Seven hours after the shooting, Lee found himself seated in the White House Situation Room. It was a state-of-the-art facility with high-tech video conferencing capability and a closed-circuit television system. The monitors mounted to the walls broadcasted breaking news from around the globe. No surprise, the attempted assassination of Cam Hilliard was the only story the media cared to cover.
The president had already given a statement, one that Lee had been watching on TV at home, when Woody Lapham showed up with orders to bring him to the White House. The information given to the American people was brief and, thought Lee, intentionally vague. A Secret Service agent was dead, Hilliard had said. No further details were given. A gunman was still at large. Again, no further details given. Several terrorist organizations took credit for the attack, but those claims had yet to be verified.
Homeland Security and the FBI were leading the investigation task force. In conclusion, the president reiterated the most important fact: Cam was unharmed, thanks largely to the actions of Karen Ray.
Now, he was with her, seated at the same massive conference table. The president sat at the head of the table, looking haggard, emotionally and physically drained.
“Dr. Blackwood, thank you for being here.”
“Of course,” Lee said. “I’m at your service, Mr. President.”
Lee had expected a full room, maybe with decorated generals, the vice president, a bunch of cabinet secretaries. Instead there were lots of empty seats, probably because everyone else was busy tracking down the shooter. Ellen Hilliard was there, seated next to Karen, who sat beside the barrel-chested Director of the United States Secret Service, Russell Ferguson. The director is appointed, serving at the pleasure of the President of the United States, but unlike the Secretary of Homeland Security, to whom the director reports, the position does not require Senate confirmation.
The older gentleman seated across from them was the president’s chief of staff, John O’Donnell. O’Donnell, slimmer, with salt-and-pepper hair, a pronounced Adam’s apple, and a prominent nose, was widely respected for his candor with the media.
“I requested a scaled-down meeting,” the president said, “because I would like to discuss some rather sensitive issues with you personally, Dr. Blackwood.”
Lee strained to get his mind around the enormity of what had transpired and what role in all of this he could possibly play.
“Please, call me Lee, and yes, anything you need. How is Cam?”
“He’s fine. Resting upstairs,” Ellen said with an appreciative glance toward Karen. “Badly scared, of course.”
“We’re looking for a motive here,” the president said. “Naturally, we’re thinking terrorism and we’re actively pursuing intelligence there, but Karen said you have a different theory.”
“The TPI?” Lee was surprised Karen had been so candid.
“She’s spoken with us extensively, and has convinced me that it’s an avenue worth exploring. I have to confess, Lee, what she told me is hard to believe.”
“I’m assuming you’re referring to Yoshi Matsumoto.”
“You really want me to believe that the director of an after-school program is the mastermind behind Cam’s attempted murder?” The president shook his head dismissively. “I’ve known this man for years,” said President Hilliard. “He’s been a mentor to my son.”
“I believe he may have been using Cam and other TPI students as test subjects, guinea pigs if you will, for nootropic drugs that enhance cognition.”
“What makes you think that?” the president asked.
“Mr. President, I have no other explanation,” Lee said. “I strongly believe some illness is affecting your son, as it is Susie Banks, and I believe the Stewart twins before they died. All of them attended the TPI, and from what I gather all were the best of the best. Diseases like they have don’t cluster like this without some sort of an external catalyst—poisoned water, poisoned air, something ingested into the body.”
“Well, what about contaminated groundwater or something like that?” Chief of staff John O’Donnell’s voice was raspy from hours of issuing commands.
“We’re testing for that now,” said Lee. “But I believe those results will be negative. There’d be a lot more sick kids otherwise. I think the affected population is far more limited … and controlled.”
“But Cam didn’t have the red spot in his eyes,” the president said.
“True,” Lee said. “He did not. It could be that the red spot presents only after a certain length of time, or perhaps after a certain degree of exposure to this unknown toxin.”
“I’m still not convinced there’s a connection to Cam. He’s different, that’s what I think, it’s what I believe,” the president said. “But in light of the extraordinary and horrific events of today, I’m willing to keep a door open—explore this further.”
