by Sheila Lowe
At her side, Jessica felt her twin stiffen and pressed Jenna’s arm tighter against her, warning her to say nothing. Determined to protect her sister and take the brunt of this woman’s wrath, Jessica lifted her chin and said with conviction, “I’m Jenna Marcott.”
Palmer nodded her head, the full red lips pursed with contempt. “I learned long ago to live with Simon’s flings—God knows there were plenty of them, but he robbed the cradle this time.”
Her words stabbed Jessica’s heart on her sister’s behalf. Had Jenna been canny enough to realize that their affair was not the first time Simon had cheated on his wife?
Even at twenty-seven and with a track record of bad relationships, there was a guilelessness about Jen that always led her to believe the lies of the men she attracted. “You didn’t have to kill him,” she said.
Palmer turned the sneer in her direction. “I didn’t kill him you stupid bitch. And that’s why I had you brought here—to make you understand that what’s going on is far bigger than this. It’s bigger than me and it’s certainly bigger than the two of you. This is our last fucking chance.” She threaded her way around the furniture and dropped into one of the big leather armchairs. Crossing one knee over the other, she kicked with the pointed toe of her shoe toward the sofa. “Sit. Over there.”
When they had complied, Palmer spoke again, her voice shaking with emotion. “I couldn’t give a crap whether you believe it or not, but the truth is, I tried to save Simon. I did manage to save your worthless life. You didn’t know that, did you? My...” She broke off, searching for the word she wanted.
“When you started asking the wrong questions, threatening to go public, my backers had every intention of silencing you right then. But I pointed out that if something happened to my husband’s ‘executive assistant,’ it would have brought the spotlight around onto me, which is a very bad idea for a candidate.”
Her lip curled into a sneer. “The goddamned media is more thorough than the FBI and the CIA combined, and your little affair de coeur would have been exposed. So instead, they decided to spare you and allow you to volunteer for the clinical trial of their special little device.” Palmer paused, assessing the twins with humorless smile. “I hear it worked out quite well, too. Much smoke damage, dear?”
“How dare you screw around with people’s lives like this!” Jenna cried. “You aren’t God. You can’t get away with playing this kind of game!”
“The people I’m dealing with don’t ‘play games,’ girlie,” Palmer said. “They have some very specific goals and believe me, they will meet them, one way or another.”
She shrugged. “In a way, I’m just a pawn in all this, too. What happened to Simon was because he was weak. He was about to cave because of you.”
“But now, the spotlight, as you put it, will be pointed at you anyway,” Jessica said, drawing Palmer’s focus away from Jenna. “It doesn’t sound like your backers planned very well, does it?”
Palmer shrugged. “Collateral damage. Now it comes down to damage control.”
“Nice way to think of your husband—collateral damage,” Jessica said.
“Your precious sister just had to discuss the Project with him. That’s why he’s dead. It’s her fault.”
Jessica stared back at her in contempt, wondering how the woman could live with herself. Her chin lifted in defiance. “What is it you want with us, Senator? Why are we here?”
“You are here for one reason.” Palmer reached over to a side table next to her chair, where a crystal decanter and lowball glass had been set out on a tray. After pouring herself two fingers of Scotch she closed her eyes and threw back a hefty swallow. She drew in a breath and released a long sigh.
“I’ve been given one last opportunity to appeal to your common sense. Not that I wouldn’t love to see the two of you with a bullet through your heads.”
Palmer paused, allowing a moment for her words to sink in. “The trouble is, my campaign must be free of innuendo of any kind. First, the funeral. Then I return to Washington, where I will not allow Simon’s death to distract the people from the importance of my message.”
She leveled a hard look at them both. “When I’m President, we will bring this country back around to the way it used to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jessica asked.
“If you’re a good girl, you just might be around to find out.”
“What about Project 42?”
“That will go on as it is, of course. The clinical trials are working very well.”
“Let me guess,” said Jenna. “You’ve come up with a way to get handpicked members of Congress to try the sexual enhancement device, but the truth is, your people will be controlling them with the secondary device, getting them to vote the way you want them to. Am I close?”
“Close enough.”
“What else, the Supreme Court?”
“The Supreme Court and anyone we deem needs a little persuasion. It’s going to take some more experimentation and tweaking, but we’re getting there.”
“How can you justify what you’re doing?” Jessica challenged, hating the Senator’s smug, self-satisfied expression. It was clear that she had drunk her own Kool-Aid.
Palmer raised her glass as if in a toast. “I can justify it because I’m doing God’s work. This country has been going down the wrong road for a long time now. The people need help thinking the right way again.”
“The right way? You mean your way. The Morton brothers’ way.”
“Ah. You have done your homework,” Palmer said. “I can see that my backers were right to rein you in. But whatever you think is going on doesn’t matter, does it? Here’s the bottom line, girlies, and it’s your one chance. You call off your detective and tell him it was all a misunderstanding. That’s it.”
“Why would we agree to back off?” Jessica asked. “You just said you can’t afford to kill us. The media would be on it in a hot minute after Simon’s death.”
“Oh, we don’t have to do anything so Draconian as to kill you. There’s another option; one where your mind, dear Jenna, ends up a mush.”
