by P A Vasey
“Then tell me why we’re here?”
An exasperated expression crossed his features and he nodded towards the house beyond the gates. “I am looking for someone. A piece of the puzzle. I believe he lives here.”
“They won’t let you in,” I said. “You’re a stranger, and this is Los Angeles. A very, very upscale part of it. Not going to happen.”
“We will see,” he said, opening the door and gesturing for me to get out.
I sighed and swung my legs onto the sidewalk, standing up to stretch and shake out the cramp. The sun was still warm and pleasant and the surroundings were so ‘Beverly Hills’ that I closed my eyes just to remind myself of the surrealism. When I re-opened them, he was just standing watching me, no expression on his face. I tried to feel into his mind and decipher his emotions, as I’d been able to do previously, but this time there was nothing. He’d locked me out.
“I’ve been thinking about what happened to those police officers,” I said. “You claim that you don’t remember? I really find that hard to believe.”
He glanced down at the pavement for a moment, before re-appraising me. Maybe he was deciding what part of the truth to tell me. I had no way of knowing.
“You may not believe this,” he said, “but I truly cannot remember what happened.”
“Is this something to do with your alien room-mate?”
There, I’d said it.
Alien.
He looked grim. “I think so. There is selective memory suppression. I do not seem to be able to stop it taking over, although I am working on it.”
“Maybe you should try harder,” I said.
He nodded, even though I’d said it as a joke. “I believe it knows I am not comfortable with its actions. However, I also believe it needs me to be complicit in whatever it intends to do. There appears to be some form of symbiosis involved.”
“Symbiosis?”
“Yes. A relationship between organisms that live closely together. One organism benefits while the other is neither harmed nor helped.”
“Wait up,” I said. “It needs you to be complicit in murder so that it can benefit,” I said. “So, what happens if you don’t comply?”
He looked at me opaquely, and there was an uncomfortable silence. After a few seconds he walked over to the entry gate and took hold of one of the bars, giving it a little shake. Dust was agitated free and a few cracks appeared on the paintwork where the bar joined the concrete.
“We going to break in?” I said, only slightly rhetorically.
He pointed to a chrome burnished plaque on the left hand pillar bearing the name ‘Lindstrom’ in Latin-styled lettering. “I am hoping we do not need to.”
“Old friend of yours?” I said.
“We have never met.”
“So, tell me why we’re here?” I asked again.
“Corey Lindstrom is the only progeny of Professor Augustine Lindstrom.”
He resumed his survey of the house and gardens. I folded my arms, none the wiser.
“And he is?”
“A famous scientist. An important piece of the puzzle.”
“When did you figure this out?” I got into his face but he leaned past me and pressed the intercom button.
“Perhaps you should do the talking at this point,” he suggested with a smile.
“You’re joking. What, so I get to ask if they’ll let us in?”
The smile stayed in place and he folded his arms. “They may be more receptive to a female stranger.”
I was about to protest when the intercom chimed. Taking a deep breath I squinted into the camera and leaned in towards the microphone I assumed was behind the grille. I cleared my throat.
“Uh, yes, hello. I was wondering if I could speak to a Mr Corey Lindstrom.”
There was a pause, then a curt female voice answered, “Doctor Lindstrom is not available. Can I ask who is calling please?”
I looked back at Adam, and I suddenly felt mildly vertiginous as his mind opened and I could sense his emotions and thoughts pouring into me. He flicked his chin towards the camera.
Lindstrom is definitely inside the building, along with two other individuals.
I nodded and leaned back in to the intercom, looking directly into the lens.
“We’re students from UCLA. We’re doing a research project and we were told that Dr Lindstrom, maybe, would be able to help us out. It’d be fantastic, really. We’re on a super tight deadline.”
I grimaced back up at Adam, who raised his eyebrows but remained poker-faced.
I must speak with him. Face-to-Face. It is very important.
There was static from the intercom and then the voice replied, somewhat stuffily, “How did you get this address? We aren’t listed, you know.”
