Expectation (Ghost Targets, #2) (12 page)

"Well, through the vaccine—"

"But that's just the thing. He arranged his own tests. He devoted some of that free time in the clinic to studying the psychology behind the placebo effect, and he spent years working on a curriculum to try to circumvent the need for Gevia. It was complicated, because the secret was so important, but at the same time it
looked
 like he was working on a major improvement to the Gevia formula, so confidence soared again." She shook her head. "Nothing he tried worked, though. No amount of education or even psychotherapy could match the success of the philosopher's outrageous lie. He said maybe in a decade or two people would be so used to the idea of agelessness that it wouldn't be necessary, but we're not there yet."

"So what did he do?"

"Whatever he wanted," Theresa said. "Like I said, everyone involved in the program, in the army, thought it was real. So when he showed clinical results that proved he'd cured aging in their soldiers...oh, he became a hero. Then they started shopping the civilian deployment to pharmaceutical companies, offering exclusivity to anyone willing to honor the States Secrets letters associated with the research."

Katie whistled softly. "They thought it was real."

"Everyone thought it was real," Theresa said. "Everyone still does. They are making billions, Katie, off Eric's acting ability. And they have no idea." She waved toward the living room. "We certainly got our share of the revenue. They set Eric up really well, but it was all on his shoulders. He would watch the Gevia numbers daily, often hourly, and whenever he saw them start to slip, he had to come out with some breaking news, something to remind the world that it was working. He released a redesigned formula based on an imaginary harmful reaction to certain genetic abnormalities. He fabricated the side effect, but when he announced that the new formula for Gevia was devoid of that flaw, he saw a corresponding increase in patients' vitality."

Katie shook her head. "No wonder he started writing stories."

Theresa smiled. "That became his job, in the end. Instead of studying medicine, he was making up novel ideas that would stick in peoples' heads. That was the real cure." She sighed. "It was all this huge balancing act. He was able to chart out a direct relationship between the amount of time he spent at the office and the physical health of the national population. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine the pressure of knowing another hour spent at the office—even if you're doing nothing—would add years to the lives of ten thousand people?" She shook her head. "It was there, though. He had hard numbers to back it up. He brought in a research assistant and got a nineteen-percent boost. Just for having someone else to share his cage."

"What does Meg actually do?" Katie said. "You said she doesn't know...."

"She does exactly what she claims to do. She processes his experimental results, double-checks his numbers on the simulators, which are all designed by Eric, and show whatever results he wants them to show. And a lot of the time he
is
 doing medical research still. He has made several breakthroughs in protein-coding and gene therapy work over the years. As long as it looks like something that could be related to the Gevia mechanic, he can pass it off as a product of his primary research." She shrugged. "It's limiting, and it's not worth the sheer amount of time he spends at the clinic, but it's still real science. And for all of that, Meg is there to do the grunt work and shepherd his papers through publication."

Katie sank back in her chair. "How did he manage? How could he keep that up for so long?"

"Because he had the numbers. They were his blessing and his curse, all rolled into one. The same hourly reports that condemned him to fifteen-hour days at the clinic also told him, every single day, about the number of broken bones and hemotomas he had prevented. He knew he could personally take credit for every case of dementia averted by Gevia, every life saved. Everyone who
didn't
 end their days languishing in a pointless, miserable coma." She clenched her fists, and for a moment a fire burned in her eyes, but it faded. She looked up again. "He did good work, Agent Pratt. Gevia was a lie, but his efforts changed the world."

"I believe you," Katie said, and those words seemed to be enough.

Theresa relaxed, then sagged backward into her chair. She wiped her brow with a delicate hand. "So what do we do now?"

"Actually," Katie said, "I've been wondering exactly the same thing." She leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Because if all of this is true, I have no business breaking the illusion. Honestly, it would have been better for me to go ahead with the investigation not knowing."

Theresa nodded. "I know," she said. "But I had to tell someone."

"I can understand that," Katie said. "And I can understand the rest of it, too. Because you couldn't give Dora Hart access to Eric's facility when the health of so many people depends on the secrecy of his research."

