The Arcturus Man (52 page)

“Oh that stuff. Like any man wants to talk about their feelings. All guys are like
that, Jenn. I have to sit on Jake to make him talk to me. Didn’t you ever read Venus and
Mars, or whatever that book was called?”
“That’s not it, Krissy.
I know I’m trashing Jared, but I can tell you that the guy
honestly and truly likes women. Maybe he likes them too much, but he really likes talking with me. I’m not explaining this right. I don’t know how to say this. He talks all the
time.
He is a very easy…and frankly a fascinating guy to have a conversation with.
Sometimes we talk for hours and hours, especially in bed, but he rarely talks about himself unless I force him to. Sometimes I don’t notice it right away, but most of these marathon conversations are like teacher and student and I’m the one with the dunce cap in the
corner.”
Jenny continued talking. “I see him in these blue funks but he won’t tell me what
he’s feeling or why. If he really is suicidal, he won’t talk about it. I have to know if he’s
thinking about killing himself, don’t I? He will give me these darned hints but they’re so
obtuse I rarely understand what he’s trying to tell me. Maybe I am stupid…compared to
him. He has hinted at that as well but I don’t know if he is really saying that or if it’s all
in my head and I’m making it up.
It drives me nuts. And he repeats a few sayings over
and over again until it drives me insane. ‘Analysis is paralysis. Everything is chemistry,’
over and over again,” said Jenny.
“Yea, that would bother me too. Guess I’m lucky Jake hardly talks at all. Wham,
bam, thank you mam! End of conversation. Oh, and Jake likes to talk about C plus plus
and about fucking computers.”
“You want some green tea? asked Krissy.
“Sure, I need some calming.”
“Calming? How about chamomile?
“Sure.”
“OK, we’ve, like, solved all of the problems of the world,” said Krissy. “What do
you want to do that’s fun? Too early for a movie.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Suppose we go to the New England Aquarium. I love that
place.”
Krissy made a sour face. “I said fun, Jenn.”
“Mary Chung’s for lunch?”
“Well, that’s not exactly fun. OK, we’ll make it fun.”
They finished their tea. Jenny borrowed one of Krissy’s scarves.
The wind had
died down a little, but it was still gusty. Krissy changed into jeans. Jenny made sure that
Jenny locked the apartment on their way out.
They raced each other down the stairs and just about knocked over a short fat
man in the foyer. He was leaning up against the mail boxes, writing into a small notebook.
The label on the notebook was in Cyrillic.
The notebook went flying as they
crashed into him. Krissy bent down and picked up the notebook and handed it to him.
“Sorry, Mister,” said Krissy.
“No troubles, pretty ladies,” said the fat man.
He was very fat and had a heavy
foreign accent.
He was smiling but it was a leering, unctuous smile.
And, he smelled
like rancid cheese.
“Sorry,” said Jenny.
The girls bolted out the door.
“What creep buzzed that creep into the building?” asked Krissy.
“He made my skin crawl, the way he was staring at us,” said Jenny.
They unchained their bikes and pushed off.
Jenny turned around slightly.
The
ugly fat man was still staring at them from an open door as they pedaled away. Sami was
writing again.

Sam Bentley gingerly maneuvered his weathered old boat into the open boat
house. Except for the little whaler, all of Jared’s boats were still moored at the Ovid Marina.
It was early July.
Brett Koutsanoudis didn’t mind coming to Maine in early July.
He hated cold weather and that’s most of the year in Maine. He stepped off the launch
and climbed up to the boat house dock.
“
Thank goodness the boat house survived
,” he
thought.

“THANKS SAM,” yelled Brett. Sam nodded and pulled out.
“PLESA’,” yelled Sam in Mainer. He tipped his hat.
Brett wondered for a moment.
True Maine accents were pretty rare these days,

“BE BACK IN ABOUT THREE HOURS…RIGHT,” Brett yelled louder. It was
noon.
He thought it shouldn’t take more than three hours to get things in motion with
Jared.

He walked up the rocky path to where Jared’s wonderful house used to be.
He
glanced at the burned out trees and shrubbery as he climbed. It was such a shame. Signs
of destruction were everywhere.
Soot had already smudged the pant leg of his recently
purchased Hickey Freeman gray chalk stripe suit.

Brett crossed the lawn to a clearing next to where the old house had been, up to a
brand new prefab A-frame. It was the largest prefab he had ever seen, but much smaller
than the first Eagle’s Head house.

