The Written Word The Holy Grail of Intelligence by James Dees, Ph.D.

by James Dees, Ph.D.
Copyright © 1999 Dr. James Dees

2-26-99

Dennis Woodall, Ph.D. pushed his glasses to the top of his forehead and slipped his chair away from the small viewing screen. He had burned the computer generated pictures of DNA molecules into his brain. He no longer needed to see them anyway. He was a tall man with graying hair and a very professorial demeanor. The quizzical expression on his face was incongruous with the seeming seriousness of his countenance. He now had the answer. Almost everyone accepted that intelligence had many facets. Some of the variety came from environment, but on average the overwhelming proportion came from heredity. Dr. Woodall had set out to find the gene or genes that would account for a major portion of intelligence. He hadn't fooled himself into believing that he would find a single gene controlling intelligence. He knew that in all likelihood, a number of genes were influential in the development of intelligence, but his had been a search for the kingpins.

He had obtained two genetic samples. The first was a sample of 1000 of the most intelligent students entering the university over the past four years. The Dean had thrown a tantrum when Dr. Woodall had first asked to do this research, but the size of the federal grant had persuaded the Dean to reconsider. Besides, the donation of the genetic material by the incoming students was all voluntary. Normal people with subnormal intelligence constituted the second sample. This group had been much harder to get, and had consumed a major portion of his research budget. His graduate assistants had approached the most likely candidates receiving welfare in the city. They paid each to take an intelligence test, and a physical. If they were physically normal, but had subnormal IQ scores, he included them in the sample. Dr. Woodall then isolated all the genes that previous research had shown to affect metabolic rate, neurological cell growth, and neurological organization. He ran a comparison of the intelligent and subnormal groups to identify the consistent DNA differences between the two groups. There had been a large number of differences. Statistically speaking, that was inevitable. The number of DNA characteristics he was examining greatly exceeded the number of people in his samples. He expected to find a number of false positives. However, his kingpin candidates had passed some difficult statistical tests. These characteristics not only differed between the two groups; they also correlated with IQ within both groups when subjected to cross validation, i.e., the comparison of two different sets of independently drawn samples.

Contrary to general public belief, IQ is not a unitary measure. While there is a facilitator function that is general, there are also a large number of specific intelligence functions that create the variety of genius in our population. Some of the elements of intelligence are bipolar. This occurs where two intelligence characteristics exist on opposite ends of a single genetic determiner. With bipolar characteristics, the smarter you are on one of these intelligence characteristics, the dumber you must be on the other. It also means that there is no such thing as universal intelligence. No one can be as smart as possible in all areas. You can't possibly be bright on one bipolar characteristic without being dumb on its companion characteristic. Dr. Woodall found comfort in this thought. No one could use his findings to create a homogeneous population of geniuses with exactly the same intelligence. People would have to select the areas in which they wanted to be most gifted.

The next step was to isolate the desired genetic material and insert it into human subjects. Fortunately, Dr. Melissa Melgrove, within his own department at the university, had already developed a technique for injecting DNA material directly into human subjects. She had modified one of the viruses that cause the common cold to make it a DNA carrier. you simply attached the DNA to the cold virus, injected the individual with the virus, and allowed the cold to run its course. The cold would replicate the DNA material in every cell in your body. Of course, there was the problem of inadvertent replication. A cold is a cold. Anyone who caught the cold would have his DNA changed. In the case of the general facilitator function, this was not too bad. Everyone could use more intelligence. However, when it comes to specific intelligence functions, not all are positively related to performance in all jobs. Some are negatively related to performance on certain jobs. That could be troublesome, but the worst situations would be with the bipolar functions. A general infection of some of these could be disastrous. You would likely destroy some great geniuses. These geniuses would not be made less intelligent. Their average intelligence would probably increase, but the virus would change the intellectual eccentricities that had made them great. To assure that the genetic change did not escape to the general population, he would have to completely isolate himself. Yes, in case you were wondering, Dr. Woodall wanted to try out his discovery on himself first.

