private yachts and jets of wealthy Arab businessmen who are known to straddle both sides of the political discourse.”
Ryan frowns. “Believe it or not, you stumbled upon our most recent assignment.”
Jack and I stare at each other before turning to face him. “How so?” Jack asks.
“When Arnie hacked into the Divide & Conquer ’s computer system, he pulled up something even more important than the yacht’s security codes and schematic. Arnie, why don’t you fill them in on it?”
Preening under Ryan’s rare praise, Arnie says, “On a whim, I decided to snoop around Salem’s personal computer. He’d received an encrypted file within a very recent email. I guess he hadn’t had time to upload it into his secure cloud because his hot and heavy party—or should I say orgy—was underway.”
“What’s in the file?” I ask.
Arnie nods toward Ryan.
“I’ve been waiting for you and Jack before briefing the rest of your mission team. The file contained white papers from a top-secret project run by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency,” Ryan replies. He pauses, then adds, “DARPA is creating a prototype for a ‘super soldier.’ It’s called ‘Operation Hercules.’” His pause comes with a frown. “The Quorum somehow got wind of it, then breached the program’s security measures. I made POTUS aware of this. In turn, he’s given Acme the mission of discovering how the breach was committed, and how much of the program has been compromised.”
“Wait…‘super soldiers?’ You mean, like, cyborgs?” Arnie asks. “Awesome!”
Ryan frowns. “No, of course not. We’re talking about human assets who will undergo some physical and mental enhancements so that they’d be larger, stronger, and smarter before going out into the battlefield.”
I shiver as the memory of the new and improved Salem comes to mind. “Is Captagon part of the program? Is that why the yacht’s hull was filled with it?”
“The white papers don’t mention Captagon. Unlike the Quorum using drugs for a false, addictive high, DARPA’s goal is more holistic—that is to say, body, mind, and soul,” Ryan counters.
“That sounds so airy-fairy,” Jack mutters.
“In fact, it’s pure science, not science-fiction,” Ryan insists.
Jack’s eyes narrow. “In what way?”
“Three teams of scientists are working on different portions of the project. Up until the presentation to the NSC oversight committee, they worked around the clock, independently—in fact, in different secure locations—and completely unaware of each other.” Ryan hits a key on his computer that brings up our mission’s case file notes on one of the conference wall’s video screens.
The first page shows a man in his mid-thirties. He wears the Valley’s ubiquitous uniform of a man of his stature—that is to say, black long-sleeve T-shirt, worn over jeans and sockless loafers—and sports tortoise-shell glasses, a pony tail, and just enough boho scruff on his lantern jaw to pass as a hipster.
He stands beside a man with one arm that is of normal size, and another that looks doll-like. “An important component of the project is stem cell research, especially as it pertains to DNA editing,” Ryan explains. “One team is conducting research on regenerative bioengineering. It’s headed up by Doctor Rudy Brooks, who works at DNA 10Squared, a biotechnology firm and DARPA contractor on several projects. The company is located in Palo Alto.”
“How will it be used?” Emma asks.
“Great question. Imagine if a soldier who lost a leg because he happened to step on an IED could grow a new one within a few days,” Ryan explains. “It’s worked successfully in lab rats. This veteran—who, as you see is an amputee—volunteered to be a human test subject. His new arm is already growing.”
“What you are talking about, old man, are biolimbs,” Dominic pipes in. “My God! Imagine its use in the private sector!”
Ryan