Christine Palmer downed the rest of her drink and set the glass back on the tray, then weighed her upturned palms as if they were a scale. “Hmm, let’s see. Back off and keep my cognitive powers intact, or end up in a straitjacket in a state hospital? Which would I choose?”
Jessica found the Senator’s easy confidence alarming. Why was she so unafraid? “What’s to stop us from having the device removed?”
“It’s not that simple, darlin’.” Palmer reached into her jacket pocket and took out a cell phone and punched in a number. She spoke into the phone. “Would you come to the study, please.”
Thirty seconds later Dr. Kapur entered.
“Tariq, I believe you’ve already met Ms. Mack,” said Christine Palmer, though she indicated Jenna. “At the time you were first introduced, she was masquerading as Ms. Marcott.”
Under other circumstances, Jessica would have laughed at the paradox.
“Ladies,” Kapur included both sisters in a small bow. “It’s quite remarkable! I can see why there was confusion about Ms. Mack’s identity. You do present a most interesting problem, but I must say I appreciate your participation in our test process.”
“As if we were given a choice,” Jenna said dully.
“Doctor,” said Palmer, ignoring her. “Would you please explain the disadvantages of attempting to remove the microchip.”
“I would be delighted, my dear.”
Kapur smiled and Jessica could see his transparent pleasure at the opportunity to hold forth on his project. It was apparent in the lightness of his step as he went to stand in front of the big window; in the way he clasped his hands behind his back, taking up a lecturing posture like a professor about to address a class of interested students.
“So. We have found that the device becomes rapidly assimilated into the body. Fibrous tissue begins to grow around it so that it is
integrated into the host’s brain. What this means to you, Ms. Marcott, is that since your procedure was about two weeks ago, tissue growth is assumed to already be well established. Admittedly, assimilation was an unintended side effect of the implant, but it’s one that works out well for us, as it makes the microchip virtually impossible to detect.”
Jessica felt sick at the gloating way Kapur’s smug gaze swung from Jenna to her, no doubt reassuring himself that they were suitably impressed by what he was telling them. Jenna sat silent beside her, her shoulders drooping as though she had already given up any hope of escape. She was staring a statuette on the cocktail table. The green marble horse head seemed to have her mesmerized.
“Any attempt to excise the microchip would be entail significant risk,” Kapur droned on. “Surrounding brain structures could be damaged in the process. You see, the implant is placed close to the amygdala, which, among other things, affects the emotions, and the hippocampus, which affects memory. Thus, removal of the microchip could severely impact memory functions. And from what I’ve heard, Ms. Mack can tell you something about how it feels to be without a memory.”
Christine Palmer poured herself another drink as Kapur droned on.
“Since the device is microscopic, once tissue overgrowth has become established, even if you were looking for it, it would not easily be seen on an MRI or CT Scan. And magnetic imaging would cause traumatic burns to the brain.” He paused for breath. “If you bothered to read the specifications you stole, you will know that we use a very fine cathode needle, tracing its path through a computer screen to implant the microchip exactly where it needs to be to produce the electrical impulse to stimulate the appropriate area. Because every brain is a little different, you see, it takes a great deal of skill to place it precisely in the cerebral cortex—”
“Thank you, doctor,” Palmer broke in, cutting short the speech with an impatient wave of her hand. “I think they now understand the problem.”
Jessica clasped her hands tight in her lap to keep Palmer from seeing them tremble. Her heart was thumping like a rock band’s amp. Still pretending to be Jenna, she said, “Let me get this right. You’re threatening to turn me into a zombie if we don’t cooperate?”
Kapur frowned. “‘Zombie’ is so inelegant.”
“More like stark raving lunatic,” Palmer interjected with a malicious smile. “I know you’re still tweaking it, Tariq, but maybe a little reminder to help them to make their decision...”
“Of course, my dear.” With a look of pride, Kapur removed a tablet device from his pocket. It looked similar to the one Jenna had snatched from BioNeutronics, but about half the size. He said, “I understand you helped yourself to one of the early test transmitters from the lab. Wasn’t it kind of Dr. Polzin to leave it out for you to find?”
“Left it out?” Jenna asked in a faint voice.
“Zach reported in when you went into the lab,” Palmer said. “Luckily, Raisa was able to run over and help you out with the transmitter.”
“But—why?”
“Why?” Christine Palmer echoed. “It gave you something to play with while the lab was being cleaned up.”
Jessica forced herself to remain stonefaced, but at Palmer’s words, she could feel any fight remaining in her twin seep away. Despair lodged deep in Jessica’s core. If the evidence of Project 42's secondary device had already been removed from the lab, there would be nothing to find, even if Detective Jovanic was able to get someone interested. The flash drive was in her backpack at Zach’s apartment. He would turn it over to Senator Palmer for destruction.
“We’ve greatly improved its functions over the version you got,” Dr. Kapur was saying. “This beta version has its own app, too. Of course, the app can’t go on the market right away. There’s a lot of testing to be done yet.” As he spoke, he slid a miniature keyboard from the transmitter and started tapping out commands with his thumbs. “Let’s see what we can get out of Ms. Marcott today. With this version I may even be able to stimulate more precise emotions.”
