The Fold: A Novel (4 page)

“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 eggshell 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 brass, 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 assumed 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 passed.”

“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 petite assistant. 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?”

“Hell, yes.”

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

“A baseball?” The ants assembled 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. Hell, 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 Washington 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 deGrasse 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 passed 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.”

“Facts aren’t flattery. You go out there, they welcome you into the fold, you learn whatever you can about what’s going on, and then give me a glowing report. Done. You’re back fixing bumper cars before the Fourth of July weekend. With a much bigger bank balance.”

Mike counted to five again. “Can you tell me anything else?” he asked. “Something you’ve seen? Something you’ve heard?”

Reggie shook his head. “You know when you’re in a rush and you put a T-shirt on backward? Even if there’s no tag in it, you don’t have to look in the mirror to know it’s on wrong. You can just feel it.”

“That’s all you’ve got for me?”

“It’s just wrong,” he replied with a shrug. “That’s all I can tell you. There’s something so wrong out there that you can almost feel it in the air. And you know what’s the weirdest part?”

“What?”

“I think everyone out there feels the same way.”

Mike drove past the facility in San Diego once, even with OnStar calling out directions to him. The fence out front was old chain-link, with no signs. The guard post needed paint. When he came back around, the lone guard asked who he was and waved him in. There were lots of fresh scuff marks along the fence in a well-marked path, and Mike took that to mean at least one or two other guards were walking the perimeter.

Only one building was visible from the street. It was concrete and gray, with a few windows on the far end; a warehouse that had developed some architectural lesions. The building was flanked on one side by a large patch of overgrown weeds that had hit the point where they could be called small trees.

There was a small parking lot with a dozen spaces broken up by a quartet of large trees in wooden planters. Eight of the spaces were taken. Four were marked reserved and one was marked
GUEST PARKING
. He pulled into the farthest spot from the entrance.

He walked up a set of concrete steps and stepped inside. An odd mix of framed, poster-sized prints decorated the small lobby. Einstein. Tesla. Goddard. A history of automobiles. The Moon landing. Mike couldn’t shake the feeling someone had looted them from a college bookstore.

The woman at the front desk stared at him with large, dark eyes above elegant cheekbones. Dark, straight hair ran over her shoulders and out of sight down her back. Her lips split in the polite, meaningless smile Mike knew from countless parent-teacher meetings. “May I help you?”

“Leland Erikson,” he said, “here for Arthur Cross.”

She gazed at him for a moment. He heard fingers tap on a keyboard and her eyes shifted to the flatscreen. “You’re early,” she said.

“I didn’t realize there was a set time,” he said.

She smiled again. This time it was sincere. “We didn’t think you’d get here until the end of the day.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. Dr. Cross?” she said to the air. “Mr. Erikson from DARPA is here for you.” She stared into space for a moment. “Of course.” The polite smile reasserted itself. “He’ll be right out.”

“Thanks.”

“Will you be with us long?”

“A few weeks, I think. Maybe a whole month.”

She nodded. “I’m Anne,” she said after a moment. She held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” They shook. “Call me Mike.”

Her face shifted just for a moment, and the sincere smile made another brief appearance. “Mike it is.”

Mike heard the thump of a cane, and Arthur Cross strode out from the hallway. He was in shirtsleeves, but still wore a tie and also an ID card on a lanyard. “I see you found us all right.”

“Yep.” Mike held out his hand.

The scientist gave a curt nod and shook the hand once. “So, would you like to get settled first, or…”

“I’m ready to dive in, I guess, if you’re ready for me.”

Arthur’s lips tightened. Just for a moment. “Very well,” he said. He gestured at the front desk. “We don’t allow cell phones past this point.”

Mike slid the phone Reggie had given him from his pocket and placed it in Anne’s outstretched hand. She slid open a foil-lined drawer and set it inside. “Just stop by on your way out,” she told him.

“Right this way.” Mike followed Arthur back down the hallway he’d appeared from, past a staircase and a connecting hall to a large door. It was almost square. Mike gazed up at the red light mounted in the wall as Arthur slid his ID card across a reader.

“Warning flasher,” Arthur said. “Lets anyone coming in know if we’re up and running or not.”

“The magnetic flux?”

Arthur pulled open the door. “You’ve read up, I see.”

“Reggie…Mr. Magnus gave me all the reports you’ve submitted to date.”

