Vengeance For Gabriel, page 3
Roger was awestruck, standing in the center of what he realized was the FBI’s new Artificial Intelligence center. He had heard rumblings about funding for an AI project but had not envisioned something of this magnitude. To Rogers knowledge the project was not supposed to be operational for a few years down the road. Yet here it was, fully operational and still a well-kept secret.
This was cool he thought, and he noticed it was also cool, like a hockey rink. He surmised the low ambient temperature was probably being used to temper the heat generated by the hundreds of computers and other equipment running twenty-four seven. The fresh air felt good, it was probably oxygenated too he thought.
Ninety percent of everything in the room was black, which stood in stark contrast to the primary-colored hallways they had just travelled through. The uniform of the day seemed to be whatever you wanted to wear, so it was still a somewhat colorful work environment. Roger was dumbstruck by the organized chaos taking place within the several concentric rows of tiered offices. There were hundreds of people moving about.
On each end of the oval room there was a set of escalators transporting people between levels. The walls around the perimeter of the room were lined with monitors. A light but steady stream of people passed Roger in either direction without seeming to notice him. He checked his phone again still hoping to hear from Matthew and received a no signal message. He watched the people moving about for a moment and noticed the direction in which they were transporting coffee and snacks from. Prompted by the smell of a fresh cup of Joe, Roger decided to head in the direction the aroma was coming from.
As he approached the café, Michelle Woods, the daughter of the now Acting Director of the FBI greeted him. She was a meticulously dressed slender woman in her late thirties. Roger had not seen her in over a decade. She wore no jewelry other than a single strand necklace of large white pearls with a matching, albeit slightly smaller, pair of white pearl stud earrings.
“Welcome Agent Quaid?”
“Roger please.”
“So, I understand we will be working together.”
“Yes, evidently your father thought I could use a little more intelligence.” It was a poor attempt at humor, but it served as an ice breaker. The double entendre was not lost on her.
“Well, we have plenty of that here Roger.”
“Welcome to the BrAIn” she said extending her hand, she had a surprisingly firm grip. At five foot six, she was shorter than Roger, but then almost everyone was shorter than Roger.
Michelle was a smart cookie, having graduated summa cum laude in the top five percent of her class with honors from Harvard. She also received degrees in psychology, computer sciences and linguistics. Michelle found working at the FBI to be exhilarating, as every day seemed to bring a new case or challenge that allowed her to use her skills. Today’s events promised to draw upon all of her expertise.
“You are standing in the midst of the FBI’s most advanced artificial intelligence community built to date. The people working here are affectionately known as BrAIniacs. May I show you around?” Roger nodded. “I could use a cup of coffee if you wouldn’t mind?”
“We live on coffee here!” Michelle responded, then led the way into the Café. “Whatever you would like Agent Quaid,” she said ignoring his request to be addressed as Roger. “It’s all complimentary.” Roger filled a cup of black coffee to the brim and took a sip.
“I’m good to go,” he said as he secured a lid on his cup and followed Michelle back out to the walkway. Michelle began to give Roger a tour and overview of the FBI’s newest crime fighting tool.
“You are in a bunker, one hundred and fifty feet underground, which is classified, as is much of what takes place in here. Everyone here is vetted and has a minimum of a Secret clearance. They can be read into anything to that security level, so you can talk freely in the ‘public spaces’ she said making quotes with her fingers. Michelle pointed to the sky boxes. “Top Secret happens upstairs or in the appropriate Chain of Command.” Roger nodded in understanding then asked, “I have no cell service, does that go for everyone down here?”
“No, we need to give you an encrypted access program and you’ll be able to dial out and receive calls.” Michelle waited a moment to see if there would be a follow up question, then continued. “That office.” Michelle now was pointing to the only enclosed office without a patio on the third level. “Clears what leaves this room.”
It was by far the largest segregated space in the arena, centered on a long leg of the oval. She headed for the escalators with Roger. “Normally individual sections or departments known as Brain Cells, are devoted to individual assignments, today everyone has the same assignment, New York and anything related.”
Michelle went on for the next few minutes explaining the infrastructure while Roger listened intently. Michelle’s secure phone rang. She looked at the number and answered, listening for a moment. “We are in section four twelve, heading to the Clearance Room.” She listened again then ended her call.
A minute later Roger and Michelle arrived at Clearance, where Michelle introduced Roger to Susan Harlow. Susan was a twenty something year old woman wearing black denim jeans with holes intentionally torn into them and a rock concert T-shirt with the name of a band that Roger had never heard of. Her black fingernails and purple punk hairstyle stood in stark contrast to most of the other employees in the building. Her sneakers were covered in purple rhinestones as was her belt, and her other accessories that coordinated with her six-inch purple rhinestone hoop earrings.
Harlow wore three very thick sterling silver chains without pendants that were layered in length. Her colorful choices from the animal kingdom for her tattoos were equally interesting. Clearly, she had selected an extraordinary artist whose work was beautiful. Roger could see several animals and assumed there were probably more. As unusual as Harlow appeared, Roger found her to be very personable.
