“Why? Even if I dropped dead this instant, he could still recreate my work, using another researcher for confirmation.”
“Even forgetting about the risk involved in conducting the testing, which admittedly, you took the brunt of, it would take years. And we may not have years,” he added pointedly as he began to read the message on his phone.
Kyle Hansen’s eyes widened and his face became ashen.
“What is it?” she asked.
Hansen didn’t reply. Instead he handed her the phone. It was open to a text message.
Yuma compound attacked. SF responsible. Rest of team down. I’m on run, can’t risk voice msg. Abandoning phone. Don’t try to contact me. Go to MB in CO asap & get started. He’ll expect you. I’ll contact u there in 48 hours. If I’m late, start w/out me. Keep Erin safe!! She’s the key.
Erin handed the phone back to Hansen. She wasn’t sure what to believe, but the timing was far too unlikely for her taste. “So I guess we can’t go back to your headquarters in Yuma now, after all. We suddenly can’t prove what you’ve told me is true, can we?”
Hansen shook his head, but the stunned, horrified look still hadn’t left his face. “Let’s take a rain check on the dessert,” he said leaving the line and motioning for Erin to follow. They found a nearby table that was free and sat down once again.
“This can’t be,” said Hansen the moment they were seated. “It’s too much of a coincidence that this happened right when you found the cure and were about to tell Drake. I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said.
Erin gazed at Kyle Hansen with a new respect. Of all the responses he could have had to this situation, this was the one that restored her belief in his veracity the fastest. She couldn’t have said it better herself. As she stared into Hansen’s eyes, she realized that there was something about him that she trusted. He seemed to have a keen mind, good sense of humor, and an unpretentious, friendly personality. She found herself drawn to him. Drawn to him more than she was prepared to admit, even to herself.
“Yuma was totally off the grid,” he continued. “Until now. So you have to be involved in what happened somehow.”
“What did happen?” asked Erin. “And what’s the connection between San Francisco and Yuma? Was Drake working with somebody there?”
“San Francisco?”
“Yes. Drake texted that San Francisco was responsible.”
Hansen looked at her in confusion for several seconds before the light of comprehension finally gleamed in his eyes. “You’re thinking about his use of the letters SF. Drake didn’t mean San Francisco. In this case, SF stands for Steve Fuller.”
Erin gasped.
“How do you know Steve Fuller?” demanded Hansen immediately.
“Wow,” said Erin, annoyed with herself. “I think we’ve established that I wouldn’t make a good poker player. I’ll admit it. I have heard the name. But why don’t you go first. What does he have to do with any of this?”
Hansen considered her for an extended period. “Okay,” he said at last. “I guess I can go first. Fuller is an international arms dealer. And a psychopath.” He hesitated again, as though uncertain what to say next. Erin hoped he was weighing the best way to tell her the truth, rather than taking time to concoct the best lie. “While Drake has been working on this project with you, he’s been keeping track of those who pose the greatest threat to our survival. And Fuller is among a handful of the world’s most dangerous players. I’m sure that’s what he meant by SF.”
“How does Drake know this guy’s behind it?”
Hansen shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he recognized him during the attack.”
“But why? Why would Fuller attack Drake?”
“I have no idea how he would even know of Drake’s existence. But maybe he got wind that Drake was trying to cure psychopathy.”
Erin stared at him blankly.
“If psychopathy were cured,” explained Hansen, “this would have a big negative impact on an arms dealer. If his best customers suddenly grew a conscience, stopped buying weapons, and started singing folk songs around the campfire, this would be very bad for business. And Fuller is a psychopath himself. Like you said, the last thing they want is to be cured. So what would a brutal, powerful, psychopathic arms dealer do if he found out Drake intended to rid the planet of this condition?”
Erin had to admit that if the attack was real, this reasoning did provide a logical underpinning for it. Perhaps even a compelling one.
“That’s all I know about Steve Fuller,” said Hansen. “So now it’s your turn.”
Erin stared deeply into his eyes. She had the feeling he knew more, but decided not to press. For now. Her gut told her that if he was withholding information, it was only because he didn’t perceive it to be relevant. And the fact that he didn’t seem to be a talented or practiced liar was a hugely positive personality trait in her book, and a great change of pace after working with the world’s smoothest liars for so many years.
Erin launched into the story of how she happened to know of Steve Fuller, beginning with his call, when he posed as someone trying to recruit her to his company, Advanced Science Applications. When Erin described the events in the church parking lot, and how she had escaped and made it to Tucson, Hansen listened with an expression of awe, and was unabashedly complimentary of her courage and resourcefulness.
When she had finished she said, “The timing of Fuller’s call is just as unlikely as everything else. I assumed the Wall Street Journal article had been the trigger, but the trigger for what? And why?”
“What Wall Street Journal article?”
She told Hansen how the paper had republished her thoughts on a device to remotely identify psychopaths, the interview that had originally drawn Drake to her.