The choice of himself as first subject in the experiment had a mixture of causes. From a selfish standpoint, Dr. Woodall definitely wanted to be the most intelligent person in the world. From an ethical standpoint, there was always the risk that he was wrong and would destroy rather than increase the subject's intelligence. Dr. Woodall found the possibility of destroying his own intelligence more acceptable than the thought of being responsible for destroying someone else's. From a practical standpoint, it would be wise to possess great intelligence when it came time to make the results of his studies public. Everyone would want to control it. The politicians would see it as their divine right to control who would get what. They could reason, perhaps correctly, that society needed only a certain percentage of its population as geniuses, and that they needed some people of lesser intelligence to do all of the menial jobs. By restricting access, they could create a class of rulers, and relegate everyone else to subordination. On the other hand, they might want to assure that everyone had equal access while providing little information as to how it should be used. This could produce equally undesirable results. In all likelihood, the politicians would take neither course of action. They would probably debate for years, thereby denying the benefits to all but the few who would obtain it surreptitiously. In addition to the politicians, he would also have to handle the medical profession. They would want to control access to the process so they could charge exorbitant amounts for each application. Similarly, the pharmaceutical companies would fight for the patents, and likewise charge horrific amounts for each application. Dr. Woodall would need all the intelligence he could muster to find a way through this mine field. Fortunately, the research proposal under which he was funded only included the first steps of the genetic identification process. Only he knew how far he had progressed. Only he knew that he had identified the kingpins of genetic intelligence. It would be difficult to keep that information to himself alone much longer. He needed Dr. Melgrove's virus applications. He preferred to be discreet, but knew that Dr. Melgrove would not assist him without knowing the nature of the research. Dr. Woodall shoved himself away from his research, turned and picked up the phone on his desk. A few seconds later, a woman's voice answered.

"Hello!"

"Melissa, this is Dennis. How are you fixed for lunch today."

"I brought mine, Dennis. I don't have the time to go out every day."

"I understand, Melissa, but I'm buying."

"Sorry, Dennis! Some other time! I'm right in the middle of something."

"Okay Melissa, I'll have to confess. This is not a social call. I need to talk to you about something very important. I want you away from your office. Lunch at Robert's in one of their private rooms was what I had in mind. It's not the food I'm interested in, Melissa. It's the privacy. You want to hear what I have to say."

There was a long silence on the other end. Dr. Melgrove knew the nature of Dr. Woodall's work. "I'll be there! What time, Dennis? "

"It would be better if we met there. How about 11:45?"

They ended the conversation quickly. Neither wanted to discuss anything further on the telephone.

As Dr. Woodall replaced the telephone, the head of an attractive young woman appeared in the doorway. Margaret Meredith was older than most of his other graduate students. She was divorced with no children. Her goal in life was now to become a biochemist. Dr. Woodall knew Ms. Meredith as a very intelligent woman, and only occasionally noticed that she was also a supple, and well-formed young blonde. She crossed the room to stand by Dr. Woodall.

"Is this your new work?" She was pointing at the viewing screen. "What characteristics do these DNA strands represent?"

"Oh, just a preliminary step in my investigation. You've read my research proposal. In a few years, perhaps I'll have something spectacular to report."

Margaret put her finger on the papers lying on Dr. Woodall's desk. "Are these your preliminary findings?"

Dr. Woodall gathered the papers together and stuffed them into a folder. "No, I haven't written those yet. Now if you will excuse me, Ms Meredith, I have an appointment."

Dr. Woodall arrived at Robert's early. He had reserved one of the enclosed booths that Roberto called rooms. The booths weren't much, but they were private. Dr. Melgrove arrived promptly at 11:45. Melissa Melgrove, Ph.D. had the essential characteristics of an attractive woman. Unfortunately like most of her male counterparts, she had spent too much time in the laboratory and too little time in the gym. Dr. Woodall rose to welcome her.

