The Invitation-kindle (7 page)

“Just for the opening ceremonies. We’ll be back home by Sunday night, unless you want to stay longer.”

“I have to tell my mother,” Rebecca says as she quickly rises.

“Say hi for me,” Steve says, as he receives a kiss from his wife.

“I will,” she says.

Steve smiles contentedly as his wife prances out of the room with giddy excitement. He can imagine how difficult it must be for a woman to be married to a man with disabilities as severe as his. The love, respect, and gratitude he feels for her is unceasing.

Steve and Rebecca were planning to have children when he got out of the Army. That all changed in a split second, when the bomb blast that nearly killed him left him maimed for life. That was over five years ago. In that time Rebecca has been unexceptionably steadfast in her love and support, being completely dedicated to his recovery, and general wellbeing. As Steve looks around the room he sees the trophy on the mantle they both won for taking second place in the State Ballroom Dancing Competition seven years ago. Dancing was for both of them a great source of enjoyment. Remembering those happier days, his thoughts turn somber. He thinks how paltry and meager a ride on a plane must be compared to the continual sacrifice and devoted support of his loving wife. How could he ever hope to repay that gift? A gnawing sense of inadequacy seeps into his thoughts. He knows the danger of such thinking. He is determined not to allow his disability to rule his life. That is now the greatest challenge he faces, a challenge that he appears to be meeting successfully, at least for now.

Several days later, Director Slaughter walks into his office at FBI headquarters in Washington. He arrives this morning with a strong sense of expectation. Receiving a phone call last night from his trusted lead investigator Tim Colby, he has been told that the medical records of the President’s hospital stay when he was briefly hospitalized several years ago have been obtained, and what has been described as “a certain irregularity” has been found. Convinced he will learn something new from the brain scan images of Ken Myers taken after an auto accident when he was Governor of Florida, the Director is eager to hear Tim Colby’s report. Knowing the potentially explosive scandal that could result from unauthorized access to these records, Director Slaughter has ordered strict secrecy be observed by those few with any knowledge of the case. He knows he is dealing with something that could redound with consequences that would be extremely serious. If known, the covert possession of any part of the President’s medical records would at least mean his resignation as director of the FBI, and possible criminal charges.  Leaning back in his chair he considers the unusual situation that confronts him. He picks up the DVD that he watched with Tim Colby. Recalling the inexplicable images of Ken Myers reading the plays of Shakespeare at an impossible speed, he resolves to himself to discover what it means, even if it requires tactics that are less than legally defensible.

The expected voice of his secretary interrupts his chain of thought.

“Sir, Mr. Colby is here.”

“Please send him in, Connie.”

A moment later the door opens, and Tim Colby briskly enters.

“Morning, Tim,”

“Good morning, Sir.”

Without bothering to be seated Agent Colby opens his briefcase and removes a large envelope. Placing it on the table in front of the Director, he sits down to apprise his boss.

“Sir, as reported we were able to obtain the brain scan results done on Ken Myers when he was hospitalized.”

“Before we go any further, let me ask you, are we exposed?” the director asks.

“We are not.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“You know this could be political dynamite.”

“I know that, Sir.”

Picking up the envelope the Director removes the numbered photographs. Looking at the first one he asks, “So, is this the original scan?”

“It’s a photo of the original. We looked at it and found nothing unusual. Then I had the image magnified. The second photo shows what we found when we magnified the original fifty times.”

Looking at the second photo with a mixture of curiosity and bafflement, the Director asks, “What am I looking at?”

“We don’t know, Sir. It looks a little like a chip of some type. In the next two photos we magnified the image eighty times, and then two hundred.”

Quickly turning to the last photograph, Director Slaughter pauses, and tries to make sense of what he’s seeing.

“So whatever this thing is, it’s inside his brain?”

“Yes, Sir, it’s in a part of the brain called, uh, I have it written down here. The dorsolateral prefrontal cortex.”

“What is that?”

