Plot counterplot, p.17
Plot/Counterplot, page 17
“Listen to me, Miss Kahale. You are not an NCTC agent and you do not have clearance for intelligence work. You will look at what I ask you to look at and nothing else.”
Leilani hobbled right up in his face. “Fine, Mr. McKay. Now you listen to me. Those bastards tortured me and stole the love of my life. If you want my help, fine, but I’m your partner, not your lackey, and if you can’t live with that, I’ll leave right now and start my own investigation. And I’ll probably find Dylan before you do, because I’ve already spotted something you and your pals with security clearance missed!”
They stared each other down for several seconds.
“I don’t believe you found something I missed,” Seamus said finally. “Prove it.”
“Nice try. But I’m either in all the way or I’m out. Which is it?”
They stared each other down for several more seconds.
“You went to the senior prom alone, didn’t you?” Seamus finally said.
“Stop trying to distract me.” Leilani paused. “I was an awkward-looking teenager.”
He shook his head. “The boys were afraid of you.”
“You’re still not answering my question.”
“All right, you’re in. But I’m in charge.”
“I can live with that. As long as you don’t do anything stupid.”
“What is it you think you’ve discovered?”
“You told me the explosion at the Cartwright Institute might be connected to Dylan. You thought maybe the terrorists were after the enriched plutonium stored in the basement.”
“That’s a possibility.”
“Then why did they kill the scientist on the fourth floor?”
Seamus stopped a beat to process. “The—I believe many scientists were killed.”
“In the explosion, yes. But this one was murdered. Before the explosion. And none of the nuclear materials were stolen.”
“The operation didn’t go down as planned. Something went wrong—they probably mishandled the K4—and they ended up blowing the joint sky high while they were still on the premises.”
“Or some of them were. I don’t think they were after plutonium. I think they were after this scientist.”
She showed Seamus a file photo. He remembered glancing at it earlier. Dr. Johann Karelis. Late sixties. Born in Germany. “An expert in theoretical physics? I don’t think terrorists blow up buildings to get to theoretical physicists.”
“About eighty years ago, a theoretical physicist came up with the idea of splitting the atom. He changed the future of the world.”
Seamus grudgingly granted her the point. “You can’t assume Karelis was murdered. Almost everyone in the building at the time was killed.”
“Did you read the ME’s reports?”
“I glanced at them. Not much to say. The cause of death was obvious.”
“I would agree with you,” Leilani said, “in every case but one.” She pulled the Karelis report out of a thick stack. “Karelis was found in his bathtub, and to some extent, that porcelain encasement protected his body. Enough was left to conduct a reliable autopsy. Which, being a trained paramedic, I know how to read.”
“Let me guess. Traumatic shock due to massive K4 explosion.”
“He drowned.”
“What?”
“No doubt the body went through massive shocks. His skull was crushed. But his lungs were full of water.” Leilani pointed to the key line in the autopsy report. “Guess he stayed in the bath too long, huh?”
Seamus grabbed the report. “You can’t drown yourself in the bathtub.”
“But someone else could drown you. Or threaten to drown you, to extract information. Just before they blow up the building. To disguise their true objective.”
Seamus hated to admit it, but what she said made sense. “Why would anyone go to all this trouble to kill a physicist?”
“That’s what we need to learn. I know you’re primarily a desk jockey now, Seamus. But like it or not—it’s time for you to go back into the field.”
* * *
Lenny Bakersfield left the location shoot and headed back to his car. It had been an exhausting day. The latest of many. He was used to working long hours. When a movie was in full production mode, eighteen-hour days were not uncommon. Actors were always going on talk shows, complaining about how hard their work days were. But the makeup team had to be there earlier than anyone. And as the head of the makeup department, he had to be there first.
People always assumed makeup men were lightweights, that it was a sissy-boy job for people without any real talent. Glorified Max Factor salesmen. As far as Lenny was concerned, it was the toughest job in the business. It required true artistry, an eye for color, an understanding of lighting and cinematography, and a talent for detecting and emphasizing the line of the face. Plus it required the greatest gift of them all—the ability to deal with actors’ egos.
He had an Oscar on his desk for his work on Nemesis, but that was because it was a period picture and they tended to draw awards in makeup and costuming. His Oscar should’ve come for dealing with the lead actress on his current picture. Yes, it was hot here in Hawaii. Yes, sometimes the sun was in her face. Not to worry. He had her back. She wasn’t going to sweat, she wasn’t going to freckle, and she wasn’t going to look bad when fanboys bought her on Blu-Ray and put her up on their 80-inch HD screens. So chill, already.
