.”

“Can we get out of here?”

“Not yet.” He fitted them both in between the two dumpsters. “This is as safe as anywhere.”

She picked a wedge of vegetable goop off her skirt. She stank of fish and fry oil. “I was sitting in the back of the café, waiting for Trent's lady to show up.”

“I thought you didn't know his name.”

“We talked. He told me.”

“Tell me about the threat.”

“I was sitting at the table in Starbucks where I'd been in the image. Just like I told you. Trent sat by the window.”

“Which one? The café is lined with glass.”

“Halfway back from the front door. Just past the coffee machine. He was by himself. The lady was late. Which was what I said when I walked over. And that was when I spotted the threat.”

“Describe the setup for me.”

“There was a car parked across the street. Two people were sitting in the front seats. The woman shifted just as I was moving toward Trent's table. Suddenly there she was.”

“Reese Clawson.”

Saying the name was enough to put Charlie in combat mode. Two months after Gabriella started her research, a shadow organization had tried to take them out. It was the first concrete evidence Gabriella had that their power of awareness extended beyond earthbound parameters. They had survived the attack. Barely. And then done their best to move off the grid. Thus the shift to Campione. Knowing Reese Clawson was back on their trail, hunting them down in Santa Barbara, was the worst possible news.

Elizabeth said, “I don't remember her name. All I know is, she was the one you warned us about.”

Having Reese Clawson show up here, when none of them had any idea they would be moving in this direction, could only mean one thing. She was hunting beyond the horizon.

Charlie said, “Go on.”

“I stood behind a pillar while I talked to Trent. Afterward, as I left the café, I got another look at her. I raced around the corner and down this alley. I couldn't find any other place to hide. The hotel's rear entrance was locked. It was just me and the sunlight. So I climbed inside that dumpster. Then I heard the sound of a car engine. I thought maybe it was them, but now I'm not so sure.”

“The car,” Charlie said. “Was it a light metallic green?”

Elizabeth stared at him. “How did you know?”

Charlie pulled her out far enough to point at a strip of new paint down the side of the first dumpster. “You were right to run.”

“Oh, man.”

“Wait here.”

“You're going to leave me alone?”

“Three minutes. You're not exactly dressed for Santa Barbara.” He decided not to add that they might have watchers in place. Charlie jogged back to their rental car, drove around, waited for her to slip inside. He said, “Show me where the car was parked.”

“Take the right up ahead. Okay. Across the street, down that side lane, beside the building.”

The position offered a tree's shade and was ideal for scoping the coffee shop. A pro's setting. “Did you get a look at the other person in the car?”

“Some guy.” Elizabeth studied the empty parking space. “I could have been imagining things.”

“No, Elizabeth. You saw her. Reese Clawson is here. And she has targeted the lady you came to meet, or this guy. What were their names?”

“Trent. The lady is Shane.” She watched him intently. “What are you going to do?”

Charlie put the car in gear. “Whatever it takes.”

T
rent said, “Six hundred bucks.”

“That's just for the room. Don't forget the meal.”

They were in the Hotel Santa Barbara's top-floor suite. The hotel was an art deco masterpiece. The public rooms were a graceful combination of Spanish heritage and Western modernity. The downstairs floors were tiled, the high ceilings adorned with hand-painted redwood beams. The suite was filled with antiques. The luxury left Trent feeling uncomfortable inside his own skin.

Not to mention the blonde ghost who had gotten tight in his face and poured acid all over his dreams.

The room-service waiter had set their table overlooking the French doors and wrought-iron balcony. Footsteps and nighttime chatter echoed up from below, soft as rain. Farther down the street, a band played excellent jazz.

Shane said, “We need to talk about what we're not talking about.”

The equipment from the strange woman's briefcase was spread out on the living room coffee table. The shoulder bag contained an iPod, a charger, one page of terse instructions, and a pair of Bose
headphones. While waiting for dinner, they had circled the table like cats, touching nothing.

Trent said, “I'm still not comfortable with us being here at all.”

He expected argument. Instead, he got a look that he could only describe as soft.

