Improper Implant

By Richard Porter Ray

Brad Staples bought a small company, BrainTech, which has developed a method of recording and implanting a person’s whole personality and memory into someone who is comatose and dying. The implant also causes the recipient to overcome the disease that is killing them. Several successes make big news

Chaos is stirred when a clerk picks up the wrong implant. A pro football player gets the wrong implant and it's a success, at least they think so. The previous implants all took the personality of the donor. The author makes subtle twists and turns as the implant impacts dozens. The implant was supposed to be a famous race car driver, but instead it was the Vampire Killer. You will be taken through a labyrinth of schemes, and vivid highlights as Brad takes extreme chances in order to apprehend the Killer. If the killer is caught then the legal ramifications are huge. Is the football player guilty? What happens if the implant is erased and the right one is administered would he be guilty. Of course they have to catch him first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Porter Ray
• Release date: Jan 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311000866

Richard Porter Ray

Born in Clearwater Florida in 1935 in the midst of the great depression. Moved to Houston when I was six and lived there until graduation from U of H in 1967. Married my wife Lori in 1963 and had many happy years. She passed away in 1998 and I sold my business and moved to Florida. Along the way I was writing tech books and other writings. I started writing novels and have finished four so far. It is one of my very enjoyable hobbies and I hope my readers enjoy them too.

Book preview

Chapter 1 Ultra-High-Tech

It was one year before the mistake was discovered, one year before the lives of Barry Brown and Brad Staples would be radically altered. Brad would at first become richer, more famous, and then he would be hounded and hunted, hounded by the press, and hunted by the FBI.

Regi's discovery about the brain recordings was a key breakthrough, probably the most important of the century. The results were miraculous, and chilling at the same time. Some would say they were playing God, others would say it was the cure of the century, but that would be before the horrible accident.

Now it's the year 2010 a little more than a year before they discovered their mistake. Opportunity is knocking on the door. It's a deafening knock and Brad is on his way to open it.

Today, Brad is out on Lake Michigan in his thirty-nine-foot sailboat, Cyndy Lou, named after his late wife. Lisa, his new wife and he are out with another couple enjoying the day and their friendship.

The sweater felt good in the cool morning breeze. Sails trimmed and straining at the rigging, the Cal 39, with its snow-white sails, sliced through the waters close to Bird Island on Lake Michigan.

Adjusting the jib sheet block, to remove a tiny wrinkle from high up on the big Genoa, Brad eased the block ever so slightly forward. The wrinkle smoothed out and he put the pin back, securing the block to its track.

Down below in the galley, Lisa, and Margaret, or Marge, as everyone called her, were busy rustling up a batch of scrambled eggs and bacon for their breakfast. Gerald Howe, Marge's husband, and Brad's good friend was manning the big stainless steel wheel that guided the Cyndy Lou through the bluish green water. Putting the strips of bacon onto patterned paper towels, Margaret removed the crisp pieces from the skillet one by one as they turned the dark golden brown she wanted.

Gerald was a lawyer and head of his own firm Howe, Peterson, Lincoln, and Smith. He had met Brad many years ago when Brad was one of the senior vice presidents of General Automotive. They both had sailboats and went out with each other when the opportunity arose. Gerry was also invested in some of the same companies that Brad was in. They had backed two startup companies that were now highly profitable and starting to climb the ranks onto the top one-thousand lists. Another two years and one of them, Bio Byte would probably make the list.

Lisa tended the propane stove while Marge fried the bacon on a small hotplate. The combined smell of bacon, toast and eggs, coming from below, only served to increase the hunger of the two middle-aged men. As they maneuvered the Cyndy Lou, toward the northern part of the lake, their stomachs began the little games stomachs play when the nose signals that food is coming.

Stepping back down into the cockpit, Brad reached for his cup of coffee. It sat on a highly varnished piece of teak sticking out from the steering pedestal.

You want me to take the wheel for a while? Brad asked Gerry as he sipped his coffee.

