Ferguson’s brow furrowed, conveying his deep skepticism. “You honestly think this Yoshi fellow got to one of our special agents and turned him?” he asked.
“I don’t know how Stephen Duffy is involved,” Lee admitted with regret.
“The FBI has already done some serious digging into Mr. Duffy,” O’Donnell said. “Forensic teams are still working on decrypting his phone, computers, and such, but a search of his apartment netted us some interesting finds.”
Judging by the impassive looks around the table, Lee guessed he was the only one present not yet informed of these findings.
“Mr. Duffy evidently had a serious gambling problem. Some documents we’ve recovered indicate he went on a catastrophic weeklong bender and lost more than a quarter of a million dollars. Money he didn’t have to lose. On a special agent’s salary, that’s an insurmountable hole. He signed over the deed to his mother’s house as collateral, and the bookies he owed were ready to close the deal. His sixty-five-year-old mom was going to be out on the street.”
Lee recalled the bet Duffy had made with Lapham about the Graves’ disease test. What had, at the time, seemed a harmless and amusing wager in reality masked a deep and deadly compulsion.
“What we didn’t find,” O’Donnell added in a somber tone, “is any link between Yoshi Matsumoto and Agent Duffy, which, to Russell’s point, gives us pause.”
“I don’t know what to say there,” Lee offered. “I’m honestly as in the dark as you are. I just have my suspicions.”
“And those are?” Ferguson asked.
“The nootropics.”
“Cam’s been taking the ProNeural supplements for years without a problem,” Ellen said. “Dr. Gleason said they’re as safe as vitamins, and Cam says it helps him.”
“I’m not doubting that,” Lee said. “But I don’t think those ProNeural pills are the issue.”
The president leaned forward in his seat, hands resting on the table, his fingers clasped tightly together.
“This is why I wanted you here,” the president said. “Help us better understand your thinking, Lee.”
“I’ve consulted with a neurologist, Dr. Marilyn Piekarski, who treated Cam at the MDC, and she believes, as do I, that the ProNeural products could not have produced the impressive results I saw on the neurofeedback testing. Something else these kids are taking is enhancing the brain’s natural neuroplasticity.”
“Neuro what?” Ellen’s eyes were open wide.
“Neuroplasticity,” Lee repeated for her benefit. “It’s essentially the brain’s ability to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections among nerve cells to learn faster and much more efficiently. It’s how a person can become a master at a new skill. We all have this to some extent. But what if I could give you a drug, something that changes your brain’s chemistry, speeds up your ability to learn? Take the ten-thousand-hours rule to reach mastery down to a few hundred.”
“A pill to do that is only in the movies,” Ellen said. “What you’re saying seems like quite a stretch.”
“I’m suggesting the folks at ProNeural may have found the chemicals to do what you see in the movies, and they’re using the TPI to put their product to the ultimate test.”
“So Yoshi’s trying to put himself out of business with a brain pill, is that it?” Ferguson sounded doubtful, while Karen grimaced slightly at the harsh tone her boss had taken.
“I think he’s trying to make a business,” said Lee. “If a pill like that was shown to be safe and effective, millions of people would take it. No question there.”
“And Duffy?”
“Somehow Yoshi knew about his financial troubles,” Lee said. “Duffy’s interacted with Yoshi before, when Cam was at the TPI. Maybe Duffy confessed to having serious money troubles, and maybe Yoshi saw an opportunity to—and I apologize for my phrasing here—deal with a problem of his.”
“The problem being Cam,” Ellen said coolly.
“Yes, Cam and Susie. The twins, too. Really, anybody who ingested this product and got sick because of it.”
Lee contemplated accusing Gleason of being cagey with Cam to conceal his possible involvement with Yoshi, but without hard evidence feared it would further muddy these already murky waters.
“So every student at the TPI is taking experimental nootropics?” O’Donnell, who asked the question, drummed his fingers on the table in a way that reminded Lee of Duffy.
