Jintao Page 26

  A distinguished-looking man, bearing a striking resemblance to von Ang, approached them. He was thinner and a few centimeters taller than Gaston, with intense hazel eyes overshadowed by a pair of remarkably thick eyebrows. Von Ang introduced the man as his father.

  “This is Quan Jintao and Lotus Xiaoping.”

  Looking at Quan and Lotus, the senior scientist put an arm around his son and declared that he had read a summary of their paper. With authoritarian confidence, he added, “Finally, someone has validated what we knew all along. But who could have guessed it would be my son?” He laughed, taking his hand from Gaston’s shoulder and pointing it at Quan. “Reciprocity is the key. You’ll see. That’s how the whole thing maintains balance.”

  Hearing this, Quan could not resist saying, “You speak with such certainty. Have you actually demonstrated this?”

  Gaston’s father let out a bwah sound and turned to his son. “Who is this again?”

  “It was actually Quan’s father who began the research.” He started to talk about the early prototypes, but it was clear his father was only half listening. Quan and Lotus remained mute, watching Gaston’s futile effort to maintain his father’s attention.

  Excusing himself, the senior von Ang embraced his son and hurriedly said, “I’m looking forward to your presentation. We’ll get together later. But now there’s someone I must talk to.” Making his way into the crowd with one hand raised, he called out, “Fritz!”

  “That was Papa. What can I say? He is one of a kind . . . really quite brilliant. I think he’ll be more helpful once he’s seen what we have to show.”

  Seeing the von Angs together, father and son, reopened a wound in Quan that was still fresh. The work they were about to present was his father’s brainchild, yet his father wasn’t present . . . in the conventional sense.

  A few moments after the senior von Ang departed, a barrel shaped man man with full beard nudged in next to Quan and introduced himself as the director of the Kominsk Research Center in Odessa Russia. He became exuberant when he learned that Quan was connected to the Brane Research Center and insisted on visiting the installation to learn more about their work. After having his invitation deflected and several intrusive questions rejected, the Russian moved on, peevishly muttering under his beard. Quan turned his attention back to his colleagues.

  They continued to socialize with other scientists until gradually Quan became aware of an unsettling feeling, like the change in the air when a storm is approaching. A tall woman with large tortoise-rimmed glasses and short brown hair was making her way through the crowd toward them. As she came closer, the badge pinned to her green tweed jacket became legible, identifying her as was the conference chairperson, Simone Peltaire.

  Patting von Ang on the arm, in a voice born of kind reflection, she said, “I must discuss an important matter with you.”

  There was a disconnect between her kind yet straightforward demeanor and what Quan was sensing. It was then that he saw the three dark blue suits coming through the crowd toward him.

  Simone Peltaire continued, “It is my duty to inform you that I have been contacted by the Chinese Central Science Committee. They’ve demanded that your paper be withdrawn. This is an official protest and I am afraid we must honor it pending further investigation.”

  As the blue suits came up behind Madame Peltaire, one of them looked indignantly at Quan. “It is property of the Chinese people,” he said.

  Quan straightened, feeling a surge of power inside him. He could see through these men. They were bloated with self-importance but the particles cycling within them were weak. He knew he could crush them with a single blow, however he kept his voice calm and controlled.

  “My father began this project and documented it from the beginning. The Chinese government contributed nothing at all and has no legitimate claim.”

  Madame Peltaire turned to face the three Chinese and asked, “Can you prove that someone other than those named on their paper contributed to the research?”

  The Chinese fumed. Two of them argued between themselves while the third said, “Proof you want. He is a Chinese citizen, and this work was done in China. It belongs to the Chinese people. He has no right to make this research public.”

  Quan turned to the chairwoman nonchalantly. “Their accusations are groundless. The right of eminent domain does not apply to private research, and even if it did, the work we’re presenting today was done in the United States, not in China.”

  While the bickering continued, the Madame Peltaire lit up a small view field and reviewed the letters of protest. Satisfied that there was no mention of a rival claim, she addressed the Chinese directly. “According to the papers you filed, you are not disputing that doctors von Ang and Jintao did the research, and you are not asking for anyone else to be added as co-authors. It seems the heart of your protest is about states’ rights. That is a matter which our organization cannot decide. Since you are not disputing that doctors von Ang and Jintao are the authors of this paper, I see no reason to prohibit them from presenting their work.”

  Another of the Chinese pointed his finger at Quan and spoke in Mandarin, “You bring shame on the Jintao family name.”

  Quan’s face became steel. He could have snatched the life from this man, but his voice continued to be calm. “The truth is, you’re angry because you weren’t able to steal our work. I would advise you to take the next flight back to China. If you persist you’ll face a lawsuit.”

  After a few more barbed exchanges the Chinese left in a huff and Madame Peltaire spoke to Quan in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m sorry. This happens every once in a while. It goes with the territory. Usually it’s someone who claims they had the idea first and wants credit. I should have read the letter more carefully. Their protest will be noted; however, don’t worry, your paper will be published in time for the presentation tomorrow. If there are any legitimate grounds for their complaint, they can do as you suggested—file a lawsuit.”

