by Tim Tigner
“I tend to agree,” Vicky said. “Although one should never underestimate the powerful hold that greed can have on the rich—or overestimate the scruples of lawyers. Nonetheless, I assume that Pascal’s come up with a blockbuster idea that doesn’t require disclosure.”
“What could that possibly be?” Skylar asked.
“That’s literally the billion-dollar question,” Chase said. “We should try to figure it out, but plan our next moves assuming that we won’t.”
“Speaking of our next moves. Has there been anything in the news about Rogers? Specifically, if there’s an investigation into his death?” Vicky asked.
“Probably not. It’s too early for that. A rich lawyer dying in New York City is a daily occurrence.”
“But are we safe?” Skylar added.
“A fifty-one-year-old man with a very stressful job dies in his bed from a massive hemorrhagic stroke. That probably happens somewhere every day. This one had a bodyguard outside his door and there were no signs of foul play. He has no immediate family and his partners are swamped with other work, as are the police—who won’t be shedding any tears over losing a lawyer like him. Unless there was a screw-up we’re not aware of, I think we’re safe,” Chase said.
Vicky blew out a long breath. “That’s a relief.”
“So what do we do next?” Skylar asked. “Last night was a tactical setback, given the, um, medical outcome. But at the same time the urgency of what we’re attempting to do just increased a thousand-fold. It’s not just Vicky’s life and the continued violation of the justice system that’s on the line. Now we know that one of the most powerful people in tech is about to unleash mind reading on the world, in one way or another. That simply can’t be anything but bad.”
“Only if Pascal wins at trial,” Vicky clarified. “If he loses, there should be at least a temporary reprieve from that threat.”
“True, but we can’t count on him losing,” Skylar said.
They considered their situation in silence for a while, sipping coffee and staring at the granite countertop.
Chase eventually broke the calm by asking Vicky, “Do you know what went wrong with your device? Or rather, how to fix it?”
Vicky frowned. “I definitely had the power set too high, meaning the device delivered too much energy to his brain. Remember, my laboratory work was based on rodent models. Mouse brains. Human brains are about two thousand times more massive, so I had to scale up the power. Clearly, I went too far. The next move is dialing the power back. The big question is: How much?”
“It’s tough territory for trial and error,” Chase said, standing to burn nervous energy. “But we really don’t have a choice. Suppose we start low and see if it works. If it doesn’t, we up the dose and have another go. And then another, until we get it right.”
“Where right means we’ve robbed them of their ability to read minds without ending their lives?” Skylar asked.
“Exactly.”
“I agree,” Vicky said. “A Sackler interrogation should fill in some blanks on the billion-dollar project. If we’re fast and lucky, it will also diminish Pascal’s chances of winning in court.”
Chase leaned forward with both fists on the table. “So we’re agreed. We interrogate and zap Sackler tonight.”
62
How Bad?
VICKY WAS THRILLED to see Chase smiling as he walked through the apartment’s front door. She and Skylar immediately set down their teacups. “Success?”
“Nothing to it. Not when you have a key and the alarm code. I’ve been thinking about that, about how mind reading makes alarm codes and other passwords virtually worthless. The ripple effects are mind boggling.”
Vicky had logged hundreds of mental hours exploring those ripples in her head. It was fascinating. Depressing yet exhilarating at the same time. She literally had the power to profoundly change the world. Perhaps she should have been Pandora instead of Cassandra. “A world without secrets would bear little resemblance to the one we know today.”
“It wouldn’t all be bad,” Skylar said with a mischievous smile. “Politicians would have to be honest. Imagine what that world would be like.”
“Yeah. Too bad we wouldn’t get to pick and choose what’s disclosed,” Chase said, before turning to Vicky. “Maybe that’s your next project. Your next brilliant invention. Figuring out how to selectively deploy your technology.”
“Oh, how I wish that were possible. But back to reality—and your brilliant idea. No issues upstairs?”
Walter Sackler wasn’t in the routine of stopping for a drink on the way home from work, so slipping a sedative into said beverage was not an option. However, given the aggressive questioning they had planned for him, the memory-blocking effects of Rohypnol were crucial. To remedy that, Chase concocted the idea of using their access to his apartment to slip the sedative into his nightly healthcare routine.
“No issues. I put it in his toothpaste. Coated his toothbrush and the cup by his sink. I also replaced a little white pill in the Friday section of his weekly pill box with a filed-down Rohypnol tablet. And—” Chase pulled out his phone and pointed to a picture. “I hid a nanny cam in the light fixture over his sink so you’ll be able to see how much he ingests. If he skips his pills and doesn’t brush his teeth, you shouldn’t risk zapping him.”
“Got it,” Vicky said, hoping they wouldn’t be spending the night in his closet for nothing—and praying they wouldn’t miss this opportunity to prevent the rotten lawyers from ruining the world.
“I also put a nanny cam in his bedroom, so you’ll know when he’s sleeping. The Wi-Fi range on the cameras is limited,” Chase continued. “So you’ll need to link to them once you’re in the apartment. I’ll add the app to your phones and text you the linking instructions.”
