Placebo (27 page)

8:10 a.m.
2 hours 45 minutes left

“Hey, kids,” Xavier calls. “You two behaving yourselves?” He's halfway through one of the mammoth cinnamon rolls. Fionna has Dr. Tanbyrn's iPad in hand.

I turn to the side so no one can see my face. I'm afraid a tear will escape, but I make sure it doesn't.

The question behind all questions.

The one not even Jesus knew the answer to:
Why?

And Charlene's words:
“You don't need to forgive yourself. You need to stop hating yourself.”

Yes, yes, I do.

But how?

She assures Xavier that, yes, we were behaving. It takes me a few seconds to collect myself, then we all gather around the suite's executive conference table beside the window that overlooks Independence Park.

I try to refocus my thoughts, dial us back to the task at hand. It's not easy. Shutting away your pain never is. “Okay, I know we were all working on different things on the plane. Let's take a sec, summarize
what we have, then move forward, see if we can figure out what Arlington's connection with Glenn Banner might be.” From the looks on Xavier's and Fionna's faces, it doesn't appear that they can tell I was so close to losing it.

Charlene offers to go first. “I found Colette's and Arlington's vitas online, as well as some references to the research and patents they've been involved in, mainly in the area of recording brain waves and electrically stimulating parts of the temporal lobe. Also, the further you delve into Arlington's background, the more you find the telomerase studies coming up again and again. There's proposed legislation that could affect its release date. RixoTray has started clinical trials. I'll email everyone what I have.”

“I think we should contact Dr. Colette first,” Fionna suggests, “before we do anything else, see if she can help us.”

It seems reasonable. Fionna goes online, locates Colette's home phone number, and I try it. No answer. I'm about to leave a message when Xavier stops me. Taps my phone's screen to end the call for me.

“What?”

“Really, what are you going to tell her, Jev? That you're a magician who thinks her boss might be connected to a homicide and arson in Oregon, a top-secret military thought-borne virus psychic research program, and a conspiracy to stop suicide bombers in the Middle East?”

“Hmm. Yeah. Maybe better to talk in person.”

“And what if she's involved? Did you think about that?”

I set down the phone. “Okay. Let's table that for the time being.”

My emotions are still wrenched from my conversation with Charlene. They feel raw and exposed. Concentrating on this meeting isn't going to be easy.

How do you stop hating yourself? Where do you even begin?

I have no idea.

Xavier takes a final bite of his cinnamon roll and out of habit begins his explanation with his mouth full. “I didn't find out—”

But the mom in Fionna immediately kicks in: “Let's not talk with food in our mouth, Mr. Wray.”

“Oh. Right.” Some people might have taken offense, but the way she said it was friendly enough, and Xavier swallows, apologizes. “Sorry. I was saying I heard from one of my buddies who's . . . well . . . connected. He said he did a little checking, and Project Alpha was started just over a year ago.”

Fionna is typing on her virtual keyboard. “Which would correspond to when Dr. Tanbyrn's studies were first published.”

“Exactly. It was named Project Alpha after the first published article detailing a researcher's ability to translate brain waves of linguistic information. Back in 1967.”

“1967? This line of research has been around that long?”

“Yup. That was the year Edmond M. Dewan taught himself to turn on and off the alpha rhythms in his brain—they're brain waves that are associated with mental states and relaxation. So, by relaxing himself at conscious intervals while recording those alpha wave changes with EEG, he was able to communicate Morse code messages. Through his thoughts.”

Charlene leans back. “Whoa.”

“Of course, scientists have come a long way since then in recording brain waves through functional magnetic resonance imaging, diffusion tensor imaging, and magnetoencephalography. Lots of people think the government is already monitoring their thoughts.” He pauses and looks at us ominously. “I know people who know people who've already had it happen to them, and pretty soon it's going to be as widespread as—”

“And the military connection?” I direct him back to the topic at hand before he can launch into a tirade on how the government is controlling and policing our thoughts.

