Refraction

by Christopher Hinz

  “And you have no idea what they did to us?”

  “The rumor was it involved some sort of infusions given during your first weeks of life.”

  “What does that mean? They injected us with something?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Infusion was the only term I ever heard. It was never made clear what that entailed.”

  Aiden believed him. Still, he suspected the professor knew more than he was letting on. This time, Aiden made no attempt to constrain his rancor.

  “So, you simply accepted the word of these Tau Nine-One researchers that everything was harmless. You had no trouble with the idea of seven orphaned babies being experimented on in a secret military facility. All just fun and games, huh?”

  Marsdale sighed. “Did I have doubts? Of course I did. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t. I know this will sound like an excuse, like I’m trying to let myself off the hook in terms of taking any responsibility for what happened out there. But I had no input or control over the experiment.”

  “Maybe so. But you could have gone public, told the world what Tau Nine-One was doing.”

  “Not as easy as it sounds. There can be severe repercussions for whistleblowers, particularly when you’re dealing with top-secret government programs. Frankly, I had no desire to go to jail or be forced to seek asylum in another country. But let me ask you a question. Do you believe that what was done to you caused you harm or has had injurious effects on your life?”

  Marsdale seemed reasonably honest. But talking about chunkies wasn’t in Aiden’s game plan. He shifted the conversation.

  “What about the other quiver kids? You have no idea what happened to them?”

  “I don’t.”

  “What were their names? Their color names.”

  “Blue, Red and White were the other boys. The three girls were Gold, Magenta and Cyan.”

  “Why name us after those colors?”

  Marsdale shrugged. “No deep mystery. One of the researchers apparently spotted a TV color-bar test pattern and suggested using the seven colors on the top row. His idea received a final tweak – someone figured gold sounded better than yellow. The thinking was that once the babies were adopted, their parents would give them regular names.

  “Oh, I just remembered something. White never received the infusions. He was referred to as the anomaly because he arrived later, when the others were about nine months old. We heard through the grapevine that he’d been added as a control for the experiment, someone not impacted by the phenomenon being studied.”

  “A phenomenon you remain completely in the dark about,” Aiden said, his tone reflecting disbelief.

  Marsdale paused as the waitress arrived with their food. Aiden chomped into his sandwich with a vengeance. He sensed the professor watching him closely.

  “I guess I’d be angry too if someone did experiments on me as a child,” Marsdale said.

  “Who says I’m angry?” Aiden snapped.

  The words came out garbled. His mouth was so stuffed that he sprayed bits of food onto the table. He forced himself to calm down.

  “Yeah, OK, I’m pissed. It’s not just the experiment itself. Until yesterday, I didn’t even know I was adopted.”

  Aiden provided a quick version of recent events, leaving out any mention of the manifestations. When he finished, Marsdale offered a sympathetic nod.

  “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to deal with.”

  “Yeah. What about the other kids? Was there anything about them that could help me track them down?”

  “Not really. You were just a bunch of little babies.”

  Marsdale read Aiden’s skepticism and reconsidered.

  “Six of you were Caucasian. Blue was either a light-skinned African-American or Latino. Magenta, she was the liveliest, the most curious of the seven. Gold was the opposite, she didn’t seem to learn as quickly as the rest of you. Red was a bit bigger and bolder than the others. Cyan always seemed a bit shy, kept to herself. White seemed to keep apart from the others too, but in his case it didn’t seem due to shyness. Maybe it had something to do with not being part of the original group. Blue and Green – Blue and you – tended to scrap. It was as if the two of you had conflicting personalities.”

  None of that seemed helpful in finding them. Aiden pressed on.

  “What else can you tell me about Tau Nine-One?”

  “Not much.”

  “Can you at least tell me who was in charge back then?”

  “Colonel Royce Jenkins was the ranking military officer. A real martinet and, frankly, a rather unpleasant man. He took ill. Pancreatic cancer, I believe they said it was. He died right around the time the experiment was ending.