The windowsill in Susan Harlow’s office, which overlooked the core of the Artificial Intelligence Center was lined with bobble heads, figurines, and action figures from a darker world. These characters were her physical connection to an imaginary and fantastical gaming world where she developed new programming in her spare time.
Susan Harlow, also known as The Geek throughout the subterranean AI world of the FBI, hated the name Susan. She thought just Harlow served her gothic persona better, so she was always affectionately referred to as Harlow within the BrAIn cells. Harlow was running a half dozen computers at the same time. She had not looked up more than a millisecond to greet her visitors. She could however see them clearly in the large convex mirror mounted between two monitors above her. She waved to them with one hand while continuing to type with the other. “I’ll be right with you just sending something out.” Harlow said as she worked.
Roger was impressed with her workstation, elaborate but organized, there was no clutter. He noted there were no stacks of paper anywhere, unlike his office where he had to move piles of paper and books to find anything.
The smaller monitors in the room were displaying images of the blast site obtained from various sources. There were charts and graphs on the main screens in front of Harlow and she appeared to be working on a series of long and complex chemical compound equations. She was referencing the Laws of Gases. Roger was familiar with these calculations from his chemistry classes, where he studied Kinetics of Chemical Reactions.
“Welcome to my world.” Harlow said.
Roger inquired as to what Harlow was working on.
“Analysis of air samples from the site.” Almost instantly, she spun in her chair, seizing the opportunity to share what she had learned with Roger and Michelle. She began explaining the exponential advantages of the AI system with machine learning the FBI had built in esoteric terms.
“In this case, we are tasking the BrAIn to perform a cognitive function and identify odors, not just for what they are, but by analyzing airborne particles that create odors we can determine the exact chemical composition of these particles. We have been accumulating and cataloging olfactory images or files from explosive materials for a long time now. We are also doing the same with human pheromones, which can be mapped and recorded with extreme accuracy.”
“How will you collect samples from people?” Roger asked.
“We already have a database of millions of traveler’s information in the Department of Homeland Security’s system, it’s a simple add on.
Think of it like a fingerprint or retinal database that can be drawn upon. Imagine being able to identify a suspect from a scent or odor. You could know who has been in a room, even if they do not make contact with anything in that room. And unlike…”
Greg arrived, greeting everyone, and interrupting the chemistry lesson. “Do we have something?”
“I do.” Harlow replied, returning to her keyboard, and starting her presentation. “Well sir, as per your request, I investigated abnormalities related to gas explosions. I was not sure about what I was looking for, but the BrAIn produced results that I believe will be of interest to you. After we ran video and still photos through our AI strainers…” Michelle interrupted and clarified for Roger.
“Strainers sift through images pixel by pixel to cull out inconsistencies or find matches based on criteria entered.”
“And!” Harlow continued, “with the BrAIn and machine learning we are now able to look at videos in a three-dimensional way that we never could before. Think 3D imaging way beyond MRI, CATSCAN technology etcetera.” Harlow continued typing away on her keyboard, occasionally brushing her hair out of her face. “Ready for a ride Agent Quaid? We call it Information Immersion. You will catch on quick enough. Look to the blue screens overhead.” A series of plasma screens turned to blue on cue, followed by a continuous series of images moving right to left of gas explosions.
“We have twenty-seven thousand fireball images archived from natural gas explosions. Our BrAIn protocols selected fifteen hundred or so that related to our query, then our filters brought us the sixty-five most similar. Which is what you are looking at.”
In the next minute, those images flashed by, and a visual pattern of color and texture emerged. Similarities in density and height of the smoke plumes become evident. Images of gas fires from aerial and horizontal views begin to show similarities.
A woman’s voice can be heard coming from a speaker behind them. “Would you like to see additional information on altitude, displacement, cubic volume, heat signatures...”
Harlow interrupted the AI voice and responded. “Heat signatures.” This terminated the list of suggestions as the computer spoke. “Now I am displaying selected images with available heat signatures.”
A dark green overlay appeared over all of the images filtering out the white light, revealing red, orange, and yellow zones. Harlow looked over her shoulder to observe the reactions from her audience. “Red is your hottest color, to orange, to yellow the coolest, which is still burning at over a thousand degrees. Got it?” Judging from the looks on their faces and absent any responses beyond nods, Harlow returned to her keyboard.
“Now to New York. We have not received any useful video yet; these are the stills from satellite and the helicopter images strung together.” Dozens of fireball images slowly scrolled across Harlow’s main screen. Here is what the images look like when I compare them to samples in our database.” The images do not look remarkably different than the others. “What we have confirmed here, is that it was definitely a gas explosion that took out Seven Main Street.”
After a few minutes, the AI woman’s voice repeated. “Would you…” Harlow cut her off again, terminating the search by responding: “Heat signatures.” The heat signature overlays appeared again. The images are now almost entirely red, with bright orange spots around the fringes. They all understood what this meant, but Roger knew why.
“Whoa!” Gregory gasped and stepped back. “That’s a lot of heat!”
“Oh My God!” Michelle shrieked in a high pitch.