“Yeah. Project Alpha goes high up in the Pentagon; in fact, the second in command in the DoD, Undersecretary of Defense Oriana Williamson, is on the oversight committee. There's no sign of the
Kabul video on YouTube or WikiLeaks, so whoever received it has kept it under tight wraps. Nothing on Akinsanya either, except that the name is Nigerian. It means ‘the hero avenges.'”

He takes a breath. “Jev, I watched the footage you managed to get while you were taking Tanbyrn's test and didn't see anything unusual. As far as I can tell, you and Charlene really are entangled.”

“Really?” Fionna raises an eyebrow. “Entangled?”

A clarification is in order here. “I'm not sure that's really the best word. Charlene and I have been working together for a long time. It's natural that we would have a close interpersonal relationship.”

“A close interpersonal relationship.” Xavier nods. “That's a good way to put it.”

“Yes,” Fionna agrees. “That sounds accurate.”

Charlene is watching me expectantly.

After a fumbling silence I say, “Um . . . let's figure out the right terms to use later.” I indicate to Fionna. “So? Anything?”

She holds up Tanbyrn's iPad. “Well, I wish I had some good news, but so far I haven't been able to find anything more specific about Project Alpha on this thing. If there was some secret data floating around out there somewhere, it must have been on another computer.”

“The one Banner was checking just before he attacked us in the chamber?” Charlene muses.

“Possibly. And it looks like Tanbyrn had some doubts about the future of the program. Funding. President Hoult apparently wants to nix it. Oh, and Lonnie isn't bad at math, so I left the sheets from Tanbyrn's folder for him to look over, see if he can decipher them.” Most seventeen-year-old guys wouldn't exactly be excited about deciphering a Nobel laureate's scientific quantum mechanics equations, but Lonnie was not your typical teenage guy. “What about you, Jev? Dig up anything?”

“Tanbyrn touched on studies about both prayers and curses. It seems there's more than just anecdotal evidence supporting the effectiveness
of both of them—the one to heal, the other to harm. A . . . well . . . close interpersonal relationship seems to be vital to both.”

We all take a minute to process what everyone has said.

I draw things to a close: “I think the first order of business is setting up that meeting with Arlington.”

Fionna types on the iPad, then announces that he'll be out of the office this morning. She consults the screen. “According to his personal calendar, he'll be back at noon. He has a meeting in DC this morning.” She sounds disappointed, and for good reason. We'd all been hoping that by announcing that she'd hacked into his personal laptop, she could get us an audience with him this morning.

“What about the people from RixoTray's cybersecurity department?” I suggest. “Certainly there'll be someone there interested in speaking with you before you report your findings to the company's CEO?”

“That makes sense. But that doesn't help you get to Arlington. And what exactly would you want me to find out from them?”

“When we first watched the video of the suicide bombers yesterday, it was after office hours here in Philly. See if you can get a look at the footage of the surveillance cameras in the lobby or, ideally, the reception area in Arlington's office suite. Find out if anyone else entered. It'd be helpful to know if Arlington watched the video alone or had company with him.”

“Nice.” Xavier holds his fist out toward me until I bump it with my own, then he offers to go with Fionna. “It might be good to have two of us there to deal with anything that might come up.”

“What might come up?” she asks.

“Stuff.” He looks around awkwardly. “You know. That might need handling.”

“Handling.”

“Hey, you never know what you might run into.”

“Well . . . I suppose I could use a minion.”

“Let's go with ‘assistant.'”

“I can work with that.”

I collect some of my notes. “Good, and Charlene and I can try to set up a meeting with Dr. Colette. Fionna, see if you can find out where she'll be.”

It takes a few minutes, but finally she finds what she's looking for. “According to her calendar, Dr. Colette will be at RixoTray's R&D facility up near Bridgeport this morning. I'm guessing it's about half an hour drive from here.”

It strikes me that somewhere along the line I forgot to get us all cars. It's less than a mile to RixoTray's headquarters, but I figure Fionna and Xavier should at least have a car at their disposal. I make a quick call, get two executive cars and drivers for the day, and we get back to business.