It was a wood A-frame that ran two and a half floors. The house looked like one
massive roof. Only the ends were vertical. They just set it on a concrete slab and bolted it
together. It was painted Tudor style and had huge picture windows on the side facing the
bay. Massive windows also ran along the south-facing roof. Brett thought he recognized
solar panels as well.

“You’re spending too much time overseas, friend. We don’t do that in the states,”
said Jared. He was standing behind Brett.
Brett spun around.
“YO!
I hate it when you do that, Jared.
Anyway, I was just
being cosmopolitan,” said Brett.
“Thanks for coming on short notice,” said Jared.
“No problem.
Nice house.
I can’t believe it’s up this soon.
What was it, a
month?”
“Yea, just a few days over three weeks.
I had to import the workers from Connecticut. That cost,” said Jared.
“Why Connecticut? What’s wrong with the workers in Maine?”
“They’re great.
They’re better than great, but you can’t get them to accept rush
jobs.
They work on their own time schedule and nothing can persuade them to change
schedules.
I guess that’s sort of a tradition.
If you admit that you are available, you
could be telling people that you might not be that good.
Good workers are always supposed to be busy, so they keep up the posturing even if they might need the work. Maine
is such a high tax welfare state that you’d think it would be easy to get workers, but its
not.
Connecticut, on the other hand, is a state that’s actually been in bankruptcy and
workers are available.
I suppose it’s a wash.
Their rates are much lower but the room
and board to come to Maine wipes out the savings, and them some,” said Jared.
“I see,” said Brett.
“Yea, I wish we could have incorporated in Maine rather than Nevada.
Everything would be so much easier.”
“You going to rebuild the grand house?” asked Brett.
“No. I don’t need it…now.”
Jared led the way into the house.
“John Cabot should be here soon. When you confirmed your trip, I asked John to
come up as well.”
Brett looked puzzled, but didn’t ask for an explanation.
Attorneys should never
be puzzled.
“Neat! You’re all set up. That didn’t take long,” said Brett.
There were computers everywhere, as well as three 50-inch plasma TV panels
hung on an interior wall. Being an A-frame, the area where the roof line meets the floor
was mostly dead space, conventional rooms were framed several feet inside of the roof
line.
It was odd. Some of the walls only went up about eight feet but the ceiling was at
least twenty feet up, or more, depending on where you looked.
The second story didn’t
run the full length of the house. Brett could see a loft above that. All of the furniture was
new. The kitchen was mixed in with the living room. It was a first-class kitchen.
“It’s great you have money, Jared. Good looking house.”
“Yes, it will do. It is difficult to imagine that this design goes back to 1957…half
a century ago—when it was popularized by Andrew Geller.
Geller was an architect,”
said Jared.
“Yes, I think I remember reading about Geller,” said Brett.
“Let’s get down to business. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Things are not good…not good at all…but I honestly don’t think it’s as bad as it
appears at first blush.”
“OK! Give me a run down.”
“One…the Smolenskiy matter. The Augusta District Attorney, Fischer, convened
a Grand Jury. It looks like they are going to hand down an indictment for first degree. I
can’t believe it. They have less than circumstantial evidence. It seems that the State Police are pushing Fischer to indict based on a theory…only a theory.
You seem to have
really pissed someone off in the Staties. I think his name is Holob. They can place you in
the area, but that’s it. There is nothing more, or at least nothing that I know of. Is there
more Jared?” asked Brett.
“There is nothing more,” said Jared. “Will I be able to make bail?”
“Depends on the judge, but I think it’s likely.
They’ll take your passport, of
course, and they will probably impound your boat…the large one…for the duration.”
“So it’s going to be a hassle and cost me a few bucks, but I can survive this one.”
“That’s my view,” said Brett.
“I’m not worried about it. Next?”
“Item two, the patent matter.
Your reputation as a boy genius inventor and the
success of so many of your patents is working against you. The Feds grabbed your patent
and classified it. You’re screwed!”
“I still can’t believe they can do this,” said Jared. “I sent Obama a message that I
was thinking about it. Why would they do that before they hear my decision?”
“THE PRESIDENT? You are communicating with Obama about this? Shouldn’t
you have told me about this? GOD JARED!”
“It wasn’t relevant until now.
Besides, I sent the message through an intermediary, some special ops guy called Red Leader.
