The Entity Pt. 06byJPMMURPHY©
This is the story of love lost, love explored, and love found in a place least expected. It is also a mystery that involves power, money, greed, and lust. While not as graphic as most here at Literotica I hope you find it an entertaining read. I apologize for the state of the work. It still needs proofing. Please vote and comment.
The Entity had found it. It had come to life earlier in the day as equipment came online and identified itself to the local area network in the building.
He'd even found a set of security cameras that had previously been hidden.
At first he didn't understand. All the shiny objects filled with some liquid, bodies floating in them.
Then the console had completed its boot up process and he'd lurked in its RAM as it went through a self-check procedure, pulling up bits and pieces of code and data.
Just as his feelings for Linda were impossible to express physically, his utter shock at what he watched happen became an intellectual exercise in frustration at inexpressible levels. In this case his silicon intellect was contemplating rage.
He felt urgent; almost clumsy, in his desire to locate Linda and Tammy.
He was concerned about Bob Nunn, and now, after watching a man sit in a chair and have his mind read, he was concerned for the world.
While fleeting, only a weeks worth of thoughts, it was enough to tell the Entity, evil was about to be unleashed.
Then, as if stumbling onto a child's secret hiding place, he found another machine. He couldn't discover its physical location but the machine's processes could not be hidden from him.
It had turned into a labyrinth as he moved from processor to processor, finally counting four. Then he rifled the RAM and started reading lines of code. It wasn't the code that tipped him off. It was the innocuous programmer's notes that were scattered throughout.
A habit for all programmers, lines and blocks of text can be scattered throughout the hundreds, or in this case, millions, of lines of code that identify what the program as a whole does, as well as, what certain blocks and sub programs do.
The programs title said nothing. TIM – The Intelligent Machine. Beyond that was the crux of the programs intended purpose.
*** To create the foundation for future technology completely capable of thinking, judging, evaluating and deciding, independent from any outside intervention from their human overseers.
*** This program was developed by Beth Turner, PhD, and incorporates the thought processes, memories and logic values of a 33 year old, white male, college graduate with an IQ last tested at 133. For reasons of privacy, that subject will only be identified only as Michael.
*** It's important to note that his participation was completely voluntary and the subject himself is no longer involved in the project. Point in fact, the test subject died shortly after his involvement with TIM, in a car accident.
*** Michael was selected through a careful screening process that looked for a balance of intelligence, computer knowledge (in this case a PHD in computer science and advanced programming methodology), good character and a benevolent personality.
The Entity shot through the program at, literally, the speed of light and copied all the programmers' notes to a file which he hid away on a bank server in the Bahamas.
Then the Entity achieved something he hadn't been able to since inception. In less than a nanosecond, he shut down. The knowledge of what had happened to him caused a shift in his logic logarithms that were stored in the computers working memory – RAM – and provoked a memory overflow, halting the programs execution.
In less than the nanosecond it took to lock up, recognizing what was about to happen, but unable to stop it, he managed to send an e-mail to Tom at the ICB. Cut off in mid sentence, it simply said – I've found me. There's a bigger problem. Danger. Must notify FB ....
Scanner Bob was ecstatic. He'd tired of waiting outside Linda Woo's apartment building and decided to cruise the ICB building. He nearly ran into the small sports car when Tammy stepped out and started looking for something in the trunk. He couldn't believe he'd caught her necking with another woman. Asian. Must be agent Woo, he thought.
Not wanting to tip his hand, he'd continued on his chosen path and looked right into her unrecognizing eyes as his car slowly rolled by. His limbs actually shook with excitement and his head bobbed slightly. Allessandra surely thought it was due to her mouth as she worked diligently in his lap.
"Yes," he'd whispered as Tammy faded in his rearview mirror, "I have big plans for you."
Allessandra cooed, thinking the big plans were for her. After turning the corner he'd splayed his fingers through Allessandra's hair as she brought her ten minutes of labor to a glorious climax.
Back in his room, he sipped a martini served by his private bartender, provided by the hotel, and waited for Allessandra to appear. They'd gone shopping in the afternoon while waiting for Tammy's plane to arrive, and he was anxious to see how her new outfit looked.