“But how'll we get through security?” There's skepticism in Charlene's voice. “Surely they won't let us just walk into their R&D facility, not without an appointment.”

I find myself palming my 1895 Morgan Dollar, finger-flipping it. “True. Security is sure to be hypertight.”

“Go in as custodians?” Fionna suggests. “Or service workers?”

Xavier shakes his head. “Not enough time to put something like that into play. Besides, those people would almost certainly be vetted. Possibly even fingerprint ID'd.”

“New employees?” Charlene suggests. “We just got a job? We show up for the first day of work?”

“Too easy to check.”

“How about we're there for a business meeting? Or what about the truth: we're working on a documentary and have some questions we need to talk with Dr. Colette about concerning her research?”

That's actually a tempting thought, but I doubt it would work. “It'd be too easy for them to just deny us access; we need something they can't say no to.”

Fionna has been typing and now sighs. “There are three security checkpoints to go through. And Xavier's right. They have fingerprint identification at the front gate.”

“Okay . . .” Xavier is thinking aloud. “So we need a way of getting two people who've never been there before, who the guards aren't expecting and won't be able to verify the identity of, into an ultra-high-level security pharmaceutical R&D complex in a way that won't arouse suspicion.”

And that's when it hits me. Misdirection. The thing I do best. “Well put, Xav. And I think I know just how we can pull it off.”

They all eye me curiously.

“Government inspectors from the Food and Drug Administration following up on a complaint about the treatment of human subjects in their telomerase research.”

Everyone mulls that over for a moment.

Xavier gives a slow nod. “Government agencies are always reshuffling staff, renaming divisions, reworking their logos. Bureaucracy at its best. Shouldn't be that hard to fake the paperwork, and it would make sense that they wouldn't know you. But what if they decide to follow up? Call the FDA?”

“We'll put your phone number on our cards.”

“We'd need IDs.” Charlene taps her chin thoughtfully. “Official ones.”

“There's a FedEx Office store down the street. I saw it when I was getting the coffee. It's amazing what you can pull off with a color printer, some card stock, and a laminator.”

Oh yeah. I was liking this. I could get used to being a freelancer.

“Fionna, we'll need official-looking documents. Can you come up with those in an hour?”

She screws up her face. “No. Not ones that could fool the guards. But . . . maybe my kids can help me—do a little research on FDA complaint procedures. Extra credit.” After a moment of reflection, she nods. “I'd say we should be able to come up with something.”

“I'll give you a hand,” Charlene offers.

“Great.” I stand. “I'll help Xavier with the IDs and business cards. Charlene, you and Fionna tackle the paperwork; there's a business center on the second floor. You can print what you need down there, or join us at the FedEx Office.”

We use my phone to take Charlene's and my pictures for the IDs, then the two women head out to convene with the kids and Xavier grabs his computer. “Come on,” he tells me. “Let's go do something illegal.”

Dr. Cyrus Arlington landed in DC.

Strode off the helicopter pad.

There was already a car there waiting to take him to the White House.

Mambo Atabei carried the goat's headless carcass into the alley behind her home and tipped it into the dumpster.

She'd been ridden by her Loa for more than six hours last night, so long that the other members of her peristyle who were involved in the ceremony had begun to worry about her.

But she was thankful. Being possessed for long stretches of time was the most rewarding part of what she did, the reason she'd gotten into all of this in the first place.

Some people claimed that Loa possession was a hallucination brought about by cultural expectations, wishful thinking, and a little too much rum. That was an easy way to explain away what happens. Let them think what they wanted.

After turning from the dumpster, she brushed some of the goat's hair off her shirt. The blood was still there. That wasn't going to come out nearly as easily.

Then she went to check the news to see how everything had panned out concerning the doctor in Oregon.

Darren took a deep breath, said to his brother, “Ready?”

“Ready. Lancerton, Maine, huh?”

“Let's see how well this works.”

Then the twins closed their eyes, relaxed, and focused their thoughts on the same thing. Just as they'd been training for so long to do.