“Strachey and Carbon? What was it about?”
“I’m not sure. Something about the West Wing. Roger had advocated for him to be in charge of that, you know.”
“That’s always struck me as odd,” Logan interjected. “If Carbon had wanted the work done quickly, you’d think he would have argued for somebody with more experience.”
“As it happened, I only caught the odd line or two of what was said. Will mentioned something about ‘I’m moving ahead whether you like it or not.’ And Roger replied, ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’ I have to tell you, I’ve never seen Will Strachey like that before—livid, really livid.”
“Go on,” Logan said.
“Then, just a few days ago, Roger made another one of his clandestine phone calls. Only this time he didn’t close his door all the way. I made out a little more of the conversation. It was something about a setback…a temporary setback. He seemed to be trying to persuade somebody not to take a certain course of action.”
“Can you provide any more details about the call?”
“Sorry. I wasn’t listening that carefully. It was only after overhearing those bits and pieces, and comparing them to the other things I’d noticed, that I began to grow…afraid.”
“Why do you think that I might be in danger?” Logan asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? You’re looking into Will’s death. You’re also looking into the West Wing. If Roger is somehow involved with what’s happened, even your presence here is a threat to him.”
“I see.”
Benedict hesitated. “Three days ago, I saw him coming out of your set of rooms.”
“Really?”
“He seemed surprised to see me. Almost nervous—completely out of character. But then he said that he’d recalled something you should know, and, since you weren’t at home, would look for you elsewhere.” Benedict looked curiously at Logan. “Did he find you?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Well, don’t you see? It’s clearly not safe for you here.”
“It’s not exactly safe for me out there, either.”
“The hurricane? You can go stay in one of those block of rooms Lux reserved at the Pawtucket Hilton. I mean, anything could happen here now, with the place deserted like it is. If your life is at risk, don’t you think the best thing would be to leave—leave immediately?”
Logan nodded, but absently, almost to himself. He hesitated. And then slowly he reached across the table and took Laura Benedict’s hand in his. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she made no attempt to pull it away. He held it for perhaps ten seconds, and as he did so he became aware of several emotions: fear, of course; uncertainty; doubt…and something else.
He released her hand. “You haven’t been at Lux very long, have you, Dr. Benedict?”
“Just over two years.”
“Yes. And I recall you saying that Will Strachey was your mentor when you first came here.”
“He was friendly, kind to a newcomer. It made all the difference in the world.”
“Lux provided me with a brief dossier on you—on all the people I’ve interviewed, in fact. As I recall, before coming to Lux, you taught at the Providence Technical University.”
“Yes, that’s right. For about four years.”
“Quantum mechanics, correct?”
Benedict nodded.
“Not quantum computing—the discipline you’re pursuing now.”
Benedict frowned, clearly confused as to where this was going. “They’re closely related fields.”
“Are they? I wasn’t aware of that. In any case, I understand your doctorate was in mechanical engineering. Pardon my ignorance. Is that related, as well?”
Benedict nodded again.
Logan leaned back in his chair. “Providence was your childhood home, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Just east of College Hill.”
“Ah. That would be near the large research lab…the name escapes me…”
“Ironhand.”
“Ironhand. That’s right. As I recall, they have a rather shady reputation for operating in the gray areas of science, sometimes doing weapons research for the highest bidder.”
“Dr. Logan, why are you asking all these questions? Don’t you think it’s more important that you—”
“Why did you suggest that I go to the Pawtucket Hilton just now?”
“Why…” Her confusion deepened. “That’s where Lux reserved all the rooms when the category of the hurricane was upgraded. It’s the safest place for you to go.”
“But over the phone, you told me that block of rooms had filled up hours ago.”
“Did I?” Benedict hesitated. “Well, given your affiliation with Lux, I’m sure the hotel could make some accommodation—”
But Logan interrupted again. “Dr. Benedict, I’m going to ask what might seem like a strange question. I hope you don’t mind. Is your maiden name Watkins?”
Laura Benedict went very still. “Excuse me?”
“Is your maiden name Watkins, by any chance?”
Another curious mixture of emotions—shock, incomprehension, perhaps annoyance—bloomed on her features. “Of course it isn’t. Why would you ask such a thing?”
Logan spread his hands. “Just a hunch.”
“Well, your hunch was wrong.” And then Benedict stood up very slowly. “My maiden name is Ramsey.”
46
For a long moment, the two simply looked at each other. The overhead lights flickered, dimmed, then brightened again.
“Of course,” Logan said. “Sorrel told me that Dr. Ramsey pioneered a great deal of the technology that made Project Sin possible.”
Laura Benedict did not answer. The anxiety had obviously not left her, but now her chin was thrust forward defensively.
“Why would you lure me down here with these dark rumors about Carbon—about wanting me to leave Lux for my own safety?”
“Because it’s true…you must leave Lux, immediately. If you don’t, they’ll kill you. I don’t want that.”
“Just like you didn’t want Strachey to die.”
Benedict’s eyes reddened, and she turned away.