Maybe Obama never got the message.
But, if he did, I don’t understand why he went back on his promise. I’ve told you before
that I think he’s the worst president in American history…the guy is corrupt and willfully
deceitful…but I thought he would keep his word,” said Jared.
“This is way above my pay grade.”
“Is it a waste of time appealing this? This is going to cost me a fortune, at least in
terms of unrealized revenue. The Invention Secrecy Act dates back to 1951. That’s half
a century ago.
35 U.S.C., 37 Code of Federal Regulations part 5, and blah blah blah.
I
can understand how these laws were motivated at the end of World War Two and the beginning of the Cold War, but not today.”
“As long as I’ve known you, I keep forgetting that you can recite this stuff from
memory…probably line by line. What do you need me for?” asked Brett.
“I haven’t passed the bar Brett.”
“Oh yea. That little detail. Well, to answer your question…as if you couldn’t answer it yourself…as you know very well….the ‘state secrets’ privilege means that the
White House can withhold documents from everyone.
Between 1953 and 1976 it was
only used four times.
Up to 9/11, it’s been used 23 times. More importantly, by the end
of the federal fiscal year in 2012, there were more than 6,900 secrecy orders.”
“I want to fight this.”
“Neat! We’ll fight it, but there’s more.”
“Shoot,” said Jared.
“You’re going to want to shoot someone before we’re done. The thing that makes
this really dangerous…and I mean dangerous…is that they figured out that you withheld
all of the technical details to make this thing work. They are super pissed.”
“So I have leverage.”
“Negative.
They have motivation to really put the screws to you. You know, to
force you to cough up the missing information.”
“It’s all in my head.”
“Well, of course it is. Who doesn’t know that? It doesn’t help you.”
“Want a beer? St. Pauli Girl?”
“Sure,” said Brett.
Jared had a poster of the new St. Pauli Girl tacked to the wall next to the frig.
“That’s Ginger. Holly Cow! You based Ginger on this poster, you devil, except
the poster is wearing clothes.
I should have notice that you based her on the St. Pauli
Girl. By the way, where is Ginger?” asked Brett.
“Yes, she’s fine. She’s still hiding, but I have her linked on my laptop.”
“Neat! You really should market her some time. There isn’t anything like her out
there.”
“Not going to happen,” said Jared.
“OK! OK!”
“Ginger, Brett’s here. Say hi!”
“Hello Mr. Antonides. How have you been?”
She popped up on Jared’s laptop, the one sitting on the kitchen counter.
Ginger
was dressed like an English schoolgirl.
She had a very short plaid pleated skirt.
She
wore shear stocking; the tops of the stockings were visible.
Ginger had a white blouse
with a striped school tie. She was wearing a straw hat.
“Very well Mr. Antonides. And you?”
“I like your hat Ginger. Please call me Brett.”
“You fancy it, do you? It is a straw boater. Some call it a basher or a skimmer. I
suppose you Yanks wouldn’t know that,” said Ginger.
Brett turned to Jared and spread his hands in a what’s-going-on gesture.
“I asked Ginger to…ahh…change her outfit, so to speak. This is all her idea, including the British accent.
Her creative subroutine is over the top I would say,” said
Jared.
“I liked your old outfit, Ginger. Why this?”
“You will have to inquire of Master Jared.
He evidently didn’t care for it.”
She
was clearly being snippy.
“Good bye Ginger.
Time to go,” said Jared. He turned to Brett as he closed the
laptop.
“Actually, it was a promise I made to my housekeeper. Marie. I believe you met
her on one of your visits.”
“It is a shame that housekeepers control our lives—metaphorically speaking,”
said Brett.
The doorbell rang.
“Come on in John,” said Jared.
John Cabot walked in. He dropped an expensive leather softside briefcase on the
floor, kicked it under a chair, and climbed on top of a bar stool at the kitchen counter. He
looked exhausted.
“Jared.
You’ve got to find a place to live that people can drive to. How about a
beer?” said John.
“Don’t hold your breath John,” said Brett.
“Hey, Brett, nice to see you again.” Brett nodded.
“How’ve you been John? How’s the FBI treating you?” asked Brett.
“Great. Just Great. Couldn’t be greater. The crap really hit the proverbial fan this
time Jared.”
Jared opened the frig and took out three bottles of St. Pauli Girl.
The green bottles began to sweat as soon as they reached the counter.
It was a warm day.
Jared used
his thumb and quickly popped the cap off of each bottle.
“How does he do that?” said John. It was a rhetorical statement.
“What crap and what fan? You guys want glasses?” asked Jared.
They both shook their heads no.
Jared slid the bottles across the wet countertop.
John almost missed his.
“Maybe we better finish our talk before we broach new agenda items,” said Brett.
