The Traveler's Companion (20 page)

Everyone laughed.

Iverson raised a glass of champagne to toast. “To Mister Go!”

Go’s dark skin tinted with a blush as everyone in the room raised their glass in his honor. He seemed overwhelmed by the attention.

While Go basked in the admiration, Iverson took Angela aside. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Director Gibbons is here,” she said.

“He is? Where?”

“He was sitting in the balcony section with a woman who looked like me.”

“Damn it,” Iverson said. “Do you know where he is now?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“Try to keep him away from Mister Go.”

“I understand.”

Iverson searched the crowd. A short man with a tall beautiful woman should stick out like a sore thumb, but it took him a while before he saw Gibbons standing on the outer rim of Mr. Go’s galaxy of admirers. A version of Angela in a red dress clung to his arm. Luckily the sycophantic satellites eclipsed the director and his date from Go’s view.

Iverson rushed over and grabbed the manifested Angela by the arm and forcefully dragged her into a hallway.

“What the hell are you doing, Iverson?” Gibbons demanded, giving chase.

“What are you doing here?” Iverson asked.

“I was invited!” Gibbons said.

“And you brought Angela?”

Iverson escorted the ersatz Angela through the bathroom door a few feet away. “Don’t come out,” he said, pushing her inside.

“I brought her as a joke, you fool,” Gibbons said. “I wanted to introduce Go to my new girlfriend. We’d have ourselves a matching pair.”

“That’s not funny. If he thinks you have feelings for Angela, he might stay away from her. Two Angelas will confuse him.”

“You don’t understand male psychology very well, Ryan. Men have been competing for women’s affection since the beginning of time. Anyway, it’s just a prank. I was going to get rid of her after we had a good laugh.”

“You could have jeopardized the mission, Mark. What were you thinking?”

“Fine,” Gibbons said, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’ll get rid of her. I’ll go stag tonight.”

“You’ve got to promise me you’ll stop manifesting Angelas. Conjure up anyone but her.”

“Yes, sir,” Gibbons said with violent sarcasm. “Are you in charge now? Funny thing. I thought I was the DNI.”

Iverson didn’t bother with a reply.

Gibbons stormed back into the lobby. On his way into Go’s circle of friends, he pulled a glass of champagne off the server’s tray.

Iverson opened the women’s bathroom door and looked inside, peeking under the stall doors. There was no one there. The other Angela was gone.

Iverson found the real Angela back in the lobby.

“I want you to keep your eye on Director Gibbons, Angela. He’s been acting strange lately.”

“May I speak freely?”

“Quickly.”

“Director Gibbons’s brain scans have shown some anomalies.”

“How so?”

“I’ve scanned some tissue loss and lesions in the parietal part of his brain.”

Iverson reeled from shock. Schizophrenics showed gray matter deterioration in that region.

“It’s not life threatening, but it is alarming,” Angela said.

“Could it be from radiation exposure?” Iverson asked himself. “Whatever it is, it’s one more reason we shouldn’t be here. We need to find Go’s lab and shut this place down. Tell me about Go’s brain scans.”

“Mister Go’s brain scans have been normal, but he still hasn’t shown any activity in his caudate body. He doesn’t like me, Doctor.”

“We may have to prepare for that outcome,” Iverson said.

“Should we abort the mission?”

“No. Mister Go has a uniquely elusive personality. Before we abort, I want you to initiate Level Five. Let’s turn up the heat.”

“May I have the clearance code, please?”

“ ‘Love is in the air.’ ”

Within the blink of an eye she initiated Level Five. Her face seemed to harden, like she was containing a strong emotion. Iverson knew Level Five was risky, especially in this environment. This was untested technology pushed to its limits, and, should it fail, Go would immediately learn her identity.

“Doctor Iverson,” Go said, walking over to them. “May I speak with you in private?”

“Would you mind keeping Beth company, Angela?”

“Of course, Doctor,” she said, off to go find her in the crowd.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Go said.

“Who would that be?” Iverson asked.

“You mentioned earlier that you’d like to speak with one of my scientists. I’ve thought it over and I think I might be able to arrange something.”

