The Soul of the Matter (30 page)

Even though Sam knew it was pointless, and wanted to control himself and maintain dignity, fear overcame him, and he yelled out for help. Instantly, he felt painful electric shocks on his arms and neck where electrodes had been attached. These only accentuated his pain and fear. He regained control and went silent. Whatever sound had escaped his mouth was barely audible within the room and certainly was not heard outside it. The sound-damping apparatus was too effective.

Sergei smiled thinly and said, “Allow me to put these on you so you can participate fully in our conversation.” He put headphones on Sam, and then added, “Go ahead. Say something softly. You won't be shocked.”

Struggling for thoughts, Sam heard himself via the headphones clearly say, “I don't believe that Stephen would have knowingly worked with people like you and your associates.”

“That is an astute observation, though I am offended by the inference about my character,” Sam heard a voice say. Sam recognized the voice, though its source was not in the room. “Stephen, for his own selfish reasons, made certain arrangements with us, perhaps naïve on his part, that he decided not to honor. You benefited from Stephen's arrangements, and now, by extension, must honor what he did not. My associates in the room with you will see to that. I offer you one last chance to influence the conditions under which that occurs and how you might endeavor to work with us enthusiastically, as part of a team that will transform itself and reshape the world. Your only choice is to decide what side of human history you want to be on. You cannot stop the inevitable. Now, describe in complete detail your knowledge of Stephen's work, leaving nothing out this time.”

Sam's mouth went dry and he couldn't swallow.

Showing his first real emotion, a hint of pleasure, Sergei picked up a hot soldering iron and metal clamps.

Immediately, Sam drove the heel of his foot into the floor. Sergei heard the crunch of breaking plastic. He ripped off Sam's shoe, tore off the heel, and then tossed the broken components of the thumb drive onto the table.

In a barely controlled rage he said, “You will help us obtain what you just sought to withhold, and suffer doing it!”

Elena held up the medical kit she had found in Trish's luggage. She opened it with her gloved hand, withdrew a scalpel, and gave it to Sergei.

•  •  •

Twenty minutes later, Sam's battered, burned, and cut body slumped in the chair, held up only by the straps used to restrain him. Resolve almost gone, he had somehow managed to withhold the most signifi
cant information from his torturers. His headphones had gone silent as a disembodied voice now conferred with Sergei.

Sound back on, Sam heard the remote voice say, “No reason to hold anything back at this point.”

Sergei set up a monitor on the computer. It was a webcam from the interior of a car parked outside Sam's brother's house.

Sergei picked up a syringe and two bottles. He drew fluid into the syringe and held it in front of Sam. “This first injection will revive and stimulate your physical condition and heighten your sensitivity to the pain you are already feeling. The second is a drug that will act as a truth serum. If they somehow prove ineffective, you can watch as one of your nephews suffers an unfortunate, prolonged, painful ‘accident.' After that, you will have a short time before my associates enter your brother's home. Then you will see what happens from there. Is there anything you have to say to dissuade me?”

Sam heard the remote voice say, “Something worth fighting so hard to withhold must not be left to those not suited to using it. You've seen the failures of the world's governments and religions. Do you wish to hand over to them knowledge as powerful as you possess? Look at me and see who I am.” A face appeared on the computer screen, one that Sam recognized and now feared. It continued to say, “You know that I am the right person to be entrusted with this knowledge, this power. I only use these means when important interests are at stake. And you must know that if I've revealed myself like this to you, your choices are gone. Now make the right decision for humanity, your family, and yourself. If Stephen hadn't foolishly tried to escape, he would have made the right decision eventually, without what you are going through. In the end, I will guide humanity to a new future.”

With the effects of the drugs kicking in, Sam's pain increased, his heart raced, and the surprising mental strength he had found weakened. Something within him, not quite a prayer, called out to something outside of him. In response, he felt his chest tighten up, pain shoot through his right arm, and his peripheral vision narrow. He let out a big gasp and everything went black. His limp body sagged against the restraints.

Sergei cursed and checked Sam's pulse, then punched repeatedly on Sam's chest without response. He said to the remote voice, “He's dead.”