He tossed his makeup kit into the passenger seat and slid into his car. Location shoots were the worse. Directors rarely anticipated all the complications of shooting where environmental conditions could not be controlled. Why do it? These days, they could greenscreen and CGI any background they wanted, while shooting the whole movie in the comfort of a closed set on the lot. And yet, movie directors always wanted location. Said it helped capture the ambience. Now even tv people were doing it. Ever since Lost, everyone wanted to film in Hawaii.
He tried to distract himself as he drove home, but his mind was stuck in a rut. He had to shift mental gears. He didn’t want to inflict this mood on his family, even if in all likelihood they were already in bed. He had to switch his brain to the positive.
This industry had given him a fat bank account. And best of all, a wife, something he was convinced he would never have. Now they had a little daughter. Whenever he had trouble hauling himself out of bed in the morning, all he had to do was think of her. The women in his life made it all worthwhile.
Lenny pulled into his driveway and parked. He walked to the front door, slid a key into the lock—and froze.
A cold blade pressed against his throat.
Turning his head slightly, he saw a muscular man with the darkest eyes he had ever seen.
“Wh-wha-what’s going on?”
The man grinned. “Is showtime.”
Chapter 34
The instant Leilani entered the laboratory, she spotted a familiar figure decked out in a full-length white lab coat, bolo tie, magnifying lenses over his eyeglasses, spinning a Frisbee on one finger.
He hadn’t changed a bit.
“Patrick?”
“Leilani!” The Frisbee flew off his finger and crashed into a beaker containing a blue viscous fluid that spilled out onto the countertop. Smoke rose as the fluid burned into the table.
He grabbed a fire extinguisher and squirted the mess. The smoke cleared, revealing a vast array of Bunsen burners, test tubes, petri dishes, and Erlenmeyer flasks.
“Sorry about that. Practicing an experiment for class. It’s a demonstration of torque.” He dabbed at the mess with a towel. “What brings you on campus?”
She accepted a gentle embrace. “Actually, you.”
He beamed. “I’m flattered. Have you been missing those late-night food fests at Sam Choy’s?”
“Patrick, I’m here on a...professional matter. I need your help.”
“You need the help of a physics teacher? That’s not something I hear often.”
“It’s not something I’ve ever had occasion to say before. Or expect I ever will again. But you’re doing yourself a tremendous disservice.” And he was. He held the Harold K. Boyes Chair at Hawaii Pacific University, the largest private school in the islands. No small thing for a man in his early forties. “We both know you’re much more than a science teacher.”
“I’m guessing you’re referring to my kissing technique.”
“I’m referring to your extensive knowledge of all things relating to the world of physics. This is actually very important. A dear friend of mine’s life may be in danger.”
He frowned. “The writer?”
“How did you know?”
“I’ve seen you with him in the newspaper. Attending gala events, arm-in-arm. You haven’t been totally off my radar since you broke it off with me.”
“I need to know about a physicist who died about a month ago. A Dr. Johann Karelis. Have you heard of him?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and fidgeted with his cell phone. “Sorry. I always forget to put this on vibrate before class. Yes, of course I knew Karelis. I’d be a pretty sad excuse for a physicist if I hadn’t.” Deep lines etched their way across his forehead. “What you haven’t explained to me is—why in God’s name should I help you?”
* * *
Crazy idea, Seamus mused, as he approached U of H Student Union. Let’s split up and talk to physicists! How had Leilani talked him into this? He still didn’t see how a physicist’s murder could be connected to the disappearance of Dylan Taggart. Which explained why he’d had so little success explaining it to Eustace. He suspected his boss would not tolerate this investigation much longer unless he came up with a concrete threat to national security.
And still. Dr. Louis Scheimer worked for the US Navy—another of several arrows pointing the same direction. And he worked with Karelis. Given the multiple levels of approval Seamus had needed before he could speak to the scientist, the project must be top secret. Weapons research, most likely. He still wasn’t allowed into Scheimer’s lab. He had to settle for a half-hour meeting at a nearby coffee shop, where Seamus knew several guards would be watching at all times.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Scheimer was a German immigrant, balding, covered with liver spots, and unless Seamus was mistaken, miserably unhappy. All the smarts in the world couldn’t cure depression. In fact, sometimes Seamus suspected smarts were the carrier of the disease. He’d talked to Scheimer for ten minutes without hearing anything useful. Scheimer didn’t know Dylan Taggart, didn’t know Xavier, and had no idea who these people were. He was simply conducting theoretical research on neutrinos.
