L.A. Mental (18 page)

Forty-Three

I
'd held off signaling Venner up until now, wanting to be as sure as I could about who was around this place tonight. But as I walked to the door of the “VIP Room,” the thumb of my free hand slipped casually into the pocket of my jeans and touched the button of the clicker device he'd given me. If Kelso was alone in there, then I was going to assume it was just him and Cynthia. There was an outside chance of someone else in the wings, but it seemed unlikely, and the clock was ticking.

I turned the knob and pushed open the door. Kelso was alone, all right—standing in front of and apparently playing, of all things, an old-fashioned slot machine. There were a dozen of them lined up along the walls, ornately handsome one-armed bandits. The overall setup was a recreation of a tawdry gangster-era back room, where the “VIPs” could enjoy illegal gambling.

When you thought things couldn't get much stranger, that was when they stomped on the gas.

I pressed the clicker button twice and then pulled my hand from my pocket as I stepped into the room.

Kelso turned to me. Unlike Cynthia, he hadn't adapted his appearance to the role; he was dressed the same as the first time I'd seen him, in a loose linen tunic and pants, and he had the same austere presence.

“Do you know of Kekulé's great moment, Tom?” he asked. Clearly, we weren't going to waste any time on pleasantries.

I nodded cautiously. The story, whether or not it was entirely accurate, was among the famous ones in science. The nineteenth-century German chemist August Kekulé devoted years to unlocking the mysteries of organic chemistry—essentially, the science of carbon, one of the fundamental building blocks of life. It didn't seem to fit the kinds of molecular behavior that had been established for other elements. One evening he dozed off in front of his fireplace and dreamed of snakes rolling like hoops with their tails in their mouths—then awoke with the all-important realization that the simple carbon molecule of benzene was a
ring
.

“Long ago, I had an experience of a similar nature,” Kelso said. “It has shaped my life and work ever since.”

He put his hand on the lever of the machine in front of him and gave it a pull. The cherries and oranges of the display spun merrily, slowed—and the slot at the bottom fed out, instead of coins, a single-page printout. He handed it to me.

It showed a computerized image of a human brain, surrounded by an aura. That, in turn, was enwrapped by what looked like a wiring harness, with dozens of tendrils tapping into the aura at different points. Several of the tendrils were labeled with similar but slightly different combinations of mathematical symbols from calculus and physics.

“Is this a model of the energy channels?” I said. “Lisa mentioned that you were working on these.” Although she hadn't said anything about the slot machines.

Kelso's face took on a look of irony, maybe tinged with bitterness.

“Yes. When I first started, my colleagues in Europe called them ‘God Schematics' in derision.” His finger touched the page, tracing the tendrils to the aura. “In brief, the Gatekeepers send communications through the channels to the field of consciousness, using a form of the Pneuma energy. As we receive particular types of thoughts and emotions, it creates similar variations in brainwave patterns. By analyzing those and working backward, I've been able to approximate some mathematical properties for a few of the channels—frequency, wavelength, and such.”

That sounded like pseudoscientific snake oil, although I wasn't about to say so. I concentrated on looking impressed.

“Let me make sure I understand,” I said. “You're actually identifying these lines of communication, in tangible scientific terms?”

“In essence. The process is still very much in rudimentary stages. But I've also made inroads into a next step. To a degree, I've been able to
add
corresponding energy, from an artificial source, to those certain channels—to boost the signal, as it were, and reduce interference from other channels. The result is more direct and clarified communication.”

I blinked, surprised in a new way. It was one thing to pose an arcane theory and bolster it with supposed scientific research so rarefied that only a few people on the planet could understand it. But this was a much more concrete claim.

“Are you saying you can demonstrate this?” I said.

Kelso nodded and laid his hand on another of the one-armed bandits.

“The energy source is built into this machine—if you pull the lever, that will activate it, and it will attune to you,” he said. Then he gave me his craggy smile. “These old slots make for an odd format, I know, but I've always been fascinated by them, and they seem quite apropos. The element of risk and all that.”

I flashed on
The Wizard of Oz
, with me as Toto, nosing out the humbug behind the screen who was pulling the levers—roping me in with this cover for his real lab underground and his work with the nanos.

“And if I do it—what then?” I said.

Kelso's gaze became almost uncomfortably sincere.

“The honest answer is, I don't know,” he said. “The interactions are of varying natures. But here is what's important, Tom—this is crossing the Rubicon, a formal confirmation of your choice. You are entering the cosmic struggle on a conscious level, taking the risks I warned you of. After that, there's no turning back.”

