Desh considered pressing her to talk more about longevity, but decided to be patient and let her continue in her own way. “What were the other two?”
“One was to achieve another jump in intelligence. In my transformed state it was clear that a level substantially higher than what I had achieved was possible.” She took a sip of her iced-tea and set it back down. “My last goal was to um—” She paused and looked slightly embarrassed. “Accumulate massive wealth.”
“And here I was beginning to think you were Mother Teresa.”
Kira nodded. “I had a feeling that would be your reaction,” she said. “In my defense, I didn’t want the money for luxuries. I just wanted to be sure that money would never be an issue if I needed equipment or supplies for my other projects, wherever my enhanced intelligence would lead me.”
“I wouldn’t doubt that immortals would need to have a pretty big nest egg,” he allowed. He fished a breadstick from a small wicker basket on the table filled with an assortment of rolls. “Becoming wealthy is the one goal I’m fairly certain you achieved. That is, if I can be certain of anything these days,” he added in frustration. “But I’m eager to learn just how it is you were able to accomplish this so quickly,” he finished accusingly.
“You think I sold my soul to terrorists?”
“Why not? Even if you aren’t sociopathic normally, you admit you are in your enhanced state. Why let a little thing like the deaths of millions slow you down?”
“Come on, David,” she snapped in annoyance. “Think it through. Even if I acted on my sociopathic tendencies—which I didn’t—I would only be a raving sociopath, not stupid. I had achieved immeasurable intelligence. Creativity that would put Thomas Edison to shame. An intellect that would make Stephen Hawking look slow. With capabilities like these, do you really think I’m going to spend years working on a bioterror agent to sell to people who would happily kill me for not covering my face?” She shook her head in exasperation. “I could make millions just selling the cryptographic software that I thought up in ten minutes, or any number of other inventions that could be marketed immediately. What do you think the government would pay for a material that completely shields heat signatures?”
Desh frowned. “When you put it that way, working with terrorists does sound pretty stupid.”
“Thank you,” she said emphatically. She paused as the waiter came over to check on them.
“Not that it matters,” she continued as soon as the waiter was out of earshot, “but I made my fortune in the stock market.”
Desh raised his eyebrows. “That wouldn’t have been my first guess. How?”
“I analyzed the market while at an elevated level of intelligence,” she replied. “When you’re in the transformed state you have absolute access to your memory. All of your memory. The human brain stores every single input it ever receives: everything you think, read, see, touch or experience. In our normal, un-optimized mode, we’re unable to access all but the tiniest tip of that iceberg. But in my enhanced state I can make correlations and logical connections between bits of information I didn’t even know I had. Treacherously complex patterns become obvious. Market insights quickly present themselves.”
“Did you understand your analysis when you returned to normal?”
Kira smiled. “Not even a little,” she admitted. “All I know is that I was right about eighty percent of the time, more than enough to make me very rich, very fast. I underwent my treatment four different times with the sole purpose of analyzing the stock market. And I only placed the riskiest of bets. Currency fluctuations, options, futures—that sort of thing. Over a three-month period I increased my wealth a thousand-fold. The stock market is legalized gambling and I had transformed myself into the ultimate Rain Man.”
As usual, she made the most fantastic claims seem eminently plausible. “So why the false identities and Swiss bank accounts?”
“I started to get paranoid, so I began taking precautions.”
“Is paranoia another side effect of the enhanced intelligence?”
“No,” she replied solemnly. “It’s a side effect of getting robbed.”
Desh’s eyes narrowed. “Is this where the arch nemesis you wrote about in your E-mail comes in? Your Moriarty?”
“I like that,” said Kira, smiling. “Gives me hope that you aren’t still convinced that I’m Moriarty. If you had said, ‘Your arch nemesis, Sherlock Holmes,’ I’d really be depressed right now.”
Desh couldn’t help but return her smile.
“One of the things that popped out when I was studying you was how wonderfully well read you are,” said Kira earnestly.
“Moriarty isn’t exactly an obscure reference. The majority of ten-year-olds know who he is.”
She smiled and her eyes sparkled playfully. “That doesn’t make what I said any less true. Besides, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. I’m not convinced the majority of adults even know the name of our Speaker of the House.”
A slight smile played across Desh’s face. “So tell me about the robbery?”
Desh tensed as a fit man in this thirties with a serious look on his face approached the hostess station and began scanning the restaurant carefully, his eyes moving in an arc that would soon include their booth. “Duck!” whispered Desh as he slipped the gun out from under his sweatshirt and braced himself for action. Kira slid down in the booth as if she had dropped a coin on the floor.
Seconds later the man’s eyes stopped shifting as his gaze settled on a booth two over from where they were seated. An attractive woman who was seated with two preschool children waved at him happily. He raised his hand in acknowledgment, his face becoming relaxed, and he hurriedly joined his family.
Desh let out the breath he had been holding. “False alarm,” he whispered. “Sorry.”
Kira returned to a fully upright position. “Don’t be,” she said, shaking her head. “Better to err on the side of caution. Besides, I’m sure my pulse will return to normal in an hour or so,” she added with a grin.
“You were going to tell me about the robbery,” prompted Desh.
“Right,” said Kira. “I came home from work one night and my place had been broken into. I had a bottle with twenty-three gellcaps and my lab notebook stored in the false bottom of a dresser drawer. Both were missing.”
“You had a dresser with a false-bottomed drawer?”
“I thought putting valuables in a safe would be too obvious. I measured the drawer and had someone at a hardware store cut a platform to my exact specifications. I wallpapered it to match the bottoms of the other drawers and stacked some sweaters on top.”
Desh raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Did they take anything else?” he asked, chewing absently on the breadstick he had taken and continuing to watch the entrance.
“Nothing. They knew exactly what they were after.”
“Any ideas who it was?”
“Not when it happened, no. I was stunned. I had been careful not to leave a trail. I routinely disposed of the rodents I was using and I never let my lab notebook out of my sight. Until then, I wouldn’t have believed it possible that anyone could have known what I was doing. On a hunch, the next day I hired someone at an executive protection agency, like yours, to look for listening devices.” She frowned deeply. “He found several in both my office and home. That’s the day I truly began to get paranoid.”
“That would do it,” muttered Desh.
“It was a disaster. Whoever he was, having twenty-three doses of my therapy instantly made him the most formidable man on the planet. I began to take elaborate precautions, learned everything I could about bugs and how to find them, and took some pains to spread my fortune across various accounts. The next time I was enhanced it became clear to me I needed to create a number of flawless false identities as well as invent technologies that would help me stay hidden if I was forced to disappear.”