Placebo (13 page)

1:38 p.m.
1 hour 22 minutes until the fire

Glenn arrived at the center.

With his fake beard and wig, he knew he would never be positively identified, even after the surveillance video was analyzed later, after the fire.

Rather than hike through the woods on his injured leg, he drove straight to the registration building, pulled into the parking lot, and went inside to get a visitor's pass for the day.

RixoTray Corporate Headquarters
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Caitlyn Vaughn, Dr. Cyrus Arlington's faithful receptionist, ushered the courier into his office.

An earlier arrival than Cyrus expected.

The courier handed him a package stamped “Official business. Requested material.”

Cyrus knew, of course, that it was the DVD containing the video footage of what had happened in Kabul thirty-one hours earlier.

He also knew that he needed to watch the footage privately before allowing the twins, Riah, or Undersecretary of Defense Oriana Williamson to see it. And definitely before passing it on to Akinsanya. He was not someone Cyrus was prepared to disappoint.

He paid the courier, closed the door, and locked it so that even his nicely endowed and seductive young secretary, the one he'd slept with when she was in accounting and then transferred up here before starting his relationship with Riah, wouldn't interrupt him.

It was vital that Williamson was on board with this—the funding depended on it, and it was important that the twins were reassured about the efficacy of the program, since it would affect how things went with the president's policy speech tomorrow morning here in Philly in front of the Liberty Bell.

The Liberty Bell.

How very patriotic of him.

Cyrus carefully opened the package.

According to the administration's press releases, the speech was going to “contain broad and far-reaching initiatives aimed at strengthening the economy and regaining the confidence of the American people in Washington's ability to make a positive and lasting impact in their lives and throughout the free world.”

The speech would include policy proposals for reinvigorating the economy, decreasing unemployment, broadening health care coverage, enhancing the development of alternative energy to reduce dependence on foreign oil, and making “judicious” cuts to the military—pretty much the same topics the president had tried to tackle during his last three years in office but had made almost no headway on.

But if Cyrus's sources were right, this time the announcement he was going to make regarding health care was going to change everything in the pharmaceutical industry for years to come.

Cyrus flipped open his laptop, inserted the DVD.

Waited for the password prompt to come up.

Really, the footage was the fulcrum upon which everything balanced. That, and the work of—

What about Riah? What will she think when she sees it?

Well, yes, what about Riah?

Truthfully, she'd become more of a distraction lately than she was probably worth. It might be necessary to get her out of his hair in a way that she would not bother him again. If the video showed what he thought it would, she wouldn't be needed anymore.

Maybe when this was over, that thug Glenn Banner would be interested in making another twenty-five thousand dollars.

A possibility.

Either that or Atabei.

Yes, the woman from Haiti, the one he'd met on one of his trips down there to help out after the earthquake. She might actually be a better choice.

In either case, Cyrus decided he could deal with Riah later, when everything was completed; for now the main issue was the video. He couldn't take any chances that the footage would be unconvincing to Williamson and the twins.

The prompt came up, he typed in the password to unlock the video and pressed Play.

1:43 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time
1 hour 17 minutes until the fire

I return to the room that contains the Faraday cage.

Dr. Tanbyrn and Philip walk quietly beside me.

We find Charlene standing in the corner near the computer workstation, chatting lightheartedly with Abina. I'm struck again by the contrast between how innocuous things in here seem now compared to how menacing they'd become last night. Charlene smiles at me. “So, how do you think it went?”

Although I'm glad to see her, I'm a little upset at myself for not discovering anything so far about how—or if—the staff here might be faking the tests. “I'm sure it went as well as it could,” I tell her vaguely.

She turns to Dr. Tanbyrn. “When will you have the results?”

“In about an hour. There are some numbers I still need to run, and I have to check in with another couple. If you could kindly meet me in my office at, say, a quarter to three?”

I would've expected that he could use his tablet computer to analyze the data within seconds, but when I think about it, actually,
this would give Charlene and me a chance to see if our tests, the ones taken from the heart rate monitor that Xavier had given her, showed anything close to the findings that the doctor and his crew typically found. Charlene and I might even have enough time to look over the footage I took with the button camera I'd worn during the test.

“Alright,” I tell him. “We'll see you at 2:45.”

We leave the building and find that the day is still foggy, still devoid of wind. The smokelike tendrils of mountain mist seem to drain sound from the air, creating an almost eerie stillness that not even birdsongs are able to taper into. Even the squish of our steps on the soggy trail seems dampened by the heavy air.

“Seriously, Jevin, how did it go?” Charlene asks. “Did you do your best to think of me in a positive light?”

“I did.”

“And to think loving thoughts?”

“And to think loving thoughts. Yes.”

I wait for her to ask a follow-up question or crack a joke about how difficult that must've been—sending loving thoughts to her—but she's quiet, and I'm not sure if that's an invitation for me to speak or a way of letting the conversation drift in another direction entirely.