"Melissa! Have a seat. I took the liberty of ordering for us both. It will give us a little more privacy."

"Sure, what am I eating?"

"One of their combination platters. That way you can choose what you want."

"Sounds good! Now what is this all about, and why all the secrecy?"

"I think you will understand the need for secrecy when I tell you what I have, and what I want from you. Frankly, I was trying to figure out a way to get your cooperation without telling you what I have, but I don't think you would buy it."

"I probably wouldn't, but more importantly, your work would just go on the waiting list. Do you have any idea how many people contact me wanting to use my techniques?"

"I'm sure it's plenty. No, I understand you have to know what I'm about. I am also sure that you will understand the need for secrecy. I have isolated a set of genes that produce intelligence, Melissa. Now I have to see the effect of transplanting them on humans."

Dr. Melgrove was again silent for a long time. She had suspected something of this nature. She knew the general nature of Dr. Woodall's work, and she knew him to be a secretive man. It was logical that if Dr. Woodall wanted her assistance that he had something in that area for which he wanted to run a genetic transplant experiment.

Dr. Melgrove finally spoke. "Who's going to be your subject, Dennis?"

"I am!"

"I knew it." She slammed her hand on the table. "How can you be so dumb. You can't remain objective about something and be the subject of the experiment. You know that!"

"Hold on Melissa! I don't really have any choice. Have you ever considered what the politicians would do if they knew I had something like this. Think of the industrial espionage that would take place if the pharmaceutical companies had any idea that I had this. For that matter, think of the national espionage. What country wouldn't want to be the first to produce a block of geniuses to help them win their economic wars?"

Again, there was a long pause before Dr. Melgrove spoke. "Okay Dennis! I'll help you. How are you going to explain your long stay in my isolation chamber?"

"I can't. My isolation will have to be at my cabin on the lake. We can stock it with everything I will need for a couple of weeks. I don't have any classes this summer. No one will be surprised when I take a couple of weeks off."

Dr. Melgrove grimaced. "I don't know, Dennis. What would happen if you infected someone else with your cold?"

"You raise a good question, Melissa. This time, what would happen is that the general IQ of everyone who contacted the cold would be increased. At least, that's what I think would happen. Of course, we haven't tried it yet. Maybe nothing would happen. If this one is successful, however, we must be much more careful later. Some of the elements of intelligence are bipolar. If the cold bearing one of those were to escape, it could do a great deal of harm."

Intelligence measurement was out of Dr. Melgrove's field, but she knew the implications of a bipolar intelligence element. A deep frown preceded her words. "Later on, all work must be in my isolation chamber. We'll have to figure out a way to handle it."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. It's good to have you with me, Melissa."

"You always have interesting projects, Dennis. I confess, I had been hoping to team up with you for some time, but I didn't think it would be on anything quite this dramatic."

They finished their meal, continuing the conversation all the while. As they left the building, the curtains parted in the adjacent booth. Margaret Meredith stepped out, paid her bill, and watched from the doorway until both Dr. Woodall and Dr. Melgrove's cars were out of sight.

When she returned to her office, Margaret watched her door as she lifted the phone to dial. A voice soon answered on the other end of the line.

"Barton Pharmaceuticals, Mr. Tanguay's office."

"Yes, this is Margaret Meredith. I believe Mr. Tanguay has instructed you to direct my calls to him without delay."

"Yes, Ms Meredith. Please hold the line."

"Hello, this is John Tanguay."

"John, this is Margaret Meredith. Woodall has done it. He is about to test it on himself."

"Hold on, Ms. Meredith. Woodall done has done what, and what is he about to test?"

"He has identified the genetic holy grail of intelligence, and he is about to inoculate himself with it using Melgrove's techniques."

There was a poorly articulated whistle from Tanguay's end of the line. "When will the testing start?"

"No specific date was mentioned, but they were talking about the very near future."

