Dead Shift (The Rho Agenda Inception Book 3) Read online

  Also by Richard Phillips

  The Rho Agenda Inception

  Once Dead

  Dead Wrong

  The Rho Agenda

  The Second Ship

  Immune

  Wormhole

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2015 Richard Phillips

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477828397

  ISBN-10: 1477828397

  Cover design by Jason Blackburn

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014958521

  This novel is dedicated to my loving wife, Carol, and to Sienna Farall and Jeremy Loethen, the most wonderful daughter and son-in-law a man could have.

  CONTENTS

  Author’s Note

  I think, therefore...

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  CHAPTER 71

  CHAPTER 72

  CHAPTER 73

  CHAPTER 74

  CHAPTER 75

  CHAPTER 76

  CHAPTER 77

  CHAPTER 78

  CHAPTER 79

  CHAPTER 80

  CHAPTER 81

  CHAPTER 82

  CHAPTER 83

  CHAPTER 84

  CHAPTER 85

  CHAPTER 86

  CHAPTER 87

  CHAPTER 88

  CHAPTER 89

  CHAPTER 90

  CHAPTER 91

  CHAPTER 92

  CHAPTER 93

  CHAPTER 94

  CHAPTER 95

  CHAPTER 96

  CHAPTER 97

  CHAPTER 98

  CHAPTER 99

  CHAPTER 100

  CHAPTER 101

  CHAPTER 102

  CHAPTER 103

  CHAPTER 104

  CHAPTER 105

  CHAPTER 106

  CHAPTER 107

  CHAPTER 108

  CHAPTER 109

  CHAPTER 110

  CHAPTER 111

  CHAPTER 112

  CHAPTER 113

  CHAPTER 114

  CHAPTER 115

  CHAPTER 116

  CHAPTER 117

  CHAPTER 118

  CHAPTER 119

  CHAPTER 120

  CHAPTER 121

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Author’s Note

  Many of the ideas in this novel on the containment of artificial intelligence are based upon Nick Bostrom’s Superintelligence: Paths, Dangers, Strategies.

  “I think, therefore I am.”

  —René Descartes

  CHAPTER 1

  Jamal Glover removed his gaze from the displays that formed a sixty-degree arc around his zero-gravity chair, stepped out of the full-immersion workstation, and placed his white-striped black fedora atop his head, applying a jaunty tilt. All around him, his fellow cyber-warriors climbed out of their scorpion-shaped cockpits, blinking their eyes as the simulated session came to a close. Of all these elite hackers, Jamal was the best. Not bad for a twenty-year-old black kid from the Bronx. Actually his birthday wasn’t until tomorrow, but he was rounding up.

  Everything about Jamal announced his presence. He had long since adopted a 1920s-style swagger, from his black-and-white spats, up to his chalk-striped black suit, to his fedora. It was a retro look that said, “You wish you were me. Admit it.”

  He’d fallen in love with that distant era during the years he’d lived with his Gram, after his folks had died in a car accident. She was a fine, spirited woman and although she’d been gone for three years, the fondness endured.

  Jamal looked up at the glass-enclosed balcony that overlooked the multitiered room where he and his compatriots had just finished the evaluation session, surprised to see Admiral Jonathan Riles looking down on them. The War Room was the NSA director’s brainchild, and even though the group of NSA hackers whom Riles had nicknamed the Dirty Dozen hadn’t been conducting a live cyber-attack, they had been wringing out the brand-new cyber-attack workstations. So, on second thought, it made sense that the director would be interested in this day’s results.

  As Jamal stepped back and looked out across the three tiers of workstations, he had to admit that the Scorpions added a major new cool factor to the room. Before today the War Room had looked very much like a NASA control room. Now it looked like something out of the latest science-fiction movie. And based upon the kick-ass performance of his Scorpion, he had no doubt that these systems exceeded specifications.

  Glancing up at the twenty-foot-high screen that filled the front wall, Jamal felt a grin crease his lips. Although this had just been a simulation, the results still counted and Jamal’s name remained firmly entrenched in the number one spot atop the big board. He had to give Admiral Riles credit. Although most people thought of hackers as geeky loners, Riles had recognized that the best of them shared a passion for recognition that only competitive computer g
aming could provide.

