Dante's Equation Part 24

"Is that you, Mr. Wyle?" The caller's voice was wary. Denton didn't exactly sound like himself. His lip had swollen like a water balloon and his jaw had frozen up.

"Yeth. Where arth you?"

A pause. "We can meet if you'd like. I'd like to catch up. And I have something of yours."

"Yeth!"

"Are you sure?" The voice was serious, warning. "You'll have to come to me, I'm afraid. Perhaps you're up for a little vacation?"

Denton thought about it for half a second, but deep thought was really beyond him. Only one word rang in his head, despite everything, or because of everything, or maybe he was just a freaking idiot. Tears rolled down his face, stinging his many cuts. "Yeth."

"Very well. Now listen carefully. . . ."

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?

-Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, twenty-first century

12.1. Jill Talcott

"What exactly is the one-minus-one wave?"

"I don't know yet."

"Speculate for me."

"I really couldn't."

"Oh, yes," Agent Calder Farris said with forced cheer, "you could." He flipped his notepad open. "In

fact you already have. Shortly after discovering the one-minus-one you jotted down a number of hypotheses including cosmic radiation, the wake of extra dimensions, the modulating wave of s.p.a.ce-time . . ."

Jill clenched her jaw. Old notes, probably from one of her desk drawers. They'd gone through her office. Agent Farris wasn't what Jill had expected. She'd expected the police, not the FBI. She'd expected to be questioned about the explosion, but ignorantly, by men who didn't have a clue about her work. This wasn't like that at all.

"I'm sure you've made a lot of progress since you wrote this, Dr. Talcott." "I . . . I don't think it's cosmic radiation." "No." His eyes-those spooky bizzaro eyes-narrowed at her, as if trying to judge her veracity. He moved on. "What is the impact of the one-minus-one on matter?" "Itdoes impact matter," she admitted. Her hands twisted the sheet at her chest. "Matter and the one- minus-one are intercoupled, but I don't yet understand the relationship." He stared."Listen, can we back up a minute? I'm not clear on what h-" There was a catch in her throat. She swallowed. "I'd like to know what happened at Smith Hall." "What was the nature of your experiments?" Farris asked her, face blank.

She looked down at the sheet mounded in her hands, confused. "Well, that's just it. There was nothing that could have . . . We didn't have any chemicals down there. Nothing that should have caused a fire or . . ."

She glanced up. He was watching her, completely unmoved. She realized what bothered her about his eyes. They were so cold and flat they appeared to be those of a blind man, as if he were seeing her with blind eyes or maybe not seeing her at all but feeling her with some alien sixth sense.

"What was the nature of your experiments?"

Why wouldn't he tell her about the explosion? How did he know so much about her work? Why was she all alone in this?

"I'd like to have a lawyer present."

"You don't need a lawyer."

"It's my right, lega-"

"This is not aboutyour rights ."

Farris didn't shout. In fact, his words were accompanied by a tight smile. But there was an underlying violence in his tone that made her blood turn cold. It hinted at a rage that lurked just below the surface and promised h.e.l.l on earth should it ever get out. She shrank back on the bed, silent. He went over to the window and looked out, his face averted.

"You see, this is not a criminal case. If you cooperate, in fact, I am prepared to guarantee you immunity from prosecution. Therefore, you don't need a lawyer."

"Prosecution?"

Agent Farris didn't answer. He let her think about it. The room was still; even the hallway sounds were m.u.f.fled. She twisted the sheet harder.

The outline of his body at the window didn't help. His dark pants and white shirt were starched like a uniform. The body underneath was hard, slablike, uncompromisingly male. It wasn't a s.e.xual thing, this maleness; it was more a personification of everything aggressive in the gender. His very image spoke of crime and punishment.

Prosecution.

He walked back to his chair and sat, knees spread. "You should understand the situation you're in, Dr. Talcott. On the one hand there's arrest, media coverage, having to face the families of the victims and very likely jail time for manslaughter. I would guess a minimum of ten to twenty."