I mentally crossed my fingers. “Yes, but we found out that Dr Lindstrom’s father, Professor Augustine Lindstrom, was the head guy of the project we’re studying. So we’d love to pick Dr Lindstrom’s brains, even if only for half an hour?”
The static hissed, and I thought the woman had gone. Adam’s words floated into my subconsciousness.
Tell her we want to talk about Trinity Deus.
“Trinity Deus?” I said, puzzled.
A man’s voice came over the intercom, deep and throaty, a big man’s voice. Indignant and curious at the same time.
“What did you say? Who are you people?”
“Dr Lindstrom, is that you?” I said, injecting some excitement into my voice. “My colleague and I have so much to ask you. Please, we’d be no trouble at all. It would help us so much in our research. Quarter of an hour, max.”
I looked up at Adam who dipped his head in approval.
That is Lindstrom. He is looking at you through the CCTV camera. He likes what he sees. He is deciding whether to let you in.
I straightened, and gave a happy smile into the camera, pushing my hair behind my ears. I considered fluttering my eyelashes but stopped myself. I mean, I hadn’t bathed or cleaned my teeth for over forty-eight hours. I probably looked like a vagrant.
“Okay, but I don’t have long,” came Lindstrom’s voice. There was a solid sounding clunk, and the gate unlocked and slowly swung open.
“Thank you,” I gushed, and turned to Adam who nodded approvingly again.
I led the way up the driveway, which was bordered by beautifully manicured grass and expensively tendered shrubbery. I admired the 911 and ran a finger across the hood as we approached the front door, which was opened by a portly middle-aged man wearing golf shorts and a pink polo shirt. He had a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard and was sporting a huge Omega Sea Master watch. Peeking out from behind his shoulder was a similarly aged woman with platinum blonde hair dressed in a tracksuit and gold-tinted running shoes.
I held out my hand, which he hesitatingly took and held with a damp grip. “Doctor Lindstrom I presume? Thank you so much for this,” I said, and almost curtseyed. “I’m Kate, and this is Adam.”
Adam nodded, but didn’t reach out for a shake. Lindstrom smiled and beckoned us inside the hallway.
“Yes, well you caught me at a good time. Just back from the golf course. My one day off from the hospital.”
He introduced his wife as Holly, and we followed him through the hallway, Holly trailing a few steps behind.
“I’m amazed you’ve heard of ‘Trinity Deus’,” he said, looking back at us over his shoulder. “That’s not common knowledge at all. I knew you were serious when I heard you say that.”
We walked through a large atrium, two storeys high and framed with paintings and photographs. Hung from the ceiling was a huge art nouveau brass chandelier. At the end of the atrium was a polished wooden staircase leading down to a lower level and another archway opening on to a large sitting room with impressive floor to ceiling windows. A lap pool and an expansive entertaining deck could be seen outside. Lindstrom led us up another winding staircase to an open plan dining area and a lounge filled with expensive white leather sofas.
Everything backed onto a kitchen space, which looked like it came unpainted straight out of a German car factory. Behind a floating counter I caught the eye of a young Hispanic woman in a maid’s outfit, busily slicing freshly baked bread. She looked up, but didn’t smile or acknowledge the Lindstroms or us.
“Lovely place you have here,” I said to Holly, who had caught up at this point.
“Thank-you,” said Lindstrom, speaking for her. “We like it.”
Holly wandered off and sat down on one of the couches. I watched the maid bringing her a large glass of brown liquid, which was either iced tea or something alcoholic. I thought I knew which.
I turned back to Lindstrom, “You mentioned a hospital - what sort of doctor are you?”
“I’m a hepatobiliary surgeon. Liver transplants, that sort of thing.”
