I’m in Madera, but it’s basically the same location. You spent seven months in a warehouse fairly near here. Do you remember this at all?
Hall searched his memory but drew a blank. He responded that he didn’t.
He queried a maps program using his internal system and learned Altschuler was one hundred and twenty miles from his current location. He then called up the address of the grocery store nearest the Glandons’ house.
Okay, he texted. You have ninety minutes to get to the Vons Grocery on the corner of Roosevelt and Pike in Bakersfield.
Hall didn’t have to wait long for Altschuler’s response. Ninety minutes! Impossible. I’d have to leave this second and drive ninety the entire way.
Then you’d better get started, hadn’t you? You want me to trust you, you’ll have to earn it. You get no time to plan. And you’ll be going on a wild goose chase, starting in Bakersfield. How wild this goose chase gets is all about how much I grow to trust you. And this depends partly on how well you follow instructions.
Hall thought for a few seconds and then continued. Bring the antidote, no weapons, and come alone. Wear a baseball cap and don’t take it off. When you arrive, I want you to hang out next to the eggs.
Hall knew this would be a well-defined location at the back of the store, since groceries always put staples like milk and eggs at the back, forcing customers who needed these things to traverse the entire store so they would be tempted by impulse purchases as they went. Hall thought about ordering Altschuler to balance several eggs on his head and spin like a top, but he resisted. He wasn’t sure how this silly thought had popped into his head, but it brought a much-needed grin to his face.
Send me your cell number, continued Hall. I’ll call you with more instructions once you’ve had a few minutes to appreciate Vons’ fine selection of eggs. The more comfortable I am that I can trust you, the more likely I’ll come to you. Or have you fly to where I am.
Altschuler’s reply arrived in very short order. Are you sure there is nothing I can do to prove myself to you short of recklessly breaking every traffic law?
I’m sure, texted Hall. And one other thing.
What?
You’d better have started five minutes ago. Because you’re already running late.
27
Hall rushed back to the bedroom. Megan was lying on her back, just as he had left her.
Upon seeing him enter, an amused smile came over her face, and she rolled her eyes. “Let me get this right, Nick. You take almost fifteen minutes to make a few sandwiches. And then, when you return . . . you don’t even have the sandwiches?”
Hall couldn’t help but laugh. “Something came up,” he said. He lifted the sheets and gazed appreciatively at her naked form. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But I need you to put your clothes back on.”
Hall told her the reason for his delay—and lack of sandwiches. As they both dressed, he read the text of his IM exchange with Alex Altschuler.
Megan was stunned.
Hall had been on the Scripps Explorer? The most famous ill-fated voyage since the Flying Dutchman or the space shuttle Challenger. He had been experimented on for seven months? Incredible!
And she was fascinated that he was a marine biologist from Woods Hole. Judging from his brains and geekiness, she would have guessed if he were a scientist, he’d be a mathematician or physicist, not a scientist so far on the cool and romantic side of the ledger.
“And none of these revelations brought back your memory?” she asked him.
Hall shook his head no. He told her that now that he had more to go on than just a name he shared with hundreds of others, he had spent a few minutes Googling himself, and had learned some additional information. He had obtained his undergraduate degree in biology from Indiana University in Bloomington, and his PhD in Oceanography from the Florida Institute of Technology. He had been an only child and his parents were deceased as of two years earlier. And he was unmarried.
He had decided to wait to dig further. There was always the chance he would have his full memory restored, and he’d prefer to wait for this to happen rather than rely on a cyber footprint of limited depth and questionable reliability.
“If this guy,” began Megan, and then, drawing a blank, said, “what was his name again?”
“Alex Altschuler.”
She repeated his name a few times, since she didn’t have an Internet boosted memory to draw from. “If this Altschuler does turn out to be on the level, do you plan to tell him about your psi ability?”
“I don’t think I should. They still haven’t found the people trying to kill us. And this could be the ace in the hole we need to save our lives. I think we need all the advantages we can get.” He frowned. “What do you think? Am I using faulty logic here, just so I can delay my pariah-hood?”
Megan shook her head. “No. I agree entirely. When you have your memory back and they catch the guys hunting for you—us—then you can consider it. But it’s our best weapon right now.”
“Yeah. But breaching people’s privacy without their knowledge couldn’t be more unethical. I just don’t want to get used to doing this. I’m counting on you to keep me honest. And to make sure I don’t turn into a monster.”
She nodded with a grim expression, acknowledging the seriousness of the request. “Why do I suddenly feel like the bride of Frankenstein?” she said, attempting to lighten the mood.
“I don’t know,” replied Hall with just the hint of a smile. “Did Frankenstein marry a Neanderthal?”
28
Seventy minutes later, Megan pulled into a spot in the Vons parking lot and killed the engine of Carl Glandon’s Mercedes. She wore oversized sunglasses, baggy clothing, and her hair was tucked neatly inside a Stanford baseball cap, all of which the Glandons had generously provided.
Hall had driven by a police station on their way home from lunch the day before and had scanned the minds inside. To his surprise, none of them were looking for Megan Emerson in connection with the dead men in her office. He’d have thought a double murder in Bakersfield would have been at the top of the cops’ radar. But maybe whoever was behind this had retrieved the bodies before the authorities had found them, to stifle an investigation.
