Page 108 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)
Katherine could see from Langdon’s stunned expression that he was still struggling to comprehend the logistics of what she’d just told him.
“This is my exact design for artificial neurons,” she said, tapping Threshold’s classified binder. “From twenty-three years ago. There’s no mistaking it.”
“So you wrote your doctoral thesis on artificial neurons?” Langdon asked.
“And you’re positive…there’s no coincidence with the CIA’s work?”
“Robert, the neurons in this binder are identical to what I proposed in my thesis, right down to the nomenclature! The description literally refers to ‘nanoelectric biofilaments’ and ‘bilateral organo-technic fusion’—both are terms I made up !”
Langdon now looked convinced. “Wow…for starters, that means you, Katherine Solomon, figured out how to make artificial neurons…while in grad school?”
“I was a kid with an overactive imagination. The idea was a fantasy. Don’t forget that twenty-three years ago, artificial neurons were science fiction!”
“So were genetic engineering, self-driving cars, and AI,” he countered. “But here we are. Courtesy of Moore’s law.”
True, she thought, the future comes at us faster every day.
“Twenty years ago, people in the field assumed artificial neurons would turn out to be silicon -based, which made sense considering neurons were essentially binary on/off switches like those in a computer chip. I disagreed and argued in my thesis that because the ultimate goal of artificial neurons would be integration with the brain, any true solution would need to be biological. And so I let my imagination go, and I designed, in great detail, my best guess at how such a neuron might someday be created.”
“I’d say it was a pretty good guess,” Langdon said, still looking impressed. “The CIA has probably been working on developing this for decades…and finally succeeded. The question of ownership or credit is another issue.”
“I’m just wondering how they heard about my idea…or got their hands on it.”
Langdon shrugged. “Well, they are the largest intelligence-gathering operation in the world.”
“Actually,” Katherine said, memories now flowing. “It just now occurs to me…” She hesitated, lost in thought.
“Tell me on the way out,” Langdon urged, picking up the binder and heading for the door. “We need to get out of here with this—and get it into the ambassador’s hands. Let’s hope it’s enough.”
Katherine hoisted her shoulder bag and followed Langdon across the lab, her thoughts now racing. “Something odd happened with my thesis. I never really understood it, and I haven’t thought about it in decades…but it might explain something.”
“What happened?” Langdon asked as they hurried across the brightly lit computer lab in the direction of the revolving door.
“My thesis adviser at Princeton,” she recalled, “was the A. J. Cosgrove, legendary chemist, who took me under his wing. He loved my thesis and told me he believed it could win a Blavatnik Award—a national prize for postdoctoral science research. Anyhow, I lost, which was fine with me, but for some reason it really pissed off Cosgrove, and he ended up having some kind of spat with the head of the prize committee, a hotshot professor from Stanford. When the dust finally settled, Cosgrove told me I deserved the prize and that I was denied for ‘reasons other than merit.’ I chalked it up to academic politics. But I told him I didn’t care, because I had decided to pursue noetics anyway.
Then he said something strange. He said that before I left neuroscience entirely, he strongly suggested I…
” Katherine stopped short of the door. “Oh… no. ”
Langdon turned. “What is it?!”
Katherine closed her eyes in disbelief, setting her bag onto a worktable.
In all the chaos, it hadn’t dawned on her until this very moment.
“Robert,” she whispered, opening her eyes and running a hand through her thick dark hair.
“There’s an even bigger reason the CIA needs my book to disappear forever. ”
Clutching the SIG Sauer pistol he had taken from Field Officer Housemore, Finch leaped off the Threshold transport and hurried across the familiar platform and through the unmanned security center.
After finding his officer’s corpse in the lobby, he’d rushed down to Gessner’s workroom, where, with brutal clarity, his worst fears had been confirmed.
Brigita was murdered.
Finch had immediately called for agency backup, but with his local field officer now dead, he knew the arrival of on-site support was going to take time.
This situation was becoming increasingly alarming, and delicate, and prudence dictated he handle the crisis without delay.
Finch was an expert marksman and was eminently capable of neutralizing anyone he might encounter.
As he entered the OPS hallway, he was relieved to see all the lights in this section were off. Then again, he had been instrumental in designing this subterranean structure, and he knew the lights timed out every ten minutes; technically, the darkness was no guarantee that he was alone down here.
Finch still could not fathom that Housemore and Gessner had been murdered.
Even more disturbing was the unlikely identity of their killer.
While pulling Housemore from behind the couch, Finch had been startled to find a metal epilepsy rod on the carpet.
Someone had clearly dropped it, and there were only two epilepsy patients who had ever entered Crucifix Bastion—Sasha Vesna and Dmitri Sysevich—both taken from the same institution.
And Dmitri, I have been assured, is no longer with us.
The notion that Sasha had killed anyone seemed almost unthinkable.
Gessner had always described her as timid and kind.
Then again, Sasha had reportedly attacked an úZSI officer today, which implied something was terribly off-balance with the woman.
Her brain had been under a great deal of pressure, and it was not out of the question that she’d suffered some kind of mental breakdown.
Sasha murdered Gessner? It seemed unthinkable…and yet, if Sasha discovered what Gessner had done to her, that would be strong motivation. Even so, Finch doubted Sasha was capable of all this…at least, not alone.
He took a hard right into BIO, relieved to find the surgical area dark.
When the lights came on, everything appeared to be in order.
Finch eyed the robotic surgeon hanging from the ceiling.
So far, Gessner had used this technology to perform only two human surgeries—one successful, one catastrophic.
Finch was in no mood for surprises and intended to search the facility completely, starting with a systematic sweep of the medical section to confirm that nobody had slid under a bed or into a closet, hiding long enough for the motion lights to time out.
If someone had penetrated Threshold, Finch would not let them slip past him.
Anyone who had seen this place…would not be permitted to exit alive.
Deep in the SMES vault, The Golěm gazed up into the open ventilation shaft. High above him, he could barely make out the dappled daylight that filtered down through the perforations in the R2-D2 statue’s domed head several stories above in Folimanka Park.
For obvious reasons, quench vents like these were left open at all times to allow for emergency ventilation. They were sealed only to pressure-test the vault for leaks, and only under very specific conditions…specifically, the total absence of liquid helium.
Today, there will be a slight change in protocol.
Mustering his strength, The Golěm climbed up on top of the humming ring of metal.
The top was rounded and perilous, but his boots had good traction.
He could feel the faint vibration of the machine as he reached for the ceiling and steadied himself by grabbing a crank handle protruding from the ceiling.
This handle worked a series of pullies that moved a thick plate of metal affixed to the ceiling.
The test cover.
A square panel of steel was supported in a track whose rails ran on either side of the vent’s opening. This panel, like a giant manhole cover, could be cranked into place and tightened with butterfly screws, sealing the opening and rendering the room airtight.
Not surprisingly, the steel covering was emblazoned with bright red stenciled letters.
Nebezpe?í! Nezavírat!
Danger! Do Not Close!
Ignoring the posted warning, The Golěm began turning the handle.
Within a minute, this vault would be airtight.