Read Online Unforgettable - eARC by Eric James Stone - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eric James Stone
Ads: Link
first time I’d caused a stir at the CIA—other than by my simple existence.
“Yeah, especially after the vanishing act he pulled. He went back to Iran and then disappeared, and now someone upstairs is real worried. From what we can tell, Jamshidi’s trying to build a quantum supercomputer that can predict the future. Accurately. The implications are tremendous—he could take over the stock market, give our enemies warning of our military plans. We haven’t even thought of everything he could do.”
I thought about it. In the hands of an enemy, such a supercomputer would seriously compromise our national security. “So, Jamshidi’s connected to the physicist?”
“Maybe. This guy Rezaei’s whereabouts have been secret for a while. Some people think he might have been locked up as a dissident, while others think he’s been working at a secret government lab, and now some people think he might be the brain behind Jamshidi’s supercomputer. In any case, we want to track him, so your primary mission is to plant a tracer on one of Rezaei’s shoes. You have access to a tracer?”
“Several. Part of my standard kit.”
“Right. Meanwhile, if you see the thief, try to get the prototype, but that’s secondary.”
So, after about three hours of fitful sleep in an apartment owned by a CIA front company, I headed over to the airport. At the Alitalia counter, I bought a first-class ticket to Rome. That was enough to get me through security, although by the time I reached the gate, the airline’s computer system would have forgotten my ticket. I threw the ticket in the trash, waited until the flight was boarding and the line was getting short, then approached the young woman at the gate’s counter.
“I’m afraid I don’t have my ticket,” I said, pulling out a fake passport. “I need to get a new one.”
She frowned. “How did you get through security?” Her accent was more English than Spanish.
I grimaced. “It’s rather embarrassing. After we got through security, my girlfriend put both our tickets in her purse. Then we had an argument and she stormed off. But I still need to get to Rome for a business meeting.”
She tapped the keys on her computer. “I do not see your name here.”
I faked an exasperated sigh. “She must have canceled our reservations.” Pulling out my credit card, I said, “I need to catch this flight. Preferably first class.”
A few more taps, and she said, “That will be seven hundred and thirteen euros.”
I nodded. The credit card company would approve the charge, then both the airline and the credit card company would forget about it. Technically, my flight was not being paid for, but Edward had assured me the CIA bought plenty of tickets that they never used, so it was balanced out.
She printed out the ticket, and I hurried to the ticket scanner. The scanner beeped its validation, and I was on my way to Rome.
* * *
QuantumExpo Europe was at the Palazzo dei Congressi, a gigantic convention center near the heart of Rome. I took a cab there directly from Fiumicino airport. Because it would be a shabby trick on the cab driver to use a credit card to fake paying, I paid cash.
After registering, I wandered down the aisles of booths on the convention’s main floor. According to the printed schedule, Parham Rezaei’s lecture on “Macroscale Quantum Superposition” would be at 6:00 p.m. tomorrow, so I had time to get the lay of the land—and see if I could spot a certain auburn-haired thief.
There was no luck on that account, so when I got tired of listening to marketing hype at various booth displays, I went to check out the lecture hall where Rezaei would be speaking, to see if there would be a good opportunity to plant the adhesive tracer on his shoe. As I slipped into the back of the hall, I was surprised to see almost all the seats were filled. The scheduled topic had seemed rather mundane—a panel discussion on Postponing Decoherence—and I had figured most
“Yeah, especially after the vanishing act he pulled. He went back to Iran and then disappeared, and now someone upstairs is real worried. From what we can tell, Jamshidi’s trying to build a quantum supercomputer that can predict the future. Accurately. The implications are tremendous—he could take over the stock market, give our enemies warning of our military plans. We haven’t even thought of everything he could do.”
I thought about it. In the hands of an enemy, such a supercomputer would seriously compromise our national security. “So, Jamshidi’s connected to the physicist?”
“Maybe. This guy Rezaei’s whereabouts have been secret for a while. Some people think he might have been locked up as a dissident, while others think he’s been working at a secret government lab, and now some people think he might be the brain behind Jamshidi’s supercomputer. In any case, we want to track him, so your primary mission is to plant a tracer on one of Rezaei’s shoes. You have access to a tracer?”
“Several. Part of my standard kit.”
“Right. Meanwhile, if you see the thief, try to get the prototype, but that’s secondary.”
So, after about three hours of fitful sleep in an apartment owned by a CIA front company, I headed over to the airport. At the Alitalia counter, I bought a first-class ticket to Rome. That was enough to get me through security, although by the time I reached the gate, the airline’s computer system would have forgotten my ticket. I threw the ticket in the trash, waited until the flight was boarding and the line was getting short, then approached the young woman at the gate’s counter.
“I’m afraid I don’t have my ticket,” I said, pulling out a fake passport. “I need to get a new one.”
She frowned. “How did you get through security?” Her accent was more English than Spanish.
I grimaced. “It’s rather embarrassing. After we got through security, my girlfriend put both our tickets in her purse. Then we had an argument and she stormed off. But I still need to get to Rome for a business meeting.”
She tapped the keys on her computer. “I do not see your name here.”
I faked an exasperated sigh. “She must have canceled our reservations.” Pulling out my credit card, I said, “I need to catch this flight. Preferably first class.”
A few more taps, and she said, “That will be seven hundred and thirteen euros.”
I nodded. The credit card company would approve the charge, then both the airline and the credit card company would forget about it. Technically, my flight was not being paid for, but Edward had assured me the CIA bought plenty of tickets that they never used, so it was balanced out.
She printed out the ticket, and I hurried to the ticket scanner. The scanner beeped its validation, and I was on my way to Rome.
* * *
QuantumExpo Europe was at the Palazzo dei Congressi, a gigantic convention center near the heart of Rome. I took a cab there directly from Fiumicino airport. Because it would be a shabby trick on the cab driver to use a credit card to fake paying, I paid cash.
After registering, I wandered down the aisles of booths on the convention’s main floor. According to the printed schedule, Parham Rezaei’s lecture on “Macroscale Quantum Superposition” would be at 6:00 p.m. tomorrow, so I had time to get the lay of the land—and see if I could spot a certain auburn-haired thief.
There was no luck on that account, so when I got tired of listening to marketing hype at various booth displays, I went to check out the lecture hall where Rezaei would be speaking, to see if there would be a good opportunity to plant the adhesive tracer on his shoe. As I slipped into the back of the hall, I was surprised to see almost all the seats were filled. The scheduled topic had seemed rather mundane—a panel discussion on Postponing Decoherence—and I had figured most
Similar Books
