The Traveler Page 10

  ***

  LAWRENCE TAKAWA HAD learned how to conceal his emotions when he was a sophomore at Duke University. Although he was born in Japan, his mother had brought him to America when he was six months old. Lawrence hated sushi and samurai movies. Then a touring group of Noh actors arrived at the university and he saw a day of performances that changed his life.

  At first, Noh drama seemed exotic and difficult to understand. Lawrence was fascinated by the stylized motions of the actors on the stage, the men playing women, and the eerie sound of the nohkan flute and three drums. But the Noh masks were the true revelation. Carved wooden masks were worn by the principal characters, the women characters, and the old people. Ghosts, demons, and crazy people had garish masks that showed one strong emotion, but most actors wore a mask with a deliberately neutral expression. Even the middle-aged men acting without masks tried not to move their faces. Each gesture on the stage, each statement and reaction was a conscious choice.

  Lawrence had just joined a fraternity that had drinking parties and elaborate hazing rituals. Whenever he glanced at his reflection, he saw insecurity and confusion: a young man who wasn't going to fit in. A living mask solved the problem. Standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom, he practiced masks of happiness, admiration, and enthusiasm. By his senior year of college he was voted president of his fraternity and his professors gave him strong recommendations for graduate school.

  ***

  THE PHONE ON his desk buzzed softly and Lawrence turned away from the computer screen. "How's our new guest reacting?" Boone asked.

  "He seems agitated and somewhat frightened."

  "There's nothing wrong with that," Boone said. "General Nash just arrived. Get Richardson and put him in the Truth Room."

  Lawrence took the elevator down to the third floor. Like Boone, he had a Protective Link inserted beneath his skin. He waved his hand at the door sensor. The lock clicked open and he walked into the suite.

  Dr. Richardson spun around and approached Lawrence. He jabbed at the air with his index finger. "This is outrageous! Mr. Boone said that I was going to meet with your staff. Instead, I've been kept locked in here like a prisoner."

  "I apologize for the delay," Lawrence said. "General Nash just arrived and he's eager to talk to you."

  "You mean Kennard Nash? Your executive director?"

  "That's right. I'm sure you've seen him on television."

  "Not for several years." Richardson lowered his voice and relaxed slightly. "But I remember when he was a presidential adviser."

  "The general has always been involved in public service. So it was a natural transition for him to join the Evergreen Foundation." Lawrence reached into his suit-coat pocket and took out a handheld metal detector—the sort of thing that security guards use in airports. "For security reasons, we'd like you to leave all metal objects in the room. That includes your wristwatch, coins, and belt. It's standard procedure at our research facility"

  If Lawrence had given him a direct order, Richardson might have refused. Instead, he had to deal with the bland assumption that taking off his wristwatch was the normal thing to do when meeting an important person. He placed his possessions on the table and then Lawrence passed the detector over the neurologist's body. The men left the room and walked down the hallway to the elevator.

  "Did you read all the materials last night?"

  "Yes."

  "I hope you found them interesting."

  "It's incredible. Why haven't these recent studies been published? I've never read anything about the Travelers."

  "At this time, the Evergreen Foundation wants to keep this information secret."

  "That's not how science works, Mr. Takawa. Major discoveries occur because scientists all over the world have access to the same data."

  They took the elevator to the basement and walked down a corridor to a white door without handles or knobs. When Lawrence waved his hand, the door glided open. He motioned Dr. Richardson forward and the scientist entered a windowless room where there was no furniture except for a wooden table and two wooden chairs.

  "This is a special security room," Lawrence explained. "Everything said here is confidential."

  "So where's General Nash?"

  "Don't worry. He'll be here in a few minutes."

  ***

  LAWRENCE WAVED HIS right hand and the door closed, locking Richardson inside the Truth Room. For the last six years, the Evergreen Foundation had funded a secret research effort to find out when someone was lying. This wasn't done with a voice analyzer or a polygraph machine that recorded a person's breathing rate and blood pressure. Fear could distort the results of such tests and a good actor could suppress these secondhand signs of deceit.

