Michael Connelly - Chasing the Dime

She waited to make sure he was done.

"Wow," she said in an unconvincing tone.

Pierce smiled at her stubbornness. He knew he had probably sounded too much like a salesman. Like Charlie Condon, to be precise. He decided to try again.

"Do you know what computer memory actually is, Monica?"

"Well, yeah, I guess."

He could tell by her face that she was just covering. Most people in this day and age took things like computers for granted and without explanation.

"I mean how it works," he said to her. "It's just ones and zeros in sequence. Every piece of data, every number, every letter, has a specific sequence of ones and zeros. You string the sequences together and you have a word or a number and so on. Forty, fifty years ago it took a computer the size of this room to store basic arithmetic. And now we're down to a silicon chip."

He held his thumb and finger up, just a half inch apart. Then he squeezed them together.

"But we can go smaller," he said. "A lot smaller."

She nodded but he couldn't tell if she saw the light or was just nodding.

"Molecules," she said.

He nodded.

"That's right, Monica. And believe me, whoever gets there first is going to change this world. It is conceivable that we could build a whole computer that is smaller than a silicon chip. Take a computer that fills a room now and make it the size of a dime. That's our goal. That's why in the lab we call it 'chasing the dime.' I'm sure you've heard the saying around the office."

She shook her head.

"But why would someone want a computer the size of a dime? They couldn't even read it."

Pierce started laughing but then cut it off. He knew he had to keep this woman quiet and on his side. He shouldn't insult her.

"That's just an example. It's a possibility. The point is, the computing and memory power of this type of technology are limitless. You're right, nobody needs or wants a computer the size of a dime. But think what this advancement would mean for a PalmPilot or a laptop computer. What if you didn't need to carry any of those? What if your computer was in the button of your shirt or the frame of your eyeglasses? What if in your office your desktop wasn't on your desk but in the paint on the walls of your office?

What if you talked to the walls and they talked back?"

She shook her head and he could tell she still could not comprehend the possibilities and their applications. She could not break free of the world she currently knew and understood and accepted. He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. He removed his American Express card and held it up to her.

"What if this card was a computer? What if it contained a memory chip so powerful that it could record every purchase ever made on this account along with the date, time and location of the purchase? I'm talking about for the lifetime of its user, Monica. A bottomless well of memory in this thin piece of plastic."

Monica shrugged.

"That would be cool, I guess."

"We're less than five years away. We have molecular RAM right now. Random access memory. And we're perfecting logic gates. Working circuits. We put them together – logic and memory -and you have integrated circuitry, Monica."

It still excited him to speak of the possibilities. He slid the credit card back into his wallet and pocketed it. He never took his eyes off her and could tell he still wasn't making a dent. He decided to stop trying to impress her and get to the point.

"Monica, the thing is, we're not alone. It is highly competitive out there. There are a lot of private companies out there just like Amedeo Technologies. A lot of them are bigger and with a lot more money. There's also DARPA, there's UCLA and other universities, there's -"

"What is DARPA?"

"Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. The government. The agency that keeps its eye on all emerging technologies. It's backing several separate projects in our field.

When I started the company I consciously chose not to have the government be my boss.

But the point is, most of our competitors are well funded and dug in. We're not. And so to keep going, we need the funding stream to keep flowing. We can't do anything that stops that flow, or we drop out of the race and there is no Amedeo Technologies. Okay?"

"Okay."

"It would be one thing if this was a car dealership or a business like that. But I happen to think we have a shot at changing the world here. The team I've assembled down in that lab is second to none. We have the -"

"I said okay. But if all this is so important, maybe you ought to think about what you're doing. I just talked about it. You're the one who is out there going to her house and doing things underhanded."

Anger flared up inside of him and he waited a moment to let it subside.

"Look, I was curious about this and just wanted to make sure the woman was all right. If that is being underhanded, then okay, I was underhanded. But now I'm done with it. On Monday I want you to get my number changed and hopefully that will be the end of it."

"Good. Can I go now?"

Pierce nodded. He gave up.

"Yes, you can go. Thanks for waiting for the furniture. I hope you have a good weekend, what's left of it, and I'll see you on Monday."

He didn't look at her when he said it or when she got up from the chair. She left without another word to him and he remained angry. He decided that once things blew over he would get another personal assistant and Monica could go back to the general pool of assistants at the company.

Pierce sat on the couch for a while but was drawn out of his thinking reverie by the phone. It was another caller for Lilly.

"You're too late," he said. "She quit the business and went to USC."

Then he hung up.

After a while he picked up the phone again and called Information in Venice for the number of James Wainwright. A man answered his next call and Pierce got up and walked to the windows as he spoke.

"I'm looking for Lilly Quinlan's landlord," he said. "For the house over on Altair in Venice."

"That would be me."

"My name's Pierce. I'm trying to locate Lilly and want to know if you've had any contact with her in the last month or so?"

"Well, first of all, I don't think I know you, Mr. Pierce, and I don't answer questions about my tenants with strangers unless they state their business and convince me I should do otherwise."

"Fair enough, Mr. Wainwright. I'd be happy to come see you in person if you'd prefer.

I'm a friend of the family. Lilly's mother, Vivian, is worried about her daughter because she hasn't heard from her in eight weeks. She asked me to do some checking around. I can give you Vivian's number in Florida if you want to call and check on me."

It was a risk but Pierce thought it was one worth taking to convince Wainwright to talk. It wasn't too far from the truth, anyway. It was social engineering. Turn the truth just a little bit and make it work for you.

"I have her mother's number on her application. I don't need to call, because I don't have anything that will help you. Lilly Quinlan's paid up through the end of the month. I don't have occasion to see or talk to her unless she has a problem. I have not spoken to or seen her in a couple months, at least."

"The end of the month? Are you sure?"

Pierce knew that that didn't jibe with the check records he had examined.

"That's right."

"How did she pay her last rent, check or cash?"

"That's none of your business."

"Mr. Wainwright, it is my business. Lilly is missing and her mother has asked me to look for her."

"So you say."

"Call her."

"I don't have time to call her. I maintain thirty-two apartments and houses. You think I have -"

"Look, is there somebody who takes care of the lawn that I could talk to?"