“Fantastic. Great idea.”
“Yeah, I’m kicking myself for not thinking laterally with Rogers too. I went straight for the traditional in-his-drink move.”
“Don’t kick too hard, it worked.”
As Chase acknowledged Vicky’s point with a nod, Skylar said, “Rogers’ obituary published while you were upstairs. It says he died of natural causes. Funeral is Sunday.”
“That’s a relief. And quick on the funeral.”
“His partners didn’t have much choice regarding timing, given that the Pascal trial must go on.”
Satisfied that they were all up to date and on the same page, the three went about preparing for the evening and night to come, then watched the daily news coverage of Pascal’s trial. It included video of Sackler and Slate descending the courthouse steps wearing smiles but offering “no comment.”
Before Vicky knew it, game time had arrived. They doubted that Sackler would come straight home, but couldn’t risk being wrong. By 5:15, Vicky and Skylar were upstairs.
Sackler’s apartment was a mirror image of Rogers’, and identical to their own, eight floors below. The two lawyers had different palettes and style preferences, with Sackler opting for vibrant colors and a modern feel whereas Rogers had selected earthy tones and classical furnishings, but both had left the walls white, turned their second bedrooms into studies, and were using the guest bedroom closets for additional storage. So once again, she and Skylar quickly built and sealed themselves inside a duck blind.
“I wish we also had a view of the entryway and kitchen,” Skylar whispered, looking at the nanny cam feeds.
“We can bring those tomorrow, if we need to come back.”
Skylar grimaced. “I hope that’s not necessary. What did you end up doing with the power setting?”
“After a literature review, I dropped it by two-thirds.”
“You think that will do it?”
“I don’t know,” Vicky said, attempting to hide her frustration. “I’ll also be pausing the procedure after every six seconds to see if he loses consciousness or complains of a headache.”
“What if he does?”
“Depends on how bad it is.”
>
“If it’s really bad?” Skylar pressed.
Vicky shrugged. “Then we’ll likely have another dead lawyer on our hands—and all the scrutiny that comes with it.”
63
In the Dark
HIDING IN A DARK CLOSET, focused on the only bright object, Vicky flashed back to her youth. To clandestinely reading Harry Potter after mom sang “Silent Night” and turned out the lights. The memory sparked a thought that made her smile big and broad. The movement felt good, like stretching a stiff muscle.
Skylar reached out and squeezed her arm.
Vicky looked up at her friend. They were standing practically toe-to-toe, facing each other in the closet, although Skylar was a couple of inches taller.
“What is it?” Skylar mouthed.
“Just a memory,” Vicky whispered.
“Care to share?”
She did, actually. Despite the somewhat rocky start to their relationship, Skylar was now her best friend. “I used to dream of growing up to be Hermione Granger, from the Harry Potter books.”
“Sure. What girl didn’t?”
“Yes, well, it just occurred to me that—I did. In a manner of speaking. Is that a horribly arrogant thing to say?”
To her relief, Skylar smiled back. “It’s an entirely accurate thing to say. What you’ve done is magical. Miraculous. Only you’re not Hermione. You’re Cassandra.”
Vicky enjoyed another muscle stretch. “Maybe that was my mistake. I picked an ill-fated name.”
“It might be your mistake, but it was clearly the world’s gain.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you hadn’t done your magic, then the sexual predator and his lawyers would be poised to ruin the world.”
Vicky looked down to hide a third smile as her face flushed.
“What do you think?” Skylar asked after a few seconds of silence. ”Is it time?” She gestured toward the screen showing Walter Sackler sleeping.
They’d heard him come home late and had partially seen him change out of his suit into a T-shirt and shorts before turning on Breaking Bad in the living room. The television camouflaged his other movements, which were already hard for Skylar to hear from the closet, so they lost track of him for the span of two nerve-racking episodes. Vicky spent that time irrationally worried that the closet doors might open at any second as Sackler sought to calm his mind by cleaning his closet, or looking through the boxes of old photographs stored over their heads.
Fortunately, once the second episode concluded he began the predicted bathroom routine, which included taking his Friday pills and brushing his teeth. Then bed with Walter Isaacson’s latest book, which he set aside almost immediately. That had been an hour ago.
“I think it’s time,” Vicky replied, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.
“It’s justice, not experimentation,” Skylar said, reading her expression. “These guys dispatched assassins without giving you a second thought. You, in stark contrast, have gone to great lengths to save their lives.”
“We don’t know that they didn’t give me a second thought. We couldn’t ask Rogers.”
“You can ask Sackler. We’re already betting big on the Rohypnol’s memory-erasing ability. It’s your call. In any case, we know that when the first assassin failed, they sent a second.”
“Okay, let’s do it!”
The wrist and ankle binding procedure went as smoothly as it had with Rogers. A sign that the drug was working. This time, however, the question that followed “If you make any noise, I’ll take out your eyes,” was much more shocking to the recipient. “What is Pascal’s plan for your mind-reading technology?”
