by Bruce Buff
Trish pressed the playback button. The message was from one of Dan’s neighborhood buddies, part of a group of guys who got together to play basketball once in a while. As soon as he heard the message, he regretted having Trish play it. “Dan, just reminding you of our upcoming dinner plans for Saturday night. Reservations are at seven. See you then.”
“I forgot to cancel. I’ll do that later.”
“Sounds like you’re good friends with them. Why cancel?”
“It’s all married, or practically married, couples, all of whom will ask me what happened with my ex-girlfriend before grilling me on why I don’t have someone else.”
“I think there’ll be lots of time to talk about more than that,” Trish said.
Gesturing to the alcove, Dan said, “Come on. We’ve got things to take care of.”
After turning on his computer, Dan unscrewed the end cap of the steam radiator and pulled out several loose wires. From a drawer, he took the end of an ethernet connection, also with loose wires and alligator clips at the end. He plugged the ethernet connection into the network connector on the side of his computer, then clipped the wires from it to the wires from the radiator and portions of the radiator itself.
As he sat down, he said, “I’ve set up my computer to use a wireless connection for activity that I want our government friends to think I’m engaged in. The connection I just set up is a practically untraceable wire system to a nearby building that uses a microwave connection to nearby radio tower, and that’s where I do the things I don’t want people to know I’m doing.”
While he was talking, Trish had crouched down behind him, put her hands on his shoulders, leaned forward, looking at the computer screen, her cheek close to his. He wondered and hoped that there was more to it than just seeing better.
“Can’t you use encryption to keep someone from eavesdropping?”
“Yes, but they will still be able to use IP addresses to track sites I’ve visited and people I’ve communicated with. Then later, via court order or other means, they could potentially access what I’ve done. Instead, I’ll start this automated program that will make it look like I’m doing a bunch of things that they’ll monitor while I’ll use a special browser to communicate over my other channel. That’s the one I’ll use to contact Father Michael.”
“Doesn’t all this cloak-and-dagger privacy stuff get draining?” Trish said.
“Not nearly as much as not having privacy and enabling totalitarian-like government practices.”
“Here I thought you were getting a better handle on things. I hope that is still true.”
“Watch and see,” Dan said as he brought up a special email program. Using the email address on Father Michael’s card, Dan typed, Need to talk, confidentially, ASAP. Don’t contact me any other way than using the enclosed link to access a secure chat session. Thanks. Dan.
“Now what?”
“We wait.”
Turning his head toward Trish, bringing their faces even closer, Dan tried to look into her eyes, but she stood up and walked over to the alcove wall.
Trish pointed to a photo of a seventy-year-old couple. “Is that your parents?”
Dan stood up and walked next to her. “Yes, before my mother’s cancer changed things.”
Next to that photo was a small picture of a young boy standing next to a young girl. Trish said, “That’s so cute. Is that you and Grace?”
“Yes, a month before her accident.” He turned toward Trish. “I have to let the past go and focus on the future.”
As Dan raised his arms toward Trish, she placed her hands on his forearms, held them firmly there, and said, “We’ve got work to do. I need everything you’ve got focused on helping Ava and Nancy.”
Feeling sheepish, but not entirely ashamed, Dan said, “I have a few other things I have to take care of as well. All I want is for things to be better for everyone.”
“Good. Then let’s get back to work.” Trish walked back to the computer. “There’s no response. Did he get the message?”
“He’ll have to look at it. Something tells me priests aren’t as tethered to email as the rest of us.”
“I’ll have to get to the hospital soon and check on Ava.”
“Go now. I’ll let you know when I hear something. The government guy downstairs will give you a ride. The other one will keep an eye on me, so there’s not much I can do.”
“If you try and pull a fast one on me, I’ll clobber you.”
“Relax. Go check on her. I’ll met you at Nancy’s later.”
“Don’t play any games and try and go it alone,” Trish said strongly.
“You really have a low opinion of me.”
“There might be some things I think highly of,” Trish said, and headed out the door.
After she left, Dan sat back down, saw a message from Father Michael—What’s up?—and activated the chat.
Dan typed, I need to talk with you. I’ve found out things I need to share, and I think there are things you know that I need to find out.
Moments later, a reply came, It needs to be in person.
Why?
You’ll understand when you get here.
Five minutes later, the arrangements were complete. He would visit Father Michael in Italy and find out what required his presence.
Chapter 64
7:10 P.M.
Dan was loading the dishwasher while Nancy put away leftovers. Trish and Ava sat close together playing a game of Scrabble in the same kitchen seats Dan and Stephen had occupied two weeks ago. A lifetime earlier. Stephen’s lifetime.
Despite all she was bearing, Nancy had insisted on cooking dinner. He thought that perhaps it was her way of seeking normalcy through the nightmarish reality of her husband’s death and daughter’s illness. She had even brought plates of food out to the two agents sitting in the unmarked, government cars in the driveway.