“I highly doubt it. Just like with air or groundwater contamination, there’d be a lot more sick kids if that were the case. I think—and again, this is conjecture on my part—he has some students taking the experimental drug, and the others are a control group of sorts, ingesting a harmless nootropic. Then he compares, measures if the test subjects can master skills with greater efficiency using neurofeedback testing, not realizing he’s turning them into walking time bombs.”
“So is Cam all right?” Ellen asked with alarm. “Physically, I mean. Is he a—a time bomb?”
“I don’t know,” Lee said, regretting his word choice. “We’ll just have to see. I have no idea what course this may take with Cam. If these children are being poisoned, our goal is to find out, eliminate it, and work on a treatment.”
He had to give her some hope.
Ellen exchanged nervous glances with her husband.
The president said, “Out of extreme caution, I’m willing to give Lee another chance to prove his case.”
“Have other students besides those we know about experienced symptoms similar to Cam’s?” Karen asked.
“That’s a good question,” Lee said. “There was another doctor at the meeting, Hal Hewitt, who is on the board of the TPI, and he couldn’t say for sure.”
“I know Hal,” Ellen said. “He’s a very good man, but he has nothing to do with the kids’ medical health. He’s just an advisor.”
“Which is why I think we’d have to pull medical records for all the students who have ever attended the institute,” Lee said.
“We can get subpoenas to do that,” O’Donnell said.
“Then do it,” the president said. “But for now, I want a low profile on this. We have a shooter out there, and our focus needs to be on tracking him down. This Susie girl, is she safe?”
“She is, for now,” Karen said. “We have her out at the camp I own in Virginia. Our son Josh is looking after her, and there’s a nurse, Valerie Cowart, monitoring her health.”
“We think whoever tried to kill Cam also tried to kill Susie,” Lee added, speaking for Karen.
“That might be,” the president said. “I’m thinking if we find a link, some irrefutable connection, we’ll take over protective duties from Josh.”
“Why not move her now?” Lee never thought he would openly question the president’s judgment.
“Because, believe it or not, Washington is not great at keeping secrets,” the president said. “The public would think I’ve lost my mind if they found out I’m going after some schoolteacher and sheltering a musician when somebody just tried to kill my son. Our collective focus has to be on tracking down the shooter. That’s the plan moving forward, unless I’m given reason to do otherwise.”
Typical Hilliard, thought Lee. Always thinking about perceptions, trying to keep equilibrium. Not doing too much, or too little. Never being bold.
“As you wish,” Lee said.
The president directed his attention to his chief of staff.
“John, I want you to take point on this,” he said. “Let’s get Yoshi in for questioning. Have Dr. Blackwood involved. He can handle the medical aspects of the interview.”
Lee grimaced. How does the FBI interview people? he wondered. Were they going to waterboard him? Bring him to a black site? Lee had no idea how the government operated in this regard, and the thought that he had instigated all of this chilled him to the core.
“See what we can do about this ProNeural company, too,” the president continued. “Coordinate everything with the FBI. Maybe we can
conduct a records search or something, but whatever we do, I want it all aboveboard. Also, have Dr. Blackwood involved in reviewing the medical records of the TPI students. Cycle Dr. Gleason in as well. They’ll both know what to look for.”
Lee wondered how Gleason would feel if he knew a family doc had had such a large role to play in this operation.
“What about the shooter?” Ferguson asked.
“Hopefully, if Lee’s theory proves out, Yoshi will lead us to him.”
Ferguson’s face flushed. “Mr. President, shouldn’t we take the lead here? I can certainly coordinate with the FBI.”
“Russell,” Ellen said, interrupting before her husband could answer. “Your team was responsible for protecting my son. How did that turn out?”
