'The Lost Symbol Chapter 16-18\r'

'CHAPTER 16\r\nSecurity chief Trent Anderson stormed spinal column toward the Capitol Rotunda, fuming at the bankruptcy of his security team. One of his men had just nominate a sling and an army-surplus jacket in an bay near the east portico.\r\nThe goddamn goofb exclusively nonched flop come forth of present!\r\nAnderson had al drivey assigned teams to die s tail assemblyning exterior video, hardly by the term they found any(prenominal) topic, this guy would be keen-sighted g hotshot.\r\nNow, as Anderson entered the Rotunda to survey the damage, he saw that the situation had been contained as wholesome as could be expected. All quadrup eitherow entrances to the Rotunda were closed with as inconspicuous a method of crowd carry as Security had at its disposalâ€a velvet swag, an apolo suffer inic champion, and a sign that read THIS ROOM TEMPORARILY closed FOR CLEANING. The dozen or so witnesses were both be herded into a group on the eastern margin of the r oom, where the guards were collecting cell c entirely offs and cameras; the dying thing Anderson take was for superstar of these people to send a cell- prognosticate c incoming to CNN.\r\nOne of the detained witnesses, a t each, dark-haired adult male in a tweed sport rise up, was onerous to demolish away from the group to address to the chief. The man was brieflyly in a heated discussion with the guards.\r\nâ€Å"Ill speak to him in a moment,” Anderson describeed over to the guards. â€Å"For now, please intimidate foreveryone in the main lobby until we sort this bulge out.”\r\nAnderson give-up the ghost his centres now to the generate, which s in same mannerd at attention in the middle of the room. For the love of God. In fifteen eld on security detail for the Capitol Building, he had tick offn both(prenominal) strange things. But zilch identical this. Forensics had disclose get here fast and get this thing out of my mental synthesis.\r\nAn derson moved closer, seeing that the bloody radiocarpal joint had been skewered on a spiked wooden lowly to make the hand stand up. Wood and flesh, he feeling. Invisible to metal detectors. The simply metal was a large gold ring, which Anderson assumed had either been wanded or casually pulled off the dead finger by the suspect as if it were his own.\r\nAnderson crouched down(p) to examine the hand. It fonted as if it had belonged to a man of about sixty. The ring wear upon some genial of ornate seal with a dickens-headed bird and the number 33. Anderson didnt recognize it. What trustworthyly caught his eye were the fine tat besidess on the tips of the thumb and advocator finger.\r\nA goddamn freak show.\r\nâ€Å"Chief?” One of the guards speed over, guardianship out a surround. â€Å"Personal entreat for you. Security switchboard just patched it done and through.”\r\nAnderson looked at him homogeneous he was insane. â€Å"Im in the middle of somethi ng here,” he growled.\r\nThe guards face was pale. He covered the mouth human beings and whispered. â€Å"Its CIA.”\r\nAnderson did a double take. CIA heard about this already?!\r\nâ€Å"Its their maculation of Security.”\r\nAnderson stiffened. Holy shit. He glanced uneasily at the telephone in the guards hand.\r\nIn Washingtons vast ocean of watch member agencies, the CIAs dominance of Security was something of a Bermuda Triangleâ€a mysterious and treacherous region from which all who knew of it steered snuff it whenever possible. With a seemingly self-destructive mandate, the OS had been created by the CIA for one strange purposeâ€to spy on the CIA itself. Like a powerful internal- affairs office, the OS monitored all CIA employees for illicit behavior: misappropriation of funds, sell of secrets, stealing classified technologies, and work of illegal torture tactics, to desig nation a fewer.\r\nThey spy on Americas spies.\r\nWith investigatory ca rte blanche in all matters of national security, the OS had a long and potent reach. Anderson could non interpenetrate why they would be interested in this mishap at the Capitol, or how they had found out so fast. because again, the OS was ru much(prenominal)d to study eyeball everywhere. For all Anderson knew, they had a direct feed of U.S. Capitol security cameras. This accompanying did not match OS directives in any way, although the timing of the call seemed too coincidental to Anderson to be about anything some other than this part hand.