Suspicious Minds (Stranger Things Novels #1)
Gwenda Bond
The man drove an immaculate black car along a flat Indiana road, slowing when he came to a chain-link gate with a RESTRICTED AREA sign. The guard stationed there peered in the window for the briefest moment, then checked his license plate and waved him through.
The lab clearly anticipated his arrival. Maybe they’d even followed the directions and specifications he’d sent ahead about preparing his new domain.
When he reached the next guard booth, he cranked down the window to present his identification to the soldier serving as security officer. The soldier studied his license and avoided looking him in the eye. People often did.
He had nothing but attention for new people, at least at first—an assessment quick as a thought, cataloging them: sex, height, weight, ethnicity, and from there a guess at intelligence, and then, most important, a guess at potential. Almost everyone was less interesting after the last. But he never gave up. Looking, assessing, was second nature, a crucial element of his work. Most people had nothing to interest him, but those who did…They were why he was here.
This soldier was easy to size up: male, 5′8″, 180 pounds, white, average intelligence, potential…fulfilled by sitting in a guard booth checking IDs, with a sidearm he probably never used at his hip.
“Welcome, Mr. Martin Brenner,” the soldier said finally, squinting between the man and the plastic card.
Funny that his ID contained some of the information Brenner would have wanted if he were looking at himself: male, 6′1″, 195 pounds, white. The rest: genius IQ, potential…limitless.
“We were told to expect you,” the soldier added.
“Dr. Brenner,” he corrected the man, but gently.
The narrowing of a gaze that still didn’t quite look at Brenner but darted into the back seat where five-year-old subject Eight slept curled against the door. Her hands were balled into fists under her small chin. He’d preferred to oversee her transport to the new facility himself.
“Yes, Dr. Brenner,” the guard said. “Who’s the girl? Your daughter?”
The skepticism came through. Eight’s skin was a rich shade of brown in contrast to his own milky pale hue, which Brenner could have told the man meant nothing. But it was none of the man’s business, and besides, he wasn’t wrong. Brenner was no one’s father. Father figure, yes.
That was as far as it went.
“I’m sure they’re waiting for me inside.” Brenner studied the man again. A soldier back home from a past war, a war they’d already won. Unlike Vietnam. Unlike the quiet escalation with the Soviets. They were already engaged in a war for the future, but this man didn’t know that. Brenner kept his tone friendly. “I wouldn’t ask questions when the other subjects arrive. Confidentiality.”
The guard’s jaw tightened, but he let it go. His eyes flicked to the sprawling multistory complex beyond them. “Yes, they’re waiting for you inside. Park anywhere you like.”
Another thing that hadn’t needed saying. He drove on.
A boring part of the federal bureaucracy had paid for the construction and general maintenance of this facility, but more secretive arms of the government had paid for its outfitting to Brenner’s specifications. To be top secret, after all, the research couldn’t be advertised. The Agency understood greatness couldn’t always follow standard operating procedure. The Russians might be able to have their labs acknowledged by their government, but they were willing to suppress all the voices who would speak out in opposition. Somewhere, right now, the communists’ scientists were doing the same type of experiments this five-story brown complex and its basement levels had been created for. Brenner’s employers would be reminded of this whenever they forgot or had too many questions. So his work remained a top priority.
Eight continued to sleep as he got out and walked around to her door. He slowly opened it, pressing her back so she wouldn’t tumble out into the parking lot. He’d sedated her for safety while traveling. She was too important an asset to leave to other people. Thus far the other subjects’ abilities had proven…disappointing.
“Eight.” He crouched by the seat and gave her shoulder a gentle shake.
The girl shook her head, keeping her eyes shut. “Kali,” she mumbled.
Her real name. She insisted on it. Usually he didn’t humor her, but today was special.
“Kali, wake up,” he said. “You’re home.”
She blinked, a spark lighting in her eyes. She had misunderstood.
“Your new home,” he added.
The spark dimmed.
“You’ll like it here.” He helped her sit upright and coaxed her forward. He extended his hand. “Now Papa needs you to walk in like a big girl, and then you can go back to sleep.”
At last, she reached out and slid her small hand into his.
As they approached the front doors, he put the most pleasant smile in his arsenal on his lips. He expected the current acting administrator to greet him, but instead found a long line of lab-coated men and one woman waiting. The professional staff of his group, he supposed, and all of them radiating a queasy case of nerves.
A tanned man with a lined face—too much time out of doors—stepped forward and offered his hand. He looked at Eight, then back at Dr. Brenner. His rimmed glasses were smudged. “Dr. Brenner, I’m Dr. Richard Moses, acting principal investigator. We’re so excited to have you here, someone of your caliber…We wanted you to meet the entire team right away. And this must be—”