“I pay you to succeed. This is twice you've failed,” the voice roared.

“Something gave him unexpected resolve to resist but could not help his weak heart. You saw it. There was nothing to be done,” Sergei said with a barely concealed hint of resentment.

“We can talk about your methods later. Leave the body and get out of there.”

“I want Lawson. He'll tell us everything rather than watch his doctor friend face us,” Sergei said with enthusiasm.

“No. He doesn't have what we need yet. If we act now, we'll blow our only shot with him. And try to remember that this is business, not personal. Sometimes you seem to enjoy your work too much.”

“If it was personal, he'd be dead already.”

“Search the room again before you go. Make it look like Lawson was involved,” the remote voice ordered.

As Willy packed up and Elena resumed searching the room, Peter burst through the door and said, “They are on their way.” Then he saw Sam's body, and a look of disgust crossed his face.

To Peter, Sergei said, “It was necessary.” To everyone, he said, “Grab the equipment and get out of here, now!”

As they left, Sergei was concerned about Peter's reactions. How much longer could he trust him?

On her way out, Elena jabbed the scalpel into Sam's unfeeling right hand.

Back in their cars, they pulled out unobserved as Dan and Trish walked toward their motel room. Sergei called 911 and said, “A man and woman with a gun forced another man into room 211. You need to get someone over to the Ballpark Motel right away.”

Chapter 59

F
or the first time since Stephen's death, Dan felt real optimism. He was on the verge of accessing all of Stephen's work, and with it, a cure for Ava appeared within reach. There was increasing reason to believe that life might have meaning. And in ways he didn't yet understand, he felt that the mysteries he perceived in Trish could help him become the person he now wanted to become, and perhaps more. There was a deep serenity in her that he was drawn to.

Still, he was cautious both in his hopes and security. Walking up the steps toward their room on the motel's second floor, he looked around constantly.

When he reached the room, he knocked, expecting Sam to be waiting inside. There was no response. Apprehensive, he knocked again. Optimism now replaced by concern, he waved Trish away, squatted down, put the plastic magnetic key in the lock, and opened the door partway. A wedge of light illuminated a portion of the room. Before he could make out everything inside, Trish pushed past him and rushed over to Sam. His body was motionless, slumped forward against the straps that bound him to the chair.

After closing the door, Dan threw open the curtains so he could see anyone approaching, then looked swiftly around the room while Trish examined Sam. She had her hand on Sam's wrist and her head against his chest. Dan picked up phone by the bed and called 911, only to be told by the operator that ambulances and police were already on their way. As he hung up, he realized that this meant whoever had done this to Sam had called 911, perhaps with the intent of making him and Trish the targets of suspicion.

Meanwhile, Trish saw her small doctor's kit open next to Sam and her scalpel stuck in his hand. Before Dan could caution her not to touch anything that could incriminate them, she withdraw the scalpel and used it to cut Sam's bonds. Dan grabbed Sam's body and gently lowered it to the floor. There were bruise marks on Sam's face and neck. His hands looked like they had been caught in a meat grinder. There were burn marks on his arms. Blood ran down one corner of his mouth. Whatever he had known, and probably the thumb drive as well, was undoubtedly in the hands of the people who had done this to him.

Distraught, Dan wanted to lash out in anger and frustration.

Opening Sam's shirt, empathy for Sam drawing pain on her own face, Trish put her stethoscope on Sam's carotid artery and with surprise said, “He's alive, but barely.”

She grabbed the Epi-pen from her kit and gave him a shot of adrenaline. Then she placed an asthma inhaler in his mouth and gave it a short burst. A faint rasp of air escaped his lips. His face was drawn tight and racked with pain. His eyes fluttered and he tried to speak. Trish put the stethoscope to his throat, listened, and repeated what she'd heard:
I didn't crack. Stephen was right.
You must finish his work.

Dan bent over to Sam's ear and said, “Where's the thumb drive, and what's your code? I need to access Stephen's files.”

Dan followed Sam's eyes to the broken fragments of the thumb drive that were left behind. Most, but not all, of the main circuit board was gone. Dan was frustrated and relieved that it was useless.