Still, as relieved as they were by this development, it would be careless not to at least make some effort at disguise.
“Okay,” she broadcast to Hall, who had remained in their borrowed home. “I’m in the lot.”
“Great. Hold on a second. I’ll find out how our boy is doing.”
Hall called up the IM screen he had used before. You have ten minutes, Alex, he sent.
I’ll be there in five, came the reply inside Hall’s internal text box, no doubt sent by Altschuler’s PDA while he raced to his destination like a caffeine-addled maniac. To make time this good, he must have been going nearly a hundred on the highway the entire way.
What kind of hat are you wearing?
The only one I could find on short notice. It’s a pink women’s tennis visor. It’s as close to a baseball hat as I could get.
Hall laughed out loud. Altschuler had certainly been willing to go the extra mile to obey his instructions.
Hall transmitted this information to Megan. Five minutes later, right on schedule, she reported seeing a scrawny man in a ridiculous pink visor enter the store. She waited another five minutes, scouring the lot, but Altschuler appeared to have come alone. Hall was counting on the cocktail party effect to alert him if there were already other men in the grocery store waiting.
Megan entered the store and walked to the egg area.
“I see him now,” she broadcast to Hall. “I’m pretending to be choosing some cheese slices. He’s about twenty feet to my left.”
Hall detected only seven minds in Megan’s vicinity. He entered each of them until he found Altschuler. Megan had served her duty as spotter flawlessly.
“Find him?” she asked.
�
�Yeah. Give me a few minutes to explore, and I’ll get back to you.”
Nick Hall entered Alex Altschuler’s mind once again and began to dig. His first impression was that the guy was largely harmless, and this was borne out after several additional minutes of perusing his memories. Hall read the memory of his recent call with Fyfe and his encounter with Gray. Altschuler was smart and ambitious, but he had actually wet himself during this encounter, although not enough to be detectible. This was a memory Hall felt bad about reading, and vowed to forget that he had.
Unbelievably, everything Altschuler had texted to Hall was one hundred percent accurate. The events had unfolded precisely the way he had said. Not even any white lies to make himself look better. And the stuff he had written about how sorry he was and how he wanted to do right by the victims’ families and society had been absolutely genuine. Hall had thought these were platitudes issued by a heartless executive performing damage control, but these Boy Scout utterances had been entirely sincere.
The man was excited, and nervous, about his upcoming elevation to CEO, and saw it as a huge opportunity. He also was excited about the progress Gray had made and how it would revolutionize the world.
But at the same time, he felt profoundly guilty for feeling this way, given the atrocities Gray had committed to achieve this progress. And guilty for not realizing what Gray had been up to earlier. His empathy and remorse were very deep, and very real, and Hall could not have been more astonished.
He relayed what he had learned to Megan, who was as surprised as he was by his findings.
“Let’s bring him to the house,” suggested Hall telepathically. “He’s harmless.”
Megan took a deep breath. “You ever misread anyone before?” she asked.
Hall couldn’t blame her for wanting to be sure. Everyone else who had been looking for them wanted them dead, but he reassured her that he was absolutely certain about this particular individual.
Megan approached the man in the glasses and pink visor, who was nervously hovering next to dozens of rows of egg cartons sitting on a low, refrigerated shelf, not exactly sure what to do with himself. He had such a worried expression on his face, and his eyes were shifting around the area so quickly, it looked to Megan as though he were expecting an entire team of commandos to descend from the ceiling.
“Alex Altschuler?” she said.
From his shocked look, he had been expecting many possibilities, but Megan Emerson wasn’t one of them. “Who are you?” he replied.
“Nick Hall sent me. He’s decided to trust you, after all.”
Altschuler eyed her suspiciously. “Really? Just like that?”
“Apparently so,” she replied with a shrug. “Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to Nick,” she said, beginning to lead him out of the store. “He’s just a few miles from here.”
“No kidding?” said Altschuler in genuine surprise. “I would have bet my life he wasn’t in Bakersfield.”
Megan smiled. “Good thing you didn’t bet, then,” she said dryly.
“Oh, and by the way,” she added. “Feel free to take off that ridiculous visor.”
29
Megan turned the corner and pointed out their destination ahead, a truly impressive home.
“You two have been staying there?” said Altschuler incredulously.
“For two days now. The owners are on vacation.”
“How did you know they weren’t coming back yesterday or today?”
“We, um . . . overheard them.”
“And, what . . . did they forget to lock the door?” said Altschuler.
Megan shrugged. “Let’s just say we were fortunate and leave it at that.”
She pushed a button near the dash and the leftmost door on the Glandons’ four-car garage slid smoothly open. She pulled in and quickly closed the door behind them.
Megan opened the car door and exited. Altschuler followed suit, throwing the door open and narrowly missing Nick Hall, who had entered the garage to be a one-man welcoming party.