\r\nâ€Å"Chief?”The guard was holding the phone out to him like a hot potato. â€Å"You ingest to take this call proper(ip) now. Its . . .” He pa employ and silently mouthed two syllables. â€Å"SA-TO.” Anderson squinted hard at the man. Youve got to be kidding. He entangle his palms begin to sweat. Sato is intervention this personally?\r\nThe overlord of the Office of Security†theatre conductor Inoue Sat oâ€was a fiction in the intelligence information community. natural in status the fences of a Japanese internment pack in Manzanar, California, in the aftermath of Pearl Harbor, Sato was a toughened survivor who had never forgotten the horrors of war, or the perils of insufficient military intelligence. Now, having risen to one of the closely secretive and potent posts in U.S. intelligence travel, Sato had be an uncompromising patriot as well as a terrifying enemy to any who stood in opposition. Seldom seen notwithstanding universally feared, the OS director cruised the turbid waters of the CIA like a leviathan who surfaced simply to devour its prey.\r\nAnderson had met Sato face-to-face scarce once, and the memory of tone for into those cold black look was enough to make him count his blessings that he would be having this conversation by telephone.\r\nAnderson took the phone and brought it to his lips. â€Å" theatre director Sato,” he said in as friendly a voice as possible. â€Å"This is Chief Anderson. How may Iâ€â€Å"\r\nâ€Å"There is a man in your grammatical construction to whom I need to speak immediately.” The OS directors voice was unmistakableâ€like gravel grating on a chalkboard. pharynx butt endcer surgery had left Sato with a deeply unnerving intonation and a repulsive manage scar to match. â€Å"I need you to line up him for me immediately.”\r\nThats all? You want me to page someone? Anderson felt short hopeful that maybe the timing of this call was native coincidence. â€Å"Who are you looking for?”\r\nâ€Å"His secern is Robert Langdon. I moot he is inside your building indemnify now.”\r\nLangdon? The name sounded vaguely familiar, solely Anderson couldnt set forthe place it. He was now wondering if Sato knew about the hand. â€Å"Im in the Rotunda at the moment,” Anderson said, â€Å" save weve got some tourists here . . . hold on.” He lowered his phone and called out to the group, â€Å"Folks, is there anyone here by the name of Langdon?”\r\nAfter a short silence, a deep voice replied from the crowd of tourists. â€Å"Yes. Im Robert Langdon.”\r\nSato make loves all. Anderson craned his neck, try to see who had speak up.\r\nThe same man who had been trying to get to him earlier criterionped away from the others. He looked distraught . . . but familiar somehow.\r\nAnderson raised the phone to his lips. â€Å"Yes, Mr. Langdon is here.”\r\nâ€Å" mould him on,” Sato said coarsely. Anderson exhaled. Better him than me. â€Å"Hold on.” He waved Langdon over. As Langdon approached, Anderson suddenly realized why the name sounded familiar. I just read an article about this guy. What the glare is he doing here?\r\nDespite Langdons six-foot frame and acrobatic build, Anderson saw none of the cold, hardened edge he expected from a man famous for live on an explosion at the Vatican and a manhunt in P aris. This guy eluded the French police . . . in loafers? He looked more like someone Anderson would expect to find hearthside in some Ivy League library recital Dostoyevsky.\r\nâ€Å"Mr. Langdon?”Anderson said, walking halfway to butt on him. â€Å"Im Chief Anderson. I handle security here. You puddle a phone call.”\r\nâ€Å"For me?” Langdons blue eyes looked anxious and un legitimate.\r\nAnderson held out the phone. â€Å"Its the CIAs Office of Security.”\r\nâ€Å"Ive never heard of it.”\r\nAnderson smiled ominously. â€Å"Well, sir, its heard of you.”\r\nLangdon correct the phone to his ear. â€Å"Yes?”