Of Half a Mind Page 10

  Had this been a slasher film, I would have agreed and gone to his house, either to be gruesomely murdered or to have thwarted him, only to see him slip away into the night so there could be a sequel. I wanted to avoid either of those possibilities.

  “I’m really sorry, but I have plans for this evening. However, my company has a building close to your office. It has a small conference room immediately off the reception area. I could be there at 1:00 PM tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

  Worthington hesitated again. Finally, he said, “I believe that time’s acceptable. I’ll have Laverne call to confirm in the morning.”

  “Good,” I replied and gave him the address. Government work was conducted in that building, so a guard would be posted in the reception area – an armed guard. I also expected that Ken would come along or have someone else join me. I would have plenty of help, if Worthington needed to be subdued.

  “Again, sorry to bother you so late. Good evening.” Worthington hung up.

  I slumped back in my chair and stared at the phone again, knowing I had never had such a bizarre couple of days.

  Tuesday, August 11, 9:46 PM

  The Experimenter had heard that Thomas Edison failed 1,000 times before inventing the lightbulb. But when asked, Edison said he hadn’t failed; rather, he had discovered 1,000 different ways not to make one.

  The Experimenter wasn’t sure the story was true, but he took a lesson from it anyway. When the misaligned Blocker had forced Subject 2 to hold his breath until dead, he hadn’t failed. What he had done was discover the perfect way to kill the doctor.

  Yes, the man would be wary. He had to feel some of the threat posed by the Experimenter, even though there was no objective proof of any malice. But even if he sensed peril, the doctor would be too curious, too enthralled in the pursuit of a quantum leap in the evolution of human thought to resist the opportunity to try this latest, portable version of the device.

  Now standing on the doctor’s front steps, the Experimenter rang the doorbell and waited. No response. He rang again. The man must be home; he had no life. Several more moments passed, then the door cracked open, a chain coming tight over the gap. Even though the Experimenter could see less than half of the doctor’s face, the way he jerked back, his eye blinking rapidly confirmed his expectations.

  “You? Here?” stammered the doctor.

  The Experimenter said nothing. He merely smiled, then held the offering in front of him – a Blocker, configured in the ‘driving cap’ style.

  “Is that…?” The eye that the Experimenter could see through the door got wider.

  “It is,” the Experimenter said. “And it’s more than you could have ever imagined. Much, much more.”

  The doctor’s breath was coming faster, as he stared through the gap between the door and its frame. His brow wrinkled. “You’ll let me…?”

  “Of course. You’ll be amazed to see where it’s gone. Or more correctly, where it’s taken me.”

  The doctor hesitated a moment more, then removed the chain and opened the door.

  The Experimenter stepped inside. The lights were bright. The scene swirled, as the colors assaulted his vision. He hadn’t anticipated that the man would have restored this much of his decor, but he was prepared. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses.

  “Sunglasses?” asked the doctor.

  “Just a bit of headache,” lied the Experimenter. In fact, he had found the glasses online. Sold as an aid to help people understand colorblindness, his was set to approximate protanopia. With a bit of extra tint, they transformed the colorful surroundings into a world of muted blues, yellows, and grays. Not quite the soothing consistency of his lab, but close.

  “I see,” said the doctor, and then his gaze turned back to the Blocker. He held his hand out. It was shaking; he pulled it back. He bit his lower lip, then said, “I shouldn’t.” His gaze moved to the face of the Experimenter before dropping back down to the cap. “But perhaps a little. It couldn’t hurt.”

  “Of course not. Look where it’s taken me.”

  The doctor looked up again at the Experimenter, then nodded. “Indeed. This way.” He turned and led the way into his home.

  When they arrived at his study, the doctor turned and reached for the cap, his hand stopping partway to its goal. He clenched his fist and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he took the cap and donned it. He sat down on a recliner. “How do you turn it on?”

  “Let me,” said the Experimenter. He reached down and flipped the switch on the back of the cap.