Yes, she could picture it all, thanks to images in her head from CNN.The long shot goes down.

"After all, thereare twenty-three dead."

Twenty-three. Jesus.But even while part of her collapsed under that burden, was responding to all of this with utter despair, another part, the survivor who had clawed her way out of rural Tennessee, was still swinging.

"There's no proof that my lab had anything to do with this!"

"No? That would be up to a criminal trial to decide. On the other hand . . ." Farris left it dangling.

"On the other hand? What do you mean?"

Farris tried to look helpful. It was like a shark trying to smile. "Dr. Talcott, we believe that you didn't mean to hurt anyone. Unfortunately, these tragedies occur when you don't take the proper precautions. We'd like to make sure it doesn't happen again. Frankly, we're interested in your work, and we're willing to give you an opportunity to pursue that research in a more suitable-andsafer- environment."

His words rang in the silence that followed like the clanging of a lighthouse bell in a troubled sea. And Jill understood then that her career was not over, that Farris wanted more from her than her head on a platter. She had blown it-badlyblown it.But.

Yes, but. There was always the work, wasn't there? The value of the work.Reardon would have given his firstborn son. Had they learned enough about her work that even twenty-three dead did not matter? She looked at Farris and knew that they had. They didn't care about the body count. That thought made her feel both triumphantly vindicated and pretty d.a.m.n disgusted.

"I don't understand. Are you offering me a job with the FBI?"

Farris hesitated a fraction of a second. "No. That's a cover story for the media. I'm actually with the Department of Defense. Dr. Talcott, let me be blunt. If you cooperate, this situation goes away. The explosion is put down to . . . say, a faulty furnace, and you're off the hook.If you cooperate. Now. What was the nature of your experiments? We know you were a student of the late Dr. Henry Ansel of the University of Tennessee. How is your work related to his?"

To buy time, Jill reached a hand to the tissue box next to her bed and spent an inordinate amount of time caring for her nose. The mention of Ansel's name shocked her as nothing had yet done. How the h.e.l.l did theyknow ?

She was frightened . . . but she was also incredibly excited.

"Agent Farris . . . no, it isn't 'Agent,' is it?"

"Lieutenant."

"Lieutenant Farris, you're offering me a job with the Department of Defense, is that correct?"

He looked surprised at her bluntness. "Yes."

"Because I'm getting a mixed message here. Am I a criminal or a desirable recruit?"

"Desirable recruits are not normally facing charges for manslaughter."

"Well, you appear to be interested in me regardless. I'd be happy to consider your offer, but I want it in writing. I'd like details: position, t.i.tle, salary, who I'd report to, how many people I'd have on my team, and what kind of facilities I'd have for my research. I want to know if I'd be able to publish under my own name and what you'd expect to be held back for security purposes. I want everything to be absolutely clear. Of course, I'll need to interview the people I'd be working with before making any final decisions. Also, I'd like to see something legal outlining the immunity from prosecution that you mentioned. And I-I reallydo want to know what caused that explosion. If the fire department issues a report, I want to see it."

Farris studied her, cheeks sucked in. He managed a patronizing smile. "There's no way we can even begin to discuss such things as salary and facilities until you've beena lot more forthcoming. How would we know what we're paying for?"

Jill folded her arms. "I think you know exactly what you're paying for. And if I told you what I know, you wouldn't need me, would you?"

His eyes narrowed. He was not happy. Jill stuck out her chin. "We're not in the business of stealing research, Dr. Talcott. But we can't just-" "Lieutenant Farris, I'm an a.s.sociate professor at the University of Washington and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. That doesn't add up to much. The only thing I have of value is my work.

I'm not giving it away without a contract, signed, sealed, and delivered." Farris considered her coldly for a long time. He was one tough SOB; Jill could see that. But she refused to be afraid of him. Jill the Chill. Her chin went farther up into the air. She stared him down.

