The Devil's Interval

by Kevin Tumlinson

  Kotler wasn’t sure. But he suspected.

  “We need to take him down without hurting him!” Kotler said.

  Two more shots rang out and whined as they ricocheted from the sidewalk near their feet. They crawled quickly toward the front of the car.

  Denzel took out his weapon.

  “Listen!” Kotler said. “I think Holden is being controlled! Devil’s Interval!”

  “What?” Denzel said. “How?”

  “I’m not sure, but we can’t use lethal force. We have to find another way!”

  Denzel cursed, and crouched at the front of the car. Peering over as Kotler joined him.

  Holden had moved out into the street, angling to see around the corner of the car’s back bumper. The trunk lid was wide open again, and it was blocking Holden’s view somewhat.

  “Why isn’t he coming around?” Denzel asked.

  Kotler shook his head, watching. Holden’s body language was all off. He was clearly intent on finding and shooting the two of them, but he wasn’t taking the sort of initiative he would have been trained to take. In fact, he was wide out in the open, with no cover, and behaving strangely. Kotler didn’t know what the effects of Devil’s Interval might be, but it was clear that the subject’s free will was compromised to the point of making them less effective. Maybe Bristol hadn’t perfected the technology yet.

  Or maybe Holden was resisting.

  “I think we may be able to rush him,” Kotler said. “If we can come at him from an angle he isn’t watching.”

  “How do we do that?” Denzel asked. “The second we leave cover he’ll spot us.”

  “I think his reactions are slowed,” Kotler said.

  “You think?” Denzel replied.

  “I’m open to other ideas,” Kotler said.

  Denzel cursed again, shook his head, and then took a few quick breaths. He then sprinted forward, running at full tilt across the street.

  It did take a beat for Holden to react, but then he turned and started firing.

  Denzel managed to make it to cover behind another vehicle, on the opposite side of the street. He looked back at Kotler with an expression that clearly articulated his opinion about Kotler being wrong.

  Kotler, however, saw an opportunity.

  Holden was now entirely focused on Denzel. The technology affecting him was overcoming the Detective’s training and common sense, to a degree. He was leaving himself open from behind.

  Kotler crawled back around the car and raised up to peer into the trunk. The bean-bag shotgun was there. An old friend, at this point. Kotler carefully reached in, took it, and loaded it. He heard two more shots from the street. There was no more time.

  In a quick motion, Kotler stood, took aim, and fired a bean bag into Holden’s shoulder.

  Holden stumbled, and his weapon dropped to the ground. He turned, staring at Kotler, and stooped to pick up the gun.

  Kotler fired again, this time hitting Holden square in the chest, knocking him back.

  Denzel was on him then, pinning him to the ground and cuffing his hands. He had him up and leaning against the car where Denzel had taken cover.

  Kotler, shotgun propped on his shoulder as if he were an old west lawman, smiled and ambled forward.

  “Good work, Tex,” Denzel said.

  “All in a day’s work,” Kotler replied, tipping an imaginary cowboy hat.

  Chapter 22

  “OW! Sonofabitch!” Holden bellowed as Denzel helped him out of his shirt to observe the bruises. “Kotler, I’m going to get have you arrested and cavity searched for this!”

  Kotler smiled. “You’re welcome, Detective.”

  They were in the store again, and Guy had brought them a chair for Holden. Kotler, his hands now sheathed in latex gloves, was holding an evidence bag containing a smashed device, built into a casing identical to the one found in the workshop. It had been tucked into Holden’s shirt pocket, and had taken the second hit from the beanbag gun.

  Kotler examined the device, and then slipped into the workshop to do a bit of digging. He could hear Holden and Denzel talking about the incident, most of their conversation punctuated by Holden’s cursing.

  Kotler placed the evidence bag on the workbench, and started sifting through drawers and cabinets in the room. He found plenty of research material from AMSL, further proof that this might be Lawny Bristol. He also found a remote video feed connected to a voice masking microphone. This must have been where his mysterious disembodied voice had hidden out during their chats, when he’d been abducted.