Ferguson’s brow furrowed, conveying his deep skepticism. “You honestly think this Yoshi fellow got to one of our special agents and turned him?” he asked.
“I don’t know how Stephen Duffy is involved,” Lee admitted with regret.
“The FBI has already done some serious digging into Mr. Duffy,” O’Donnell said. “Forensic teams are still working on decrypting his phone, computers, and such, but a search of his apartment netted us some interesting finds.”
Judging by the impassive looks around the table, Lee guessed he was the only one present not yet informed of these findings.
“Mr. Duffy evidently had a serious gambling problem. Some documents we’ve recovered indicate he went on a catastrophic weeklong bender and lost more than a quarter of a million dollars. Money he didn’t have to lose. On a special agent’s salary, that’s an insurmountable hole. He signed over the deed to his mother’s house as collateral, and the bookies he owed were ready to close the deal. His sixty-five-year-old mom was going to be out on the street.”
Lee recalled the bet Duffy had made with Lapham about the Graves’ disease test. What had, at the time, seemed a harmless and amusing wager in reality masked a deep and deadly compulsion.
“What we didn’t find,” O’Donnell added in a somber tone, “is any link between Yoshi Matsumoto and Agent Duffy, which, to Russell’s point, gives us pause.”
“I don’t know what to say there,” Lee offered. “I’m honestly as in the dark as you are. I just have my suspicions.”
“And those are?” Ferguson asked.
“The nootropics.”
“Cam’s been taking the ProNeural supplements for years without a problem,” Ellen said. “Dr. Gleason said they’re as safe as vitamins, and Cam says it helps him.”
“I’m not doubting that,” Lee said. “But I don’t think those ProNeural pills are the issue.”
The president leaned forward in his seat, hands resting on the table, his fingers clasped tightly together.
“This is why I wanted you here,” the president said. “Help us better understand your thinking, Lee.”
“I’ve consulted with a neurologist, Dr. Marilyn Piekarski, who treated Cam at the MDC, and she believes, as do I, that the ProNeural products could not have produced the impressive results I saw on the neurofeedback testing. Something else these kids are taking is enhancing the brain’s natural neuroplasticity.”
“Neuro what?” Ellen’s eyes were open wide.
“Neuroplasticity,” Lee repeated for her benefit. “It’s essentially the brain’s ability to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections among nerve cells to learn faster and much more efficiently. It’s how a person can become a master at a new skill. We all have this to some extent. But what if I could give you a drug, something that changes your brain’s chemistry, speeds up your ability to learn? Take the ten-thousand-hours rule to reach mastery down to a few hundred.”
“A pill to do that is only in the movies,” Ellen said. “What you’re saying seems like quite a stretch.”
“I’m suggesting the folks at ProNeural may have found the chemicals to do what you see in the movies, and they’re using the TPI to put their product to the ultimate test.”
“So Yoshi’s trying to put himself out of business with a brain pill, is that it?” Ferguson sounded doubtful, while Karen grimaced slightly at the harsh tone her boss had taken.
“I think he’s trying to make a business,” said Lee. “If a pill like that was shown to be safe and effective, millions of people would take it. No question there.”
“And Duffy?”
“Somehow Yoshi knew about his financial troubles,” Lee said. “Duffy’s interacted with Yoshi before, when Cam was at the TPI. Maybe Duffy confessed to having serious money troubles, and maybe Yoshi saw an opportunity to—and I apologize for my phrasing here—deal with a problem of his.”
“The problem being Cam,” Ellen said coolly.
“Yes, Cam and Susie. The twins, too. Really, anybody who ingested this product and got sick because of it.”
Lee contemplated accusing Gleason of being cagey with Cam to conceal his possible involvement with Yoshi, but without hard evidence feared it would further muddy these already murky waters.
“So every student at the TPI is taking experimental nootropics?” O’Donnell, who asked the question, drummed his fingers on the table in a way that reminded Lee of Duffy.
