Placebo (21 page)

I'm lying on my side on the X-ray table finishing the second of four X-rays of my ribs when my phone rings. The technicians had asked me to leave it on a counter inside the protected area where they were working, but even from here I recognize the ringtone.

Fionna.

Well, that was quick.

I excuse myself, and the frizzy-haired woman working the X-ray machine declares in no uncertain terms that she needs two more slides before I can go anywhere.

“No problem.” I slip past her into the hall and answer my phone. A bit chilly without my shirt on.

“Nothing yet on Akinsanya or Tanbyrn's iPad,” Fionna tells me. “It would be a lot easier if I had it in hand. But I do have something for you. Guess who your arsonist has been calling?”

“Who?”

“The CEO of RixoTray Pharmaceuticals.”

“What?”

“It was with an unregistered prepaid cell, but I was able to backtrace the call and follow the GPS location to—”

“Wait a minute. If it was unregistered, how did you backtrace it?”

“Through AT&T's tech center.”

“You hacked into their—”

“Not exactly. They hired me to do that last quarter. I kept my notes. Anyway, the GPS location for a previous call matches his residential address, and the most recent call just happens to line up with his office at RixoTray's corporate headquarters.”

“Nice work.”

“That's why you pay me the big bucks.”

Actually, it was.

“Also, that passcode, the one you found in Banner's pocket, well, it's not just a password to the Lawson Center's RixoTray files, it's the one to a certain person's computer.”

“You're not saying it's the same guy? The CEO?”

“Yup. Dr. Cyrus Arlington.”

Okay, now that's interesting.

How would Banner have gotten Arlington's personal password?

“So, Fionna, this is all illegal, of course? Everything you just did?”

“Well, RixoTray did hire me to try getting past their firewalls and hacking into their system. I guess I'm just good at my job.”

That works for me.

“Anyway, I pulled up Arlington's computer screen. There's an image, the beginning of a video. It's paused. It has something to do with—”

“Let me guess.” I think of our earlier conversation, anticipate what she's going to say: “Kabul. The bombing that was averted.”

“Right.” Fionna sounds disappointed. “Of course, I can't be positive, but it looks like it, yes. How did you guess that, by the way?”

“What you told me earlier; I'm starting to think like you. Listen, can you send me a copy of that image?”

“Better than that. I'm going to send you a link to the screen. If he starts the video, you'll be able to watch it right along with him.”

“You deserve a raise, Fionna.”

“I could use one. Donnie needs braces.”

We hang up, and against the firm objections of the X-ray technician, I grab my shirt and leave to find Xavier and Charlene.

The X-rays can wait. Right now it's movie time.

Riah heard the door open.

A woman entered, brisk and businesslike. Hair short, an Ellen DeGeneres boy cut. She was slightly built, just over five feet tall, but carried a commanding presence that drew the immediate attention of everyone in the room.

She nodded toward the twins, greeted Cyrus, then directed her gaze at Riah. “You must be Colette.”

Riah was a keen enough observer of human behavior to realize that there were certain societal protocols on how to address people, how to treat them. It didn't mean that she necessarily understood why those conventions were in place, but it was immediately obvious that this woman did not follow them.

“Dr. Riah Colette, yes,” she told her. “I'm the head researcher on this project.” She decided to try something. “You don't have to call me Dr. Colette, though. I'm fine with Riah.”

A small fire appeared in the woman's eyes, and Riah could tell she was not used to being spoken to so directly. The response intrigued her. Oriana might be an interesting person to observe. To test.

“I am Undersecretary of Defense Oriana Williamson. And that's what you will call me.”

Undersecretary of Defense? Riah wasn't sure how high exactly that went up in the Pentagon's command chain, but she knew it had to be close to the top.

Fascinating.

Undersecretary Williamson, who was currently dressed in civilian clothes, looked away from Riah toward Cyrus. “I don't care if she's been vetted. I told you it was too late to bring anyone else in on this. I do not like—”

“I'm not just being brought in on this,” Riah corrected her. “I mentioned a moment ago that I'm the head of the project at the R&D facility. I'm the one developing the neural decoding—”

“Synthetic telepathy.”