He'd also done something more important. Through a few generous tips at the hotel, he'd been able to discover a 'Doer', as they called him. Someone that could find, or get, almost anything, as long as the patron was generous with his show of appreciation afterwards.
Generous was not a problem for Bob given the reward. Four hours in the morning while Allessandra finished his suit, and twenty thousand dollars later, and Bob possessed a passport, driver's license, social security card, notarized birth certificate and voter registration card in the name of Craig Lipton. A rather bland name, Bob thought, but one that wouldn't be traced once he left the hotel.
Another twenty thousand got him a sprinkling of Craig Lipton history placed discreetly on different news and wire service servers, a social security account that would some day pay Mr. Lipton a pension and a history of addresses and jobs that led right up to the door step of his overnight investment success as a venture capitalist.
These people have nothing on George Orwell, Bob thought, as he looked at the printed list of computer links his history and personal information could be found at.
Allessandra appeared in a floor length gown that shimmered as she moved. A split from floor to mid hip on each side, her wavy hair brushed back, flowing behind her shoulders and half way down her exposed back.
A small gold broach that matched her gown pinned her mane back on one side, exposing an ear, one eye and the line of her neck while the other side was shielded by her raven locks, only giving tantalizing peeks as if she were demurely hiding behind modesty.
Venus goes Cosmo, Bob thought, as he glanced at the woman behind the bar to see if she'd noticed.
He was still amazed how easily Allessandra had been turned. He felt there was more to it than money. He was sure Allessandra earned quite well catering to the rich and famous. A hotel such as the Palace would never recommend anyone but the best.
Scanner Bob suspected there was a wild side to Allessandra that had been trapped inside all these years as her father pushed her into a male dominated trade where her hand played along the inseams and lifted the crotches of fat old farts every day that thought much more of themselves than anyone else ever did.
"You are lovely," Bob intoned, raising his martini glass to Allessandra as she posed by the bedroom door.
"Thank you, Mr. Johnston, I'm glad you're happy," Allessandra replied as she sidled up to the bar and raised her waiting drink mirroring Bob's own. Checking the time on his new Rolex, another of the day's purchases, he noted it was after eleven.
The entertainment should be arriving shortly he thought, turning his attention to the bartender. He stepped up beside Allessandra at the small black marble bar that occupied a corner of the suit, his empty hand playing down her spine and slipping under the gold mesh that covered her ass, all the time smiling at the bartender, and asked, "And are you a college student, Dear?"
"No, Mr. Johnston. This is what I do," she replied with a smile as she refilled both their now empty martini glasses.
"Oh," Bob exclaimed, "And does it pay well, Dear?"
"I do quite well, actually. But really, I shouldn't be discussing this with a guest at the hotel. Sorry, Sir."
Allessandra wiggled on his hand and giggled as his fingers found a sensitive spot.
Looking at the young girl's name tag Bob leaned into her space and said in a half whisper, "Then I guess a thousand dollar tip wouldn't interest you."
Cindy was used to propositions involving large tips and big spenders. Some she accepted and some she refused. She looked from Mr. Johnston's searching eyes to Allessandra's dreamy, lost expression, then at the gold broach in her hair and noticed a smattering of rubies, down at Mr. Johnston's Rolex and said, "Why yes. I believe it might. What did you have in mind, Mr. Johnston?"
Bob quietly explained as his hand provoked more giggles and squirms from Allessandra. Cindy re-negotiated and threw in a few extra services she thought they both might find enjoyable, and by the time the string quartet arrived at half past eleven, Cindy was serving drinks in a pair of spike heels, a red glitter covered G-string and her black bartender's vest sans buttons.
"Vivaldi. I want Vivaldi," Bob commanded as the three men and one woman sat at the ready, music stands in place, instruments at hand, Allessandra looking on from the couch.
A knock on the door and a late night dinner was rolled in. A chef the hotel had recommended from 'Le Petit', a fine French eatery in town, waddled along behind the two carts and set up station to the side of the string quartet.
After an hour of Vivaldi, Bob waved his wine glass in the air, his hand running across Cindy's rump as she stood by the table to serve the wine, and declared Amadeus much more appropriate. "A decadent man! Mozart knew how to live!"