Who are these women? How do they know we can read minds? What a disaster. How did they learn? Same way as Pascal, watching and deducing? What’s their connection to him? They must be his competitors. Can I bluff them? Can they read minds? Ask them, like Pascal did. Can you read minds? Can you read minds? Can you—
“Answer the question and answer it honestly or lose an eye.”
“I don’t know Pascal’s plan. He wouldn’t tell us, and we couldn’t figure it out. He’s an inventive genius. A modern Thomas Edison.”
“Did you try to figure it out?”
I’m so dizzy. Did they drug me? Was it truth serum? Will it damage my brain?
“Did you try to figure it out?” Vicky repeated.
“Yes, of course.”
“How?”
Was this a bluff? Was Pascal testing their loyalty? Would he be mad if he found out? Or would he secretly admire their spunk? “We employed spies.”
“What have they learned?”
“Nothing. We can’t find his operation.”
“Are you still looking?”
Pascal must have a spy on his team. Someone close. “Yes.”
“Who else can read minds?”
“Nobody. It’s a huge secret.”
The dagger twitched at the corner of his eye. “Don’t lie.”
“There’s one other woman. A researcher from Caltech.”
“Where is she now?”
“We don’t know.”
“Is she a threat?”
“She’s being dealt with.”
“How.”
“Professionally.”
“Who’s the professional?”
Oh, God. Did they work for Fredo? Had he deduced their identities? Was he testing them? Was he investigating them, looking for an even bigger payout? Had the $2 million fee simply whetted his appetite? Were they—
“This is not going to end well for you if I have to keep repeating myself. Now, who’s the professional?”
“A guy who used to hunt down cartel deserters.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. Here or Pasadena probably. My partner manages him.”
“Which partner?”
“Trent Keller.”
“When are you going to give Pascal the technology?”
Back to that. Was this lady a litigator too? Or a cop? “After we win his assault case.”
“And what is he giving you in exchange?”
“Half the company that will be using it.”
“To do what?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“But you believe his claims that it’s worth billions?”
I did until now. This is making me wonder what’s really going on. “It’s Archibald Pascal. Technology is his domain. He knows what he’s doing and he has no reason to lie.”
“Aren’t you worried what will happen to the world when mind reading becomes widely available?”
“It won’t. He’s keeping it secret. Pascal isn’t going to tell anyone. We would never agree otherwise. Not at any price.”
“How is he going to make billions without telling anyone? That doesn’t seem possible.”
“I know. But it’s Archibald Pascal. And he’s going to tell us his big secret before we reveal ours. That’s the deal.”
Satisfied that they had almost everything important that Sackler could tell them, Vicky slipped her zapper over his ears and hit the switch. She let it run for six seconds, then killed the power. “Are you going to keep practicing law after you make the exchange with Pascal?”
“No. We’re retiring.”
“All of you?”
“No choice, really. The deal gives him exclusive use of the technology.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Dizzy. What did you give me?”
She gave him another six-second dose. “How long ago did you learn to read minds?”
“About twenty years.”
“Who discovered it?”
“I did, with Colton, Jim, and Trent.”
Another six seconds. “At MIT?”
“That’s right.”
“What about Scarlett?”
“She was our test subject.”
Third zap. “Why her?”
“She was Colton’s girlfriend. They were l
iving together. We all shared a house.”
Fourth zap. “Whose idea was it to become lawyers?”
“Scarlett’s. She was the law student.”
“You’ve been monitoring mind-reading research ever since your discovery?”
“Yes. That’s Trent’s job.”
Fifth zap. “How many other people have made the discovery?”
“Just the girl at Caltech.”
“In twenty years, just one? Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s an extremely sophisticated and precise process. During the early years we were worried, but after two decades without competition we were surprised when Trent reported that she’d done it.”
“Then you decided to kill her.”
“She was being reckless. She went to work in Las Vegas as a psychic. Even got a show at the Bellagio. It was only a matter of time before her secret leaked.”
“You practiced law for twenty years. Why is that different?”
“You’re asking me how a lawyer differs from a psychic?”
“You were both using your skills in public.”
“We’re very careful.”
“And she wasn’t?”
“We couldn’t risk it.”
“Do you want some water?”
“Yes, please.” Give me a minute to collect my thoughts.
Vicky slid a small bottle under the pillowcase, found his lips then elevated it until empty. They’d laced the water with twice as much Rohypnol as they’d used on Rogers, given the increased need to keep any current memories from imprinting.
As Sackler fought back sleep, Vicky administered the final zap, then stuffed the gag back in. He tensed, but didn’t have the energy to fight it.
“We’re done. Sweet dreams.” She backed away from the bed to wait for him to nod off. There was no need to worry about him faking. She could read his mind.
As a scientist, Vicky found it fascinating, watching a person’s mind go to sleep. Watching thoughts slow and flicker before disappearing. She’d been disappointed to learn that her Pradas did not pick up dreams, but perhaps that was just as well. She did not need another can of worms—for the moment, at least.