Riah had never liked that term. It made what she was doing sound somehow paranormal when it was simply the development of a brain-computer interface. “What's your connection with it? Again?” She purposely posed the question in a challenging way to gauge how Oriana would respond. Riah was struck by the fact that Cyrus had at some point vetted her, gotten her military clearance to be here tonight.

Or did the twins do it?

The undersecretary scoffed at her. “You have no idea what this project is about.”

“Ma'am.” Daniel stepped forward, interrupting them. “Dr. Colette knows more about deep-brain stimulation of the Wernicke's area than anyone. If we're ever going to make this work with individuals, rather than just twins, she'll be the one to figure out how.”

Darren nodded. “My brother and I need her in on this project if we're going to be able to move forward with it on the time frame we've discussed.”

Williamson let out a small sigh of resignation. “Dr. Colette—”

“Riah really is fine.”

A set jaw. “Dr. Colette, you realize that the material on this video is absolutely confidential and you may not share what you see with anyone. It concerns matters of national security.”

National security?

She really had been vetted.

“Well?”

Riah had no idea who she might even be tempted to share the contents of the video with. “Of course.”

The Undersecretary of Defense pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Before we move forward, I need you to sign these release forms.”

“She's been cleared,” Cyrus reiterated. “She wouldn't be part of the project if she weren't.”

“It's alright,” Riah told him, then quickly scanned the papers and signed them.

The undersecretary collected the papers, filed them in her briefcase. “Alright. Let's watch this video.”

Cyrus gestured toward the hall and picked up his laptop. “It'll be easier for everyone to see if we use the screen in the conference room.”

Charlene, Xavier, and I find an empty exam room. Slip inside. Xavier closes the door behind us. “I made some calls. I have some of the best people out there working on Project Alpha and Star Gate.”

“Good.”

As he's locking the door, my phone vibrates.

A text.

The link from Fionna.

I click it.

An image comes up: a room with plaster-covered walls, a ceiling fan, and a window overlooking a Middle Eastern city.

The twins sat across the table from Riah and Undersecretary of Defense Williamson. Even though Riah knew that all the other people in the room were previously acquainted, she didn't feel out of place. A lack of social anxiety was actually one of the perks for people with her condition.

The sprawling oval conference table lay centered in the room. Cyrus tapped a button on a console on the table, and the lights dimmed to
a preset for watching videos. Then he depressed another button, and a large screen lowered from the ceiling and covered the front wall.

Williamson steepled her hands, leaned forward, asked Cyrus, “So have you seen it yet?”

“Not yet. No.” He connected his laptop to the projector system.

She faced the twins. “And you?”

“No.”

Riah didn't wait for the question. “I haven't seen it yet either. But I'm looking forward to it.”

“Well. So am I.”

The image from the laptop appeared on the projector screen. A room in Kabul.

Cyrus tapped the space bar and the video began.

The video begins.

We watch as the camera pans across the room, revealing two bearded men in Middle Eastern clothes standing beside a table. They're speaking rapidly in a language I don't immediately recognize.

“It's Arabic,” Xavier announces.

“How do you—” Charlene begins.

“Shh.”

One of the men steps aside, and I can see a table littered with wires, cell phones, detonators, a pile of nails, and several boxes of ball bearings. The audio on the recording is remarkably good, and I can hear the rush of traffic and the intermittent blaring of horns outside the window.

The taller of the two men walks toward the window and tugs at the threadbare curtains. They don't close all the way, however, and leave a gap nearly a foot wide, allowing for a narrow view of the building across the street.

“The guy who's filming this . . .” Xavier points to my phone's screen. “He's gotta be wearing a button camera like the one I gave you. Doesn't
look like his buddies know they're being recorded.” He studies the video carefully, mumbles something about the grade of the C-4 on the table. “Oh yeah. That's gonna leave a mark.”

There are three suicide vests beside the explosives.

A few more words in Arabic.

I'm pretty sure I know how this is going to end, and I can feel a palpable rush of apprehension.

You're about to watch these people die.

The man beside the table faces the person filming the scene and speaks to him. I have no idea what he's saying, but I do make out the words “Allahu Akbar.” The person with the camera repeats the words, and the tenor of his voice confirms that he's male. Then all three men echo the phrase again.

The man closest to the table takes off his long-sleeved shirt and picks up the suicide vest.

I think again of what Fionna told me earlier: there was a thwarted attack on a Kabul mosque, an unconfirmed number of terrorists were killed.