“What could have caused that?” Greg asked as Harlow, who displayed the chemical composition of the gas in its formula format on her screen. “This is what the BrAIn discovered.”
“This gas contains some rare earth minerals, that according to the BrAIn have significantly modified its magnitude of combustibility.” Harlow pointed to the difference in the molecular composition of the images. “It is now the only non-military explosive gas that burns at over 3,500 degrees and is readily available. What you are looking at is the olfactory image of an unmapped gas molecule. It would appear your suspect has invented an extremely explosive form of…” Roger joined Harlow as they simultaneously offered the answer.
“PROPANE!”
Chapter 6
Back to New York
Roger tried one more time to reach Matthew before his plane back to New York would take off. There still was no answer, so he turned his cell off per the flight attendant’s snarly third request. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. Finally, a moment to gather his thoughts.
Michelle sat next to Roger, working on her BrAIn Pad which provided a secure connection to Harlow from anywhere in the world via encrypted messages using the governments proprietary geostationary communications satellites. Michelle observed Roger wrap his hands around the arm rests, tightening his grip as the aircraft taxied towards the runway. When the plane lifted off and entered a sharp bank, the starboard side of the plane dipped. Roger’s whole body tensed, and a small grimace appeared. After a moment, the plane leveled, and Roger exhaled. Michelle made a mental note that Roger really did not like to fly.
Michelle was absorbing a stream of factoids and questions posed by the BrAIn, becoming more educated by the minute about Roger’s world of study.
Her BrAIn Pad read:
Propane is a byproduct of natural gas production.
Propane does not form naturally.
Propane is a manufactured gas.
Propane is heavier than air.
Propane is odorless.
Propane is colorless.
Propane ignites at 940 degrees.
Propane burns at 3,560 degrees Fahrenheit.
Propane freezes at -306.4 degrees Fahrenheit.
Propane as a liquid is half the weight of water.
The streaming information continued, only interrupted occasionally by a message from Harlow, updating Michelle on what was happening in the Washington office, but nothing actionable had developed yet.
The BrAIn was running all kinds of calculations and searches in response to requests from the AI floor. Among these requests were inquiries into the activity of all known militia affiliates, mercenaries and anti-government organizations. The results of which were being analyzed by the BrAIn, while also looking into backgrounds of members for engineers, chemists, and the like.
There were no flags; these organizations were primarily comprised of militants and anarchists not scientists. The BrAIn scanned thousands of files that the Bureau had been monitoring for years and basically produced nothing in the way of an actionable lead. The foreign desks were tasked with and diligently reviewing activity by entities of concern.
Roger was entranced in thought about the possibilities to be explored. He knew that unlike gas and methane, which naturally form in the ground, propane is a manufactured gas. This fact eliminated natural causes as a possibility for the explosion, understanding he was left with accidental or intentional causes.
Accidental causes would be seepage from an adjacent source or leakage from a stored source. The BrAIn and a large team of investigators were already tasked with tracking those possibilities down. Everyone else was working on potential suspects. The bloodhounds were all out, this is what the men and women of the FBI did best. Roger opened his eyes.
“Michelle, would you ask Harlow to look into whether or not there was any propane used or stored in the building? While she is at it, were there any deliveries of propane recently?” Michelle was on it before he stopped talking, then Roger closed his eyes again, but kept speaking. Michelle didn’t like men tasking her with things below her pay grade.
It was an instinctive response, resulting from years of being stepped on, brushed aside, and abused in an unrecognizable way by most men. In this instance she recognized she had the direct link to Harlow. It was not unreasonable for Roger to ask, which he even did politely, so she dismissed her concerns entirely. Michelle looked to Roger.
“How much propane would have been needed to cause this amount of damage?”
“A lot, a hell of a lot, over a thousand pounds, maybe two thousand pounds.”
“Since propane has such a strong odor; shouldn’t it have been easily detectable if there was a leak?” Roger opened his eyes again before answering.
“That is true. It’s a nauseating odor, but propane’s smell is created by an additive used exactly for that purpose, to detect leaks and avoid explosions. It’s called Mercaptan, which leads me to wonder, what if the Mercaptan was not added? It fits, and then there’s the fives, all those fives. That’s what’s going to keep me up at night.”
“Who would have access to untreated propane?”
“That’s another good question.” Roger responded absent an actual answer.
Michelle’s BrAIn Pad hummed, she read the message and updated Roger. “Nathan Berman is going to head the New York City Fire Departments investigation; do you know of him?”
“I do, he is the undeniable authority on fire and explosive causation. He was teaching prevention and mitigation at the Fire Academy until recently. I thought he retired.”
“Evidently his retirement is old news, he is meeting us in New York tomorrow according to Harlow.”
“I’ve read all fourteen of his books. He has instincts like no other investigator I ever met. I spent a large part of my life studying and building explosives, conducting damage assessments and the like, trying to perfect and control detonations and explosions. Nathan spent his years studying the results of how and why things explode. We have a similar education, working on different ends of the spectrum. This is good news.” Roger looked at Michelle. “Do you know much about explosives?”