  Kotler kept searching, finding more and more evidence that this was where their suspect had pulled things together. There were notepads here and there, with scribble suggesting formulas and equations, alongside notes from phone calls. He found a phone number, which he noted for Denzel.

  He was rifling through binders in one of the bookcases when he found the real prize.

  He pulled an orange binder from the stack, and as he did so a heavy object fell and thudded to the floor. Kotler stooped to pick it up, and froze.

  It was the leather-bound journal from London.

  Kotler lifted it gingerly, and immediately spread it open on the workbench, turning a desk lamp to give him more light. He began flipping through pages, reading in quick sprints.

  The journal was old. The first entry was dated June 16, 1923, and it was a set of notes about the Newton chamber, some mentions of research conducted by Newton himself, and something of a short mission statement, vowing to continue Newton’s research and to discover “the curious effect of the Devil’s Interval, and the latent influence of frequency and tone upon the emotions of man.”

  Kotler quickly flipped through, dipping into passages from time to time, before finally stopping at a section of loose, torn pages.

  These must have been the pages Gail had traded for him, in her bid to show him she could get to him any time.

  Kotler read these with a growing sense of dread.

  He had seen some of Patel’s research and development diaries for Devil’s Interval. He knew some of the basics of it, though he was no expert in acoustics. He knew enough to realize that Bristol had all she needed to perfect Devil’s Interval, and put it into play.

  The key to Patel’s technology had been the use of “gateway frequencies.” These were frequencies that resonated with the cochlear and vestibular nerves, essentially transmitting vibration to them directly, while bypassing the cochlea. The effect was that sound could be transmitted directly to the brain, even if the mechanism for hearing the sound was damaged, underdeveloped, or missing entirely.

  In that, Patel’s work was a breakthrough of monumental proportions. It really was the cure for deafness, if used properly. The fact that Patel lifted his work from existing research, claiming it as his own, made the work itself no less extraordinary.

  The side effect of mind control must have been an accident. Bristol may have thought she had everything she needed to replicate Patel’s work, but she’d apparently lacked some crucial component. She couldn’t replicate it. Not until she’d gotten hold of these missing pages.

  Kotler read through them all, and was horrified to see that Patel’s technology was not the first time this nightmare had raised its head in history. Whoever had kept these journals had discovered the same effect, and had cataloged exactly how to produce it.

  Within these torn pages, Bristol had uncovered the missing component she needed to complete the technology, if not perfect it. And judging by Holden’s attack on them, it was effective enough, as it was.

  Kotler closed the journal, but didn’t bother bagging it. He would need it. He would need to study it, along with any other notes on Devil’s Interval, to find a countermeasure.

  Again, this wasn’t really his area of expertise.

  But he knew there was someone who could help.

  Kotler left the back room and found Denzel and Holden, who was gingerly pulling his shirt back on. The forensics team arrived then, and Guy
let them in without hesitation.

  Kotler spotted Liz Ludlum, the Lead Forensic Specialist whom he’d met at Ashton Mink’s apartment. She smiled as she passed, large forensics case in hand, and Kotler said, “It’s good to see you again, Liz.”

  Her smile was positively beaming after that, and it didn’t escape Kotler’s notice, nor Denzel’s as he gave Kotler a peculiar look that said, simultaneously, “this isn’t the time” and “you incorrigible dog.”

  “I found the journal,” Kotler said. “And it’s as bad as we feared.”

  “Obviously,” Denzel said, nodding to Holden.

  “We need to figure out where Bristol is planning to publicly demonstrate Devil’s Interval,” Kotler said. “It’s going to be big, and very noticeable.”

  “I have some leads on that,” Holden said. “I had someone run down a list of big events in the city. Things that would be televised.”