No, thank you. I’m enjoying this too much. He leaned back a little letting the rear of the specially made captain's chair support his back. He made a slight course correction as the wind made a temporary shift.

Where did you hear about this BrainTech outfit? Brad asked.

Gerry had mentioned it a couple months back as a possible investment opportunity, but at the time, Brad wasn't interested. Gerry had brought it up again.

Harry Holmes told me about it. You know Harry, don't you? Gerry ducked down low to check the lake on the other side of the Genoa.

Yes, he's that wild dressing doctor at Detroit University. He used to teach us body language at GA. The smell of the breakfast was really beginning to set his stomach to growling now.

He's one of the original investors. BrainTech has made an outstanding breakthrough in recording and implanting brain waves, but they're running out of funds.

They're trying to record brain waves?

Gerry reached for his own cup of coffee, took a sip and replied. Well beyond that now. They've actually recorded memory and can put it in someone else’s brain and play it back, but it doesn't always work.

That's impressive. It's not just power of suggestion is it? Brad leaned back against the cockpit sides, stretched out his legs and rested them on the opposite seat.

That's definitely out. Whatever it is, it's not that. I've tried it myself, but it didn't work for me. It's supposed to enable you to play Clair De Lune on the piano. He was referring to the demonstration that BrainTech had done. They would play back a part of one of their recordings and some subjects could then play the tune on the piano afterward.

What was it like?

Breakfast is ready. You guys want to put the leaves up on the cockpit table, please? Marge hollered up from the galley.

Brad rose up from his comfortable perch and started unfolding the leaves and pulling out the braces. As the last pair snapped into place, he yelled out, Ok Marge, anytime.

Gerry continued, For me, it was like something out of place with my memory. I could get parts of it, but it didn't make sense. The erasing part didn't work either. I still have a few remnants of it banging around inside. He grabbed one of the bowls from Lisa and sat it down on the table.

Brad took the handful of silverware and napkins from Marge and started placing them neatly in order. They can erase it too?

Not altogether, but, at least, they only erase what they plug in, not anything else.

You realize the implications of this? It could revolutionize psychiatry, education and possibly redefine mental illness. He spotted a fork not correctly lined up and reached over to correct the situation.

The girls disappeared down the main cabin door for a few seconds as the two men sat silently, contemplating the possibilities. Marge's head appeared first. She carried a tray with three bowls. One was full of scrambled eggs and onions, another held white gravy and the third was hominy grits covered with the yellow color of fresh melted butter.

Lisa followed with the bacon, toast and an assortment of jellies. What are you guys talking about now, some science fiction thing or is it real?

Some of both really, Gerry reached for a slice of toast to start a little pile on his plate.

They can really record memory, like data on a disk? Lisa, hearing part of the conversation asked. She passed the bowl of eggs to Marge.

I wouldn't say it's like data. Several things are going on simultaneously. There's a high-pitched signal that carries some of the information and other parts are just like digital, off and on. He tried to remember what Regi; the president of BrainTech had told him about the new research.

Marge spooned a small portion of eggs from the bowl and said, It worked on me, it was just as if I'd been practicing that one tune for hours and hours.

She handed the bowl to Brad and he grabbed a rather generous portion with the big spoon. He cleared his throat and asked, How do they get it into your brain?

Gerry looked up and said, Brad, do you mind if I put her on Autopilot?

Not at all, be my guest.

Gerry engaged the autopilot clutch and pushed a few buttons. With us, it was several needles stuck in the back of our necks. Not painful as they are very tiny.

Marge swallowed a bite of toast and remarked, It's a little painful, sort of like mosquito bites and they itch afterward.

Maybe that's the secret. You have to get the needles just right. Brad commented.

I'm sure that's part of it, but even on the subjects that had the probes implanted, it would work sometimes and other times it wouldn't, Gerry replied.

It sounds good enough to look into, how much do they need?

Gerry washed down a mouthful of toast and eggs mixed with a little bacon. About twenty million and that's more than I can afford.

Lisa looked up from her plate balancing a spoonful of grits, Wow, that's a lot of moolah.

