“There’s a complication. She’s got a GPS bug hidden somewhere on my car.”
“Bad news. With one of those gadgets she can track you every inch of the way in real time right on her personal phone.”
“I’m familiar with the technology,” Ellis said dryly.
“Sorry. Just meant that making like a Formula One driver to buy yourself some time won’t do you any good. She’ll know if you get to Roxanna Beach ahead of schedule. Hell, she’ll know where you are at any given moment. She’ll know if you even stop to take a leak.”
“Like I said, it’s a complication.”
“What about Scargill? Any sign of him?”
“Got a hunch he’s doped to the gills on an experimental dream-enhancing drug called CZ-149.”
“That rings a bell,” Dave said. “I think Katherine may have mentioned it.”
“It was developed at Frey-Salter under the direction of Dr. Maureen Sage, aka Amelia Netley. She’s an expert on psycho-pharmaceutical drugs. The stuff was probably based on whatever formula she used on the inmates at Brackleton. Lawson okayed some tests on it but halted the experiments because of the side effects. Later he transferred Sage out of the agency. She’s the woman he had the affair with. She was not a happy camper when she left. In hindsight, I think it’s probably safe to say she was seriously pissed.”
“What are the side effects of this CZ-149?” Dave asked in a subdued voice.
“I never tried it, personally. One of the first things I learned working for Lawson was never to volunteer for any of his damned experiments. But I heard that the CZ-149 makes it difficult for Level Five subjects to distinguish the boundaries between their dreams and waking reality.”
“That could get a little wild.”
“I’m told the confusion can last for hours. The stronger the dose, the longer it messes up your mind. Wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how Amelia is controlling Scargill. He may have been so desperate to regain his Level Five dreaming capability after he was injured that he’s allowing her to inject him with the crap.”
“What are you going to do? Call the cops?”
“I can’t take the risk. Amelia would kill Isabel in a heartbeat if she thinks she’s been double-crossed. But if I can get to Roxanna Beach ahead of schedule and without Amelia knowing that I’m in town, I might be able to do something before she realizes that I’m in the neighborhood. But I’m going to need your help.”
“You don’t need to ask twice. What do you want me to do?”
Ellis told him.
“Oh, man,” Dave whispered, awestruck. “I get to drive the Maserati?”
39
i know what your tsunami dream means,” Isabel said quietly. She sat on the floor in the corner of the old, tumble-down concession stand, her knees curled under her, hands tied behind her back.
Amelia had forced her into the back of the florist’s van at gunpoint. There had been no opportunity to shout for help or to attract attention because the van was parked in a little-used section of the parking lot behind the main building.
There had been an additional complication in the shape of a twitchy, mean, slightly crazy-looking little man in a black knit cap, black sweatshirt and black cargo pants. She assumed he was another graduate of the Brackleton Correctional Facility’s experiment in behavior modification. His name was Yolland and he seemed to think he was on a mission to thwart the actions of an agent who worked for a global corporation that was intent on polluting the environment.
The fog had grown thicker and heavier as evening approached. Yolland had driven the van cautiously along the winding road to the abandoned amusement park on the lonely bluffs outside Roxanna Beach.
Amelia had walked Isabel through the gate in the high, chain-link fence. Once inside the grounds Isabel was steered through the eerie, foggy shadows created by the rows of sagging, boarded-up concession booths, arcades and dark, looming thrill rides.
It was after five. The shutters closing the opening at the front of the stand had been partially pulled aside. There was enough gray, misty light left in the day to illuminate the shadowy interior. She could make out the faded image of a corn dog on the back wall.
A tall man in his early twenties with a thin, bearded face and haunted eyes had been waiting inside the concession stand. Vincent Scargill looked even more jittery and unstable than Yolland. Either that or he was feverish, Isabel thought. There was a film of sweat on his brow.
“I still say we don’t need her,” Scargill had muttered, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.
“She will ensure that Cutler remains cooperative.” Amelia had checked the screen of her small phone where she was watching the progress of Ellis’s car. “He’s making good time. Should be here in another hour and a half. Keep an eye on Isabel. I’m going to make sure Yolland is in position. I also want to check on some of the other arrangements.”
“What other arrangements?” Scargill had asked, blotting more perspiration off his brow. “It’s supposed to be a simple trade. You said that as soon as Cutler hands over the new version of the CZ-149, we’re out of here.”
“Take it easy,” Amelia soothed. “I’ll handle the details. Just don’t let our major asset get away while I’m gone. She’s the only thing we have to trade for the meds.”
“Okay, okay,” Scargill muttered. He looked at Isabel with the eyes of a man fast approaching his limits. “She’s not going anywhere.”
The moment Amelia had left, Isabel tossed Scargill her one and only lure. I can tell you the meaning of your dreams.
Scargill paced back and forth in front of the arcade booth counter, a lean, lanky, hunched shadow in the darkened interior. He wasn’t just ill, she realized. There was an air of despair and desperation about him. He reminded her of a junkie who had gone too long between fixes. He held a pistol loosely in one hand.
“What can you tell me about my tsunami dream?” he rasped in a hoarse voice.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked gently.
