“Yes, sir.”
Taylor released the button, and as was his custom, he checked that the transmit light was out. Today, that seemed insufficient. He unplugged the phone.
“Not that I’ll need that return flight,” he said smiling. His eyes went to the dozen charged battery packs laying on the desktop. “Those will give me several hours of my true life. More than enough to make it to my new home, as long as I ration myself.”
Taylor rose again and paced around the room. His new lab was already built and fully stocked, save the subjects he would procure once he arrived. He had no concerns on that front. And the trickle of money he had diverted to run his studies and set up his new operation had become a deluge in the last few hours. Thousands of dollars were now pouring into his foreign accounts. He couldn’t hide this theft for long, but that too would be unnecessary soon.
“I’ll have enough money for years…although fleecing a new populace won’t be a problem. Humans are so flawed, I’m surprised they accomplish anything.”
He stopped pacing and glanced back at his desk. “But those damn researchers. They’re responsible for this. A few weeks, a couple of months, and I would have been invincible. But no, they couldn’t leave things alone. And for that, they must die. But how?”
Taylor started pacing again, trying to escape the walls that were closing in. But after only a few steps, he stopped and spun back to his desk. “You’re right.”
He hurried to his chair and grabbed his keyboard. After a few minutes work, he leaned back and reviewed the words that appeared on his computer screen.
My dear Dr. Price,
You will soon die, not at my hands, but because of me. And when your final hours come, it won’t be a trained killer, a stranger at your door or on the street. It will be someone you thought of as a friend, perhaps even a lover.
Don’t try to hide…or do. It makes no difference, because I am going to field an army of people, all with the burning, insatiable need to find, befriend, and then kill you.
You may think this cruel, but it’s nothing more than what you wished for me. Good luck with what’s left of your life.
Taylor leaned back, smiling at his handiwork. “Now, schedule delivery for next Monday, with separate, personalized copies for Jordan and Veles. And Huston too. He could have stopped them but didn’t.”
Taylor rose from his chair and started to leave the lab. There was much to do before starting his new life and beginning the next phase of his research. As he reached the door, he turned back to stare at his desk. On its top rested a phrenology head, just like the one he had seen in Price’s apartment. And on top of the head rested the Blocker cap, now set for a single purpose – to satisfy his every mental need.
“You’re right, my friend,” he said to the porcelain figure. “Why have the power to create a mind and not use it?”
Friday, August 28, 1:04 PM
I wouldn’t give up trying to get to know Nicole better, but that didn’t mean I had solved the age-old question of how does one work with an alluring member of the opposite sex? Letting my feelings color our professional interactions would never do – for either of us. Perhaps even the closeness I felt and showed to Sue was too much. I wasn’t certain. I’d just have to keep my eyes open, see if I could solve some small part of the puzzle that was Nicole.
But for my Friday morning meeting with Ken, I had pushed that issue to the back of my mind. At least, I told myself I had shelved it, although I had to return to my office twice during our meeting to retrieve papers I had forgotten. And now, I was late for the 1:00 meeting with my team.
When I arrived, the room was empty, but it was clear the women had been there. Their handiwork showed on a chart that was projected on the front screen. It contained a table with two columns labeled ‘Exhibited by A.T.’ and ‘Exhibited by Worthington.’ In the table’s cells, they had entered observations about each man.
Some of the entries were exact matches, such as ‘shows a disinterest in art.’ Others were close to the same but not quite, like Worthington’s redecorating in gray compared to A.T. staring at a beige wall over more colorful alternatives. And there were definite lacks of a match as well. A.T. had an extraordinary memory for numbers, but no one recalled Worthington coming in one day and spouting off the first 50 digits of pi. Clearly, the women had put a lot of thought into this table.
“I was impressed with the detective work you did.”
It was Nicole’s voice and I turned to see her entering the room. At first, I thought she was talking about Ken’s warning, the phrase ‘detective work’ misleading me. But after a moment, I realized what she meant.