It sure is, but the potential could be gigantic. It might even change the way we think about civilization. Brad said as he picked up a jar of strawberry jam and stuck his spoon down in it.

You wanna visit them? Gerry asked as he again ducked low to check the area on the starboard side and under the Genoa for other boats.

Let’s do it, Brad replied.

Brad Staples had been a successful man, most of his life. He graduated from the University of Houston and got a Masters from SMU. His first job was with an insurance company in Hartford. Starting in the Corporate Systems Department as a programmer, he rose in rank and stature until he was head of the department.

An extremely handsome man, he was six-foot-two and weighed 195. His green eyes set off a ruddy complexion that seemed to be always tanned. His IQ was a little over 200 and he was well read and experienced in many things.

During the Vietnamese War, he led an Army Platoon that ferreted out Charlie from underground tunnels. Many a time he had crawled on his belly through hundreds of feet of tunnels to find and kill the enemy.

His specialty was hand to hand combat. They trained him in more than one type of combat and he had many hours of work in the hand to hand schools. He had never been beaten for long. When he was, he would work harder then come back and defeat the one who had beaten him. Once he did, they could never defeat him again.

In Houston, although the lab was closed at BrainTech, Dr. Herrera was still twisting knobs and punching keys on the computer console. The process was getting better as they learned more and more about this complicated signal they were getting. The biggest problem was the computers; they were getting bogged down with all the processing they had to do.

Reginald Herrera, known to his fellow research scientist as Regi, was a 1950's movie representation of a typical scientist. His hair was usually unkempt, his clothes didn't match and he wore relatively thick glasses. When you first saw him, he looked like one of the Three Stooges or one of the Marx brothers.

When Regi graduated from MIT in 1989, he immediately enrolled at Baylor Medical University, not because of the school’s prestige, but to be close to the most renowned heart surgeon in the world. Dr. Debaky was Regi's idol ever since he made his first attempt at a heart transplant. When Regi started his second year at MIT, he was introduced at a party to Dr. Sargassi Pentenilli. Pentenilli was a, not too well known, brain surgeon. He was so far advanced compared to the rest of the world that few believed his work and even fewer understood it.

The conversation was about heart transplants, not about brain surgery. The surprise came when Regi became aware that Pentenilli knew more about heart transplants than DeBakey did. Why would a brain surgeon know more about heart transplants than the most renowned heart surgeon in the world?

When the subject turned to the engineering of the new Ferrari, possibly the fastest, most well-engineered car for the next twenty years, Regi knew he was in the presence of a human being the type of which he had never experienced before.

Pentenilli was a genius of the rarest kind. Not that he knew a little about a lot of things, the man knew a lot about a lot of things. Testing his knowledge, Regi steered the conversation toward computer systems designs, the field he had received his Doctorate in from MIT.

You have quite a bit of knowledge about a very broad range of topics, Doctor. Regi looked at the man in awe.

A little, mostly because of my sleeping problem, Pentenilli stood at the corner of the small group gathered around a small table that held a reddish liquid. It appeared to be or, at least, tasted like Kool-aide with one jigger of vodka per bowl. He wore a white shirt that by the look of the frayed collar and cuffs had been washed about twice more than once too often. At his neck was a tie with a knot that only a child could match and get away with. His tweed jacket had the required leather patches at the elbow with the waist pockets bulging out, though empty.

It was what Pentenilli said next that intrigued. Regi. The future is in these little chips; now they're big, but essentially they are nothing but radio tubes shrank down in size. It took us twenty years to shrink them down to one-tenth, and in three, we'll have then down to one, one hundredth. When we get them down to one, one billionth, we will start seeing miracles.

You mean one millionth don't you Sarge? Asked Dr. Desault. He was an engineer for Benaldi, a relatively new entry in the emerging computer business. He called Pentenilli by his nickname as he had known the brilliant physician for the better part of ten years.