He puffed up his chest and I smiled but didn’t ask any other questions, which seemed to irritate him a little. He led us to the dining table where we all sat down. His fingers brushed against my arm as he guided me into a chair, lingering more than I would have liked. He grinned at me, showing perfectly maintained white teeth, before moving away. My flesh crawled again and I remembered how I felt when Richard had touched me back at the house. Lindstrom poured himself a drink from an antique globe-shaped cabinet in the corner of the room, and returned to the table with what looked like a large whisky. He took a sip before sitting down and then seemed to remember his manners.
“Would you like a tea, coffee or an alcoholic beverage? I can have Maria make something for you?”
Adam shook his head. “No, thank you Dr Lindstrom. We do not want to take up more of your time than is necessary.”
He nodded, and sat down next to me. “Well, okay then, let’s get started. How can I help you?”
“We need to see all documents and journals from your father’s work, with particular reference to the 1950’s atomic weapon development program in the Nevada Desert.”
I guessed that Adam’s small talk circuit had been disconnected. Lindstrom coughed and whiskey dribbled down his chin. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and frowned at Adam.
“My father passed away more than fifty years ago. Those documents are almost certainly in the Government’s archives.”
“That is not correct,” said Adam. “When Augustine Lindstrom left the Government to set up his private company he took his research with him.”
Lindstrom was now staring at Adam, a look of bewilderment on his face. “That was classified as I recall. How do you know all this?”
Adam’s expression did not change. “The group of scientists calling themselves ‘Trinity Deus’’ were led by your father. There was a particular project he was working on, one that the Government and US military regarded as a failure. It is specifically that project’s documentation which I need to see.”
Lindstrom put the whisky glass down noisily and shook his head. “I think your research is a bit inaccurate, son. There aren’t any of those documents left.”
Adam said nothing, but I saw a glimmer of emerald phosphorescence behind his eyes. Lindstrom hadn’t noticed anything and had turned in his chair to look at me. He gave a wide smile.
“Now, is there anything else I can help you with, dear?” He looked me up and down without any sense of shame and actually licked his lips.
Adam said, “Dr Lindstrom, I have access to government archives and electronic databases from around the world.”
“Oh, well you can’t believe everything you read,” Lindstrom said without turning.
Adam continued, “I am aware that you keep boxes of your father’s work in your basement panic room.”
At this, Lindstrom stood up, no longer the friendly host. He pointed at Adam, his finger shaking slightly.
“How could you possibly know that? Who are you people?”
Adam remained seated, his fingers now steepled. “Nevertheless, it is a fact. Please now show us the way.”
Lindstrom was bristling. “I’d like you to get the fuck out of my house now.”
I saw another brief flicker of green behind Adam’s eyes and suddenly Lindstrom’s face went slack. Without another word he turned and starting walking towards the stairs. I watched him go and gave Adam a quizzical look. He gave a slight smile and stood up, gesturing that we should follow Lindstrom.
I noticed that Lindstrom’s wife and maid were frozen like mannequins in a shop window. “Do not worry, they are unharmed,” said Adam, glancing back at me. “It is just a temporary paralysis so they do not activate any alarms or call law enforcement.”
“Why didn’t you just do this as soon as we got in?” I said, annoyed. “And more importantly, couldn’t you have done this to those drunk soldiers? And the police at my house?”
I stared at him, seeing the green light flicker behind the pupils. I couldn’t sense his mood, his thoughts. His mind was still closed.
“Adam,” I said, quietly. “Is that still you in there?”
The green light faded again and he blinked. His head twitched almost imperceptibly, as if something internal was resetting, or rebooting.
“Yes, I am here. Please follow Dr Lindstrom.”
We went down two flights of stairs to where Lindstrom was standing motionless in front of a solid-looking door with a key code entry system. As we approached, Lindstrom’s fingers stabbed at the pad and the lock clicked loudly accompanied by the whirr of cogs and gears as metal cylinders were electronically moved and turned. He pushed the door inward and lights automatically activated, revealing a generously sized room about eight yards square. On one wall above an antique desk covered in books and papers was a LCD screen showing various external angles of the house. A couple of bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes and boxes of journals and magazines occupied another wall. The facing wall harboured a low couch, a couple of recliners and a fridge set into the wall itself. Elliptical air-conditioning ducts in the roof started to crank up, blowing cold dusty air.
