Dark Matter. Greg Iles

teams didn’t care if we saw them or, more likely, they wanted us to know we were being watched. Tonight I saw nothing suspicious, but I did sense that something wasn’t as it should be. Perhaps there were watchers who did not want to be seen. I turned into Fielding’s driveway and pulled up to the closed garage door.

      “A Nobel laureate lives here?” Rachel asked, gesturing at the modest house.

      “Lived,” I corrected. “Stay here. I’m going to the door alone.”

      “For God’s sake,” she snapped. “This is ridiculous. Just admit this is all a charade, and let’s go get some coffee and talk about it.”

      I grabbed her arm and looked hard into her eyes. “Listen to me, damn it. It’s probably okay, but this is the way we’re going to do it. I’ll whistle when it’s all right for you to come up.”

      I walked up to the front door of my dead friend’s house, my hands in plain sight, my mind on the .38 in my pocket.

       FIVE

      Geli Bauer listened intently as Corelli reported from the Fielding house.

      “They’re going inside now. Tennant went up first. The shrink is hanging back. Now she’s going up. Wait … I think the doc is carrying.”

      “Which doc?”

      “Oh. Tennant. He’s got a gun in his pocket. Right front.”

      “You see the butt?”

      “No, but it looks like a revolver.”

      What the hell does Tennant think he’s up to? The cell connection crackled.

      “What do you want me to do?” asked Corelli.

      “Sit tight and make sure the mikes are working.”

      “The widow just answered the door. She’s pulling them inside.”

      “Keep me posted.”

      Geli killed the connection to Corelli. If Tennant was carrying a gun, he was afraid for his life. He must believe Fielding had been murdered. But why? The drug that had killed Fielding caused a fatal bleed in the brain—a true stroke. Without an autopsy, murder couldn’t be proved. And there would be no autopsy. Tennant must know more than Godin thought he did. If the FedEx letter he’d received had been sent by Fielding, it might have contained some sort of evidence.

      She touched her headset mike and said, “Skow. Home.” Her computer dialed John Skow’s house in Raleigh.

      “What is it now?” Skow said after two rings.

      “Tennant and Weiss hardly spoke on the way to Fielding’s house.”

      “So?”

      “It wasn’t natural. They’re avoiding conversation.”

      “Tennant knows he’s under surveillance. You’ve always wanted them all to know that.”

      “Yes, but Tennant’s never been evasive like this. He’s up to something.”

      “He’s a little freaked-out. It’s natural.”

      “He’s carrying a gun.”

      A pause. “Okay, he’s a lot freaked-out. We knew he had one in his house.”

      “That’s different than carrying the damn thing.”

      Skow chuckled. “That’s the kind of reaction you inspire in people, Geli. Seriously, you need to calm down. Everything is context. We know Tennant was suspicious already. His best friend died today. He’s naturally paranoid. What we don’t want to do is make him more suspicious.”

      She wished she could talk to Godin. She’d tried his private cell number, but he hadn’t answered or called back. It was the first time that had ever happened. “Look, I think—”

      “I know what you think,” Skow said. “Take no steps without my approval.”

      “Asshole,” Geli said, but Skow was already off the line.

      She pressed a button that connected her to NSA headquarters at Fort Meade. Her liaison there was a young man named Conklin.

      “Hello, Ms. Bauer,” he said. “You calling about the FedEx query again?”

      “What do you think?”

      “I’ve got what you want. The package was dropped into a collection box at a post office in Durham, North Carolina. The sender was listed as Lewis Carroll.”

      So, Fielding had sent something to Tennant. She knew he hadn’t dropped it off himself, but his wife almost certainly had. Geli clicked off and leaned back in her chair, reassessing the situation.

      Seven hours ago, she had killed a man on Godin’s order, without knowing precisely why. She had no problem with that. Fielding posed a threat to the project, and under the conditions of her contract, that was enough. If she needed a moral justification, Project Trinity was critical to American national security. Executing Fielding was like killing a spy caught in the act of treason. Still, she was curious as to motive. Godin had told her that Fielding was sabotaging the project and stealing Trinity data. Geli wasn’t sure. Rigorous precautions had been taken to prevent sabotage. No one could physically move data in or out of the building. And as for electronic theft, Skow’s NSA techs made sure that not a single electron left the building without first being cleared by him.

      So, why did Fielding have to die? Six weeks ago, he and Tennant had gotten the project suspended by raising medical and ethical concerns. If that were the motive, then why wait to kill Fielding? And why kill only him? Peter Godin had appeared almost desperate when he visited Geli last night. And she had never seen Godin desperate before. Was he that anxious to get the project back on-line? She knew little about the technical side of the Trinity research, but she did know that success was still quite a ways off. She could read that in the faces of the scientists and engineers who reported to work every day.

      Project Trinity was building—or attempting to build—a supercomputer. Not a conventional supercomputer like a Cray or a Godin, but a computer dedicated to artificial intelligence—a true thinking machine. She didn’t know what made this theoretical computer so difficult to build, but Godin had told her a little about the genesis of the project.

      In 1994, a Bell Labs scientist had theorized that an almost infinitely powerful code-breaking computer might be built using the principles of quantum physics. Geli knew little about quantum physics, but she understood why a quantum computer would be revolutionary. Modern digital encryption—the code system used by banks, corporations, and national governments—was based on the factoring of large prime numbers. Conventional supercomputers like those used by the NSA cracked those codes by trying one key after another in sequence, like testing keys in a lock. Breaking a code this way could take hundreds of hours. But a quantum computer—in theory—could try all possible keys simultaneously. The wrong keys would cancel each other out, leaving only the proper one to break the code. And this process wouldn’t take hours or even minutes. A quantum computer could break digital encryption codes instantaneously. Such a machine would render present-day encryption obsolete and give whatever country possessed it a staggering strategic advantage over every other nation in the world.

      Given the potential value of such a machine, the NSA had launched a massive secret effort to design and build a quantum computer. Designated Project Spooky, after the description Albert Einstein had given to the action of certain quantum particles—“spooky action at a distance”—it was placed under the direction of John Skow, director of the NSA’s Supercomputer Research Center. After spending seven years and $600 million of the NSA’s black budget, Skow’s team had not produced a prototype that could rival the performance of a Palm Pilot.

      Skow was probably days from being terminated when he received a call from Peter Godin,