  Ignoring outward physical changes, the Evergreen Foundation scientists looked directly inside the brain using magnetic resonance imaging. The Truth Room was simply a large MRI chamber in which a person could talk, eat, and move about. The man or woman being questioned didn't have to know what was going on, which allowed for a wider range of reactions.

  While watching a person's brain as he answered questions, it was possible to see how different sectors of tissue reacted to what was being said. The foundation scientists discovered that it was easier for the brain to tell the truth. When a person was lying, his left prefrontal cortex and the anterior cingulate gyrus lit up like red patches of molten lava.

  ***

  LAWRENCE CONTINUED DOWN the corridor to another unmarked door. A lock clicked open and he entered a shadowy room. Four television monitors were set in a wall opposite a bank of computers and a long table that contained the control panel. A plump, bearded man sat at the table and typed instructions on a computer keyboard. Gregory Vincent had built and installed the equipment that was being used today.

  "Did you get rid of all his metal?" Vincent asked.

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you go in? Afraid that you might say something while I was watching?"

  Lawrence rolled an office chair over to the control panel and sat down. "I was just following instructions."

  "Yeah. Sure." Vincent scratched his stomach. "Nobody wants to go into the Truth Room."

  Looking up at the monitors, Lawrence saw that Richardson's body had become a hazy image made up of different patches of light. The light changed color and intensity as Richardson breathed, swallowed, and thought about his predicament. He was a digital man who could be quantified and analyzed by the computers behind them.

  "Looks good," Vincent said. "This is going to be easy." He glanced up at a small security monitor hanging from the ceiling. A bald man was coming down the hallway. "Perfect timing. Here comes the general."

  Lawrence created the appropriate mask. Studious. Intent. He stared at the monitors as Kennard Nash entered the Truth Room. The general was in his sixties; he had a blunt nose and straight-backed military posture. Lawrence admired the way that Nash concealed his toughness with the amiable style of a successful athletic coach.

  Richardson stood up and Nash shook his hand. "Dr. Richardson! Good to meet you. I'm Kennard Nash, the executive director of the Evergreen Foundation."

  "It's an honor to meet you, General Nash. I remember when you used to be in the government."

  "Yes. That was a real challenge, but it was time to move on. It's been exciting to run Evergreen."

  Both men sat down at the table. In the monitoring room, Vincent typed in commands to the computer. Different images of Richardson's brain appeared on the monitors.

  "I understand you've read what we call the `Green Book.' It summarizes everything we know about Travelers."

  "The information is incredible," Richardson said. "Is it true?"

  "Yes. Certain people have the ability to project their neural energy out of their bodies. It's a genetic abnormality that can be passed from parent to child."

  "And where does the energy go?"

  Kennard Nash unclasped his hands and hid them under the table. He stared at Richardson for a fe
w seconds, his eyes moving slightly as he examined the doctor's face. "As our reports indicate, they go to another dimension and then they return."

  "That's not possible."

  The general looked amused. "Oh, we've known about other dimensions for years. It's one of the foundations of modern quantum theory. We always had the mathematical proof, but not the means to make the journey. It was a surprise to discover these individuals have been doing it for centuries.''

  "You should release your data. Scientists all over the world would start experiments to verify this discovery."

  "That's exactly what we don't want to do. Our country is under attack by terrorists and subversives. Both the foundation and our friends around the world are worried that certain groups might use the Travelers' power to destroy the economic system. Travelers have the tendency to be antisocial."

  "You need more data about these people."

  "That's why we're developing a new research project here at the center. Right now, we're getting the equipment ready and finding a cooperative Traveler. Perhaps we'll obtain two of them—brothers. We need a neurologist with your background to implant sensors into their brains. Then we can use our quantum computer to track where the energy is going."

  "To the other dimensions?"