“I highly doubt it. Just like with air or groundwater contamination, there’d be a lot more sick kids if that were the case. I think—and again, this is conjecture on my part—he has some students taking the experimental drug, and the others are a control group of sorts, ingesting a harmless nootropic. Then he compares, measures if the test subjects can master skills with greater efficiency using neurofeedback testing, not realizing he’s turning them into walking time bombs.”
“So is Cam all right?” Ellen asked with alarm. “Physically, I mean. Is he a—a time bomb?”
“I don’t know,” Lee said, regretting his word choice. “We’ll just have to see. I have no idea what course this may take with Cam. If these children are being poisoned, our goal is to find out, eliminate it, and work on a treatment.”
He had to give her some hope.
Ellen exchanged nervous glances with her husband.
The president said, “Out of extreme caution, I’m willing to give Lee another chance to prove his case.”
“Have other students besides those we know about experienced symptoms similar to Cam’s?” Karen asked.
“That’s a good question,” Lee said. “There was another doctor at the meeting, Hal Hewitt, who is on the board of the TPI, and he couldn’t say for sure.”
“I know Hal,” Ellen said. “He’s a very good man, but he has nothing to do with the kids’ medical health. He’s just an advisor.”
“Which is why I think we’d have to pull medical records for all the students who have ever attended the institute,” Lee said.
“We can get subpoenas to do that,” O’Donnell said.
“Then do it,” the president said. “But for now, I want a low profile on this. We have a shooter out there, and our focus needs to be on tracking him down. This Susie girl, is she safe?”
“She is, for now,” Karen said. “We have her out at the camp I own in Virginia. Our son Josh is looking after her, and there’s a nurse, Valerie Cowart, monitoring her health.”
“We think whoever tried to kill Cam also tried to kill Susie,” Lee added, speaking for Karen.
“That might be,” the president said. “I’m thinking if we find a link, some irrefutable connection, we’ll take over protective duties from Josh.”
“Why not move her now?” Lee never thought he would openly question the president’s judgment.
“Because, believe it or not, Washington is not great at keeping secrets,” the president said. “The public would think I’ve lost my mind if they found out I’m going after some schoolteacher and sheltering a musician when somebody just tried to kill my son. Our collective focus has to be on tracking down the shooter. That’s the plan moving forward, unless I’m given reason to do otherwise.”
Typical Hilliard, thought Lee. Always thinking about perceptions, trying to keep equilibrium. Not doing too much, or too little. Never being bold.
“As you wish,” Lee said.
The president directed his attention to his chief of staff.
“John, I want you to take point on this,” he said. “Let’s get Yoshi in for questioning. Have Dr. Blackwood involved. He can handle the medical aspects of the interview.”
Lee grimaced. How does the FBI interview people? he wondered. Were they going to waterboard him? Bring him to a black site? Lee had no idea how the government operated in this regard, and the thought that he had instigated all of this chilled him to the core.
“See what we can do about this ProNeural company, too,” the president continued. “Coordinate everything with the FBI. Maybe we can conduct a records search or something, but whatever we do, I want it all aboveboard. Also, have Dr. Blackwood involved in reviewing the medical records of the TPI students. Cycle Dr. Gleason in as well. They’ll both know what to look for.”
Lee wondered how Gleason would feel if he knew a family doc had had such a large role to play in this operation.
“What about the shooter?” Ferguson asked.
“Hopefully, if Lee’s theory proves out, Yoshi will lead us to him.”
Ferguson’s face flushed. “Mr. President, shouldn’t we take the lead here? I can certainly coordinate with the FBI.”
“Russell,” Ellen said, interrupting before her husband could answer. “Your team was responsible for protecting my son. How did that turn out?”
“Mrs. Hilliard, I—”
“No. No,” Ellen said, shaking her head dismissively. “As far as I’m concerned, the entire Secret Service may be compromised. Now, I’ve spent years hearing Karen’s complaints about your agency, lack of resources, gaps in security, all that—well, shame on me for not doing more to fix it when I had the chance. But I’ll tell you this, Russell. You’d better spend your time questioning every agent, every damn one of them, because I don’t believe for one second that Stephen Duffy was the only employee of yours with dirty hands.”