The Fold: A Novel Part 5

She nodded. "Let's be back here at one-thirty then."

The board members rose, were joined by aides, and broke off into pairs and trios. The scientists huddled together and spoke in low whispers. Their gazes flicked between Reggie and Mike.

"That," said Mike, "was very uncool."

"You've been hanging around teenagers too long."

SIX.

"You tricked me," said Mike.

"I didn't trick you," Reggie said, settling in behind his desk. "I just know you."

Mike looked around the office. The ants carried out images from his last visit. A new computer monitor sat on the desk. Two more black poker chips, each with the logo of a different Las Vegas casino, had joined the three around the monitor's base. The walls were eggsh.e.l.l now, instead of stark white. There were nineteen new books on the shelves and fifteen of the old ones had vanished. There was a hardcover and paperback copy of Arthur Cross's The History of What We Know. The spine of the paperback was smooth and pristine.

"Once you were down here," continued Reggie, "and heard what the project was, I knew you'd be up for it."

Mike skimmed the other items on the shelves. A framed certificate. A windup robot. A pair of plaques, one bra.s.s, one silver. A photo of Reggie in casual clothes smiling with a younger Asian woman. A postcard from Disney World featuring Tomorrowland. The ants cataloged each one under a dozen different topics. "You could've told me before," he said.

"You hadn't been cleared."

"You just said you knew me."

"Do you want an apology?"

Mike flopped into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.

"I needed you on this. I couldn't afford to have you say no, so...I may have stretched the truth and put you in a position where it'd be tough for you to say no." Reggie tapped his palms against the desk. "I'm sorry."

"You know what something like this will do to me. To my life."

"I do. But I really need you on this."

Mike forced a few ants back behind their walls. "You're a jerk."

"Nothing I haven't heard before. Do you want the flight home?"

"And the thousand dollars."

"Yeah, of course. If you're really not interested, if you think you're not up for it...I get it."

Mike counted to five. It was a habit he'd developed early in life. Answer too quickly and everyone a.s.sumed you hadn't thought about what you were saying.

Reggie tapped the table again. "Is that what you want?"

"No."

"And I'm supposed to be the jerk."

"As long as we're clear on that."

"Can we stop wasting time now?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to have to go back in and face the board again in less than an hour," Reggie said. "You should be with me. What did you think of this morning?"

The ants wiggled loose. They carried out sound bites and images, first impressions and gut reactions. "This is all serious? Cross has made an actual teleporter? A machine that moves matter from one place to another?"

"Yes. Well, you heard them. More of a doorway."

"Like a Stargate or something?"

Reggie shook his head. "Don't say that around Arthur or Olaf. They hate the comparison."

"Noted. How long have they been working on it?"

"Three years on the Albuquerque Door. Before that was two years on SETH."

"I thought DARPA only gave one-year grants."

"Usually, yes, but we're not going to cut off something really promising just because twelve months have pa.s.sed."

"And there's no question it's real? Not some magic trick or something?"

"I've seen it myself," Reggie said. "Three times. Last time they offered to let me and Kelli do it."

The ants flashed a quick image of Reggie's pet.i.te a.s.sistant. Her hair was red, but there was an eighth of an inch of brown at the roots. "Did you?"

"Yes. Both of us."

Mike straightened up in his chair. "So it was hers, yours, and another was three times? Or saw it twice then did it once together?"

"You're nitpicking the math?"

"h.e.l.l, yes."

Reggie smiled. "I saw a rat the first time. And a baseball."

"A baseball?" The ants a.s.sembled a picture before Reggie could take in a breath to respond. "It's an open doorway. They throw the baseball back and forth as a test."

"Right. Second time was a chimpanzee. Last time was nine weeks ago. Kelli and I did it one right after another. Me first, then her."

"What did it feel like?"

"Like nothing," said Reggie. "Like stepping from one room to another."

"Is the Albuquerque Door a Bugs Bunny reference?"

"Yes. Arthur loves the old cartoons. You're the first person who didn't need it explained to them."

