“And the third guest?”
“We’ll call her Paula Asprin,” I say. “I want her in a padded cell. She’s a junky. I want to get her clean, and I don’t care what it takes. Push her as hard as you need to, without killing her.”
“I’m not an expert at drug rehabilitation,” he says.
“Then hire someone who is. I’ll foot the tab.”
“And a high tab it will be,” he says.
“I want you to meet us tonight,” I say, “and after the others are put to bed, I need you to personally draw three vials of blood from Paula. I want you to personally analyze each of them separately, and privately, and only you and I will know about either the blood work or the results.”
“I can do that,” he says. “Anything else?”
“I don’t want Lou to know about Paula,” I say.
“No problem.”
“How can you keep this information from Lou? I don’t work there anymore.”
“Actually, you do. Your office is still here, your sleeping cell, and have you noticed? We’re still doing your bidding.”
“I have noticed. But I thought all this went through Lou.”
“It has been going through Lou up to now. But according to Darwin, you’re still Lou’s boss. And as you know, Darwin rules.”
That he does. In all the years I’ve worked for the government, from the Army to the CIA to Homeland Security—I’ve never encountered a person who wielded the type and degree of power Darwin does. Need a jet? Darwin can get you an air craft carrier full of them. Want to mess around with a secret weapon? A prototype that’s never been used in the field? Call Darwin, and it’ll be on your front porch in an hour. Need a mess cleaned up? Like twelve civilians were accidentally killed because we blew up the wrong building? Darwin makes a few calls, bam! No investigation.
“And what did Darwin tell the fine folks at Sensory?” I ask.
“About?”
“About me?”
“He said you were taking a break, but if you ever need something, we’re to do it without asking questions.”
“What if I ask you to do something that hurts them?”
He chuckles. “Which brings us to the hundred million dollar question.”
“Okay,” I say. “Shoot.”
“It can wait till you get here,” he says.
“I remain intrigued,” I say.
After ending the call I enter the jet, thank Jarvis for the use of his car, and remind him to stay close to Roger Asprin’s daughter, Ellen. After he drives away, our jet takes off.
35.
The Asprins have been situated. Callie’s gone to bed. Doc Howard and I are with Sherry Cherry, in a windowless examination room. He’s drawing blood from her arm. When we’re done, she’ll be put in a room with padded walls and flooring.
“What kind of information is worth a hundred million dollars?” I say.
“The chip.”
“What chip?”
“This is a little awkward for me.”
“Give it your best shot.”
“Okay. You remember when you were my patient here at Sensory?”
“Of course. They made you give me a new face.”
“They also made me put a chip in your brain that can be accessed by satellite.”
“What? You’re shitting me!”
“It’s not the sort of thing I would joke about,” Doc Howard says.
“Can you prove it?”
“I don’t have to. You can get a CAT scan from anyplace you choose. You’ll see it.”
“So what does this mean? They can find me wherever I go?”
Doc Howard removes the needle from Sherry’s arm and holds a cotton tab to it for twenty seconds. Then he tapes the tab in place and wraps the tape around her arm to keep it tight.
“I assume you want these results ASAP?” he says.
“Yes. And no other eyes get to see it.”
“No problem.”
“How many hours will it take?”
“Not hours. Days.”
“What? How many?”
“Three. And trust me, that’s a blisteringly fast turn-around.”
I had to trust him. What do I know about analyzing blood?
“Not to stray from the subject, Doc, but about this chip in my head. They want to know where I am at all times?”
“No. This particular chip is programmed to heat when activated.”
I grab his throat with my thumb and index finger. If I squeeze a little harder, he dies. Doc Howard’s eyes are bugging out.
“Is this the cause of the headaches I’ve been experiencing? Did you do that to me?”
He tries to respond, but can’t. I release him.
“Jesus, Creed. That happened in less than an eye blink!”
“Try to remember that, next time you fuck with me.”
Doc Howard rubs his throat. “Now I know how the mouse feels when the snake strikes.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Yes, I’m responsible. The first time was a test. The second was to confirm.”
“Test and confirm what?”
“If I had the right information, and if it worked.”
“So you’re saying what, they can torture me? How hot will this chip get when they flip the switch?”
“I’ll paint you a picture. Have you ever shot a guy and the bullet remained in the body?”
“For the sake of argument, let’s assume I have.”
“In such a case, the bullet is red hot. Molten-fire hot. So hot it boils the surrounding tissue until the blood itself cools the bullet.”
I’m pretty good with pain. If he’s talking about the pain a boiling bullet would make in my brain, I can probably handle that. Have, in fact, handled it twice. And the second time was a little easier.
But then Doc Howard says, “The chip I installed is ten times worse. They flip the switch, you’re dead within a minute.”
“From heat?”
“With every passing second, the chip gets hotter. It will take less than a minute to liquefy your brain.”
“Well, how nice of you to put that in my head! Were you ever going to tell me?”
“It’s Darwin’s news to tell,” he says.
“The way I see it, you’ve given me the information, but I haven’t paid you yet.”
“True.”
“So what’s the hundred million dollars for?”
“Ask me if I can remove the chip from your brain.”
“Can you?”
“No. And no one else on earth can, either, without killing you. Even if I could remove it, Darwin would know.”
“I wonder why he’s kept it a secret from me,” I say.
“I don’t know. What I do know is they’ve got a huge amount of time and money invested in you. But they fear you. Darwin probably considers this the ultimate insurance policy.”
I can certainly understand it in those terms. I’ve already got an enormous amount of money on deposit that’s generating a hundred million dollar-a-year income for Darwin. He knows if something happens to me, the monthly flow of money stops. So Darwin should think twice before flipping the switch. On the other hand, Darwin’s got plenty of money, so maybe it wouldn’t be such a hard decision for him. Then again, why kill the golden goose? My best guess, I’m probably safe from Darwin. But I don’t like the idea my brain could liquefy at any given moment.
“Is Darwin the only one who can flip the switch?”
“I honestly don’t know,” he says.
“How vulnerable am I?”
“They can only kill you via satellite, so if you’re living, say, forty feet below the earth, you’d probably be safe.”
“Good to know.”
“You’ve had it in there more than a year,” he says.
“So?”
“You’ve lasted this long, you’re probably safe.”
“Unless the wrong person gets a hold of the switch,” I say.
“It’s not like an actual switch,” he says. “There’s a code.”
“Who created it?”
“I’m not sure. But I installed the device.”
“Ah,” I say.
So Doc Howard knows the code. I wonder if I should simply beat it out of him and save the money. But then I remind myself that Doc Howard’s a brilliant man. The kind who would have anticipated my first instinct, and have a counter-measure prepared.