“Thanks.”
“I’ve never taken any classes in cognitive psychology,” she said, “so I didn’t know what to expect. But to see what you found out about A.T.’s thinking from things like how quickly he answered or the errors he made….” She slowly shook her head. “It’s impressive.”
I was, of course, flattered, but figured I should set the record straight. I wouldn’t want her to be reading a cognitive psych paper next week, only to find I was taking credit for someone else’s work. “Truthfully, I’m just using methods other people have found.”
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “I didn’t really think you came up with those tests any more than the detective who uses fingerprints or DNA. But to know what to look for? And what it means when you find it? That’s what impressed me. I could have looked at those data for a month and never noticed what you found in a day.”
“Well, thanks again. But I think what you and Sue did is a lot more remarkable. Figuring out what A.T. was thinking by what he did in a waiting room? That’s not in any books.”
She nodded, her smile growing.
“OK, keep your hands to yourself,” said Sue, speaking somewhat loudly and bursting into the room.
“Did you even look to see who was in here before you said that?” I asked, chuckling.
“No, it’s a universal request. I embarrass quite easily.” Sue didn’t wait for a response, probably because our double takes were sufficient. “So, what did you think of our table?”
“I just got started, but it looks great,” I said.
Sue sat down at the keyboard and over the next several minutes, we went through the table, cell by cell. It was as good as I had originally thought. But what I’d hoped for but didn’t experience was any type of insight about what it meant to be Worthington or A.T. The content was all familiar ground.
When we finished, Sue pushed the keyboard away and leaned back in her chair. “Lady and gentleman, I give you the long-time, Blocker user. A math whiz who’ll meet you in his gray rooms, but won’t remember you tomorrow.”
I sat bolt upright, staring at her. “What did you say?”
“I said, a math….”
I waved her off. “No, sorry, I heard it. It’s just the phrase you used,” I mumbled, mostly to myself.
I leaned forward, putting my elbows on the table and resting my head in my hands. An association that had been on the edge of my consciousness for days had formed. But it was an association so unlikely, so fraught with complexities that I was momentarily stunned. As I had been so badly mistaken about Allen Trimmel and we had all been wrong about Atwood, I felt I should check out a few facts before saying anything more.
“Is there something wrong?” asked Nicole.
“No, not really. Would it be OK if we take a 15-minute break so I can check on something?”
“Fifteen minutes of work followed by a fifteen-minute break works for me,” said Sue.
“Is Al still at work?”
“Al? As in my husband?”
“Yeah.”
Sue checked her watch. “Should be. It isn’t even 2:00, so he should be around for another 30 to 45 minutes.”
“Thanks,” I said, as I ran out of the conference room without another word.
✽ ✽ ✽
The low murmur of conversation disappeared when I came back. Sue and
Nicole looked up, still in the same seats as if they had been waiting the entire time.
“Sorry to leave so abruptly,” I said, taking my seat. “Something popped into my head, and I had to check out a few things.”
“We knew that much,” said Sue. “But the rest is a total blank. What popped into your head that would have anything to do with Al? This project or a wild stock tip?”
“The project.” I leaned forward in the chair and took a deep breath. “I’m still thinking this has to be a coincidence, but Sue’s description of the habitual Blocker user? Well, it sounded eerily like something Al said to me.”
Sue shifted in her chair, glancing sideways at Nicole, then back at me. She knitted her brows. “What did he say?”
“In effect, he described Huntington Taylor using almost the same words as you. A math whiz, surrounded by gray walls, couldn’t remember people. It seems like it has to be a coincidence, but…that’s an unusual trio.”
“You think Huntington Taylor is A.T.?” Sue asked, her eyes wide in a stare.
I let out a long breath. “Yeah, I know. Someone who’s well on his way to being one of the richest men in St. Louis, maybe the nation? Not exactly the kind of guy you’d expect to steal half-finished science projects from a commercial lab. Unless…,” I said, drawing out the word, “he got hooked on it during a study when he was finishing up school.”