The 4 million transistors at Humble Oil Company that took up three floors in their building downtown have just been replaced by a small box only about the size of a washing machine. Marchant at Rice University in 1992 had succeeded in putting a million in one package not any larger than a single one.

His implication was not understood by most of the little group. Regi asked, You mean you think someone will be able to put a hundred million transistors in a package less than the size of a postage stamp. Most of the group smiled, but Regi was serious. He knew what Pentenilli meant; he wanted the rest of the group to know just so he could get their reactions.

Exactly and my guess is about five years. Knowing the response that comment would get, Pentenilli's face showed a slight smile. Regi studied the expression and after a brief contemplation thought, Why you old codger you, you're picking our brains. Sure enough, the entire group started espousing their favorite theory about miniaturization and how it would come about. For the next fifteen minutes, Pentenilli just stood there and listened and Regi changed his whole outlook on life, his future plans, and his purpose for even coming to Houston and became a student of brain surgery.

The very next morning, he had gone to the university registrar and changed his whole program from heart specialist to Neurosurgery. Although he wasn't completely aware of it yet, he had the intelligence to understand, he just didn't know how much. There is a point of increasing intelligence where you understand so well that you have difficulty explaining your knowledge to others. Then when you go beyond even that it becomes easier to explain, but your thirst for information increases to the point that there is a need to understand everything.

Regi was at that point. It was a curse to be too smart and that's what Dr. Reginald Herrera was, too smart. His called it being a janius with a heavy accent on the J. He pronounced it Jany-us, the ability to understand almost everything and not to remember where he put things or his wife's birthday or to feed the dog.

Now, he fiddled around some more with the settings on the data and finally left the big computer alone to do its work. He exited the lab at BrainTech by the back door. The back door was by the pool and behind the pool was the parking lot where his Volvo was waiting for him.

The evening air in Houston was warm and damp; there were very few dry days in the late summer. As he walked to his car, he felt in his pocket for the keys. Oh hell, I don't have them. Without his keys, he couldn't get back in the building to retrieve them as the building key was on there too. He would have to walk all the way around to the front, ring the bell and wait for the guard to let him in.

He went to his car to get Sail With the Devil, another of Richard Porter Ray's novels he had bought Sunday. At least, he could read while he was waiting for the guard. As he reached across the seat for the black covered book, he saw his keys, still in the ignition from this morning.

Another of the curses of being a janius was forgetting the most mundane things. Keys, jackets, umbrellas are scattered all over the world by people too smart to remember them. Regi combated this problem with rituals. The umbrella went on a hook in his office. If it was his home, there was another hook in the front closet. If it wasn't home or office, it stayed in the car between the seats. When he went shopping with his wife in her car, he just got wet, the penalties sometimes were worse than the advantages. Of course, he could continue to buy umbrellas; which is what he had done for a long time.

The drive home was pleasant, hardly any traffic at eight in the evening. The garage door responded to the invisible death ray from his remote opener in the car, by opening its cavernous mouth to accept the Volvo into the safety of its womb.

The umbrella moved from between the seats to the hook in the front closet as Regi entered the small two-story home, nestled on a short cul-de-sac off of Memorial Drive. Marge? He called out.

Right behind you Reg how was your day? A little overweight and dressed in a faded greenhouse dress, Marge held out her arms for another ritual, the evening welcome home hug where he handed her his keys and she put them in a bowl sitting on the mahogany stand in the entrance hall.

It was fine; the program that Guy wrote seems to work pretty well. It's running overnight. How was bridge? He talked as he continued the hugging ritual. Most of the time it lasted and lasted as they both felt the need and the comfort that the ritual provided. She talked into his right arm and he spoke to the wall behind her. He was six-foot and she was five foot two.

Helen Hunt was my partner and you know how she always overbids. We made more than half of them, but we went down four times and lost the rubber.

They are quite a pair, she and Howard, I wonder if they are as competitive with each other? Regi broke the embrace, held Marge at arm’s length, looked deep into her eyes, and then returned to the big hug.

