“Everything is okay,” yelled Michaels. “Come on down here.”
Martin started down the stairs which were narrow and crisscrossed with cables to the electronic components that stood where the seats had once been. Three men were waiting with Michaels. Apparently he’d already gathered help. “We have to do something about Denise instantly they…”
“It’s been taken care of,” yelled Michaels.
“Is she all right?” asked Martin, halting his progress for a moment.
“She’s fine and she’s safe. Just come on down here.”
The closer Martin got to the pit the more equipment there was and the more difficult it was to avoid the wires. “I just barely got away from two men who shot at me up in Neurosurgery lab.” He was still breathless and his voice came in spurts.
“You’re safe here,” said Michaels, watching his friend come down the stairs.
As he arrived at the edge of the pit, Martin lifted his eyes from the cluttered stairs, and looked into Michaels’ face. “I didn’t have time to find anything in Neurosurgery,” said Martin. He could now see the other three men. One was the congenial young student, Carl Rudman, whom he had met on his first visit to the lab. The other two he didn’t recognize. They were dressed in black jumpsuits.
Ignoring Martin’s last comment, Michaels turned to one of the strangers: “Are you satisfied now? I told you I could get him here.”
The man who had not taken his eyes from Philips said, “You got him here, but are you going to be able to control him?”
“I think so,” said Michaels.
Martin watched this strange exchange, his eyes moving from Michaels to the man in the jumpsuit. Suddenly he recognized the face. It was the man who’d killed Werner!
“Martin,” said Michaels softly, almost paternally. “I’ve got some things to show you.”
The stranger interrupted. “Dr. Michaels, I can guarantee that the FBI will not act precipitously. But what the CIA does is not under my control. I hope you understand that, Dr. Michaels.”
Michaels spun around. “Mr. Sansone. I’m aware that the CIA is not your jurisdiction. I need some more time with Dr. Philips.”
Turning back to Philips he said, “Martin, I want to show you something. Come on.” He took a step toward the door connecting to the neighboring amphitheater.
Martin was paralyzed. His hands were gripping the brass railing that fringed the pit. Relief had become perplexity, and with the perplexity had come the deep rumbling of renewed fear.
“What is going on here?” he asked with a sense of dread. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word.
“That’s what I want to show you,” Michaels said. “Come on!”
“Where’s Denise?” Philips didn’t move a muscle.
“She’s perfectly safe. Believe me. Come on.” Michaels stepped back over to Philips and grabbed his wrist to encourage him to step down into the pit. “Let me show you some things. Relax. You’ll see Denise in a few minutes.”
Philips allowed himself to be led past Sansone and into the next amphitheater. The young student had gone in before them and switched on the light. Martin saw another amphitheater, whose seats had been removed. In the pit where he was standing was a huge screen made of millions of light-sensitive photo-receptor cells whose wires fed into a processing unit. From this first processor emerged a significantly smaller number of wires, which were gathered into two trunks that led into two computers. Wires from these computers led into other computers, which were cross-connected. The setup filled the room.
“Do you have any idea what you’re looking at?” asked Michaels.
Martin shook his head.
“You’re looking at the first computerized model of the human visual system. It’s large, primitive by our current standards, but surprisingly functional. The images are flashed on the screen and the computers you see here associate the information.” Michaels made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “What you are looking at, Martin, is akin to that first atomic pile they built at Princeton. This will be one of the biggest scientific breakthroughs in history.”
Martin looked at Michaels. Maybe the man was crazy.
“We have created the fourth-generation computer!” said Michaels, and he slapped Philips on the back. “Listen. The first generation was merely the first computers that were not just calculators. The second generation came in with transistors. The third generation was microchips. We have given birth to the fourth generation, and that little processor you have in your office is one of our first applications. You know what we’ve done?”