“And you called Al about his education?” asked Sue.
“No. I got that from an online search. He graduated in December with a master’s degree in business, so he could have been in a study last fall. Shortly after school, he joined a three-partner, investment company. One partner retired. The second spun off a separate insurance company, and he bought out the third after three months on the job – perhaps enough time to use the Blocker to amass the money.”
“So, Al gave you the company gossip?”
“Exactly,” I replied. “Although I knew most of it already. Stuff like, everyone thinks Taylor is a math genius. Or the way he had the one place he goes in the building – the dining room – painted gray.”
Nicole bit her lower lip, then said. “But wouldn’t math aptitude go with being the head of a hedge fund?” she asked. “That leaves poor decorating taste, which isn’t a crime.” She glanced at Sue, but Sue was resting her forehead in a hand, looking down at the tabletop.
“That’s good,” I said. “Let’s debunk this here and now, rather than in front of Ken. Or Detective Ahern…which reminds me of something he said. He said they weren’t considering theft of the device seriously, because it would take too much specialized knowledge and too much money to develop it. But both could come from using the Blocker.”
“But the name’s not right,” said Nicole.
“Actually, it is,” I said. “His name is A. Huntington Taylor, although you don’t hear the first initial very often.”
Nicole’s frown deepened. “Could a public figure like Huntington Taylor have the kind of personality we think the Blocker produces?”
“Maybe,” I replied. “I’d say he has a cold indifference to others, but you’d just tell me he’s in a competitive, cutthroat business.”
Nicole’s frown was momentarily replaced by a tilt of the head and a smile. “Yeah, I probably would.”
“He’s also known to be reclusive, which could fit,” I continued. “In fact, I couldn’t even find a photo of him online that was taken in the last year. Al says he lives in the basement of the Taylor & Associates building and rarely comes up, except for the most important clients or the occasional lunch.”
I glanced at Sue, wondering if the mention of her husband would break into her thoughts, but she continued to stare at the table. “His life style could cover up a lot of Blocker-induced memory problems…or it could just be his personality.”
Nicole rubbed her forehead, then looked up at me. “Do you remember when Worthington said he knew there were no side effects of the Blocker because A.T. had gone on to bigger and better things? I think those were his exact words. There are few things in St. Louis bigger or better than Taylor & Associates.”
“I remember,” I said nodding.
“What else did Al have to say?”
“That’s about it, really. So, like the names we had before, Trimmel and Atwood, there’s nothing conclusive that links Taylor to this research. But unlike them, the police are going to need something a lot more solid before they even consider investigating. I’ll mention the name to Detective Ahern. But since my reputation is already shot, I don’t expect anything.”
Finally, Sue broke from her ponderings and looked up at us. “Then, we need to give the police something more concrete.”
Nicole and I both turned to her. “You know something else about Taylor?” I asked.
“I’m not going to be able to give you details, but Al has mentioned a few things about Taylor being forgetful. I mean, forgetting things that a CEO shouldn’t. Like one time, he announced a policy change three times, and each time he talked about it like it was news.”
“But…,” Nicole started.
Sue held up a hand. “I know. Just more circumstantial evidence. The overworked executive is a bit forgetful. We have an awful lot of coincidences already, but if we need more, let’s get them.”
“OK,” I said slowly. “But how do we do that?”
“We’ll ask him.”
An involuntary laugh escaped my lips. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to sound rude, but I can’t imagine he’d be interested in talking to me. Last time I checked, I’m several million dollars light in my savings account.”
“I didn’t mean we’d open an account,” said Sue. “You’d probably end up talking to Al about that anyway. What I’m suggesting is a chance meeting and an off-hand remark. If we said the right thing, we might learn quite a bit about what’s going on.”
“OK, but one thing at a time. Just when and where might I accidentally bump into Mr. A. Huntington Taylor? I haven’t seen him at the Bread Co after my morning jogs.”