“All of them? And you’ve read them all?”

“Yep. I read fast.”

Arthur guided him around a bank of machinery as the door thudded shut behind them. “I guess you do.”

A few yards in front of Mike, a pair of twelve-foot, off-white rings rose up from a solid base, looking more like a futuristic art installation than experimental technology. The rings dominated the gymnasium-sized room.

He glanced at Arthur. The older man nodded. “This is the Albuquerque Door.”

Each ring was more round than flat, and Mike put them at about two feet thick. They were parallel, with twenty inches between them, according to the mental measuring tapes the ants overlayed for him. The ivory plating that covered them was made of heavy plastic. A ramp of expanded steel rose up in front of an array of rolling desks and computers, leveling off into a platform. The platform passed through the rings and ended in midair, a foot past the far one. Four bundles of cable ran from each ring, vanishing back into the mass of assembled technology.

White lines, almost a foot wide, circled the huge machine and formed a path out to the ramp. Mike noticed that almost all the equipment was kept outside of the lines. The desks were a good ten feet from it.

The two other people from the hearing, blond Jamie and Bogartesque Olaf, waited by one of the desks. A large flatscreen loomed behind them, and a younger man stood near Olaf’s elbow. Mike’s school-trained eye put the man at twenty-six, tops. His brilliant red hair had the precisely messy look of someone who spent a lot of time trying to make it look like he spent no time on his hair.

Against the wall stood a row of six cylinders, each the size of a water heater and wrapped in an insulating blanket. A man and woman with heavy gloves were switching an insulated hose from one tank to the next in line. The hose ran into one of the bundles of cable and vanished beneath the legs and braces that held up the rings.

The man had a thin beard of blond hair that looked even thinner because of its color. His jeans were well-worn and the sleeves of his
plaid shirt were rolled up past his elbows. He would’ve blended in well in a small town.

The woman’s hair and eyes were as dark as Mike’s own, although her face and body weren’t anywhere near as angular. Her red T-shirt had an elaborate logo for “Scotty’s Starship Repair Shop,” with a list of services provided. He guessed she was a couple years older than him. She stared at Mike across the room while she held the hose and the other man tightened the connector. It was the kind of stare that said, “You’re the teacher who gave my little angel a C.”

Arthur walked to the trio by the workstation and gestured back at Mike. “Everyone, this is Leland Erikson. He works for Mr. Magnus. He’s going to be staying here and observing things for a while.”

“You can call me Mike,” he said.

“How long is a while?” scowled Olaf.

“I thought Magnus was happy,” said the redheaded man.

Arthur ignored them. “You already know Jamie and Olaf,” he said. “This is Bob Hitchcock, our junior physicist.”

“I get to double-check all the math,” he said with a smile.

Arthur gestured at the bearded man. “The gentleman over there is Neil Warry, chief engineer and operations manager. That’s Sasha Prestich next to him, our second engineer and resident
Star Trek
fanatic.”

There were a few grunts as Mike made eye contact with each of them. Bob shook his hand. Neil kept working and sent a distracted wave in his direction. Sasha looked down her nose at him for another moment and then turned her attention back to the hose.

“Well, then,” said Arthur, “I thought we’d start with a demonstration.”

“We’ve got nothing scheduled,” Olaf said. “Neil’s going to have to make some calls.”

“Make them. Who wants to go through today?”

Neil gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Just let me finish this,” he said, patting the hose.

“I’ll go,” said the redhead.

“Christ, Bob.” Jamie shook her head. “How many would that make for you?”

“An even eighty-four. I am the most traveled person on Earth.”

“Of the nine people who have traveled,” sneered Olaf.

“Nine people, two hundred and sixteen rats, six cats, and a chimpanzee,” said Bob. “I’m still at the top of an ever-expanding group.”

Arthur looked at them. “Does anyone besides Bob want to go?”

“I’ll go,” snapped Olaf. “Let’s just get on with it. I have a conference call at three.” He turned his back to them and began typing at a console. Jamie stalked past Mike to the hall, with Sasha a yard behind her.

A low hiss came from the gas tanks as valves opened. A vibration shivered through the floor and two red lights flashed at either end of the huge room. Arthur pointed up at a slanted window fourteen feet above the chamber floor. “Let’s head up to the control room,” he said.