"Not just that," Theresa said. "It's the image of him. Martin Door explained that on the very first day. Eric became a symbol, an actual hero, one man carrying the hopes of a nation full of desperate people. I can guarantee you a fifty-percent drop in the efficacy of Gevia by the time the world knows about this. No question. The army has been keeping a tight lid on the situation, but there has been a half-point to one-point decay every day since his attack, just because of speculation."

"I have enough," Katie said, then trailed off, thinking. She shook her head. "I'm going to have to be careful what I say, what I do. But I think I can find a way to make the army work with us. I'll need that recording." Theresa nodded. "And I'll need your cooperation. Not...you don't have to talk about this anymore. In fact, I'd advise you to keep it quiet still."

"Of course."

"And I know you are not anxious to cooperate with Dora Hart, but she's a tenacious one, and we're better off with her working for us than against us." She nodded. "Yeah." She pulled out her handheld and checked the time, then drew up Reed's schedule. "I think we can track this down, Mrs. Barnes. I'm going to go have lunch with my boss and let him know about Ellie. We'll...between the two of us, we'll figure out what to do next."

Theresa smiled across the table at Katie, and Katie put a comforting hand on top of the other woman's. "We'll find the truth in this mess, Mrs. Barnes."

Theresa didn't answer right away, and Katie remembered what she'd had to say about the truth earlier that morning. After the life she'd lived, truth didn't mean much to her. Still, she nodded toward Katie and said, "Thank you, Agent Pratt, for your concern." She sat there a moment longer, then jumped to her feet. "I'll just go grab my handheld. You should have access to the Snoopy report within a few minutes."

Katie followed her to the living room, and once she had confirmation on the access rights, she headed to the door. She stopped, just before she left. "Thank you, Mrs. Barnes, for trusting me."

"You're a good woman," Theresa said. "I can see that much. And you mean well." She sighed. "Goodbye, Agent Pratt."

"I'll be in touch."

Katie headed down the garden path. When she reached the curb, a car was already waiting. She climbed in and ordered the driver, "Take me to the De Grey clinic." Her next thought was to contact Reed, but she hesitated just short of making the connection. Theresa's information cleared her—Katie was sure of it—but Katie also knew she could trust a little too easily. She had good instincts, and that usually made up for her easy sympathy, but it was always better safe than sorry, especially with the chief so determined to pin this all on the wife.

So she pulled out her handheld and asked Hathor to play back the recording Theresa had given her. She expected HaRRE footage, but it was audio only. She heard the sound of a door opening, and a moment later Ellie purred happily, "You're here. I was starting to worry you wouldn't come." Eric mumbled something indistinct in response, but it did nothing to dim the woman's excitement.

"I've put myself to good use," she said, a suggestive huskiness in her voice. "While you kept me waiting. I've been busy, dreaming up grand plans."

"What sort of plans?" He sounded suspicious.

"Venezuela, Portugal," she said offhand. "We could even go to Singapore." She finally sensed his reluctance and took a reassuring tone. Katie could imagine the woman's fingertips tracing a delicate line down Eric's chest as she said, "I know people, Eric. I can keep it quiet. No one will ever know—"

"No," he said, but his voice lacked resolve.

"It's okay," Ellie said, with just a hint of a disappointed pout. "We can find somewhere a little closer to home."

"It's not that," Eric said, and his voice faltered. "It's not..." He trailed off with a sigh. Katie could only imagine what the other woman was doing to distract him. She knew Theresa had imagined it, too. How many times had she listened to this recording?

"It's not that," Eric started again, and something about his voice gave Katie an image of him pushing the woman away. "It's wrong, Ellie."

"It's not wrong," she said gently, and then more fiercely, "What we're doing isn't wrong, Eric! You know what's wrong? What's really wrong? Locking you up in a cage. Wasting all your...amazing potential...." Her voice smoldered like a hot coal on that last, and for a moment Katie believed the sentiment was genuine.

"No," he said. "No, I'm sorry, Ellie—"

"You don't just get out of it like that," she said, and all her warmth was instantly a feline rage. "
You
 don't get to walk away from this."