He decided to shake up the conversation.
“How was your recent trip?”
“Trip? They never let me go anywhere.”
“Yes, they did.” He stared at Scheimer. “They let you go somewhere extremely cold.”
“How—” Scheimer stopped himself, but it was too late. “Why would you think that?”
“No, first you tell me if it’s true.”
“I...can’t.”
“Okay, let me fill in the blanks. I don’t think they’d let you leave the country. And since this is late summer, you must’ve been to Alaska.”
The slight widening of Scheimer’s eyes told him he was correct.
“The trip must’ve been related to your work. I’m guessing an experiment, something that had to be performed outside but couldn’t be done where anyone might see.”
“And...what would that be?”
“I’m just speculating. But if I wanted to go into full Sherlock Holmes inductive logic mode, I’d say you conducted a weapons test. Something that didn’t involve radioactive fallout, so the Bikini Islands weren’t necessary. Only privaCy.”
“You’re a gifted agent, Mr. McKay.”
“Nah. You’ve still got severe tissue damage, broken capillaries, around your ears. Didn’t pull your cap down low enough, I guess. Sometimes takes months for that to heal. And when you opened your briefcase, I spotted empirical antibiotics and diuretics.” He paused. “You got frostbite.”
“And it still hurts.”
“So tell me what you were doing in Alaska.”
“I can’t. I’m not allowed.”
“Was Dr. Karelis there?”
“Maybe.”
“You’ve never done government work before.”
“And for good reason.” He looked down suddenly, as if afraid he’d said too much.
“What changed your mind?”
A tiny smile played on Scheimer’s lips. “A call from the Master.”
“Karelis?”
“No. The dead master.”
Seamus thought a moment. “Einstein.”
“It doesn’t matter. I now believe I made an error in judgment. But I am...unable to leave my work unfinished.”
Translation: the military had him where they wanted him and they wouldn’t let him go. “We all have regrets. But you can’t turn back time. Was this...experiment a success?”
Scheimer’s eyes darted to one side. Seamus knew he was mentally weighing how much he could say. “More successful than our wildest imaginations.”
“Is that why Karelis is dead?”
Several gulps of coffee were swallowed before the scientist answered. “I hope not.”
“But you don’t know? Or you don’t want to know?”
Scheimer pushed away from the table. “I think our time is over.”
“Our time is not half over.” He grabbed Scheimer’s wrist. On both sides of the room, he saw guards flinch. He removed his hand. “Tell me what happened in Alaska.”
Scheimer’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you know what Oppenheimer thought at Trinity?”
Seamus did. “He quoted the Bhagavad-Gita. ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’”
“Oppenheimer was an amateur. We have taken his blunderbuss and given it precision tuning. We have made death as easy to cause as to contemplate.”
Chapter 35
“Patrick, please. This is important.” Leilani could see this interview was going to be difficult. Asking favors from someone she once dated was a bad idea. But he was the only physicist she knew.
“You know what? I’m important, too. And you hurt me. I really thought we had something.”
“I wasn’t the right one for you.”
“You mean because you didn’t know the difference between a quark and a quasar? I didn’t care about that. I cared about you. And you dumped me. By email, no less. That’s about as cold as it gets.”
“I was trying to make it as painless as possible.”
“You failed. You made it as hard and impersonal and painful as possible. I thought we had a real connection. And you just walked away.”
Leilani reached out and took his hand. “Patrick—I’m sorry. I screwed up. Maybe we could’ve made it if I hadn’t been a coward. I’ve...had a hard time allowing myself to be close. And I so clearly wasn’t the right match for you. Being with you just made me feel more alone. That was my fault, not yours. But now I have a real chance for happiness with a man who loves me. Won’t you please help?”
Patrick gave her a long look. He inhaled deeply, then finally spoke. “Karelis is famous in the field of quantum chromodynamics.”
“Did you know him personally?”
“I met him once. About a year ago. Here in Hawaii. Puzzling thing. His entire life, he never left his native Germany. Never worked for the government. Never taught. Not once. And then, about three years ago, without any explanation, he moves to Hawaii.”