“Friendly bunch you have here,” said Mike as they passed through the square door again.

“Don’t take it personally,” Arthur said, “but everyone’s sort of looking at you as the enemy.”

“How could I take that personally?”

“You’re the government. You’re the man deciding if we get to keep working or not, despite all the progress we’ve made.” Arthur gestured for Mike to follow him up the narrow staircase. “They all resent that. I resent it, to be quite honest.”

“I don’t make the call, you know. I just have to tell Reggie what I think of your work.”

“He must think very highly of your opinion.”

“We’ve known each other a long time. He knows what I can do.”

Arthur stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to look down at Mike. “We never cleared that up back in Washington,” he said. “What is it that you do for him? What’s your title?”

“Ahhh. Well, to be honest, I don’t think I have one.”

“I find that somewhat hard to believe.”

“Outside consultant?”

“And what’s your usual position, then?”

Mike tapped his fingers on the railing. “They’re waiting for us in the control room, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are.” He set both hands on the head of his cane. “It’s one of the small perks of being in charge. I can make people wait for me.”

Mike sighed. “Well, I teach junior year English.”

“You’re a college professor?”

“Junior year of high school,” clarified Mike. “South Berwick High in Maine.”

Arthur stared for a moment, then crossed his arms. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Not really.”

“Magnus thought a high school teacher was the ideal person to evaluate our work?”

Mike took a breath and weighed his words. “I have some abilities that make me a worthwhile observer and theorist. Reggie’s been trying to get me on the payroll for almost a decade. Your project’s been the only thing he’s ever told me about that interested me.”

“He said something similar at the budget meeting. Could you be more specific?”

“Do I have to be?”

“Yes.”

He sighed again. “I maxed out the only IQ test I ever took. I was given a few extra problems by the tester and she ballparked my IQ at over 180. Granted, I was under the recommended age, and it was the old Stanford-Binet, not the Titan Test or the Mega, so it isn’t terribly accurate at that scale, but I confirmed the general range myself. On top of that, I’ve got an eidetic memory. Complete, instantaneous recall of anything I’ve ever seen or heard.”

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“I thought eidetic memory was something they made up for science fiction stories.”

“There are a few confirmed cases, although it’s tough to prove someone remembers everything without having them remember everything for you.”

Arthur stared at him for a moment. “Give me a demonstration. Impress me.”

Mike mulled it over and let a few ants loose. “When I pulled into the parking lot, there were four cars parked in the spaces closest to the front office. A yellow Volkswagen Beetle, California license plate 2GKD627. A blue Hyundai, Oregon license plate CK96668 with a Darwin fish on the passenger side of the trunk. A black Dodge Durango, California license plate 4OCE815.”

“That’s mine.”

“Are you a
LOST
fan?”

“No,” Arthur said, “but I’ve been told about the significance many times.”

“The last car was a blue Mini Cooper, in desperate need of a wash, California license plate 3FKM864. It had a license plate frame with two eight-pointed stars and the words
KHARN NEVER MISSES
. It’s a reference to a character from the game Warhammer 40,000, used in an army called the World Eaters. There was also a decal on the side window of an Internet cartoon character called ‘the Cheat.’ ”

“Impressive, but how do I know you didn’t—”

“The day we met in Washington, you were wearing a silk tie with fractal geometry patterns on it. The Lyapunov set. It was available in the two thousand nine Christmas catalog from BBC America. Dr. Johansson had a sterling silver pen in his shirt pocket, and I know his tie was a clip-on because one of the plastic strips was showing under the left collar. Miss Parker was carrying a knockoff Louis Vuitton purse. The print pattern didn’t line up on the seam, that’s what gave it away. A woman I work with has a real one she got as a Christmas gift three years ago. All three of you are right-handed, by the way. So is everyone I’ve met here except Mr. Hitchcock and Anne, the receptionist.”

Arthur stared at him for a moment, then slowly closed his mouth.

“Sorry,” Mike said, “but I can keep doing this for hours. I try not to. It’s kind of a hazard, actually, once I get on a roll.”

The project leader shook his head. “No need. I think I understand why Mr. Magnus is so eager to get you on his staff.”

“Great. Think you can explain to him why I want to be a high school teacher?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” A smile, a real smile, crept up on Arthur’s face. “Well, Mr. Erikson, you’ve shown me what you can do. Now let me show you what I can do.”