  The doctor slumped in the chair, his mouth dropping open. Drool ran down his chin.

  “Oh, that’s right,” said the Experimenter in mock surprise. “I forgot it’s in the same bent and twisted shape that Subject 2 left it. And as I recall, that configuration killed him.”

  The Experimenter pulled on a pair of latex gloves, walked back to the front door, and opened it. Outside, he wiped the doorknob and the button for the doorbell, then returned. “Not that this will ever be investigated as a murder, but you can’t be too careful. Now, if you’ll excuse me, your demise will take a while and I have much to do.”

  The Experimenter located the doctor’s home office, took a digital camera from his pocket, and took pictures of the room. He wanted to leave everything exactly as he found it.

  A search turned up the safe the Experimenter knew would be there. When it was installed, the doctor would have enjoyed some of the Blocker’s benefits, including the ability to manipulate numbers rapidly, almost without effort. But he would also have trouble with new memories. So, the combination to the safe wouldn’t be based on a birthday or an anniversary, like so many people did. The doctor would know his own birthday, because he had known it before using the device. But he wouldn’t remember that the combination was based on it. Rather, the combination would be derived from numbers in plain sight. In the sparsely decorated and neutrally painted office, the framed black and white diploma with a single date, May 4, 1994, was the only possibility.

  The Experimenter formed combinations, trying them on the safe. His fourth iteration was the product of adjacent numbers, that is, 20 - 9 - 36. The safe yielded.

  All the documents the Experimenter expected were there. First, he found the Advanced Design Document that described the next generation of the technology – everything to take the current device and evolve it. These plans were much too valuable to be relegated to the building housing the WHT offices.

  The safe also contained the specifications for the original Blocker. The Experimenter decided to leave them. He had no need for them and there were probably other copies. And besides, they could be derived by reverse engineering the current device anyway. Better to leave something to disguise his theft.

  Finally, the safe contained the sole sheet of paper that clearly linked him to the doctor. He held the salmon-color page in front of him, a cold smile coming to his face. With it gone, anything else that might have been observed or recorded could be explained as chance. He loaded everything into a backpack and returned to the study.

  The task was complete; the doctor was dead. He removed the cap and surveyed the room one last time, making sure nothing had been disturbed. The man looked as if he had settled down to enjoy a good book, but it was a respite that would never end.

  The Experimenter left the residence feeling more powerful than ever, certain of his ability to tap the farthest reaches of his mind. With the good doctor gone, no one could stand in his way.

  Wednesday, August 12, 8:37 AM

  I passed the office door for the third time, and for the third time, the woman inside glanced up from her work as I went by. She was about my age, maybe a little older, and attractive. On my first pass, she had smiled. On the second, she had looked at me more closely, her eyebrows furrowing. The third lap had produced a scowl. I suspected she was dialing Security to report a stalker, but at least I had a good story. ‘My boss sits three doors down and I need to talk to him. S
ee, I have a meeting this afternoon…with a crazy man.’

  Ken’s door opened. He had been on a call. I had heard him each time I had passed. Even though it was still 20 minutes until our meeting, there wasn’t any harm seeing if he was available now. I stuck my head around the door frame. He was sitting behind his desk, his elbows resting on the top, his fingers steepled in front of his face. His white shirt looked crisp enough to hold that pose without him.

  “Morning,” I said, planning to follow up with, ‘I know it isn’t time for our meeting yet,’ but I never got the chance.

  “Doc. Where have you been?” Ken asked, the pitch of his voice a notch higher than normal. He motioned toward a chair and I sat. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

  Out of reflex, I looked at my watch. Was our appointment at 8:00 rather than 9:00? But before I could ask, Ken continued.

  “There’s been a death. It’ll be awhile before we know how this affects your project, but I thought you should know about it as soon as possible.”

  My mind was racing. It was job-related, but it couldn’t be Sue. He wouldn’t be talking about the effect on the project if it was someone that close. And for the same reason, I also felt it wasn’t Nicole. Besides, I had gotten a text from her only fifteen minutes ago. That left Worthington’s nemesis.