As Altschuler stood, Hall held out his hand. Altschuler shook the offered hand with a look of disbelief, obviously not expecting access to Nick Hall to have been this easy, especially after the text messages they had exchanged. Both men introduced themselves, even though this wasn’t necessary. Both knew full well whose hands they were shaking.
“Welcome to our hideout,” said Hall.
“Thanks,” said Altschuler. “But aren’t you worried that a neighbor just saw us pull in? In a car I presume belongs to the people who own this place? Someone could be calling the cops right now.”
Hall reappraised the man in front of him. He had known the man was a genius technically, but hadn’t expected him to be this savvy. Hall had been monitoring the neighborhood psionically and had broadcast to Megan when the coast was clear. But this wasn’t something he could tell Altschuler. “I set up cameras pointed at the houses on either side of us,” he lied. “With the feeds coming into my personal World Wide Web. No one saw you come in.”
“Impressive,” said Altschuler. And then, changing gears, added, “Thanks for bringing me here. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your trust.”
They entered the main residence and Hall offered his guest a drink, which he refused.
“Did you bring the antidote?” asked Hall.
Altschuler pulled a small glass vial from his pocket, its lid screwed on tightly. “Drink this. Within thirty minutes to a few hours, your memory should return.” He grimaced. “If it’s ever going to return, that is. I can’t guarantee it.”
“For some reason, I thought it would need to be injected.”
“It’s a nasty, super-potent cousin of the date rape drug,” explained Altschuler. “The one that deviant assholes slip into girls’ drinks.”
“Got it,” said Hall. “Having to inject it would make it a little less . . . stealthy, wouldn’t it?”
Hall put out his hand and Altschuler gave him the vial, which he chugged down immediately.
Altschuler shook his head in amazement. “How did you decide to trust me so completely—so suddenly? I can’t believe you just took that without analyzing it first. I mean,” he hastened to add, “it is what I said it is. But still . . .”
“Megan is a great judge of character. And she decided you were trustworthy. That’s good enough for me.”
“Yeah?” thought Megan wryly. “I wouldn’t have trusted him as far as I could throw him.”
Hall suppressed a smile while they adjourned to the family room.
For the next forty-five minutes, Altschuler filled them in on the entire situation as thoroughly as he could, including Fyfe and Cowan’s roles. Hall had already read all of it from his mind, but this was helpful to Megan, and it was another great test of the bespectacled scientist’s veracity.
Once again, he told it straight. The only area in which he wasn’t totally honest involved his own feelings of guilt. They were stronger even than he let on, and he was beating himself up over not having caught on to what Gray was doing in time to save lives.
Hall found himself liking and admiring this man, and wondering if he could have been as upstanding as Altschuler if their situations were reversed.
When Altschuler was finished revealing everything he knew, he couldn’t contain himself any longer. He had to know more about Hall’s implants. He asked questions for the next thirty minutes, and had Hall run through various diagnostic programs to assess the implants’ performance more precisely.
Altschuler was ecstatic over what he learned. The system worked better than he could have ever dared hope. Kelvin Gray may have been a man with no soul, he told them, but there was no denying he was a genius.
Finally, when he had run out of questions, at least temporarily, Altschuler said, “I came here with the goal of getting you to come back to Fresno with me. How about it? I won’t tell anyone you’re there.”
“Other than your friend
s Cameron Fyfe and Ed Cowan, correct?”
“Right. Those two, and the three of us, will form a crisis management team. We’ll spearhead the search for John Delamater. And go public with the atrocities committed by Kelvin Gray.”
“Where would we stay?” said Megan.
Altschuler smiled, pleased with himself for having thought far enough ahead to have a good answer. “At the Fresno Homestead Inn. Ed Cowan has already gotten you a suite there, under an alias. It’s an extended stay hotel, and the suites are really nice.”
“Extended stay hotel?” said Megan.
“Yes. You know, like the Residents Inn. Although I think the Homestead is even better. They cater to businesspeople on long assignments, people relocating, and so on. In fact, Theia houses our relocating employees there until they find permanent residence. They’re separate units, about seven hundred square feet. A few rooms, a small kitchen, free breakfast.” Seeing that Megan’s expression remained unchanged, Altschuler added, “You’ll love it. Pool, business center, weight room . . . .” Altschuler trailed off and rolled his eyes. “Why do I suddenly feel like I work for the hotel?”
Megan and Hall both laughed.
“We’re going with him to Fresno, aren’t we?” broadcast Megan.
“It really is our best option. And I trust this guy implicitly.”
“And you really like him, also, don’t you?”
“A lot,” he replied. Hall locked his eyes on the thin scientist. “What the hell,” he said. “Let’s go to Fresno. We accept your proposal.”
Altschuler was delighted. “Fantastic!” he said.
“Naturally, we’ll want to take your car,” said Hall. “Give me a second and I’ll call a cab to get us back to the Vons parking lot. The local cab company lets you schedule a pickup online,” he explained.
“Let’s have it pick us up away from the house,” suggested Megan.
“Right. I’ll send it to Primrose, which my map program says is one street over.” He looked away for several seconds. “Okay. Done,” he announced. “A cab will pick us up in fifteen minutes. While we wait, let’s straighten up and put everything back the way we found it.”
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