“Then you really did care for him. I’m sorry. What you told me about being beside yourself with grief—you weren’t making that up.”
She shook her head without looking at him.
“Who, exactly, is going to kill me?”
It took her a moment to answer. “I think you know.”
“Ironhand,” Logan replied. It was a statement rather than a question.
Benedict said nothing.
“How did you learn about Project Sin?” Logan asked gently.
Still Benedict did not answer. Then, with a sigh, she turned toward him. “From my grandfather.”
“Dr. Ramsey?” he asked in surprise.
“A month before he died. Almost four years ago. My parents were already dead. He’d kept the secret his entire life. But it had eaten away at him, almost like the cancer that killed him.” As she spoke, Benedict’s voice grew stronger, more assured. “It was his research. He’d decided it was vital that his lone heir knew the truth. Dr. Martin’s discovery was an accident. My grandfather was the prime mover behind the project. He’d told nobody. But he’d left behind certain…private papers.”
Logan nodded for her to continue.
“The papers weren’t comprehensive. But they explained the project, its potential, my grandfather’s disbelief and chagrin that Lux had so abruptly halted it. I also learned the location of the lab where they had performed the work. It was a remarkable story, a maddening story. But it was all in the past, of course. It had nothing to do with me—I had my own life to live. And then…my husband died.”
She sighed again—a deep, shuddering sigh. As she did so, Logan reached casually into his satchel and, hand hidden from view, quietly switched on his digital recorder.
“I was a scientist myself; it wasn’t hard to secure a position at Lux. Nobody made the conn
ection between me and my grandfather—and even if they had it would have meant nothing. I immersed myself in my new research into quantum computing. And I bided my time. For quite a while, I was of two minds about whether I should even explore Project Sin. After all, my work was quite fascinating on its own. But the longer I was at Lux, the longer I could hear my grandfather, calling to me from the grave. Calling on me to right the wrong. Nobody was in the West Wing anymore; it was off-limits. That’s when I…I sought out the lab.”
“And found all the paperwork, research journals, studies, laboratory notes.”
“Yes. It was all very thorough.”
“And I assume that made it easy for you to restart the work that had been mothballed.”
For a moment, Benedict looked at him before answering. “The equations were complex. Certain aspects of the machinery were too obsolete to use and had to be replaced with modern equipment. That wasn’t exactly cheap.”
“In other words, you needed a backer. And that’s where Ironhand came in.”
“How do you know about them, anyway?”
“They approached the late Pamela Flood, descendant of Lux’s original architect. She recalled the name as ‘Iron Fist.’ I know the area of Providence you come from quite well. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.” He paused. “What did they want with the blueprints?”
“They wanted to know if there was another way into the secret room. They didn’t want my work to be interrupted by any unexpected intrusions.” She paused briefly. “At first, their role was small. They fund lots of start-ups, hoping to strike gold one time out of twenty. My relationship with them was no different. They well understood the need for secrecy.”
“But over time, their role grew larger.”
“Yes,” Benedict said again. “When they began to understand the true possibilities of my work.”
My work. Benedict was breathing more quickly now, her body language becoming restless. Logan wasn’t sure how much longer she would be cooperative. “But you must have had other problems,” he said. “Getting that work off the ground, I mean.”
“It’s not unusual. In fact, it’s common.”
“Let me guess. Some Lux Fellows who worked or lived near the West Wing eventually started to report strange things. Others were seen acting in a peculiar manner.”
Benedict shrugged. “It was a relatively simple matter of adjusting the proximity beam.”
“Yes. I understand the device has two modes, a field generator and a narrowly confined transmission signal. Those people must have been affected by your initial experiments with the field mode.”
Benedict, who had been looking away, glanced back at him sharply. “As I said, it was a simple matter.”
“But you had a more serious problem on your hands. Lux had decided to renovate the West Wing.”
She looked at him, frowning.
Suddenly, Logan understood something. “You’ve told me that Carbon lobbied for Strachey to be the one put in charge of the renovation. And that’s true—isn’t it? What you left out was the fact that you convinced Carbon to suggest Strachey. What was it you told me—that Roger was a ‘pussycat’ in your hands? That doesn’t jibe with your being afraid of him; I should have noticed that before. You assumed that Strachey would be slow at getting up to speed; that the renovation would take a lot longer than it did. That the forgotten lab—your lab, now—would remain hidden. But he moved more quickly than you’d expected.”
“I was in the last stages of making the technology transportable,” Benedict said, turning away again. “Of making the central amplification unit unnecessary; moving the hardware out of Lux and into Ironhand’s secure labs.”
“So you needed just a few more days…days that Strachey’s death should have given you.”
“He wasn’t supposed to die!” she said, wheeling back. Tears sprung from her eyes.
“A double irony, since I was called to Lux to investigate his death and, in turn, found the room—preventing you from finishing.”
Benedict said nothing.
“And then you tried to stop me, the same way you stopped him. Only it didn’t work…not the way you intended, at least. I imagine you’re wondering about that.”
