Mind's Eye View

The intuitive notion of eidetic memory is that you can retrieve it at will and examine it in detail, but a pure photographic memory in this sense has never been proven to exist.

Barry Gordon, PhD, Johns Hopkins University

1.

Monday, 3 April 2017. 1030 hours:

Washington D.C. Headline, The Washington Post. Morning Edition:

Highly sophisticated electronic compromise of closely guarded internet servers of the Department of Defense has occurred. This involves all flash and cable channels thought to be inviolable. A top-secret message having to do with a classified military program is at risk. "We have been hacked big time," the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff admitted today.

1330 hours the same day:

"You have a call, Miss Skoda," her secretary said. "Line 4. It's urgent."

"Jessica Skoda here." She listened for several seconds, her face draining of color. "Harbor UCLA Medical Center in Torrance? I don't know the area but I have GPS. I'm on my way."

2.

Jessica Skoda is 28 years old, 5'3" tall, with hazel eyes and auburn hair worn shoulder length. She is the daughter of naturalized Czech Republic Immigrants, with whom she lives and provides partial support.

Jessica has a unique talent. She can read volumes of text, store them in her eidetic memory, and recall every word.

"It was a curse at first," she told an interviewer once, "confusing and frustrating. I had to learn to compartmentalize it. It's like a DVD recording. I can fast-forward or reverse it to reach whatever memory I'm looking for with just a mental blink."

Jessica is employed by the Department of Defense Branch Office in Los Angeles. Her position is Communication Specialist. Her direct supervisor is Major Kenneth Davis, U.S. Army. Davis currently lies in the Critical Care Unit of the Harbor UCLA Medical Center in Torrance, victim of a gunshot wound by an unknown assailant. He is not expected to survive. Davis requested one visitor in a rare lucid moment. He cleared the room of all hospital and military personnel when he recognized Jessica. Although heavily sedated, he was able to give her precise instructions. "This is an urgent matter related to classified upgrade of a U.S. Air Force drone program. You will receive the information today by courier." He reached out and covered her hand with his. "These will set you in the right direction. Be suspicious of new personnel changes. They will be well organized. There is much danger. You have a gift. Use it." Davis then relapsed into coma, from which he did not recover.

Jessica quickly pocketed the tightly folded note he had passed. She consigned its contents to her foolproof memory and then burned it.

3.

DOD Los Angeles Branch, Special Projects Division: 1230 hours, Tuesday 4 April.

Staff Sergeant Raymond Ellis arrives in L.A. by F-22 Raptor fighter jet from Bolling Air Force Base, near Washington D.C. He enters Jessica's office carrying a small Styrofoam container in a reinforced sealed envelope. "ID, please." She holds up the ID badge lanyard from around her neck. Ellis checks her photograph and a right index fingerprint on the screen of his iPhone. He holds a scanning device to the bar code on the ID badge. When it beeps, he nods. "Directly from an unscheduled 0700 hours meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Miss Skoda. Transmittal to all concerned stations is on hold."

"For how long, Sergeant?" Jessica asks.

"Unknown, Ms. Skoda."

She nods, then notes the correct signatures and signs the proffered chain of evidence document under that of Staff Sergeant Ellis and accepts the package. "Thank you, Sergeant."

4.

1330 hours the same day. Ms. Skoda's workstation:

The windowless room is darkened except for a pale blue computer screen. Jessica faces it, hands folded in her lap. A door opens quietly. An unfamiliar voice asks, "Do you have a classified message from the Joint Chiefs delivered by courier, Miss Skoda?"

She looks up and sees an older man wearing Army camo fatigues and insignia of a bird colonel on his collar. His nametag reads, Edward Lacoste. "Where is Major Kenneth Davis?" she asks.

"I am his successor."

"I don't know you." Jessica shuts down the computer with a single keystroke. "Verification, please."

Lacoste clicks a number on his iPhone and holds it up so she can view its screen. Jessica recalls Davis's instructions and commits the names to memory. She reboots the computer.

"I remind you, sir, you must observe protocol and leave the room until I recall you."

"That protocol is rescinded," Lacoste replies.