“Yeah, sure.” He made an impatient motion with the gun. “The doc told me you were Belvedere’s special Level Five dream analyst.”
“That’s right. Martin Belvedere showed a portion of your dream report to me. He wanted my take on it.” She paused. “I’m sure Amelia must have told you that I’m an expert on extreme dreams.”
“Some expert.” His mouth twisted. “Are you the one who told Belvedere that the red tsunami is a blocking image? A symbol of my inability to access the Level Five state? Thanks for nothing. You think I couldn’t figure out that much for myself? I know I’m blocked, damnit. I wanted Belvedere to tell me how to get past it. The CZ-149 isn’t working.”
“I keep telling people that I do my best work when I have context. I need to know something about the dreamer and the situation in order to provide the most accurate interpretation. But Dr. B. wouldn’t tell me anything about you or the circumstances surrounding your dream.” She broke off, making certain she had his full attention before adding, “Now, of course, I know a great deal more so I can do a better job. It would be helpful, though, to have a few additional details.”
“What the hell do you need?” Scargill demanded, wiping more sweat off his face. “My social security number?”
“Can I assume that your gateway dream involves water?”
Scargill hesitated. He looked as if he were trying hard to focus on her face. Interested at last.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I usually dive down to get into it. But now all I see when I try to enter the dream is that damned red tsunami waiting to drown me if I even make an attempt to access a Level Five state.”
“I understand that you suffered some sort of head injury and that it affected your dreaming.”
He swore again, angry and frustrated. “My wound healed. Supposedly everything’s back to normal inside my head. Why can’t I dream the way I did before?”
“Stay with me here, I’m still gathering context. I got the feeling from what you said to Amel
ia that you think Ellis can provide you with a new and improved version of a dream-enhancing drug?”
“That’s right.” The pistol in his hand shook ominously.
“You do realize that Amelia is a liar and a killer,” Isabel said very calmly. “You can’t trust anything she says.”
“That’s not true. The doc is trying to help me.”
“Actually, I suspect she’s setting you up.”
“Bullshit.”
“She doesn’t intend for any of us—you, Ellis, me or even Yolland—to survive the night.”
“Shut up,” Scargill hissed. “Stop talking about the doc. You don’t know anything. She saved my life that day at the cabin.”
“Only because she concocted a new plan to use you. That’s what Amelia does, you see. She uses people to get what she wants.”
“I told you to stop talking about her.” Scargill resumed his restless pacing. “Tell me about my dream.”
“I’m doing my best.” She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Still trying to pick up some context. Tell me, when you consulted with Martin Belvedere, did you inform him that you were getting regular doses of the CZ-149?”
“No.”
“Well, that certainly explains why neither he nor I could get a handle on your tsunami dream.”
Scargill turned and took a threatening step toward her, his desperation and fear palpable forces in the shadows. “Tell me about my dream, damnit.”
“Okay.”
the fog was so thick now that Amelia could no longer see the parking lot beyond the chain-link fence. The heavy, gray mist was eating up the daylight before the sun had even set. She hadn’t counted on the weather being such a major issue tonight. But it wasn’t like she’d had a lot of choice, she thought angrily. When she’d seen Ellis in the hallway outside Belvedere’s office she knew she had to move and move quickly.
How had he put it together? she wondered for the hundredth time. She really would like to know if she made a mistake. She made it a point to learn from her mistakes. That was just good scientific procedure, and she was nothing if not an excellent scientist. Brilliant, actually. Her parents, both researchers in the field of genetics, had set out to create a perfect child. They had recognized her talents in her early childhood and made every effort to hone and shape them.
She had been sent to the most advanced schools and supplied with special tutors. Success and perfection were demanded at every turn and she tried her best to meet that demand, no matter what it cost her to do so. She sacrificed everything—toys, friends, romance—to achieve the goals her parents had ordained for her. After all, they had made it clear from the beginning that they could only love a perfect, successful child.
Eventually, of course, she had been forced to kill her mother and her father. There had been no choice, really. It turned out that no one could achieve absolute perfection every time. Inevitably, there were setbacks along the way. The day she graduated from college she decided she could no longer tolerate the cold disdain and disgust with which her mother and father met her occasional failures. So she got rid of them.
But even though they were long gone, she could still hear their cruel rebukes when things went wrong.
“Yolland?” She stopped near the gate.
“I’m ready for the bastards.” His voice came from inside one of the ticket booths that faced the entrance. “They think they can destroy the environment and get away with it. But they’re going to learn a lesson tonight, I promise you that much.”
She stifled a groan of disgust. Her roster of ex-con subjects from the program at Brackleton was going to be short by one more name before this night was finished, and good riddance. Working with these guys was always problematic but they did have their uses. She reminded herself that it had been extremely fortunate that two of them, Albert Gibbs and Yolland, happened to live in the Los Angeles area and had been available to her on such short notice.
“You’re a real hero, Yolland,” she said. “Not many people would have the courage to do what you’re doing. Are the fuses ready?”
“All set.”
“Remember, wait for my signal.”
“Got it.”
so why can’t I get past that red tsunami?” Scargill asked, anguished.
