David Baldacci - Simple Genius

She glanced up at him. “I’m sure Emily Post and her progeny would condemn a person showing off her artificial leg to a complete stranger but I don’t really care. Ms. Post, I assume, never had to walk around in one of these all day. And even with all the technological advances they still can hurt like hell.”

“How did it happen?” Sean asked as she popped three Advil with the aid of a glass of water poured from a carafe on her desk. “I’m sorry. You may not want to talk about it,” he added quickly.

“I don’t like to waste time and I can be blunt. I’m a mathematician by training, but a linguist by passion. My father was in the Foreign Service and we traveled extensively in the Middle East when I was young. Consequently, I can speak Arabic and Farsi and several other dialects the

U.S. government has deemed valuable. Four years ago, I volunteered as an interpreter in Iraq for the State Department. For two years things were going all right until I was riding in a Humvee near Mosul when it rolled over an IED. I regained consciousness in Germany a week later to find that not only had I lost seven days of my life, but most of my right leg as well. I was lucky though. Only two people survived the explosion, myself and another man, who pulled me to safety. They told me the only thing left of the driver sitting next to me was his torso. Shrapnel trajectory in enclosed spaces is hardly an exact science. However, my country completely rehabbed me and gave me this wonderful accoutrement.” She patted the artificial leg.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said. He inwardly marveled at her ability to talk so dispassionately about what must have been a horrific event.

Alicia settled back in her chair and studied him closely. “I still have no idea why they brought you down here.”

“There’s been a mysterious death and I’m a detective.”

“That part I can follow. They’ve had enough policemen down here to have Jack the Ripper himself shaking in his blood-soaked boots. But they’re all government people, you’re private.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“Meaning they can’t really control you, can they?”

“I don’t know, can they?” She didn’t answer him so he said, “You mentioned you had some things to tell me?”

“That was one of them.”

“Okay, who’s they, as in the owners of Babbage Town? No one down here seems anxious to tell me or they don’t know. Both of which I find remarkable.”

“Afraid I can’t help you there.”

“Have the FBI talked to you?”

She said, “Yes. A man named Michael Ventris. Humorless and efficient.”

“Good to know. What’s your take on Champ Pollion? Let me guess, he was first in his class at MIT.”

“No, he actually was second in his class at the Indian Institute of Technology, a school many in the field consider even more prestigious.”

“He also seems very nervous about what happened to Monk.” “He’s a scientist. What does he know about violent death and murder investigations? I saw enough blood in Iraq to last a thousand years, but even I’ve been unsettled by what happened to Monk. At least in Iraq you knew who was trying to kill you. Here you don’t.”

“So you think Monk was murdered?”

“I don’t know. That’s what’s so unsettling.”

“He was found at the CIA?”

“Right. But if the CIA had anything to do with his death do you think they would have conveniently left his body there? I mean they could’ve just dumped him in the York River.”

“So what’s your role in Babbage Town? I can tell you’re not simply one of the rank and file.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Your house is bigger than the other bungalows.”

“I run a department here. Champ lives on the opposite side of the mansion, near Hut Number One.”

“And what do they do in Hut Number One?”

“That’s actually my department. Champ runs Hut Number Two. The one with the water silo.”

“And you won’t tell me what you do?”

Alicia said, “It’s nothing terribly exciting. We factor numbers. Very large numbers or at least we try to. It’s quite a difficult proposition. We’re hunting for something that many people in the field are convinced doesn’t exist. A mathematical shortcut.”

Sean looked skeptical. “A mathematical shortcut? That justifies armed guards and expensive digs?”

“It does if accomplishing it can stop the world dead in its tracks. And we’re not alone. IBM, Microsoft, NSA, Stanford University, Oxford and countries like France, Japan, China, India, Russia, they’re all engaged in similar activities. Maybe even some criminal organizations. They’d definitely have incentive to do it.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to be in a competition with NSA.”

“Maybe that’s the real reason we need armed guards. To protect us from them. ”

“So all of Babbage Town is devoted to this factoring stuff?”

“Oh, no, that’s just me and my little operation in Hut Number One. And to tell the truth, I feel a bit like the unfortunate stepsister. Clearly my work is only seen as a backup in case Champ’s research doesn’t pan out. But the payoff could be enormous.”

“For stopping the world dead in its tracks?” Sean said, repeating her words. “How does that make sense?”

“Some inventions, like the light bulb or antibiotics, help mankind. Others inventions, like nuclear weapons, have the potential to end the human race. But people still come up with them. And other people still buy them.”

“Why do I feel like Alice toppling through the looking glass?”

“You don’t have to understand our world, Mr. King. You just have to find out what happened to Monk Turing.”

“Make it Sean. Was Monk in your department?”

“No, Champ’s. Monk was a physicist not a mathematician. But I knew him.”

“And?”

“And I spent time with him and Viggie but I can’t say I knew him all that well. He was quiet, methodical and kept to himself. Never said much about his personal life. Now go ahead and ask me the obvious questions. Did Monk have any enemies? Was he into anything that could have led to his death, that sort of thing?”

Sean smiled. “Well, since you already asked them, I’ll just wait for your answers.”

“I don’t have any. If he was into drugs or stealing or had a deviant sexual side that led him to being murdered, he hid it well.”

“Did you know he was killed with his own gun and his were the only prints on it?”

“So it was suicide then?”

“We don’t know all the facts yet. You said you didn’t know him that well, but did he ever appear depressed, suicidal?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Was he a good father to Viggie?”

Alicia’s expression softened. “A very good father. They’d play ball in the front yard for hours. He even learned to play the guitar so he could accompany her on the piano.”

“So you spent a lot of time with them?”

“Not with Monk, but I did with Viggie. Sort of the daughter I never had.”

“And Monk was okay with that?”

“He worked long hours, not that I don’t. But our schedules were different, so it worked out that I could be with her sometimes when he couldn’t.”

“I see. And the mom?”

Alicia shook her head. “No idea. Never knew her.”

Sean suddenly thought of a question that he probably should have asked Rivest. “Did Monk take any trips recently?”

“No, not recently. You don’t get a lot of vacation time down here.” She paused. “He did go out of the country about eight or nine months ago, I think.”

Sean perked up. “Do you know where?”

She shook her head. “He never told me.”

“How do you know it was out of the country then?”