  “Those people are of no consequence,” said Quan.

  “D’accord,” said von Ang.

  For the remainder of the day, von Ang, Lotus, and Quan sat in the auditorium, listening to the other presenters. Quan was relaxed, certain that nothing would come of the threats. He thought about the weak energy he witnessed pervading the men in dark suits. There was a darkness entrapping them, engulfing them in their own treachery. He saw them as bad robots, acting on faulty instructions, oblivious to the greater good. He was confident the universal laws of cause and effect would sort them out.

  When the conference let out, several news teams converged on Quan and his colleagues and bright camera lights made it difficult to see who was asking questions, but from their accents the reporters were a mix of French, Australian, German, and English. Initially, questions about the Chinese protest were directed at Quan, who curtly declined to comment. Questions directed to von Ang focused on the discovery and what his paper would claim. His replies were highly technical, explaining the reciprocal-universe theory with complexity that most graduate students would find hard to follow.

  When Lotus was asked for comment, she simply said, “We’re going to present tomorrow. Be patient. It will be worth the wait.”

  On their way out of the conference, Quan asked von Ang, “Do you think they understood your answers?”

  “I certainly hope not,” said von Ang with a smile.

  Entering their hotel suite, Lotus sidled up to von Ang and slipped her arm under his. Sweetly, she asked, “Are we going out for dinner tonight?”

  “I’m sure the restaurants are full. We should have made reservations,” he said. “We can call room service.”

  “Not again,” she said. “Let’s see what Elise can come up with.” She sat at the antique desk and bipped the concierge desk. The young woman they were introduced to in the lobby appeared in the view field and cheerfully explored their options for dinner.

  Within the hour, the three were inside a rooftop restaurant a
few blocks from the hotel, sampling molecular haute cuisine. Champagne cocktails, encapsulated in alginate bubbles, dissolved in their mouths. One after another, dishes arrived at their table—laser-sintered squid, esterifications of tangerine over confit of lamb, prismatic lychee pebbles in a mousse of truffled chestnut.

  Lotus pulled a handheld viewer from her bag and began to search the news. “You two are all over the news. They say you’ve discovered an inverse universe, a mirror image of ours. Is that what you told them?” she asked, looking at von Ang.

  For the first time, he laughed out loud. “That’s very funny,” he said “It’s tabloid news. They’re such fakes. They just make up things when they don’t understand the facts. There are very few journalists who have the background to understand what we tell them, but even fewer who are able to make it palatable for the general public.”

  Savoring every mouthful, Lotus continued to study Quan’s mood. His sadness had lifted; however, from time to time, he looked past her, toward the bar. She turned around and followed his glance to an older man in a tight suit who turned away conspicuously. “What are you looking at?” she asked.

  “We’re being watched,” said Quan.

  Across town, another meeting was taking place inside the American Embassy; the local CIA section chief was meeting with Markus Bledsoe from the U.S. State Department and Claude Renaut, director of DARPA’s Defense Sciences Office in Paris.

  “I’ve read their paper and the field ops report,” said Renaut. “They don’t disclose anything about the equipment and there are no patent filings. Our surrogate is looking for their source code.”

  Bledsoe, a large and athletically built man in a beige business suit, spoke through thin lips. “This is worth a fortune. Why haven’t they filed?”

  “A patent application would tell everyone how it’s built,” said the section chief, expressing halfhearted interest. “Evidently they’re not worried about competition. Probably pretty advanced stuff.”

  Renaut edged forward in his chair, looking at small viewflex on the table in front of him, thumbing through a copy of the scientific paper. “You see the implications. They get their instruments into the . . . what did he call it?” Sliding his reading glasses up his nose with a forefinger, he continued, “Yeah, the Braneworld. If that equipment was made mobile—think of it. We could go anywhere—do anything.”

  “This guy Jintao’s the one,” said Bledsoe. “He’s got title to everything, right?”

  “Thinks he’s pretty slick, the way he’s kept things buttoned up,” said the section chief nonchalantly. “But his back door is wide open.”

  “He’s holding out for a big payday,” said Bledsoe. “I’ve got a call in to the Appropriations Committee. I’m sure we can get whatever we need for this one. No need to squeeze him if we can buy it, right?”

  “Gets my vote,” said Renaut.

  The CIA chief looked away. “I’ve got a tail on him. Tomorrow, after the conference, that’s the best time to reel him in.”

  “Don’t want to ruffle him,” said Bledsoe. “Just a chat. Understood?”

  The CIA section chief left his chair, crossed the lounge, and ascended a narrow staircase. At the landing, a scanner at the metal door identified him and he entered a room with a dozen or more people reclining in the slings of their workstations. On the opposite side of the room, he caught the attention of two men standing near a tactical scope. He pointed to a conference room and the two men converged to meet him there. The younger of the two was dressed in a well-tailored gray gabardine suit. He was clean shaven, with an expensive haircut and unshakable eyes. The other man was older, darker, and shorter, wearing a rumpled suit stretched tightly across his back. His hands were thick and hard, his black shoes soft and quiet, and he smelled of tobacco.

