A Conspiracy of Bones (Temperance Brennan #19)(45)

“Jesus.”

“Cameron wanted his subjects to lose all sense of space and time, of feeling. If they couldn’t walk or feed themselves, or became incontinent, that was acceptable.”

I was too revolted to speak.

“After depatterning came the process of psychic driving, or repatterning. Patients were forced to listen to recorded messages, some positive, some negative, about their life or personality. Get this. The messages could be repeated up to half a million times.”

“Sounds barbaric.”

“That’s being kind.”

Appalled silence hummed across the Atlantic. Then Ryan resumed.

“The McGill experiments were part of the larger MKUltra project led by Sidney Gottlieb.”

“Gottlieb was CIA?” Stowing dried pasta and corn flakes on a pantry shelf.

“Yes. In 1963, the CIA compiled its findings into a manual called the KUBARK Counterintelligence Interrogation Manual. It came to define the agency’s interrogation methods and training programs.”

“A torture manual.” Ignoring a subtle Pssst from my id.

“Yes.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“It’s readily available. Let me read you one passage from the instructions given to CIA interrogators: ‘Results produced only after weeks or months of imprisonment in an ordinary cell can be duplicated in hours or days in a cell which has no light, which is soundproofed, in which odors are eliminated, et cetera.’?”

“Sounds like something out of A Clockwork Orange.”

“Except we’re talking recent history. Following 9/11, Bush’s secretary of defense, Donald Rumsfeld, approved the use of isolation facilities for up to thirty days.”

“The celebrated War on Terror.” Detergent went under the sink.

“Still cold?” Ryan asked.

“A little. But it beats the inferno outside.”

“Are your nipples—”

“I’ve made progress with the faceless man.” Settling at the table.

“Lay it on me.”

I summarized my outing to Cleveland County with Slidell. The code leading to the Hyundai at Art’s Affordable Garage. The duffel in the trunk. The notebook with its references to the Estonia disaster. The confrontation and subsequent outraged call from Margot Heavner. Skipping the reference to Jahaan Cole, I explained the indented printing and Mittie Peppers’s recovery of the phone numbers, one of them mine. I shared my recollection of the man at Sharon Hall the night of my migraine nightmare, my suspicion that he’d been the faceless man, and my belief that he’d called me shortly before his death.

Ryan was so quiet I feared we’d been disconnected.

“You still there?”

“I’m listening.”

I told him about Lizzie Griesser’s phenotype composite. About Dr. Yuriev at Sparkling Waters. About my conversations with E. Desai, Asia Barrow, Ms. Ramos, and Duncan Keesing. That, based on the sketch, all four had ID’d the faceless man as Felix Vodyanov, one of the names in the Hyundai notebook. I described the antiseptic apartment and the strangely secure property in Cleveland County.

By the time I finished, thirty minutes had passed.

Ryan took time digesting what I’d said. Then, “I assume Slidell ran this guy Vodyanov through the system.”

“Reluctantly. He found zip.”

“Really? Nothing at all?”

“Nada. I tried several internet search engines. Same result.”

“Vodyanov talked at the ashram about the sinking of the Estonia.”

“To Asia Barrow. She’s convinced he was a spy.”

“Because … ?”

“In her opinion, he had way too much inside information.”

“The landlady thought Vodyanov was terrified.”

“Ms. Ramos. She said he feared the government was trying to kill him.”

“The neighbor believed he was crazy.”

“Duncan Keesing. I suspect he suffers from PTSD.”

“Keesing said Vodyanov discussed MKUltra?”

“Among other things. I’ve got notes that I’ll look into when we hang up.”

“After you change undies.”

“You’re perverted.”

“You love it.”

I pictured eyes blue enough to laser your skin. I did love it. But right then, I wanted to keep Ryan focused.

“Have you been in contact with Slidell recently?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

“When I first asked for his help, he acted all Skinny. Now he seems to be coming on board.”

“Wanting to stick it to Heavner?”

“Partly.”

“You need to brief her on what you’ve found.”

“I will. Anyway, Slidell’s newfound zeal doesn’t stem solely from his distaste for Heavner.”

“Oh?”

“A nine-year-old girl named Jahaan Cole vanished here in Charlotte in 2013. Slidell worked the case but never got a solve. You know how that irks him.”

“I’m not sure ‘irk’ is a strong enough verb.”

“Right. Anyway, along with the two phone numbers, the QD analysis revealed a third line of indented writing. A coded reference to Cole.”