“Psychiatric evaluations?” added Desh accusingly, recalling how his soul had been laid bare during the few sessions he had had with the military Psychiatrist after his team had been butchered in Iran. Of all the records to which she had access, this would be the biggest violation of privacy of them all.
Kira lowered her eyes and then nodded uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, appearing once again to be completely sincere. “From the moment you were assigned, I studied everything I could get my hands on to understand you as a person. Including that. I won’t lie to you.” She lifted her eyes and locked them onto Desh’s once again. “I studied the others Connelly sent after me as well,” she said. “Just as thoroughly. But they weren’t what I was looking for.” She leaned toward Desh intently. “You are. I’m sure of it.”
The corners of Desh’s mouth turned up in a small, ironic smile, and he shook his head in clear disbelief.
“I know, I know,” she said in frustration, “Flattery is also a tool of a master manipulator, and you’re not buying it. Be that as it may, it happens to be the truth.” She paused. “Look … David … you yourself pointed out I could have easily recruited others with your skill set.”
Desh said nothing, but silently bristled at her use of his first name.
“So why would I choose you and go to such pains to abduct you,” continued Kira, “putting myself at this kind of risk, instead of just calling a mercenary—or one of my terrorist friends for that matter—on the phone?”
“Because I have special qualities,” he said skeptically. “I get it.”
Kira frowned. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy,” she said resignedly. “There’s only one way I can ever hope to gain your trust. I know that. So I’ll tell you what, when I’ve said my piece, I’ll remove your cuffs and give you my gun. If that doesn’t demonstrate my sincerity, nothing will.”
Desh didn’t respond. She was trying to get him to lower his guard by giving him false hope, to perhaps stave off an escape attempt, but it wouldn’t work. He would believe this when he saw it. In the meanwhile, he would continue to assume that if he didn’t escape he was a dead man.
Still, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the unexpected course of the discussion. “Okay,” he said finally, pretending to believe her. “It’s a deal. By all means begin your persuading. Tell me your version of the truth.” He pulled at his restraints and added bitterly, “Consider me a captive audience.”
She winced at this; regret at having to restrain him etched in every line of her face. Her body language seemed totally genuine, and Desh realized she was as brilliant an actor as she was a biologist.
“The information you have on my childhood and schooling is correct,” she began softly. “Except my parents really did die in a tragic accident—I had nothing to do with it.”
“The report never said you did.”
“But you assumed it, didn’t you?”
Desh remained silent.
“Of course you did,” she said knowingly.
“Are we going to argue about what I assumed, or are you going to make your case?”
Kira sighed. “You’re right,” she said unhappily. She visibly gathered herself and then resumed. “I excelled in school and later found my calling in gene therapy. I was told by many in the field I had the kind of insight and intuition that comes around once in a generation. Over time, I came to believe it myself. In fact, I became convinced that I could truly change the world. Make a dramatic impact on medicine.” She paused. “But the key to making an impact is choosing the right problem to solve. I wanted to tackle the most challenging problem right from the start. At the risk of sounding immodest,” she added, “if you come to realize you’re Da Vinci, you owe it to the world to paint masterpieces rather than cartoons.”
“Let me guess,” said Desh. “You’re going to tell me the project you chose has nothing to do with bio-weapons.”
“Of course not,” she insisted, irritated. “I decided to solve the ultimate problem, one whose solution would make the solutions to all other problems, medical or otherwise, child’s play.” Her blue eyes twinkled, even in the dim light. “Any guesses?” she challenged.
She looked at him expectantly, obviously wanting him to arrive at the answer on his own. She waited patiently while he mulled it over.
“What?” he said uncertainly after almost a minute of silence. “Build a super-advanced computer?”
“Close,” she allowed. She waited again for him to connect the dots.
Desh’s forehead wrinkled in concentration. The only way to universally make problems easier to solve was to have better tools to solve them. But if enhancing computer capabilities wasn’t the answer, what was? His eyes widened as the answer became obvious. She was a molecular neurobiologist after all, not a computer scientist. “Enhancing intelligence,” he said finally. “Human intelligence.”
“Exactly,” she said, beaming, as if pleased with a star pupil. “Just imagine if you could have infinite intelligence. Unlimited creativity. Then you could easily solve any problem to which you turned your attention—instantly.” She paused. “Now of course there is no such thing as infinite intelligence. But any significant enhancements to intelligence and creativity would truly be the gift that keeps on giving. What better problem for me to solve?”
“Are you suggesting you actually solved it?” he asked skeptically.
“I did,” she confirmed wearily, not looking particularly triumphant or even happy about the supposed accomplishment.
“What, like a Flowers For Algernon kind of improvement?” he said, knowing that even she wouldn’t have the audacity to claim she had achieved increases in intelligence as great as those described in this story.
The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. “No. My results were far more impressive than that,” she said matter-of-factly.
Desh was almost prepared to believe she had managed some kind of improvement in her own intelligence, but not this. “Impossible,” he insisted. “Even for you.”
“Not impossible. I have a deep knowledge of neurobiology and a genius level intuition with respect to gene therapy. Combine this with single-minded devotion and trial and error and it can be done.”
“So what are you trying to say, that I’m talking to someone with an IQ of 1000? More?”
She shook her head. “The effect is transient. I’m just regular me right now.”
“Very convenient,” said Desh. “Not that I have an IQ test with me anyway,” he conceded. He thought for a moment and then shook his head. “I’m not buying it. We’ve evolved to become the most intelligent creatures on the planet. I’m sure there’s a limit. If we haven’t reached it yet we have to be awfully close.”
“Are you kidding,” she responded ardently. “You can’t even begin to imagine the potential of the human brain. Without any optimization, it’s already faster and more powerful than the most advanced supercomputers ever built. But it’s theoretical capacity is staggering: thousands and thousands of times greater than a supercomputer.”
“The human brain isn’t faster than a supercomputer,” argued Desh. “Hell, it isn’t even as fast as a dollar calculator.”
“We’re not wired for math,” explained Kira, shaking her head. “We evolved, remember? All evolution cares about is survival and reproduction. The brain is optimized to keep us alive in a hostile world and induce its owner to have sex. Period. And when it comes to preoccupation with sex,” she noted, amused, “Male brains are especially optimized.” She continued to look amused as she added, “But don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to criticize men. I’m sure some of our male ancestors didn’t think about sex all the time,” she said. “But this trait died out. Do you know why?”