The Jury (12 page)

"What's that?"

"Stays up nights researching. Comes to work bleary-eyed and takes frequent breaks to get to his laptop. Seems he lives to trade online."

Saturday morning and its bright and sunny. I can think of a thousand places I would rather be. Instead, Harry and I are planted next to a musty set of code books in our library at the office. We are here to meet with Robert Tucci who has flown in from San Jose up in Silicon Valley for a conference.

For months Tucci has been just a voice on the phone. Today, for the first time, I have the benefit of seeing a face as we speak, judging what kind of a witness he might make if I have to use him at trial.

He is bald. A ragged fringe of black hair droops over his ears. Tucci has the look of some seventeenth-century notable, short and fat with chubby little fingers. There is a shadow of dark beard submerged just beneath the surface of his face that gives it the kind of bluish pallor you would expect to see on some ancient oil portrait hanging in a European gallery. This is appropriate, for some consider Tucci to be the Galileo of modern electronics.

He is seated in a chair across the library table from me with shelves of legal volumes behind him finishing off the backdrop so that I can imagine this painting come to life as he speaks.

I have hired him to lead us through the no-man's-land of science, the maze of molecular electronics, genetics and nanorobotics that Crone and Tash will not discuss.

Harry asks him if he's ever written about the specific fields we are dealing with.

"Not for publication," says Tucci.

"I've prepared some memoranda for internal use by R and D units inside corporations. But that's another matter," he says.

Tucci is one of the leading lights in the field of high tech, a writer and theorist who is reputed to have had a major hand in the development of the silicon chip. He's been published in every major professional journal in the country and holds dual doctorates in physics and biology. Best of all, he has written a number of articles in the general press for the unwashed masses, in major national magazines and newspapers. He is possessed of that special gift for explaining things scientific to people like Harry and me, who are still grappling with the magic of fire.

"This memorandum you've written, research and development for the corporations," says Harry.

"Would any of it be helpful for our purposes here?"

"It might. But I couldn't give it to you. It's proprietary information." What he means is another corporate stone wall, trade secrets. This seems to be an article of faith within the field, making me wonder if these guys sleep with computer disks between their knees at night protecting this stuff.

"Been there," says Harry.

Harry has spent two weeks scoping out the Internet and ravaging university libraries for anything, scholarly articles or news pieces, that might offer a clue as to what Crone and his compatriots are working on. He has found nothing.

Tucci tells us that we're not likely to.

"The science is cutting edge. You won't hear about it in the popular press until there's a major breakthrough. By then, the company that controls the process will be throwing patent parties. They'll have it locked up."

"What exactly is the process?" I ask.

"A major scientific merger," he says.

"A kind of synergy."

"Of what?" says Harry.

"On the scientific level you've got nanotechnology and molecular electronics, with genetics being the software used to program the whole thing.

"At the commercial level you're talking 'pick and shovel' companies, the genetic start-ups that sell devices for generating genetic data. Software companies that specialize in peddling vast amounts of data involving genetic information to the drug companies. And finally you have the giant pharmaceutical companies trying to cash in on new modalities of treating diseases. It's what some are calling the genetic gold rush. And there are, conservatively speaking," says Tucci, "hundreds of billions of dollars at stake."

This catches Harry's attention; I can see his eyes light up. He's wondering how he can invest.

"It all started with gene sequencing, mapping the human gene. The genome project?" He looks at us as if perhaps we haven't heard of this.

"They've mapped it. They're working out the fine wrinkles as we speak. The question now is how to use it. Which genes on which chromosomes cause breast cancer, or lupus."

"Or Huntington's chorea," I say.

"Precisely," says Tucci.

"The theory, and it's more than that now," says Tucci, "is that electronics can play a part in this. It has been proven that electronic circuitry can be taken down to the molecular level, submicroscopic electronic circuits that can be introduced into living organisms. A land of cellular computer chip. It's believed that this is one way to code and carry genetic information."

"Molecular electronics," says Harry.

Tucci points at him with a finger as if to say he's got it.

"Nanorobotics is the other leg. Microscopic robots that can be constructed to carry the newly programmed circuitry inside the organism. This would be the delivery system," says Tucci.

"Instead of injecting a drug and waiting for it to course its way through the bloodstream or to be absorbed into the tissue, you can insert programmed robotics on a microscopic level that will deliver the preprogrammed genetic information to a precise location, perhaps an organ system or an isolated tumor in the body, and deal with it at a genetic level. You can turn chemical switches on and off, enzymes that will allow the human immune system to combat disease. To treat conditions that today are terminal, and to reverse them."

"They think that's possible?"

Tucci looks at him and nods soberly.

"It's only a theory, but the science to accomplish it exists."

"A magic bullet," I say.

"Right. It has all kinds of implications," he says, "for good and evil. There are the usual ethical concerns that follow all genetic research. You're dealing with the basic building blocks of life. There's the concern that perhaps we're tapping the fountain of youth."

Harry looks at him quizzically.

"Issues of overpopulation," says Tucci, "if in fact we cure major maladies and suddenly life expectancy doubles. What do we do with all the people? How do we feed them? Who gets the new treatments and who doesn't? Who is given the keys to extended life and who dies? Those are major issues.

"But here there's one more element of concern that may outweigh all of these. We are talking about the creation of an engineered life form, an organism unto itself. It could have the ability to propagate, to regenerate itself. A virus, for example, coded in a genetic string and carried by molecular electronics and nanotechnology, could reproduce itself inside the body. In fact, that would be part of the design, in order to enhance treatment. But what if its design were to be a weapon instead of a cure? It could be the ultimate doomsday device.