Once they were finished with the chores, Dan walked toward the study, followed by Nancy.
They too sat in the same seats they had two weeks ago, but now a more determined and purposeful Dan said, “How is Ava handling her treatment?”
“Wonderfully, so far. She’s even more sprightly,” Nancy answered. “Though it’s only been a few days, the treatment looks unexpectedly promising.”
“When will they know if it’s effective?” Dan said. He wondered if Nancy was putting a positive spin on it in an attempt to deal with it.
“Not for a while. We still need to look for whatever treatment Stephen was working on. All of the Cambridge area research community is looking for it, has reached out to everyone they know, without finding a trace of it. Many labs, out of respect for Stephen, are trying to come up with new treatments. Octavio has a large HBC research team working practically around-the-clock. Her cancer is surprisingly widespread. Her doctors have never seen anything like it. Have you been able to find anything?” Nancy said in a drawn but steady voice.
“Not yet, though I won’t stop looking.”
“I know you won’t give up,” Nancy said.
“With all you have to deal with, I probably have no business saying this, but one thing has been bugging me since Stephen contacted me, and it’s intensified since I began searching through his work. I’ve developed this weird sort of introspection that feels unmanly, if it’s not sexist to say that. It’s like I’m wallowing in past hurts, asking why, looking for a path to be happy. People don’t think and feel as I have been.”
“What you’re doing now isn’t weakness but strength. For some reason, you have been given a magnificent gift to see into yourself, to look deep into life. You need to make the most of it.”
“If He exists, God help me for where this all leads.”
“You are a funny guy at times, mostly lovable. Don’t worry about it.”
Dan got up and went to the b
ookshelves. “Have the investigators found anything new?”
“If they have, they haven’t said anything. And they keep searching the house, each time taking more stuff. They spent a lot of time in the theater room, leaving it a mess. Some of the things are too heavy for me to put back by myself,” Nancy said as she winked at Dan.
Picking up the cue, realizing that the house might be bugged, he said, “I can help you with that now if you like.”
“Yes, that would be good,” Nancy said, then stood up and walked toward the basement.
Dan followed and winked at Trish when he passed the kitchen door.
Trish ran her hand through Ava’s hair said to her, “Go get ready for bed, and then I’ll come up and read you a story.”
Although she was almost past the age of story reading, and it was early, Ava smiled broadly and said, “Two chapters?”
Trish nodded yes with a warm smile.
As Ava headed upstairs, Trish joined Dan and Nancy downstairs in the theater room.
After putting a few of the heavy lounge seats back into place, Dan turned on the entertainment console and started Stephen’s classical music playlist. Then he switched on the overhead light that also acted as an electromagnetic interference generator in case the room was bugged.
Nancy’s eyes followed his every movement, seeming to plead for assurance.
Dan sat down next to her and gave a brief recap of his and Trish’s visits to the Harvard Museum, Salk Institute, the Discovery Institute, and Stephen’s apparent interest in the origin and use of imaginary numbers. He left out the encounter with Sergei and the details of Sam’s death.
After she asked a few questions, Dan clasped her hand in his and said, “Nancy, how much do you know about Stephen’s research and who he worked with?”
“You mean more than what he officially did at HBC,” Nancy stated more than asked.
“That’s right. He told me just enough to let me know that he thought it could revolutionize our understanding of life, the universe, and God, but not the what or how about that.” In a deeper, quieter voice Dan added, “And that it could just as easily lead to the destruction of everything.”
“I know he was consumed with research that he thought held incredible promise and was potentially dangerous, but I had no idea of the extent of it. But you know Stephen,” Nancy said, again using the present tense, “he would never put his family at risk by involving us in anything dangerous. What have you found, and what was your involvement?”
Dan released Nancy’s hand, sat back, and said, “Not nearly enough, and too much. I set up a secure computer network for his work. He encoded it using passcodes that I don’t know. I can’t get to it. I’ve been through all his journals and regular files and haven’t been able to find the passcodes. Without them, we’re stuck. Did he give them to you?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Nancy said.
“Did he tell you about a computer that had lost files on it? He wanted my help recovering them.”
Somberly, Nancy shook her head no, then said, “What are you going to do? Stephen entrusted you for a reason.”
“Not give up. And visit another old friend of mine,” Dan said, looking at Trish. Then, turning to Nancy, he added, “It’s been a long time since Kevin and I had a heart-to-heart talk.”
“Yes, Stephen had talked with him recently. He could have confided in him,” Nancy said with what seemed more like hopeful desire than knowing conviction.
“How are we going to get there,” Trish asked, “given our escorts and Agent Evans’s ‘do not leave the vicinity’ directive?”
“I have a few ideas I’m working on for me. You should remain with Ava,” Dan said.
“It will be at least another week before Ava’s next treatment. I’m coming with you,” Trish said in an authoritative voice.