"I cannot continue without the protocol."

"You could be convicted of treason if you don't comply, Miss Skoda."

"Very well." Jessica knows what to do. Ken Davis's dying message was clear. She removes the Kingston flash drive from the Styrofoam container she signed for. She clicks it into a USB port on her iMac and presses keys. The first page appears on the screen. Just one word: CLASSIFIED.

Lacoste tries to photograph the page with his iPhone. Too late. Jessica has speed-scrolled the encoded material, giving a millisecond blink to each page as it passes. She taps a single key, removes the ejected flash drive, and returns it to its container.

"I am finished," she says.

"Print that out and give me today's password, Miss Skoda."

Jessica sits back and blots drops of perspiration from her brow. "There is no password, sir."

"Make the return transfer to the Pentagon file, then. Use the secure DOD cable channel," Lacoste tells her.

She removes her hands from the keyboard. "You know I can't do that, sir."

"Why the hell not?" Lacoste shouts as he pounds a fist in frustration on the desktop.

"All secure DOD servers are compromised," Jessica quietly replies. "No other secure transmission capability is currently available. You should know that."

Lacoste blinks at the computer screen. He reaches over and pressed a key. The word processor pages are blank. He grabs the flash drive, plugs it into a USB port. NO DATA pops to the screen. "You have deliberately destroyed that document, he screams. "Vital U.S. Air Force data has been destroyed."

"Nothing has been destroyed," Jessica replies. That data is safe in the cognitive centers of my frontal lobe cortex. My brain. It will remain there until it can be safely transmitted to all concerned."

Lacoste's face contorts with rage. "Unacceptable, Miss Skoda. Unless you unblock the data with your password and print me a hardcopy, I will transfer you to our psychiatric facilities. Your stay there will not be pleasant."

Recalling Major Davis's instructions, Jessica repeats, "There is no password."

5.

2130 hours. Somewhere in adjacent Orange County:

The transfer was done in secret, aided by unsuspecting noncoms. Jessica was held at an undisclosed location in nearby Irvine. She was subjected to loud heavy metal music, sleep deprivation and ice baths 24/7. When she asked for water she was given sour vinegar, which she spat in their faces. "There is no password," she repeated.

Monday 10 April. 1100 hours:

"Miss Skoda has been resistant to interrogation," Colonel Lacoste told his co-conspirators. "She has been under our surveillance 24/7, but despite our coercive efforts she insists there is no password. The Cray computer complex in Livermore ran a decode program on her word processor, but found only blank pages. "My Middle Eastern connection will pay mega millions for this information. I will get it."

"I will use intravenous scopolamine and sodium thiopental," Lacoste tells Jessica. "Your high resistance capability will fail. Your weakened condition makes you much more susceptible. Sleep well. Tomorrow I will know everything in your mind."

Ms. Skoda knows those truth serum drugs would override her neuronal network and reveal the classified document. Her brain's secret must remain secure. There is only one answer.

6.

An exiting guard pressed the code for the digital lock of her concrete cell's door. Jessica watched, feigning sleep with one eye open through a narrow space between her fingers. The twelve numerals were imprinted in her memory at once.

A scheduled guard change left her alone for seconds. She pressed the captured combination onto the keypad's digital face. The latch opened with a soft click and Jessica tiptoed into a dimly lit passageway. A window broken by her towel-wrapped elbow provided her a means of escape. The siren alarm triggered by the breach assaulted her ears as she ran.

She slid and stumbled across rain-swept grass, mud and sharp gravel, clad only in torn thin pajamas and filthy cloth slippers. Lightning flashes illuminated the dripping landscape with eerie black and silver contrasts. The ground vibrated with cannonades of thunder.

Jessica scrambled through a green velvet boxwood evergreen hedge. She emerged, bruised and bleeding, facing a twelve-foot drop to a rain-slicked dimly lit street. Sounds of shouting voices and barking of dogs came closer. There was no choice. She jumped.

7.