  “Good,” Kotler said. “We’ll start checking into those. But first we need to get to your precinct.”

  “What?” Holden asked. “Why?”

  “Simon Patel is arriving from London today, right?” Kotler asked.

  “He should already be here,” Holden said. He’s being escorted to the precinct. You think he has something to add to this?”

  “I do,” Kotler asked. “I need him to see what I’ve seen, and I’m praying to God that he can think of a way to counter it.”

  Part III

  Chapter 23

  Patel looked quite a bit more haggard than he had back in London. His body language told Kotler that he had resolved himself to his fate. Whatever legal or career implications were coming, he had given himself over to facing them. His demeanor had ‘shame’ written all over it. Kotler had empathized with him as a researcher and scientist before, but now he could feel the pall of the man’s life ending—at least, the life he’d always known.

  “There’s a chance to redeem yourself,” Kotler said to him.

  They were in one of the interrogation rooms. Kotler had requested that he have a chance to talk to Patel alone, and no one saw any harm in it. They were all watching, anyway.

  Patel had been staring down at the table top, and looked up now, almost surprised. Even eager. “What do I have to do?” he asked.

  Kotler slid the journal across to him. “Do you recognize this?” he asked.

  Patel nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It was in Newton’s chamber, in London. I found it when I discovered the entrance, and I showed it to Lawny when I brought her in. It disappeared, though I had already gotten all I could from it. I was surprised, when that man, Jack Harris, showed it to me. He kept insisting I could use it, along with the data from AMSL, to recreate Devil’s Interval. But there were pages missing. The information wasn’t there. I didn’t have enough to do anything.”

  “The pages have been restored,” Kotler said. He reached across the table and opened the journal to the section where several loose pages had been replaced, their order restored even if their integrity was compromised.

  That was what Kotler was offering Patel, in this moment. A chance to restore order, if not his integrity. He hoped the man would take it.

  Patel reached forward. His hands were out of the cuffs, at Kotler’s insistence. Patel represented no danger. In fact, he might not do much jail time. The British government was still weighing the charges, determining if any theft had occurred, and to what degree a punishment should be meted.

  Denzel had already spoken to officials at Scotland Yard, and had arranged some leniency, if Patel cooperated in finding Bristol and the Devil’s Interval technology. That was something Kotler was keeping in his back pocket, for now. He needed Patel to come to this on his own—to come to redemption under his own power, if at all.

  If he was being honest, Kotler wanted Patel to come to it on his own. If Patel volunteered to help solve this, with no promise of reward, it would mean he wasn’t too far gone. In Kotler’s eyes, anyway. At that point, Kotler would push to have him redeemed legally as well.

  For now, though, Kotler was holding out hope. He was trying to restore his own faith in the man.

  Patel flipped through the journal, particularly examining the loose pages. He kept making fidgeting movements, as if attempting to reach for something that wasn’t there.

  “Do you need anything?” Kotler asked.

  “Pen. Paper,” Patel replied, distracted.

  Kotler glanced to the mirror on one wall, and moments later Denzel entered with a legal pad and a pen. He also had the iPad that Peters had given them, containing all of Bristol’s archived files. Kotler kept that close at hand, ready to hand it over if Patel showed a need.

  Patel gratefully took the pad and pen, and began scribbling formulas and notes. “My God,” he said once, and then made more notations.

  Kotler watched, fascinated. He had a great appreciation for genius, and he knew he was watching it at work now. Patel may have stolen the ideas and the work of others, but it was clear he was just taking shortcuts. He was, by Kotler’s estimate, every bit as brilliant as he had pretended to be. Which made his actions even more appalling and tragic.

  Patel could well have built the Devil’s Interval technology on his own, in time. His other patents might have evolved from his work as well. His self-worth was so intertwined with his success, however, and with the recognition of his genius from others, it limited his thinking.

