Traversing the bright halls of a large corporate building in Bethesda, Maryland, the man Masten and Lagner knew only as their “handler” slowed his pace when his phone began to ring.
Noting several people approaching, Liam Duchik spotted a small open conference room and stepped inside. Where he closed the door and answered the call.
“Yes?”
“It’s Masten. We have a development.”
“What is it?”
“It’s John Reiff.”
Duchik turned and peered back out through the long narrow window next to the door. “Who else would it be?”
“The visions he’s having may not be hallucinatory.”
Duchik’s dour expression did not change. “Explain.”
“He’s been drawing things. Things that he’s seeing.”
“We already know that.”
Masten’s voice hesitated. “One of them appeared to depict Dr. Souza’s lab.”
Duchik blinked and slowly turned away from the glass. “Go on.”
“He drew the cages.”
The handler lowered his voice. “Of the test subjects?”
“That’s right.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not a hundred percent, but it seems pretty obvious.”
“What do you mean ‘it seems’?”
“The sketch wasn’t finished, but the images appear to match. And then there was his reaction when he finally saw the room.”
“They took him to the lab?”
“Yes.”
Duchik became thoughtful. “The patient must have left his room.”
“Maybe, but we can’t find any proof from the security cameras.”
“Then someone told him about the lab. Perhaps the woman.”
“We’re going through all the audio now. So far, nothing about Souza’s lab was mentioned. And nothing about the animals.”
“Well, it had to come from somewhere,” said Duchik harshly. “Even if he wasn’t conscious at the time. Go all the way back, to the time he was revived. One of them must have referenced the animals.”
“But if he was unconscious—”
“His subconscious was active long before he woke up, which absorbs far more information. Find out when and where Souza, or Williams, discussed the test subjects.”
“Okay.”
Duchik paused thoughtfully. “Does this mean Reiff is ambulatory?”
“Not quite, but close.”
“What else has he seen besides the lab?”
“Just the top floors. Souza’s lab and the main lab.”
“He saw the Machine?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s still experiencing the hallucinations?”
“Some.”
Duchik was no fool. He was acutely aware that Masten would downplay any significant problems and even lie if need be. Leaving him the task of reading between the lines of their reports. It was something Duchik had become exceedingly good at. With all types of individuals.
Masten was smart, but not smarter than him.
“Keep him to those floors,” he said. “Tell him there are security issues with the other levels.”
“What about Reiff himself?”
“I will give you seventy-two hours.”
A compromised mental state was useless for his purposes. But Reiff might still hold some value physically, particularly around Williams’s autophagy and cellular therapy regimen.
“What are we supposed to do in three days?”
His response was sharp and emotionless. “Prepare to dispose of him. And make sure your people keep their mouths shut.”
Duchik ended the call and looked out through the glass pane with a detached gaze.
His parents had barely escaped the crumbling Eastern Bloc in the seventies and learned firsthand the value of survivability. The kind some might even label as “ruthless.”
And their now sixty-two-year-old son, Liam, had taken every bit of that discipline to heart. The importance of focus and conviction in a world that had so little of either. A world filled with human beings without the slightest sense of purpose or meaning. Instead, they were brainwashed by the same herd to which they all strived to belong.
None of it had been a surprise to him. None of what had happened or how the masses had reacted. It had all been programmed by a world the sheep had created, and acting precisely as his parents had said they would. It had culminated in a devastating event that had taken far longer to play out than was expected. With consequences far worse than even the herd’s experts had feared.
As his parents had always said: Surprise was a symptom of the naive.
Several hours later, Perry Williams sat anxiously within a darkened room in his home, silently staring at the older computer monitor atop his wooden desk. The office was sparsely decorated, with a bookcase behind him supporting an extensive set of medical textbooks, and beside it a broad-paned window, darkened by the night sky.
The desk itself was decades old, faded and crowded with framed pictures of a smiling wife along with several more of their children. Many were of their children’s youth, but others were when they were grown, in portraits with their own families. All smiling happily. Frozen in time.
He had been sitting there for nearly an hour. Waiting and nervously watching a small window on his computer screen.
And then it happened.
In a secured chat box, a string of letters suddenly appeared.
Hello?
Williams abruptly leaned forward and typed a response. I’m here.
Identify yourself.
He swallowed, apprehensive. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he typed. He was going entirely on faith now. And on Henry Yamada’s word. Dr. Perry Williams.
Where are you?
They already knew where he was. Why were they asking again? At home.
Are you alone?
Yes.
What is your social security number?
Williams hesitated again. Yamada had said they would want all his personal information. To verify Williams was who he claimed to be. Uneasy, he typed the nine-digit number.
What is your FRN?
He picked up a small plastic card from his desk, angled it under the light, then began typing again. When finished, he lowered it and pressed the Enter key, then waited for their response.
Stand by.
It took several minutes for the next message to appear.
Verified. Did you leave the connection open?
Yes.
Give us the 13-digit alphanumerical code provided to you.
Now Williams held up a piece of paper. This one with his own handwriting. Typing out the thirteen-character security code.
Another long wait as the chat window remained idle. Until:
Connection verified. Give us 24 hours. We will provide the requested information along with the remaining payment instructions.
Williams barely had time to type OK before the chat session disconnected. He eased back in a combination of relief and lingering nervousness. Relieved that they accepted but nervous in the vulnerability he was feeling.
He had no idea who he was dealing with. Only a referral from Yamada. Williams wallowed in a fleeting moment of regret, suddenly wondering just how well he even knew the engineer. Asking him for this kind of help could land Williams in jail if someone found out. Or worse, if whoever was on the other end of that secured text window was not who they said they were.
Williams had just put everything in the hands of a thirty-two-year-old kid he’d known for barely over a year. He’d given these people access by creating a connection from his office computer and purposefully leaving it open, which the hackers would use to tunnel back into the lab’s private network.