1030 hours:

30 year-old dark haired 5'11" tall Matthew Steffens was on his way home after a meeting at the U.C. Irvine campus. There he held the position of Research Associate, Center for Neurobiology of Memory. The heavy sweeping sheets of rain slowed his travel on California Avenue, east of the campus. He turned the windshield wipers on high and reduced his speed. He hit the brakes in a panic reflex as his BMW rounded a curve and slued to a stop sideways in the street.

A pale human figure lay halfway off the right hand lane. Matt pulled to the shoulder and activated his emergency flashers. He grabbed an umbrella from the back seat and ran to assist. The young woman was dressed in soaked ragged pajamas and torn cloth slippers. He punched 911 on his iPhone. No signal. "Damn. Storm's shut down a cell tower."

Steffens knelt beside her and felt for a carotid pulse. It was present and strong. He said a quick prayer of thanks. There was movement. Jessica fluttered her eyelids and tried to sit up. "Please help me," she pleaded.

Steffens leaned close, cupping a hand to her right ear. "You must have fallen down that embankment." He removed his jacket and put it over her shoulders. "You have some injuries. Can you move your arms and legs?"

She sat up and shot a fearful glance toward the hedge at the top of the embankment. "They are coming for me."

Matt followed her gaze. There was movement near the hedge, shouting voices, dogs barking, and flashlights. "Who? Why?"

"They want something I have." She staggered to Matt's car. "I'm very scared. Please get me out of here. Shut down your headlights. They could see your license plate. I can explain."

Her state of panic stirred Steffens to action despite his doubts. He held the passenger side door open. "Get in. Seat belt." He hit the accelerator and the headlight switch at the same time. His black BMW M4 coupe took off with a screech of rubber and a spray of muddy water. There was a sudden sharp sound. A round hole with cracks radiating outward in a spider web pattern appeared on the rear window. "Yikes. Somebody just took a shot at us." He clicked a menu button on the dashboard's screen display and chose California Highway Patrol. "Got it. On my way."

Jessica crouched with her head below window level. "Please don't," she pleaded. "No police. I can explain. This is a national security issue. I am a Department of Defense employee. I have weird memory capability. That's why they are after me."

"Hold that thought. I'm getting you to urgent care. The U.C. Irvine Health Center is close."

She grabbed Steffens's arm and squeezed. "No medical facility. They will be watching emergency rooms. What they want is concealed in my mind."

Matt made several fast turns through familiar Palo Verde Housing streets near the campus. He pulled over and backed into the carport of an unoccupied residence. He shut off the engine and waited. After ten minutes, no suspicious traffic had passed. He took a deep breath and turned to his strange passenger. "You said a weird memory problem. Explain."

"Eidetic memory. My brain holds a secret document. It must be delivered to a classified list of Air Force bases. All DOD secure modes of transmission have been compromised. I'm their only answer."

"That's unlikely," Matt said. "There is research going back a hundred years. Total photographic memory just doesn't occur."

Jessica took a breath and said, "Well, Prince. Genoa and Lucca are now no more than private estates of the Buonoparte family... Got a couple of hours? I can recite the whole thing for you."

Matt blinked in surprise. "Tolstoy. Wow. Okay, I'm impressed, but first let's get you out of sight. I have a condo just off Russell Place. My girlfriend Joelle Hazlett is a cardiac ICU nurse at UCI Medical Center. She has some first aid gear at home."

8.

The Steffens condo 10 minutes later:

They watched in Matt's carport for ten minutes. No suspicious traffic appeared. He assisted Jessica gently up the steps while holding the umbrella and unlocking the door. "Joelle," he called. No answer. "She's still at work. Let's get you cleaned up."

He assisted her upstairs to the bathroom and started the shower. She shed the ratty gown and slippers, and then stood in the hot spray for twenty minutes, then wrapped herself in warm towels that Matt provided.

"Let me check those injuries. Joelle is better at this, but I've taken a first aid course." Matt cleaned Jessica's cuts and abrasions with Betadyne antiseptic. Then he applied antibiotic cream and sterile Telfa pads. She withstood the treatment with only an occasional wince. Later, wrapped in a thick fluffy bathrobe she gulped hot coffee that Matt had brewed.