“To do what?”
“None of this is official. But if you get enough people involved, and spend enough money, eventually word is going to leak out. I know he was working for the military—he must’ve convinced them he could make something they could use. Probably a dodge to get funding for his research. Frankly, Leilani, I think he was crackers. Nut job. Off the deep end.”
“Is that your official hypothesis? Speaking as a scientist?”
“That’s not exactly an unusual trajectory for a physicist. We start crazy and get crazier. But functionally crazy. Like Nikola Tesla—probably the greatest scientist who ever lived. Obsessed with the number three. Couldn’t eat unless he had three napkins. Had to circle a building three times before he could enter. Could only stay in a hotel for a number of nights divisible by three.”
“But Patrick—do you have any idea what Karelis might’ve been working on? Before he died?”
“None.” Pause. “Except...”
“Yes?”
“That one time I saw him? He was with Louis Scheimer.”
“And that’s important because...?”
“Scheimer’s specialty is neutrinos.”
“And neutrinos are...”
“Fascinating. Did you know that billions of them are passing through your body as we speak?”
She did not. And she didn’t much relish the mental image, either. “What can you do with neutrinos? What are the military applications? How can you use them to hurt someone?”
“There’s nothing you can do with neutrinos. They’re elementary particles. Interesting, but harmless.”
“Then what is Scheimer doing for the military? Why would anyone want to kill Karelis?”
“I thought he died when that gas line exploded.”
“Yeah. In a watery sort of way. Do you know what these two might have been concocting?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Okay. Thank you for your help, anyway. And Patrick.” Her eyes lowered. “I should’ve treated you better.”
“I appreciate you saying that.” He picked up his Frisbee. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
She nodded. “I know.”
* * *
Leilani retraced the entire conversation in her head as she crossed the quad to her car. What would she tell Seamus when she reported back? She hadn’t learned much. Karelis was working with another mad scientist named Scheimer, who was obsessed with tiny particles that flew through the air and never did anyone any harm. Why would the military care? None of it made sense. And none of it brought her closer to Dylan.
She was pleased when she finally saw her car, parked in a dubiously legal spot on the north oval. It had been a long hike and her left leg ached. Dr. Fender was calling every day, urging her to return to the hospital.
Leilani hobbled right up in his face. “Fine, Mr. McKay. Now you listen to me. Those bastards tortured me and stole the love of my life. If you want my help, fine, but I’m your partner, not your lackey, and if you can’t live with that, I’ll leave right now and start my own investigation. And I’ll probably find Dylan before you do, because I’ve already spotted something you and your pals with security clearance missed!”
They stared each other down for several seconds.
“I don’t believe you found something I missed,” Seamus said finally. “Prove it.”
“Nice try. But I’m either in all the way or I’m out. Which is it?”
They stared each other down for several more seconds.
“You went to the senior prom alone, didn’t you?” Seamus finally said.
“Stop trying to distract me.” Leilani paused. “I was an awkward-looking teenager.”
He shook his head. “The boys were afraid of you.”
“You’re still not answering my question.”
“All right, you’re in. But I’m in charge.”
“I can live with that. As long as you don’t do anything stupid.”
“What is it you think you’ve discovered?”
“You told me the explosion at the Cartwright Institute might be connected to Dylan. You thought maybe the terrorists were after the enriched plutonium stored in the basement.”
“That’s a possibility.”
“Then why did they kill the scientist on the fourth floor?”
Seamus stopped a beat to process. “The—I believe many scientists were killed.”
“In the explosion, yes. But this one was murdered. Before the explosion. And none of the nuclear materials were stolen.”
“The operation didn’t go down as planned. Something went wrong—they probably mishandled the K4—and they ended up blowing the joint sky high while they were still on the premises.”
“Or some of them were. I don’t think they were after plutonium. I think they were after this scientist.”
She showed Seamus a file photo. He remembered glancing at it earlier. Dr. Johann Karelis. Late sixties. Born in Germany. “An expert in theoretical physics? I don’t think terrorists blow up buildings to get to theoretical physicists.”
“About eighty years ago, a theoretical physicist came up with the idea of splitting the atom. He changed the future of the world.”
Seamus grudgingly granted her the point. “You can’t assume Karelis was murdered. Almost everyone in the building at the time was killed.”
“Did you read the ME’s reports?”
