by Kira Peikoff
“Um, that’s the thing,” she said. “It wasn’t an accident.”
Galileo frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Chris did it,” she blurted. “Richard saw the whole thing. Everyone else was distracted by the fire, but Chris pushed him when the ship was rocking and that’s why he hit his head.”
Galileo narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“I’m not. And then when I went over there, I could tell Chris wasn’t really crying.”
“First of all, it was dark and pouring rain, so you couldn’t have seen much.”
“But my senses are heightened! I notice everything.”
He lay his large palm flat on the desk. She could tell his patience was thinning. “We agree that your and Richard’s perception seem enhanced by the X101, right?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“But we don’t yet understand how or why, or what other side effects you might experience. That’s partly why you’re here. All we know is that certain neuronal pathways are impacted during the metabolic process. Isn’t it possible that in your heightened emotional state from the fire, you thought you perceived something and jumped to conclusions? More possible, I think, than one of my researchers assaulting his mentor out of the blue?”
“I know what we saw,” she said stubbornly. “We weren’t hallucinating.”
Galileo sighed. “Chris has been here a long time. Years. I assure you I know him a bit better than you do.”
“So you trust him?”
“Let me put it this way: Horatio insisted on working with him above anyone else. And he had a pretty hard time with trust.”
She flinched at his use of the past tense. Did that mean the doctor was dead?
“Maybe he had a blind spot,” she muttered, thinking of her ex-fiancé who had betrayed her when she was least expecting it. “Sometimes that happens with the people closest to you.”
But as she said the words, an inkling of doubt crept in. What was the drug doing to her brain? Could she even trust herself anymore?
Galileo ignored her comment. “What were you doing with Chris in the lab last night, anyway?”
She reddened. “He only took me there to show off. We heard you coming and got embarrassed.” She hoped he wouldn’t remember that she’d been half naked.
“So let me get this straight: last night you guys were, should we say, involved, and now you’re turning him in?”
“I didn’t know what he was capable of.”
“Well, I do.” His tone was edgy. “So forget all about it, okay?”
She opened her mouth to protest, but sensed it would be smarter to back off. In just forty-eight hours, they would dock in New York. She couldn’t risk him reneging on their deal because she insisted on stirring up trouble.
“Okay.” She turned to leave. “I just thought you should know.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, but he wasn’t smiling.
Back in her cabin, Richard was waiting for her. He stood up from her bed when she entered.
“Well?”
Instead of explaining, she trudged toward him and rested her cheek against his chest. His heart thumped under his shirt with reassuring steadiness as he wrapped his arms around her.
Are we going crazy? she wanted to ask him. But deep down she knew the truth. The reality they perceived wasn’t a side effect of the drug. A violent criminal was loose on the ship—even if Galileo didn’t believe her. But why should he take her seriously? He knew her as scarcely as she knew him.
Terror overwhelmed her—along with an intense longing for the people who supported her and respected her judgment. Her mother. Her brother. And Richard.
Richard had been one of those people all along.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
The chatter on the top deck immediately ceased. Galileo looked grim as he surveyed the thirty-seven out of thirty-eight residents aboard—everyone except Dr. Quinn. Everyone stood huddled before him in groups of twos and threes, awaiting the update he had promised to deliver that evening.
In the back row, Isabel squeezed Richard’s arm. Her mouth was dry. She saw that Chris was standing a few yards in front of them next to Theo, the young researcher who had also assisted in her resuscitation. Chris’s hands were shoved in his pockets. He was staring straight ahead, his expression appropriately somber. Apart from their brief encounter the night before over Quinn’s head injury, she had not spoken to him since their rendezvous in the lab. How long ago that seemed!
Galileo leaned against the glass wall as if standing took too much effort. Behind him, the twilight sky was flecked with stars that someone, somewhere might have found beautiful.
He drew a ragged breath. “I’m deeply sorry to report that Dr. Quinn is in a vegetative state. Even though we were able to get his heart back, his head injury was too severe to allow the X101 to restore his brain function.”
Isabel was struck by surreal detachment. Was this really happening? She heard the crowd’s gasps, felt her entire body clench, saw the devastation all over Galileo’s face. But still the news—and its implications—didn’t sink in.
“What’s gonna happen to him?” someone shouted. A chorus of voices echoed the sentiment.
Galileo grimaced. “As many of you no doubt realize, this is what Horatio himself most feared. He never wanted to resuscitate a patient only to have the drug fail and leave them brain-dead. He and I spoke many times about what to do in such a case, which, fortunately, he never encountered. He was very clear that he considered it an affront to human dignity to keep such a patient alive on machines with no prospect of recovery. During one discussion, he became so adamant that he spelled out his own wishes in writing.”
Galileo pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. Isabel recognized it as the one he had been examining earlier that day at his desk. He read aloud:
“I, Horatio L. Quinn, never want to be kept alive on machines in a state of permanent unconsciousness. If it comes to that, then for the love of God, just hasten my death with morphine instead of removing the tubes and waiting for all my organs to shut down. I don’t give a damn about a natural exit. Only that it’s fast and painless. And please don’t make a fuss about a burial. I’d rather swim with the fish than rot underground. Just say something nice and get on with it. Then go back to work.”