  “Where’s he now?” asked the section chief.

  “Having dinner at L’Auberge,” said the younger man. “The Swiss guy is with him and his girlfriend.”

  “Stay on them but don’t intercept. I’ll let you know when.”

  39.

  The next day, in the main lecture hall, all twelve hundred red velveteen chairs were occupied and nearly thirty members of the press corps were standing against the back wall, some with handheld viewers, some with vidi cameras. Among them were two men not affiliated with the media, one tall and dapper, the other short, disheveled, and smelling of tobacco.

  Standing at the podium, illuminated by overhead spotlights, the conference chairperson introduced the second presentation of the morning session. “It is my distinct pleasure to introduce Dr. Gaston von Ang and Dr. Quan Jintao from the Brane Research Center. They’re here to present their paper entitled, ‘Evidence of Dark Matter and Gamma Reflectance in Hyperdimensional Space.’ I think you’ll find the paper extremely interesting. I give you Dr. von Ang.”

  Quan and Gaston stepped to the podium and waited for applause to taper off. Von Ang began to read a prepared statement. “Thank you for your kind introduction, Madame Peltaire, and thank you for the opportunity to be here and present our work. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s fair to say that most scientists believe they already understand the basic principles of reality, leaving only the myriad of smaller details to be filled in. The problem with this worldview is that it inhibits us from free inquiry, making it difficult to see reality in any other way. So, what would cause us to break away and see the world in an entirely different way? Well, occasionally it is accidents that pave the way to great discoveries. This is what happened for us. An accident opened up an entirely new field of research.”

  Behind them, a wall-to-wall view field lit up with two side-by-side images—on the left, a table of energy readings, and on the right, a vidi clip played of the first survey team standing in front of huge antenna that came and went from view. From the first measurements taken at the OB12 reactor, Von Ang carefully stepped through each phase of the research done by Jintao senior. As he went on describing his involvement with the early prototypes and experiments, reporters jockeyed for image capture. He presented vidi clips of instruments disappearing and reappearing and finally, when he displayed the vidi of a white lab rat disappearing and reappearing, noise in the room rose from a murmur to a tumultuous din.

  Von Ang pressed on, showing the microlite readings and the gamma transmission tests. Nearing the end of his presentation, he went over the Krakinov calculations and then explained his own lengthy calculus of particle exchange based on the gamma reflectance measurements.

  Forty minutes elapsed by the time Von Ang concluded his presentation, and seeing dozens of raised hands, he invited questions.

  “I’ll take as many questions as I can now and when our time is up, we have a room reserved in the east tower for further discussions.”

  Several reporters spontaneously shouted out.

  Pointing into the crowd, von Ang said, “Yes, the man in the fifth row, tan coat.”

  “You performed experiments in a higher-dimensional field,” said the man, now standing, “but you haven’t told us anything about the equipment used. Can you talk about that?”

  “I’m able to discuss the results of our experiments,” said von Ang. “However, I can’t disclose anything about the technology at this time. The equipment is proprietary.”

  Several voices rang out simultaneously. “Then how are we to verify your findings?”

  “We can arrange a visit to our laboratory and you can see for yourself.”

  Half an hour later, Quan and von Ang were seated behind a table at the back of a small room in the east tower. The room was filled beyond capacity, people overflowing into the outer hallway.

  A UPI reporter yelled above the clamor, “Are you the same Dr. Jintao who founded the LÓNG website?”

  “Yes, I am,” said Quan.

  The hubbub reduced to a mild roar.

  “What’s the connection between this research paper and your website?”

  “The research that Dr. von Ang presented today shows evidence of an aspect of
nature that was previously hidden from us. That’s the physical side of what we’ve discovered, but there’s a metaphysical side, as well,” said Quan. “What I’ve done on the website is an attempt to associate the quantum research with the human experience. In a way, your question is like asking ‘What is the relationship between our consciousness and the material world?’ Philosophers have tackled that subject for hundreds of years, and we don’t have time to get into that today.”

  Another reporter, seeing incoming text from his bureau chief, looked up and read aloud, “Are you able to transport people into that hyperdimensional place? And if so, what did they see?”

  Quan interceded before von Ang could answer. “All I can tell you is that using our equipment, we’re were able to see aspects of the ninety-six percent of the universe that was previously hidden from us.”

  After carefully crafting answers for over an hour, Quan and von Ang were able to extract themselves from the Q and A session. They walked quickly down the hallways, shunning several reporters who dogged them. Entering the central lobby, they looked for Lotus, who had stayed in the main conference room to see the other presenters. Answering her wrist disk, she told von Ang that the other presenters were fascinating but nothing as profound as what he had done.

  Exhausted, they poured themselves into the train and returned to the hotel, only to find another mob of reporters waiting at the entrance. Two valets rushed to their assistance, clearing a path, shouting, “Écartez vous. Hors du chemin!”

  Leaving the paparazzi behind, the threesome made their way up to the suite.

  Von Ang plopped down on the sofa and said, “I believe your father would be pleased, yes?”