“Mrs. Hilliard, I—”
“No. No,” Ellen said, shaking her head dismissively. “As far as I’m concerned, the entire Secret Service may be compromised. Now, I’ve spent years hearing Karen’s complaints about your agency, lack of resources, gaps in security, all that—well, shame on me for not doing more to fix it when I had the chance. But I’ll tell you this, Russell. You’d better spend your time questioning every agent, every damn one of them, because I don’t believe for one second that Stephen Duffy was the only employee of yours with dirty hands.”
CHAPTER 41
It was almost ten o’clock at night when Lee got word that a car was coming to bring him to FBI headquarters. Since the 1970s the J. Edgar Hoover Building had occupied two blocks between Ninth and Tenth Streets in Northwest D.C. The building, Lee had read somewhere, was Brutalist architecture, a name derived from the French term béton brut, which, translated, meant “raw concrete.” It was a fitting name. The concrete behemoth had hundreds of sunken squares for windows, covering an exterior more austere than a prison. Tours of the headquarters had to be arranged through Congressional offices, but John O’Donnell, along with a cadre of humorless G-men all dressed in dark suits, got Lee inside with no problem.
Lee followed O’Donnell and his FBI cohorts through security, and then down a mostly deserted hallway, eventually coming to a stop at an elevator marked RESTRICTED.
“We brought Yoshi in a couple of hours ago. We can hold him for a while without charges. Our agents have already spoken with him extensively.”
“And?”
“And the president wants you to speak with him. I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the matter.”
The elevator arrived. All got inside.
“Okay … guess I’ll wing it,” Lee said, rubbing his tired eyes. He let his annoyance go. He had a job to do: take a medical approach and try and learn something from Yoshi that the professionals could not.
Down they went until the elevator doors opened to reveal a dimly lit corridor in the building’s subbasement.
“Welcome to Disneyland,” O’Donnell said in a humorless voice. He led Lee into a small room with a low drop ceiling, and some chairs placed around a table with a computer on it. Next to a second door across from the entrance was a rectangular glass window cut into the gray brick wall, through which Lee could see Yoshi, dressed in his trademark black, seated at a metal table.
“We’ll be watching and listening from here,” O’Donnell said, pointing to that computer.
Lee had to stoop to enter the room holding Yoshi. Inside he found a table, two chairs, a few plastic bottles of water, and nothing else. He noticed a wall-mounted camera in one corner of the room.
Yoshi glanced up as Lee entered, his face brooding, eyes weary. Lee exhaled loudly, trying to clear the uneasy feeling that washed over him.
I’m responsible for this.
The empty chair was made of metal with no cushioning. Nothing here was comforting or comfortable.
Lee sat down across from Yoshi. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.”
Yoshi glared at Lee, his expression furious. “You—you are involved? I should have known.”
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Lee said. “I’ve already gone over with you what I think is happening here. There are people, lots of them, looking through the medical records of all the TPI students. It’s going to come out in the open, so you might as well tell me. Are you testing nootropics, or some kind of smart drug, on your students?”
“I’ll tell you again what I told the FBI: I am doing no such thing.”
Lee was not trying to detect Yoshi’s lies, nor interpret his body language. The FBI had that expertise. Lee would take a different approach. With Cam, he used chess to break the ice. With Yoshi, he would have to play to the man’s ego.
“Look, Yoshi, I believe what you do at the TPI is pretty darn remarkable. The results of the neurofeedback testing are astounding. ProNeural seems to be a wonder drug. And yet, based on the compounds in those pills, I’m convinced there’s no way those nootropics could achieve those results. So tell me how you really do it.”
“My methods, Dr. Blackwood, blend ancient Eastern practices with more modern science. I’ve said this to you before. Meditation, guided imagery—”
“—breathing exercises, mindfulness, yoga, yeah, yeah, I’ve memorized your brochure, and I still don’t buy it. The results are too impressive. The data in those reports suggests you’ve unlocked the secret to supercharging the brain’s natural neuroplasticity.”
“And what if I have?”