Microscopic nanorobotics, engineered to carry a virus capable of replicating billions of times over a short span of time and invading life forms, or stripping the earth of vegetation to produce famine.

"They already have a name for it," says Tucci.

"The GNR threat: genetics, nanotechnology and robotics. According to theorists, it has the capacity to replace the NBCs of the last century--nuclear, biological and chemical. In its own way the potential is much more insidious.

"There's always a downside," he says.

"The other side of the coin of progress.

Some people don't want to take the chance. You can see why. The question is, How do you stop it? How do you put the genie of knowledge back in the bottle?"

"And you think this is what Crone is working on?" I ask.

"Its a distinct possibility. Conventional wisdom is that we are five or six years away from a breakthrough. But who knows?" Tucci looks at us with wary little eyes like two olives floating on egg whites.

"One thing is certain. Whoever is first is going to make a fortune. The corporation that controls the process is likely to propel its major shareholders to the top of the Forbes list, overnight. They will become

the wealthiest people in the world." He says this with no question or hint of doubt.

"People will be reciting their names, and the world will be wondering where they came from."

"And the scientist who develops it?" I ask.

"Is a shoo-in for a Nobel prize," says Tucci.

"He or she will be able to write his or her own ticket. And the breakthrough's likely to come from some shop like Crones."

"Why's that?" asks Harry.

"A small operation. Attached to a university for research and support, but sufficiently independent so that no one, except perhaps the director of operations, knows precisely how all the pieces fit. One day there will be a press release, and the floodgates will open--the ones controlling the fountain of youth."

chapter eight dr. Gabriel Warnake is a private consultant under contract to the county crime lab. He is a hired gun, and works almost exclusively for police agencies around the country. He holds a doctorate in chemistry and can do a wicked reading in spectrographic analysis, using heat to break down molecules in evidence, exploiting them like fingerprints. He has burned his share of defense lawyers in his time. Warnake is also expert in forensic microscopy, the use of a microscope to identify and analyze hair, fiber and other trace evidence. This afternoon Tannery has him on the stand working on the white nylon cable tie used to kill Kalista Jordan.

"Can you tell the jury what this cable tie is made of?" Tannery is holding up the cut tie in its plastic bag, little rust-colored splotches still evident for the jury to see. They will no doubt take this as blood. It is, in fact, an indelible marker placed on the tie for purposes of identification at the crime lab.

"It's a polymer-based resin," says Warnake.

"In the industry, its known as nylon sixty-six. It's an old compound developed by Du Pont back in the thirties."

"Is it always white in color?"

"Actually, what you have there is clear, sort of an opaque. But you can put dyes or pigments in it. Basically make it any color you want. Some manufacturers color-code their ties for purposes of identification as to tensile strength, or to identify certain electrical cables that are bundled together for later reference."

"That's what they're used for mostly? Tying up electrical cables?"

"They're used for a lot of things, but that's a main one. A major market," says Warnake.

"Can you tell the jury how these cable ties are made?"

"That particular polymer resin is injected into a mold, under heat and high pressure. In that form it will flow, not like water, more like honey, viscous."

"What kind of heat are we talking about?"

"Nylon sixty-six melts at around four hundred and sixty degrees Fahrenheit.

They'll take it up to around five hundred and thirty degrees. That way, they can get it good and hot in order to work it. The mold temperature is usually lower.

Once it starts to flow, it's injected very quickly under high pressure. Five hundred to fifteen hundred pounds per square inch, depending on the mold and the heat applied."

"Can you tell us about the molds used for forming the ties, what they are like?"

"They're made of steel. Capable of containing high pressure, and polished to a very fine finish on the inside."

Tannery smiles, finally getting to where he wants to be. Harry and I have speculated on this, the two areas where their witness might go. Warnake has rendered no formal written report, so we are left to guess. We are figuring tool marks either during manufacture or after. One presents a very real problem;

the other may be less problematic, depending on what the good doctor has to say.

"You've actually seen these molds?" asks Tannery.

"Observed them in production?"

"I have."

"Have you examined the insides of one?"

"A cross section," says Warnake.

"Yes."

"And did you bring that cross section with you today?"

Warnake nods and reaches for his briefcase.

"Let the record reflect," says the judge, "that the witness is producing an item from his briefcase. Let me see that."

Warnake hands it up to the judge on the bench, where a few seconds later we are holding an impromptu conference off to the side.

I tell Coats we're seeing this for the first time.

"Why no notice?" asks the judge.

"We're offering it only as a sample, Your Honor. To demonstrate the process," says Tannery.

"We don't intend to put it into evidence."

The judge considers this, then looks down at me.

"You have any objection, Mr. Madriani?"

"As long as it's made clear that it's not the mold used to manufacture any of the ties in question. And subject to an opportunity by our own experts to examine it later."

Tannery nods.

"No problem."

"You can use it for that limited purpose," says the judge.

"Subject to later examination."

Like that, the prosecutor is back to the witness asking him to describe the mold as Warnake holds it up for the jury to see.

"I don't know if you can see it from there, but there's a small cavity, this line right here." The polished edges, the tiny teeth of the locking gears cut in steel and polished, glitter like facets in a diamond under the overhead canister lights.

"This is a half section of a full mold. Ordinarily there'd be another half and the cavity would be sealed inside a steel block. You can see how the inside of the cavity has been polished.

"The nylon would be injected here into this port, until the entire cavity was filled, under very high pressure. This would happen in a fraction of a second.

The speed ensures what they call uniform melt delivery, and it avoids what is known as premature freezing. If the

nylon were to harden before it had a chance to fully form, you'd get a defective cable tie.

"Once it's cool--they use water for that--the mold is opened and the finished cable tie is ejected. The whole process takes only a few seconds. Then it starts over again."