“I glanced at them. Not much to say. The cause of death was obvious.”
“I would agree with you,” Leilani said, “in every case but one.” She pulled the Karelis report out of a thick stack. “Karelis was found in his bathtub, and to some extent, that porcelain encasement protected his body. Enough was left to conduct a reliable autopsy. Which, being a trained paramedic, I know how to read.”
“Let me guess. Traumatic shock due to massive K4 explosion.”
“He drowned.”
“What?”
“No doubt the body went through massive shocks. His skull was crushed. But his lungs were full of water.” Leilani pointed to the key line in the autopsy report. “Guess he stayed in the bath too long, huh?”
Seamus grabbed the report. “You can’t drown yourself in the bathtub.”
“But someone else could drown you. Or threaten to drown you, to extract information. Just before they blow up the building. To disguise their true objective.”
Seamus hated to admit it, but what she said made sense. “Why would anyone go to all this trouble to kill a physicist?”
“That’s what we need to learn. I know you’re primarily a desk jockey now, Seamus. But like it or not—it’s time for you to go back into the field.”
* * *
Lenny Bakersfield left the location shoot and headed back to his car. It had been an exhausting day. The latest of many. He was used to working long hours. When a movie was in full production mode, eighteen-hour days were not uncommon. Actors were always going on talk shows, complaining about how hard their work days were. But the makeup team had to be there earlier than anyone. And as the head of the makeup department, he had to be there first.
People always assumed makeup men were lightweights, that it was a sissy-boy job for people without any real talent. Glorified Max Factor salesmen. As far as Lenny was concerned, it was the toughest job in the business. It required true artistry, an eye for color, an understanding of lighting and cinematography, and a talent for detecting and emphasizing the line of the face. Plus it required the greatest gift of them all—the ability to deal with actors’ egos.
He had an Oscar on his desk for his work on Nemesis, but that was because it was a period picture and they tended to draw awards in makeup and costuming. His Oscar should’ve come for dealing with the lead actress on his current picture. Yes, it was hot here in Hawaii. Yes, sometimes the sun was in her face. Not to worry. He had her back. She wasn’t going to sweat, she wasn’t going to freckle, and she wasn’t going to look bad when fanboys bought her on Blu-Ray and put her up on their 80-inch HD screens. So chill, already.
He tossed his makeup kit into the passenger seat and slid into his car. Location shoots were the worse. Directors rarely anticipated all the complications of shooting where environmental conditions could not be controlled. Why do it? These days, they could greenscreen and CGI any background they wanted, while shooting the whole movie in the comfort of a closed set on the lot. And yet, movie directors always wanted location. Said it helped capture the ambience. Now even tv people were doing it. Ever since Lost, everyone wanted to film in Hawaii.
He tried to distract himself as he drove home, but his mind was stuck in a rut. He had to shift mental gears. He didn’t want to inflict this mood on his family, even if in all likelihood they were already in bed. He had to switch his brain to the positive.
This industry had given him a fat bank account. And best of all, a wife, something he was convinced he would never have. Now they had a little daughter. Whenever he had trouble hauling himself out of bed in the morning, all he had to do was think of her. The women in his life made it all worthwhile.
Lenny pulled into his driveway and parked. He walked to the front door, slid a key into the lock—and froze.
A cold blade pressed against his throat.
Turning his head slightly, he saw a muscular man with the darkest eyes he had ever seen.
“Wh-wha-what’s going on?”
The man grinned. “Is showtime.”
Chapter 34
The instant Leilani entered the laboratory, she spotted a familiar figure decked out in a full-length white lab coat, bolo tie, magnifying lenses over his eyeglasses, spinning a Frisbee on one finger.
He hadn’t changed a bit.
“Patrick?”
“Leilani!” The Frisbee flew off his finger and crashed into a beaker containing a blue viscous fluid that spilled out onto the countertop. Smoke rose as the fluid burned into the table.
He grabbed a fire extinguisher and squirted the mess. The smoke cleared, revealing a vast array of Bunsen burners, test tubes, petri dishes, and Erlenmeyer flasks.
“Sorry about that. Practicing an experiment for class. It’s a demonstration of torque.” He dabbed at the mess with a towel. “What brings you on campus?”
She accepted a gentle embrace. “Actually, you.”
He beamed. “I’m flattered. Have you been missing those late-night food fests at Sam Choy’s?”