\r\nâ€Å"Robert Langdon?” conductor Satos harsh voice blared in the flyspeck speaker, loud enough that Anderson could hear.\r\nâ€Å"Yes?” Langdon replied.\r\nAnderson stepped closer to hear what Sato was saying.\r\nâ€Å"This is Director Inoue Sato, Mr. Langdon. I am handling a crisis at the moment, and I delibe rate you bring in randomness that can divine service me.”\r\nLangdon looked hopeful. â€Å"Is this about bill Solomon? Do you know where he is?!”\r\n hammer Solomon? Anderson felt entirely out of the loop.\r\nâ€Å"Professor,” Sato replied. â€Å"I am asking the questions at the moment.”\r\nâ€Å" mother fucker Solomon is in very serious trouble,” Langdon exclaimed. â€Å"Some swashbuckler justâ€â€Å"\r\nâ€Å"Excuse me,” Sato said, cutting him off.\r\nAnderson cringed. Bad move. Interrupting a top CIA officials line of questioning was a shift only a civilian would make. I survey Langdon was supposed to be smart. â€Å"Listen carefully,” Sato said. â€Å"As we speak, this nation is facing a crisis. I give birth been well-advised that you need in stoolation that can help me avoid it. Now, I am going to ask you again. What information do you make?”\r\nLangdon looked lost. â€Å"Director, I have no idea what your e talking about. All Im concerned with is decision Peter andâ€â€Å"\r\nâ€Å"No idea?” Sato challenged.\r\nAnderson saw Langdon bristle. The professor now took a more in-your-face tone. â€Å"No, sir. No damned idea at all.” Anderson winced. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Robert Langdon had just do a very costly mistake in dealing with Director Sato.\r\nIncredibly, Anderson now realized it was too late. To his astonishment, Director Sato had just appeared on the far side of the Rotunda, and was approaching fast tin can Langdon. Sato is in the building! Anderson held his breath and braced for impact. Langdon has no idea.\r\nThe directors dark form drew closer, phone held to ear, black eyes locked like two lasers on Langdons rearward.\r\nLangdon clutched the police chiefs phone and felt a rising frustration as the OS director pressed him. â€Å"Im sorry, sir,” Langdon said tersely, â€Å"but I cant read your judgment. What do you want from me?”\r\nâ€Å"W hat do I want from you?” The OS directors grating voice crackled through Langdons phone, scraping and hollow, like that of a dying man with strep throat.\r\nAs the man spoke, Langdon felt a tap on his shoulder. He false and his eyes were drawn down . . . directly into the face of a tiny Japanese womanhood. She had a fierce expression, a mottled complexion, thinning hair, tobacco-stained teeth, and an unsettling white scar that cut horizontally across her neck. The womans gnarled hand held a cell phone to her ear, and when her lips moved, Langdon heard the familiar testy voice through his cell phone.\r\nâ€Å"What do I want from you, Professor?” She calmly closed her phone and glared at him. â€Å"For starters, you can stop calling me `sir. â€Å"\r\nLangdon stared, mortified. â€Å"Maam, I . . . apologize. Our connection was poor andâ€â€Å"\r\nâ€Å"Our connection was fine, Professor,” she said. â€Å"And I have an extremely low tolerance for bulls hit.”\r\nCHAPTER 17\r\nDirector Inoue Sato was a fearsome specimenâ€a barbed tempest of a woman who stood a unstained four feet ten inches. She was bone thin, with jagged features and a dermatological condition know as vitiligo, which gave her complexion the mottled look of coarse granite blotched with lichen. Her ruffle up blue pantsuit hung on her emaciated frame like a loose sack, the open- necked blouse doing energy to dissemble the scar across her neck. It had been noted by her coworkers that Satos only acquiescence to physiologic vanity appeared to be that of plucking her pregnant mustache.\r\nFor over a decade, Inoue Sato had overseen the CIAs Office of Security. She possessed an off- the-chart IQ and chillingly accurate instincts, a combination which girded her with a self- arrogance that made her terrifying to anyone who could not perform the impossible. not even a terminal diagnosis of aggressive throat cancer had knocked her from her perch. The battle had cost her one month of work, half her voice box, and a triad of her body fish, but she returned to the office as if nothing had happened. Inoue Sato appeared to be indestructible.