“For some reason,” continued Erin, “I had just assumed you—meaning you and Drake—had seen it. But, anyway, I guess this wasn’t the reason for the call, after all. Fuller must have already known about the cure. Although I have no idea how.”
Hansen rubbed his chin absently in thought. It was now almost three o’clock, but neither had any awareness of the passage of time, or of the many groups of students and faculty that had come and gone, scurrying around them unnoticed like a large and noisy group of ants. They had maintained their position at the table while hundreds of others zoomed in and out and around, as though they had been filmed using time-lapse photography.
“Not necessarily,” said Hansen finally. “The Wall Street Journal article would have been enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to get Fuller interested in recruiting you. Think if you really could perfect the psychopath detector you described in the article. That would be quite a valuable tool.”
Erin shook her head. “I thought so too when I proposed it. But it turns out there are far too many ethical issues for it to ever be used.”
“Maybe so,” said Hansen, “but that wouldn’t trouble a psychopathic arms dealer. And this device would be far more valuable to him, even, than to the normal person. Many of the people he deals with on a daily basis—terrorists, dictators, and even their intermediaries—are psychopathic. But some are not. It would be useful for him and his people to be able to identify those who have a conscience from those who don’t. In his dealings with potential customers and when recruiting subordinates.”
“Okay, I can see that. He reads the article, decides this would be a useful tool, and tries to get me to perfect it away from a university. Having no idea that I abandoned this project before it began years ago.”
“So you agree to meet with him. Then what?” Hansen threw out his hands, as if unable to find his way forward. “How do we go from that to where we are now?”
Erin’s eyes widened. “They were monitoring me prior to my meeting with them,” she said in alarm. “That’s how they found me in the church lot. So it isn’t a stretch to believe they were monitoring me the entire time I was in San Diego. Even before they
contacted me. Why not? Gathering intel, getting a sense for my personality. Deciding the best levers to push to get me to come aboard their fictitious company, either by using a carrot or showing me the stick.”
“So when you called Drake from San Diego, they were listening in?”
Erin nodded. “I can’t be certain, but I’d sure bet on it.”
“Do you remember what you said?”
“Not exactly. But I was furious about his Hugh Raborn deception.” She frowned deeply. “And I’m positive I told him I had come to San Diego because we had succeeded. Because we had the cure.”
Hansen blew out a breath. “That would do it,” he said. “Fuller’s people monitored you because he wanted you to build a remote diagnostic test. But when they learned that you and Drake had developed a cure instead, that must have thrown Fuller, proud psychopath that he is, into a panic. You went from a possible asset to a threat.”
“And if they traced my call to Drake, this would explain how they found him. And why they attacked.” It was all beginning to make a sort of twisted sense. “But why wait?” asked Erin. She knew this could still be an elaborate hoax concocted by Drake and Hansen. But she had no other choice for the moment but to assume it wasn’t.
“They were able to schedule an innocent meeting with you. They probably decided to get as much information from you as they could before they attacked. They just didn’t count on you being so suspicious. Or so elusive.”
“That makes sense. But after they lost me, why didn’t they hit Drake then?”
Hansen thought about this, but couldn’t come up with a good answer.
Erin, on the other hand, arrived at an answer to her own question, and a chill went up her spine. She leaned closer to Hansen. “The reason they timed this the way they did just hit me, Kyle.” An anxious look appeared in her eyes. “It’s because they’re here,” she said, making a small circle with her head, a gesture meant to encompass the entire food court. “Right now. Patiently waiting until we aren’t in a crowd to take us out.”
17
ERIN GLANCED AROUND furtively, focusing especially on fit men who were older than the typical student. Fuller would have someone surveilling them, keeping track of them in the sprawling food court, following them when they left and making sure to alert others outside to their position when they did.
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Hansen. “Are you saying they waited to strike at Drake because they hoped you’d keep this meeting?”
“Exactly. So they could, um … reacquire me. They expected Drake to be meeting with me, so they could take us both out at the same time. Without any warnings being exchanged between us. When they discovered you had made the trip to Tucson instead of him, they must have decided to do this in stages.”
Erin realized as she said this that they had probably recovered her phone from the pickup truck into which she had launched it. In this case, Fuller would have known that Kyle Hansen was coming to meet her rather than Drake. But this wouldn’t have mattered. They just had to delay their strike on Drake until she and Hansen were in sight. If their attack was 100 percent effective, Drake wouldn’t be able to alert Hansen that anything was amiss. The two of them would be blissfully ignorant and easy pickings. But even if Drake did inform Hansen of the attack in Yuma, which he had, they would either fail to ferret out that the danger extended to their own location, or be unable to extricate themselves, even if they realized they were surrounded.
Hansen didn’t look entirely convinced. “Why would they ever believe you’d still keep this meeting after what happened? Or have the balls … courage,” he amended, “to try to get past them to keep your appointment? Even if you wanted to? Wouldn’t they think you were still hiding out in LA? Laying low?”
“From my conversation with Drake, they probably realized how important this meeting was to me. I might be wrong, but we have to assume I’m not. We have to assume they’re here. Right now. I can’t imagine they’ll make a move as long as we’re in this crowd. And they can afford to be patient.”
