Plot counterplot, p.30
Plot/Counterplot, page 30
“What would cause that?”
“They had no way of knowing. Only in recent years have we come to understand that our universe—with its laws of physics—is not the only universe. And our physics are not the only possible laws of physics.”
“This sounds like something out of science fiction.”
“Now it is science fact. The currently prevailing cosmological theory proposes that our universe was spawned from a microscopic region of a primordial vacuum in a sudden burst of exponential expansion. That same vacuum could continually birth many other universes, and each would have its own unique laws of physics.”
“Are you saying that...when those surveyors descended into the cave...”
“They actually passed into a space shared with another universe. We believe that universes can be described as three-dimensional membranes—branes for short. They can touch one another. Or even collide. Overlap.”
“Then those surveyors found some sort of...gateway?”
“A rip in the fabric of our spacetime. A doorway to another universe with laws of physics different from those we know.”
“That’s bizarre.”
“What’s bizarre is that originally no one thought this of any particular value. Some thought it might be a potential tourist attraction, assuming they could persuade people to lower themselves into a cavernous pocket beneath the base of a volcano. The Hawaiian Provisional Government contacted Tesla for advice—and he saw much more than a lure for tourists. He saw an opportunity to achieve the impossible. He contacted President McKinley and told him to annex the islands immediately.”
“Why?”
“Tesla recognized the possible uses of a place where the laws of physics were different. Many years after annexation, the existence of a new particle, now called the neutrino, was postulated, and Tesla had what he needed to lay the theoretical groundwork for his peace ray. His ultimate weapon.”
Leilani felt a shiver run down her spine. He was scaring her, and she only barely understood what he was saying. “Aren’t neutrinos—harmless?”
“Neutrinos are neutral elementary particles produced by radioactive decay and nuclear reactions, such as those that occur constantly in our sun. For example, when a proton decays into a neutron, two extra particles are produced: a neutrino and a positron, the antiparticle of the electron.”
“Are you talking about antimatter? I’ve heard of that.”
“Antimatter is involved, but the process is much more complicated than an ordinary nuclear transmutation. The neutrino I described is the electron neutrino, but they come in two other flavors: the muon and the tau. Once an electron neutrino is produced it travels at near the speed of light and continually oscillates from one flavor to another, passing harmlessly through any matter it encounters.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a weapon.”
“What happens in that underground cave makes it a weapon. Normally, there is no way to control neutrino oscillation. But in that cave it can be done. It is done. We know that neutrinos can create wormholes and pass through them. This phenomenon must’ve opened the gateway to a unique place where normal neutrinos become brane-to-brane-traveling sterile neutrinos. There, we can send a composite neutrino beam out of our brane to reemerge at a chosen target anywhere else in our universe as a stream of antiparticles which destroy all forms of matter on contact. An undetectable, unstoppable weapon.”
“How do the antiparticles know where to go?”
“For that, I had to develop what the Navy calls the Kronos Key. The coordinates entered into the Key and the phase of the oscillation uniquely determine where the stream of antiparticles emerges. The set of equations I developed and encrypted into the Key make targeting possible. With pinpoint precision.”
“But we have other powerful weapons.”
“This one is unique, and not only in its potential destructive force. You don’t need enriched uranium or plutonium or any other rare elements. You don’t need a ballistic missile to deliver the payload. All you need are some talented engineers and a particle accelerator to create and launch the beam. And there is no explosion. Your target simply—disappears.”
“That’s what you’ve been working on? You and Karelis?”
“And we have been all too successful. The Key takes coordinates fed into it by a computer and, using an orbiting tracking satellite, locates the target, calculates its position, and directs the beam. The first test succeeded beyond our wildest imaginings—or worst fears. This is no blunt instrument, no weapon of mass destruction. This is an untraceable weapon with an unprecedented degree of accuraCy. Karelis and I hoped that by tapping the power of the neutrino, we could solve the world’s energy problems. What we did instead was create the greatest tool for assassination ever known, one that can pinpoint a group or individual on the other side of the globe and convert their matter into energy. Which destroys them instantly.”
Leilani didn’t know what to say. No words in her vocabulary came close to encompassing her feelings. Her fear. The people who took Dylan wanted this weapon.
“There’s more,” Scheimer continued. “We may have called into question the flow of time as we know it.”
“What?”
“We should have anticipated it. Einstein proved that time was not an immutable constant. During the test, the beam destroyed the target—ten seconds before it was released.”
“How is that possible?”
“Because two branes overlapped, each curved and possibly deformed by quantum fluctuations. We can’t control when, in our time, the beam emerges because it passes through other dimensions on its way to the target. I would not go so far as to call it time travel. I would simply say the beam takes an extremely unusual shortcut enroute to its destination.”
Leilani could hardly believe what she was hearing. But Scheimer had no reason to lie to her. “I can see why the Navy shut this project down.”