I don't think so Reg, he's the boss and I think that's why she is so competitive outside the marriage because she can't compete with him.

Could be he's afraid to let her.? He pulled back and together they walked toward the dining room shoulder to shoulder, her tiny hand in his big one.

Could be, sugar, could be? Guy's newest program, will that fix the contamination problem? She continued talking as she made trips to the kitchen to bring bowls of potatoes, celery sticks, beets, and a couple of pork chops.

It should, he hopes to be able to remove the parts that are causing blockages.

You mean the rejected signals? She set a glass of milk in front of him and took her chair on the opposite side of the table.

Pretty much; we feel the reason the memory signals don't work on some people is because of the things that happen when we record. I think some things just get rejected. For example, let's say that mixed in with the memory of Aunt Terri's birthday party is a signal that you need to scratch your nose because it itches. When we play it back, the subject’s nose doesn't itch, so the message is rejected and some of the birthday party is lost.

You mean if I get a signal that my nose itches and it doesn't, I reject it?

Regi picked up his knife and cut a more than generous bite of pork chop. Apparently some do and some don't. I think it has to do with past experience and how much you react to physical stimuli.

That's way too big a bite, Regi.

Yes hon, I apologize.

Guys program, it's supposed to get rid of the itchy nose signal? That's too big a bite too, Regi. Marge got that mother to a child look on her face.

Sorry pet. It's supposed to, along with as many others as he can. Hopefully, it won't affect the memory signal. The pork chop tasted delicious, he cut off another not so large. Is this better mommy?

Yes it is, son, now drink your milk. She smiled at him as she played his little game.

Yes, Mam. There are other signals there too. It's a hell of a complicated process, but we’re hammering away.

How's Carl coming on his learned processes? She was referring to another part of the team, Carl Bergen, the learning specialist.

He's still having problems with us filtering out physical stimuli, he feels it's part of the process.

He's right in that respect, you can't turn off what the body feels.

If we don't take it out, then some of the memory doesn't transfer.

Regi, don't talk till you've chewed all your food.

Yes, pet, He said it then made a big deal out of swallowing it with a devilish smile on his face.

There's no salvation for you Regi. She smiled back.

Chewing his food until his mouth was completely empty, Regi mentioned, We have a potential investor coming in tomorrow. He has quite a bit more money than the rest, maybe enough for the whole amount.

Twenty million? She smiled at him for chewing his food like a good little boy.

Yes, the board could only raise eight with a promise or two for another two million. If he puts in the other twenty, that's our budget for the whole project. His voice was cheery and animated. Things were going well, for now.

Regi was head of the overall project and had broken the research down into twelve teams, each team concentrated on separate aspects of brain research.

The main thrust was Regi's, as he had discovered what he termed the brainbuss. It was a small little bump just below the thalamus. For some reason, all signals between the parts of the brain went through this tiny area.

At first, he thought it was just another place to record, and then he started comparing its signal with the other parts of the brain. He was able to find a component of the signals from each part of the brain, in the signal from the brainbuss. Eventually, it would be known as Herrera's buss.

Even the motor signals and other signals from other parts of the body were found in the brainbuss. It seemed to be the central switching unit for all the neurological signals from the whole body. He could even see minute differences when a subject was listening to music versus when they were listening to someone talk.

The most startling discovery was the recording they had made of Lily as she died. She was one of the volunteers and had contracted deadly brain cancer. They were recording her in the hospice room when she died.

It was an accident that she died during the recording, but that was what research is a chance discovery. Her recording was unlike any they had done before.

The signal got extremely complicated as if all the information from decades and decades was all traveling across the brainbuss. Regi remembered the phrase, your whole life passes in front of you. Maybe it was true?

Regi put a whole team on it and soon they discovered all sorts of signals, memory, learned process, motor skills, body defenses, and many other signals embedded into the sophisticated recording.

The signal got progressively weak for a few hours, and then just before she died, maybe about twenty minutes, it got really complex. She died about a minute after the signal went back to what we would call normal. Lee Esterbrook, head of the visual signal’s group, was commenting on the initial recording.

