The Traveler (9 page)

A Bengali wedding store was at the south end of

. If you walked past the gold saris and pink party decorations, you entered a back room where you could connect to the Internet without being traced. Maya sent coded messages to Linden and Mother Blessing. Using the shop owner's credit card, she placed online obituary notices
in Le Monde
and
The
Irish Times.

Died in Prague from a sudden illness: H. Lee Quinn, founder of Thorn Security Ltd. Survived by his daughter, Maya.
In lieu of flowers, a contribution should be sent to the Traveler's Fund.

Later that afternoon she got a response on a Harlequin blackboard: a brick wall near the Holborn station where a message could be scrawled like graffiti. Using a piece of orange chalk, someone had left a Harlequin lute, a line of numbers, and the words: Five/ Six/Bush/Green. That was easy to decipher. The numbers gave the time and date. The meeting location was 56 Shepherd's Bush Green.

***

MAYA SLIPPED A handgun into her raincoat pocket and slung the sword carrying case over her left shoulder. Number 56 Shepherd's Bush Green turned out to be a discount movie house in an alleyway next to the Empire Theatre. That afternoon, the theater was showing a Chinese kung fu movie and a travel documentary called
Provence
: Land of Enchantment.

Maya bought a ticket from the sleepy young woman in the booth. Someone had scrawled three interlocking Harlequin diamonds near the entrance to theater two, so she walked inside and found a drunk sleeping in the third row. When the lights dimmed and the film started, the man's head flopped backward and he began to snore.

The movie had nothing to do with rural France. Instead, the soundtrack was a scratchy recording of the American jazz singer Josephine Baker singing "J'ai Deux Amours" while the screen showed news footage and historical photographs taken off the Internet. Any citizen who had wandered into the theater would have decided that the movie was visual gibberish, a mix of unconnected images of pain, oppression, and terror. Only Maya realized that the film presented a concise Harlequin view of the world. The conventional history given in schoolbooks was an illusion. Travelers were the only real force of change in the world, but the Tabula wanted to destroy them.

For thousands of years, the killing was done by kings and religious leaders. A Traveler would appear in a traditional society and present a new vision that challenged the powerful. This person would gain a following and then be destroyed. Gradually rulers began to follow a "King Herod strategy." If Travelers were more prevalent in certain ethnic or religious groups, the authorities would slaughter everyone they could find in that group.

By the end of the Renaissance, a small group of men who called themselves Brethren began to organize these attacks. Using their wealth and connections, they could kill Harlequins or track down Travelers who had fled to other countries. The Brethren served kings and emperors, but they saw themselves as being above the mundane expression of power. What they valued most was stability and obedience: an ordered society where each person knew his place.

In the eighteenth century the British philosopher Jeremy Bentham designed the Panopticon: a model prison where one observer could monitor hundreds of prisoners while remaining unseen. The Brethren used the Panopticon prison design as a theoretical basis for their ideas. They believed that it would be possible to control the entire world as soon as the Travelers were exterminated.

Although the Tabula had money and power, the Harlequins had successfully defended the Travelers for hundreds of years. The introduction of computers and the spread of the Vast Machine changed everything. The Tabula finally had the means to track down and destroy their enemies. After World War II, there were approximately two dozen known Travelers in the world. Now there were none, and the Harlequins were reduced to a handful of fighters. Although the Brethren remained in the shadows, they were confident enough to start a public organization called the Evergreen Foundation.

Any journalist or historian who began to investigate the legends about Harlequins and Travelers was cautioned or dismissed. Web sites about Travelers were infected with computer viruses that got out of control and undermined the rest of the system. Tabula computer experts attacked legitimate Web sites, and then made up false Web sites that connected theories about the Travelers with crop circles, UFOs, and the book of Revelation. Ordinary citizens heard rumors about the secret conflict, but they had no way of knowing if it was true.

***

JOSEPHINE BAKER CONTINUED to sing. The drunk continued to snore. Up on the screen, the killing continued. Maya watched television news footage of top officials in different governments, all of them older men with dead eyes and smug smiles who controlled armies of soldiers and policemen. They were the Brethren or their supporters. We're lost, Maya thought.
Lost forever.