  Riles had directed his team of computer scientists to create a system that scored every cyber-attack session, live or simulated, and maintained a current ranking for every cyber-warrior. The NSA’s current top twelve formed the Dirty Dozen and got to come to work every day in the War Room. The other poor bastards found themselves stuck in cubicles, desperately trying to work their way into the top twelve. It was the vision that had recruited a nineteen-year-old Jamal, straight out of MIT, despite big-money offers from the likes of Google. To be the best of the best and to have the big board rub it in all of his competitors’ faces was what made him look forward to coming to work every single day.

  “Jamal, tomorrow I’m going to wipe that grin right off your face.”

  Jamal turned to look at Caroline “Goth Girl” Brown’s features, her pale skin emphasized by her shaved and tattooed scalp. The effect was so dramatic that her face appeared to be backlit, making her dark-brown eyes loom unnaturally large. The way that Caroline avoided any makeup formed a statement that matched her piercings. It was also what made her such a tempting target for his razor-sharp wit.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being number two. Accept it and be happy.”

  Caroline started to say something, but only issued a hiss from her lips as she shouldered past him and stormed out of the chamber. To Jamal’s left, he heard Gary Charles’s distinctive chuckle.

  “If eyes could kill, you’d be a smoking pile of ash right now. Don’t be surprised if you feel her sticking pins in a little Jamal doll tonight.”

  Turning to meet the heavyset man’s laughing blue eyes, Jamal shrugged with feigned innocence.

  “Apparently it was something I said.”

  “Or maybe she just doesn’t like you.”

  Jamal shook his head. “Life is hard at the top, looking down on all you little people who wish you could be me for a day.”

  Again Gary laughed. “You’re so full of shit. I’m going to laugh my ass off when someone knocks you off that pedestal.”

  “Ain’t happening.”

  “We’ll see,” Gary said, raising his left eyebrow. “Hey, you want to swing by the pizza place before you head home?”

  “I would, but Jill will have dinner waiting.”

  “Lucky man. Where’d you find a girlfriend who is that hot and cooks too?”

  “Craigslist.”

  Seeing Gary shake his head, Jamal continued. “Oh, I almost forgot. Jill’s throwing me a surprise birthday party tomorrow night.”

  “How is it a surprise if you already know about it?”

  “Because she thinks it is. I can’t help it if I stumble across other people’s secrets. It’s what I do.”

  “I don’t know how the hell she puts up with you.”

  “Me either. So, you coming?”

  Gary grinned. “Ask me next year when you’re old enough to buy some beer.”

  “Jill’s buying wine.”

  “Gag.”

  Jamal turned toward the exit, calling back over his shoulder as he walked out the door. “You know you’ll be there.”

  As Jamal made his way to the elevator and then out through the security lobby, he replayed today’s test in his head. If the exercise had been designed to test the cyber-warriors, he would now be sitting in an after-action review. But since its purpose had been to wring out the new equipment, the data had been automatically collected and would be reviewed by Dr. David Kurtz and his computer science team. That was fine with Jamal. It meant he would get to have dinner with Jill instead of having her watch him eat her reheated lasagna.

  Jamal stepped out of the massive black-glass NSA headquarters building and began the long walk to his parking spot, thankful that the mid-May sun had sunk behind some clouds. It wouldn’t be right in his eyes as he drove from Fort Meade to the house he’d rented in Columbia, Maryland. With any luck at all he’d be home right around sunset.

  Unfortunately, an accident kept him sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for an extra half hour and he didn’t pull into his driveway until forty minutes past eight. When the garage door began rumbling upward on its tracks, something pulled Jamal out of his own thoughts. Normally he had to concentrate to notice his physical surroundings. It was one of the oddities of his personality that made Jill laugh at him. But tonight, with purple twilight painting the western sky, Jamal found himself hesitating to pull forward into the garage.

  What was it that bothered him? Jill’s car sat in its usual space on the right-hand side of the garage. The living room shutters were closed, but she had probably shut them to block the glare of the late afternoon sun and just hadn’t gotten around to opening them again. A new thought occurred to Jamal. Perhaps Jill had a bit of a romantic surprise waiting for him on the eve of his twentieth birthday, something that involved candles, wine, and her long golden hair cascading down over a red lace negligee. If so, it wouldn’t do to keep her waiting while he sat outside in the driveway.

  Jamal pulled into the garage, stepped out of his restored black Packard coupe, and pressed the button that closed the garage door. The clatter it made on the rails reminded him that he had intended to call the garage door repairman to tune up the system. Oh well. Tomorrow was Saturday and since he wasn’t scheduled to work this weekend, he’d make the call in the morning.