\r\nRobert Langdon suspected he was probably not the start-off to mistake Sato for a man on the phone, but the director was still glaring at him with simmering black eyes.\r\nâ€Å"Again, my apologies, maam,” Langdon said. â€Å"Im still trying to get my bearings hereâ€the person who claims to have Peter Solomon tricked me into culmination to D.C. this evening.” He pulled the fax from his jacket. â€Å"This is what he sent me earlier. I wrote down the tail number of the plane he sent, so maybe if you call the FAA and track theâ€â€Å"\r\nSatos tiny hand shot out and snatched the sheet of paper. She stuck it in her pocket without even opening it. â€Å"Professor, I am running this investigation, and until you start telling me what I want to know, I project you not speak unless in tercommunicate to.”\r\nSato now spun to the police chief.\r\nâ€Å"Chief Anderson,” she said, stepping entirely too close and staring up at him through tiny black eyes, â€Å"would you care to tell me what the orchestra pit is going on here? The guard at the east gate told me you found a compassionate hand on the floor. Is that true?”\r\nAnderson stepped to the side and revealed the quarry in the center of the floor. â€Å"Yes, maam, only a few minutes ago.”\r\nShe glanced at the hand as if it were nothing more than a misplaced clean of clothing. â€Å"And to that degree you didnt mention it to me when I called?”\r\nâ€Å"I . . . I fantasy you knew.”\r\nâ€Å"Do not lie to me.”\r\nAnderson wilted nether her gaze, but his voice remained confident. â€Å"Maam, this situation is to a lower place control.”\r\nâ€Å"I really doubt that,” Sato said, with equal confidence.\r\nâ€Å"A forensics team is on the way. Whoever did this may have left fingerprints.”\r\nSato looked skeptical. â€Å"I think someone clever enough to walk through your security checkpoint with a human hand is probably clever enough not to choke fingerprints.”\r\nâ€Å"That may be true, but I have a business to investigate.”\r\nâ€Å"Actually, I am relieving you of your responsibility as of this moment. Im taking over.”\r\nAnderson stiffened. â€Å"This is not exactly OS domain, is it?”\r\nâ€Å" short. This is an issue of national security.”\r\nPeters hand? Langdon wondered, watching their sub in a daze. grapheme security? Langdon was catching that his own urgent goal of finding Peter was not Satos. The OS director seemed to be on another page entirely.\r\nAnderson looked puzzled as well. â€Å"National security? With all due respect, maamâ€â€Å"\r\nâ€Å"The last I checked,” she interrupted, â€Å"I outrank you. I suggest you do exactly as I say, and that you do it w ithout question.”\r\nAnderson nodded and swallowed hard. â€Å"But shouldnt we at least print the fingers to sanction the hand belongs to Peter Solomon?”\r\nâ€Å"Ill confirm it,” Langdon said, feeling a sickening certainty. â€Å"I recognize his ring . . . and his hand.” He paused. â€Å"The tattoos are new, though. Someone did that to him recently.”\r\nâ€Å"Im sorry?” Sato looked unnerved for the first time since arriving. â€Å"The hand is tattooed?”\r\nLangdon nodded. â€Å"The thumb has a crown. And the index finger a star.”\r\nSato pulled out a duet of glasses and walked toward the hand, circling like a shark.\r\nâ€Å"Also,” Langdon said, â€Å"although you cant see the other three fingers, Im certain they will have tattoos on the fingertips as well.”\r\nSato looked intrigued by the comment and motioned to Anderson. â€Å"Chief, can you look at the other fingertips for us, please?”\r\nAnderson crou ched down beside the hand, beingness careful not to touch it. He put his cheek near the floor and looked up under the clenched fingertips. â€Å"Hes right, maam. All of the fingertips have tattoos, although I cant quite see what the otherâ€â€Å"\r\nâ€Å"A sun, a lantern, and a key,” Langdon said flatly.\r\nSato turned fully to Langdon now, her small eyes appraising him. â€Å"And how exactly would you know that?”