“I thought they couldn’t be bothered,” Iverson said.

“This man’s a psychologist and a professor of metaphysics. He’s a genius. I think you two should have a lot to talk about.”

Despite the attempt at flattery, Iverson’s heart sank. What could be gained from talking to a professor of metaphysics? This was just more of Go’s shenanigans.

“How’s tomorrow?” Go asked.

“Sure. Tomorrow’s fine,” Iverson said.

“I’d like Beth to be there, as well,” Go said.

There was suddenly some activity in the crowd. Le Petomane had come into the lobby. The attention in the room shifted to him.

“Would you mind escorting Angela home tonight? I have some business to take care of. I’d hate for her to be alone,” Mr. Go said.

“Don’t mind at all.”

“Maybe you could show her how you get things to last so long.”

“Beginner’s luck.”

“We’ll see about that.” Go turned to see that Le Petomane was waving him over. “I should go thank him. He was awesome tonight.” As he disappeared into the crowd, he said, “See you tomorrow, Doctor.”

CHAPTER 14

Iverson was turning the wedding ring on his finger and thinking about the inscription inside: Forever. Should the Zone reach the public, lawyers and clergy may need to add an extra clause to marital agreements: all husbands and wives must love said spouses, including any reproductions, manifestations, or corporeal likenesses, in perpetuity. One day couples may fight over ephemera. Ephemera may fight over couples.

The creative output was exhausting him. Just maintaining the city was a Herculean task. It had been a while since he had done retouches. Though he needed the break, he felt guilty about taking it. He was putting the inhabitants of the city in danger. What if buildings began to dissolve? What if a school bus full of children vanished while on the expressway? What if gas lines disappeared? City maintenance was nonstop work.

The doorbell rang.

Mr. Go was at the door with his guest. Go introduced him as Dr. Peter Riley, a man about forty-five years old, tall and slender with an oblong face and bushy eyebrows. He wore khaki slacks and a light blue oxford shirt. A metal briefcase was dangling at his side.

“Come in,” Iverson told them.

The two men stepped into the foyer. Dr. Riley looked around the room as if he was inspecting the place.

Beth emerged from the kitchen. She removed her apron and greeted her guests.

“This is Beth. Beth, this is Doctor Peter Riley, a member of Mister Go’s scientific team,” Iverson said.

While Riley shook her hand, he seemed to scrutinize her the same way he had the house.

“I have some hors d’oeuvres in the oven. They’ll be out in a few minutes,” Beth said.

“Wonderful,” Go said.

“Come in. Have a seat.” Iverson escorted them to the living room where Angela was sitting cross-legged on the couch. A glass of wine was on the coffee table before her. She stood to greet the two men.

“Hello, Angela,” Go said, embracing her and kissing her on the cheek. “I’d like you to meet Doctor Peter Riley.”

“Doctor Riley. Pleased to meet you,” Angela said extending a hand to shake.

Riley smiled stupidly while greeting Angela. Already captured by her charms, he leered at her creepily, though this was often the reaction she got from men. C.C. Go, however, was watching the kitchen door, obviously in anticipation of Beth.

When Beth entered the room, she was holding a plate of pot stickers with a ramekin of dipping sauce. She set it on the coffee table.

“Please, help yourselves, gentlemen,” Beth said.

“Where you from, Peter?” Iverson asked.

“I’m from Boston originally,” Riley said.

“I went to school in Boston,” Iverson said.

“MIT?” Riley asked.

“Harvard.”

“And now you’re with the DS&T?”

“I am,” Iverson said reluctantly. His name and title were readily available to the public, but he was always uncomfortable admitting he worked for the CIA. Too many things needed to be kept secret. The joke about having to kill anyone he divulged information to had gotten old years ago.

“And what exactly is your capacity within Mister Go’s organization?” Iverson asked him.

Riley took a moment, chewing a pot sticker. He looked to Go before saying, “More consultant than anything.”

“Sorry to cut to the chase, but what exactly is the theme for this evening?” Iverson asked as pleasantly as he could.

Riley smiled knowingly. “C.C. has a penchant for mystery. It’s best to just play along.”

