The Enclave Page 12

  Cam rounded a bend, following the path down a gentle incline toward a line of cottonwood trees and the quiet pond beyond them. Spiky stands of green cattails lined the water’s edge, already steeped in shadow behind the stretch of protective railing that curved along the path.

  He stopped at the bottom of the hill, leaned his forearms on the railing, and waited. A pair of ducks glided across the mirrorlike pond. Frogs croaked around him in shrill chorus as bats swooped and fluttered overhead. The scent of wet earth filled the still air, refreshingly cool here at the water’s edge. Slowly darkness clotted among the cattails, as crickets added their songs to that of the frogs, and in the cottonwood leaves above him, a cicada started buzzing.

  The minutes ticked by. He began to wonder if he’ d overreacted. If Juan wasn’t Rudy after all and this mission was nothing but the result of his awakening paranoia finding far too much meaning in a couple of coincidences.

  After all, hadn’t he told Swain this morning that it was God who’d brought him to Kendall-Jakes?

  Caught in the midst of an intradepartmental squabble, Cam had been on the edge of no job at all when Swain’s offer had come in. Though it had seemed like a career saver, he’d balked at the prospect of working at the Longevity Institute. He’ d asked his Stanford department head, Sandy Ravenshead, flat-out if he should take the position. She’ d said he should, convinced it was a phenomenal opportunity not only to advance the field of genetic investigation but his own career.

  Despite her strong encouragement, he’ d remained conflicted, praying repeatedly for guidance. Only after interviewing personally with Swain had he finally felt genuinely led to come to the Institute. All his Bible classes at the time had revolved around the importance of extending grace, of thinking the best, of focusing on the fact that Jesus had died for everyone, and willed that no man should perish. And on living in one’s ambassadorship. If God wanted him to serve as witness . . . how could he say no?

  Besides, there’d been no other door. Except Home Depot . . .

  So he’d come, telling himself he really wasn’t compromising his faith. But now . . .

  Now he was up to his ears in compromise, with the grim specter of having been set up—tricked and betrayed in the worst possible way —hanging at the back of his thoughts.

  Darkness had settled thickly around him when he sensed a presence in the shadows and was startled to realize he’ d missed his friend’s approach altogether. He stood near the rugged trunk of the cottonwood to Cam’s left, barely an arm’s length away, and almost invisible.

  Cam felt the hairs on his nape lift as his stomach churned anew.

  They stood for a long time in silence. Then, “That was fast thinking, you bagging her coat up like that and leaving it for me to find” came a low, familiar voice, utterly stripped of the Latino accent. “I wasn’t sure you still had it in you.”

  Cam gripped the railing with trembling hands.

  “Wasn’t sure you’d recognized me yet, either.”

  Cam let out his breath in a low sigh, then murmured, “I hadn’t.”

  “So why bag up the coat, then?”

  “I couldn’t stand the blood.” Rudy was one of the few who would know exactly what he meant, and he telegraphed that understanding by a protracted period of silence. When next he spoke his tone was low and serious. “You’re having flashbacks again?”

  “Starting last night.”

  Another too-long interval elapsed. Then, “Did you see him? The intruder?”

  “No. And what did you mean by ‘anomalous,’ anyway?”

  “Exactly that. We suspect genetic modification.”

  Nausea swirled in Cameron’s gut. There’d long been whispers that Swain’s early work in those privately funded international research facilities had involved cutting-edge advances in human genetic manipulation. “So you’re investigating Swain, then.”

  “Indeed we are. Kidnapping, murder, fraud, extortion, illegal experimentation. He’s got a worldwide network of followers. Seven different international locations like K-J, but far less publicized, most of them where the local governments are happy to look the other way for the right price. There are rumors of reproductive human cloning, organ trafficking . . . slavery. Unfortunately, he’s grown intensely paranoid after his last run-in with the law. Trusts no one but his Inner Circle— several of whom are also under investigation. His security systems are state of the art, with redundancy upon redundancy, and the vetting process is exhaustive. I’d originally wanted to go in as a biologist, but it was soon obvious that would never fly. As it was, it took me a year to get on as a janitor.”