The research Dr. Tanbyrn was working on before the fire was a joint project between the Pentagon and RixoTray Pharmaceuticals.

RixoTray's CEO, Dr. Cyrus Arlington, was in communication with Glenn Banner hours before the fire.

Mind-to-mind research . . .

Telepathy . . .

The twins . . .

If you can affect someone's physiology, can you consciously change it?

If you can alter someone's heart rate, could you stop it?

All the facts circle elusively around each other, and I try to find a way to fit them together.

“Oh,” I whisper. “They're going to kill him.”

“What?” Charlene breathes.

“Watch. The guy with the vest, they're going to kill him.”

The man slips the vest on, tightens some straps to secure it in place,
then puts his loose-fitting long-sleeved shirt back on over the vest. It's not noticeable beneath his shirt, and if I didn't know he was wearing it, I never would have guessed that he was an armed suicide bomber.

I can feel my chest tensing up.

The taller man, the one nearest the window, peers past the ratty curtains for a moment, then joins his two cohorts in the middle of the room.

I hear the words “Allahu Akbar” repeated again by the three men in the group.

The man wearing the vest turns toward the window.

And then.

Explodes.

For a fraction of a second you can see the blast, a blur of color and fabric flaring toward the camera lens overwhelmed by a deafening roar.

And then there's nothing but a blank, silent screen.

Neither Charlene nor Xavier speaks.

So I was wrong.

They didn't stop the guy's heart.

Manipulating matter? Telekinesis? They made the bomb explode?

That seemed even more implausible.

At last Charlene speaks: “Wow.”

Xavier shakes his head. “How did they get this footage? The camera was destroyed, so this footage was obviously being transmitted to someone—and then that person sends it to the CEO of one of the world's largest pharmaceutical firms? Are you kidding me?”

“I don't think he intended to do that,” I tell them.

“Who?”

“The suicide bomber. It's hard to tell, but it didn't look like he reached for the vest. Neither of the other guys touched the cell phones to detonate it. Also, he put his shirt back on right after putting on the vest. Why would he do that if he was just going to blow up his buddies right there in the room?”

“You think it malfunctioned?”

“No. And I don't think he detonated it. I think somehow the twins did it for him.”

Cyrus shut off the video and Riah waited for him to comment, for any of the four people she was with to speak.

Finally, Williamson did. “So it works.”

“Yes,” Daniel said quietly. “Apparently it does.”

I expect Xavier to be on the same page with what I just said, to agree with me about the evil schemes of the federal government's secret psychic research and black-ops assassination programs, but both he and Charlene seem skeptical. “Tanbyrn's study concerned mind-to-mind communication,” he reminds me, “not telekinesis.”

“As far as we know. But it could have something to do with quantum entanglement. Manipulating matter nonlocally. Remember? Like the nuclear reactor or the torpedo?” But even as I try to convince them, I begin to doubt it myself, and the more implausible the whole telekinesis angle seems. I sigh. “You're right. I don't know. We'd need more information to tell.”

The link on my phone expires, and when I try to refresh it, I'm unsuccessful.

I doubt Fionna would have severed the connection. Maybe someone at RixoTray did.

Just in case the video comes back on, I leave the browser open, set down my phone, and ask to borrow Charlene's. She's more than happy to give it to me.

I really have no idea how deep all this goes or who we can trust, but Abina is dead, Dr. Tanbyrn might die, the three people in the video are dead. RixoTray's CEO is involved with this and has ties to the Pentagon as well as to the guy who carried those eleven photographs of corpses in his wallet. There's no way all of this was simply a local
law enforcement matter, and with the DoD's involvement I don't trust going to the federal government with what we know either.

For a moment I consider contacting the media, but then the obvious fact hits me in the face—
You film documentaries, Jevin. You are the media.

I'm not about to just sit on the sidelines until more people start showing up dead.

“Charlene, last night you told me about a researcher at RixoTray who was in charge of this program. What was her name again?”

“Dr. Riah Colette.”

I navigate to the internet browser on her phone.

“Are you going to call her?”

“No, I think we need to talk to her face-to-face.”

I find what I'm looking for. Dial the number.

“Then who are you calling?” Xavier asks.

“I'm getting us a plane. We're going to Philadelphia.”