"Thank you Ms. Meredith. That is very useful information for which we will show our gratitude most generously, but of course we could afford to be much more generous if we had the genetic code before anyone else."

"Just exactly how generous would you be, John?"

"If you get us a complete detail of his findings, you won't ever have to work again."

"That sounds good, John, but I still want a figure. How generous is that?"

"Would a million sound good to you?"

"A million bucks is good, but this would probably be worth billions to you. I want at least two million deposited in my overseas account. I want one million now, and the other million when I deliver."

There was a laugh from the other end of the line. "Ms. Meredith I only have your word that Dr. Woodall has made this discovery. Even if he has, what guarantee do I have that you will be able to deliver it. I'll put $100,000 in you account now. That's a lot of money for such a promise."

"Okay, $100,000 in my account now, but after I have the documentation in my hands I will want the rest of the first million deposited before you receive it. You must then deposit the second million after you have had a chance to review it. Otherwise, I sell a copy to your competition."

There was a grunt of acquiescence from John Tanguay. That was still a lot of money, but this was a once in a life time opportunity. When he hung up the phone, Tanguay immediately buzzed his secretary.

"Ms. Wilson. Call Gary Mitchell and ask him to come see me immediately. I have some work for him."

The next day, Dr. Melgrove and Dr. Woodall met at Dr. Woodall's cabin on the lake. What she saw impressed Dr. Melgrove. Dr. Woodall had covered all of the walls and ceiling with plastic. The floor was tiled concrete. He had replaced the door between the house and the garage with a giant filter. A small window fan pulled air into the cabin from the outside. Virtually all of the air was then filtered before it left the cabin through the garage door. Dr. Woodall showed Dr. Melgrove the other preparations.

"I have a one month supply of food and everything else I need here. I should be over the cold within two weeks. I don't know how long I can keep this a secret. When can we start?"

Dr. Melgrove didn't hesitate at all. "How about tomorrow? If you can give me a copy of the genetic material this afternoon, I will prepare an inoculation tonight and get it to you here by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. By the way, what did you tell your wife?"

"Only that I have to do some isolation studies, that I will use the cabin, and that I must not be disturbed for two weeks." Dr. Woodall smirked for a second. "What does your husband think of you meeting me at my cabin on the lake?"

"Really Dennis! You and I have never had anything but a professional relationship. He didn't even bat an eyelash when I told him where I was going this afternoon."

"Good! I just wanted to be sure we didn't have any stupid interruptions."

Dr. Melgrove's expression was a mixture of curiosity, humor and understanding. "You are right, Dennis. We wouldn't want anything stupid to mess up this study."

The next day, promptly at 8:00 a.m., Dr. Melgrove arrived with a vial containing the altered carrier virus. Dr. Woodall quickly ushered her into the cabin.

"Thank you for your promptness, Melissa. You must have worked late last night."

"I did! You know, I told you that I had an understanding husband, and I do, but a few more of these late nights and he just might become less understanding. Are you ready?"

Dr. Woodall rolled up his sleeve. "Yes, shoot away!"

As Dr. Melgrove was leaving, Dr. Woodall stopped her. "Melissa, shouldn't you leave the rest of that vial here. I can keep it in the refrigerator."

"I have never parted with my carrier virus before. Why should I do so now?"

"If I have to take a second dose, I may none-the-less be a carrier. If you have to come back to administer it to me, you might become infected. You would have to remain here, or risk spreading the infection indiscriminately."

Dr. Melgrove didn't have to think very long before she realized that Dr. Woodall was right. "Okay, it's against my better judgment, but here it is."

Dr. Woodall placed the vial in the refrigerator, ushered Dr. Melgrove out the door, and settled in. Most colds only last for three to 10 days, but it could be a long and lonely two weeks or so. He was sneezing by noon, and had a dripping nose by bed time. Since he couldn't sleep, he perused some of the textbooks left by salesmen. They included one on a very sophisticated mathematical formulation of the relationship of genetic information to the geometry of the DNA molecule. He read the first chapter, shook his head and sneezed. Math was not his strong point. He was a verbal type person. He had studied math as a necessity, but this book was way over his head. It was bed time.

