“It’s not a question I ask lightly,” she warned. “To be honest, it took a couple of drinks just to work up the courage to give it a voice, so I need your word. This stays between us. It’s a lot to ask from someone I just met—and I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t for—well…whatever this is.”
Cyrus was taken aback by her sincere request for confidentiality. It was no small request given the real reason that he was there. And in spite of his being a spy by trade, he had always been a person of deep personal conviction. As old-fashioned as it was in the modern age, he was a big believer in people standing by their word. It made it hard for him to offer his confidence in her request. Still, there was an undeniable something at play that he couldn’t discount; something that told him she was requesting a confidence that he should keep…no matter what.
Cyrus offered a curt nod. “I promise,” he said simply.
He could tell from the look in her eye that those two words meant just as much to her as they did to him.
“I need to know if you’re a Reader, too,” she asked.
Cyrus didn’t understand. He watched her eyes for some hint at her meaning. It was a simple question, but one asked with such seriousness that he knew he wasn’t grasping her meaning.
He stared at the entire wall of her apartment that was consumed by the gigantic bookcase. No, that wasn’t what she meant. That was too simple.
“I’m sorry?” he finally managed.
“A Reader,” she said again, this time with emphasis. “I’ve never met another. I thought it might be the reason for our connection.”
Cyrus shook his head slowly. “Sorry. I really don’t follow. You mean like…books? Novels, magazines?”
Ashley looked crestfallen. She cupped her face in her hands and lowered her head. Cyrus wondered if she was crying. He couldn’t imagine why. A Reader?
“I’m sorry,” she said, sitting back up. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have brought this up. Can we just forget the whole thing?”
Cyrus watched her eyes. She looked both crushed and exhausted. It occurred to him just how much hope she had riding on that one simple question, and he desperately wanted to understand.
Though he knew it would be a mistake, he was already feeling the full effects of the tequila. Pouring another splash into his glass, he looked to Ashley to see if she was interested. At first she shook her head, but when he started to put the top back on the bottle, she changed her mind.
When he handed her the glass, he took her other hand in his and held it. She met his eye but couldn’t offer so much as a smile.
“You’re going to make me explain, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.
He raised his glass and waited for her to click hers against it before drinking it down.
“There are people with a rare genetic attribute that allows them to hear the thoughts of others,” she began. “They’re called Readers.”
Cyrus laughed. “Yeah, right.”
But the look on her face suggested that she wasn’t joking.
He took a few moments to process the implications of the idea. It seemed farfetched—like science fiction. But then again, Gertrude Waterford’s specialty was neuroscience. Actually, applied neuroscience. So if what Ashley was saying were possible, it made sense that Gertrude Waterford would be ‘in the know’ when it came to such matters.
“Wait,” Cyrus said, suddenly feeling a good degree more sober. “You’re serious?”
“I’m one of them.”
He looked at her again as if seeing her for the first time. It didn’t seem possible. That type of thing, if it were possible, must require some kind of massive mutation, or some other kind of genetic fracture. How could she possibly be so different?
“You’re saying that you can hear people’s thoughts? What—like in your head, it sounds like they are speaking—even though they aren’t?”
Ashley smiled. “Actually, that’s a surprisingly accurate description of how it works. I can hear them thinking—just like they were speaking aloud. But it’s not every thought. It’s just the foremost thought process at any given moment.”
When she stopped, Cyrus asked her to keep going. He was fascinated and wanted to know more. He still wasn’t sure that he bought into it, but it was an intriguing idea.
“It’s like when you’re about to speak,” she explained. “Sometimes you think about what you’re going to say, but never actually say it. In that case, you’re mind goes through a verbalization process even though your mouth doesn’t actually verbalize the words. It’s very similar to the way most people process the written word. They see words on a page and process them through the same portion of the brain that’s used just prior to speaking aloud. In this case, the words never get spoken out loud, but the brain still runs through the motions. In my case, I hear those motions.
“One theory is that Readers pick up on a similar process in the minds of people around them. That’s why we can only hear a person’s foremost thoughts. It’s whatever has the central focus of their concentration at the moment. That’s what Readers can intuit.”
Cyrus sat stunned for several long seconds. “That’s incredible,” he said at last. “You’re sure you’re not just putting me on?”
He suddenly became very aware that everything about his mission might have already been compromised, and he hadn’t even realized it. Was that the reason she had been acting so strangely? Did she know the real reason he was working for her grandmother?
“Are you saying that you can hear what I’m thinking right now?” he said. Even as the words fell from his mouth, he realized they betrayed his nervousness.
The second long delay that preceded Ashley’s response felt like an eternity. In that time, Cyrus was acutely aware of the tingling numbness that the tequila had helped to spread throughout his body, and he wondered if he had compounded his mistake.
“That’s the really odd thing,” Ashley said at last. “You’re the first person I’ve met who I couldn’t Read.”
Feeling his breath catch in his throat, Cyrus found himself replaying her words in his mind. Couldn’t Read, she’d said.