“It’s in the left hemisphere of the brain, in the frontal lobe, as I understand it.”

“You have an expert coming in to help us out this morning, don’t you?” the Director asks.

“Yes Sir, Professor Alan Hobart from Georgetown. He’s an expert in neuroanatomy.”

“Hmm, so he has brains, and knows them, too.”

“Yes.”

“He should be here soon. I told him to come in at nine, Sir,” Agent Colby says.

“Good, maybe he can make some sense of this. I assume he’s unaware of whose brain scan this is.”

“That’s correct.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“These photos are strange. What’s the size of this thing we’re looking at?”

“We estimate it’s roughly one one-hundredth of an inch.”

“One one-hundredth of an inch? No computer chip is that small. What are those things coming out of it? They look like tiny hairs or something.”

“Our people are at a loss to explain it.”

“Maybe the good professor can enlighten us,” the Director says.

“I hope so.”

A moment later the voice of Mr. Slaughter’s secretary interjects.

“Sir, Mr. Hobart is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Connie, Please tell him we’ll be right out.”

Muting the intercom, the Director says to Agent Colby, “Our expert is here. Show him in, would ya, Tim?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Oh, and uh, let’s keep things confidential.”

“Yes, Sir,” Mr. Colby says as he rises to go.

Moments later Mr. Colby returns with Professor Hobart and introduces him to Director Slaughter.

“Sir, this is Professor Alan Hobart. He teaches neuroscience at Georgetown University.”

“Professor Hobart, thank you for coming in. I hope this is not inconvenient for you.”

“Not at all, I’m glad to be with you.”

“Please sit down.”

“Thank you,”

“Professor, you’re an expert on neuroanatomy, as I understand.”

“That’s what I teach.”

“Prior to teaching you were a practicing neurosurgeon as well.”

“That’s correct.”

“Let me ask you, Professor, how often did you use brain scans in your practice?”

“Nearly always. It’s fundamental. Brain imaging technology allows us to see inside a patient’s brain. It’s a powerful diagnostic tool.”

“Have you read a lot of brain scans?”

“Yes, hundreds.”

“Professor Hobart, we would like you to look at a brain scan image, and give us your opinion of what you see.”

“Sure, be glad to,”

“Tim, you have a DVD of these photos so we can see them on the TV screen?”

“Yes Sir, I do.”

Director Slaughter closes the window blinds, and as the room gets darker Agent Colby cues up the DVD, and turns the widescreen television on. As the first image appears the three men sit back, and view the image. After a few seconds, Professor Hobart speaks.

“What we’re seeing here is what’s known as a DTI scan, short for diffusion tensor imaging. It’s actually more detailed than a conventional MRI scan. This looks like the brain of an adult. I would guess between the ages of thirty to fifty years old. Nothing really unusual about it.”

“Show him number two, Tim.”

As the second image appears Professor Hobart looks intently at it, pauses, then hesitantly asks, “What am I looking at here?”

“That’s what we were going to ask you,” the Director says.

“The next two images are the same with higher magnification,” adds Mr. Colby.

“Let me see them,” Professor Hobart says.

Seeing the magnified image, Professor Hobart fixes his attention completely on the object in the photo, and says nothing.

“This is magnified eighty times,” Agent Colby says.

After hearing no response from Professor Hobart, Mr. Colby shows the last photo.

“And this image is magnified two hundred times”

Seeing the strangely intriguing image, the Professor stands up, and slowly walks toward the TV screen. He sees the clearly discernible symmetry of a six-sided object, with what looks like thousands of microscopic filaments attached to it extending outward in all directions. Even the cursory glance of an untrained eye would immediately recognize it as something with design, purpose, and function. Squinting his eyes, Professor Hobart shakes his head in perplexity, and looks at Mr. Slaughter.

“This must be a hoax. Somebody doctored the original scan.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well first, I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I’ve been reading brain scans for over twenty years. Secondly, to think this thing is actually implanted in a person’s brain is simply not credible.”