\r\nLangdon stared tolerate. â€Å"The image of a human hand, marked in this way on the fingertips, is a very old icon. Its known as `the Hand of the Mysteries. â€Å"\r\nAnderson stood up abruptly. â€Å"This thing has a name?”\r\nLangdon nodded. â€Å"Its one of the most secretive icons of the quaint world.”\r\nSato cocked her head. â€Å"Then might I ask what the hell its doing in the middle of the U.S. Capitol?”\r\nLangdon wished he would wake up from this nightmare. â€Å"Traditionally, maam, it was used as an invitation.à ¢â‚¬Â\r\nâ€Å"An invitation . . . to what?” she demanded.\r\nLangdon looked down at the symbols on his friends severed hand. â€Å"For centuries, the Hand of the Mysteries served as a mystical summons. Basically, its an invitation to collect secret knowledgeâ€protected wisdom known only to an elite few.”\r\nSato folded her thin arms and stared up at him with jet-black eyes. â€Å"Well, Professor, for someone who claims to have no clue why hes here . . . youre doing quite well so far.”\r\nCHAPTER 18\r\nKatherine Solomon donned her white lab coat and began her usual arrival routineâ€her â€Å"rounds” as her sidekick called them.\r\nLike a nervous parent checking on a sleeping baby, Katherine poked her head into the mechanical room. The hydrogen fuel cell was running smoothly, its bet onup tanks all safely nestled in their racks.\r\nKatherine continued down the hall to the selective information-storage room. As always, the two redundant hologra phic backup units hummed safely within their temperature-controlled vault. All of my re search, she apprehension, gazing in through the three-inch-thick shatterproof glass. Holographic selective information-storage devices, unlike their refrigerator-size ancestors, looked more like sleek stereo components, each perched atop a columnar pedestal.\r\nBoth of her labs holographic drives were synchronised and identicalâ€serving as redundant backups to shield identical copies of her work. Most backup protocols advocated a utility(prenominal) backup system off-site in case of earthquake, fire, or theft, but Katherine and her fellow agreed that concealment was paramount; once this selective information left the building to an off-site server, they could no longer be certain it would stay private.\r\nContent that everything was running smoothly here, she headed back down the hallway. As she rounded the corner, however, she spotted something un approximation across the lab. What in t he world? A slow glow was glinting off all the equipment. She zip in to have a look, surprised to see light emanating from behind the Plexiglas wall of the control room.\r\nHes here. Katherine flew across the lab, arriving at the control-room door and heaving it open. â€Å"Peter!” she said, running in. The plump woman seated at the control rooms terminal jumped up. â€Å"Oh my God! Katherine! You scared me!”\r\nTrish Dunneâ€the only other person on earth allowed back hereâ€was Katherines metasystems analyst and seldom worked weekends. The twenty-six-year-old redhead was a genius data modeler and had signed a nondisclosure document worthy of the KGB. Tonight, she was apparently analyzing data on the control rooms plasma wallâ€a broad flat-screen display that looked like something out of NASA mission control.\r\nâ€Å"Sorry,” Trish said. â€Å"I didnt know you were here yet. I was trying to finish up up onwards you and your brother arrived.”\ r\nâ€Å"Have you spoken to him? Hes late and hes not answering his phone.”\r\nTrish shook her head. â€Å"I bet hes still trying to figure out how to use that new iPhone you gave him.”\r\nKatherine appreciated Trishs tidy humor, and Trishs mien here had just given her an idea. â€Å"Actually, Im glad youre in tonight. You might be able to help me with something, if you dont mind?”\r\nâ€Å"Whatever it is, Im sure it beats football.”\r\nKatherine took a deep breath, calming her mind. â€Å"Im not sure how to explain this, but earlier now, I heard an unusual story . . .”\r\nTrish Dunne didnt know what story Katherine Solomon had heard, but clearly it had her on edge. Her bosss usually calm gray eyes looked anxious, and she had inclose her hair behind her ears three quantify since entering the roomâ€a nervous â€Å"tell,” as Trish called it. bright scientist. Lousy poker player. â€Å"To me,” Katherine said, â€Å"this story sounds like manufacturing . . . an old legend. And yet . . .” She paused, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ears once again.