  “I thought you hired on as an electrician.”

  “I did. And worked the last eighteen months waxing floors and emptying trash bins in various locations around campus.”

  Cam felt as if he’ d been gut-punched. “So you brought me in.”

  Rudy said nothing.

  Cam closed his fingers around the top rail, quietly furious. “So the debacle at Stanford was all a setup, then?”

  Rudy let out a quiet breath. “More or less.”

  Cam’s head swam. His heart pounded. “And Dr. Ravenshead? Was she in on it?”

  “What difference does it make? It wasn’t like she had a choice.”

  The coldness in the pit of Cam’s stomach congealed into an icy, leaden lump. “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am.”

  Cam choked on his expression of disbelief.

  “I’ve been keeping tabs on you ever since you left the unit.”

  “I didn’t leave the unit. I was drummed out of it.”

  “Only because they knew you intended to leave. And, anyway, you needed to. Back then. I’ve kept an eye on you, though. Prayed for you—”

  “Don’t tell me that!” He turned to look straight at the other man, a darker shadow in the shadow. “Don’t you dare say that! You betrayed me. Not once but twice now. So don’t tell me you’re praying for me.” He shook his head and swore softly. “I can’t believe you did this to me.”

  “I had no choice, Cam. You are the only man for this job.”

  “This job?! I came here to contribute to the field, to uncover new information that might benefit the world. I came here to maybe give the gospel to some of these folks—not lie and scheme and betray them all. Whatever you want me to do, I won’t. No matter how you pressure and position me. I won’t. If Swain is dirty—”

  “He most definitely is.”

  “Well, I’ll not be the one to drive the knife in his back. I’ll leave first. In fact, I’ve already drafted my resignation.”

  His words, soft but intense, died away into silence. The chorus of frogs and crickets filled his ears. Bats fluttered in brief silhouettes against the still-gleaming pond as over in the parking lot the street-lamps began to glow.

  Finally Rudy loosed a long, low sigh. “He’s not just dirty, Cam.

  He’s playing with fire, something I suspect you’ve already figured out. We didn’t select you just because of your expertise in genetics. Or even mainly because of it, though it helps tremendously. No, it’s your experience in Afghanistan we need.”

  “Well, you’re up a creek without a paddle,” Cam said grimly, “because I can’t remember anything from Afghanistan.”

  “You just said you were having flashbacks.”

  Cam said nothing to that. He’ d begun to shake so badly, if not for the railing he’ d have collapsed.

  “There is literally no one else who fits the bill like you do, Cam,”

  Rudy said. “In my opinion, God himself has prepared you for this.”

  “Rudy, you know I can’t do this stuff anymore. You of all people know!”

  Rudy shifted against the tree trunk, the fabric of his uniform rasping against its rough bark. “You did pretty well last night, my friend. Despite whatever demons you were fighting in your head.” He paused, the silence between them filling again with frog and insect song. Then he whooshed out another breath and
said more quietly than ever, “We think he might have some sarcophagi.”

  Cam’s fear metastasized into terror. The air turned to thick, cold syrup as sweat popped out on his brow and chest. The tunnel of flashing fire flickered before him, but he fought it off, gripping the railing hard. “I can’t!” he rasped. “Get someone else.”

  “There is no one else.”

  “Well, you’ll have to find him, because it’s not going to be me.” His voice shook. “I’ve done my time. And it darn near killed me.”

  He pushed up from the bar. Rudy’s next words stopped him from going farther.

  “If you don’t help us, he may kill us all.”

  Cam stood still, ears roaring.

  “Start with their ATR program,” Rudy said. A string of murmured numbers followed, then a coded password: “Golf-Zero, One-Delta, Three-Yankee-Three.”

  As old habits of mind kicked into action, already committing the sequence to memory, Cam shoved away from the railing, terrified he was going to lose everything he’ d spent the last eleven years building.