Halfway through the film, a man and woman entered the theater and sat down in the front row. Maya slipped the automatic out of her coat pocket and clicked off the safety. She got ready to defend herself, and then the man pulled down his zipper and the prostitute leaned over the armrest and began servicing him. Josephine Baker and the images of Traveler destruction had had no effect on the drunk, but now he woke up and noticed the intruders. "You should be ashamed!" he told them with a slurred voice. "There are places for that, you know!"

"Sod off," said the woman, and there was a loud argument that ended with the couple leaving and the drunk tagging along after them.

Maya sat alone in the theater. The movie froze on an image of the president of France shaking hands with the American secretary of state. When the door to the projection booth
creaked
open she stood up, raised her automatic, and got ready to fire. A large man with a shaved head came out of the booth and climbed down a short ladder. Like Maya, he carried his Harlequin sword in a metal tube slung over his shoulder.

"Don't shoot," Linden said. "It would ruin my day."

Maya lowered her weapon. "Were those people working for you?

"No. They were just some drones. I thought they'd never leave. Did you like the film, Maya? I created it last year when I was living in Madrid."

Linden walked down the aisle and embraced Maya. He had powerful arms and shoulders and she felt protected by his bulk and strength. "I'm sorry about your father," Linden said. "He was a great man. The bravest person I've ever known."

"My father said that you have an informant working for the Tabula."

"That's right."

They sat down beside each other and Maya touched Linden's arm. "I want you to find out who killed my father."

"I've already asked the informant," Linden said. "It was probably an American named Nathan Boone."

"So how do I find him?"

"Killing Boone is not our immediate objective. Your father called me three days before you came to Prague. He wanted you to go to the States and help Shepherd."

"He asked me to do that. I turned him down."

Linden nodded. "Now I'm asking you again. I'll buy the plane ticket. You can leave tonight."

"I want to find the man who killed my father. I'm going to kill him and then I'm going to disappear."

"Many years ago your father discovered a Traveler named Matthew Corrigan. This man lived in the United States with his wife and two sons. When it was clear that they were in danger, your father gave Corrigan a suitcase full of money and a sword once owned by Sparrow. Thorn was given the sword when he helped Sparrow's fiancée leave Japan."

Maya was impressed with her father's gift. A sword used by a famous Harlequin like Sparrow was a precious object. But her father had made the right choice. Only a Traveler could fully use the power of a talisman.

"Father said that the Corrigans went underground."

"Yes. But the Tabula caught up with them in South Dakota. We heard that mercs had killed everyone, but apparently the mother and the sons got away. They were lost for a long time until one of the brothers, Michael Corrigan, gave his true name to the Vast Machine."

"Do the sons know if they can cross over?"

"I don't think so. The Tabula plan to capture the two brothers and turn them into Travelers."

"That can't be true, Linden. The Tabula have never done that before."

The Frenchman stood up quickly, towering over Maya. "Our enemies have developed something called a quantum computer. They've made an important discovery using the computer, but our informant can't get access to that information. Whatever the Tabula learned caused them to change their strategy. Instead of killing Travelers, they want to use their power."

"Shepherd should do something."

"Shepherd has never been a very good fighter, Maya. Whenever I see him, he's always talking about some new scheme for making money. I've thought about flying to the States myself, but the Tabula know too much about me. No one can find Mother Blessing. She's shut down her communication channels. We still have contacts with a few reliable mercenaries, but they're not capable of dealing with this kind of problem. Someone has to find the Corrigans before they're captured."

Maya stood up and walked to the front of the theater. "I killed someone in Prague, but that was just the beginning of the nightmare. When I returned to my father's flat, I found him lying on the bedroom floor. I could barely recognize him just those old knife scars on his hands. Some kind of animal had mutilated his body."