Galileo raised his eyes to the crowd with a pained smile. “He was a bit unorthodox, as we all knew.”
Isabel exchanged a troubled glance with Richard. Dr. Quinn was asking to be euthanized. That was illegal in the U.S.—though the Network was, of course, outside the law. Loads of people considered it unethical as well, a form of murder. But was it, if the patient asked for it?
“Since he couldn’t have been more explicit,” Galileo went on, “we’re going to follow his instructions. I feel it’s only right to honor his wishes. Tomorrow morning, we’ll hold a brief funeral. Then we’ll dispose of his body in a respectful manner in accordance with his instructions.”
The researchers murmured their approval. Just then, Chris glanced over his shoulder in Isabel’s direction and caught her eye. He raised his eyebrows as if to say You all right?
She tried not to appear flustered. It was clear he had no idea about her suspicions. So she just gave him a weak nod and shifted her gaze back to Galileo.
“There’s one other thing,” he was saying, “that I know many of you are wondering about. The X101. Unfortunately, Horatio never did reveal its formula—and the only dose we had was used up on him.”
Agitated cries broke out. The drug was the Network’s crown jewel. The cash cow they were depending on to fund other research for decades—and everyone knew it.
Galileo held up a hand. “Wait, before you all panic.” Isabel stifled a noise in her throat when he gestured to—of all people—Chris.
“We’re extremely lucky that Horatio’s protégé is such a diligent student. Chris thinks he’s picked up all the com
plicated elements of the chemical compound and its synthesis from years of observing Horatio in the lab. If he can replicate it successfully on his own, we’re back in business. As you all know, I can’t overstate how crucial this is.
“And for that reason, I owe you an apology. I feel I’ve failed you as a leader. I should have held firm that Horatio hand over the formula long ago. But he refused to work under any rules but his own, so I always gave in, thinking he would relax eventually. Just last night, I thought we might have reached a tipping point.” He sighed. “The timing could not have been worse.”
It’s not a coincidence, Isabel wanted to shout. The only logical explanation lit up in her mind like a flare: Chris must have known he could synthesize the drug the whole time. Then when he overhead Dr. Quinn about to give up the secret, he seized on the soonest possible opportunity to get rid of him. Maybe, she thought, Chris had been planning to get rid of him at some point all along.
Her eyes bore into Chris’s back. From her angle, the side of his long face was visible. He was watching Galileo ever so innocently.
“There’s just one big challenge in Chris’s way,” Galileo continued. “Total precision is required for the drug to be synthesized properly. To ensure quality control, Horatio would compare each new dose against a perfect sample. That’s why he always made sure to have at least several doses on hand. But the supply got low from the trial, and before he could replenish it, those couple doses unexpectedly went to our new subject Richard, and then to Horatio himself.”
“So how can Chris make it right?” one researcher shouted. “We’re screwed!”
Isabel frowned, thinking back to the previous night. Chris must not have been expecting to sacrifice that last dose. She remembered how he’d protested at first before using it on Dr. Quinn—some excuse about the severity of his brain injuries. But now his real motive clicked into place. If her hypothesis was right, Chris was no friend of the Network. He was feigning loyalty now to exploit its resources so he could make a new dose, if accuracy was even still possible. Then he’d steal it for himself—and there was no telling what he might do to get away with it.
“Not necessarily,” Galileo said. “There’s hope yet.” He squinted into the crowd until his gaze rested on Isabel and Richard standing in the back. She glanced behind her to see who he might be looking at, but there was no one else except for the dog, Captain, lying at her feet.
“Isabel, Richard,” he said, “you guys are experiencing temporary side effects of the X101 because it’s still in your body. Chris can use your blood to extract its traces and reverse engineer the perfect sample. It’s a tall order, but if anyone can do it, I have confidence in him.”
Her lips fell open. All the researchers turned to gawk at them as though they were the last members of some endangered species.
“The thing is,” Galileo said, “your bodies will completely metabolize the drug within fourteen days, and it’s already been about a week.” He ran a hand through his hair and she saw that his nails were bitten raw. “Which means we only have about seven more days before it’s gone for good.”
CHAPTER 32
Joan
New York
When Joan got home from the hospital, she was so humiliated about the confrontation with the nurse that she didn’t notice the distraught look on Greg’s face. He was hunched over the kitchen table staring at his laptop.
“I met the baby,” she said as she walked in and hung up her coat. “He’s absolutely perfect. But you’ll never believe what happened.”
Greg raised his eyes from the screen. That was when she noticed they were bloodshot, as though he’d stayed up all night. He was clearly heartbroken over missing the birth.
“Oh, sweetie.” She raced to his side as he closed his computer. “I’m so sorry. It kills me, too.”
Greg shook his head miserably. The corners of his lips were cracked with dryness. Crusts of sleep clung to his eyelashes and stubble pricked his chin. White plaque clogged the spaces between his usually clean teeth. She hadn’t really looked at him in days, but now she realized how run-down he’d become.
He rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe it’s come to this.”
“I know.” She plunked onto a chair and told him about the incident at the hospital. “I have no idea how to explain myself to Adam. And now that I can’t investigate, I’m at a dead end.”
Greg sighed irritably. “I already told you not to poke around there. All we need is you getting arrested.”
“I was just trying to help. But now I don’t know what to do.”
“The warnings are pretty clear: Stop looking for trouble.”
“But I can’t just give up! Someone out there wants you dead. We can’t just ignore that!”
“No, but we also can’t ignore our debt.” He buried his face in his hands. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“How so?”
“I tried to refinance the mortgages on the vacant Hawaii and Florida properties. But no one will give us a new loan. It’s sucking us dry.” He looked down, avoiding her gaze. “Plus I still have forty thousand on the credit cards to pay off.”
“Oh, Greg.” Neither of them would utter the word gambling, as though it were the name of his mistress. Poker and blackjack were similarly taboo.
“You must hate me,” he said flatly.
He looked so pathetic slumped against his chair, searching her face for reassurance. Yet he was still the man she loved. The man she vowed to stand by, for richer or poorer, in good times and in bad. One day, she thought, they would look back on this period and shudder at how close they’d come to the edge. One day, their lives would be safe from poverty and danger, their marriage would be strong, and their family would be whole. Because that was the only acceptable outcome.
She spread out her left hand. Her three-carat round diamond ring glittered a rainbow of light with every twitch of her finger. For thirty years, it had been a permanent fixture on her hand, her most prized possession, a family heirloom passed down from her mother to Greg, so he could propose in style back when he was broke, in medical school. She’d only ever taken it off to clean it and check its prongs. But it was just a symbol. It wasn’t love itself.
In one quick pull, like ripping off a Band-Aid, she yanked it off.
Greg gave a startled cry. “What are you doing?”
“Take it.” She handed it to him. At the base of her finger was a deep white groove.
He stared at the ring in a panic. “Are you leaving me?”
“Honey,” she said, “I’m helping you. Sell it. It’s the most expensive thing I own.”
CHAPTER 33
Isabel
New York
Thirteen minutes until showtime.
Isabel nervously stared out the window as the yellow taxi zoomed north along the Hudson River. It was 4:47 P.M. on D-day, as she thought of it.
Drop-off day.
Inside the pocket of her Windbreaker, the corners of the ring box pressed into her sweaty palm. She ran her finger along its blunt edges. A hurricane of worries flattened her thoughts. She was on a survival mission, true to her alleged specialty. But real survival was about the art of self-reliance, which she had never needed to perfect. This time, the crew was nowhere to be found. The jungle was concrete. And the danger ahead was the scariest kind, neither nature nor beast. It was human.
The ship docked in New York City right on schedule that morning after the whirlwind three-day voyage. The only consolation of Isabel’s current errand was that she got to escape the pressure cooker. Since Dr. Quinn’s death and subsequent funeral, the mood on board was swinging between hysteria and despair. The days were ticking down faster than anyone wanted to acknowledge. Chris had less than a week left to reverse engineer the drug from the traces in her and Richard’s bloodstreams.
Three times a day, they dutifully sat for blood draws in Chris’s lab. Three times a day, they pretended to have a friendly rapport with him, because what other choice did they h
ave? Everyone else was treating him like a hero in the making. Food was delivered to him on request, even in the middle of the night. He leeched whatever he wanted—Galileo’s attention, sole use of the gym, extra supplies from other researchers. His suddenly elevated status hovered between boy genius and royal heir, and Isabel suspected he was relishing every minute of it, even under the gun of the deadline.
It was all she could do not to run off the ship the minute it pulled into the harbor, just to distance herself from his subtle smirk and the coldness in his eyes. It sickened her to remember she’d ever been attracted to him, so disembarking had been a kind of relief.
But now that she was in Manhattan for the first time, on her own, over sixteen hundred miles away from her family, the stress of her own task took center stage. The deal with Robbie Merriman seemed straightforward: she would deposit the ring in person, inside an ancient bronze cannon at the Soldiers and Sailors Monument, and then he would agree to leave her alone.
But why did he want her, specifically, to do it? And what would he do once he learned it was fake? Would the GPS chip in the band allow them to home in on his location before he could retaliate?
She drew a deep breath to anchor herself in the present moment. Outside the window, a cluster of skyscrapers reflected the amber light of the setting sun. She recognized the famous silhouettes of the Empire State and the Chrysler, both taller and grander than she’d imagined. But the iconic skyline captured only a sliver of her attention. It was 4:51 P.M.
She had no idea what to expect from the next hour. At least the drop-off point was a public park—hopefully a crowded one. Afterward, Galileo wanted her to stick around to see who came to pick it up. A hidden camera fastened to her front pocket would relay any sightings back to him for further scrutiny. She also wore her own GPS chip, inside the heel of her Nike tennis shoe, so Galileo could remotely keep track of her, and a tiny, beige earpiece that allowed them to communicate in real time.
