Mind's Eye (33 page)

“It’s an Italian vintage,” explained Vasily to the girl. “Piedmont, to be precise. From the winery of Angelo Gaja.” He smiled. “You will love this,” he added. “Guaranteed.”

“I love
everything
you give me, Vasily,” she said with a sly smile.

They had each finished half a glass when their salad course arrived, and Jasmine told Vasily that it was the best wine she’d ever had. The one problem with call girls, he knew, was that they tended to tell you what you wanted to hear. So even if she thought it tasted like piss—which she probably had actually tasted, come to think of it, while entertaining men who were into that sort of thing—she would tell him just what she had. But in this case, he tended to believe it was true. The Gaja Barbaresco was just
that
good.

Vasily’s phone vibrated in the middle of a mouthful of his lamb salad, which contained wilted spinach, warm pommery mustard vinaigrette dressing, feta cheese, and pine nuts. He frowned. He was old school about answering his phone during dinner. He wanted to soak in the taste and texture of the meal, its presentation, and the God-created, immaculate sculpture sitting across from him. Still, he glanced down to see who was calling.

His frown deepened. It was John Delamater, his principle benefactor, and the only person he would allow to interrupt the ambiance he had created for himself. Vasily hadn’t heard from Delamater since the man had changed plans and called Vasily off the hunt for Nick Hall.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Vasily said to his companion, “but I need to take this.”

Jasmine smiled serenely. “Of course,” she said.

He turned away from her and answered. “Yes?”

“Vasily. Sorry to disturb you. But I wanted to thank you for your two years of service. You have been quite competent and dependable, and I have appreciated that.”

Vasily’s heart constricted. Delamater was ruthless and wasn’t the type to call with a random thank you. It sounded as though he was being fired. But Delamater wasn’t the type to
fire
people, either. His personnel changes were far more. . . permanent.

Vasily lowered the phone and took a quick survey of the room, but didn’t see anything suspicious. On the other hand, his quick survey had taken a few seconds longer than it should have.

He looked across at Jasmine, whose eyes were becoming droopy, and he knew: Delamater had managed to slip something into the wine. He was always on guard when visiting with Delamater, knowing this day would come, but the chess grandmaster had easily bested him, not caring in the least that Vasily’s call girl companion would inevitably become collateral damage.

Vasily cursed himself. He had become predictable. His tastes in women, restaurants, and wine too easy to exploit. And now he would pay for this with his life.

“I planned a fail-safe if you tried to kill me, John. Photos and video of you that will be released to authorities upon my death. Believe it. So there had better be an antidote,” he threatened as lethargy began seeping into his bones. “Or your precious identity is blown.”

“Yes, Vasily, I’ve known about your fail-safe for some time now. But rest easy. It’s been thoroughly disarmed. Nothing will be released.”

His calm tone made Vasily certain he was telling the truth. Which meant Vasily had miscalculated twice. He had always believed Delamater would end his employment face-to-face. That he was so psychopathic he would want to kill Vasily with his own hand, savoring the moment when the Russian was facing a gun, knowing he had only seconds to live. That was when Vasily planned to reveal his insurance policy. His ability to expose an identity Delamater held so dear. But Delamater had easily outmaneuvered him.

A feeling of total contentment settled over Vasily as he continued to drift into a stupor. It was a measure of the regard Delamater held him in, he knew, to have chosen a drug that would lead him to his death gently rather than in agony, as many other choices could have done.

“Why?” asked Vasily.

“It was necessary,” replied Delamater. “I only wish this weren’t the case.”

Jasmine had already fallen forward onto her half-eaten Hearts of Romaine salad and several waiters were rushing over to check on her condition. Vasily ignored them. “I’ll be waiting for you in hell, you
bastard
,” he said. “And I’ll take my revenge across all eternity.” He had tried to put some venom into this with the last of his energy, but the words came out soft and dreamy.

“Very poetic,” said Delamater. “But I’m afraid I’m destined for the other place.”

Vasily tried to respond, but his tongue was now too thick, and he collapsed onto the table as had Jasmine before him, unable to hear the gasps and confusion erupting in his favorite restaurant.

39

Alex Altschuler entered the suite with a sack full of cardboard boxes filled with steaming cuisine.

They spread the boxes on the small kitchen table, stuck spoons in each, and passed around the heavy beige plates they found in a cabinet. Soon they each had a pile of rice covered with multiple chicken and beef dishes. Hall allowed Altschuler to finish half of his plate before he decided not to delay getting to the point any longer.

While Altschuler continued to eat, Hall told him he wanted to reveal something important, and swore him to absolute secrecy. He would be able to tell no one, including Fyfe or Cowan.
No one
. If Altschuler thought that might be a problem, he needed to tell them now.

The bespectacled scientist was perplexed and a bit wary, but he said he would keep it a secret. Hall read from his mind he was absolutely sincere in this, as he had expected.

While Altschuler and Megan finished their meals, Hall explained how he had come to realize he could read minds, and provided additional background information. Altschuler was skeptical and taken aback, as anyone would be, but not after Hall provided an unimpeachable demonstration of the effect.

“Holy shit!” said Altschuler after the demonstration. “Holy mother of God. I wouldn’t have been this shocked if aliens had flown out of your ass.” But as he thought about it a moment longer, he decided it wasn’t as impossible as it had first seemed. After all, hadn’t Gray managed, with Altschuler’s unknowing help, to get Hall’s
implants
to pick up his thoughts? Wasn’t this a form of mind reading? And as part of their functioning, the implants needed to amplify electrical impulses coming from parts of Hall’s brain. Could this amplification have been responsible? 