"A Tabula research team is creating genetically altered animals. The scientists call them `splicers' because different strands of DNA are cut apart and spliced together. Perhaps they used one of these animals to attack your father." Linden's massive hands became fists as if he was confronting his enemies. "The Tabula have gained this power without thought of consequences. The only way we can defeat them is to find Michael and Gabriel Corrigan."

"I don't give a damn about the Travelers. I still remember my father telling me that most Travelers don't even like us. They're floating off to other realms and we're trapped in this world—forever.

"You're Thorn's daughter, Maya. How can you refuse his last request?"

"No," she said. "No." But her voice betrayed her.

Lawrence Takawa sat at his desk watching Dr. Richardson on the screen of his computer monitor. Four surveillance cameras were hidden in the guest suite. They had photographed Richardson for the last twelve hours as he read about Travelers, slept, and took a shower.

A security guard had just entered the suite to remove the breakfast tray. Lawrence moved his cursor to the top of the screen. He pressed a "plus" sign and camera two zoomed in on the neurologist's face.

"When am I going to meet with the foundation staff?" Richardson asked.

The security guard was a large man from Ecuador named Immanuel. He wore a navy blue blazer, gray slacks, and a red necktie. "I don't know, sir."

"Is it going to be this morning?"

"No one told me anything."

Holding the tray with one hand, Immanuel opened the door to the outer hallway.

"Don't lock the door," Richardson said. "It's not necessary"

"We're not locking you in, sir. We're locking you out. You don't have the security clearance necessary to walk around this building."

When the lock clicked shut, Richardson swore loudly. He jumped up as if he was going to do something decisive, then began to pace around the room. It was easy to look at Richardson's face and know what he was thinking. He appeared to alternate between two principal emotions: anger and fear.

***

LAWRENCE TAKAWA HAD learned how to conceal his emotions when he was a sophomore at DukeUniversity. Although he was born in Japan, his mother had brought him to America when he was six months old. Lawrence hated sushi and samurai movies. Then a touring group of Noh actors arrived at the university and he saw a day of performances that changed his life.

At first, Noh drama seemed exotic and difficult to understand. Lawrence was fascinated by the stylized motions of the actors on the stage, the men playing women, and the eerie sound of the
nohkan
flute and three drums. But the Noh masks were the true revelation. Carved wooden masks were worn by the principal characters, the women characters, and the old people. Ghosts, demons, and crazy people had garish masks that showed one strong emotion, but most actors wore a mask with a deliberately neutral expression. Even the middle-aged men acting without masks tried not to move their faces. Each gesture on the stage, each statement and reaction was a conscious choice.

Lawrence had just joined a fraternity that had drinking parties and elaborate hazing rituals. Whenever he glanced at his reflection, he saw insecurity and confusion: a young man who wasn't going to fit in. A living mask solved the problem. Standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom, he practiced masks of happiness, admiration, and enthusiasm. By his senior year of college he was voted president of his fraternity and his professors gave him strong recommendations for graduate school.

***

THE PHONE ON his desk buzzed softly and Lawrence turned away from the computer screen. "How's our new guest reacting?" Boone asked.

"He seems agitated and somewhat frightened."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Boone said. "General Nash just arrived. Get Richardson and put him in the Truth Room."

Lawrence took the elevator down to the third floor. Like Boone, he had a Protective Link inserted beneath his skin. He waved his hand at the door sensor. The lock clicked open and he walked into the suite.

Dr. Richardson spun around and approached Lawrence. He jabbed at the air with his index finger. "This is outrageous! Mr. Boone said that I was going to meet with your staff. Instead, I've been kept locked in here like a prisoner."

"I apologize for the delay," Lawrence said. "General Nash just arrived and he's eager to talk to you."

"You mean Kennard Nash?
Your executive director?"

"That's right. I'm sure you've seen him on television."

"Not for several years." Richardson lowered his voice and relaxed slightly. "But I remember when he was a presidential adviser."

