A Conspiracy of Bones (Temperance Brennan #19)(46)
I felt the familiar clench in my gut when he asked, “You’re sure?”
“We think so.”
“Slidell suspects Vodyanov could be involved in the kid’s disappearance?”
“He’s reopened the file.”
“Based on a one-line scribble.” No one does neutral like Ryan.
“Slidell doesn’t know yet, but there may be more. Keesing said Vodyanov told him about experiments involving kids.”
“What kind of experiments?”
“He said he refused to listen.”
“He also said Vodyanov was nuts.”
“He did. But this is what really disturbs me. Keesing said he witnessed a car entering the fenced property late one night. A child’s face was pressed to the rear window. Keesing said the kid looked terrified.”
“It’s not much.”
“Asia Barrow said she once let Vodyanov use her laptop.”
“Isn’t that forbid—”
“Yes. But she did it anyway. Afterward, the browser history indicated visits to two kinds of sites. Those reporting missing kids and those featuring child porn.”
“You’re thinking Vodyanov was a pedophile?”
“I’m not sure what I’m thinking.”
“It’s worth looking into.” Brief hesitation. “Assuming you’re feeling up to it.”
“Don’t go there, Ryan. I’ll outlive you.”
* * *
After showering and pulling on a dry tee and shorts, I quickly ate a ham sandwich, got my Mac, and climbed to the new study. The exposed wires reminded me about my truant workers. I phoned the electrician. No answer. Of course not. I left a message. Same routine with the painter.
Then it was a laptop afternoon.
First, I wrote a long email to Margot Heavner outlining all I’d done and explaining that the faceless man was Felix Vodyanov. Kept it cordial and professional. Exaggerated just a titch Slidell’s role in my undertakings.
Then I began with the other terms Keesing had mentioned. And learned the following.
The Philadelphia Experiment was an alleged military test carried out by the U.S. Navy at the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard in 1943. The destroyer escort USS Eldridge (DE-173) was supposedly rendered invisible, or “cloaked to enemy devices.” The Navy maintains that no such experiment ever took place, and the story is generally considered a hoax.
The Montauk Project was an alleged series of secret U.S. government programs conducted at Camp Hero or Montauk Air Force Station at Montauk, Long Island. The purpose of the research was to develop psychological warfare techniques, including time travel.
The Star Gate Project was the code name for a secret U.S. Army unit established in 1978 at Fort Meade, Maryland, by the DIA, the Defense Intelligence Agency, and a California contractor named SRI International. In 1991, Star Gate and its precursor and sister projects were consolidated and renamed the Stargate Project. Research focused primarily on the potential for psychic phenomena in military and domestic applications—on remote viewing, the ability to see events and sites or to acquire information from great distances. The Stargate Project was terminated and declassified in 1995 after a CIA report concluded that its findings were never useful in any intelligence operation. Though never cited, the Stargate Project inspired the 2004 book and 2009 film The Men Who Stare at Goats.
After researching the Philadelphia, Montauk, and Stargate programs, I probed a bit deeper into MKUltra. As I typed, and looped, and read, particles of a theory started to swirl in my brain.
Using a keyword modifier, I tried the term vaccine, then SARS.
The particles began to congeal.
I tried the same modifier paired with Estonia.
By the time I logged off, my screen was a rectangle of light in a room gone dark.
The theory was fully formed.
16
The idea ricocheted inside my skull like a puck in a rink.
Mind going ninety, I checked more angles. Then, braced for a tirade, I phoned Slidell. Was shocked when he actually picked up.
“I see you’re living the life on a Saturday night.” Beating Skinny to his own nongreeting game.
“And you’re not out tripping the light fantastic, being as you’re burning up my phone right now.”
“I’m working.”
“I’ll send your name up for a commendation. Oh, wait. You’re not a cop.”
“Do you have a minute?”
“Me and Verlene are catching a flick. Some horseshit about two people hate each other but fall in love with email.” Muffled sound, as though the phone were pressed to his chest. Then he was back. “This better be good.”
“Have you made any progress on Jahaan Cole?”
“You called to ask me that?”
Taking his response as a negative, “While you’ve been tied up with the Cole file, I talked to some folks.”
“Didn’t I tell you to—”
Poking right into the bubble of bluster, I laid down a variation of the briefing I’d given Ryan. Barrow. Ramos. The puzzling fenced acreage minutes from Art’s Affordable Garage and the creek where Vodyanov’s body was found.
“I went back out there today.”
“What? Where?”
“Cleveland County. Scoped out the property, then talked to a neighbor.”