The Overseer by Jonathan Rabb Read Free Book Online Page A

career as a financial whiz suddenly started developing computer systems for investment banks a few years ago?”
    Sarah recalled the file. “Those were security networks. I thought they were designed to safeguard large investors—like himself?”
    “Perhaps.” The waiter moved off. “But who do you think helped him develop the prototype for the technology?” She shook her head. “A subsidiary of the Tieg Telecom Service. That’s not in your notes. The trail’s convoluted, but it’s there. Trust me.” He took a sip. “And now it’s computers in the schools. No real connection, but … All I’m saying is, it makes me wonder.”
    Sarah nodded, jotted down a few words. With her eyes still on the pad, she asked, “And Anton Votapek?” She was about to repeat the question, when she looked up and noticed Jaspers’s expression. He was staring at her, a look of sudden concern etched across his face.
     
    W ASHINGTON, F EBRUARY 26, 4:09 P.M. “ Repeat that, please.” National Airport’s chief controller did little to mask his disbelief.
    “ Every screen in the tower just went blank ,” came the reply, the confusion in the background filling the speaker. “Auxiliaries are out, and we’ve lost radio contact.”
    “Is the beacon still operative?”
    “No idea.”
    “What do you mean you have no …” He leaned in closer to the intercom as he stood. “Just take it easy. I’ll be right there.”
    Two minutes later, he strode into the traffic tower, the slicing pattern of runways beyond already lit for the evening arrivals. “All right, people, let’s see what we’ve got here. What do we have up in the air, and what’s within closing range?”
    “Four two-sevens, one noncommercial, and two jumbos, one from LAX, one from Madrid,” answered a woman surrounded by a mountain of printouts.
    “What about Dulles—”
    “They’ve got the same thing. So does BWI. And College Park is completely unreachable. Everything went out about four minutes ago. My estimate—of the three majors—six planes in final patterns, another twelve that’ve been given clearance.”
    The man moved to the nearest console, its vacant face staring back at
him. In twenty-five years, he’d never seen anything so terrifying. He turned
back to the general mayhem. “All right, people”—he began to rub his
hands together—“we reroute as many as we can through Atlanta; the rest
can try—”
    “That’d be great,” the woman answered. “One problem—how, exactly,
do we tell the pilots?”
     
    “Votapek?” repeated Jaspers. Sarah leaned forward to pour herself a second cup. “Are we talking about the same Anton Votapek? The Tempsten Project.”
    “It was actually called the Learning Center,” she corrected. “The media dubbed it the Tempsten Project.”
    He shook his head. “ Votapek ?” He paused. “Why would—”
    “It’s about schools, isn’t it, Professor?”
    “Yes, but …” He was taking longer to recover than she had expected. “I mean, the man was a genius, the education guru of the sixties, but then … Tempsten.” His eyes began to drift. “Some sort of high concept … modular teaching —”
    “The Modular Approach —‘education as a more aggressive means to creating less autonomous, more community-oriented children.’ Very good, Professor.”
    “One more wild theory forced into practice.” He continued to stare off, as if trying to remember something. “What was it, about ten children, all around eight or nine—”
    “Actually, fourteen, some as old as eighteen. You seem … rather familiar with all of this.”
    He turned to her. “One of the darker moments in American education? If you care about teaching, Ms. Trent, you don’t forget Tempsten.” The reference had clearly disturbed him. He sat back, shook his head slowly. “Eight-and nine-year-olds, turned into …” He suddenly looked at her, his expression far more intense than only a moment ago. “You think he’s linked to Tieg