Struggling to form words, Sam mouthed something that Trish somehow picked up:
Remember, everything has a shape. Symbols have meaning. There is another . . . find them . . .

Sam's right hand tried tracing something in the rug as he mouthed
code
. His bloody finger only left a smudge.

Dan asked, “What symbol? What meaning?”

With the sounds of sirens quickly approaching, Sam's eyes looked skyward, and he moved his mouth for the last time. Placing her left hand on his forehead, her right hand on his heart Trish whispered something into his ear. Sam's face relaxed. With a barely visible smile
on his lips, he closed his eyes for the last time. His body lost all animation.

“He's at peace now,” Trish said.

“What did you say to him?”

“Those are just words, of no consequence now, that I say only to my dying patients. Don't ask me why I do that. They don't mean much,” she replied.

“You won't tell me?”

“You're not dying,” Trish said.

“This is going to be hard to explain to the police.”

“It's not going to help that whoever did this used my surgical knife.”

“Keep the story simple. We're here to find a treatment for Ava. A deranged man practically assaulted us in the underground city. We must have dropped the motel room key and he used it to come here. We don't know what happened, but he clearly had unsavory associates who wanted something from him. Answer everything else exactly as it happened,” Dan directed.

“They're going to press for a lot more than that. What about calling Agent Evans?”

“Already dialing,” Dan said, raising the cell phone to his ear as the paramedics and police entered the room.

Chapter 60

T
he motel lobby had been transformed into a temporary investigation headquarters. Trish and Dan sat next to each other on the lobby couch, cups of coffee in front of them on the low, worn, fake-wood table. Sitting across from them were Police Chief Wilson and his lead investigator. Several other police officers stood around, while others walked in and out, stopping occasionally to talk to one another.

The chief was not happy. A man had been viciously tortured. Was it the work of a serial sadist who would continue to perpetrate his sick crimes? A targeted crime with a specific purpose? How were the two people in front of him involved? Chief Wilson didn't like the looks of the guy Lawson.

•  •  •

Dan's answers did not satisfy the chief. Another round of questioning was beginning.

“You're telling me that a complete stranger accosted you on a tour of the underground city, wound up in your motel room, where he was tortured, and that you arrived just as he was dying, and that he didn't tell you anything about who did it to him or why? I didn't get to my position by believing in extraordinary coincidences.”

Dan looked the chief straight in the eyes. “I wish for both our sakes that I had more information. What happened in our room is extremely disturbing. Have you considered that we might have been the intended targets and perhaps the dead guy might have just stumbled in after taking off with our motel key?”

“You know, I was wondering about that. Why do you think someone would target you?”

As the chief said this, a detective walked up and spoke privately with him.

In a serious tone, the chief said to Dan, “We have an ID on the victim. His name is Samuel Abrams.”

Reading from a document on the tablet he held, the chief continued, “A former employer of his was the Human Betterment Corporation in Massachusetts. About a week ago, their director, a Stephen Bishop, also died under suspicious circumstances. Abrams recently worked at a place called The Broad Institute. He dropped out of sight about a month ago. You sure you don't know any of this that you
might have
temporarily forgotten
?”

“No Chief Wilson. I would have told you if I did,” Dan insisted, but not too strongly, lest he be viewed as protesting too much.

“The report also says you were long time friends with Bishop. I'm having a hard time believing that you didn't know Abrams. You're going to have to come down to the station where we'll take as long as we need to jog your memory.”

Just then, the chief's phone rang. He answered it and mostly listened, occasionally speaking. The expressions on his face ran from exasperation to indignation to resignation.

“Yes, I'm questioning them right now.”

“No evidence yet.”

“They appear to have alibis.”

“I still have questions.”

“It's what?”

“I don't like it but we'll arrange for it immediately.”

Hanging up, the chief said to Dan and Trish, “It seems like your freedom, and well-being, are a matter of national security. I've been told to arrange for your lodgings tonight, provide security, and then see you safely placed on the first flight back to Boston tomorrow. An Agent Evans has bigger plans for you.”