“I don’t think you’re going to like hearing my analysis, but here it is,” Isabel said gently. “I believe what I’m about to tell you is accurate because I’ve had some experience interpreting the dreams of a few of Lawson’s people who tried CZ-149. That red tsunami that’s blocking your gateway dream?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s your dreaming mind letting you know that you can’t access your gateway dream because of the poison flowing through your bloodstream. That’s why the water is red, you see. It’s the color of blood.”
He stared at her, shaking more violently. “What poison? What are you saying?”
“The CZ-149. It doesn’t enhance Level Five dreaming, it interferes with it. I’ll bet that Amelia is giving you a fairly stiff dose on a regular basis to keep you from accessing your gateway dream.”
“That makes no sense. Why would she do that?”
“So she can manipulate you more easily. From what I’ve heard, the drug has a hypnotic effect on Level Fives. It makes them highly vulnerable to suggestion and influence. If Amelia allows you to dream normally again—heck, if she even allows you to think clearly again—you would figure out that something is very wrong and start asking awkward questions. She can’t afford to let that happen.”
“That’s not true. It can’t be true. Why would she rescue me and then try to keep me from dreaming?”
“If I’m right, and I’m pretty sure I am, she’s got two goals,” Isabel said. “The first is to get control of her very own lab. She’s accomplished that, more or less. The second is to destroy Lawson and his operation. Tonight she intends to use all of us—you, me, Ellis and even poor Yolland—to do that. What’s more, she’s going to make sure we’re all dead by morning because she can’t afford to leave any of us alive.”
“You’re wrong,” Scargill snapped. “This is all about proving to Jack Lawson that Cutler has gone rogue. Lawson trusts that bastard. He won’t listen to the facts. Cutler has convinced him that I was the one who went bad and kidnapped and killed a bunch of people. That’s why I’m playing dead. I’ve got to stay out of sight until we get Cutler and the proof we need to show Lawson.”
“She lied to you, Vincent. I told you, that’s what she does. She lies. She is also very flexible.” Isabel paused, gathering her thoughts, aware that she had only one chance to try to convince him. “Let me go back to the start. Amelia’s first scheme involved seducing Lawson in an attempt to gain control over him and, through him, the Frey-Salter dream labs. That plan failed when Lawson ended their affair and transferred her to another agency.”
“But—”
“Ever resourceful, Amelia promptly came up with Plan B. She decided to go after a privately owned sleep research lab and, in essence, set herself up in competition with Lawson. But to be successful, she knew she would need at least a couple of Level Fives. They aren’t easy to find, as you well know. So she set out to steal one from Lawson.”
Scargill leaned heavily against the counter, clearly struggling to keep himself upright.
“That would be me?” he asked, his disbelief clear.
“Yes. She suckered you into thinking that you were solving all those kidnappings on your own and then she played on your pride and sense of competitiveness, feeding your ego. When the time was right, she was going to convince you to resign from Lawson’s operation on the grounds that you were underappreciated.”
“And then put me to work for her?” he concluded skeptically.
“Uh-huh. After she got kicked out of Lawson’s agency, Amelia set her sights on gaining control of the Belvedere Center for Sleep Research. She knew enough about the facility to realize that if she got it, she would also get a second Level Five.”
&nbs
p; “You?”
“Yep. With the two of us, plus her own talents, she could give Lawson some major competition, maybe even bring him down. She could become the most important researcher in the field of extreme dreams. Who knows what she could accomplish? But there was a major problem.”
“Cutler.” Scargill breathed deeply and tried to straighten his trembling shoulders. “The doc said he was jealous of me.”
“He wasn’t jealous, but he also wasn’t buying your brilliant dream sleuthing. Amelia knew he was suspicious, and after a year at Lawson’s agency, she also knew that he wasn’t going to give up and go away. She realized that she had to get rid of him before he discovered that she had orchestrated the kidnappings and murdered a few people in the process.”
“No,” Scargill muttered. “No, damnit.”
“It wasn’t going to be easy. She was well aware that Lawson and Ellis had been friends for a long time. If anything happened to Ellis, Lawson was sure to conduct an investigation. She decided to have Ellis die in the line of duty.”
“If you’re talking about that day at the survivalists’ compound when everything went to hell . . .”
“She staged that whole event knowing that Ellis would recognize another suspicious kidnapping and try to intervene,” Isabel said quickly. “She intended for him to die in a firefight with the people at the compound, even if she had to pull the trigger, herself. Who would know the difference afterward?”
Scargill was shivering more violently now. He huddled in on himself, gun clutched in his hand. “I don’t understand. Damnit, I can’t think. There’s something wrong with me. I’ve got a splitting headache. I can’t even think straight.”
“Things went wrong that day at the compound when the ammo shed exploded. Amelia tried to kill Ellis but failed. You, her only major asset at that point, were badly injured.”
“The explosion,” Scargill whispered. He rubbed his temples with one hand.
“Amelia grabbed you and got you to the hospital. Later she changed all the computer records to make it appear that you had died. Then she took you, along with plenty of stolen CZ-149 to control you, and split for California. There she seduced Randolph Belvedere and plotted his father’s death.”