“Any guesses as to what it might be?” the Director asks.

“It’s a hoax. It has to be.”

“Is it possible that a foreign country could have developed this technology, whatever it might be?”

“That’s not possible, in my opinion.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, it’s so small. No technology that I’m aware of could even begin to make something like this.”

“It’s about one one-hundredth of an inch in diameter,” Mr. Colby says.

“That’s roughly the thickness of, what, four or five sheets of paper? That’s impossible.”

“Well, bear with me for a moment, Professor. Let me ask you this. If this thing were real, and had some kind of active, functioning purpose, would it make a difference where in the brain it was placed?”

“I would think so.”

“What if it were placed in, uh, what is it, Tim?”

“Uh, it’s the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex,” Agent Colby says.

“Yeah, we call it DLPC for short.”

“Is it significant?”

“Very. It’s the part of the brain that’s associated with cognition and abstract thinking, a center for planning, and information processing. It provides executive functions that regulate other more primitive parts of the brain. Because of that, it’s a highly interconnected region.”

“You mean something like a command center?” the Director asks.

“Generally speaking, yes, but again, I have to tell you. What you’re suggesting is not possible.”

Pointing closely to the image still on the TV screen, Professor Hobart continues: “If you look at the perimeter of this object, you can see literally thousands of these tiny hair like strands coming out of it. I’m only speculating, but they look surprisingly like axons, though much larger, of course.”

“What are axons?”

“Axons provide connectivity for neurons in the brain, a bit like the electrical grid carries power.”

“So this would suggest that this thing is actually wired into the brain somehow?” the Director asks.

“That’s right, which is utterly impossible. The micro-engineering required to make something so small and complex, and then to place it deeply into the brain, is practically inconceivable. It’s like humans traveling to the stars. Also, if you look closely at the photo, you can see a faint halo surrounding the object.”

Straining to see this detail, the Director acknowledges the overlooked, and almost imperceptible, aura radiating from the strange object.

“Wow, I never even noticed it.”

“Neither did I,” Agent Colby says.

“What does that mean?” the Director asks.

“I don’t know what it means, but what it suggests is that this thing is giving off some kind of energy, and the only energy in the human brain that I’m aware of, are the minute pulses of electrical energy that naturally power the brain. However, they look nothing like this. Everything that you’ve shown me here today is way outside the capabilities of modern science, so I’m sorry to tell you, but I have no doubt that we’re seeing the product of an elaborate hoax.”

“Hmm. Well, we have to know these things. Professor Hobart, I don’t want to take up any more of your time. So, I want to thank you for coming in and sharing your expertise.”

“It’s my pleasure. If I can be of further help just let me know.”

“We certainly will,” the Director says, rising to shake hands and cordially walk the professor to the door.

“Thank you for coming in, Professor Hobart,” Agent Colby says.

“You’re more than welcome.”

As the door closes behind Professor Hobart, Director Slaughter returns to his seat, and looks intently at Agent Colby.

“So it’s a hoax. But it’s not a hoax, is it?”

“No, Sir, I’m afraid it isn’t.”

“Hmm. This is beyond our purview. We’ve done all we can do.  We need to brief a few senators, one from each party. I want to broaden the authority on this. Senator Fields is the ranking member on the Intelligence Committee. I’ll ask him and a Democrat, to keep it nonpartisan. We’ll bring ̓em in and show ̓em everything we have. I can’t see any other option.”

Pointing at the image still displayed on the TV screen Director Slaughter continues, “We have to assume that this thing, whatever it is, is still lodged in the brain of the President of the United States. I mean that’s the logic of it. Isn’t it?”

“I think so. Do we brief the Justice Department? Because we’ll have to eventually.”

“Not yet. I want to see what our Senators have to say first.”

“What do we say about how we obtained the medical records?”

“I’ll tell them they were sent to us anonymously by a concerned citizen.”

“That’s plausible.”

“We can’t do anything more in this case without a mandate of Congressional authority,” the Director says.

“I agree.”