“Hopefully, it'll be enough,” I add.

“Yes.” She takes a few steps. “Considering.”

“Considering?”

“That we're not in love.”

“Of course. Exactly . . . So what were you thinking about while you were in the cage that whole time?”

Her answer comes without any hesitation. “I was thinking about you.”

“About me.”

“Yes.”

Her words both surprise and do not surprise me, assure me and
unsettle me. “Well . . .” I'm really not sure how to proceed here. “It'll be interesting to download the data. Print it out.”

“Yes, it will.”

And we wouldn't have long to wait.

The outline of our cabin lies fifty yards ahead of us in the fog.

Dr. Cyrus Arlington ejected the DVD from his computer.

The video was convincing.

Very convincing.

After watching it, he didn't foresee any problem in assuring Williamson and Akinsanya of what was possible. And the twins would certainly be heartened by the footage.

He looked at the clock.

4:51 p.m.

So, 1:51 in Oregon.

In just over an hour the doctor would be dead and there wouldn't be any chance of him going public with his findings regarding Project Alpha. With what he knew, there was just too much of a possibility that he could piece things together, and now that things were this close, it wasn't the time to take any chances that Tanbyrn would be able to do that.

Cyrus's eyes landed on the two aquariums in the corner of his office.

Last week Riah had asked him about them, but he'd never explained why he kept the
Ampulex compressa
wasps or the
Periplaneta americana
roaches. So now, perhaps the best way to explain would be through a little demonstration.

And besides, letting one of the wasps do her work would lend a certain irony to the occasion of the four people watching the DVD in the next room. Considering what the footage contained.

Predator.

Prey.

Submission and helplessness.

Two hours might be cutting it a little close for the wasp to finish her burrow, but at least it would be enough time for her to get started with the roach.

Cyrus walked toward the aquariums.

It was time to let his little parasitoid play.

1:53 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time
1 hour 7 minutes until the fire

Back at the cabin, Charlene and I connect her heart rate monitor to the small printer we'd brought along and print out the results of her EKG. Then I compare the results with the times recorded on the lap timer of my watch, which denoted specifically when her image appeared on the screen.

Strangely, even though it would be evidence of something I didn't believe in, I find myself hoping that the test results will match, as if that would be some sort of sign that Charlene and I were meant to be together.

But you don't believe in signs.

You don't believe—

I stare at the two sets of data.

And the results are bewildering.

In almost every case, the fluctuations of her heart rate correspond directly to the times when I was focusing my thoughts and emotions on her.

I literally scratch my head. “Honestly, I have no idea how to explain
this, Charlene. You put the RF jammer beneath the cushion on the chair like we talked about last night?”

“Yes.”

Everyone's heart rate, respiration rate, blood pressure, and other physiological processes are constantly changing as we move, as we respond to our surroundings and other people, as we feel apprehension or guilt or fear or pleasure or excitement. Still, there's a baseline that our bodies will return to when we're in a relaxed state, as Charlene was in while she was in the chamber.

However, what I'm looking at here are not random fluctuations; rather, they match, with startling uniformity, the instances when I was focusing my thoughts on Charlene.

But when, of course, she had no idea I was doing so.

These are our results, not the center's. This was with our equipment, not theirs. There was no way they could be faking this. And I could think of no explanation as to why her physiological signs should have fluctuated as they did, when they did.

I try to keep an open mind, but it's hard to know what to think.

This morning I started out trying to debunk this research, not confirm it, so despite my reservations, I have to rule out the variable of confirmation bias, however unlikely that would be.

Keep an open mind.

Charlene stands beside me, studies the printouts I'm holding. “So, Jevin, it looks like you and I are entangled.”

“So it would seem.”

“I wonder how long this has been going on.”

“Our entanglement?”

“Yes.”

“I, um . . . I couldn't say.”

I feel like a junior high–age boy standing next to the girl who's just given him a note with the question, “Wanna be more than friends?” And two boxes, “Yes” and “No.” And then the words, “Check one.” And I know which one I would check, I know how entangled my heart
is, but I'm afraid to tell her. Something holds me back. Maybe it's the fact that I haven't been with a woman since my wife died. And how to act now, in this moment with Charlene—the right thing to say eludes me.

We look into each other's eyes and she doesn't look away, and I almost get drawn beyond myself, almost let the shock of seeing the data we were just reviewing drift away. Almost, but not quite. Because the impact is still there—the results have snagged my thoughts and I just can't shake them, can't ignore the implications.

I think she can tell I'm distracted because a flicker of disappointment crosses her face and she looks away, toward the window. Toward the fog. “It's almost two. I know Xavier will be anxious to hear about the test. Let's see if we can find a way to reach him or Fionna, tell them what we found. We might be able to reach them if we drove a little ways down the road.”