  “There were more than a hundred civilian and government scientists and technicians working under him, as well as the Marine guards and support personnel. Although many of us socialized, it was drummed into everyone to keep their mouths shut and not discuss our work.”

  “Can you give me the names of the other top people?”

  “As far as I’m aware, the others are still alive. So I’m afraid my answer must be no.”

  “How about some titles at least?”

  Marsdale hesitated then gave a slight nod. “There was a Director of Research, the man with overall responsibility for the scientific contingent. And there was the Project Director, the woman directly in charge of the quiver kids experiment. Along with Colonel Jenkins, the three of them pretty much ran things.”

  Two men and a woman. Aiden wondered if they were the three blurred faces staring down at him in his green dream.

  “Byron Manchester was my father. He was with IEC, an engineering firm. Did you know him?”

  “We could have run into one another. But the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Why were we called quiver kids?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Aiden knew from the way Marsdale averted his eyes he was lying.

  “Surely something like that can’t matter after so many years.”

  “One would think. However, even after all this time, I still get occasional visits from federal agents who want to know if anyone has approached me seeking information about my work at Tau. I’m acquainted with other scientists involved with classified government research. None of them receives such a level of follow-up.”

  Aiden suspected part of the reason for the ongoing interest was to keep a lid on the experiment’s illicit nature. Even after all this time, the fact that babies had been used in a secret military experiment would still spark public outrage toward those responsible.

  “Sounds like someone’s trying to cover their asses.”

  Marsdale nodded. “I imagine that WikiLeaks and other groups that publish classified information are a constant source of worry to those with oversight of Tau.”

  “Next time these spooks show up for a chat, tell them I tortured you for information. Tell them I made you reveal everything. That should let you off the hook.”

  Marsdale gave a half-hearted laugh and pushed his unfinished salad to the side.

  “I really should be going.”

  Aiden couldn’t resist some final probing.

  “Why a geologist specializing in stratigraphy? What could that possibly have to do with experimenting on babies?”

  “I never said there was a connection.”

  “But there was, wasn’t there?”

  Marsdale glanced around before answering, as if making sure there were no eavesdroppers.

  “Yes, there’s a connection. Aiden, I’m sorry, but I just can’t tell you anything else. And I trust you’ll keep our little meeting confidential.”

  “What meeting?”

  Aiden scribbled his phone number and e-mail address on a scrap of napkin and extended it to Marsdale.

  “Just in case you think of anything else that might help.”

  Marsdale pocketed the note and stood up. He reached for his wallet but Aiden waved him off.

  “I got this. I appreciate you ta
king the time.”

  They shook hands.

  “Good luck, Aiden. I truly hope you find what you seek.”

  ELEVEN

  Aiden spotted the craggy-faced man as he pulled into a Holiday Inn on the outskirts of Baltimore. The man was getting out of a 1990s-vintage SUV, a dark blue Ford Bronco parked a few spaces away.

  He was short but powerfully built, and dressed in black pants and a zipped jacket. His cratered face suggested a bad case of childhood acne. Close-cropped brown hair was graying at the edges; he looked to be in his early fifties. He reminded Aiden of some movie version of a stone-cold mob enforcer.

  The man caught him staring and leaned back into the Bronco to withdraw a laptop. Opening it on the hood, he hunched over the computer as if studying something. Aiden had a sense he was only pretending, that he realized he’d been spotted and was trying to deflect suspicion.

  Keeping the man in his peripheral vision, Aiden retrieved a travel bag from the Chevy. Maybe he was being paranoid. It could be just a coincidence he’d noticed the man earlier, near the café where he’d met Marsdale. At the time, Aiden hadn’t given it a second thought. Just another face in the crowd, albeit one with distinctive features. But now, crossing paths half an hour later and miles away…

  Is he following me?