What have we got in those twenty minutes? Regi had asked.

It's all analog, but in mathematical terms, we're venturing about forty sycabytes. It's hundreds, maybe thousands of signals, some at high frequencies, some at low. Some are high frequencies that carry low-frequency signals embedded.

Sycabytes, you mean a thousand terabytes? In twenty minutes? Is that possible?

Yes, yes, yes. Will the learned professor please ask one question at a time? Lee answered back.

I'm sorry, just excited. This is amazing. Call your team; I want to meet with them right now.

This breakthrough was almost unbelievable. Was it the whole of the human brain being transmitted, but to whom or to where? Did it occur only when you die or could you induce it?

One explanation came to Doctor Herrera, the spirit leaving the body. There were a few studies on the matter, but nothing conclusive. He jotted down his thoughts on a page in his well-worn three-ring notebook. These thoughts would be entered into the computer on Monday by Connie Colley, Regi's personal assistant.

After recording Lilly, the first order of business was to try to find some of the signals that they knew. After three weeks, Lee was able to isolate a learned process. Lily played the piano and loved to play Clair De Lune and it was that tune's timing that finally showed on the tape. Lee was fascinated by this; he looked at the little-jagged edges of a single spike for a long time. The timing of the entire piece was there. It was only part of one of the signals, actually a three hundred thousand cycle per second signal and the timing was sitting in little-jagged peaks about one-fourth of the way up.

It's quite simple and quite complicated at the same time. Lee sat on the back patio enjoying his favorite after work drink, a Dr. Pepper.

His wife, Jo-Ann, asked, Ok, Doctor Esterbrook, how can something be complicated and simple at the same time? Her expression was not one to correct his explanation, but to urge him further.

The simple part is the signals themselves. You remember what a signal looks like on an oscilloscope?

I don't even know what an oscilloscope is? Jo-Ann's hands went to a small pin on her dress and touched the metal part. It felt solid and secure.

It's the little TV that shows green waves. Lee twirled the ice in his glass and took a chunk in his mouth.

Don't chew ice, Lee. Jo-Ann reprimanded him. She couldn't stand the sound of ice being chewed, it sounded like someone breaking their teeth.

I wasn't going to chew it. The wave you probably remember looks like sand dunes right?

I remember, you see them in movies once in a while. As she talked, she kept waiting for the first chomp on the ice.

That's right, except these waves aren't smooth like a sand dune, their like rough mountains, but they still go up and down. He rolled the ice around, feeling it melt made his whole body cooler.

Really, I've never seen that. She smoothed the Gabardine cocktail dress she had put on for him this afternoon. Always when he came home Jo-Ann was dressed nicely, hair set just right, nails done, a lovely smile on her face.

Even the little jags have little jags on them. Think of a mountain without the trees and you've pretty well got it. The small chunk of ice was only about half its size now.

I see, so the signal is a mountain type wave that looks like a sand dune, but all wrinkled.

Exactly. You can think of them as mountains of data. Lee chomped down on the little chunk of ice.

Lee! Her tone was as if she were talking to a five-year-old child.

I'm sorry hon. The complicated part is that for every second of tape we have recorded there are about three hundred thousand mountains. Each jag means something and the little jags on the bigger jags are information. He picked up his glass and started to plop another ice cube in his mouth, then decided just to get another Dr. Pepper. You want another Seven-up?

I'm okay Lee. Thinking about what Lee had just said, the mental gears began to churn in her head. Three hundred thousand every second and he had said there were twenty minutes of tape. Sixty seconds time twenty minutes is twelve hundred seconds, so there were twelve hundred times three hundred thousand. Whatever that number was, it was a big one.

Jo-Ann was trying to multiply twelve hundred by three hundred thousand and got lost with all the zeros. She could figure it was thirty-six something, but it was too complicated and she gave up.

How many mountains of data do you have? She said as Lee came back out the glass patio door. He was holding another Dr. Pepper in his right hand.

