by Sheila Lowe
“Oh, yes. The study. Um, they said if I got the real device, it would help me with—well you know...” He lowered his voice. “I had prostate surgery awhile back, and it left me—”
“I understand,” Jessica interrupted, not eager to hear the details of his operation. “So you had a procedure to implant the device in your brain”
“Yeah, it was quick, easy. Overnight stay at the lab, and I was back home.” He covered his mouth with his hand, gave a girlish titter. “I have to say, it worked great. I felt wonderful, my girlfriend was very happy.”
“But you left the study because—”
Casey looked away, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Then, moving so fast that Jessica jumped, he sat on the edge of his seat, tilting his body closer her. “Who wants to know about this? Who are you reporting to?”
“As I mentioned, it’s an independent follow up. Completely confidential, Matt. Nobody will know what you tell me.” Jessica justified the lie to herself. She would certainly share what Casey told her with Detective Jovanic and anyone else if she thought it would help Jenna.
“You’re not with them, are you? The ones who are watching?”
“No, I’m definitely not with them.”
Casey leaned further toward her, apparently trusting the conviction in her voice. He lowered his own voice to a whisper. “About a week after I got the implant, my girlfriend started complaining. She kept telling me I was doing things I didn’t remember doing.”
Jessica felt a chill. “What kinds of things?”
“She said I got violent. That’s crazy. I’m not a violent person. Why would she make that up? And then she showed me a big bruise on her arm, told me I’d knocked her down and she fell against the dresser. I would never hurt her. Why would she say something like that?”
“What do you think happened, Matt?”
“She must have made it up. I have no memory of doing anything that, and I would remember something like that, wouldn’t I?”
His voice rose, becoming more agitated with every word. “I’m not a violent person. I’m not!
Jessica put her hands out to calm him down. “It’s okay, I believe you.”
“Then there were other times when she’d say I was much more loving than usual and that I’d do nice things—you know, sex things, and—”
“Do you remember doing the nice things?” Jessica broke in before he could get graphic. Matthew Casey cocked his head to the side, a smile curving his thin lips. “What I do remember is a feeling of extreme pleasure, like I was floating on a cloud and nothing could bring me down.”
“So it wasn’t all bad?”
“No, sometimes it was fantastic. That’s what I remember. That’s why I didn’t want to give it up when they made me leave the study—it felt so good. At least the money is helping tide me over until I can get back to work.”
“You’re not working?”
Casey scowled. “I lost my job over it. They lied, too. Accused me of acting crazy, having mood swings. Isn’t it against the law to fire somebody for that? I mean, it’s not my fault, right?”
“Do you mind if I ask you how much the lab offered you?”
“Sixty-five thousand—a year’s pay.”
“So, you signed some papers that said...” Jessica trailed off, hoping he would finish her sentence.
“Yeah, yeah. I signed away my right to complain if the problems continued. They cover my therapy visits, too, for life, so all in all, it was a pretty good deal.”
“And are you continuing to have problems?”
“The only problem I have are those people out there, watching me. Why are they doing that? Do they think I’m going to go back on my word? Do they think I’m stupid?”
“Relax, Matt, nobody thinks you’re stupid. Have you seen somebody spying on you?”
“Of course, not. They’re too clever to let me see them. But I can feel them.” He tapped his head again. “I can feel them in here.”
“Have you thought about having the implant removed?”
“The lab people said it can’t be removed—I forget why. You know, I liked the way it made me feel—the good feeling, I mean. I don’t remember the bad feeling, and of course, I wouldn’t want to keep making that happen if I did. What’s weird is, it didn’t seem to have anything to do with whether I activated the device or not. It just happened randomly.
“Sometimes I’d realize that I didn’t know what I’d been doing for maybe the last fifteen minutes.”
Like Jenna not remembering setting the fire.
“How is the device activated, Matt?”
He jumped up from the chair. “Wait here, I’ll show you.” He left the room, returning a moment later holding a plastic case that looked like a small electronic tablet. “This is the transmitter. I just had to press a couple of keys and it would happen like magic. Look—”
“Uh, that’s okay, you don’t have to demonstrate,” Jessica said.
Casey’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Well, of course I’m not going to demonstrate it! Jesus! You think I’m some kind of perv, or what? Anyway, they de-activated the transmitter when I left the program. I was supposed to return it, but...hey, what kind of person do you think I am, anyway?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Jessica stood up and extended her hand to him. She’d gotten what she came for and considering the way his paranoia seemed to be heightening, she was ready to go.
“Thank you, Matt. I appreciate you talking to me.”
Casey looked at her outstretched hand, looked at her. His eyes blanked again, as though a shade had dropped down, concealing all that made him who he was.
His jaw slackened, his pupils dilated and he drew himself up. He was about five-eight, one-forty, but all at once he seemed to grow larger. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you really want?”
With memories of Bagshot and Farley still fresh in her mind, Jessica pushed past him into the hallway. “Thanks for your time,” she said. Her car keys in were in her hand. She slipped the keys between her fingers, as she had learned to do as a method of self-defense.
