As he evaluates what I’ve said, he slowly and gently rubs two fingers together.
Charlene leans forward. “Dr. Tanbyrn, do you have any idea who that man last night might have been?”
He takes a small breath. “Your life was in danger last night, Miss Antioch, Mr. Banks — both of you. That troubles me deeply. I think there are a few things you should know.” He nods toward Charlene, then gestures toward a manila folder on the bookshelf near her. “My dear, do you mind getting that folder?”
She rises.
Retrieves the folder.
Dr. Tanbyrn lays it out on the desk in front of him and begins flipping through it, carefully scrutinizing each page of equations as he does.
Glenn finished with the chairs and was reaching into his bag to get out one of the two-liter bottles of gasoline he’d brought with him when the nearest exit door opened and a slim black lady wearing a gaudy African dress walked in.
She looked at him, then at the stacks of chairs. “What are you doing?”
He set down the bag. Folded it shut. “Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t they tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“We’re cleaning the floors.”
She lowered her head slightly, one eyebrow raised. “Cleaning the floors?”
“I’m from the agency.” Glenn smiled innocently.
“What agency?”
He smiled. “Here, let me show you my ID.” As he approached her, he made like he was reaching for his wallet, but instead, with his side turned to hide his hand, he was sliding it along the back of his belt toward his knife’s sheath.
Her gaze went past him to the end table he’d propped against the door to trap the doctor and his two visitors in the office.
“Why is that table leaning against the door?” Caution bordering on suspicion. She took a small step backward toward the exit.
He found the sheath, snapped it open. “I just needed to slide it out of the way.”
She was about ten feet away, but he knew he could be quick when he needed to be, even with his wounded leg.
The woman leaned to the side and called, “Doctor Tan—” but that was as far as she got. It was all she could say, all she would ever say, because then he was on her. He clamped one hand over her mouth and whipped out his knife with the other. She tried to call for help and was certainly a squirmy one, but he managed to hold on to her long enough to tuck the blade up into her tight little belly.
Even though he still had his hand over her mouth, he could hear her gasp.
“Shh, now. Don’t fight it.”
She was still trying to pull free, but the strength was beginning to seep out of her, allowing him to firm up his grip.
He slid the blade out, raised it to her throat. Drew it to the side in one swift, firm motion and let go of her body.
She fell clumsily to the floor. The only sounds she made now were the wet, sputtering ones from the base of her throat, and she didn’t make those for long. Her body twitched a little before lying still at last, a dark gaping wound across her neck, a spreading stain of blood across her belly.
Quiet now.
No more trouble.
That’s a good girl.
Glenn wiped off the blade on his jeans.
Alright.
It was time to finish this up.
He dragged her toward the chairs.
Pulled out the gasoline bottles.
And set to work.
“There it is.” Dr. Tanbyrn points to a page, spins the papers around so we can see what he’s pointing at. “Project Alpha. I work with two men. They fly in, do some tests, fly out. I don’t even know their real names. We call them ‘L’ and ‘N.’ It’s funded through the Department of Defense.”
The Pentagon. Yes. The same thing Fionna had uncovered about the research at RixoTray.
The page is covered with detailed algebraic and scientific equations that I have no idea how to decipher. “What kind of tests?”
Dr. Tanbyrn has been surprisingly open with us, but now seems to second-guess himself. “I’m not sure how much more I should …” His eyes come to rest on Charlene’s arm and he hesitates.
The chapters I’ve read of his books flash through my mind: quantum entanglement, nonlocal communication, the interconnection of life on the subatomic level, relationships—
That’s it. That has to be it.
“They’re twins, aren’t they? ‘L’ and ‘N’?”
He looks at me long and hard. “Yes, Mr. Banks. They are twins. Quite special twins indeed.”
Glenn soaked the chairs with gasoline, then splashed some on the dead woman, just because he thought it might be interesting to watch that dress stick to her skin, and then take her with it as it went up in flames.
“How are they special?” I ask him.
For a moment I think I smell gasoline.
Gasoline? But that’s—
“Well, you see—” Dr. Tanbyrn begins.
Charlene grabs my arm to stop me. “That’s gas, Jevin.”
“Yes.”
I stand. Start for the door.
Glenn backed up.
Lit a match.
Tossed it onto the stack of chairs beneath the air vent and watched the flames lick up the fabric. They were hungry and immediately fell in love with the wood.
No, this fire would not take long at all to devour the building.
I smell smoke and tell myself it’s from outside the building, just like when I smelled wood smoke last night when Charlene and I first entered our cabin.
But I know that’s not the case.
I try the doorknob. It turns, but the door won’t open.
Oh, not good.
Not good at all.
“What’s going on?” Dr. Tanbyrn asks.
“Grab your things. We’re getting out of here.”
Glenn lit the other stack of chairs.
Lit the dead black woman.
Then he splashed the rest of the gasoline on the floor as he backed toward the exit door.
I slam my shoulder against the door, but it stays firmly in place. Smoke is beginning to curl beneath the door and billow down through the vent above my head. It’s acrid and black and it’s coming in fast.
“It’s the project.” Dr. Tanbyrn coughs. “‘L’ and ‘N.’”
“What’s it about?” Charlene urges him. “What makes the twins so special?”
I go at the door again, harder, hoping to jar loose whatever is jammed up against it.
Glenn lit the pool of gasoline on the floor. Stepped out the exit door. Pulled out his remaining chain, lock, and key, threaded the chain through the door handle, wound it through the metal post of the fence beside the walkway, and snapped the lock shut.
There was no way out of the building’s lower level.
Nothing.
The fire alarm goes off, the sprinklers on the ceiling do not.
I search for something to smash against the door.
The desk is too large to move, or at least too large for me to push with enough momentum to take out the door.
“Communication. Physiology—” Dr. Tanbyrn’s explanation is chopped up by hoarse coughing. “Identical twins are much more effective than individuals. I was providing feedback to help them direct and focus their alpha waves, studying the negative… the effects… if they were …”
Charlene has snatched up Tanbyrn’s desk phone, but the line must be dead because she drops the receiver again. Pulls out her cell.