Three hundred and sixty million give or take a few. Pulling back the metal patio chair, he plopped himself down and put his Dr. Pepper on the table.

God almighty, that's a lot of data. His beard was beginning to turn gray, she noticed that before, but in the bright sunlight now it seemed a little grayer than she had realized.

That's only that one frequency, there are many more.

Many more? You mean that's not all of it? Yes, it was turning gray; she wondered why she hadn't noticed before.

We don't know exactly how many, but quite a few, maybe hundreds. Am I gaining too much weight, you keep staring at me?

I was looking at your beard; it seems to be getting a little grayer.

Compliments like that will get you anything. His hand fondled his beard and he wondered if after fifteen years he should shave it off.

I'm sorry honey. She came over and sat on his lap. I love you even if your beard was solid gray and your hair too.

"You think I should shave it off?

He was at the office the next morning.

Regi, there's a board of directors meeting in fifteen minutes.

We'll be finished in twenty, this is way too important.

He was meeting with Lee's team and trying to come up with a figure for the analog computer they needed. The team had attempted to filter the waves out one by one and then digitize them into bits and bytes. It became way too large for any existing computer. The only way to study the recorded waves completely was to study all of them at the same time to see if there's a relationship between them.

Regi walked into the board meeting an hour late with a huge grin on his face. That was almost a year ago. Now they had recorded dozens of people, mostly volunteers who had incurable diseases. Among them was Doctor Sargassi Pentenilli. He had volunteered just after his second heart attack. He had died only a week after they started recording him.

The board left the meeting both excited and worried. It was a tremendous breakthrough, but together they didn't have the funds necessary to broaden the research. Outside investors would have to be found which meant their stock would be diluted. As a group, they could come up with several million, but they needed an additional twenty million to get the necessary people and equipment needed.

The sound of the engines was replaced by the swishing noise of air being penetrated by the long cigar shape of the Boeing 737. Would you care for some champagne? The pretty stewardess asked Gerry, who was sitting in the window seat in first class.

Yes, please, thank you.

And you Mr. Staples? Brad winced a little inwardly; his face had been plastered on the front page of most newspapers, a pile of magazines and every one of the tabloids. It wasn't just that one time, it was twice now. The first time had been embarrassing and humiliating, but the last time had been fairly good.

He had almost single-handedly discovered and captured a modern day pirate. Not only was he a pirate, but his organization was the largest drug dealing organization in the world and about to merge with number two. Fortunately, he had traded his inevitable execution for a life term without parole and told the Mexican authorities everything.

The FBI, the CIA and the ATF all had their chance with El Diablo. Using the information he provided, they nabbed Carlos, the number two man and got most of his organization too.

The flow of drugs into the United States had dwindled to a trickle causing the rehabilitation centers to overflow at least for a while. The President took all the credit and was a definite winner come next November. Most people believed the President really did mastermind the whole operation. His spin doctors did another pull the wool over their eyes.

I'll have a scotch and water, preferably Cutty if you have it?

We have it, Mr. Staples. She turned to the couple across the aisle and got their order too.

I feel honored to sit next to such a celebrity. Gerry reached over with balled fist and playfully jabbed Brad in the arm. He had been a faithful friend to Brad, even when Brad's publicity was not so favorable. Upon hearing the news, Gerry had immediately called Brad and given him a contract to build a firewall for his corporation. At the time it was Brad's only secure contract, most others had canceled. The two others he had left were actually finished; they only needed testing, so even though they wanted to let him go, the other two clients relented and let him finish.

At least, this time, you don't have to explain your friendship to everyone. Brad hit Gerry a light touch on his arm.

I was proud to explain, just as I'm proud to sit next to you now.

Wow, for twenty million, you sure pour on the gravy. Brad chided and they both laughed.

Wait till you see the room we got.

We're not staying at the Y?

Not exactly, this one has running water and an indoor toilet.

A little luxury never hurt anyone.

Awakened from his nap by the stewardess, Brad shook out the cobwebs and reached for the button to raise his seat back.