I walked into the centre of the room and the door swung closed behind me. It clunked solidly and there was a prickly heat sort of sensation in my head, and a sudden clarity of thought as if I’d woken up from an anaesthetic or surfaced from a dive. I watched Lindstrom walk over to the bookcase in the far corner and start rummaging around in a box. I glanced at Adam who seemed unsettled, his neck twitching and a puzzled expression on his face. He looked back at me and I expected to hear his voice in his head but nothing happened. He reached over and touched Lindstrom on the shoulder.
“Doctor, what is the composition of this room?”
“The walls are lead lined and integrated with electronic countermeasures,” Lindstrom answered in a slurred voice. He then swayed and put a hand against the bookcase to steady himself. He shook his head and looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. When he saw us his eyes widened.
“How did you two get in here?”
Adam ignored him and looked at me, a puzzled expression coming over his features. “Kate, I cannot access your thoughts, or his. The room has an EMF blocking system.”
“A what?” I asked.
“You folks are going no-where,” Lindstrom said from the other side of the room, his voice now clear and unaffected. There was a loud ratcheting noise as he chambered a round into the shotgun he was holding and pointing straight at Adam. “I’ve activated the distress alarm and the police are on their way. ETA less than ten minutes.” He pointed to the couch with the gun. “Now both of you sit down and let’s wait for the Cavalry.”
I backed slowly into the door, aware that Adam had not moved. Lindstrom remained behind the couch, the shotgun pointing unwaveringly at Adam’s chest. Adam was on the other side of the room and still shaking his head slowly as if to clear it. There was movement on the TV monitor and I glanced up to see an LAPD patrol car pull up to the main gate. Four armed officers exited the car and another vehicle nudged in behind, more officers disembarking at speed. They efficiently de-armed the main gate and moved qu
ickly along the driveway towards the front entrance.
I quietly backed up until I touched the door, feeling behind me for the handle. Lindstrom’s gaze flicked over to me and he gestured again with his gun, indicating the two recliners.
“I told you to sit down,” he said through gritted teeth. “Cement your asses to those chairs, and don’t let me see any sudden moves. This is my house, and I will defend it.”
But then to my horror, Adam rushed Lindstrom. He had to travel six yards to reach him. Lindstrom’s finger had to travel less than half an inch to pull the trigger. I did the math, closed my eyes and put my hands over my ears. The shotgun went off with a deafening bang, amplified by the confined space and acoustics. I blinked and saw Adam jerk violently backwards and bounce off the wall.
Lindstrom chambered another round, but Adam had already recovered his balance and rushed him again. He backhanded Lindstrom, the blow landing squarely on the side of his head. Lindstrom cartwheeled sideways over the couch and fell in a tangled mess on the floor. Adam walked over to him and lifted him off the floor by his neck, his eyes lolling back in their sockets, blood starting to trickle out of the side of his mouth. Adam threw him onto one of the lazy-boys like a rag doll and backhanded him again, causing his head to snap to the side. Lindstrom immediately lost consciousness but to my horror Adam seized him around the throat and began to squeeze.
I was flattened against the door, and saw the shotgun lying on the carpet a foot away from me so I dived for it and gathered it up. Without thinking what I was doing I chambered a round, the ratcheting noisy and reverberating around the room. Adam turned swiftly and stared at me with bright green eyes and a vicious look on his face. His lips pulled back in a feral snarl and he dropped Lindstrom and rushed towards me. Instinctively, and I guess with basic survival instinct kicking in, I fired the shotgun point blank. He jerked backwards as if pulled by wires and crashed into the wall by the TV monitors. He slid to the floor, his legs crumpling, eyes closed. The room echoed with the thunderclap of the discharge and gun smoke started to fill the room. I took a few steps toward him, my heart pounding with adrenaline and nearly bursting out of my chest.