  “Is Dr. Caufield dead?” I asked.

  Ken dropped his hands and stared at me. “What? Who’s Caufield?” He shook his head and didn’t wait for an answer. “No, it’s Dr. Worthington. He was found dead in his home this morning.”

  Worthington?

  PART 2. The Data Chase

  Wednesday, August 12, 8:38 AM

  “Worthington’s dead?” I could hardly believe the words and squeezed my eyes closed. He had been right; his life had been in danger. While I never considered going to his house, I could have suggested a more public setting. If I had, he might still be alive. I placed my forehead in a hand, my elbow propped up on the desktop, and slowly shook my head.

  “Are you OK?”

  I sighed. “Yeah. I mean, no. It’s just that I talked to him last night. Only hours…maybe minutes before he died.”

  “I know,” said Ken. I looked up at him, my eyes narrowing.

  “Apparently, Dr. Worthington’s an early riser,” said Ken. “So, when he failed to show up at his office, his admin, Ms. Wells, called his house. When he didn’t answer, she called the police. His body was discovered a little after 8:00. She called here to confirm a meeting with you. Is that right? You called him last night to set up a meeting?”

  I shook my head, my frown deepening. “No, he called me. He wanted to talk, so I suggested a meeting later today.”

  “OK,” replied Ken. “Anyway, we were on the phone when Ms. Wells learned about her boss. She took it very hard.” Ken paused and looked at me closely. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I nodded, releasing a long breath. “Yeah, I do. Maybe we can start with this.” I gave him a copy of my draft report on the meetings. He read it, asking only a few clarifying questions. Then, I recounted the phone call. When I finished, I admired Ken for the first question out of his mouth.

  “Is your team OK?”

  “Physically, yes. Mentally? It’s already been a stressing couple of days, but I think they’ll be fine.”

  “Good.”

  Ken resumed much the same pose I had seen when I arrived – elbows resting on the desktop, his fingers steepled in front of his face. After a few moments, he said, “I can’t even guess how this will affect the project. It probably depends on the cause of death. Best case, we’ll be shut down a few days. Worst, the project will be terminated.”

  I gritted my teeth, then nodded slowly. That was unwelcome news, but only what could be expected. Ken got up from his desk, walked to the window, and looked out. After a moment, he turned back to me.

  “What you’ve done so far is good, but you need to finish it. Incorporate Sue’s and Ms. Veles’ notes on the meetings. Then, document the phone call, including the time and as much of the discussion as you can remember. We should have all of this written up.”

  “Why? Is there something going on I should know about?” It came out in a rush.

  Ken held up his hands. “No, I don’t know of any problems. It’s just a precaution.”

  I nodded. He was right, but the mixture of some guilt, a touch of lingering anxiety from the threat to my team, and a large measure of frustration about the job were whirling in my head. I needed to focus. “Yes, of course. I’ll get on it.”

  “We know we’re in for a delay, but not the length,” continued Ken. “So, let your team know. I have plenty of work for you and Sue, until we get word from the VA. If a break causes Nicole’s management any problems, have them call me. How much time do you think you need to get everything down on paper before we close up shop?”

  “Are we starting the project close-out forms or just documenting our work to date?”

  “The latter.”

  “I’d say a day or two should do it. We’ve already discussed some short-term writing assignments, and Sue and Nicole have started.” I didn’t say they had started because we had expected a battle between the VA and Worthington for data and these reports were a way to keep busy until the smoke cleared. That stratagem was already outdated.

  “Good, have them wrap up their current work and then we’ll see what happens.” I left to spread the bad news.

  Even though Sue’s desk was in the next wing, I decided to call Nicole first and went to my office. What I had expected to be a six-month window to get to know her had shrunk to as little as a day. Maybe there would be an opportunity to see if she wanted to go to a movie or have dinner.

  But then the reality of that possible conversation hit me – ‘Worthington’s dead and the project may be too. How about seafood on Saturday night?’