He nodded. "We want you on board, Dr. Talcott. I'll see what I can do." *** Jill was up out of bed as soon as Farris left. She looked in the closet-no clothes. She looked under her bed-not surprisingly, no clothes. There was nothing in the bathroom except a robe, a thin cotton thing that smelled of bleach. She put it on over her hospital gown and tried to calm down. Where did she think she was going, anyway?

She leaned over the bed, not wanting to lie down again but too weak to stand. She put her head in her arms. Jesus, this was really happening. This was everything she'd always wanted, wasn't it? Wasn't it?There was a click as the door opened behind her.

"What?" She straightened up in embarra.s.sment. Why couldn't they leave her alone?"Dinner, ma'am." An orderly fussed with something in the doorway, holding the heavy door open with a shoe. Jill went to the window, wishing he'd hurry up and leave. She heard the door shut.

"Here we go."

The voice was awfully familiar. Jill turned to see a crop of blond-tipped dark hair as the orderly put the tray on the table. "Nate!" He held a finger to his lips.Shhh. He came over and hugged her awkwardly, as he'd done at her house. She was nervous when he hugged her, more nervous when he let her go after only a second or two. She worried that he'd felt, well, more of her than he cared to in the thin hospital robe. She wrapped her arms around herself, painfully aware of how skinny she'd become over the past few months.

"Are you all right? G.o.d, you were practically dead last night!" "I'm better. It must have been a twenty-four-hour thing."

He put a palm on her forehead. His fingers were warm. He removed his hand but didn't bother to comment on her temperature one way or the other. For a moment, they just stood there, Jill feeling extremely weird. Suddenly she came to her senses.

"What are you doing here?" His expression became grim. "Jill, that's the FBI out there. I think they know about our technology."Jill suppressed a nervous giggle. "Actually, it's the Department of Defense. And yes, they know." Nate's olive skin lightened a couple of shades. "DoD! s.h.i.t! What did you tell them?" "Well . . . not a lot. Not . . ." She shied away from his eyes.Not yet. "Not much." "G.o.d! What're we gonna do? Do they have your equation?" Jill thought about it, realizing it was very important to know precisely what they had. Because if they did have her equation she didn't have nearly the bargaining chips she thought she did. "I don't know. They have some of my early notes and they know about the one-minus-one." She had a sudden idea. "My briefcase?"

Nate shook his head. "I went to your place. They cleaned it out. Even took the test subjects." "d.a.m.n!" If they had her briefcase they had the equation. But they still needed her; she was sure of it.

Most of her written material was raw data, naked numbers. The important stuff, the meaning behind it all, was in her head-and Nate's, of course. Nate misinterpreted her worried look. He squeezed her hand. "I know. We have to do something.

Wecan't let them get this technology." His reaction seemed childish to Jill. She spoke crossly: "Don't be stupid. In the first place, we don't have a choice. They already have too much-knowtoo much. In the second place, we have a responsibility. Who's going to oversee this thing? If it isn't me-well, I mean and you, too, if you want-but if it isn'tus it'll be somebody else. Do you really want someone else taking credit for our work?" Nate looked baffled. "Credit?" "Nate, this is our chance! Think what we can do withreal funding andrealfacilities." "But . . . what about the results we got in our d.i.n.ky little lab with our d.i.n.ky little radio transmitter?

Can you imagine if they put the power ofHAARP on the negative one pulse? You can't seriously want that!" His dark eyes were blazing and . . . well, itwas a daunting thought.How daunting made her realize she was more persuaded by Nate's theories on the one-minus-one than she cared to admit.

"They wouldn't do that," she said, without much conviction. "Not until we know forsure what it does. I won'tlet them do it." "Yeah, like they'd letyou decide." "If I'm running the program, yes!" He gave her a look like she was being incredibly naive.

"What other options do we have?" She realized she was getting loud and lowered her voice. "We can't keep the one-minus-one secret forever. We always intended to publish, right? Am I right?"