Go said, “You have an ability, Doctor Iverson. A gift.”

“C.C. believes we all have special talents with respect to the Zone,” Riley said.

“Talents?” Iverson asked.

“Our experiments in the Zone have brought us to the conclusion that some of us have specific talents here. Some are adept at landscapes, some are able to erect cities, and some are able to conceive more lifelike ephemera. We think there might be one among us talented enough to create human life,” Riley said.

Angela said, “I thought you said that was impossible.”

Go retreated sheepishly, but Riley came to his rescue. “Well, since the discovery of the Zone, we have to be open to the idea that nothing is impossible. Remember Giotto’s circle? Giotto wanted to exhibit the extent of his creative genius to the Pope, so he painted a perfect circle, freehand. I don’t know if you’ve ever actually tried to do that, but it’s not easy to say the least. We have to assume there are people who are innately more creative and therefore more skilled in the Zone. The amount of data we’ve accumulated thus far is incredible. Overwhelming really. We can’t rule anything out.”

“As I scientist I also understand the importance of responsibility,” Iverson said. “Seems to me you have an agenda. Cityscapes, natural settings, human life. You want to create a sustainable environment in the Zone. This makes me nervous,” Iverson said.

“You’re very intuitive, Doctor,” Go said, chuckling nervously. “And you happen to be correct. One day we’d like to create a sustainable environment in the Zone, but not for unethical purposes. Look at the state of the world: war, pollution, global warming. The Zone may be the only chance for the survival of our species.”

“I’m not so concerned about a utopian society you may or may not be able to create here. What I’m concerned about is releasing this place to the public before it’s been exhaustively studied,” Iverson said.

“I’m afraid my opinion won’t affect that outcome. I’m just an employee. Mister Go has the last word on that,” Riley said.

“As a consultant, what have you advised him?” Angela asked.

“As a scientist I’ve cautioned him against opening the Zone prematurely, but I also understand his point of view. If he will permit me to speak for him. I believe Mister Go fears that the Zone may fall into the wrong hands. If it’s available to everyone, then there’s less chance for one government or one group to exploit its massive power,” Riley said.

“I hate to beat a dead horse,” Iverson said, “but I think it’s unethical and potentially dangerous to release the Zone to the public. It should be studied extensively before the general public is allowed in.”

“If surfers had waited to understand the entire ocean before paddling out, they would never have caught a wave,” Go said. “And like I’ve said before, I don’t think I found the Zone by accident. I believe this is a necessary step in the evolution of our species. Finally man will be forced to confront himself, to see that reality is created in his own mind.”

“I see it differently. To me this place is like characters jumping off the page and trying to write their own story. It’s unnatural,” Iverson said.

“Patience, Doctor. In time we may learn to allow our creative muse to guide us into discovering a way to be co-creators of reality rather than passive participants,” Go said.

“Here, people can deceive themselves and others,” Iverson said, becoming more emotional than he would have liked.

“Those are all valid concerns,” Go said. “But the fact of the matter is that the Zone has been discovered. We can’t move back the clock. Should we bury our findings and hope someone else won’t make the same discoveries in the future, or should we make the best of it now? Remember what you said about penicillin? How many scientists discovered the magic mold before Fleming turned it into a drug that saved millions?”

“Have you any idea what serums, formulas and biological weapons line the shelves of the CIA vaults? You think anthrax is bad, there’s much worse, believe me. Should I publish the recipes on the Internet in the name of progress?” Iverson asked.

“We can see that you’re getting upset. Maybe we should come back another time,” Go said.

“Did you think I’d want to become part of your team? A co-creator of your utopian society?” Iverson asked them, laughing.

“We aren’t trying to assimilate you,” Go said.

“Everything I’ve created aside from my wife has dissolved. I have no special talents here,” Iverson said.

“And your wedding ring,” Beth pointed out.

“That’s right. The wedding ring has lasted, as well.”

“Would you mind if we tested your wife?” Riley asked.

“Test her?”

“There’s a test,” Go said. “Completely safe.”

Beth’s eyes opened wide and her leg bounced nervously.

Go deferred to Dr. Riley.

