It was almost ten o’clock at night when Lee got word that a car was coming to bring him to FBI headquarters. Since the 1970s the J. Edgar Hoover Building had occupied two blocks between Ninth and Tenth Streets in Northwest D.C. The building, Lee had read somewhere, was Brutalist architecture, a name derived from the French term béton brut, which, translated, meant “raw concrete.” It was a fitting name. The concrete behemoth had hundreds of sunken squares for windows, covering an exterior more austere than a prison. Tours of the headquarters had to be arranged through Congressional offices, but John O’Donnell, along with a cadre of humorless G-men all dressed in dark suits, got Lee inside with no problem.
Lee followed O’Donnell and his FBI cohorts through security, and then down a mostly deserted hallway, eventually coming to a stop at an elevator marked RESTRICTED.
“We brought Yoshi in a couple of hours ago. We can hold him for a while without charges. Our agents have already spoken with him extensively.”
“And?”
“And the president wants you to speak with him. I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the matter.”
The elevator arrived. All got inside.
“Okay … guess I’ll wing it,” Lee said, rubbing his tired eyes. He let his annoyance go. He had a job to do: take a medical approach and try and learn something from Yoshi that the professionals could not.
Down they went until the elevator doors opened to reveal a dimly lit corridor in the building’s subbasement.
“Welcome to Disneyland,” O’Donnell said in a humorless voice. He led Lee into a small room with a low drop ceiling, and some chairs placed around a table with a computer on it. Next to a second door across from the entrance was a rectangular glass window cut into the gray brick wall, through which Lee could see Yoshi, dressed in his trademark black, seated at a metal table.
“We’ll be watching and listening from here,” O’Donnell said, pointing to that computer.
Lee had to stoop to enter the room holding Yoshi. Inside he found a table, two chairs, a few plastic bottles of water, and nothing else. He noticed a wall-mounted camera in one corner of the room.
Yoshi glanced up as Lee entered, his face brooding, eyes weary. Lee exhaled loudly, trying to clear the uneasy feeling that washed over him.
I’m responsible for this.
The empty chair was made of metal with no cushioning. Nothing here was comforting or comfortable.
Lee sat down across from Yoshi. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.”
Yoshi glared at Lee, his expression furious. “You—you are involved? I should have known.”
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Lee said. “I’ve already gone over with you what I think is happening here. There are people, lots of them, looking through the medical records of all the TPI students. It’s going to come out in the open, so you might as well tell me. Are you testing nootropics, or some kind of smart drug, on your students?”
“I’ll tell you again what I told the FBI: I am doing no such thing.”
Lee was not trying to detect Yoshi’s lies, nor interpret his body language. The FBI had that expertise. Lee would take a different approach. With Cam, he used chess to break the ice. With Yoshi, he would have to play to the man’s ego.
“Look, Yoshi, I believe what you do at the TPI is pretty darn remarkable. The results of the neurofeedback testing are astounding. ProNeural seems to be a wonder drug. And yet, based on the compounds in those pills, I’m convinced there’s no way those nootropics could achieve those results. So tell me how you really do it.”
“My methods, Dr. Blackwood, blend ancient Eastern practices with more modern science. I’ve said this to you before. Meditation, guided imagery—”
“—breathing exercises, mindfulness, yoga, yeah, yeah, I’ve memorized your brochure, and I still don’t buy it. The results are too impressive. The data in those reports suggests you’ve unlocked the secret to supercharging the brain’s natural neuroplasticity.”
“And what if I have?”
“Hey, I believe you’re smart, but you’re not that smart.”
So much for kowtowing to his ego, thought Lee.
Pausing to regroup, Lee exhaled loudly. His eyes were dry with fatigue.
“This isn’t about your school,” Lee said through gritted teeth, getting angry now. “Someone tried to kill Cam Hilliard. I’m sure it’s connected to his illness, and his illness, I’m sure, is connected to you and your damn TPI. The people reviewing those medical records are going to find more cases.” Lee believed this was true, but he did not know how long it might take to find one. They had thousands of records to review, going back over a decade.
“Help us cure these kids before it’s too late,” he said, his voice softening. “Tell me what you’ve given them and maybe, with lots of smart people working the problem, we can reverse the effects.”
Yoshi contemplated this, and eventually his demeanor shifted from angry to resigned. When he spoke, his voice held no trace of hostility.
“If you think you will do well at a job interview, you are more likely to do well. Think you’ll win a race, you are more likely to win it. Science has shown this to be true, even Western science.” Yoshi gave his first smile of this strange interview.
“And your point is?”
“The supplements I supplied were a part of what I do. I tell you to take these pills, because they will help you with focus, with concentration—you’re more likely to believe it is true.”
“How do you explain your results? So much improvement in so little time.”
“I can’t, Dr. Blackwood.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve spent my life studying herbs and fungi, looking to them for healing powers, looking to nature for the key to human betterment. It’s been my lifelong obsession.”
“Until you found ProNeural, until you discovered nootropics,” said Lee, trying to encourage Yoshi along. “And you thought that was the answer.”
“Yes. I came to believe a blend of science and nature was the missing link.”
“And?”
“And I was wrong. These nootropics might help in some small way, it’s possible, but like you said, they do not help that much.”
Lee did a double take, confusion etched on his face. “Wait, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if I tell you something is true, over and over again, eventually you’ll believe me. But if I show you the data, the scientific evidence, your belief will come about much quicker and take far deeper roots.”
Lee suddenly got it.
“My God, the data you showed me—what you show the kids, their parents, it’s all bogus, it’s forged. You made it all up.”
Yoshi’s guilty expression was answer enough.
“ProNeural doesn’t make the students better, but those phony results made the company a lot of money.” Yoshi held up his wrist to show Lee his expensive timepiece. “The company and me,” he added, regret heavy in his voice. “I suspect I’ll need a lawyer now.”
“Wait … wait a second. Cam, Susie, the Stewart twins, they were all best of the best and they’re the sick ones, but you’re telling me you didn’t give them anything special to do that?”
“No. Nothing. Never. I told you what I did. I helped falsify the results of the neurofeedback testing to sell more ProNeural pills and get more students for the TPI. That’s my only crime, that’s what I’ll live with.”
But what Yoshi had said still did not add up in Lee’s mind. A cluster of some strange, never-before-seen disease, centered at a single location, and there’s not a single external factor involved? It was inconceivable.
“Yoshi, I don’t believe you’re telling me everything. Please! Lives are at stake.”
Yoshi leaned forward and lowered his head. His snow-white hair shielded his eyes.
“What I have given my students is a belief in themselves and their true potential.” Yoshi became reserved, retreating into himself. “And that’s the only thing I’ve ever given them.”