"That was . . . before we knew what it did," he said, but he didn't sound very sure of himself, either. "Come on! It's like any other technology-goodandbad things might come out of it. It all depends on how you use it."

But Nate was staring at her, those beautiful dark eyes just too d.a.m.n big for his own d.a.m.n good. "Jill,please. I'm not saying this to hurt you, but . . . twenty-three people died in that accident." She clenched her jaw.Unfair."Jill?"

"I willnot take the blame for that until I know exactly what happened! No one will tell me!"His face softened. "The Seattle police were on the news a little while ago. Before the FBI sent them packing they'd discovered that the explosion was caused by a furnace. It was right next to our lab."

Jill groaned, an agonizing relief stabbing through her. "Oh my G.o.d." She collapsed onto the bed. No wonder Farris hadn't told her what really happened. Thatb.a.s.t.a.r.d , that cold-eyed SOB, threatening her with prosecution!

Nate came over and knelt beside her, took her hand tenderly. She almost drew back from the touch- it evoked an equal surge of hurt and want, and a nagging fear that he was trying to manipulate her. Her small fingers were icy and robotic in Nate's warm palm.

"Jill, listen to me. The fire department said it was a 'freak accident,' one in a million. There are all kinds of safety valves to prevent that kind of thing and . . ." He sighed. "The negative one pulsecausedthat furnace to blow. I think we both know that."

Jill s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it, wedon't know that! Wedon't know what happened and couldn't possibly without a thorough investigation!" Nate's face tightened with anger. "How can you not face what this thing does? Look at how sick you were, for G.o.d's sake! All this trouble coming down on our heads? People dead? Come on! Do you really want the government playing around with this thing? Do you want to be personally responsible for another Nagasaki and Hiroshima-or worse? Is that what you really want?"

Just then, the door opened.

It was a lab technician. Nate breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was to get caught.

Whatever Jill said,he wasn't ready to tell these goons anything.

The tech backed in with a cart. The top of it was lined with vials of blood in neat, labeled boxes. Nate's skin danced the jitterbug at the sight.Blech."I'm afraid you'll have to leave." The tech barely glanced at him. "I have to draw blood." "I was just, um, dropping off a tray." Nate went to the door, nodded at Jill mutely. "Bye," she said, giving him a reproachful look, a look that said he hadn't had to bring upNagasaki .

She started crawling back under the sheets.

Jesus, she looked so small, like a little kid. Head like a mule, though, and ambitious enough to make Napoleon look like a benchwarmer. Nate sighed with a mixture of exasperation and longing and ditched out.

In the hall the two FBI guys who were stationed at her door gave him a once-over. He felt self-conscious, told himself he really hadn't been in there that long and that the thickness of the walls and that slug of a door prevented their conversation from being overheard. He strolled casually down the hall, turned the corner, and went to the elevator. Here he stopped and stared at the elevator b.u.t.ton.

Leave.That was simple enough. Would they come looking for him? Probably. But maybe, if he stayed out of sight, they'd give up. After all, if they had Jill-and it looked like they had her all right-they wouldn't need him. He could save his own conscience, and that's all he could do, right? There was nothing he could do about Jill's decisions. Right? If she wanted to go work for the military and build some kind of Death Wave Machine, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

He paced, continuing the debate with Jill in his head, unable to let it-or her-go. d.a.m.n it, but the asinine, idiotic thing was, he believed that deep down, she cared. He believed that she cared about those people who had died, that she cared about him. Well, maybe the "caring about him" part was wishful thinking, but she cared about those people, he was pretty sure.

When the lab tech showed up with the blood cart and pressed the b.u.t.ton for the elevator, Nate knew exactly what he was going to say to her. He marched around the corner, back down the hall to Jill's room.

One of the FBI guys was reading a magazine. He put it down, gave Nate a hard look.

"Picking up the tray," Nate said, in a jeez-what's-wrong-with-you-people voice, given credence by his anger. He pushed open the door to her room.

Jill was not there. He checked the bathroom, even glanced under the bed. She had vanished.