Riley set his briefcase on the coffee table. He popped the latches. Inside a rectangular box and a square box were recessed in gray foam. Before opening them, he looked at Iverson, then at Beth. “May I take some blood?”

“Mine or hers?” Iverson asked, shocked.

“Hers, of course,” Riley said.

“Mine? Why mine?”

“Manifestations in the Zone have the same molecular structure as objects in reality. Ephemera are nearly indistinguishable from human beings, at least biologically. The only difference is that cells deteriorate more rapidly in ephemera,” Riley said.

“It’s going to tell me when I’m going to die?” Beth asked.

“She’s obviously afraid. Who would want to know when they’ll expire? Please, don’t make her,” Angela said.

Suddenly Iverson flashed on something that had happened years earlier. It was the first time he had seen that blue smear on his wife’s X-ray. At the time, it had felt like someone had bored out his insides. He stood in the doctor’s office, a shell.

“No one has ever gotten anything to last this long in the Zone before. Beth is sort of a miracle. She may not have an expiration time,” Riley said.

“She might be human,” Go said spiritedly.

“Human? What do you mean by human?” Angela asked.

“We just need to take some blood to see what we’re dealing with,” Riley said.

“It’s up to you,” Iverson said to Beth. If only he could have been as cavalier about his real wife’s mortality. He had never fully recovered from that first doctor’s visit. For months, everything he saw was imbued with blue smears.

“I’ve sacrificed for science before. Might as well do it again,” Beth said, rolling up her silk sleeve.

“All we need is a finger,” Riley said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. He opened the square-shaped case and retrieved what Iverson suspected was a hemocytometer, a device resembling a microscope slide used to determine cell count. When Dr. Riley took out a USB cable, Iverson realized it could be connected to his laptop, a feature Iverson didn’t think was available on the market.

From a larger rectangular case, Riley extracted a needle and some cotton balls. He swabbed Beth’s finger, pricked it with the needle, and shook her hand until a drop of blood filled the hemoctyometer’s chamber. After a few selections on the keyboard, the fans inside the computer began to hum. Riley looked up and said, “This takes about an hour.”

Beth sighed and asked, “Well, would anyone like more pot stickers?”

No one did.

“What should we talk about?” Angela asked.

“I’ve been curious about your books, Mister Go,” Iverson asked.

“Have you?” Go asked. He took a sip of wine to hide a grin.

“In the CIA, they’re somewhat legendary. I don’t think anyone in the intelligence community has ever seen one.”

“They represent a world I don’t want to be a part of anymore.”

“Please, Mister Go. Indulge us,” Iverson said.

“If you insist. What I’d always found interesting about my books was that they gave people a choice of either celebrating the worst part of their nature, or cultivating the best part.”

“How so?” Iverson asked.

“Actually, I should start from the beginning. When my father died, he left my mother and me a lot of bills and no means to pay them. I was only seventeen. My mother was nearly fifty years old and didn’t feel strong enough after my father’s death to get a job as a waitress, which was what she had been doing before getting married. We were in trouble. All we had was the phone number of my father’s publisher and some of my father’s notes. My father had an interest in the underbelly of society, clearly outlined in his notes, and my mother and I decided we could create something unique for his readers: A travel book that mapped the world’s most daring places. It was never intended to be used as a guide, more of a ‘from a distance’ sort of thing. To our surprise, a society was formed with the book as its center. Their goal was to experience extravagance and decadence as a means to enlightenment.”

“What types of experiences were they looking for?” Iverson asked.

“Anything and everything. Where to find the best hash in Amsterdam. Where to bathe in chocolate in Belgium. Where to find transgender heroin dens in New Orleans.”

“You were able to profit from people willing to celebrate the worst part of their nature. I wonder what debauchery will take place in the Zone? What will lowlifes like your readers be up to in a place like this?”

Beth began nervously picking up empty plates. Angela offered to help her. They collected what dishes they could and escaped to the kitchen.

“I hope they will find redemption here, like I did. The Zone has a way of reflecting back inferior behavior while celebrating and nurturing specific talents, which I believe has a calming and healing effect.”