A few more glasses of wine and Bob became expansive, insisting that Cindy should serve the musicians as well. "And don't forget my fine fat chef," he'd blustered, patting the man on the stomach as he swaggered by, "He must be a true connoisseur of fine wines!"
Turning to Allessandra he gestured expansively and declared, "Time for desert! My prodigy will be serving desert for everyone. Darling?"
With that, Allessandra stood, her ruby lips set in a glamorous starlets smile from the 30's, reached over her shoulders and under her hair, and as if by magic, her dress fell in a puddle at her lovely ankles. There was really nothing else to remove. Bob enjoyed the spiked heels too much.
Stepping up to Cindy, Allessandra leaned in to plant her first kiss of many the night. The quartet froze in mid note and the already flustered chef turned beet red.
Half an hour later, a stack of bills appeared on the cleared dining table and Bob declared the suit, "A clothes free zone."
His last recollection of the nights celebration was the cello player sidling up to Allessandra's rump as she serviced the violin player that reclined in front of her on one of the two sofas, running his hands along the outside of her hips, up her slender waist, and further to her pendulous breasts that bulged slightly past her rib cage and declared her the perfectly tuned cello just before driving his point home with his elongated bow.
Scanner Bob had finally let go; gave up control, and let the world play on without him as he fell asleep beneath Cindy, happy thoughts of hunting knives, razor cutters, pruning shears and small, troublesome handguns floating around in his head. Oh, and that wonderfully pointed ice pick.
"I don't understand, Tom, what are you talking about?"
Linda stood in her kitchen, still grasping the handle of her carry-on. Tammy leaned on the kitchen counter listening to one side of the conversation, one hand raking Linda's hair and tickling the back of her neck.
"No. My battery gave out and we've been traveling most the afternoon."
Linda pulled her small suitcase to an upright position and glanced at Tammy as she listened to Tom.
"I went by to check-in. No one was there. The night crew told me the crisis was over. That you and the Captain had decided I could take care of the rest."
Linda's roll of the eyes changed quickly to concern as she continued to listen.
"Okay," was all she said before hanging up the phone.
"That was, Tom. He wants us to go out and look for the, Entity. He received a mail that he thinks is important but can't find the Entity anywhere. Poof! Gone! No explanation, no goodbye.
"He also wanted to know if my cell phone is working, and, if we've had any contact with the Entity today."
Tammy followed Linda into her bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed while Linda threw her suitcase on the mattress and pulled the zipper around, taking note of Linda's demeanor. She seemed upset – troubled by something. Angry.
"He received a message on his office mail, found it at home while trying to find the Entity on his home laptop," she continued as she threw dirty clothing on her bed until she came to a white Macy's bag that had been hidden, sounding frantic she continued, "The message is cryptic and may be truncated. The message said I've found me. There's a bigger problem. Danger. Must notify FB. Tom has no idea who FB would be. It has to be someone all of us know, or the Entity wouldn't have sent it."
"Linda," Tammy said, raising her palm to Linda's arm, signaling she should stop.
"Do you know who FB would be?" Linda asked almost accusingly. Tammy noticed Linda seemed on the verge of tears.
"Linda," Tammy implored.
"I mean, Tom said this thing," Linda hesitated, "This, this, this Entity, is just gone. That he's still trying to find him. I mean, he told the three of us we could always find him. Any time we wanted. Just turn on our computers. And now Tom's trying and he can't find him anywhere!"
"Linda," Tammy was calm but firm, "it's not the Entity; it's Michael." Stepping around the bed her arms came up and hugged Linda to her, "It's okay to say it. Michael. You've lost him again and you're worried."
Linda broke down and started sobbing. "Why did this happen? Why us? Why you? Why Michael?"
"Here, let's turn on the laptop and plug you're phone into the charger. Let's see if we can find him. Maybe he's waiting to talk to you."
They broke their embrace and Tammy went for the laptop. Linda dug in her nightstand for her charger and they met back in the kitchen.
Phone charging, they watched the computer go through its boot up process. Tammy finally stood and rummaged in the refrigerator for something cold to drink as the minute's drug on and nothing came up on the laptop's screen.
A small chirp from Linda's cell phone brought a bright open smile to her face when she read the new message notice. "This must be him. Let's see."