He didn't sleep well, but the next morning he reread the first chapter as he ate breakfast. It was still pretty boring, but the author did know his stuff. Dr. Woodall shoved the book to one side and reached for the TV control. The cold was really bothering him. He slipped a tape into the VCR and settled in to watch a movie.

Gary Mitchell walked very formally into the chemistry building on the university campus. His briefcase literature and samples included some of the best laboratory equipment you could buy, and he was offering it at very good prices. He saw three other professors before he knocked on Dr. Melgrove's laboratory door. A good cover had to be complete. Dr. Melgrove was busy and waved him off.

"Later!"

"I have some good stuff at good prices."

"Yes, I've heard, but not now - later!"

"How about one o'clock?"

"Okay! See you then."

The choice of time was important. Dr. Melgrove went to lunch at noon. Mitchell arrived early for his appointment. He asked one of the graduate students to let him in the laboratory so that he could look at the equipment so as not to waste Dr. Melgrove's time when she returned. Dr. Melgrove found Mitchell carefully inspecting her equipment when she returned.

"Who let you in here? No one is supposed to be here without my presence."

" Sorry! One of your students let me in. I didn't want to take up your time examining your equipment. Here is a list of what you have that is outdated, and the cost of replacing it with more up to date equipment."

Dr. Melgrove looked over the list and relaxed. This fellow knew his work. He had picked out all of the old equipment. More importantly, the prices he quoted for replacing the equipment were the best that she had ever seen. Mitchell had her forgiveness. A few minutes later, he left with a large order for new equipment. From her office, Mitchell went directly to his car where he could use his cellular phone in privacy. The call was to John Tanguay.

"Hello John. This is Carl Mitchell. I have a mixed report for you. Dr. Melgrove is doing the work you suspected. That's the good part. The bad part is that her storage area either does not contain the virus we need, or the virus is intentionally mislabeled."

"Do you think intentional mislabeling is likely?"

"No! Melgrove puts her faith in the lock and key. She would consider the dangers of intentional mislabeling to outweigh the benefits. I don't think our virus is there, and she doesn't have genetic descriptions. Only Woodall has those, and he is vacationing out on the lake somewhere."

"Vacationing? I don't think so. I'm willing to bet that he is out there in isolation, and that he has already inoculated the subject. The subject may even be Woodall himself. Get out there, Carl. I don't know how you are going to do it. It has to be surreptitious, but get me the documentation, some of the virus, or both. By the way, you have competition from one of Woodall's graduate students. Her name is Margaret Meredith. I don't care which one of you gets me the stuff first, but I thought you should know about her. You are a professional. She is only an amateur, but she's on the inside." Mitchell pressed the "Off" button on his cellular phone.

Back in the chemistry building, Margaret Meredith slipped her pass key into Dr. Woodall's office door. She had stolen the pass key from the maid's key ring and made a copy of it while the maid was showering. It was touchy, but she was able to return the original before it was missed. Now she was able to slip into Dr. Woodall's office during daylight hours. As long as she was quiet, she could go through his files at her leisure. Two hours passed before her sense of satisfaction turned to disgust. There was nothing in Dr. Woodall's office that went beyond a rudimentary explanation of the genetics of intelligence. "Woodall must have taken it with him." She muttered the words in disgust as she left. "He's at his place on the lake. Perhaps he wouldn't mind a visit from a scantily attired young woman." She didn't take any note of the Sport Utility Vehicle that she passed on the highway.