Benedict looked at him but remained silent.
“What about Pamela Flood? Was she supposed to die? That’s the way your friends at Ironhand work. Doesn’t that tell you something about them? And how did they learn about Pam, anyway—was my phone tapped?”
When Benedict’s only response was to shake her head, Logan placed one hand on the desk and folded the other over it. “Tell me about the research, then,” he said. “Have you succeeded where your forebears did not—creating a wholly safe treatment for schizophrenia, with no possibility of misuse?”
Now Benedict answered. “I did try. At first. But I soon learned that what was true in the 1930s is even more true today. You can guess the rest for yourself.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh, please don’t be coy, Dr. Logan. After all, you’ve already seen Sorrel.”
Logan nodded slowly. So she knew about his visit to Fall River—a journey undertaken only that day. “In other words,” he began again, “the problem has become more porous, rather than more solvable, as technology has advanced. So I assume you put aside its beneficial effects in favor of enhancing its harmful ones. In other words, weaponizing it.”
“Simplistic, but correct.”
“Interesting.” Logan paused, thinking. “If all efforts to use the sound waves to cure schizophrenia were abandoned, and attention paid solely to the effects that the wave caused naturally—and enhancing them—no doubt some extremely disagreeable reactions would result.”
“Hallucinations. Paracusia. Delusions. And that was just the start.”
“The start of what?” Logan asked.
“My refinements.”
“What refinements, exactly?”
Benedict gripped the back of the chair, leaned in toward him. “You know, it’s almost a relief to talk about it with somebody who can understand—even, perhaps, appreciate. The Ironhand people are mostly interested in the end result. You see, I’ve been able to accomplish two things in particular: widen the perceived effects of the beam and enhance its functionality.”
Logan waited, listening.
“My grandfather and the others, of course, weren’t interested in intensifying the schizoid effects,” Benedict went on. “Nor was I, initially…until I realized the so-called negative effects were the only ones the device could produce effectively. Initially, the sonic waves only affected certain 5-HT2A serotonin receptors in the frontal cortex.”
Logan nodded. Sorrel had hinted as much.
“But I was able to create not just a single wave, but a harmonic series that would not only trigger additional effects on the brain, but also enhance the effects of the initial carrier wave.”
“The devil’s interval,” Logan murmured.
She looked at him. “I’m sorry?”
“The flatted fifth. G flat, for example, over C. It was a particular interval between two notes banned from church music in the Renaissance for its supposedly evil influence.”
“Indeed? In any case, this synergistic wave—of two hypersonic pulses—caused a far wider spectrum of serotonin receptors to, in essence, overload. This effect could be maintained long after the wave itself had been cut off—I’ve witnessed serotonergic abnormalities lasting for eight, even twelve hours. Theoretically, with an initial pulse of sufficient strength, they could be imprinted indefinitely.”
Indefinitely. Logan felt a sudden chill. “Witnessed these abnormalities in what?”
Benedict paused. “Lab animals.”
“And in Strachey, too. And perhaps other human subjects—willing or otherwise—at Ironhand?” When there was no reply, Logan added: “What kind of abnormalities?”
“I’ve already mentioned a few.” She drew in a breath. “Perception distortion, for example.”
/> “As in synesthesia.”
Benedict nodded. “All manner of false sensory signals. Enhanced sight, sound, taste, combined with hallucinatory factors. Eidetic imagery. Ego death. Altered sense of time. Catastrophic shifts in cognition. Complete dissociation from reality—”
“My God!” Logan interrupted this catalogue of horrors. “You’re talking not only about complete psychosis here—you’re also talking about the worst LSD trip of all time!”
“Scientists once thought LSD and schizophrenia were connected,” Benedict said, shrugging. “And there were a few files in the room concerning early tests on ergotamine derivatives—that was a few years before LSD was actually synthesized from ergotamine, of course. But my hypersonic interval is so much cleaner.”
“Cleaner.” Logan shook his head, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. As she’d spoken, Benedict’s voice had grown stronger, the shine of her eyes brighter; she took obvious pride in what she’d accomplished.
“Of course, cleaner,” Benedict told him. “Isn’t that what we want—clean, effective weapons? This is the cleanest weapon there is.”
“Laura, how…” Logan stopped, momentarily baffled. “Can’t you see how wrong this is?”
“Wrong? I’m helping my country.”
“How, exactly?”
“By giving it a new way to defend itself. Look what’s happening in the news every day. We’re being attacked, not just on one, but on many fronts. And we may insist on fighting fair, but our enemies don’t. Not anymore. That’s why, without this technology, we’re going to lose the war.”
“But don’t we have enough weapons as it is? And this—this device of yours is cruel. It’s unthinkable. To drive somebody, perhaps an entire army, insane, or to send them on an endless bad trip…Laura, there are reasons chemical weapons were outlawed. And what if this weapon is deployed? Just how long do you think it will take for the technology to be leaked—and the same diabolical ordnance used against our own men and women?”