She had no wish for a confrontation with Matthew Casey, but if she had to use her keys as a weapon, she was ready. Jessica got hold of the door knob and felt Casey’s hand on her shoulder. as she tried to turn it. Locked.
“You’re with them,” he accused, squeezing her shoulder hard enough to hurt. “You’re trying to to do something bad to me.”
Without a second thought, Jessica wheeled around and slammed her elbow into him. Casey reeled backward and landed on his butt, almost taking her down, too. Recovering her balance, she hurled herself at the front door, grabbing for the key. Casey picked himself up and came at her with a low growl in his throat.
Jessica twisted the key and wrenched open the door. She sprinted across the lawn, unlocking the Nissan with the key fob even before she reached the curb. Matthew Casey was still shouting after her when she locked herself in the car and accelerated away.
She had almost reached the end of the block when she caught sight of a familiar white sedan, parked on the street.
t h i r t y – f i v e
It was the same car she had seen before, Jessica was sure of it. The windows were tinted, the visor down, which prevented her from seeing the driver. Whether it was Farley, Bagshot, or someone else, she had no clue, but she had no doubt that Kevin Nguyen had set a tail on her. There must be at least two of them switching off, like on the cop shows. When the white car exited the freeway in Sherman Oaks, she had let down her guard. They must have set a second tail on them then. The white car had picked them up again later when she was not paying attention.
Of course Nguyen was not about to let them go as easily as he had pretended.
Jessica phoned the hospital and was told that Jenna was being prepped for a D&C after the miscarriage and would not be able to speak to her for several hours. At least her sister would be safe for the time being.
Heading back north to Ven
tura, she called the BioNeutronics main phone number. It was time for a confrontation after all.
When Keisha Johnson answered, Jessica identified herself as Jenna and asked to be connected to Simon Lawrie. Keisha sounded surprised, probably wondering why “Jenna” had not called Simon’s mobile number, but perhaps because she heard Jessica’s no-nonsense tone, put her through without comment.
“Changed your mind, doll baby?” Simon said when he picked up the call. “Want me back already?”
The lightness of his tone enraged Jessica. It was because of him that her twin was in excruciating physical and emotional pain. And what affected her twin affected Jessica.
“This is not Jenna,” She answered in a tight, cold tone. “My name is Jessica Mack. I’m Jenna’s sister.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You never said you had a sister.”
“Did you ever ask if she had a sister, Simon? No, I didn’t think so. You kept her busy taking care of your needs, you arrogant asshole. We’re identical twins. I’m the one you’ve been working with for the past couple of weeks. Remember, the one with the haircut?”
“What?”
“Surprise, surprise. Want to know why? Because Kevin Nguyen had Jenna kidnapped over your goddamned precious Project 42, and—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simon cut in swiftly. “But don’t say anything more on that subject. This line is not secure.”
Something made her want to keep digging at him. “Fine. I’m on my way to see you right now. But you need to know something. Right this minute, my sister is in a hospital after having a miscarriage. Guess whose baby she just lost?”
There was a long silence. “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Simon at last.
“Yeah, I just bet you are. Where do you want to meet? Not in the office. Someplace public.”
“Starbucks across the street from the lab. What time?”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Simon’s voice was strained. “I’ll see you there.”
The speedometer needle held steady between seventy-five and eighty until she started to hit the Camarillo exits. By Las Posas, just a few miles before the off ramp she needed, every lane slowed to a crawl. Traffic news said a fender bender in Oxnard at Rose Avenue was the cause of the slowdown. The final few miles were an infuriating stop and go.
It crossed Jessica’s mind to phone Simon Lawrie back and let him know she was stuck in traffic and would be a few minutes late, but she was too busy building up a head of steam, saving up all the words she wanted to spew at him for their in-person meeting.
Exiting at Vineyard twenty minutes later, she considered for a moment the wisdom of what she was about to do. But the machinations at BioNeutronics revolted her, and she was sick at heart at what had happened to her, to Jenna, and to all the people who had been suckered into the Project 42 study, not knowing what they were letting themselves in for. Confronting Simon Lawrie was the first step toward taking back her life.
She turned onto Oxnard Blvd and headed for Fifth Street. A block away from the lab, traffic came to a dead halt. A crowd had gathered on the corner, disregarding the police officer who stood in the middle of the road directing traffic. By craning her neck, Jessica could see the red and white cab of a fire engine blocking the intersection, flanked by a paramedic van and several police cars. She could not see the vehicles that had been involved in the accident, and assumed that they must have already been cleared away.
The traffic cop was letting a few vehicles at a time through the intersection. When it came her turn, Jessica glanced to her left and caught a glimpse of a sheet-covered form lying in the crosswalk.
Visions of the small sheet-covered form of her son haunted her, making her wish she had resisted the impulse to look.
Justin.
Not now. Not yet.
She no longer needed the amnesia for protection. Still, she pushed the thoughts down. There would be plenty of time later to grieve.
Turning into the shopping center across from BioNeutronics, Jessica parked behind the oddly pink-painted Starbucks. Picturing Simon waiting impatiently inside, wondering what she wanted from him. she left the Nissan and started walking toward Starbucks. The more anxious he was, the better she liked it. And he had sounded pretty anxious when she mentioned Project 42. Jessica had plenty to say on that score.