9.

There was a click of the front door latch. A tall, dark-haired decently attractive young woman in green OR scrubs under a blue UCLA Bruins sweatshirt walked in. She propped her wet umbrella over a warm air duct and headed upstairs. "Be right down, Matt," she called. "Busy night. Pour me a double shot of your nice Glenlivet single malt."

Jessica whispered, "I know I've gotten you in trouble, but this is a matter of national security involving treason. A secret document is safe in my mind."

Matt made a shushing motion with his hand. "Wait."

"Why did you need so many towels for your shower, Matt? And what's with all these rags?" Joelle stopped short on the stairs and stared. "Who's our guest, Matthew?"

"Please don't blame him," Jessica said in a soft, tremulous voice. "He saved my life, and something much more important."

Joelle took a large swallow of the scotch Matt handed her, then another. She turned to their visitor with a doubtful expression. "Okay, I give up. An old girlfriend, Matthew? Is one of your psych patients stalking you?"

Jessica stood, still clutching her coffee cup. "My name is Jessica Skoda. I work for the Defense Department offices in Los Angeles as a communication expert. My captors have used torture trying to gain secret data locked in my memory. We have been betrayed. My supervisor, Major Ken Davis knew about their conspiracy. He was murdered."

Joelle squinted an eyelid. "Matt, this is bizarre. It's like a movie script. I don't believe . . ." She stopped short after noting Matt's first aid handiwork. She said in a much softer voice, "Who did this to you?"

Jessica shivered, took a long swallow of coffee. "Members of a conspiracy. As I told your friend Matt, I have an eidetic memory. There's a secret document concealed in my brain."

10.

"She recited Tolstoy's War and Peace to me in the car on the way here," Matt said.

Joelle asked, "So you are carrying military secrets around in your head, but you are out here running around at large with unknown persons after you. Haven't you contacted your superiors?"

Jessica calmly replied, "I don't trust any of them. I was held captive somewhere near here. Your friend Matt helped me after I escaped."

"It was on California Avenue," Matt said She had run through a hedge and fallen to the street. That's where I found her. Men with flashlights and dogs were chasing her. There's something else you should see, Jo. Come with me."

She grabbed her wet umbrella and popped it open outside the front door. "This better be good, Matt."

The rain was still heavy but the wind had abated. There were distant flickers of lightning and faint rumbles of thunder. Matt walked her to the carport. "Somebody took a shot at us. Look at my rear window."

Joelle viewed the circular hole and outward radiating cracks with skepticism. "A stone you ran over could have done that."

"We were being chased, Jo," Matt insisted. "I killed the headlights and drove through our convoluted Palo Verde streets and lost them. I was lucky."

Joelle nodded. "Right. Maybe you can quit at UC Irvine and write suspense novels, Matt. Compete with Stephen King. A few extra bucks would help pay off the mortgage."

"Hush up, Jo," Matt said in a sharp retort. "I brought a flashlight. The bullet might be inside the car. Just humor me."

They gathered glass fragments from the rear seats into a plastic trash bag. Their search was unsuccessful until Joelle felt a deformity in the driver side headrest. "Fabric is torn." She probed with a fingertip. "Got something. Oh, wow."

11.

They viewed the distorted metal fragment under a bright desk lamp in Matt's den. "A spent bullet," Jessica declared. "I've seen similar in an Army lab where I worked once. Nine-millimeter handgun round. Safety auto window glass laminated with a layer of transparent plastic slowed it down. A rifle round would not have been stopped. You were very lucky, Matt."

"Oh God, Jessica," Joelle said. Her face began to stain with tears. "Who's trying to murder you?"

Jessica took a deep breath, exhaled a tremulous sigh. "Not me. Only you and Matt, for trying to help me. The secret in my mind is what they want. They must take me alive."

Joelle was dubious. "So this super military secret is stuck someplace between your ears? Is there a password?"

Jessica shook her head. "It's not that easy. It is not a word or phrase. It's a neural impulse. A blink. The classified information is safe in the cognitive centers of my frontal lobes. It's stuck there because I became very scared."

