Journey Into the Flame (14 page)

Logan helped Mr. Perrot move a table out of the way and roll up the carpet, so that he could position himself directly beneath the star. “So this is E2, the starting position of the first pawn in the King’s Gambit. First we move to E4.” Mr. Perrot moved forward two tiles, emulating the chess move. “My opponent then moves his pawn to E5, directly in front of me.” He signaled to Logan to take that position. “Next, I move another pawn from F2 to F4.” Mr. Perrot slid over one tile and dropped his hat on his previous position. And so now you have to make a choice,” he explained, looking at Logan. “You can either take the gambit or not.”

“The letter says, ‘They must accept it,’ ” Logan recalled. “So that means I take your pawn.” Logan joined Mr. Perrot on the black tile.

“I think we may have solved it,” Mr. Perrot said calmly.

“Well done, sir.”

“Let us see if we find what we are supposed to find before we congratulate ourselves.” Mr. Perrot picked up his hat and looked around the room. “What are we going to use to pry up this tile?”

“I have something.” Logan put his backpack on the floor and took out a small beveled-edge chisel. “This will do the trick.”

“Do you always carry your restoration tools with you?” Mr. Perrot asked in an amused tone. “Or is that a magical bag?”

Logan grinned and started to pry up one of the corners of the tile. To their surprise, it moved rather easily. “Here, help me lift it.”

“I believe we have found what we are looking for,” said Mr. Perrot, as he looked down at the ground. In a hole dug under the tile was a tin container about the length of a shoebox.

“We found the treasure!” Logan exclaimed, only half-jokingly, as he pulled out the container.

Suddenly, Mr. Perrot put his index finger to his lips, indicating that they should be quiet. They heard the sound of footsteps outside the interior basement door, then the murmur of voices. “Quickly, Logan!” Mr. Perrot whispered. “Hide the box!” Logan immediately stuffed it into his backpack. Then he brushed the loose grout and mortar back into the hole and put the black tile back into place. Mr. Perrot helped move the carpet and the table back over it.

They stood up just as the door to the storage room opened. Two uniformed police officers entered and appeared as surprised to see Logan and Mr. Perrot as Logan and Mr. Perrot were surprised to see them.

“Arms up!” a policeman yelled as he drew his weapon. His partner readied his gun, too.

Mr. Perrot and Logan followed the officer’s command.

“What are you two doing, and how in hell did you get down here?” the policeman demanded.

“We seem to have lost our way and ended up in this dreadful basement,” Mr. Perrot replied naturally, playing the old eccentric card. Logan might have smiled if he weren’t so stunned.

The second officer frowned, then put away his weapon and proceeded to confiscate Logan’s backpack and PCD.

“I can show you a much more dreadful place,” he said with a sneer
as he snapped handcuffs on Logan and Mr. Perrot. The two officers led them forcefully from the storage room and up a set of stairs to the first floor. There they were met by a woman wearing a well-tailored pantsuit and a badge, whom Logan thought for a fleeting moment he recognized. The woman glared at Logan and Mr. Perrot as the officers explained where they had been apprehended. “Lock them in that room over there until I’m ready to deal with them,” she ordered. The policeman handed her Logan’s backpack.

13

Understand your enemy, and it will set you free. For when you see yourself in him, you will break free from your own judgments and self-inquisitions.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

G-LAB, 6:15 P.M. LOCAL TIME,

5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

The walls were coated with reflective white paint, and the lacquered floors reflected the bright light of the overhead lamps. He had no idea where he was or how long he had been there. He only knew that he was being kept in this strange place against his will. Blood dripped from the tips of his fingers. The crimson handprints on the walls tracked his progress as he had tried frantically to find his way out of the maze.

Each long hallway resembled the previous one he’d run through. Each locked door he came to was identical to the one he’d just passed. Occasionally, he came across a door that was open a few inches. But no matter how hard he pushed or tried to pry open the door, lacerating his hands on the door’s sharp edges, it wouldn’t budge. Wearing the tattered remains of his dark blue business suit, he scurried around barefoot—they’d taken his shoes—like a trapped rat. His frustration mounted every time he entered what he thought was a new hallway, only to be taunted by the sight of his own blood smeared on the white walls.
From time to time, the lights would go out, and he would find himself in complete darkness, having only his sense of touch to guide him.