  Both Dad’s letter and Dr Jarek had hinted of the dangers of looking into Tau Nine-One’s activities. And Marsdale claimed he was still being visited by the feds decades after he’d left the facility. It seemed a distinct possibility that the craggy-face man had gotten wind of Aiden’s investigations. But how?

  Was his phone bugged? Had someone planted a listening device in Jarek’s office?

  He drew a deep breath to settle growing unease and strolled into the motel lobby. The craggy-faced man didn’t follow. Aiden asked the desk clerk for a top-floor room facing the front parking lot so he could keep an eye on the man’s Bronco, then added an unusual request.

  “I’d also like to rent the room directly below it.”

  The desk clerk, an older black man with a mustache, gave him a long hard look. Aiden provided an excuse for the expensive request he’d come up with years ago.

  “Sometimes late at night I walk around the room and bounce a rubber ball off the floor. It relaxes me. But I wouldn’t want to disturb any guests staying below.”

  “Of course,” the clerk said, accessing his computer. He was probably used to weird requests. And if the motel was getting paid double, who was he to care?

  If a chunkie should manifest tonight, it would land in Aiden’s room, on the roof above or in the empty room below. He’d clean up any mess inside and not worry about a roof touchdown.

  He put the transaction on his credit card. Five minutes later he was in the top-floor room. He edged aside the drapes and peered down at the parking lot seven stories below.

  The Bronco was gone. The craggy-faced man might have realized that his cover was blown. But if indeed he’d been following Aiden, then it was likely someone else had taken over the surveillance. From here on out he’d have to stay extra sharp, keep an eye out for tails.

  He hadn’t intended the Baltimore excursion to be an overnighter. But, after meeting with Marsdale, he was tired and needed to rest. He’d feel better after a good night’s sleep before making the two-hour drive back to Birdsboro.

  His phone rang. Caller ID revealed it was Darlene. She’d called several times throughout the day, leaving messages asking her to please call him back so they could talk. He wasn’t in the mood. As before, he let her call go through to voicemail. He didn’t bother listening to it.

  He sat by the window and kept an eye on the parking lot while reviewing what he’d learned so far. The experiment at Tau Nine-One had something to do with Marsdale’s area of expertise, stratigraphy. Six babies, nicknamed quiver kids, had been given some sort of infusions, while the seventh – the anomaly, White – was believed to have served as the control for the experiment. The infants were referred to by colors instead of being given regular names. For their adoptions, they were required to be raised in emotionally stable homes by parents with high IQs.

  Of course, the child-rearing mandate could be simply common sense. After all, the researchers wouldn’t have sought the opposite scenario, looked to have the babies raised by emotionally unstable idiots.

  Still, Aiden had a hunch those requirements meant something more. His parents had been well adjusted, which probably had something to do with them being older than typical couples, closer to mid-forties by the time of his adoption.

  Both had been highly intelligent. Dad was a brilliant engineer. Mom, although mainly a stay-at-home parent, had once taught college courses in contemporary pop music. In fact, his parents had met as teens at a famed 1965 Beatles concert at Shea Stadium in New York. Despite his new feelings about his family, a smile came over Aiden as he recalled growing up bathed in the sounds of Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and The White Album.

  Most intriguing was Marsdale’s revelation that the experiment had been considered groundbreaking. What had the researchers hoped to achieve? Were they trying to develop children with some kind of bizarre psychic abilities? Somewhere in the world today, were there other men and women who also manifested chunkies?

  Dad’s letter had mentioned that Aiden had been secretly monitored, that someone had accessed his medical and school records throughout his early childhood. It followed that the other quiver kids also would have been subjected to such discreet inquiries.

  He stifled a yawn. Last night he’d slept fitfully, his mind endlessly processing the impact of his father’s letter. He grabbed the base of the bed and dragged it to the middle of the room to get it as far as possible from the adjoining rooms in case he spouted a chunkie. Slipping off his Reeboks, he flopped across the bed. Normally he didn’t like going to sleep when it was still light out. But a brief nap might clear his head, help him figure out his next move.