“Patrick, I’m here on a...professional matter. I need your help.”
“You need the help of a physics teacher? That’s not something I hear often.”
“It’s not something I’ve ever had occasion to say before. Or expect I ever will again. But you’re doing yourself a tremendous disservice.” And he was. He held the Harold K. Boyes Chair at Hawaii Pacific University, the largest private school in the islands. No small thing for a man in his early forties. “We both know you’re much more than a science teacher.”
“I’m guessing you’re referring to my kissing technique.”
“I’m referring to your extensive knowledge of all things relating to the world of physics. This is actually very important. A dear friend of mine’s life may be in danger.”
He frowned. “The writer?”
“How did you know?”
“I’ve seen you with him in the newspaper. Attending gala events, arm-in-arm. You haven’t been totally off my radar since you broke it off with me.”
“I need to know about a physicist who died about a month ago. A Dr. Johann Karelis. Have you heard of him?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and fidgeted with his cell phone. “Sorry. I always forget to put this on vibrate before class. Yes, of course I knew Karelis. I’d be a pretty sad excuse for a physicist if I hadn’t.” Deep lines etched their way across his forehead. “What you haven’t explained to me is—why in God’s name should I help you?”
* * *
Crazy idea, Seamus mused, as he approached U of H Student Union. Let’s split up and talk to physicists! How had Leilani talked him into this? He still didn’t see how a physicist’s murder could be connected to the disappearance of Dylan Taggart. Which explained why he’d had so little success explaining it to Eustace. He suspected his boss would not tolerate this investigation much longer unless he came up with a concrete threat to national security.
And still. Dr. Louis Scheimer worked for the US Navy—another of several arrows pointing the same direction. And he worked with Karelis. Given the multiple levels of approval Seamus had needed before he could speak to the scientist, the project must be top secret. Weapons research, most likely. He still wasn’t allowed into Scheimer’s lab. He had to settle for a half-hour meeting at a nearby coffee shop, where Seamus knew several guards would be watching at all times.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Scheimer was a German immigrant, balding, covered with liver spots, and unless Seamus was mistaken, miserably unhappy. All the smarts in the world couldn’t cure depression. In fact, sometimes Seamus suspected smarts were the carrier of the disease. He’d talked to Scheimer for ten minutes without hearing anything useful. Scheimer didn’t know Dylan Taggart, didn’t know Xavier, and had no idea who these people were. He was simply conducting theoretical research on neutrinos.
He decided to shake up the conversation.
“How was your recent trip?”
“Trip? They never let me go anywhere.”
“Yes, they did.” He stared at Scheimer. “They let you go somewhere extremely cold.”
“How—” Scheimer stopped himself, but it was too late. “Why would you think that?”
“No, first you tell me if it’s true.”
“I...can’t.”
“Okay, let me fill in the blanks. I don’t think they’d let you leave the country. And since this is late summer, you must’ve been to Alaska.”
The slight widening of Scheimer’s eyes told him he was correct.
“The trip must’ve been related to your work. I’m guessing an experiment, something that had to be performed outside but couldn’t be done where anyone might see.”
“And...what would that be?”
“I’m just speculating. But if I wanted to go into full Sherlock Holmes inductive logic mode, I’d say you conducted a weapons test. Something that didn’t involve radioactive fallout, so the Bikini Islands weren’t necessary. Only privaCy.”
“You’re a gifted agent, Mr. McKay.”
“Nah. You’ve still got severe tissue damage, broken capillaries, around your ears. Didn’t pull your cap down low enough, I guess. Sometimes takes months for that to heal. And when you opened your briefcase, I spotted empirical antibiotics and diuretics.” He paused. “You got frostbite.”
“And it still hurts.”
“So tell me what you were doing in Alaska.”
“I can’t. I’m not allowed.”
“Was Dr. Karelis there?”
“Maybe.”
“You’ve never done government work before.”
“And for good reason.” He looked down suddenly, as if afraid he’d said too much.
“What changed your mind?”
A tiny smile played on Scheimer’s lips. “A call from the Master.”
“Karelis?”
“No. The dead master.”
Seamus thought a moment. “Einstein.”
“It doesn’t matter. I now believe I made an error in judgment. But I am...unable to leave my work unfinished.”
Translation: the military had him where they wanted him and they wouldn’t let him go. “We all have regrets. But you can’t turn back time. Was this...experiment a success?”