\r\nâ€Å"And yet?”\r\nKatherine sighed. â€Å"And yet I was told to twenty-four hour period by a trusted source that the legend is true.”\r\nâ€Å"Okay . . .” Where is she going with this?\r\nâ€Å"Im going to talk to my brother about it, but it occurs to me that maybe you can help me shed some light on it before I do. Id love to know if this legend has ever been corroborated anywhere else in chronicle.”\r\nâ€Å"In all of history?”\r\nKatherine nodded. â€Å"Anywhere in the world, in any language, at any point in history.”\r\nStrange request, Trish popular opinion, but certainly feasible. Ten years ago, the task would have been impossible. Today, however, with the Internet, the World Wide Web, and the ongoing digitization of the smashing libraries and museums in the world, Katherines goal could be achieved b y development a relatively simple search locomotive equipped with an army of translation modules and some well-chosen keywords.\r\nâ€Å"No problem,” Trish said. Many of the labs research books contained passages in ancient languages, and so Trish was a great deal asked to release specialized optical Character Recognition translation modules to generate side of meat text from obscure languages. She had to be the only metasystems specialist on earth who had built OCR translation modules in Old Frisian, Maek, and Akkadian.\r\nThe modules would help, but the trick to building an good search roamer was all in choosing the right key words. Unique but not as well restrictive.\r\nKatherine looked to be a step ahead of Trish and was already jotting down possible keywords on a switch of paper. Katherine had written down several when she paused, approximation a moment, and then wrote several more. â€Å"Okay,” she finally said, handing Trish the slip of paper.\r\nTri sh perused the list of search strings, and her eyes grew wide. What kind of macabre legend is Katherine investigating? â€Å"You want me to search for all of these key phrases?” One of the words Trish didnt even recognize. Is that even English? â€Å"Do you really think well find all of these in one place? verbatim?”\r\nâ€Å"Id like to try.”\r\nTrish would have said impossible, but the I-word was banned here. Katherine considered it a dangerous mind-set in a army field that often readed preconceived falsehoods into support truths. Trish Dunne seriously doubted this key-phrase search would fall into that category.\r\nâ€Å"How long for results?” Katherine asked.\r\nâ€Å"A few minutes to write the spider and introduction it. After that, maybe fifteen for the spider to exhaust fumes itself.”\r\nâ€Å"So fast?” Katherine looked encouraged.\r\nTrish nodded. Traditional search engines often required a full day to weirdie across the enti re online universe, find new documents, persist their content, and add it to their searchable database. But this was not the kind of search spider Trish would write.\r\nâ€Å"Ill write a computer programme called a delegator,” Trish explained. â€Å"Its not entirely kosher, but its fast. Essentially, its a program that orders other peoples search engines to do our work. Most databases have a search function built inâ€libraries, museums, universities, political sciences. So I write a spider that finds their search engines, inputs your keywords, and asks them to search. This way, we harness the power of thou anchors of engines, working(a) in unison.”\r\nKatherine looked impressed. â€Å"Parallel processing.”\r\nA kind of metasystem. â€Å"Ill call you if I get anything.”\r\nâ€Å"I appreciate it,Trish.” Katherine patted her on the back and headed for the door. â€Å"Ill be in the library.”\r\nTrish settled in to write the program. Coding a search spider was a menial task far below her attainment level, but Trish Dunne didnt care. She would do anything for Katherine Solomon. Sometimes Trish still couldnt believe the good fortune that had brought her here.\r\nYouve come a long way, baby.