Exhausted now, he fell to the floor, his confused mind racing, trying to rationalize his plight.
Who would do this to me? What is this madness about?
His thoughts turned to his family, his wife and children. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bloodstained picture of them.
I can’t give up. I have to keep going.
He mustered his remaining willpower and rose to his feet. He had to continue to search for a way out, even if it meant the death of him.

•  •  •

“Andrea, I’d like to tell you a little about our subjects before we conduct our final tests,” Dr. Malikei said in his German-accented baritone voice. “Kindly join me, if you will.”

Andrea stopped reading a message on her PCD and walked over to where the doctor was sitting.

“Our nine participants, like their predecessors, have joined us from various walks of life.”

“I am not sure that ‘participants’ and ‘joined’ are the proper terms,” Andrea said, as they gave each other a baleful smile.

“They were selected most methodically,” the doctor continued. “We considered their careers, their lifestyles. We studied them from afar for many months before bringing them here. When they arrived, we told them that they had been selected for a social experiment. We assured them that they had no cause to worry, as the experiment was a joint project of the government and the local university concerning SIS, sudden isolation syndrome.”

“SIS? Is that a real behavioral syndrome?”

“Of course not. But we described it as a type of depression that manifests when an individual is removed from his usual environment and placed in a new one where he has limited social contact. We even let them meet others in the test group so that they could see that other people were participating in the experiment. We assured them that their
being brought here so abruptly was part of the exercise and that they would be well compensated for their trouble.”

“The promise of monetary gain can be quite persuasive and reassuring,” Andrea said.

The doctor pointed to a wall of monitors displaying the various experimentation rooms in the secret genetic research laboratory referred to as G-LAB. “We have a teacher, a housewife, a MedicalPod technician,” Dr. Malikei explained, half distracted as he fiddled with the controls.

“Doctor,” Andrea said, bringing his attention to the monitors, “I thought you said there were nine test subjects?”

“You are correct. We seem to have lost subject number six, our businessman.” The doctor pressed a few buttons, and they both watched as the monitor began to switch between video feeds. “It looks like he left some time ago.”

“Shouldn’t you be a bit more concerned about finding him?” Andrea said sharply.

“He cannot go far—they never can.” The doctor continued to manipulate the controls. “Ah, there he is. He is trapped in the Hall of Mazes. Now, why would he leave his room?”

“You seem surprised,” Andrea said. “And do I detect a note of disappointment in your voice?”

“No, no. It is only that I seem to have lost a small wager. I was certain that subject number five would be the one attempting to escape.” He pointed to a monitor that showed a young man writing in a notebook. “Let us make the most of this opportunity,” the doctor said. “Like all of our other subjects, the businessman has been injected with the serum. But before I conduct the test, I would like you to observe a little trial. It will illustrate an intriguing point that is the basis of our efforts.”

Andrea watched in silence as Dr. Malikei turned on the lights in the Hall of Mazes.

“See there! The businessman hastens to one of the partially opened
doors, trying to escape. But alas, he cannot. I have not opened it adequately. He wants liberation; he wants desperately to leave his confinement and return to the life he once knew. In each of our prior test groups, there was always one subject who didn’t trust the explanation we provided, who didn’t believe anything we told him. We had one group in which there were two such subjects.” The doctor and Andrea watched as the businessman used every ounce of his strength to try to force the door open. The bloody tips of his fingers were repeatedly cut by the door’s sharp edges. “I will frustrate him further—watch as I close the door now.”

“I would certainly hate to be the subject of one of your experiments, Doctor,” Andrea observed, as Dr. Malikei pressed another button, dimming the lights in the maze. “You seem to take great pleasure from them.”

“All in the name of science,” he said with a laugh. “What is most noteworthy here is the inaction of the other subjects,” he added, redirecting Andrea’s attention back to the bank of monitors. “The other subjects can leave their rooms at any time. Like the businessman, they can walk out their doors and into their own areas of the maze and search for a way out. But they do not. They are satisfied with what we have told them, and as long as we provide them with food and drink and keep them focused on some type of busy work such as crossword puzzles or routine math problems, they are content. But no matter how hard we tried to reassure our businessman, he could not be convinced. He displays the characteristics that we want to purge from this world. He is a Satrayian through and through.” The doctor received a message on his PCD. “Excuse me for a moment, Andrea. I shall return promptly.”