“Pending further investigation. But the apparatus is still in place. The weapon exists, as does the Key. They can be put back into operation at any time. And they will. I know they will.”
“Why do they call it the Kronos Key?”
“Kronos was the father of the gods—the father of Zeus, the lightning king. We are tapping into the power of the gods, the very processes that created this universe, and it would seem, many other universes as well.”
“It’s Tesla’s death ray.”
Scheimer’s eye drifted to the floor. “’Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.’”
Leilani felt for him. America turned out not to be what Scheimer expected—the same feeling his hero, Tesla, must have experienced.
Scheimer reached into his pocket and withdrew a flash drive. “I want you to have this, Leilani. Open the ninth file. This is the only copy. It isn’t even on my laptop. That file will tell you where to go. Destroy this hideous project. Once and for all. Then perhaps your man’s abductors will have no reason to hold him.”
“I will. I promise.”
“I had a dream recently.” His eyes remained unfocused, far away. “I remembered a time long ago. When my Liesel was still alive. When my life was filled with love.”
“It can be again.”
He shook his head. “Now it is filled only with death. Death and failure.”
“Doctor, we can still fix this problem. Make sure no one uses this weapon again.”
“I have sinned.” He staggered toward the door. “And now, I will make sure that no one ever suffers as you have because of my actions.”
Before she understood what was happening, he’d pulled a gun from his jacket.
“Doctor, don’t.”
She ignored him.
“Help!”
She heard an audible commotion outside the door. Barely a second later, the door burst open and the two guards rushed inside.
Scheimer inserted the gun into his mouth
“Doctor!” Leilani screamed. She rushed toward him. “Please—!”
The report of the gun sent Leilani reeling. Blood and brains splattered her face.
Chapter 64
Dylan knew he should be in bed. The planning was over. Tomorrow they would execute the operation. This was his time to rest, perhaps the last chance he would get for some while.
So why wasn’t he sleeping? The sofa in the office he usually slept on seemed inviting...
He sat at his desk, reviewing his notes for the thousandth time. Had he really prepared for everything? Had he anticipated every possible contingenCy? Did he know his characters inside and out?
He opened his laptop and browsed through the files. He was not going to review his plan. He’d done that more times than he could stand. He could review some of the foundational documents, though. The PACOM schematics...well, truth to tell, he had memorized those, hadn’t he? The various key personnel...yeah, he had them down, too...
He remembered his father once telling him the importance of knowing everyone you worked with. It wasn’t just about making a good impression. It was about being the best at your job you can possibly be. If they liked you, they would give you their best work. He bragged that he knew the names of every man who worked under him all the way down to the lieutenants, and their wives’ names, and their children’s names, and enough about them to make effective small talk for at least a full minute, should the opportunity arise.
Perhaps Dylan was not the first member of his family to grasp the importance of knowing the characters.
His dad was full of ideas about how to get ahead. Full of ideas about how Dylan could obtain success if he were tougher, like his old man. Full of ideas about how he could make the world safe with bigger and better sticks.
And what was Dylan doing now? He had to admit, there was a certain irony...
He clicked on some of the photos in the file—parties, gala receptions, outings to the admiral’s barge. That barge was actually a plush yacht, but apparently that sounded a little too hifalutin’ for a military man, so they went with “barge.” Its unique black hull had been a familiar sight in Pearl Harbor for more than fifty years. Every president since Eisenhower had ridden on it, as well as many distinguished heads of state. It was a favorite place for formal receptions with noteworthy visitors who wanted to see the USS Arizona Memorial or Battleship Row, particularly spectacular at night when tourists were sparse.
Dylan wished he’d looked at these earlier, even if they were irrelevant to his mission. Almost made him wish he’d fulfilled Daddy’s dream and gone into the Navy. He would’ve hated the work, but he might’ve enjoyed the field trips...
Something in a photo grabbed his attention.
Not something—someone.
Someone just barely visible in the background, three rows behind the admiral.
Did this change anything? Or did it explain everything?
* * *
Seamus hated interviewing wives whose husbands had gone missing. He’d done it far too many times in his career. It put him in an impossible position. He had to give them hope that their husbands might turn up. At the same time, he knew the chances of finding a husband gone this long were slight. If he was alive, he’d intentionally deserted his family. If he’d been kidnapped, he was almost certainly dead. Which outcome was worse?
Padma Bakersfield was a beautiful woman, which immediately made Seamus wonder what she was doing with that lumpy makeup artist. He must’ve had a great sense of humor. Or perhaps he just knew how to treat a woman.
Padma’s hair was black as night and her eyes were almost as dark. He knew she’d been crying, but it didn’t show in her eyes, only in the irritation around them. She had high cheekbones and full lips. He believed she was probably Indian, but he wasn’t going to ask.
“You have no idea what happened to your husband?”