Shane said, “There's a big reason for tonight. I want you to think very seriously about what I'm about to tell you. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Two things. First, we are partners. Second, you have money.”

Trent pushed his plate to one side. “That's a lot to take in.”

“I know.”

“But six hundred dollars for a room, Shane, it's . . .”

“It's wild. I've never done anything like this either. And we might not ever do it again. But I felt like we needed to hammer the point home for both of us. This is real. This is also bigger than what we're seeing.”

Trent nodded. Crazy as it seemed, uncomfortable as it felt to spend the money, he understood. “So what's the other big reason for us being here?”

“The lady said you're going to have another experience tonight. I'm not missing that. I'm also assuming your room at the university doesn't have space for me.”

“There is no way,” Trent said, “you will ever see where I live.”

“That's what I thought. And I doubt my roomie would be very excited over you doing your thing on her floor.” She pushed her chair back. “You want to have a closer look at the lady's bag of tricks?”

The instructions were both precise and explained almost nothing. Shane was to put on the earphones and lay down. The iPod contained a new app marked simply by an
X
. Shane was to key that app and shut her eyes. She needed to be alone. She would hear an auditory program that would introduce her to a meditative state and a specific set of experiences. She would be guided by instructions embedded in the program. She would remain in total control and could stop this at any time.

Shane was tempted to try the thing then and there. But she decided, “Maybe we should wait.”

“Whatever you decide is fine.”

“One mind-bending phenomenon at a time.” Shane turned the iPod over in her hands. “Do you think this might give me experiences like what you're having?”

Trent shook his head. “I'm still trying to get used to the idea of a woman I've never seen before walking over and telling me about things going on inside my head.”

There was a double bed in the suite's only bedroom. Trent insisted Shane take that and made a pallet for himself on the living room floor. He was already laying down when Shane emerged from the bathroom. She wore an oversized T-shirt from the hotel's gift shop. With her face washed and her copper hair hanging free, Trent thought she looked like a pixie.

Shane gave him a very solemn look and said, “I don't have to worry about you, do I.”

“Not now,” Trent replied. “Not ever.”

“I knew that. I just needed, you know.”

“You needed to put it out where we both could see it.”

Shane danced across the room and bounced into bed. She propped up a second pillow so she could look down at where he lay. “Anything?”

“I'm still awake.”

“Just checking. I wonder if I'll know. A beam of light from above. Green aliens flitting around your pillow. Something like that.”

“I think other people in the graduate dorm might have noticed.”

“You never know. They might have figured it was just another student flying off to the OD Corral.” She studied him for a time, then said, “Okay. Go ahead and ask.”

“Excuse me?”

“We've moved beyond phase one here. It's time to let you ask your questions.”

“Anything?”

She crossed her arms. “Within reason.”

Beyond the open balcony doors, the night continued to buzz with unfamiliar sounds. Trent thought he caught a whiff of her fragrance, soap and toothpaste and fresh hopes. “Will you tell me about your family?”

“My parents were killed in a freeway pileup when I was fourteen and my sister was ten. We were split up and got bounced around the foster care system for about six months.”

Trent forced himself to stop thinking about her being there in the bed and listened intently to what she was saying. “I'm really sorry, Shane.”

“Thanks. It was awful for me, but worse for my sister. She's never talked about what happened. But she came back a different person. Twisted up inside.”

“What's your sister's name?”

“Billie.” Shane reached behind her and punched her pillows into submission. Then she lay flat and said to the ceiling, “My aunt finally won custody. We were never that close. When we were young, family gatherings were battlegrounds. And my sister was a real handful. But Aunt Emily saw us both to eighteen.”

“Where is your sister now?”

“Still in Bakersfield. That's where my aunt lives.” Shane was quiet for a time, then, “Billie never made it out. Now she's just counting the days, withering on the vine.”

Trent nodded to the shadows made by the streetlights. He realized she could not see him, so he said, “I understand that all too well.”

Shane reached over and cut off the light. “I don't want to talk about my family anymore.”

“I totally understand.”

The silence lasted long enough for slumber to emerge from the corner shadows and creep across the room to where Trent lay. Then Shane whispered from the other room, “Anything?”

“Good night, Shane.”