  "Yes. How to get there and how to get back. The quantum computer will enable us to follow whatever happens. You don't need to know how the computer works, Doctor. You just have to plant the sensors and set our Travelers on their way." General Nash raised both hands as if he were invoking the Deity. "We are on the verge of a great discovery that will change our civilization. I don't have to tell you how exciting this is, Dr. Richardson. I'd be honored if you joined our team."

  "And everything would be secret?"

  "In the short run. For security reasons, you'd move to the research center and use our staff. If we're successful, then you'd be allowed to publish your research. Verifying the existence of different worlds would mean an automatic Nobel Prize, but you can see that it's much more than that. It would be a discovery on the same level as the work of Albert Einstein."

  "And what if we fail?" Richardson asked.

  "Our security arrangements will protect us from media scrutiny. If the experiment is unsuccessful, then no one needs to hear about it. The Travelers can go back to being folk legends with no scientific verification."

  Richardson's brain showed a bright red color as he analyzed the possibilities. "I think I'd feel more comfortable working at Yale."

  "I know what goes on at most university laboratories," Nash said. "You're forced to deal with review committees and endless paperwork. At our research center there's no bureaucracy. If you want a piece of equipment, it will be delivered to your lab within forty-eight hours. Don't worry about cost. We're paying for everything—plus we'd like to give you a significant honorarium for your personal contribution."

  "At the university I have to fill out three allocation forms to receive a box of test tubes."

  "That sort of nonsense is a waste of your intelligence and creativity. We want to give you everything you need to make an important discovery."

  Richardson's body relaxed. His frontal lobe displayed little pink patches of activity. "All of this is very tempting ..."

  "We're under some time pressure, Doctor. I'm afraid that I need a decision right now. If you're hesitant, then we'll contact other scientists. I think that your colleague Mark Beecher is on the list."

  "Beecher doesn't have the clinical background," Richardson said. "You need a neurologist who has also trained as a neurosurgeon. Who else did you have in mind?"

  "David Shapiro up at Harvard. Apparently he's done some important experiments with the cortex."

  "Yes, but only with animals." Richardson tried to look reluctant, but his brain was very active. "I guess I'm the logical person for this project."

  "Wonderful! I knew we could count on you. Go back to New Haven and start making arrangements to leave the university for a few months. You'll discover that the Evergreen Foundation has many high-level contacts at the university, so taking time off won't be a problem. Lawrence Takawa is your contact person." General Nash stood up and shook Richardson's hand. "We're going to change the world forever, Doctor. And you're going to be part of the effort."

  ***

  LAWRENCE WATCHED AS General Nash's luminous body left the room. One of the monitors continued to show Dr. Richardson as he fidgeted in his chair. The other screens showed digital recordings of different segments of the previous conversation. A framework of green lines was superimposed over the neurologist's skull. It analyzed his brain reactions while he made different statements.

  "I don't see a deception pattern in any of Dr. Richardson's statements," Vincent said.

  "Good. That's what I expected."

  "The only deception came from General Nash. Take a look ..." Vincent typed a command and one of the monitors showed a digital recording of Kennard Nash's brain. A close-up of the cortex showed that the general was concealing something during most of the conversation.

  "For technical reasons, I always take images of both people in the Truth Room," Vincent said. "It shows me if there are any problems with the sensors."

  "That wasn't authorized. Please remove all images of General Nash from the system."

  "Of course. No problem." Vincent typed a new command and Nash's deceitful brain disappeared from the screen.

  ***

  A SECURITY GUARD escorted Dr. Richardson out of the building. Five minutes later, the neurologist was sitting in the back of a stretch limousine as it carried him to New Haven. Lawrence returned to his office and sent an e-mail to one of the Brethren who had contacts at the Yale Medical School. He started a file on Richardson and typed in the doctor's personal information.

  The Brethren placed all of their employees in one of ten security levels. Kennard Nash was a level one and had full knowledge of all operations. Dr. Richardson had been given a level five clearance; he knew about the Travelers, but would never learn about the Harlequins. Lawrence was a trusted level-three employee; he was able to access a vast amount of information, but he would never learn about the Brethren's grand strategies.