"The general has always been involved in public service. So it was a natural transition for him to join the Evergreen Foundation." Lawrence reached into his suit-coat pocket and took out a handheld metal detector—the sort of thing that security guards use in airports. "For security reasons, we'd like you to leave all metal objects in the room. That includes your wristwatch, coins, and belt. It's standard procedure at our research facility"

If Lawrence had given him a direct order, Richardson might have refused. Instead, he had to deal with the bland assumption that taking off his wristwatch was the normal thing to do when meeting an important person. He placed his possessions on the table and then Lawrence passed the detector over the neurologist's body. The men left the room and walked down the hallway to the elevator.

"Did you read all the materials last night?"

"Yes."

"I hope you found them interesting."

"It's incredible. Why haven't these recent studies been published? I've never read anything about the Travelers."

"At this time, the Evergreen Foundation wants to keep this information secret."

"That's not how science works, Mr. Takawa. Major discoveries occur because scientists all over the world have access to the same data."

They took the elevator to the basement and walked down a corridor to a white door without handles or knobs. When Lawrence waved his hand, the door glided open. He motioned Dr. Richardson forward and the scientist entered a windowless room where there was no furniture except for a wooden table and two wooden chairs.

"This is a special security room," Lawrence explained. "Everything said here is confidential."

"So where's General Nash?"

"Don't worry. He'll be here in a few minutes."

***

LAWRENCE WAVED HIS right hand and the door closed, locking Richardson inside the Truth Room. For the last six years, the Evergreen Foundation had funded a secret research effort to find out when someone was lying. This wasn't done with a voice analyzer or a polygraph machine that recorded a person's breathing rate and blood pressure. Fear could distort the results of such tests and a good actor could suppress these secondhand signs of deceit.

Ignoring outward physical changes, the Evergreen Foundation scientists looked directly inside the brain using magnetic resonance imaging. The Truth Room was simply a large MRI chamber in which a person could talk, eat, and move about. The man or woman being questioned didn't have to know what was going on, which allowed for a wider range of reactions.

While watching a person's brain as he answered questions, it was possible to see how different sectors of tissue reacted to what was being said. The foundation scientists discovered that it was easier for the brain to tell the truth. When a person was lying, his left prefrontal cortex and the anterior cingulate gyrus lit up like red patches of molten lava.

***

LAWRENCE CONTINUED DOWN the corridor to another unmarked door. A lock clicked open and he entered a shadowy room. Four television monitors were set in a wall opposite a bank of computers and a long table that contained the control panel. A plump, bearded man sat at the table and typed instructions on a computer keyboard. Gregory Vincent had built and installed the equipment that was being used today.

"Did you get rid of all his metal?" Vincent asked.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you go in?
Afraid that you might say something while I was watching?"

Lawrence rolled an office chair over to the control panel and sat down. "I was just following instructions."

"Yeah.
Sure." Vincent scratched his stomach. "Nobody wants to go into the Truth Room."

Looking up at the monitors, Lawrence saw that Richardson's body had become a hazy image made up of different patches of light. The light changed color and intensity as Richardson breathed, swallowed, and thought about his predicament. He was a digital man who could be quantified and analyzed by the computers behind them.

"Looks good," Vincent said. "This is going to be easy." He glanced up at a small security monitor hanging from the ceiling. A bald man was coming down the hallway.
"Perfect timing.
Here comes the general."

Lawrence created the appropriate mask.
Studious.
Intent.
He stared at the monitors as Kennard Nash entered the Truth Room. The general was in his sixties; he had a blunt nose and straight-backed military posture. Lawrence admired the way that Nash concealed his toughness with the amiable style of a successful athletic coach.

Richardson stood up and Nash shook his hand. "Dr. Richardson! Good to meet you. I'm Kennard Nash, the executive director of the Evergreen Foundation."

"It's an honor to meet you, General Nash. I remember when you used to be in the government."

"Yes. That was a real challenge, but it was time to move on. It's been exciting to run Evergreen."

Both men sat down at the table. In the monitoring room, Vincent typed in commands to the computer. Different images of Richardson's brain appeared on the monitors.

"I understand you've read what we call the `Green Book.' It summarizes everything we know about Travelers."

"The information is incredible," Richardson said. "Is it true?"