Scheimer’s eyes darted to one side. Seamus knew he was mentally weighing how much he could say. “More successful than our wildest imaginations.”
“Is that why Karelis is dead?”
Several gulps of coffee were swallowed before the scientist answered. “I hope not.”
“But you don’t know? Or you don’t want to know?”
Scheimer pushed away from the table. “I think our time is over.”
“Our time is not half over.” He grabbed Scheimer’s wrist. On both sides of the room, he saw guards flinch. He removed his hand. “Tell me what happened in Alaska.”
Scheimer’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you know what Oppenheimer thought at Trinity?”
Seamus did. “He quoted the Bhagavad-Gita. ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’”
“Oppenheimer was an amateur. We have taken his blunderbuss and given it precision tuning. We have made death as easy to cause as to contemplate.”
Chapter 35
“Patrick, please. This is important.” Leilani could see this interview was going to be difficult. Asking favors from someone she once dated was a bad idea. But he was the only physicist she knew.
“You know what? I’m important, too. And you hurt me. I really thought we had something.”
“I wasn’t the right one for you.”
“You mean because you didn’t know the difference between a quark and a quasar? I didn’t care about that. I cared about you. And you dumped me. By email, no less. That’s about as cold as it gets.”
“I was trying to make it as painless as possible.”
“You failed. You made it as hard and impersonal and painful as possible. I thought we had a real connection. And you just walked away.”
Leilani reached out and took his hand. “Patrick—I’m sorry. I screwed up. Maybe we could’ve made it if I hadn’t been a coward. I’ve...had a hard time allowing myself to be close. And I so clearly wasn’t the right match for you. Being with you just made me feel more alone. That was my fault, not yours. But now I have a real chance for happiness with a man who loves me. Won’t you please help?”
Patrick gave her a long look. He inhaled deeply, then finally spoke. “Karelis is famous in the field of quantum chromodynamics.”
“Did you know him personally?”
“I met him once. About a year ago. Here in Hawaii. Puzzling thing. His entire life, he never left his native Germany. Never worked for the government. Never taught. Not once. And then, about three years ago, without any explanation, he moves to Hawaii.”
“To do what?”
“None of this is official. But if you get enough people involved, and spend enough money, eventually word is going to leak out. I know he was working for the military—he must’ve convinced them he could make something they could use. Probably a dodge to get funding for his research. Frankly, Leilani, I think he was crackers. Nut job. Off the deep end.”
“Is that your official hypothesis? Speaking as a scientist?”
“That’s not exactly an unusual trajectory for a physicist. We start crazy and get crazier. But functionally crazy. Like Nikola Tesla—probably the greatest scientist who ever lived. Obsessed with the number three. Couldn’t eat unless he had three napkins. Had to circle a building three times before he could enter. Could only stay in a hotel for a number of nights divisible by three.”
“But Patrick—do you have any idea what Karelis might’ve been working on? Before he died?”
“None.” Pause. “Except...”
“Yes?”
“That one time I saw him? He was with Louis Scheimer.”
“And that’s important because...?”
“Scheimer’s specialty is neutrinos.”
“And neutrinos are...”
“Fascinating. Did you know that billions of them are passing through your body as we speak?”
She did not. And she didn’t much relish the mental image, either. “What can you do with neutrinos? What are the military applications? How can you use them to hurt someone?”
“There’s nothing you can do with neutrinos. They’re elementary particles. Interesting, but harmless.”
“Then what is Scheimer doing for the military? Why would anyone want to kill Karelis?”
“I thought he died when that gas line exploded.”
“Yeah. In a watery sort of way. Do you know what these two might have been concocting?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Okay. Thank you for your help, anyway. And Patrick.” Her eyes lowered. “I should’ve treated you better.”
“I appreciate you saying that.” He picked up his Frisbee. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
She nodded. “I know.”
* * *
Leilani retraced the entire conversation in her head as she crossed the quad to her car. What would she tell Seamus when she reported back? She hadn’t learned much. Karelis was working with another mad scientist named Scheimer, who was obsessed with tiny particles that flew through the air and never did anyone any harm. Why would the military care? None of it made sense. And none of it brought her closer to Dylan.
She was pleased when she finally saw her car, parked in a dubiously legal spot on the north oval. It had been a long hike and her left leg ached. Dr. Fender was calling every day, urging her to return to the hospital.