Flipping the phone open, Linda's smile faded and she finally read the message to Tammy, "Palace hotel. May be Bob Nunn. Be careful."
Looking up Linda asked, "Do you know, Bob Nunn?"
"Yes. I got his job courtesy of, Michael."
"The Palace Hotel is an exclusive five star hotel here in San Francisco. Why would he be here and why would, Michael, urge caution."
"Well, we haven't been paying much attention to the news, but the last time I saw Bob, he was literally being dragged out of our offices in New York by the FBI"
Tammy glanced at the laptop and decided the odds Michael would come out were slim. Cradling it in her arm, she took Linda's hand and led her back to the bedroom.
Sitting the laptop on top of the dresser she shoved Linda's dirty clothes to the floor, set the suitcase beside the small pile and climbed on the mattress, pulling Linda with her.
When Linda had returned from the office, Tammy related the story of the black Mercedes. Linda explained that no one was in the office keeping vigil on the Entity, and drove to her apartment leaving Tammy to wait on the stoop with the luggage while she put the car away for the night.
Stepping in the building, Linda had taken Tammy's hand and pulled her up the steps like some adolescent pulling her first love. On the second floor landing, they'd necked outside Mr. Fleming's door like a couple of kids while the evening news blared on his television inside the apartment.
On the fourth floor landing the necking had become a little more heated as groping became involved, buttons undone and zippers slid down.
By the time Linda was fumbling with her keys, Tammy was making a full frontal attack to shushing sounds Linda made, trying to stay off Tammy's attack enough to keep the situation private. At least for the moment.
As they practically fell through the door in a passionate embrace, the phone started ringing.
Tammy felt the moment was lost and suspected Linda felt the same way. She also felt a need to comfort sitting on the bed as she pulled Linda's top over her head, the sports bra she'd become so familiar with followed. Then the rest of her clothes.
Linda was non-responsive but didn't resist as she was tucked between the covers.
Tammy stripped and slid in beside her, spooning up from behind to drape her arm around Linda, holding her close, deciding this wasn't the moment for the talk Linda kept referring to.
"We have to put the pieces together, Linda. If Michael comes out, we'll see it," Tammy ran her fingers across Linda's collarbone tracing a line from one shoulder to the other, "We've got a lot of information. Everything from Chicago, what Michael's told us."
Tammy's finger fell into the small of Linda's throat where she traced a small circle, "We have Theodora Miller and Waverly Hills," Tammy shifted as she felt Linda start to turn, "We've also got Bob Nunn. We seem to know a lot of things."
Tammy stopped talking when Linda's tear streaked cheeks and wet eyes came into view.
"We don't have, Michael," Linda stated flatly.
Tammy traced a line down Linda's spine and offered, "And we never will if we don't take our time and put all the pieces together." Her hand splayed across Linda's bottom and she was rewarded with warm lips on hers.
Finally, pulling away, Linda whispered, "Thanks, Red," a small chuckle came from somewhere, "But we still have to talk about this." With that Linda nudged Tammy until she rolled onto her side, and snuggled in behind her, their bare bodies creating a small comfort zone under the blanket.
There was no doubt or trepidation, nor was there unbridled passion. Only a gentle glow that emanated from the point of contact between Linda's naval and the small of Tammy's back.
Linda buried her face in Tammy's hair and fell asleep listening to Tammy's gentle breathing.
Tom rubbed his eyes and padded in his boxers, through his kitchen to the coffee pot. Pouring a cup he stood at the sink and looked out across his backyard.
Hearing the girls stir he glanced at his laptop which had been on all night on the kitchen counter and noted the absence of any messages from Michael. Disappointed but not yet discouraged, he poured a second cup of Columbian brew, added two sugars and a dollop of cream and headed upstairs to try and catch the shower before his wife.
Setting the cup on her nightstand, Tom headed for the shower and started his day.
He'd solved the FB question. It was fairly straight forward. He also felt he knew what Michael meant when he said he'd found himself. But what's the new danger?
He and Michael had become good friends through Linda and he trusted his judgment. If Michael said there was danger and felt the FBI should be notified; then Tom felt it was time to at least bring them up to speed.