“Let me explain why I told you about this,” said Hall. “Mind reading turns out to be a curse.”

“Really? It seems like it would be awesome,” said Altschuler with the enthusiasm of a geek being told the next installment of his favorite comic book had arrived.

“That’s only because you haven’t spent even a second thinking about it,” said Hall. “When you do, you’re going to be very uncomfortable being anywhere near me. Although,” he hastened to point out, “I promise not to root around your mind for anything embarrassing. Or anything that would expose any vulnerabilities.”

Altschuler swallowed hard. Holy Hell! Hall was
right
. His head was packed with thoughts and memories of which he wasn’t particularly proud. He thought about some of the pornography that appealed to him and shuddered. And there was far more. Ugly thoughts. Ugly deeds. Thoughts and actions he had regretted. Insecurities in areas he would never want exposed.

A sick expression came over his face. “Can you turn it off?” he asked

“No. But I can turn it down. And I can choose what thoughts I focus on, and whose mind I mine for information. I’m trying to stay out of your thoughts,” Hall tried to reassure him once again, “but there isn’t a human alive who won’t grasp the horror of having their every secret and private thought violated.”

Hall raised his eyebrows. “But maybe you think it’s only horrific to have
your
mind read. Maybe you think being on the other side of the equation, being the one
doing
the reading, would be great fun. If so, think again. First, the chatter never ends. Second, people tend to be judgmental and unkind. Even people who like you. Even women I pass who think I’m reasonably attractive are often critical about some aspect of my appearance.”

Altschuler grimaced. Hall was far closer to the standard of male handsomeness than he was. He wondered how many people he passed in malls thought the word
geek
, or
loser
, or
ugly
as he walked by. He was already self-conscious. What would a week with ESP do to him? He’d probably never leave his house again. Would he then decide to lash out at society?

The computer scientist’s mouth fell open as he had a sudden realization. Then his jaw tightened and he glared at Hall. “You’ve promised not to invade my mind.
Now
. But you already have, haven’t you?”

Hall remained silent, but his guilty expression said it all.

“So
that’s
what the visit to the grocery store was about. While I was hovering over a bunch of egg cartons you were roto-rooting my brain. That’s when you decided you could trust me. Because you
knew
you could trust me.”

“That’s right,” said Hall softly. “And why I know I can trust you now. You’re a good man. With far more integrity than most.”

Altschuler was glad to learn of Hall’s high opinion of his integrity, but he still felt violated. And Hall was right, he did want to get away from him as quickly as he could. It was a visceral reaction that was very strong, and standing his ground took some real will power. He wondered how Megan Emerson had managed it for so long. Not only managed to stay in the same room with Hall, but, he had no doubt, to get far closer even than this.

Hall went on to describe the six-to-ten-mile range of his ability, how certain thoughts could pierce through the noise, due to their intrinsic nature or to the cocktail party effect, and how he could choose to focus on the thoughts of single individuals and separate them out.

Hall and Megan then made many of the points they had discussed with each other over lunch. Points about society and the catastrophic nature of ESP if unleashed.

But Altschuler needed no convincing. His mind was so agile, he was often way ahead of them.

“So why confide in me about this?” he said when they had finished.

Hall sighed. “I need your help.”

“To turn off your ESP?” guessed Altschuler.

“Yes,” said Hall. “But also for something even more urgent. What if my ESP is a side effect of the implant technology?”

“This has occurred to me also,” said Altschuler. “And it
is
possible.”

“If this turns out to be the case, there’s no way Theia can go forward with this technology. Which would mean canceling Tuesday’s press conference and burying the technology.”

Altschuler frowned. Of course! Hall was absolutely
right
. “Are you willing to confide in Cameron Fyfe?” he asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“Then this will be a problem. Without him knowing why, there’s no way we can convince Cameron to call off the press conference. Let alone to bury the technology.”

“I realize that,” said Hall. “But now that
you
know, we have three minds working on the problem. Four if you count yours twice,” he added with a wry smile. “So let’s think this through for a few minutes.”

“Okay,” said Altschuler. He paused for several seconds. “First and least important—for now—is killing your psi ability. There are a number of things that could be tried, but there are no guarantees that it can be shut down without doing irreparable damage.”

“Wouldn’t removing the implants do it?” asked Hall. “Almost for sure?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. There are two likely possibilities. Perhaps the precise, to-the-micron placement of the four implants triggers this, and will do so in everyone. But even if this is the case, removing them would be dangerous for you. The techniques are as non-invasive as we can make them, but your implants aren’t just on the surface of your brain. These are buried deep. Placing them, and removing them, can’t be done without causing some neuronal damage. The brain is quite plastic and can recover—and also compensate—but I’ve seen your file, Nick. Kelvin Gray repositioned the implants dozens of times trying to find the right configuration. He did the same with twenty-six others until their brains were so chewed up they turned into vegetables or died.”

“So you’re saying Nick’s brain can’t take any more abuse,” said Megan.

“I wouldn’t risk it. Along with the physical abuse, he was given a steady diet of Erase 190 to further muck with his brain chemistry. Even the minor damage incurred by removal of his implants at this point could be the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“But you said there are other things you could try,” said Megan hopefully.