  I placed the call, still looking forward to talking to her, but she wasn’t at her desk. I left a long message with all the details. After hanging up, I realized I should have asked her to phone me. Now, I had no excuse to call. For someone who was skilled in planning a technical effort, why were my insights on the personal side all hindsight?

  I walked over to Sue’s desk. She looked up when I was still ten feet away. “If you lived with someone, I’d say you were in need of some make-up sex.”

  Normally, that would have elicited a groan, but today, I just dropped into the chair across from her and rubbed my forehead with a hand.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Worthington’s dead.”

  A hand flew to Sue’s mouth.

  “He didn’t come into work this morning and Laverne called the police. They found him at home. That’s all we know at this point.”

  Sue slowly shook her head, her gaze far away. “Wow,” she said under her breath.

  “Yeah, hard to believe. Anyway, we can finish our current writing assignments, but then, we’re shutting down until this gets worked out.”

  The faraway look didn’t leave her face. After a few moments, I said, “Sue?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Finish our current assignments. Got it.” She paused, then looked at me. “Do you think he was killed?”

  The word that came out of my mouth was “No,” but the idea had already flashed through my thoughts. I had wondered that because of what Worthington said about being in danger, but Sue had never heard those words.

  “Why do you ask? You think Worthington’s stories about Dr. Caufield are true?”

  “Maybe,” she replied. “But isn’t the field of suspects a lot bigger than Caufield? I mean, if the Blocker works, it’s a goldmine. The kind of power and wealth it promises could tempt anyone.”

  A few seconds passed as I watched her face. Finally, she said, “It was a stressful couple of days, and my imagination is running wild. Forget I said anything.”

  But hearing Sue give voice to the possibility got my mental gears cranking again. If Worthington was killed, whoever did it was still out t
here and it was possible that we might be considered threats. Threats to what, I wasn’t sure, but ignoring the risk didn’t seem a good idea.

  I slid forward in my chair, then leaned closer to Sue. “I guess there’s a chance that Worthington was killed,” I said slowly, quietly. “So, maybe it’s not the best time to let your guard down. Keep Al close and your eyes open.” I didn’t add, ‘and your gun handy,’ because I was still getting used to the idea that she even had one.

  She nodded. “Yeah, no need to take chances.” The way she agreed so quickly made me think she had already come to the same conclusion.

  “I left Nicole a phone message earlier, but I think I’ll call back. Give her a heads-up too.”

  “I can tell her, if you want. We’re talking at 9:30, so we can coordinate on some of the text.”

  “Thanks, but I should call.”

  Sue nodded and smiled, a twinkle coming to her eyes. “Of course you should call. We can always count on you men for that.”

  I got up from the desk and left. Only when I was halfway down the hall did I stop to wonder – did Sue mean men could be counted on for protection? I chuckled to myself. No, of course not. After all, this was Sue talking.

  Thursday, August 13, 8:17 PM

  The Experimenter flew from his bed in the corner of his work room, his t-shirt and underwear drenched in sweat. He pulled in deep, ragged breaths, not sure if he was suffocating or hyperventilating, but he couldn’t stop. His gaze swept around the partitions and the walls beyond, panic keeping his eyes moving faster than his thoughts.

  “Where the hell is it?” he whimpered. Or was it just a dream?

  Then, he saw it. It was real, and it was sitting exactly where he had left it – his bedside table. He reached a trembling hand forward and lovingly caressed the cover. These pages, so inauspiciously named the Neural Activity Blocker Advanced Design Document, were nothing less than his destiny.

  When he had returned from Worthington’s home late Tuesday, the Experimenter had been euphoric. His whole body vibrated with the prospect of shattering new mental barriers. But after a few moments of near visceral ecstasy, his ever-present logic returned. Did Worthington really have plans worthy of the Blocker’s evolution? He had claimed so, but academics could assert world-changing breakthroughs when all they had done was coin a new term for a twenty-year-old concept.