Dr. Woodall's nose was still draining, but the fever was gone. The cold was on its way out. He thought to himself. "If I'm any smarter, I sure don't feel it. I should by now." He picked up the book he had discarded earlier and walked over to the window overlooking the lake. As he stood by the window, he again reread the first chapter, but this time he continued reading the second. An hour passed as he stood by the window. This was a form of math that he had never taken, yet he was able to reason through it. He slowly replaced the book on the table and moved stiffly away from the window. He now understood the author's mathematical model of genetics, but he also understood something much more important. The inoculation had worked. His brain was now functioning much more efficiently. He hadn't felt any different, and why should he. None-the-less, when he turned on his intellectual engine, it ran in overdrive instead of first gear. A knock at the door suddenly disturbed his thoughts.

"Who's there?"

"It's Margaret Meredith, Dr. Woodall. I was out enjoying the lake when I remembered you had a place out here. I thought you might enjoy some company."

Dr. Woodall looked through the small window in the front door to see Ms. Meredith dressed in short shorts and a halter. When Dr. Woodall's face appeared in the window, Ms Meredith bent over to brush something from her knee. The movement gave Dr. Woodall an unobstructed view of her most obvious appurtenances. He concluded that Ms. Meredith was a most gifted woman, but none of the considerations as to why she was providing him this view gave him any comfort.

"I'm sorry Ms. Meredith, but I have a very bad cold. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to have any company."

"Oh, I don't mind at all. I hardly ever catch a cold." With that she reached for the door handle intent upon entering, but found it locked. Her action did not please Dr. Woodall.

"Please go away, Ms. Meredith. I really don't want any company right now."

"I think I'm having trouble with my car."

"Then go fix it, and don't bother me any more."

"You won't even come out to look at it?"

"Leave now Ms. Meredith."

Margaret Meredith turned angrily and walked away. She wasn't giving up this easily. Two million dollars were within her grasp. All she needed was some information she knew must be somewhere in that cabin. She would go back to her car to think. At the car, she opened her hood and peered into it as if to examine the engine. She had to have some excuse for not leaving. Besides, Dr. Woodall might relent and come out to help her. Inside the cabin, Dr. Woodall had an entirely different reaction. He picked up the phone. Dr. Melgrove soon answered.

"Melissa, this is Dennis. I have a problem." He explained the situation and his suspicions.

"I'll be right out, Dennis. No man can handle a conniving woman as well as another conniving woman. Stay inside."

He thanked her and hung up the phone.

Meanwhile, the Sport Utility Vehicle slowly rolled to a stop on the hill overlooking the Woodall cabin. This was the end of an old logging trail. Gary Mitchell quietly slipped out and crept to the crest of the hill overlooking the cabin. The trees provided good cover, yet allowed him a comfortable view of the cabin below. Gary Mitchell assembled a telescope, a night vision device, and a laser based acoustic sensor that he could aim at the glass in the windows. Then he relaxed. The time was not yet. He would enjoy the show below.

The cabin was a full half hour drive from the university campus. That was almost exactly how long it took Dr. Melgrove to get there. As she approached, she called Dr. Woodall on her cellular phone.

"On my way in, Dennis. Is Margaret still there?"

"Yes, she's standing beside her car looking disgusted and occasionally looking over my way." "Ah yes, I have her in sight. I'll talk to you later, Dennis."

Dr. Melgrove pulled her car up beside Ms. Meredith who walked around to greet her.

"Dr. Melgrove, I didn't expect to see you here. Do you meet Dr. Woodall here often?"

Ms. Meredith's body language made the implication obvious. Dr. Melgrove was in no mood to ignore the insult. "Of course! We engage in intercourse here daily. Strictly verbal of course, but I'm sure you wouldn't understand that. Judging by your apparel, you came out here with a different variety in mind."

"I don't know what you mean, Dr. Melgrove. I just dressed for a drive to the lake. How did I know that my car would break down?"

"Cut the crap Ms. Meredith. Either leave now, or I will call a tow truck for you. If you really need one, you won't mind paying the tab."

Margaret Meredith paused for a moment, but she was an intelligent woman. She turned with a huff, cranked her car and drove off. She knew it was better for Dr. Melgrove to believe that she was trying to have an affair with Dr. Woodall than for Dr. Melgrove to know the real reason for her presence. As she drove off, Dr. Melgrove again took out her cellular phone and called Dr. Woodall.