  ***

  SURVEILLANCE CAMERAS FOLLOWED Lawrence as he left his office, passed down the corridor, and took the elevator down to the underground parking lot beneath the administrative center. When Lawrence drove out the gates of the compound, his movements were tracked by a global positioning satellite and the information was sent to an Evergreen Foundation computer.

  During his time at the White House, General Nash proposed that every American citizen wear or carry a Protective Link, or "PL device." The government's Freedom from Fear program stressed both national security and the practical aspects of the program. Coded a certain way, the PL device could be a universal credit card and debit card. It could access all of your medical information in case you were in an accident. If all loyal, law-abiding Americans wore a PL device, street crime might disappear within a few years. In one magazine ad, two young parents wearing PL devices tucked in a sleeping daughter whose Protective Link ID card was being held by her teddy bear. The ad slogan was simple but effective: Fighting Terrorism While You Sleep.

  Radio frequency ID chips had already been inserted beneath the skin of thousands of Americans—mostly the elderly or people with serious medical conditions. Similar ID card devices were tracking employees who worked for large companies. Most Americans seemed positive about a device that would protect them from unknown dangers and help them get through the checkout line at their local grocery store. But the Protective Link had been attacked by an unusual alliance of left-wing civil liberties groups and right-wing libertarians. After losing support from the White House, General Nash was forced to resign.

  When Nash took over the Evergreen Foundation, he immediately set up a private Protective Link system. Employees could keep their ID in their shirt pocket or hang it from a cord around their neck, but all the top employees had t
he chip inserted beneath their skin. The scar on the back of their right hand indicated their high status in the foundation. Once a month, Lawrence had to lay his hand on a plug-in charger. He felt a warm, tingling sensation as the chip gained enough power to continue transmitting.

  Lawrence wished he had known how the Protective Link worked during the beginning of the program. A global positioning satellite tracked one's movements and the computer established a frequent destination grid for each employee. Like most people, Lawrence spent ninety percent of his life in the same destination grid. He shopped at certain stores, worked out at the same gym, and traveled back and forth between his town house and the office. If Lawrence had known about the grid, he would have done a few unusual things during the first month.

  Whenever he deviated from his frequent destination grid, a list of questions immediately appeared on his computer: Why were you in Manhattan on Wednesday at 2100 hours? Why did you go to Times Square? Why did you travel down 42nd Street

  to Grand Central Terminal? The questions were computer generated, but you had to respond to each one. Lawrence wondered if his answers went promptly to a file that no one read or if they were scanned and evaluated by another program. Working for the Brethren, you never knew when you were being watched—so you had to assume that it was all the time.

  ***

  WHEN LAWRENCE ENTERED his town house, he kicked off his shoes, removed his necktie, and tossed his briefcase on the coffee table. He had bought all his furniture with the help of a decorator hired by the Evergreen Foundation. The woman announced that Lawrence was a "spring" personality, so all the furniture and wall art were color coordinated in matching pastel blues and greens.

  Lawrence followed the same ritual whenever he was finally alone—he screamed. Then he walked over to a mirror and smiled and frowned and shouted like a madman. After his tension was released, he took a shower and put on a robe.

  A year ago Lawrence had constructed a secret room in the closet of his home office. It had taken months to wire the room and conceal it behind a bookcase that rested on hidden rollers. Lawrence had been in the room three days ago, and it was time for another visit. He pushed back the case a few feet, slipped inside, and switched on the light. On a small Buddhist altar he displayed two snapshots of his parents taken at a hot spring in Nagano, Japan. In one of the photographs, they were smiling at each other and holding hands. His father sat alone in the second photograph, looking off at the mountains with a sad expression on his face. On the table in front of him were two ancient Japanese swords: one with a handle that had a jade fitting, the other with fittings made of gold.