Keisha Johnson’s voice came from behind. “Jenna! Oh my God, Jen.”
Jessica spun around. Keisha was running toward her. Seeing the red-rimmed eyes, the streaks of mascara running down her cheeks, she knew. But still, she grabbed Keisha’s arms. “What is it? Tell me.”
“I can’t believe it. I can’t—” Keisha’s face was a pale mask of shock. “Simon—ohmigod—I can’t believe—I just saw him—I was coming back from Starbucks. He said he was coming to meet you—that guy didn’t even stop—I was right there...”
Keisha’s mouth continued moving, but the words refused to penetrate. Jessica turned back to the crosswalk, where she could see the bottom edge of the sheet fluttering in the breeze.
Simon, who had been coming to meet her, was dead at the hands of a hit and run driver. A horrible coincidence. It had to be.
Didn’t it?
Images hurtled across Jessica’s vision: Simon implying that his wife had done something to hurt Jenna. Christine Palmer’s fingernails digging into her arm. Jenna’s theory that the obscenely wealthy Morton brothers were bankrolling Project 42, as well as Palmer’s presidential campaign.
The flash drive was in her backpack.
Not trusting herself to speak, she turned without a word and left Keisha staring after her. She got back into the Nissan and drove across the shopping center parking lot, her hands gripping the wheel tight enough for the skin to whiten. She exited on the far side, away from BioNeutronics and Simon’s body in the street.
She checked into the Crowne Plaza. Her eyes had been on the rearview during the fifteen mile drive and she was reasonably sure she was not being followed. But after missing the tail to Venice, she intended to remain alert.
Since it had been the first place she had seen upon arriving in Ventura, returning to the hotel seemed to symbolize coming full circle. It was as she was signing her name to the form the reservationist handed her that the full impact of the irony hit: she had chosen Jenna and Simon’s trysting place as a refuge.
On the drive across town, she had considered using the computer at Jenna’s apartment, but the possibility of Kevin Nguyen sending his goons for another run at her made the decision for her.
Staying at the hotel, even if Nguyen were somehow able to track her transactions, her credit card would not be processed until she checked out in the morning. By then she would be on her way to pick up Jenna, who was staying in the hospital overnight.
The hotel’s business center had two computer stations. A lone man sat at one of them. He never even looked up when Jessica took the other chair. As long as no one wanted to print a boarding pass, she ought to be okay for a while.
She fumbled the flash drive into the computer’s USB port, the shock of Simon’s death, and the guilty knowledge that it had been a result of her phone call, working on her. He had told her the line was not secure. There was no question in her mind that someone had been listening in and heard their arrangements. It was time to find out what that person was protecting.
Only yesterday had they started exploring files on the flash drive. It seemed eons ago. Jessica scrolled to where they had left off and began opening files, skimming through mind-numbing technical articles about technology that used radio frequency identification (RFID) and even satellite mapping technology to link tiny microchips embedded in silicate glass to a database containing the recipient’s contact information.
She learned that a law had already been passed in California and several other states, barring employers from requiring their employees to have microchips implanted in their arm for security purposes.
Some senator
s had argued that such a requirement related to a reference in the Bible book of Revelation about “the Mark of the Beast.” Christine Palmer had been in the small minority of senators voting against the law.
After a time, a young girl stuck her head in the door and collected the man at the other computer, leaving Jessica alone in the room. Later, a woman came in and plopped down, complaining about how long the printer was taking to spit out her boarding pass.
Ignoring her, Jessica decided that instead of just opening the files alphabetically she would start by reading emails addressed to Simon Lawrie. Soon, engrossed in what she was reading, she stopped paying attention to the activity as hotel guests came and went.
Simon, this has to stop. It didn’t matter when it was just a piece of tail you were chasing, but this one is interfering with my plans in a big way. Either you do something about it or I’ll have to.
The return address was [email protected]. With a name like that, the author of the email had to be Christine Palmer referring to Jenna. Jessica printed it and turned it face down on the computer desk. An email from Dr. Kapur:
My Dear Dr. Lawrie,
A new issue has arisen that we need to address. The implant is being absorbed by the system, which makes it difficult, if not impossible, to remove later if necessary. Further testing is to be scheduled using a newly developed type of silicon. I will keep you posted.
Did “absorbed by the system” mean that brain tissue was growing around it? Jessica’s heart squeezed with dread. Oh God, was Jenna stuck with the chip in her head for the rest of her life?
Another email from [email protected], dated two weeks earlier:
I’m getting worried about you, Si. We can’t afford to have you getting squeamish. Think of the future. Soon you can build a bigger, better lab and play scientist to your heart’s content. You’ve got to stay on target. Once the device is up and running the way it’s intended, we’ll give some of our targets the opportunity to try it out–LOL. Those horny old devils on both sides of the aisle will jump at the chance to keep it up all night and not have to worry about their dicks falling off from those little blue pills. They’ll be begging for it. Now buck up and get some backbone.