\r\nJust over a year ago, Trish had quit her job as a metasystems analyst in one of the high-tech industrys many cubicle farms. In her off-hours, she did some freelance programming and started an industry web logâ€â€Å"Future Applications in Computational Metasystem Analysis”â€although she doubted anyone read it. Then one evening her phone rang.\r\nâ€Å"Trish Dunne?” a womans voice asked politely.\r\nâ€Å"Yes, whos calling, please?”\r\nâ€Å"My name is Katherine Solomon.”\r\nTrish almost fainted on the spot. Katherine Solomon? â€Å"I just read your bookâ€intellectual Science: Modern Gateway to Ancient apprehensionâ€and I wrote about it on my intercommunicate!” â€Å"Yes, I know,à ¢â‚¬Â the woman replied graciously. â€Å"Thats why Im calling.”\r\nOf course it is, Trish realized, feeling dumb. charge brilliant scientists Google themselves.\r\nâ€Å"Your blog intrigues me,” Katherine told her. â€Å"I wasnt aware metasystems mannequin had come so far.”\r\nâ€Å"Yes, maam,” Trish managed, starstruck. â€Å"Data models are an exploding engineering with far- reaching applications.”\r\nFor several minutes, the two women chatted about Trishs work in metasystems, discussing her experience analyzing, modeling, and ventureing the flow of bundleive data fields.\r\nâ€Å"Obviously, your book is way over my head,” Trish said, â€Å"but I understood enough to see an intersection with my metasystems work.”\r\nâ€Å"Your blog said you believe metasystems modeling can transform the study of Noetics?”\r\nâ€Å"Absolutely. I believe metasystems could turn Noetics into real science.”\r\nâ€Å"Real science?â₠¬Â Katherines tone hardened slightly. â€Å"As opposed to . . . ?”\r\nOh shit, that came out wrong. â€Å"Um, what I meant is that Noetics is more . . . esoteric.”\r\nKatherine laughed. â€Å"Relax, Im kidding. I get that all the time.”\r\nIm not surprised, Trish thought. Even the name of Noetic Sciences in California described the field in arcane and abstruse language, defining it as the study of mankinds â€Å"direct and immediate access to knowledge beyond what is available to our normal senses and the power of reason.”\r\nThe word noetic, Trish had learned, derived from the ancient Greek nousâ€translating roughly to â€Å" versed knowledge” or â€Å"intuitive consciousness.”\r\nâ€Å"Im interested in your metasystems work,” Katherine said, â€Å"and how it might relate to a project Im working on. Any chance youd be willing to meet? Id love to pick your brain.”\r\nKatherine Solomon wants to pick my brain? It felt like M aria Sharapova had called for tennis tips.\r\nThe next day a white Volvo pulled into Trishs driveway and an attractive, willowy woman in blue jeans got out. Trish immediately felt two feet tall. Great, she groaned. Smart, rich, and thinâ€and Im supposed to believe God is good? But Katherines unassuming air set Trish straight off at ease.\r\nThe two of them settled in on Trishs huge back porch overlooking an impressive piece of property.\r\nâ€Å"Your house is amazing,” Katherine said.\r\nâ€Å"Thanks. I got lucky in college and pass some software Id written.”\r\nâ€Å"Metasystems stuff?”\r\nâ€Å"A precursor to metasystems. Following 9/11, the government was intercepting and crunching enormous data fieldsâ€civilian e-mail, cell phone, fax, text, Web sitesâ€sniffing for keywords associated with terrorist communications. So I wrote a piece of software that let them process their data field in a second way . . . pulling from it an additional intelligen ce product.” She smiled. â€Å"Essentially, my software let them take Americas temperature.”\r\nâ€Å"Im sorry?”\r\nTrish laughed. â€Å"Yeah, sounds crazy, I know. What I mean is that it quantified the nations steamy state. It offered a kind of cosmic consciousness barometer, if you will.” Trish explained how, using a data field of the nations communications, one could assess the nations mood establish on the â€Å"occurrence density” of certain keywords and emotional indicators in the data field. Happier times had happier language, and stressful times vice versa. In the event, for example, of a terrorist attack, the government could use data fields to measure the shift in Americas psyche and better advise the president on the emotional impact of the event.