As the doctor walked away, Andrea’s eyes strayed back to the monitor that showed the man in the labyrinth, the Satrayian who was attempting to break out of the box he’d been confined to. She couldn’t help but relate to him, his determination, his desire to break free.

She thought about her time on the Council of Satraya, which now
seemed like a faded memory. It was filled with many unforeseen twists and turns. What plans she had then, for freedom, for power. But destiny, it seemed, had laughed in her face. She had fallen in love with a man, not with what a man’s money could buy for her. She found herself forced to choose between a simpler, altruistic life and the life of glamour, wealth, and recognition that she’d once known and still craved. She had also made a mistake she wanted never to think about again.

She had returned to Switzerland without accomplishing Fendral’s goals, and a few years later, her life had taken another unexpected turn: she’d become pregnant and given birth to Lucius. Her husband, Lord Alfred Benson, was an absentee father, and Andrea had been left to raise Lucius, a sickly child, alone. Her plans to rebuild her political movement had to be put on hold.

At least, until Fendral—and after his death, Simon—put into place another plan.

Andrea couldn’t take her eyes off the businessman as he scurried through the maze, pounding his fists against the walls, searching for a way out. “I understand him,” she whispered.

“What was that?” The doctor had returned, carrying two long thin boxes. Andrea shook her head, indicating that it was unimportant. “I apologize for that interruption, but I have some good news for you: we have found a way to enhance your neurotrophin-3 levels, specifically by enhancing the NTF-3 gene.”

“Please speak English, Doctor,” Andrea said. “What does that mean for Lucius and me?”

“Of course.” He nodded. “We have found a cure for your nerve disorder. Relief will come shortly. We were able to use our work here to create something that will clear the abnormalities in your cellular biology. And your son’s.”

“A designer drug.” Andrea smiled with relief. This was what she’d long been hoping for.

“Yes, something very much like that.” Dr. Malikei handed Andrea the boxes. “Take these, please. They contain syringes. One is for you,
and the other is for Lucius. Inject yourselves, and after seven days, return here, and we will perform the final step.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Andrea gave him a kiss on the cheek. “May we return sooner for the final treatment?”

“No,” he said emphatically. “We must allow sufficient time; otherwise, the consequences would be dire, to say the least.”

“Then seven days it is.” Andrea put the boxes in her bag. “Now, what were you saying before we were interrupted?”

“Ah, yes, let us continue.” He brought up a display that presented a plethora of readings, from heart rate to blood pressure to tactual sensory measurements. “We have implanted a biofeedback chip in each test subject so we can track brain activity and body chemistry as they perform specific tasks. We are particularly interested in people like the businessman. We need to better understand the nature of his neuroactivities.”

“Yes,” Andrea said. “ ‘Understand your enemy, and it will set you free.’ ”

The doctor turned to her. “I see that you haven’t completely forgotten the
Chronicles,
” he said with a smile. “We need to isolate the chemical and neurological nature of free will so that our purge performs as engineered.”

“But doesn’t everyone have free will?” Andrea remarked. “People make choices every day. Surely free will alone cannot be our selection criterion for the Purging.”

“You are correct, but there is a subtle distinction that needs to be understood,” the doctor explained, a mischievous smile sliding across his face. “It is true that most people are capable of exercising free will. They are free to choose what they will eat and what they will wear. They are able to choose their profession or where they wish to work. But here is the distinction: most of them make those decisions from a domain of choices. If we say to people, ‘Choose one of these four pairs of shoes,’ most will do so without issue. Most will analyze their options and pick the pair they like best, even if none of the pairs is actually appealing to
them. But there are those who will not pick one. They will desire another option and will walk around barefoot if need be. Some will even endeavor to make their own shoes. We call them Freedom Seekers. They are the true enemy of order. And
they
are our target. We just have a few more tests to run before we conduct one outside the facility.”