Mike nodded. "Okay, don't get me wrong," he said, "but if Cross has done it, what do you need me for? I don't understand why you're having a problem with funding. h.e.l.l, I don't understand why you haven't announced it."

"A few reasons." Reggie lifted his hands off the desk and laced his fingers together. "One, as you may have noticed, they're very secretive. Arthur and Olaf have been pretty much obsessive about keeping the whole thing under wraps, and they've got a serious cult of personality going with their team."

"How big's the team?"

"Six people."

"Not much of a cult."

Reggie ignored him. "People in Was.h.i.+ngton don't like it when things are kept from them. It's a status thing. You saw how the senator and the colonel tensed up at that 'need to know' comment."

"Yeah."

"In this town, that's not just an insult, it's a slap in the face. So a couple of those folks just want to shut him down for ego reasons."

"Stupid, but I guess I can see that."

"Two, it's been a very long project by DARPA standards. If it was anyone except Arthur Cross, it probably would've ended years ago. But he's probably the third- or fourth-best-known scientist alive today, after Stephen Hawking and Neil deGra.s.se Tyson."

"Is Bill Nye your other possible third?"

"Of course. So I gave Arthur two extensions, he showed some very impressive results, and I gave him a third."

"And this is the fourth?"

"Hopefully."

"Still not seeing anything you need me for."

Reggie unlaced his fingers and picked up one of the black poker chips. He flipped it across his knuckles, threading it between his fingers with a magician's grace. "I think there's something wrong."

"You just said it worked."

"It does."

"Did somebody come through with a giant fly head or something?"

"It doesn't work that way. And the problem's not with the tech." Reggie walked the chip over the back of his hand and shrugged. "Okay, maybe it's with the tech. I don't know. Everything looks fantastic on paper, so to speak, but there's something wrong."

"Something like what?"

"There's a bad vibe out there. They're all on edge. The tone's off on personnel reviews. People are taking a lot of sick days."

"Like the physicist who was supposed to be here today?"

"Maybe. It's hard to pin down. I mean, they're a bunch of reclusive scientists, so, yeah, I expect to feel like a bit of an outsider. I'm used to it with some of the people I deal with. But for the past six or seven months, things just seem...wrong."

"Wrong how?"

"That would be point number four," said Reggie.

"Why do I get the sense this is the one you should've led with?"

"Probably. I sent Ben Miles out there two months ago, right after my last visit. He was one of my-"

"I met him last time I was here," Mike said, holding up a finger. "You're using past tense. What happened to him?"

The chip paused in its spiraling trip around Reggie's fingers. "He went out to San Diego for a more formal review. We talked a bit when he got back, and he sounded overall positive. Felt good about the project, good about the people. He kept calling me 'pal,' which I remember thinking at the time was odd for him, but I figured he'd picked it up out there. He said he'd have a full report in a couple of days. Then he went home and called nine-one-one. Said someone had kidnapped his wife and replaced her with an impostor."

The ants carried out an image of Ben holding out his hand to shake Mike's. The other hand had a gold wedding band.

"He deals with a few sensitive projects, so the FBI was involved. Becky, his wife, was a little wigged out, but she pa.s.sed all her checks. Ben still wouldn't let it go. Accused me of being in on it." The poker chip began to weave between Reggie's fingers again. It did a full circuit around his knuckles. Then another. Then a third. "He's up at Belmont Hospital in Philadelphia. Been there for almost six weeks now. At first they thought it was a Capgras delusion, some sort of brain input-output error, but he failed a couple of tests for it. Now they're tentatively calling it paranoid schizophrenia."

"No sign of mental illness before this? No secret conspiracy theories or anything like that?"

"None. The man was a rock."

"Drug use?"

"Barely even drank. He had a full physical once a year that backed it up."

"So?"

"Arthur says nothing happened out there. Ben seemed fine every moment he was there. A little too aggressive trying to put his report together, but they understood it, even if they didn't like it."

"Then he came home and went insane."

"Something like that."

"And now you want me to go out there."

"Yes."

"I thought we were friends."

"You're not going out unprepared. And we both know you're a lot more observant than he was."

"Stop with the flattery."