"Hello Dennis. This way I don't have to shout through a door. There may be someone else out here in these woods."

There was a laugh from the other end of the line. "Thanks for coming right away, Melissa. Margaret must be on to something. I'm not so naive as to think she considers me irresistibly attractive. On the other matter, I sure hope there isn't anyone else out in the woods."

"How is the project going? Do you feel like a genius yet?"

Again, there was laughter. "Your expectations are just as mine were. I expected to feel different. I don't. I don't even feel smarter. Smart is not a feeling. It is an ability. But to answer your question, yes, I am quite different. My knowledge base isn't any larger. That's where the conventional geniuses have the advantage. I know very little more now than I did when I walked in this cabin. However, I can play computer chess at the highest level and win every time. I've read every complicated theoretical book that I have. I understood every one after just one reading and wrote down where the authors made their mistakes. By the way, I think the cold has about run its course. I'll give it another day or two. Then, I'll clean the house with chlorine bleach and come out."

"The next few weeks should be interesting. Do you need any further help from me, Dennis?"

"No, but I'll be ready to start on the specific traits soon. Is your isolation chamber ready?"

"Yes! How are you going to explain your presence in the isolation chamber?"

"I'm not! You are. You'll tell everyone that I'm trying out the inoculation technique on dummy viruses to assure that my new research proposal is feasible. Stress the fact that I have more sense than to use myself as a subject in an actual experiment. Tell everyone that I wanted to be the subject in the dummy experiment so that I could appreciate the stress load that I was asking of everyone. I would then be able to design the experiments to consider this factor."

"It might work. I need a description of the next genetic modification."

"I'll fax it to you. Call me when you are at your fax. I don't want anyone else getting this."

"I'll call. Take care of yourself!"

With that, Dr. Melgrove turned and left. Dr. Woodall returned to his computer. He had long since run out of interesting material in his cabin, and was now calling up friends on the internet to discuss their scientific projects with them. As he corrected and redirected their efforts, he was not only assisting them in their science, but was very quickly and quietly developing a reputation as a genius among his colleagues. Up on the hill above the cabin, Gary played back the tape of the cellular phone conversation that he had just recorded. The telephone line to Dr. Woodall's cabin ran through the woods for about 100 feet before joining the main line at the road. Tapping it had been easy. After listening, he slowly unpacked his computer. The call from Dr. Melgrove came in shortly after she returned to her office. The fax message from Dr. Woodall followed immediately. The message appeared on the Gary's computer screen. He scanned it quickly to assure the general nature of the content. There was no way he could interpret what he had. He would leave the interpretation to someone else. He saved the file, then connected the computer to his own cellular phone. Within a few minutes Mr. Tanguay was handing it to one of his more trusted biochemists. The reaction was almost immediate.

"Mr. Tanguay, I can't say whether Woodall is right or not. Only an experiment can determine that, but I know that he thinks he has identified one of the genetic factors of specific intelligence. Do you think he could possibly have succeeded?"

"That's what he is testing on himself right now. After tonight, we should know."

"Some of our people have duplicated Melgrove's equipment and techniques, but we need a sample of her carrier virus. We don't have time to develop one of her own. If I had that, I could test Woodall's work."

"I'll get you some of her virus." Tanguay again reached for the telephone for a brief discussion with Gary Mitchell. After the telephone conversation with Tanguay, Mitchell put all of his equipment on "record" and took a nap. He knew that he would get no sleep that night. As the sun went down, Mitchell left his surveillance equipment on "record," slipped back to his vehicle and headed for the university. Only one or two professors were in their offices as he slipped his stolen key into the building door and walked quietly down the deserted hallway. Another stolen key granted him quick access into Dr. Melgrove's laboratory. Once he found the vial of the carrier virus, he inserted a hypodermic needle, removed a small sample, and injected it into an empty vial. A few minutes later, he was out of the building, and on his way to the airport. There he met a messenger from Tanguay who took the sample and boarded the next available return flight.

