The Speed of Sound (Speed of Sound Thrillers #1)(26)

And Skylar would never forgive herself for it.





CHAPTER 22

Gloria Pruitt’s House, Parsippany, New Jersey, May 23, 7:17 p.m.

The text message that Nurse Gloria sent that night was brief. Those were her instructions. The only times she sent such messages were after one of Eddie’s “sessions,” or anytime there was a development worth relating, particularly regarding the echo box. She was also supposed to send messages involving advancements made by any other patient in Harmony House, but Eddie was the primary subject of her clandestine employer’s interest.

New EP session. No improvement. Box still no go. The only device Gloria sent such messages from was identical to the one now in the possession of the fine senator from the state of Indiana. Gloria’s phone was updated annually, as the senator’s would be. Each New Year’s Day, she would awaken to find her current device had been removed from her duplex and a new one in its spot. It was a bit disconcerting the first time it happened. There was nothing else out of place, and absolutely no sign of any breaking or entering. Just the new phone. She had never given her clandestine employer a key to her residence. But they had access. And they wanted her to know they did. It was just a little reminder, not that she needed one. She was truly grateful for all they had done for her, including her current position, and intended to remain loyal to the end.



Gloria first met them when she was still working at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital, located within a stone’s throw from the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. This was just over twelve years and three months ago. She’d had a fine, if unspectacular, nursing career spanning nearly twenty years, notable only for its lack of complaints against her. There were absolutely none. Zero. Which almost seemed impossible, and, in fact, was. There were a number of performance-related issues in her thick employment folder. Some were justified, like when she misread the dosage for a cardiac patient and accidentally put him into a coma for seventeen days. But most were somebody else’s fault. Gloria had proven herself ill adept at the political aspect of nursing, and often found herself the target of a colleague or superior seeking to lay the blame on somebody else. Basically, she was an innocent, and innocents often got chewed up and spat out.

Then, one day, all that changed.

That day began in a nondescript office building in Sandy Hook, New Jersey, where she and her then-seventeen-year-old son, Cornell, had been invited to a scholarship interview. They had applied for so many different scholarships that year neither could remember the specifics of this one. Gloria and Cornell only knew two things: it was sponsored by the Commonwealth Equal Opportunity Trust, whatever that was; and, more importantly, this was a full ride: tuition, room, and board. The whole enchilada. Money, money, money.

Cornell was certainly deserving of financial aid. He was a straight-A student with nearly perfect SATs who had been elected to represent New Jersey at Boys Nation, which Bill Clinton, among other political notables, had also attended while still in high school. Cornell’s involvement in politics at the national level made his student-body presidency seem trivial by comparison, but like any good politician, he made his fellow students at Parsippany Hills High School feel they were all that mattered to him.

As early as the eighth grade, Cornell knew he wanted to study political science at Georgetown. The kid didn’t lack for ambition. His mother dutifully explained how competitive it was to get into such a prestigious college. Her son answered matter-of-factly that he would just work harder than everyone else. She promised him that if he did indeed get accepted, she would somehow find a way to pay for it.

But certain promises are harder to keep than others. Cornell kept up his end of the bargain. The boy was a model citizen and one she was damn proud of. Any mother would be. Disappointing him would kill her. But affording an elite education as a single parent earning $68,000 a year seemed practically impossible. At that time, tuition at Georgetown was $36,140. Room and board were $11,478. There was no way she could make it work without help.

There was all kinds of scholarship money out there, but, for some reason, Cornell wasn’t qualifying for any of it. Apparently, the majority of the money was intended for those who earned less than thirty thousand a year. Those who earned above sixty were just plain out of luck. It almost seemed like she was being penalized for doing just well enough. The middle class was getting squeezed out of leadership-caliber educations, and Cornell was due to be the next victim.

Then the scholarship invitation from the Commonwealth Equal Opportunity Trust arrived. This was his best and last chance to afford the education he’d been dreaming of since middle school. Cornell wore his only suit, and did all he could to look his very best at the interview.

Gloria wished her son luck and squeezed him tight as he was ushered into a room by two well-dressed women. Gloria sat quietly in the waiting room, intending to busy herself with the array of magazines she had brought, when a man sat down next to her.

It was Bob Stenson, but he did not introduce himself to her. Gloria would never learn his name. “Hello.” His voice was pleasant and unassuming.

“Why, hello.” Gloria tried to be as charming as she could be. For all she knew, this conversation might have some impact on their decision. Little did she know how absolutely right she was.

Stenson removed a cellular phone from the breast pocket of his suit coat and held it in front of him. “May I ask if you’ve ever sent a text message from one of these things?” After all, this was 2005. The first iPhone wouldn’t come out until 2007.