Really?
“It’s never happened before,” she explained. “And I have no idea why. I guessed it might have something to do with the…” she stopped short. “I thought it might have something to do with our connection. I thought you might be a Reader, too, which might explain what was happening between us.”
Cyrus smiled. “That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard,” he said quietly. “I can see why you would want to keep it a secret. It can’t be easy to deal with. Do you have control over it?”
She held up a hand and waggled it in the air. “There are times…large groups of people are difficult; there are just too many people to block out. To be honest, I’m prone to panic attacks. It’s pretty lame.”
Cyrus noticed he was still holding her hand, and smiled. He hadn’t even realized it. It just felt natural. “I don’t think its lame,” he offered. “It sounds terrifying. Serenity and solitude are rare commodities, and the quiet times are my favorite. It doesn’t sound like you get many of those.”
“I do when I’m here. It’s why I’m pretty much a shut-in.”
He shrugged. “I really can’t even imagine what it must be like. On one hand, it must be amazing. On the other, terrifying.”
Shaking her head, Ashley offered a weak smile. “You can skip amazing and move directly to terrifying. There’s really nothing fun about it. Try being a woman walking around the city full of men and hearing everything they’re thinking when they look at you. A fraction of what you hear is complementary. But at least 90% have thoughts crossing their minds that range from rude to downright horrifying. Really, really, horrifying.”
It would be chilling, Cyrus surmised. It was human nature to have thoughts that were never voiced or ideas that were never expressed in any way. When you look at any given object, you have an idea, an opinion, or an emotional response. The same g
oes for a piece of artwork or a song. All of those tiny flashes of thought that come and go in an instant are safe and guarded inside our own minds. But what if someone could hear them as clearly as if we spoke every random, errant thought aloud?
The downside to such a talent was decidedly unpleasant, Cyrus realized. But Ashley was an attractive young woman. That raised another question. The things that a healthy red-blooded man thinks when they see a beautiful female are often best left unspoken. Some of those wayward thoughts would be kind, some would be outright rude, and some might be considered entirely offensive, even if no harm was intended. What if that young woman were aware of each of those thoughts?
My God, Cyrus realized. It was a wonder she ever left her apartment at all.
“That’s why your grandmother wanted me to have dinner with you,” Cyrus said. It was his chance to bring the subject back on topic. He didn’t like thinking about the unpleasant ramifications of her ability. If it was so bad to think about briefly, how bad would it be to deal with every single day?
Ashley nodded. “I’m sorry for the deception. She takes her work very seriously. I know its overkill, but if it makes her safe, it seems like the least I can do. Still, it’s a major invasion of your privacy.”
Cyrus decided that his privacy wasn’t a rabbit hole that he wanted to jump down at that moment, so he moved on. “What did she say when you told her you couldn’t Read me?”
Ashley couldn’t meet his eye for the first time all night. “You didn’t tell her,” he said.
She shook her head. “I didn’t know what to tell her,” she admitted. “So I just said that you were being honest with her about everything you said. It seemed like a fair bet since you saved her life only a few hours earlier.”
It was solid logic, Cyrus reasoned. Still, it was an unusual choice, her going out on a limb for a man she’d just met.
“You really can’t Read me?” he asked. “Nothing at all?”
She offered a sly smile. “I’ll admit I thought that a few drinks might add an interesting variable to the mix. Since I couldn’t, I wanted to know if it had to do with you or me. I was curious if a couple of drinks might lower one, or both, of our inhibitions enough to make it work. But it didn’t. You’re a blank slate.”
“That must be a disappointment,” he said with a smile. Still, he was more relieved than words could express. Whatever the explanation, he was happy for it.
“Actually,” she said, crawling across the sofa and lowering herself onto his lap. “It’s an amazing feeling. You have no idea how hard it is to keep the voices out.”
Cradling her in his arms, Cyrus kissed her gently on the lips. Her eyes were looking heavy, and he could see that she was totally exhausted.
“There is something special here, isn’t there?” she asked in a faraway voice.
“Absolutely,” he replied with a smile.
Ashley was nodding off right there in his arms. “You’ll keep my secret?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
“I promise.”
A moment later she was asleep.
Cyrus sat there on the sofa for a while, holding her in his arms and watching her doze. It didn’t seem possible that they had met only a few short hours earlier. It made him wonder where things might go from there.
Finally, he carried her to her bedroom and tucked her beneath the covers. The effects of the alcohol had hit her hard, and she was out cold. He was feeling it too, for that matter; grabbing a spare blanket from the foot of her bed, he crashed on the couch until morning. Driving in his condition wasn’t a good idea and, if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t in any hurry to leave.
Before lying down for the night, Cyrus did a quick reconnaissance of the apartment. He made sure that the front door was locked, and double-checked that the balcony was clear before locking the latch on the sliding glass door. Then he made a slow sweep of the apartment. It was unlikely that there were any hidden cameras, but he’d come too far to slip up now. So as he scouted the apartment, he did his best to play the part of the houseguest, interested in the furnishings and decorations. He made a slow examination of the massive book collection that occupied nearly an entire wall of the apartment, and moved on from there.