"I am, Ellie. I am. It's over."

"It's not over!" she screamed, and that was the outburst Katie had been waiting for—violent rage, and it didn't lessen as she went on. "This is
real
, Eric. This is happening. You made a commitment—"

"I didn't," he said, trying to calm her. "I was always clear that this...it was just a fantasy, Ellie." She gasped, and he tempered his tone with kindness. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry to say it like that, but I could never really—"

Her voice fell to a heavy whisper. "Don't do this, Eric."

"I'm not...I'm not going to do anything stupid, okay? No one needs to know what we—"

"No one is
going
 to know!"

"Right," he said, and he sounded nervous. "I just...I can't do it, Ellie. I can't." When she wasn't convinced he turned pleading. "Stop and think. Really think of all the lives that would be ruined—"

"I don't care about them," Ellie said, miserable. "I care about us—you and me—and how fabulous our lives could be."

"Well, let it go," Eric said, finally with real confidence. "I'm sorry to say it, but you're going to have to let that dream go. It's over."

"But—"

"No," he said. "It's over. I'm going home." The door opened and closed, and a moment later Katie heard a grunt from Ellie and something smashed to pieces on the wall. Katie smiled at that, imagining Theresa's satisfaction to hear that bit of remorse in the final seconds of the recording, but the thought was fleeting. Hours later he would be in a coma, and all of it was for nothing.

Well, not nothing. The recording certainly addressed motive. She asked Hathor to pull it up for her in the general archive, but all she got was an error. Of course, Ellie was a database manager. It was no surprise the official record was gone. It was a lucky turn of events Snoopy saved full recordings instead of just timestamps. Katie ran the audio again, listening for the telltale sounds of manipulation, fabrication, but it sounded like a genuine recording. It was good enough for her, anyway. She sat back and said confidently, "Hathor, connect me to Reed, high priority."

The call didn't go through. Puzzled, Katie pulled up Reed's location details, but he was off the grid. She checked his history, though, and found him heading toward the clinic accompanied by Lieutenant Drake. He had only been offline for a few minutes, so Katie felt pretty confident she could catch him at the clinic.

It was still a thirty-minute drive, though. She sank back in her seat and thought over her morning with Theresa Barnes. After a few minutes she said, "Hathor, I need the audio record of my visit to the Barneses' house. Start playback at....oh, ten o'clock. Thanks."

An error tone made her frown, and she pulled out her handheld to read the message. "Audio record temporarily unavailable."

She grumbled for a moment. "
I
 have audio." She checked her headset history, remembering the shut-off mechanism at the clinic, but there was no sign her headset had been disabled. "Hathor, play back personal audio record. Start at minus ninety minutes. Thanks." She got the same error again, and this time she cursed.

"What's going on?" she said. She knew the house wasn't restricted access, because she'd already peeked in on Eric there. Just to be sure, she opened HaRRE on her handheld. It showed her current location, with the camera already zoomed in on her inside the car, and when she spoke out loud to test her headset it echoed in HaRRE.

So, curious, she skimmed back to the Barneses' house, which stood in HaRRE plain as day. She retraced her steps up the gravel path and slid through the front door. Theresa was curled up on the couch, a pillow clutched against her chest, weeping in the house's emptiness. Katie quickly moved the camera to the kitchen, then skipped back in time.

Ten minutes wasn't long enough, but at fifteen an error message popped up, obscuring the empty HaRRE field. "Record temporarily unavailable."

"Dammit!" she said, and then her eyes narrowed. "Dammit, Martin are you responsible for this?" She got no answer, so she fell back against her seat with a sigh. "Hathor, connect me to—"

"Don't do that," he said, his voice a familiar baritone in her headset. "Yes. I'm responsible."

"Why?"

"Why?" His voice almost cracked. "Are you kidding me? Or weren't you paying attention?"

"It's not going to work anymore, Martin. Your little scam. He's gone, and you made him the linchpin of the whole thing. You can't fake his research with him in a coma."