  When Jamal opened the door that led from the garage into the short hall that connected the kitchen to the living room, the pitch darkness of the interior startled him, sending a shiver across his scalp that threatened to straighten his short, curly hair. He froze in the doorway as the garage light cast his shadow against the far wall.

  “Jill?”

  No answer. Except for the dying vibrations of his voice and the sudden thunder of his pounding heart, there was no sound at all. But the smell of freshly baked lasagna filled his nostrils, along with another much less pleasant smell.

  Jamal reached for the light switch on the wall to his left. The switch toggled beneath his finger and the LED hall light came on, obliterating his shadow as it revealed the living room to his left and the kitchen entry on his right. The sound of the door closing behind him alerted Jamal to the fact that he had released it. From where he stood, he could see that the living room was unoccupied, but only a thin sliver of the kitchen was visible.

  Jamal took a deep breath and stepped around the corner into the kitchen. The vision that awaited dropped him to his knees. Jill lay slumped against the oven, her head propped up at an angle that made her appear to be trying to call out to him, either through her bloody mouth or through the great gaping wound in her throat. For a moment her open blue eyes transfixed him, before his gaze widened to take in the horrible scene in its entirety.

  So much blood had sprayed across the stovetop that her attacker must have slipped up behind her and cut her throat as she set the lasagna atop the stove to cool. The sight of the large blue oven mitts that still covered Jill’s hands confirmed Jamal’s deduction.

  With tears streaming down his face, Jamal moved to her side and tugged off those mitts to take her two hands in his. They were the only parts of his lover that weren’t completely soaked in her blood. Kneeling in a bloody pool, Jamal reached out and pulled her to him, hugging her limp form to his chest as sobs wracked his body.

  The noise behind him was the faint sound of soft-soled sneakers on tile, but it brought his head around. The man who stood at the kitchen entrance was dressed in black, although no mask covered the fine East Asian features of his handsome face. Weaponless he waited, his open hands hanging loosely at his sides.

  Jamal released his hold on Jill, letting his fury pull his six-foot body erect, but the ease with which the killer slipped his punch and dropped him on his face surprised Jamal. As he lay facedown, locked in some sort of immobilizing hold, Jamal felt a sharp sting as a needle slid into the side of his neck, releasing a swirling fog that robbed him of his r
age. As Jamal’s surroundings faded to nothing, an overwhelming sense of loss accompanied him into the dark.

  CHAPTER 2

  Qiang Chu watched as two of his men loaded Jamal Glover’s unconscious body onto the Boeing 757F owned and operated by International Shipping Service, or ISS. Although Steve Grange himself wasn’t on this flight, the medical pioneer was making final preparations to receive this precious cargo at his Sonoma Valley compound, fifty miles north of San Francisco.

  But that didn’t mean that Grange could afford to waste the seven hours of total flight time it would take to get from Baltimore to Kansas City and then to Oakland. It was why a closely held corporation, under the covert control of the Chinese government, had chartered the cargo jet and loaded several custom shipping containers outfitted with specialized MRI and computing systems designed by Grange. It was why Grange had assigned his mind digitization specialist, Dr. Vicky Morris, and a four-person support team to conduct the medical procedures Jamal Glover would undergo in flight.

  Qiang was very pleased with how smoothly the kidnapping had gone. In his experience, such operations rarely came off exactly as planned, but tonight’s mission had been executed with flawless precision. The bloody body of the young NSA hacker’s murdered girlfriend would be discovered sometime tomorrow, but the evidence Qiang and his team had planted would launch investigators down a false path.

  He’d made certain that Jamal’s fingerprints were the only prints on the murder weapon. Those same prints were also all over the woman’s bloody body. Fabricated text messages and e-mails on her cell phone would provide ample evidence of her ongoing fling with a secret lover. When all of that was combined with what appeared to be Jamal’s hasty preparations for travel and his missing automobile, police would come to the obvious conclusion that Jamal Glover had killed his girlfriend in a jealous rage and then fled, using his NSA skills to disappear.

  Steve Grange had pioneered the research that had led to revolutionary technological breakthroughs in the area of brain-to-machine interfaces. One of those breakthroughs, MRI mind scraping, had become very effective at noninvasive digitization of a subject’s memories. For the California phase of Grange’s plan to succeed, the billionaire science prodigy needed today’s memories pulled from Jamal’s brain in high resolution. And since every minute counted, the MRI mind scraping couldn’t wait until Jamal arrived at Grange’s California laboratory. The MRI machine on this plane had been engineered with special noise cancellation technology to eliminate interference from external vibrations such as those produced by the aircraft.