“None at all.” She was poised, even in her sorrow. “Everyone liked Lenny. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt him.”
“It’s possible he just...left. Thought disappearing would be easier than divorce.”
Her chin rose slightly. “Not my Lenny.”
“You said the note he left was strange.”
“It was an email. Said he was ill. Quarantined. Would be gone for a few days. Would call soon.”
“That doesn’t sound so strange.”
“It does if you know Lenny. He would not have sent a message like that by email. He knows how much I care about him. He would have told me in person, and if that were not possible, he would have called me. Besides—I know he came home. I heard him. He told me not to come downstairs. If he could come home, why could he not talk to me?”
“Did he behave oddly before he disappeared?”
“Not at all.”
“Any financial problems? Unpaid debts?”
“Far from it. Lenny’s film work is extremely lucrative.”
“So you heard him downstairs. But he never came to bed.”
“Correct.”
“And when you woke the next morning, he was gone without a trace.”
“There were traces. I found blood in the carpet.”
Seamus nodded. He’d read that in the police report. “But not much, right? And you have an accident-prone child?”
“True. She sleepwalks. She hurt herself several times before we finally put a gate at the top of the stairs.”
“So she can’t come down on her own.”
“She can if she opens the gate. Which she could never manage when she’s asleep.”
“Were you and your husband having any problems?”
“We love each other deeply.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t the question. Marriage is tough. Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
“It was for us. We were extremely happy.”
“You never fought?”
She tilted her head to one side. “Rarely.”
“And when you fought, did he get mad?”
Again the tilt. “Rarely.”
“Maybe he was drinking.”
“I don’t believe that,” she replied, and in fact, neither did Seamus. This did not sound like the case of a middle-age man who decided he couldn’t stand family life any longer. He did have the sense that Padma was holding something back, though.
“That’s because you’re in denial. No one wants to believe that their husband is unfaithful.”
“My Lenny was never unfaithful.”
“Much less that he might get tired of you. Decide he wanted to move on.”
“And do what? Apply makeup under a pseudonym?”
“The facts are tough, but they’re all there. He got pissed off about something, he decided he’d had enough, and hightailed it. You’ll never see him again. Because he doesn’t want to see you.”
“Liar!”
“All the evidence indicates—”
“That doesn’t explain the Polaroids!”
“Polaroids?” Seamus settled back into his chair. He hated being a bastard. But sometimes it was the only way to get to the truth. “What’s that?”
“I found them on the coffee table, the morning after Lenny disappeared. Five photos of me. I didn’t tell the police.” She twisted her hands awkwardly in her lap. “I didn’t want those men...well. These photos are personal. And I know anything you give the police can end up in the newspapers.”
She was right about that. “What was in the photos?”
She reached into the end table beside her sofa, took out a copy of Leaves of Grass, and withdrew an envelope. She passed it to him. “Me. Over and over again. Me shopping for groceries. Me at the gym. Me brushing my hair at night. Even me getting undressed.”
Seamus glanced at them. She was almost entirely naked in the last and clearly oblivious that she was being photographed. “Did your husband take these?”
“I assume so. I mean, who else could?”
Seamus, unfortunately, had several possible answers to that question. “Did you ever see Lenny taking these?”
“No,” she said, swallowing. “I can’t imagine why he would want to take them.”
Neither could Seamus, but he could imagine why someone else might. Lenny Bakersfield was being blackmailed, coerced. Just as Dylan Taggart had been. Once again, they were using their target’s loved ones to get what they wanted.
These two disappearances were connected. Seamus was certain of it. But what was the point? Why would they need a writer, much less a makeup artist? “Ma’am, is there anything else you can tell me about your husband’s disappearance?”
“No, I’m sorry, but—”
A high-pitched voice emerged from the top of the stairs. “Tell him ‘bout the big man. The monster.” Seamus could see two tiny feet poking out at the top.
Padma sighed. “That is our daughter. Emily. She is four and she has a very active imagination.”
“Tell him about the monster with the gun, Mommy.”
“Emily, please go—”
“I’d like to hear about the monster with the gun.” Seamus rose to his feet. “Emily, would you tell me about him?”
The tiny girl tiptoed down two steps. Her voice grew even smaller. “He was scary.”
Padma stood, trying to intervene. “She’s a delicate child. She lives in a fantasy world. I told you she sleepwalks.”
“Was she sleepwalking the night before your husband disappeared?”
“I...believe so. I heard her downstairs. That was when Lenny spoke to me. He said he would put her to bed.”
“Didn’t you tell me that when she sleepwalks, she can’t open the gate?”
Padma’s lips parted, but she had no answer.
“And she was back in bed the next morning? I’d like to talk to your daughter.” Seamus didn’t wait for permission. He walked to the foot of the stairs and crouched down to the girl’s level. “Emily, why do you call the man a monster?”
“He was big. Bigger than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