“It depends on what I need to do to get there. If Evans allows us to travel, you can come. Otherwise, no,” Dan said. He’d probably have to break a bunch of laws, take a lot of risks, and he wanted Trish under the watchful protection of Evans’s agents.
“What about Octavio? Can he arrange something?” Nancy asked.
“I think I’ve got something figured out. I don’t want to say what, as that would make both of you legally culpable,” Dan replied, though agreeing that he might need Octavio’s help at some point.
“Is there anything I can do?” Nancy asked.
“Help me look around the house for anything that could be the passcodes Stephen used,” Dan answered. “And keep thinking of anything he said that was meant to be remembered.”
“He said a lot of memorable things. But I know what you mean and will try.”
Standing up, Dan said, “Can we start in the study?”
“That does seem like a good spot,” Nancy said.
“While you’re doing that, I have a promise to Ava to keep,” Trish said.
• • •
They had been looking through the books in the study for half an hour when Dan opened Benoit Mandelbrot’s book on fractals. The book jacket said he had been born in Poland and had died in 2010 in nearby Cambridge. It was uncanny how so many things were converging around Dan.
Sitting down, he began quickly leafing through the pages. One page had a large illustration that explained the Mandelbrot set equation in detail. It was based on the complex numbers plane, a graphical area that had real numbers for the x axis and imaginary numbers for the y axis. He felt there was an important connection to Stephen’s work, though he couldn’t grasp it. Staring at the pages, it gnawed at him, though whatever it was hung tantalizingly just out of reach.
Nancy was opening and closing science books, looking for a scrap of paper that Stephen might have written the passcodes on.
Putting the last book back, she walked over to Dan and said, “Did something happen with you and Trish? You’re keeping your distance from each other.”
“We’ve been through a bunch of unsettling things. Nothing more complicated than that,” Dan said, thinking that the closeness in the hotel, and his own issues that still needed to be resolved, might have pushed Trish away, especially since there was a boyfriend somewhere.
“What do you think Stephen was involved with?” Nancy asked, a trace of fear in her eyes.
“I don’t know. He said things that were incredible. If it had been anyone else, I would never have believed what he said could conceivably be true. Even now, I don’t know what to believe. I’m also confused by how it’s veering off into the religious realm. I don’t know if I’m just following the path he followed, and if that means anything for what we’re looking for, and whether it’s just my own confusion. Did he ever tell you that—”
Nancy raised her hand to his face to stop him from saying more. “Whatever Stephen said was meant for you. He kept some things from me on purpose. What we both need to do is keep our faith in him.”
“I’ll try,” Dan answered as Trish walked down the stairs and into the study. Dan said to her, “I think it’s time we go.” Turning back to Nancy, he asked, “May I keep this book?”
“Of course, take whatever you want,” Nancy answered.
As Dan walked toward the door, Nancy asked, “When do you think you’ll go see Father Michael?”
“I’d like to go tomorrow night,” Dan answered as Trish shot him a look. “Though I won’t leave without telling Trish first,” he said with a slight nod toward her.
At the door, Dan gave Nancy a long hug and said, “I’ll do my best.”
“I have faith in you.”
Releasing her, he said, “Whatever I’ve got, you’ll get.”
“Have faith in yourself.”
“I need a good basis for that.”
“When the time comes, it will be there.”
“I hope so, God willing,” Dan was shocked to hear himself say, though it wa
s more a figure of speech with a trace of hope than actual belief.
Separating, Dan walked outside, next to Trish, as Nancy closed the door.
“That’s quite a knack you are developing,” Trish said.
Confused, Dan asked, “What’s that?”
“For getting people to believe in what they think you can be.”
“I think it’s more their needs than my promise,” he answered.
“Still, you’ll have to live up to it.”
“Do you have any idea what that might mean?”
“I do. And soon you will, too.”
Chapter 65
DAY 15
FRIDAY, 10 A.M.
Under a drab, overcast sky that seemed to press down on him, Dan ran along the northern flank of the Charles River on a narrow dirt pathway bordered by thin strips of grass and a paved bike lane. He was headed back toward Boston on the last few miles of a ten-mile run. To his right, the breeze-rolled water lapped softly against the embankment, while cars whizzed by on Memorial Drive. The shower-moistened ground cushioned his steps. Just ahead was what remained of the fusion lab. Though the fire was long extinguished, the memory still smoldered within him.
Any hope that the run would excise the tension within him, allowing him to get real rest, was long gone. The thoughts coursing through his mind had worked him up more than worked things out. The route he had taken, and everything it had brought him past, had, as he should have anticipated, disturbed him. But if he could have done it over, he still would have chosen the same course. It would be a long time before he would be ready to let the recent present become the distant past. He’d rather poke the wound, and feel the pain of the injury, then let it heal as though everything was all right, the damage not as bad as initially feared.
Yet he needed genuine rest, not fitful turning. The adrenaline and drive that had propelled him over the last week, while still enough to cut short his sleep, were waning in their ability to keep him going.
