The senator mumbled under his breath as he moved toward the door. “I’m going to gut Marcus Fenton like a squealing pig.” Corbin Davis stepped outside the small conference room, where he was promptly met by the two guards in plain uniforms. “I need some privacy.” He glanced around at the handful of unmarked doors, expecting to be led into one.
The guards in the plain uniforms didn’t move. The taller one replied, “You will have to step outside the building, sir.”
The senator stared angrily, then stormed outside as he took out his shiny, new encrypted phone. The guards couldn’t help but notice that it matched their own.
CHAPTER 104
American Heritage Foundation, Alexandria, Virginia, May 28, 7:48 a.m.
Bob Stenson sat calmly in his office as he listened to the Indiana senator yelling over the phone. “Slow down, Senator. I need time to process this.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Your scientists are sure?”
“They’re confirming it now, but that is correct. The damn thing doesn’t work.”
Stenson exhaled loudly, playing his part with aplomb. “What the hell is Fenton up to?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I want him gone.”
Stenson, the master puppeteer, smiled ever so slightly. “It’s your call, Senator. We will support whatever action you see fit.” And like that, it was done. Senator Davis would convene the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence on an emergency basis, and Fenton would be terminated within the week. There was the obvious question of his replacement, but that was a matter that could wait. There was no urgency. Which was why Stenson leaned back in his chair and smiled.
This was, without a doubt, the greatest moment of his professional life. It made the whole hanging-chad business in 2000 pale in comparison. He was now in possession of the single most important technological advancement in intelligence in the last forty years, and no one knew he had it. Within a matter of hours, no one would believe the echo box even worked. The rest of the world would think they’d been led on a wild-goose chase by a blustery, old windbag hell-bent on bolstering his legacy. The good senator from Indiana would demand retribution, and Stenson would allow him to satisfy his bloodlust because Fenton would no longer be of any use to them.
What no one else knew was that after watching Homeland Security Director Merrell deliver the devices to the nondescript building at JB MDL, Stenson had replaced the devices with his own. These duplicates included every one of Eddie’s previous specifications. Namely, the ones that didn’t work. These facsimiles had been produced at Stenson’s request over a year earlier, when he’d decided to give some other brilliant minds a crack at acoustic archeology. While their efforts proved unsuccessful, Stenson had a feeling even then that his duplicates might one day serve a purpose. He just hadn’t imagined how important a role they would play.
All he had to decide now was which of the world’s greatest secrets he would listen to first. He had a president to bring down. And another one to install. There were enemies to destroy. And fence-sitters to bring into line. Bob Stenson and the American Heritage Foundation were about to know anything they wanted, and no one would have a clue how they got their information. They would be unstoppable.
First, there was the matter of Edward Parks, who was officially now a liability. He could not be allowed to create another echo box, nor pass along the algorithms to anyone else capable of doing so. There was only one way to guarantee neither would happen. Stenson had no qualms about proceeding, and intended to initiate the order before leaving the office.
His private moment of glory, however, was interrupted by the sound of footsteps racing down the hall toward his office. “Slow down, Jason.”
Jason did not slow down. He ran straight into his superior’s office. “Sir, we have a problem.”
CHAPTER 105
Dr. Marcus Fenton’s House, Pine Hill, New Jersey, May 28, 8:33 a.m.
A police car parked in Marcus Fenton’s driveway for the second time in less than twelve hours. Prior to these two visits, the last time a law-enforcement vehicle had entered the property was in 2002, to inform Fenton of a string of nearby burglaries. He was not about to take any more nonsense from the NYPD, and he stormed out to the uniformed officer. “I’m not going anywhere, or saying a goddamn thing, without my lawyer.”
The officer looked confused. “Sir?”
Fenton stood his ground. “Unless you have a warrant, I’m not going anywhere.”
The officer shook his head. “I think there must be some misunderstanding. Are you Dr. Marcus Fenton?”
Only now did he notice the car was not NYPD. It had local markings. The officer was a local sheriff. Fenton answered, “Yes, I’m Marcus Fenton. What can I do for you?”
The sheriff paused for a moment, as he had been trained to do when delivering bad news. “Did a Michael Barnes work for you?”
CHAPTER 106
American Heritage Foundation, Alexandria, Virginia, May 28, 8:58 a.m.
The conference room inside the American Heritage Foundation was dead silent. Bob Stenson stood next to the large mahogany table, staring down at the devices sitting in the middle of it—the laptop supercomputer and the echo box, which had until last night been in the possession of Edward Parks and Skylar Drummond. There was also a second, commercially available computer, which belonged to the balding scientist Stenson had brought in to test Edward Parks’s device. The scientist’s computer was wired to Parks’s supercomputer, running system diagnostics.
The scientist, Carter Harwood, was the only person Stenson had ever trusted to work on Edward Parks’s devices. Like all Foundation employees and independent contractors, Harwood had come to their attention through strong personal recommendations. He had also survived their exhaustive background check. A great many leading scientists, it turned out, had a flag or two in their personal histories that disqualified them from further consideration by the Foundation. Such was the case with Pembrose and Landgraf, the scientists Senator Davis had brought with him to JB MDL. One was a former heroin addict. The other had started undergoing hormone therapy for gender reassignment.
When Stenson had cleared Harwood, twelve years ago, the Foundation director knew his man might never be capable of completing Edward Parks’s research, should it go unfinished for one reason or another, but Stenson was certain that Harwood could be trusted. And, ultimately, that was more important. Because what Stenson really needed in this position was a forger, not an artist. It was Harwood who produced the duplicate machines that had just been tested in the nondescript building on the grounds of JB MDL. He knew the devices better than anyone except for Edward Parks himself. Which was why Stenson listened when Harwood said there was a problem.
On the laptop supercomputer’s screen, there was an incomplete three-dimensional rendering of the conference room space. The progress counter read: 13 percent. The counter hadn’t changed in twenty-two minutes.
Stenson was immediately thankful he had not yet ordered the end of Edward Parks, who still might have a purpose to serve, after all. “Why isn’t it working?”
“I don’t know yet. I can’t give you an answer until I finish running the diagnostics.” Harwood, calm and clinical, motioned to his own computer, which was connected to Eddie’s. Harwood’s $3,000 machine was going to reveal what was wrong with the $300,000 machine.
Stenson looked around the table to his three lieutenants, who seemed equally dumbfounded. “Any ideas?”
Caitlin McCloskey pointed to the scratches from where Eddie had dropped the devices. “Maybe they were damaged when they were dropped.”
Harwood shook his head. “That was my first thought as well. But it’s not the case. I’m sure of it. Whatever the problem is, it’s not hardware related.”
Jason Greers asked, “So why would it work yesterday, but not today? Something has to have changed.”
Daryl Trotter made a comment that caused everyone to stiffen. “Only if the device was actually working yesterday.”
Jason took immediate offense, because this entire wild-goose chase had essentially started with him. “What are you suggesting, that the doctor and her mental patient faked the recordings?”