“Hey, I believe you’re smart, but you’re not that smart.”
So much for kowtowing to his ego, thought Lee.
Pausing to regroup, Lee exhaled loudly. His eyes were dry with fatigue.
“This isn’t about your school,” Lee said through gritted teeth, getting angry now. “Someone tried to kill Cam Hilliard. I’m sure it’s connected to his illness, and his illness, I’m sure, is connected to you and your damn TPI. The people reviewing those medical records are going to find more cases.” Lee believed this was true, but he did not know how long it might take to find one. They had thousands of records to review, going back over a decade.
“Help us cure these kids before it’s too late,” he said, his voice softening. “Tell me what you’ve given them and maybe, with lots of smart people working the problem, we can reverse the effects.”
Yoshi contemplated this, and eventually his demeanor shifted from angry to resigned. When he spoke, his voice held no trace of hostility.
“If you think you will do well at a job interview, you are more likely to do well. Think you’ll win a race, you are more likely to win it. Science has shown this to be true, even Western science.” Yoshi gave his first smile of this strange interview.
“And your point is?”
“The supplements I supplied were a part of what I do. I tell you to take these pills, because they will help you with focus, with concentration—you’re more likely to believe it is true.”
“How do you explain your results? So much improvement in so little time.”
“I can’t, Dr. Blackwood.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve spent my life studying herbs and fungi, looking to them for healing powers, looking to nature for the key to human betterment. It’s been my lifelong obsession.”
“Until you found ProNeural, until you discovered nootropics,” said Lee, trying to encourage Yoshi along. “And you thought that was the answer.”
“Yes. I came to believe a blend of science and nature was the missing link.”
“And?”
“And I was wrong. These nootropics might help in some small way, it’s possible, but like you said, they do not help that much.”
Lee did a double take, confusion etched on his face. “Wait, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if I tell you something is true, over and over again, eventually you’ll believe me. But if I show you the data, the scientific evidence, your belief will come about much quicker and take far deeper roots.”
Lee suddenly got it.
“My God, the data you showed me—what you show the kids, their parents, it’s all bogus, it’s forged.
You made it all up.”
Yoshi’s guilty expression was answer enough.
“ProNeural doesn’t make the students better, but those phony results made the company a lot of money.” Yoshi held up his wrist to show Lee his expensive timepiece. “The company and me,” he added, regret heavy in his voice. “I suspect I’ll need a lawyer now.”
“Wait … wait a second. Cam, Susie, the Stewart twins, they were all best of the best and they’re the sick ones, but you’re telling me you didn’t give them anything special to do that?”
“No. Nothing. Never. I told you what I did. I helped falsify the results of the neurofeedback testing to sell more ProNeural pills and get more students for the TPI. That’s my only crime, that’s what I’ll live with.”
But what Yoshi had said still did not add up in Lee’s mind. A cluster of some strange, never-before-seen disease, centered at a single location, and there’s not a single external factor involved? It was inconceivable.
“Yoshi, I don’t believe you’re telling me everything. Please! Lives are at stake.”
Yoshi leaned forward and lowered his head. His snow-white hair shielded his eyes.
“What I have given my students is a belief in themselves and their true potential.” Yoshi became reserved, retreating into himself. “And that’s the only thing I’ve ever given them.”
CHAPTER 42
FRIDAY, APRIL 28
Two days later, Ellen and Karen were having coffee together in the Navy Mess, a restaurant in the basement of the White House run by the U.S. Navy. In light of the incident, the president had reneged on his plans to attend the upcoming White House Correspondents’ Dinner. But to Karen’s dismay, not everything was being put on hold.
“Honestly, part of me thinks he’ll be safer there,” Ellen said sharply.
They had been discussing when it would be the right time for Cam to return to school, and the gibe Ellen made had stung. Every gripe Karen presented over the years, Ellen threw right back at her.
The First Family Page 24