Joelle gave a sarcastic snort. "Perhaps somewhere in the Twilight Zone? Rod Serling alive and well?"

"Hush up, Jo," Matt scolded. "Why can't you recover it now, Jessica?"

"I was examined in childhood by testing at the Psychology departments of Johns Hopkins and Columbia Universities. They told my parents that fear could prevent my recall of any events I had heard or observed."

Joelle gave a solemn nod of acceptance. "Weird. Okay, I'm in. Who could make this up? Let's get you to bed. I'll give you a half-milligram Xanax tablet. Relax, get some sleep. I'll take a sick day tomorrow. I'll make coffee and redress those wounds."

Jessica expressed a soft thank you and unleashed a gaping yawn. "I've caused you both enough trouble . . ." She slumped on the sofa, fast asleep.

Joelle exhaled a deep breath. "Carry her up to the guest bedroom, Matt. I'll take the Xanax myself."

Steffens clicked a number on his iPhone, spoke a few words, and terminated the call. "UCI Security will patrol our street. Tomorrow I'll look over some of my weird memory cases."

"Couldn't we call some Pentagon types?" Joelle asked.

Matt said, "Who would believe us? Jessica says there are several suspects. We would expose her to more danger if we spoke to the wrong person."

"Danger? You mean to us. She's the one the bad guys want. You and I are collateral damage. They will keep trying. How did we get involved in this madness?"

Matt sat beside her and held her close. "Jo, if I can help Jessica recall her neural blink, she'll be able to contact the right people."

She pulled away, sat up straight. "Matt, you and I are up to our eyeballs in terrorists. I believe Jessica. Use your hardcopy files, secure phone lines. Oh, God. Listen to me, I'm getting as whacked out as you."

He nodded. "That makes us a pair of co-conspirators, Jo. This is getting weird. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Show Jessica some trust. She likes you."

"I don't know if that's a good thing."

12.

0930 hours the next morning:

Jessica tried on some loose fitting clothes that Joelle brought after changing her dressings. "Not your size. I'm three inches taller," Joelle said with a soft chuckle. "These were going to the Salvation Army."

Jessica tucked up sleeves on a loose fitting U.C. Irvine Anteaters sweatshirt and rolled up the pant legs of a size tall pair of Levis. She swallowed a gulp of fresh coffee, bit into a sesame seed bagel and nodded. "Just what I need to get my brain on line. May I use your computer?"

Noting Joelle's odd stare, she said, "I have a DOD top level security code. It gives me access to military personnel files. I need to see them."

Joelle nodded and watched, amazed as Jessica's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Couldn't the bad guys locate us by this transmission's source?"

"I can block the source," Jessica pressed keys, "like this."

Joelle blinked as SOURCE SECURE sprang to the screen. "Let's see what we can find," Jessica said as she tapped in, U.S. Army Major Kenneth Davis.

Several seconds passed as Jessica gnawed a fingernail. SITE BLOCKED sprang to the screen.

"Oh no," Joelle whispered.

"It's okay." Jessica tapped more keys, waited, hit more keys, and then sat back. "Watch this. A case number Major Davis passed to me before he died."

A full minute passed, then pages of text flooded the screen. Jessica nodded. "Thank you, Ken," she whispered.

Joelle began to read, then stopped with a shocked gasp. "Jessica, I don't think I should be reading this." She stepped to the kitchen and brought back two cups of fresh coffee.

"Thank you." Jessica blew to cool her cup, took a deep swallow, then another. She scanned pages for several minutes, and then hit keys. "It's okay. Everything from Ken's investigation is safe in my brain. I can input data okay, but can't access anything without the blink."

13.

1900 hours:

"I stayed here with Jessica this morning," Joelle told Matt. "She found good stuff on the computer. She was at her boss Ken Davis's bedside after he was shot. He slipped her a note with numbers that unlocked his secure site. It was some pretty scary stuff about increased RQ-4 Global Hawk drone capability, whatever that is. She did that weird mind thing and memorized everything on that Davis site.

"Wow. Where is she?"