  Even as he knew deep down it was already lost.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lacey returned with Jade to their dorm room on floor B1 around midnight. That was considerably later than she’ d hoped to get to bed after her very long day, especially given her newly realized fragility. Nonetheless, she counted the time expenditure worth it.

  After dinner Jade had invited Lacey to join her, Aaron, Mel, Pecos, and Lauren in the game room for a collaborative board game whose name she couldn’t recall. Afterward they sat around talking, and for the first time since arriving, Lacey felt like she might actually belong.

  It was as if she’ d passed some trial by fire. She took comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only one who’d come unglued from the stress. Yes, she’ d fallen apart. But as Aaron had said just minutes ago, it was over now and she should move on.

  Which was pretty much what Cameron Reinhardt had told her, though his words had carried a sense that she should simply ignore what she believed to be true and move on for the sake of her job. Which was probably more a manifestation of his personality than any reality of the situation.

  “I’m glad you invited me to play, Jade,” she said as they stopped before their door. “That was fun.”

  “I’m glad you said yes,” Jade replied, swiping her card through the reader. “Lets me know you’ve taken some of our advice to heart.” She opened the door as it unlocked and pushed into the room.

  Lacey followed, shutting the door behind her. “Yeah, well, I really should have gone back to the prep room and run another couple loads of pans and tool packs. People will be howling for them tomorrow.”

  “Hey, it’s Friday night. And you’ve taken next to no downtime since you got here. Besides, tomorrow’s Saturday, so we can sleep in.” She kicked off her clogs, then sat on the bed to pull off her red cotton socks.

  “Which is why I said yes,” Lacey said with a grin. “Since I knew I could go in early and get a head start on everything.”

  Jade looked up at her, eyes narrowed behind the dark-framed glasses. “Did you hear nothing that was said to you today? It’s okay to rest.”

  “Yes, but having Dr. Yuen railing at me every hour because I still don’t have his petri dishes ready, or his dissection packets, and then Dr.Ahmed-White comes in as soon as he’s left and wants a hundred glass beakers right now . . . but I have to tell her to wait for Yuen’s order . . .

  Well, that’s stressful, too.”

  “Ignore them.”

  “They’re shouting at me.”

  “That’s what they do, Lace. Ignore ’em. They’re only trying to intimidate you into giving them a leg up before the other one. Ahmed-White and Yuen have been competing since the day they got here.”

  “But the review board—”

  “Won’t be here till next week. Chill. In fact . . .” She stuffed her socks into her clogs, then pulled her laptop across the desk toward her and flipped it open. “How about we do one of those meditation sessions Viascola was talking about?”

  “I need to get to bed!” Lacey protested.

  “We’ll do one of the ten-minute ones. You have your box?”

  “She said not to do it if you’re too tired. I’ll probably fall asleep.”

  “Well, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Then let’s get ready for bed first.”

  Fifteen minutes later Lacey sat on her bed dressed in her sleep tee, covers pulled over her folded bare legs as she watched Jade hang up her clothes. “By the way,” she said, “thanks for sharing about your experience when you first got here. It really helped.”

  “Yeah, well . . . as you saw tonight, everyone has tales to tell. Even Dr. Reinhardt. Despite his claims otherwise.” Jade shook her head as she buttoned the collar of her shirt and hung it on the rod. “Though I’ll admit I never would have pegged him as one having mental health disorders.”

  “What makes you think he does?” Lacey asked.

  “You mean aside from how weird he was in the unity meeting today, not wanting to talk and all. Aaron said it was PTSD.”

  “Post-traumatic stress? What? From graduate school?”

  “He was in the military before he went into genetics. Did a tour in Afghanistan.” Jade shut the closet door. “And did you hear Pecos telling about how when he went up to get him for the meeting this afternoon, Reinhardt was on the floor under his desk? Said he was looking for a file folder.”