"Yes. Certain people have the ability to project their neural energy out of their bodies. It's a genetic abnormality that can be passed from parent to child."

"And where does the energy go?"

Kennard Nash unclasped his hands and hid them under the table. He stared at Richardson for a few seconds, his eyes moving slightly as he examined the doctor's face. "As our reports indicate, they go to another dimension and then they return."

"That's not possible."

The general looked amused. "Oh, we've known about other dimensions for years. It's one of the foundations of modern quantum theory. We always had the mathematical proof, but not the means to make the journey. It was a surprise to discover these individuals have been doing it for centuries.''

"You should release your data. Scientists all over the world would start experiments to verify this discovery."

"That's exactly what we don't want to do. Our country is under attack by terrorists and subversives. Both the foundation and our friends around the world are worried that certain groups might use the Travelers' power to destroy the economic system. Travelers have the tendency to be antisocial."

"You need more data about these people."

"That's why we're developing a new research project here at the center. Right now, we're getting the equipment ready and finding a cooperative Traveler. Perhaps we'll obtain two of them—brothers. We need a neurologist with your background to implant sensors into their brains. Then we can use our quantum computer to track where the energy is going."

"To the other dimensions?"

"Yes.
How to get there and how to get back.
The quantum computer will enable us to follow whatever happens. You don't need to know how the computer works, Doctor. You just have to plant the sensors and set our Travelers on their way." General Nash raised both hands as if he were invoking the Deity. "We are on the verge of a great discovery that will change our civilization. I don't have to tell you how exciting this is, Dr. Richardson. I'd be honored if you joined our team."

"And everything would be secret?"

"In the short run.
For security reasons, you'd move to the research center and use our staff. If we're successful, then you'd be allowed to publish your research. Verifying the existence of different worlds would mean an automatic Nobel Prize, but you can see that it's much more than that. It would be a discovery on the same level as the work of Albert Einstein."

"And what if we fail?" Richardson asked.

"Our security arrangements will protect us from media scrutiny. If the experiment is unsuccessful, then no one needs to hear about it. The Travelers can go back to being folk legends with no scientific verification."

Richardson's brain showed a bright red color as he analyzed the possibilities. "I think I'd feel more comfortable working at Yale."

"I know what goes on at most university laboratories," Nash said. "You're forced to deal with review committees and endless paperwork. At our research center there's no bureaucracy. If you want a piece of equipment, it will be delivered to your lab within forty-eight hours. Don't worry about cost. We're paying for everything—plus we'd like to give you a significant honorarium for your personal contribution."

"At the university I have to fill out three allocation forms to receive a box of test tubes."

"That sort of nonsense is a waste of your intelligence and creativity. We want to give you everything you need to make an important discovery."

Richardson's body relaxed. His frontal lobe displayed little pink patches of activity. "All of this is very tempting ..."

"We're under some time pressure, Doctor. I'm afraid that I need a decision right now. If you're hesitant, then we'll contact other scientists. I think that your colleague Mark Beecher is on the list."

"Beecher doesn't have the clinical background," Richardson said. "You need a neurologist who has also trained as a neurosurgeon. Who else did you have in mind?"

"David Shapiro up at Harvard.
Apparently he's done some important experiments with the cortex."

"Yes, but only with animals." Richardson tried to look reluctant, but his brain was very active. "I guess I'm the logical person for this project."

"Wonderful! I knew we could count on you. Go back to New Haven and start making arrangements to leave the university for a few months. You'll discover that the Evergreen Foundation has many high-level contacts at the university, so taking time off won't be a problem. Lawrence Takawa is your contact person." General Nash stood up and shook Richardson's hand. "We're going to change the world forever, Doctor. And you're going to be part of the effort."

***

LAWRENCE WATCHED AS General Nash's luminous body left the room. One of the monitors continued to show Dr. Richardson as he fidgeted in his chair. The other screens showed digital recordings of different segments of the previous conversation. A framework of green lines was superimposed over the neurologist's skull. It analyzed his brain reactions while he made different statements.