  By Kotler’s estimate, Patel suffered from a fixed mindset. He had determined that his self-worth was based on his success, and on others perceiving his genius. If he came to an impasse, such as may have happened with his research into making cochlear implants obsolete, he would have faced that proverbial ‘long, dark night of the soul.’ He would have questioned his own intelligence, and with it his own self-worth. Faced with the prospect of losing himself through failure, he chose to lose himself through faulty integrity.

  He gambled, in other words, that his brilliance was enough to justify stealing the work of others, since he would have eventually come to the same ideas anyway. The gamble had paid out for some time, but his luck had turned, as luck is prone to do. Kotler knew that luck made for a poor strategy, regardless of one’s goals.

  Patel worked through the remaining loose pages, and carried on into other parts of the journal. “This makes sense now,” he said, looking up at Kotler. There was a slight sheen to his eyes, as if he had somehow rediscovered himself, finally, after losing himself in the dark.

  “Can you counter the Devil’s Interval technology?” Kotler asked.

  “I believe I can,” Patel nodded, smiling. “I also see, now, how this happened. The key is the set of window frequencies. We inadvertently used a frequency that not only directly stimulates the cochlear and vestibular nerves, it bypasses them to the temporal lobe.”

  “The part of the brain responsible for processing auditory stimuli,” Kotler nodded.

  “And memory, as well,” Patel said. “I believe I know how this technology is effecting the free will of the subject. It stimulates the temporal lobe to essentially implant false memories, while simultaneously processing the sound of commands. The brain of the subject interprets the input, sifts it through existing memories to determine context and meaning, and discovers the simultaneously implanted memory. It misinterprets all of this as a command, bypassing the subject’s will!”

  Kotler shook his head. “This is fascinating, Doctor, and I would like nothing better than to sit with you and discuss this at length. But right now …” he paused. This next part was going to be a shock, and he didn’t want to derail things further. But he felt that Patel needed to know this information. He needed to know what was at stake, and who might be behind all of it. He needed to know, in case knowing gave him an edge.

  “Dr. Patel, there’s something I need to tell you, and it’s going to be a shock.” Patel was watching him, uncertain. But Kotler could tell by his body language that he’d been through enough shocks recently to give him a thicker skin. “There�
�s a very good chance that Lawny Bristol is alive.”

  Patel blinked. “What do you mean? No … She died months ago.”

  “We think she faked her death. Dr. Patel … Simon … we think she’s the one behind all of this. She arranged for the murder of Ashton Mink. She recruited Jack Harris. She stole the data, and had you abducted and taken to London. And she’s used the information from these journals to build her own version of Devil’s Interval. And she’s planning to use it, very publicly, and very soon.”

  Patel was staring at him, his mouth slightly open. He glanced back at the notebook, and then at his notes. He picked up the pen, tore a page from the back of the legal pad, and began scribbling. After a moment, he held out the paper for Kotler to take.

  It contained a series of formulas, along with a crudely drown frequency curve. Below this he had written three frequencies.

  “These will counter the Devil’s Interval gateway frequencies,” he said. “They will create a cancellation waveform. Similar to noise cancellation.”

  “How can we use them?” Kotler asked. “She’s built devices. Small. Portable.” Again, he motioned to the mirror, and Denzel again entered the room, this time with the evidence bag containing the smashed device that had been recovered from Holden.

  Kotler took it and showed it to Patel. “She’s built more of these. We saw first-hand what they can do, and this one was just casually planted on a police detective. How do we counter that?”

  “The frequencies are very narrow,” Patel said, “And they rely on bone conduction, so the device would need proximity to the subject’s cochlear and vestibular nerves. More than a foot or two away from the subject’s cochlear nerve, and the effect would be too weak. The counter frequency can be a blanket broadcast, however. It doesn’t require the same precision.” He glanced back at his notes. “I could build something that can broadcast the frequencies as ultrasonic waves. It would need to be highly directional, for the effect to be strong enough, but if we can identify who is under her control, we can counter it from a distance.”