  “Well, given the piling system he’s got going in his office, that could well be true,” Lacey pointed out. Although the information that Reinhardt had been in the military in Afghanistan triggered the sudden recall of the practiced competence with which he’ d cleaned and dressed her imaginary wound. How would she have known to imagine him competent in such a thing when she’ d had no idea he had any experience at it?

  “Pecos sure didn’t think so. And for Reinhardt to refuse to talk about it—”

  “I don’t think I’d have told my story in there if everyone didn’t already know about it.”

  “You’re a newbie. You don’t know anyone. It’s harder for you.”

  “Maybe, but you’re already hypothesizing he was having a . . . what?

  A flashback episode? Under his desk?”

  “Hey, a car backfires or someone slams a door too hard and they dive for cover. Some of them never get normal. Some of them are dangerous.”

  “You really believe Dr. Reinhardt is dangerous?”

  “Well. No.” Jade snorted a laugh. “The man’s lucky if he remembers to zip his fly before he comes down to breakfast.” She flung back the covers on her bed and plumped up the pillows—she had two—then plopped herself onto the exposed sheets and drew the covers over her folded legs like Lacey. Then she reached for the laptop on the desk, already booted up and ready to go.

  She set it on the bed in front of her, moved her finger on the touch pad, then tapped it once and looked up. “Ready?”

  Lacey held up the little black box Viascola had given them and sat forward from her own pillows propped against the headboard and dresser.

  “Just put the box there on the bed in front of you,” Jade said.

  Lacey did so and Jade tapped the touch pad again to start the program.

  A flat-toned feminine voice invited them to join her in a Buddhist meditation session, then suggested they should sit comfortably, relax, and be alert. A tone sounded.

  “As a way of arriving in the present moment,” the woman said, “allow your body to relax. Let your awareness roll across places of tension. . . .” She paused to let them do so. “Loosen the shoulders . . . the neck. . . .”

  Her voice was quiet, deliberately unobtrusive. “The chest is open . . . the belly soft, enabling a full breath.

  “Breathe . . .” Again, the voice paused, letting them focus on the action of breathing. “In . . . out . . . Feel a sense of embodied awareness.”

  What in the world is embodied awareness? Lacey
wondered, thinking this was really quite ridiculous. She felt sillier now than she had in Dr. Viascola’s demonstration earlier.

  The voice continued. “You’re aware of what your feet are touching, of where you’re sitting. Of pressure. Temperature. Aware of all the body’s sensations.”

  Again the voice fell silent as Lacey strove to become aware, staring at the box as Viascola had suggested. The woman instructed her to choose a place in her breathing to rest her attention—“the inflow and outflow of air through the nose, the rise and fall of chest or abdomen. A resting place to which you can return . . .”

  “Note in . . . out . . . in . . . out . . .” the voice droned. “Or rising . . . falling . . . rising . . . falling . . .

  “If some strong experience calls your attention, some difficult sensation or emotion, let go of the breath as the center of attention and include what’s arising. Note it: ‘Ah . . . tension, tightness, squeezing, heat.’

  “Or, ‘grief, sadness, fear . . . ’ ”

  A faint light flickered in the box, seizing Lacey’s attention and triggering a sudden gripping dizziness, as if the room had subtly shifted in alignment. Instead of merely noting it with a friendly aspect, as the meditation guide had suggested, she stiffened and leaned forward to study it more closely. It flickered again, and she sensed something. A presence. A heaviness . . .

  Suddenly darkness enwrapped her, and she smelled the strong, sweet fragrance of jasmine mingled with the damp evening air. She sensed water nearby, though she saw only darkness. From somewhere ahead, more lights flickered and she heard voices talking in some other language, telling her to come, though she did not know how she knew that. She started toward them. Then, inexplicably, the voices silenced, and the sense of heaviness lifted. She felt the bed again, the rumpled coverlet beneath her calves and ankles, the tingling of a pinched nerve in her leg. Overhead came the faint rush of the air flowing through the air-conditioning ducts. After the fragrance of sweet jasmine, the room smelled like sweaty socks.