When Mitchell returned to the woods later that night, he drove only a short distance off the road. It was a moonless night. If he had to leave quickly, he could make his way through the woods on foot more quickly. When he reached his listening post, he did a quick scan of the recordings made in his absence. There was nothing of significance. Dr. Woodall soon turned off the lights and went to bed. Mitchell waited until two o'clock in the morning before donning his night vision goggles and making his way to the cabin. He didn't have a stolen key for the door, but only needed a few seconds to jimmy the lock. He moved slowly, tearing the taped plastic away from the door sill as he opened the door. He quickly located Dr. Woodall's portable computer and took it to the kitchen. Working quietly, he located the files of interest and copied them to a disk. After slipping the disk into his pocket, Mitchell returned the computer to its original location and quietly left the cabin. He could not reseal the door, but hoped that Dr. Woodall would not notice. Mitchell carefully locked the door and started back. He had everything he needed from the cabin.

It was ten o'clock the next morning when Dr. Woodall lifted his phone to find Dr. Melgrove on the other end.

"Dennis, I don't mean to disturb you, but thought I should tell you that I think I had a break-in last night."

"What happened, Melissa?"

"I can't be sure, Dennis, but I'm missing about ten percent of my carrier virus. As a matter of security, I note how much I have remaining after each use. I lost ten percent last night."

As Dr. Melgrove spoke, Dr. Woodall's eyes swept the room, then riveted on the loose plastic around the door. "I had a break-in last night too, Melissa."

"What did they get?"

"I don't know. I just noticed it. I'll let you know."

Dr. Woodall hung up the phone and walked over to his computer. It looked just as he had left it. He turned it on, then opened a program called "History." The program simply listed and gave a date and time for all of the computer actions taken on his computer. The last actions listed were the copying of his most important files. The history listed a copying action done at 2:14 a.m. that morning. Someone now had the results of his entire investigations. His first priority must be to assure that whoever stole the information could not claim credit and thereby gain ownership of the patent rights. He dialed in the number of his grant monitor in Washington.

"Ralph, this is Dennis. I'm about to fax you all the data on the holy grail of intelligence. I had a break-in last night. I want you to note the date and store it. Someone will be trying to patent this soon. When they do, we'll have our thief."

"Exactly what do you mean by a ‘holy grail of intelligence,' Dennis. You haven't found the genetic basis of intelligence, have you?"

"Yes I have, Ralph. Guard it carefully."

There was a slow whistle on the other end of the line.

It was almost noon when Dr. Melgrove again called. "Dennis, government agents are here in my laboratory. They are seizing my samples. They have a court order. Did you tell someone about this?"

"I'm afraid I did, Melissa. I didn't have any choice. Someone gained access to my computer and copied all my files."

There was little else to be said. They terminated the conversation a few moments later. Dr. Woodall walked to the cabin door and outside for the first time since the inoculation. He took no precautions to prevent the virus from spreading. A few hundred miles away, Gary Mitchell was giving a final report to John Tanguay. Mitchell's nose was beginning to drain. Dr. Woodall spent a few minutes walking the edge of the lake, then returned to the cabin. He carefully removed the remaining vial of the inoculation and placed it in his coat pocket. "I haven't seen a good basketball game in years." He said to himself. At two o'clock that afternoon, his university played another school. Neither team was in the running for the championship, but there would still be a sizable contingent of the faithful from both schools present. Dr. Woodall carefully made his way to the air conditioning plant for the gymnasium. Once there, he eased back an access panel on the blower side of the air ducts and slowly sprayed the inoculation into the air duct. Within a few hours, hundreds of people would have a cold. Within a few weeks that cold would be wide spread. Within a year, most of the people on Earth would be a lot smarter. Perhaps with an increase in general intelligence, they would have the ability to handle the rest of the problem. He closed the vent and left.