“Can you make her choke her sister?” Senator Palmer asked lightly, as if the whole thing were a joke.
Knowing that she was deadly serious, the question made Jessica’s mouth go dry.
“We are not quite at a stage where we can give specific commands, but that is coming,” Kapur answered with the nonchalance of discussing the dinner menu. “For now, it’s a matter of stimulating a certain type of emotion. How the subject expresses the emotion is, unfortunately, random. Thus, the fire she set.”
Jessica’s pulse kicked into high gear. The thought of the scientist poking around in Jenna’s brain with his surgical instruments already made her want to get her hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him. Watching him tap out commands designed to hurt her twin unleashed a rage she never knew existed in her. Stop!” she shouted.
The doctor’s head jerked up as she sprang off the couch. The distraction was enough to arrest the rapid movement of his fingers on the keyboard. Jessica raced across the room. She crossed in front of Palmer’s chair, her eyes fixed on the transmitter in Kapur’s hands.
The senator kicked out hard with her spike heel, connecting with Jessica’s injured knee. Jessica’s thigh muscle seized, her leg collapsed. She went down with a cry of pain and crashed against the cocktail table.
Through the blur of agony, she could see Kapur once again typing on the transmitter keyboard. Bent on stopping him, Jessica grasped the lip of the cocktail table and started to stand. In her peripheral vision, she was aware of Jenna bending, reaching...
Palmer tackled her and rode her back down to the floor, thick pile carpet fibers mashing into her nose and mouth as the full weight of the Senator pressed against her diaphragm. She was not a large woman, but she had a good thirty pounds on Jessica.
Twisting, thrashing, Jessica struggled for breath, but Palmer planted her knees on her back, squeezing the oxygen from her lungs.
Then things seemed to happen all at once in slow motion and at the speed of light.
A whoosh of air as someone ran past.
A strangled protest.
A clatter, a dull thud.
Like a marionette whose strings are rudely cut, on the far side of the cocktail table, Tariq Kapur dropped to the floor.
Almost at once, the weight lifted off Jessica, but she was too winded to raise her head. From under the table, one half-closed brown eye stared back at her.
For a nanosecond, there was silence. Then Palmer started shrieking for Zach.
There was the sound of shattering glass, then silence again.
The study door slammed open. Weapon extended, Zach swept the room. His eyes lit first on Jessica, still prone on the floor. Then Christine Palmer and the motionless form of Dr. Kapur.
Swiveling his gaze back to the senator he snapped, “Where’s the other one?”
f o r t y – t w o
Jenna Marcott stopped running and sat down on the dusty path. She hated dirt, but her head felt fuzzy, as though she had not eaten in far too long and her blood sugar was in the basement. She pressed her hands to her temples, trying to remember.
How did I get here?
What happened?
Where’s Jess?
Bits of memories floated, scraps of images: watching Dr. Kapur keying something on a tablet....a pleasant tingling across her scalp. Then, chaos. Literally, a brainstorm.
A sleepwalker waking confused in the middle of a nightmare, Jenna could remember nothing more. Gazing down at the blue tiled roof some thirty feet below, she recognized Simon Lawrie’s home from photos he had shown her.
Why is Simon’s house down there?
From her vantage point she could see across the wall surrounding the property to the flagstone patio at the back of the house. The French door stood open. Jenna picked absently at the glass splinters dotting the back of her hand. Where had they come from?
Simon is dead.
She squeezed her eyes shut, puzzling over wh
at had happened and why she was here. Then she looked again. A dark patch in the glass of the French door resolved into a jagged hole.
Why is there a hole in the door?
More slices of memory: Jessica, flying across the room at the doctor. Christine Palmer kicking out with her spiked heel. Jenna had been consumed with a terrible, killing rage; picked up the horse head statuette from the cocktail table....
The memory abruptly ended.
Extending her hands in front of her, she stared at the slim fingers and bloody palms, as if they belonged to someone else. She remembered the question Christine Palmer had asked Dr. Kapur: “Can you make her choke her sister?”
Oh God, Jess! What did he make me do?
There was no way she would have used these hands to harm her twin. Was there?
You set a fire while she was asleep.
Jenna rolled onto her knees and vomited until her stomach was empty. She began to scour her hands against the dirt path. Frenzied, she scrubbed until the bloodstains were caked with clay. Then she went on scrubbing until the only blood that remained was her own.
The searing pain of scraped-raw palms helped to clear her mind, but she could not recall how her hands had become covered in blood. What she did remember was the promise she and Jess had made to each other in Christine Palmer’s study: if one of them got away, she must go for help.
Regardless of whatever Tariq Kapur had programmed her to do, she owed it to her twin to keep that promise. Whispering a prayer for Jessica and blocking out everything but her resolve to finish climbing the hill, Jenna got to her feet.
She was within a few feet of the Nissan when the sharp crack of a gunshot echoed across the canyon.
f o r t y – t h r e e
Tariq Kapur lay as still as stone. Blood dribbled from a wide gash above his eyebrow into the white carpet. Christine Palmer was hysterically screaming that Jenna had killed him.