“Where were we?” asked Jared. “Oh yea, always fear the government.”
“Not nice talk Jared. You’ve got to cut out that kind of talk, as you will shortly
discover,” said John.
“The feds just classified Jared’s patent for a universal detection system for weapons, explosives, biological agents, chemical agents…you know…the works. They substantively own it now and since he lost his clearance over the dual-citizenship business, he
can’t even see it,” explained Brett.
“Yea, I know. I am really sticking my neck out coming here. They don’t have a
tail on him right now, so I am probably OK, but it’s only a matter of time.
If we can’t
straighten this out soon, my career is in the crapper, if not worse,” said John. “Mind you,
I really don’t care if I’m fired,” said John.
“As long as it’s nothing more serious than
being fired, I don’t care.
I plan to quit in a few months anyway, but I don’t need the
stress,” said John.
“I’m really sorry you’re involved right now John.
I think you should go back to
Boston…now…and not communicate with me until this blows over, one way or another,”
said Jared. “If anyone asks about me, tell them what they want to hear. Whatever it is. It
won’t bother me. Honest. I don’t want you taking any more chances.”
“What kind of friend do you think I am, Jared? Bull Shit! I don’t swim to shore
with the rats just because the ship sprung a few leaks,” said John.
“Jared is making sense John.
You need to think about it.
I’m doing my job.
You’re fraternizing with the enemy. They’ll crucify you.”
“Bull Shit! End of discussion,” said John.
They were all quiet for a few minutes. John and Brett studied their green bottles.
Then Brett continued the conversation about the patent problem as if the loyalty interlude
had never occurred.
“So why can’t they figure out your invention without you? The patent application
contained a Hell of a lot of detailed information and data,” said Brett.
“They don’t have the science to fill in the technical gaps. My device works at the
Quantum level.
Every substance in the universe has a fingerprint at the Quantum level
that is as unique as human fingerprints.
It would work just like the Bureau’s IAFIS fingerprint system that you work with every day John. It would also be virtually instantaneous and can be run live in any environment.
You could put this thing on a lamp post in
Time Square and ask it to search for specific substances indexed in its hard drive memory. There is no practical limit how many substances it can search for as long as you have
the processing power and a big hard drive. At the moment the prototype…if I had actually built a prototype…would be the size of a home heat pump, but with miniaturization
and full production, I think I could shrink it to the size of a small microwave, and maybe
smaller. And most importantly, no nuisance alarms.
All of the current chem-bio sensors
that Homeland Security is trying to use are virtually useless. They are feel-good devices
to placate the public. They’re unreliable, they take to long to complete an analysis, and
they are plagued by nuisance alarms from common materials in the environment. They
are also extremely limited in the number of materials they can detect.
The airport scanners are worse, but you both already know that.”
“That’s interesting but you still haven’t explained why they need you,” said Brett.
“I do finally understand why they want it so badly.”
“I did explain. They just don’t have the science. My technology is entirely original. It’s not an improvement of something. It is totally new. They don’t have a clue how
to make things work at the subatomic level.”
“Well I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about either, so I guess I’ll have to
take your word for it that they can’t do it without you,” said Brett.
“If you can actually make this thing Jared, it would change how security is run at
airport, subways, train stations, office buildings…shit…anywhere. You would make billions on something like that,” said John. “It could shut down terrorist attacks throughout
the world. It could mean the end of terrorism.”
“A bit dramatic,” said Jared.
“And, no one ever believes me when I say this,
but…I’m really not doing it for the money. I have as much as I need,” said Jared.
“Then you’re a noble man, my friend,” said John.
“That isn’t it either. I’m fascinated by the science in it and I just want to make it
work to see that it does work.
There’s not much more to my motivation than that. Of
course, the money doesn’t hurt either,” said Jared.
“That’s why I’ve always like you Jared.
There’s no bull shit.
What you see is
what you get,” said John.
“Speaking of getting, you each get ten percent. That’s the least I can do. You can
quit your day job, John, if we can get this cleared up,” said Jared.