Hansen gazed at her with open admiration. She sensed that he was attracted to her, but not in the usual way. She was used to men falling for her physically. But he had never once given her the sense this was about physical attraction, even when he had complimented her looks.
“Drake told me that you were very impressive,” said Hansen. “For a human,” he added wryly. “But I think he undersold you. What you did to get to LA and then Tucson was remarkable. And you think like a master detective, or a master spy. Like you’ve been engaged in cloak-and-dagger your entire life. I’ve seen your background. I know you have some pretty impressive fighting skills, but nothing suggests you’ve had any kind of actual experience with this sort of thing.”
Erin frowned. “Yeah, well, don’t congratulate me just yet. I’ve just identified the woods. I haven’t come close to getting us out of them. My secret weapon is that I read a lot of thrillers. I know this sounds crazy, but I really think it’s helped.”
Erin knew her appearance was deceiving, so maybe his was as well. He was cute, but in a down-to-earth, friendly, not particularly hardened or athletic-looking sort of way, and she had the distinct impression he was not the hired muscle. He was too smart, and seemed too thoughtful—not that physical and intellectual skills were mutually incompatible.
“What about you?” she said. “Are you a bodyguard in Drake’s organization?”
Hansen looked amused at the thought. “No. I’m afraid not.”
“Any experience with these types of situations at all? Any fighting skills? I don’t suppose you’re ex–Special Forces?”
Hansen laughed. “No. But I’ll take that as a huge compliment. I’m afraid I wasn’t even a Boy Scout. Worse, I read nothing but science fiction, so you’re ahead of me there too. I don’t know how to operate a gun, don’t know how to use a knife, and I’m pretty sure a ninety-year-old woman in a wheelchair could take me in hand-to-hand combat.”
“Okay,” said Erin with a twinkle in her eye. “I admire your … pathetic … honesty.”
“So any ideas about what we do now?” asked Hansen.
Erin turned her head away from him, wanting to pause any conversation so she could have some quality time for thought. She reexamined her logic to this point, and still found it sound. Except for one point. Would they really go to all this trouble: attack Drake, send a team to surveil them here, and everything else, just because of a few words spoken over a phone? Maybe she was letting her imagination run away with her. Fuller wouldn’t commit these kinds of resources, and take this kind of risk—openly attacking a compound in Yuma, committing a military assault on U.S. soil—unless he was certain she hadn’t just hallucinated the cure.
If her assumptions and logic were correct, they drove straight to a prediction. One that would be simple enough to test. And if it panned out, she could be nearly certain the attack on Drake wasn’t a hoax, there really were men watching them, and she wasn’t getting herself and Hansen worked up over bogeymen that didn’t actually exist.
Erin decided to continue to operate under the assumption that they did exist while she checked out her hypothesis.
She turned back to Kyle Hansen, who continued to gaze at her with a steady confidence, sure after her daring escape from San Diego she would find some way to pull a rabbit out of the hat. She found herself not wanting to disappoint him, and for reasons beyond just their personal safety.
“I need to make a phone call,” she said. “While I do, I need you to walk back to the bookstore. But take a circuitous route. Like you’re trying to decide if you should get something else to eat first. Try to spot whoever is watching us in here. My guess is he’ll be fit, won’t be a student, and will look totally occupied. As though he couldn’t possibly be watching us. Act natural and don’t be obvious.”
Hansen nodded. “I’ll try,” he said.
“My guess is that the watcher in here will alert the team outside when you leave, and they’ll
be watching the entrance to the bookstore. So when you do cross between here and there, make sure you’re with a crowd so they don’t decide to try anything. When you’re inside the store get a U of A duffel bag and fill it with two large Wildcat T-shirts and two hats.”
The large shirts could be easily slipped over their current ones while adding bulk to both of them, enhancing the disguise.
“We want to be chameleons,” continued Erin. “Blend in with the students. Try not to let anyone see what you’re doing—especially not that you’re acquiring clothing.”
Hansen listened in rapt attention.
Erin paused to gather her thoughts. “The checkout is near the exit,” she continued, “so don’t check out. The watchers will see the items you’re getting if you do. Just shoplift the whole duffel and get back here as fast as you can.”
Hansen blew out a breath. “You know you’re not cut out to be Jason Bourne when the thought of shoplifting fifty dollars’ worth of clothing makes you want to vomit.”
Erin couldn’t help but smile, but she quickly became serious once again. “You know what?” she said. “Maybe don’t do the duffel bag thing. It would be too obvious a shoplift. Get a standard backpack and remove all the tags. Put the shirts and hats in there. Half the bookstore’s customers wear backpacks on a perpetual basis. And be sure to get the cheapest clothing you can find, so they don’t bother imbedding any of those shoplifting deterrent devices. You know, the super-clearance stuff they half hope someone will shoplift just so they can be rid of it. Try to wrinkle it up a bit too.”
“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
The Cure Page 13