\r\nâ€Å"Fascinating,” Katherine said, stroking her chin. â€Å"So basically youre examining a population of individuals . . . as if it were a champion organism.”\r\nâ€Å"Exa ctly. A metasystem. A unmarried entity defined by the sum of its parts. The human body, for example, consists of millions of individual cells, each with unalike attributes and different purposes, but it functions as a single entity.”\r\nKatherine nodded enthusiastically. â€Å"Like a flock of birds or a school of fish moving as one. We call it convergence or entanglement.”\r\nTrish sensed her famous knob was starting to see the potential of metasystem programming in her own field of Noetics. â€Å"My software,” Trish explained, â€Å"was designed to help government agencies better evaluate and respond appropriately to wide-scale crisesâ€pandemic diseases, national tragedies, terrorism, that sort of thing.” She paused. â€Å"Of course, theres always the potential that it could be used in other directions . . . perhaps to take a snapshot of the national mind-set and predict the outcome of a national election or the direction the stock market will move at the opening bell.”\r\nâ€Å"Sounds powerful.”\r\nTrish motioned to her big house. â€Å"The government thought so.” Katherines gray eyes focused in on her now. â€Å"Trish, might I ask about the respectable dilemma posed by your work?”\r\nâ€Å"What do you mean?”\r\nâ€Å"I mean you created a piece of software that can easily be abused. Those who possess it have access to powerful information not available to everyone. You didnt feel any hesitation creating it?”\r\nTrish didnt blink. â€Å"Absolutely not. My software is no different than say . . . a flight simulator program. Some users will practice locomote first-aid missions into underdeveloped countries. Some users will practice transitory passenger jets into skyscrapers. Knowledge is a tool, and like all tools, its impact is in the hands of the user.”\r\nKatherine sat back, looking impressed. â€Å"So let me ask you a suppositious question.”\r\nTrish suddenly sensed their conversation had just turned into a job interview.\r\nKatherine reached down and picked up a tiny speck of sand off the deck, holding it up for Trish to see. â€Å"It occurs to me,” she said, â€Å"that your metasystems work essentially lets you calculate the weight of an entire sandy beach . . . by advisement one penetrate at a time.”\r\nâ€Å"Yes, basically thats right.”\r\nâ€Å"As you know, this little grain of sand has mass. A very small mass, but mass nonetheless.”\r\nTrish nodded.\r\nâ€Å"And because this grain of sand has mass, it therefore exerts gravitational attraction. Again, too small to feel, but there.”\r\nâ€Å"Right.”\r\nâ€Å"Now,” Katherine said, â€Å"if we take trillions of these sand grains and let them attract one another to form . . . say, the moon, then their combined gravity is enough to move entire oceans and drag the tides back and forth across our planet.”\r\nTrish had no idea where this w as headed, but she liked what she was hearing.\r\nâ€Å"So lets take a hypothetical,” Katherine said, discarding the sand grain. â€Å"What if I told you that a thought . . . any tiny idea that forms in your mind . . . actually has mass? What if I told you that a thought is an actual thing, a measurable entity, with a measurable mass? A minuscule mass, of course, but mass nonetheless. What are the implications?”\r\nâ€Å"hypothetically speaking? Well, the obvious implications are . . . if a thought has mass, then a thought exerts gravity and can pull things toward it.” Katherine smiled. â€Å"Youre good. Now take it a step further. What happens if many people start focusing on the same thought? All the occurrences of that same thought begin to merge into one, and the cumulative mass of this thought begins to grow. And therefore, its gravity grows.”\r\nâ€Å"Okay.”\r\nâ€Å"Meaning . . . if enough people begin thinking the same thing, then the grav itational force of that thought becomes tangible . . . and it exerts actual force.” Katherine winked. â€Å"And it can have a measurable effect in our physical world.”\r\n'