For the most part, he found nothing of value or interest. One oddity did catch his eye when he did a quick examination of the medicine cabinet in the main bathroom. It contained a pair of prescription bottles labeled as being filled at the local pharmacy only a block away. But it was the names of the medications that puzzled him. They were drugs he couldn’t pronounce if he had a gun to his head and his life depended on it. Even with the amazing recall afforded him by his eidetic memory, he couldn’t recall ever hearing of either medication before. Whatever they were, they were something specialized. He wondered if they were somehow related to her unusual neurological condition. Given Gertrude’s specialty, anything was possible.
He memorized the names of both prescriptions, along with their dosages and prescribed instructions. Oddly, neither label listed the prescribing doctor. Making a note to himself, Cyrus would make sure to look into the drugs as soon as he had access to an anonymous Internet connection.
Chapter 15
Mayflower Lab Facility
Hennings, South Carolina
9:12 a.m.
The car made a sharp left turn leaving the bright and sunny warmth of 18th Avenue behind. Descending the steep concrete ramp of the parking garage, William felt himself swallowed in darkness. A moment later the driver of the vehicle flipped a switch and brought the headlights to life with a glaring flash. Looking across the car, William didn’t know much about the man in the driver’s seat, other than he was a means to an end—just another faceless bureaucrat in a suit, as far as he was concerned. But at least this bureaucrat was unique in one way. He had the authority to access the lab.
Well, maybe not all the way into the lab, but he could get him past the biometrics and the facility’s exterior security. That was far enough. When it came to dealing with the facility’s personnel, William was perfectly equipped to handle them himself.
A lot had changed since the night he’d made his escape from the mental institution. William wasn’t running anymore. He wasn’t afraid of the people who were after him. It was time for them to fear him.
The car crossed the nearly empty parking garage and continued on far into the bowels of the building. Just when it seemed they’d reached the end of the line, the driver turned and drove into what had looked like another dark corner of the garage. Once the car slipped into the corner, however, William realized it had been nothing but a cleverly disguised alcove. Still, a dead end nonetheless.
The driver rolled down the window and pressed his hand against the unadorned concrete wall. At his touch, a small section of wall slid silently aside revealing a large, dimly lit flatscreen display. The man placed his palm securely against the screen, and it blinked to life. A horizontal line flashed once across the surface of his hand. The moment it disappeared, another line appeared on the screen, this one vertical. It flashed beneath his palm as well, scanning his print and capillary response from a second axis.
William leaned forward in his seat for a better view of the lab’s high-tech security measures. He’d heard about the system, but seeing it in operation was an entirely different matter. When a thin light projected across the inside of the car in a brief flash, he realized the last of the authentication mechanisms had been triggered. A laser retinal scanner projected out from the wall and scanned the eye of the car’s driver.
It was amazing what she did with her money, William marveled. All of these precautions and she still wasn’t safe.
As soon as the retinal scan was complete, the wall panel slid shut once more. The car jolted, and at first William wasn’t sure what had happened. He quickly realized the mild disorienting sensation inside his ear was due to the car’s movement. An elevator had been triggered, and the platform on which the car sat was quickly descending.
Wh
en the elevator came to a stop ten seconds later, he had no idea how far underground he had been taken. The driver slipped the car into gear once more and pulled slowly forward, entering a new, smaller parking garage. Like the level high above, this parking level was entirely bare concrete floors, walls and ceiling. It was maybe fifty yards deep and nearly as wide, with regularly placed concrete pillars supporting the ceiling twenty feet above.
There were only three other cars parked in the underground structure, all lined up near the only door visible on the level. The driver angled the car into the next available spot, dropped the gear selector into park, and turned off the ignition.
The man looked at William blankly and awaited instruction.
“What do we face from here?” William asked.
“There’s a card swipe on that door,” the man said calmly, nodding at the door in the wall before them. “Once through there, visitors are sealed in an antechamber while a member of security authenticates the visitor manually via a window in the wall.”
“Tell me about the window.”
“Bulletproof, four inches thick; if it’s breached, the airlock is depressurized to neutralize any threat to the facility.”
“The guard on the other side of the window, will he be able to hear us as well as see us?”
The driver nodded to the affirmative.
“And once we clear the airlock?”
“You’ll have access to the facility. Each lab is equipped with auto-locking doors that are automatically unlocked and opened via a proximity sensor that keys off an authorized user’s swipe card.”
That was fine, William reasoned. He wouldn’t need access to the labs themselves. “What about the central computer?”
“The main server room can only be accessed by Missus Waterford, or the senior security member on shift.”
“Which is you?” William asked patiently.
“Which is me,” the driver confirmed in a flat, emotionless voice.
Dangerous Minds: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book One Page 11