Go on, Jevin, say something.

Wanna be more than friends? Yes or no?

Yes.

Now she looks at me. “What do you think?”

I start to reply, to answer her previous question about how long this entanglement has been going on, but all that comes out is, “Sure. We can head straight to Tanbyrn's office from the parking lot. Save some time. That should be fine.”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Tell her how you feel. Tell her!

My hands feel awkward and unsure of themselves as I fold the printouts, put them in my pocket.

Yes or no?

I just can't find the right words to say.

Then Charlene steps out of the cabin and I follow her, thinking
back through the conversation, replaying it, rehashing what I should have said but didn't.

I wonder how long this has been going on.

I have evidence that there really is something to Dr. Tanbyrn's tests. That there really is something tangible to my feelings for Charlene.

What measurements could you ever come up with to test the depths of true love?

Maybe I had them on that sheet of paper in my pocket.

For a few moments Cyrus admired the beautiful, sleek jewel wasps. Perfectly evolved predators. Beautiful
Ampulex compressa
specimens.

A parasitoid is an animal or organism that takes control of another organism, killing it so that it can implant its offspring inside the host.

But in this case, Cyrus's female jewel wasp wasn't actually going to kill the cockroach herself—her offspring would do that when it hatched and then consumed the cockroach from the inside out while it was still alive.

He leaned over the aquarium that contained the inch-and-a-half-long, squirming
Periplaneta americana
. There were twenty roaches in there, but he would just be needing one today.

He eased the cover to one side.

Fast little creatures. Able to move up to four feet per second, which was comparable to a human running over two hundred miles per hour. It took him a few tries, but in the confines of the aquarium, it wasn't too difficult for him to corner one. He picked it up, pinching it firmly to keep it from twisting free from his grasp.

With his other hand he closed the aquarium, carefully edged the cover to the wasps' aquarium slightly to the side and dropped the cockroach in, then quickly closed the opening again before any of the fifteen wasps could escape.

The roach immediately skittered across the dirt floor, instinctively looking for a place to escape its wide-open, exposed position, especially with so many predators buzzing around it.

The roach hit the aquarium's glass wall, began scurrying along the edge of it, desperate to find cover in the small leaves scattered across the floor. Millions of years of evolution willing it to run, to hide, to survive.

The cockroach was five times the size of a wasp, but that made no difference to the wasps.

One of them took the lead and flew in a tight, circling pattern, undoubtably working out the best way to approach the future host for her child.

Glenn pinned the visitor tag to his shirt, left the registration lobby, and returned to his car to retrieve the pack of supplies for the job at hand.

With the wound in his leg, he couldn't help but limp, and that bothered him, made him irritable, but he would spend time recovering when all this was over. After he'd been paid.

In the distance, near the registration building, he noticed two people—a man and a woman—round the corner and head toward the parking lot.

2:07 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time
53 minutes until the fire

We're not yet to the car, but I pause, try my cell.

Nothing.

“Let's drive down the road toward the valley,” Charlene suggests. “The gorge might be wide-open enough for you to get a bar or two.”

As we walk toward the car, she hands me her cell. “You know how much I like talking on these things. I'll drive; you try to reach Fionna. We have different carriers. Who knows? It's worth a shot.”

“You're the only woman I know who can't stand talking on the phone.”

“Careful now, dear.”

“I'm just saying.”

I hand her the keys and we cross the parking lot.

Glenn could hardly believe it.

The two people angling toward him were the ones who'd been in the chamber last night.

Don't let them see you!

He slipped into his car and tilted the rearview mirror. Watched them climb into a sedan not fifty feet away.

No indication they'd noticed him.

Good.

He didn't know if they'd gotten a glimpse of him last night in the Lawson building. He'd kept his light in their eyes nearly the whole time, so it was unlikely they could identify him, but still, it was a possibility. So now as he observed them, he was careful to keep his head turned slightly so they wouldn't be able to see him if they looked in his direction.

The woman was behind the wheel. She backed the car out of the parking spot, aimed it toward the road that led from the center to Pine Lake.

Glenn took note of their license plate number.

So.

It looked like he had a decision to make.

Yes, he wanted to follow them, of course he did. See where they were going, then corner them, do some work on them. But that would put the time frame with the doctor in jeopardy.

They'll be back. They weren't carrying their luggage, the bags they had on the video when they were checking in.

Yes.

True.

You know their plate number now, what kind of car they have. You'll be able to find them again. Just get to the Lawson Center, check out the reception area, make sure the chairs will work. Take care of the doctor, then deal with them. You'll have plenty of time.

Okay.

Glenn waited for the sedan to disappear, then left his car. Carrying his backpack with the supplies in it and walking as quickly as his injured leg would allow him, he headed toward the Lawson research building.

First things first.

Visit the maintenance closet on the first floor and disable the building's sprinkler system.