They returned to Pahrump with Rachel and Henry following Waterman in his Ford pickup truck, painted black and in near-perfect condition, despite its age and the light film of dust that covered it. It turned from the highway and into the same neighborhood Rachel and Henry had driven through earlier, taking a slightly different route to Waterman’s house.
They parked the Nissan at the curb as the truck pulled to a stop in Waterman’s narrow driveway. The dog that had earlier tried to attack them was now waiting excitedly, wagging his giant black-and-brown tail.
Waterman opened the gate and reached down to unclasp the dog’s thick collar. He called out, “Where’s your ball?” prompting the animal to disappear inside through a large swinging dog door and return moments later, with it in his mouth.
From a safe distance, Yamada looked sheepish as they watched the dog and his owner play. “Is that even the same dog?”
“Wait here,” Waterman called, closing the gate. He entered the house through a side door, after unlocking two dead bolts.
He disappeared inside, leaving the door slightly ajar, while Rachel and Henry waited idly in the hot sun. The dog was also gone, having followed his owner into the house.
“Now what?” asked Yamada.
She shrugged. “We wait, I guess.”
“How about waiting in the car?”
“A few minutes in the sun isn’t going to kill us.”
“Not us,” he whined, “just me. You have Latin blood. I don’t.”
She turned with folded arms. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re more used to this weather. Through your genes.”
“My parents are from Boston.”
“Well, somewhere down the line, your ancestors were in hotter weather than mine.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I think your brain is suffering from heatstroke. Maybe we should wait in the car.”
“Great, I’ll take it.”
No sooner had Yamada turned toward his old Nissan than Waterman reemerged from the house. He was still dressed in his desert fatigues but now carrying a large duffel bag over his shoulder. Relocking the dead bolts behind him, he continued toward the truck after closing the fence’s gate behind him. Finally, he noticed Rachel and Yamada staring at him.
“What?”
“What about your dog?”
“I’ll call someone to look after him.”
Waterman hefted the heavy bag into the truck bed with a muffled clunk, then stepped back and opened the passenger door.
Neither moved.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Yamada spoke apprehensively. “What about my car?”
“We’ll take mine.”
“I can’t just leave it here.”
Waterman shrugged. “I’m not putting John’s chances on that piece of junk.”
“What are you talking about? It made it out here.”
“Consider yourself lucky,” replied Waterman. “Now get in.” With that, he moved from the door and circled around the front of the truck.
Henry stared at Rachel. “Is he serious?”
“I think so.”
“I’m not leaving my car all the way out here. That’s nuts.”
The Ford’s giant engine roared to life, and the truck’s backup lights suddenly illuminated.
“Rach?”
From the passenger seat, Rachel noted the truck’s clean interior, with an old-style radio installed in the dash. Complete with large twisting chrome knobs on either side.
“Did you put that in yourself?”
Beside her, Waterman accelerated from a stop sign, turning back onto the main highway as he nodded. “I’m anti-digital.”
“Does it work?”
The man glowered at her.
His eyes returned to the road, then glanced up to the truck’s rearview mirror, where he noted the gleam of Yamada’s old Nissan several hundred feet behind them. “Where’d your friend learn to drive, his grandmother?”
Rachel turned around to look.
“Thought we were in a hurry.”
“We are.”
“That word must mean something different with your generation, then.”
“You sound like my father.”
Waterman removed his boonie hat and dropped it onto the seat between them, revealing a nearly bald, lightly perspiring head. “Tell me again about this project of yours.”
“What do you want to know?”
“For starters, what exactly are you trying to gain by freezing people?”
Rachel thought about the question. “Immortality, I guess. Someday.”
“How does turning someone into an icicle make them immortal?”
“Keeping someone from dying is the first step,” she answered. “Until cures can be found and applied.”
“That doesn’t make you immortal,” Waterman retorted. “It just lets you live longer.”
“Like I said, it’s the first step. Not the only one. Immortality is the long-term goal.”
“Well, unless I’m missing something, getting frozen when you’re ninety means you’re still ninety when you wake up. Even if they stop whatever was killing you.”
“That’s true. Which is where the other steps come in.”
“Like what?”
“Like stem-cell therapy, cellular regeneration … Things like that.”
“Wait. Are you saying you can actually make a person younger?”
“Ever heard of albumin?”
“No.”
“It’s a protein that’s produced by the liver but declines as we age. A couple decades ago, researchers found that proteins like albumin play a pretty significant role in brain function. And that giving old patients infusions of blood plasma from younger patients, still rich in these proteins, doesn’t just slow cognitive decline, it begins to reverse it.”
Waterman thoughtfully pursed his lips.
“And not just the brain, other organs are affected, too, depending on the proteins. They can also roll back the clock on skin cells. Using a process called ‘maturation phase transient reprogramming.’”
“When the hell did that happen?”
“The research has been going on for a long time. And slowly improving.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
Rachel’s gaze remained fixed, staring thoughtfully through the windshield. “Well, the world has been distracted for a while.”
“So, what, you need to freeze someone to do all this stuff?” asked Waterman.
“You don’t have to, but it’s easier. Genetically speaking.”
“Why is that?”
Rachel grinned. “When a person is frozen, all the body’s functions are effectively paused. If you were a mechanic, would you rather work on an engine when it was off or while it was running?”
Waterman remained quiet for a long time, contemplating, until finally speaking again. “So what is it you think these people are planning to do?”
“I’m not sure, but if Henry and I are right about what we’ve found, destroying the lab is probably the first step. And soon.”
“And you’re saying John is what, evidence?”
“Exactly.”
Waterman nodded. “And the odds?”
“What?”
“The odds,” he repeated. “What are the odds?”
“Odds of what?”
“That you’re right?”
Rachel turned forward, confused. “Uh…”
“You have calculated the odds?”
“How would I do that?”
The older man frowned. “I don’t mean mathematically. I mean strategically.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m talking about scenarios.” He looked at her perplexed expression. “What else could they be planning? What other scenarios are we looking at?”
“What do you mean, scenarios?”
“Things never happen the way you expect. Ever. So we need to think through the other outcomes. Just like playing chess.”
When there was no answer, Waterman rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you do know what chess is, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Rachel. “I know what chess is.”
“Good. Then let’s start going through them. Beginning with who you think is involved.”