Sue leaned back in her chair, smiling at me. “Try Saturday morning, 5:30 AM at the Spirit of St. Louis Airport.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Al mentioned it last night. Taylor has a weekend trip, and he leases a jet that flies out of Spirit of St. Louis Airport. But you won’t be bumping into Taylor.” She paused long enough to let the bewilderment grow on my face. “We’ll be bumping into him.”
“Whoa. Wait a second. Why should both of us go? It might end in some type of confrontation.”
“I wasn’t thinking we’d resort to a fistfight,” Sue said chuckling. “We both go because we get more information that way. I met Taylor for the first time a few weeks ago. Although it wouldn’t be conclusive – like everything else we have – it would be another piece of evidence if he doesn’t remember me.”
“I don’t know about this,” I said, looking to Nicole for support. She tilted her head in a shrug.
“This isn’t going to become a confrontation,” said Sue. “We’ll be in a public setting in broad daylight…or early morning light anyway.”
I took a deep breath, looking back and forth between the women. Sue was determined. Even if I said no, she’d probably go by herself. And Nicole was siding with Sue. “OK. Maybe,” I finally conceded. “But if we do this, let’s keep the plan simple.”
“You mean not like the multi-step, constantly evolving scheme that worked so well with Atwood?” said Sue, faking a look of shock.
“Yeah, not like that one,” I replied. “We need a comment that sounds innocent, but that forces him to reveal something about what he knows…if he knows anything.”
Everyone was quiet for several minutes. Finally, Sue spoke. “How about something like, ‘Do you know Dr. Ned Worthington?’ If he says no, you could apologize and say you thought you’d seen them together somewhere. If he says yes, you could ask if he’d heard about Worthington’s death.”
“Not bad,” Nicole said after
a moment of thought. “If he’s trying to hide an association with Dr. Worthington, either way he goes, we might get a reaction.”
I wasn’t as sure, and it must have shown on my face as Nicole asked, “Concerns?”
“I like the first possibility, where he denies knowing Worthington. Saying I’d seen them together will put some pressure on him. But if he answers yes, all I’m doing is mentioning something anyone would know from the newspapers.”
“Then, let’s keep it direct,” said Sue. “If he says yes, you ask if he knows Worthington from one of his studies. Now, he either lies or as much as admits he’s A.T.”
I released a long breath. “OK,” I said finally. “Of course, he’s probably a world-class poker player, and we’ll get nothing but a blank stare.”
“In which case, we’ll go with my backup plan,” said Sue.
She almost had me, but after a moment, I asked, “You mean, the one where you ask if the buzz from the Blocker is better than sex?”
“That would be the one,” Sue said, as Nicole tried but failed to suppress her titter. “So, shall we meet at the airport at 5:20? We’ll need this accidental meeting to occur somewhere before he gets through security.”
“I guess so,” I said. “There’s nothing like a chance remark to get the bad guy to spill his guts.”
“And this is nothing like one,” replied Sue, right on cue.
Trouble was, she was right about that.
Saturday, August 29, 5:14 AM
I checked my watch. Still six minutes until Sue should arrive. I wasn’t sure my car would last that long, idling at the Spirit of St. Louis airport, air conditioner on maximum, but failing to keep pace with the morning’s heat and humidity. Both were in the 80s. And sunrise was still 40 minutes away.
After Sue, Nicole, and I had hatched our scheme, I had gone by Ken’s office. I wanted to schedule a meeting with him. I’d probably have little new after our ‘chance encounter’ with Taylor. Maybe a flicker of recognition when I mentioned Worthington. Maybe he’d fail to recognize Sue. But even if I had nothing from the airport rendezvous, I wanted to meet. I wanted to make sure our message about the Blocker’s possible effects was getting through to management and eventually, the VA. I had promised the women it was, but the tendency of every subordinate to paint a picture that was a bit rosier than reality made the chain of command more of a roadblock than a conduit. The VA needed to know our thoughts.
Of Half a Mind Page 27