"Sleeping. I gave her another Xanax. She fought it, but she was worn out. I told her I'd wake her up for dinner. Make us a drink. I picked up a pizza and some salad. You did an okay job on the first aid. Everything looks good, no infection."

Matt held her close. "You were right, Jo. I've found out a few things about her from my files, spoke to some folks who were involved in her tests years ago. Complicated case. I hope I can help her."

"What did you find out?"

Matt said, "Complex tests involving glutamate receptor cascades in the hippocampus were run. Neurologists at Johns Hopkins concluded that Jessica was as close to a pure eidetic memory that they had ever seen. They wanted further studies but she was lost to follow up."

Joelle gave him an odd look, held up a hand. "Stop right there. You lost me at glutamate. I'll go warm up the pizza."

Later, Jessica joined them for dinner. She smiled. "I'm feeling much better, thanks to you two." She took a bite of pepperoni pizza and eyed Matt's wine glass. "What are you drinking?"

"Beringer California chardonnay." He handed her the glass. "Try a sip."

She did. "Nice. Little more, please."

Joelle poured her a glassful. Jessica thanked her and took a large swallow, then another. She held out her glass for a refill. "I haven't been this relaxed since, well, you know." She turned to Matt. "Please update me on your findings today."

Matt repeated them, "Anything else you can recall, Jessica?"

"I could do a mental blink and whatever I read would be secured in my mind. It's like a DVD recording. All I had to do to retrieve it was do another mental blink, and then fast-forward or reverse to what I needed to recall. Then I could enter it on a word processor. My problem now is finding the blink trigger."

"Got it," Matt said. "The fear factor blocks it. Let me ask, do you feel less afraid with us?"

There was ominous silence for several seconds. "Yes I do," Jessica said in a whisper. "I'll need to try the computer again."

She tapped keys. A page of text appeared. Stamped across it in red was CLASSIFIED. The heading read, Senate Select Committee on Cyber Terrorism.

Jessica continued typing, pumped a fist. "This is it. Major Davis was under cover to investigate the conspiracy. He names involved personnel and their positions. Some I know." She gasped in surprise. "Edward Lacoste is on the list. I know him well from my betrayal. He replaced Major Davis. Here's his photo."

"Davis must have been in constant danger of discovery," Matt said as he viewed it.

Joelle turned a wide-eyed stare to Jessica. "What will you do?"

She took another swallow of wine, then another. Her voice was slightly slurred. "I'll explain. The neurotransmitters in my frontal lobe cortex just needed a large stimulus."

"Which is?" Matt asked.

She held out her glass for a refill, took a large swallow. "This." She drained the glass in one last giant swallow. Jessica softly muttered a fill minute of unintelligible drivel.

"Jessica? Are you okay?"

Seconds passed. Her glazed vision suddenly condensed into a sharply focused narrow stream of radiant energy. "Darn right." She did the mental blink.

"I'm the transmitter. The ethanol unlocked everything. I've got some work to do, wake up a few people." She pounded more keys, sent several e-mails, then made many long distance phone calls. Ninety minutes later she sat back and mopped her brow with a sleeve.

"The traitors have been revealed to the FBI, military and other concerned agencies. They are being rounded up as we speak, courts martial will be underway soon. Penalties will be severe, death penalty for the ringleaders. Involved foreign governments are under close scrutiny. Maximum sanctions are being imposed."

"Wow. Anything we can do?" Matt asked.

"Is it okay if I sack out here tonight. I'm going to have one bitch of a hangover tomorrow, and I'll need to be sharp at the office."

"I'll get you fresh linen and a bunch of ibuprofen tablets," Joelle said. "Coffee and breakfast in the morning whenever you're ready."

THE END

Bio: Stories by E. S. Strout (M.D.), a.k.a. Gene or Gino, have appeared in Planet Magazine, Anotherealm, Millennium F&SF, Beyond-sf, Jackhammer (Eggplant Productions), Static Movement, and Bewildering Stories. And, of course, many of his stories have appeared in Aphelion (Current Events, October 2014, Unfolding Skies, May 2015).

E-mail: E. S. Strout (Humanoids: replace '_AT_' with '@')

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