  TWELVE

  Aiden snapped awake. Something was wrong.

  It was night. The room was deep in shadow. The only illumination came from locator LEDs on the wall switches and a sliver at the window where two closed drapes didn’t quite overlap. The bedside clock read 12:38am.

  He gazed at the drapes, momentarily puzzled. And then he remembered. When he’d lain down, the drapes had been open.

  A chill coursed through him. He wrenched himself upright in bed.

  A figure lunged toward him from the bathroom door. A man’s hand clamped across his mouth, preventing him from crying out. The man’s other arm encircled his neck and yanked him off the bed.

  He clawed frantically at the arms. It was no use. The man was incredibly strong. He couldn’t break free.

  A second man strode toward him, stopped within the narrow shaft of light coming through the slightly parted drapes. He was tall, with short-cropped red hair and a bushy mustache. He wore a dark suit and tie.

  The redheaded man withdrew a small cylinder from an inside vest pocket. It had a long thin neck, like a nasal spray. Coming forward, he grabbed a fistful of Aiden’s hair to hold his head in place and jammed the nozzle into Aiden’s left nostril.

  With his mouth covered, Aiden had no choice but to draw a deep breath. The inhalant from the cylinder blasted into his head. It burned like crazy. A flaming spike, rammed straight into his brain.

  His eyes watered. A wave of dizziness washed over him. Muscles felt suddenly weak.

  He began to lose focus. The last thing he saw before drifting into darkness was the smirk on the face of the redheaded man.

  THIRTEEN

  Aiden awoke. He was lying on his back. At first, he thought grogginess and weakened muscles were the reason he couldn’t move. Then he realized his immobility was due to a more ominous reason.

  A wide leather strap held his arms tightly against his torso. Similar straps around his ankles, thighs, and chest pinned him to an old workbench. Illumination was dim: a single low-wattage bulb looped over a wooden rafter. It
s power cord ran to a car battery on the floor, suggesting the absence of a working electric service.

  Fighting panic, Aiden whipped his head around. He was in a deserted two-bay service garage. The brick walls were crumbling. Detritus littered the floor. A set of grimy wheel ramps flanked an inspection pit for working on the underside of vehicles. The garage probably had seen its heyday before the era of pneumatic lifts.

  The wall farthest from him had two windows. Most of the panes were shattered, the others layered in dirt. It was pitch black outside.

  The front vehicle door and an inset pedestrian door were closed. He craned his neck to see what was behind him. Nothing but old tires stacked atop a trio of rusting oil drums. Beyond that was a back door. It too was shut.

  “Help!” he yelled, surprised how weak his voice sounded. Drawing a deep breath, he tried again.

  “Help! If anyone can hear me, I’m being held prisoner! Call the police!”

  The front pedestrian door opened. The redheaded man ambled in, trailed by Aiden’s other assailant, a barrel-chested brute whose chin looked to have been crafted with a straightedge.

  “Who are you! What the hell do you want! Cut me loose, goddammit!”

  The pair approached the foot of the bench. The redheaded man smiled. Flat Chin betrayed no emotion.

  Aiden bellowed for help with all the strength he could muster. His shouts reverberated through the garage.

  His captors didn’t react. He stopped hollering.

  “Very good, mate,” the redheaded man said. “Strong lungs. Yell some more if you like. Get it out of your system.”

  He sounded Scottish, but with the accent overlaid with another one that defied identification. His certainty was unnerving. Aiden’s worst fears were confirmed. Wherever they were, it was far from civilization. His shouts wouldn’t be heard.

  The redheaded man withdrew a satellite phone from his jacket and punched numbers into the keypad.

  “It’s Nobe,” he said when someone at the other end answered. “Our boy’s awake.”

  Nobe. Aiden mouthed the name, committing it to memory. If he got out of this, it could be a clue to help the police track down…