Choice? Sure. I was perfectly free to say no—and over the next days and weeks, Kelso would make my head explode, without ever even having to get near me.

Just like he'd done with Nick.

I stepped to the slot machine and took hold of the lever. Kelso's routine, all of this, was pure bullshit anyway—the exact equivalent of medieval magicians' hocus-pocus and signing a pact in blood.

But when my hand touched that cold metal, I got a tiny shock, and while I knew it was just static electricity, it triggered a flicker of uncertainty.

That's how much on edge you are, I told myself—on edge and counting the seconds until Venner and his men showed up. I was starting to wonder if they were really coming, or if they'd called off the raid and I was on my own.

I swallowed drily and gave the slot machine handle a firm pull. The symbols inside the little windows spun, slowed, and lined up—this time, all bells.

Then the weirdness took another quantum leap.

Nothing changed in any external way—no sounds, no visuals, no sense of being transported to another state of being. Instead, it was like a very deep, inner part of my mind became aware of itself for the first time—as if it had always been dormant, overwhelmed by a fog of subliminal thoughts and feelings, and now that was dissolving into unimagined stillness and clarity.

Still more astounding, I was aware of other presences, like a council, a group of observers—both male and female, with intelligence that was humanlike but vastly elevated. The sense was that they had always been there, like that inner
me
, but only now was I—or it—perceiving them. There did not seem to be any specific message or valence, either of approval or hostility; only the contact, and the impression that they were watching and waiting to pass some kind of judgment on me.

After maybe twenty seconds, it faded and left me again in the here and now.

I backed away from the slot machine, stumbling a little. Hands caught me and steadied me—but not Kelso's. I turned shakily to find that it was Cynthia holding me, with a look of sultry concern.

“You're in no shape to be driving home, Tom,” she said. “You'll need to stay here tonight.”

Forty-Four

A
pparently, Kelso had handed me off to Cynthia; he was nowhere in sight. She led me back through the tavern and outside into the subtly creeping glow of the streets, with her spike heels clicking along the pavestones.

I got over my physical wobbles fast, but I was still reeling mentally. How the hell had Kelso managed to engineer
that
? All the earlier incidents—the jolt I'd gotten at Lisa's, the aggressive vultures and cats, the unease I'd felt as I arrived here tonight—I could account for by the nanos, a relatively basic triggering of brain neurons.

But to think he could manipulate them to create an effect so specific and refined was stunning. He'd set me up with strong suggestions, but that couldn't account for it. Could he have used a process akin to the synthetic telepathy that Hans Blaustein had mentioned? The thought was wild—and wildly disturbing.

That there might have been a reality to it was not even thinkable.

But as I walked along beside Cynthia,
that
reality was starting to sink in. She wasn't dressed like she was and insisting I stay here tonight so we could sit around and play gin rummy. I knew damned well it wasn't because she found me irresistible. She seemed voracious, and that probably figured in, but mainly, she was establishing control. I belonged to Parallax now, and that meant I belonged to her.

I'd rather have slept with a rattlesnake than this woman who'd had a hand in what happened to Nick. Much as I didn't want to sabotage Venner, he'd better make his move before that came down to the wire.

“Let's take a little detour,” she said. We were just getting to the Delphic temple, and she turned us to cross the courtyard toward the tall open doorway. I followed her through it warily, guessing that the detour was going to entail yet another bizarre surprise, and maybe a kinky one—especially because the FX were turned on, with firelight flickering and the warm whitish mist swirling around. I tried not to breathe the stuff in, although the damage was already done.

Cynthia gave me a glance that was playfully arch, and yet imperious.

“It's silly, but I like to imagine myself as the ancient sibyl,” she said. Then she stalked to the chasm and swung around toward me, planting one foot on each side of it, with the mist climbing her thighs. Even with her heels and cocktail dress, there was a sense of ancient pagan ritual.

“What do you think—should I take over for Lisa?” she said.

“I haven't seen her in this role.”

Cynthia's lips twisted in a little moue of amusement or maybe pique. Her eyes closed, her face lifted, and her arms opened as if to embrace the sky. There was a long, dramatic moment of silence.

“I predict that you'll look back at this night, Thomas Crandall,” she intoned, “and you'll realize that it was that start of a new life more exciting than you can yet imagine.” She relaxed her body and turned her gaze to me again, clearly expecting a response.

“I'm sure you're right, Cynthia,” I said, “but just now I'm kind of in shock. I need to take it easy for a while.”

She walked back over to me with a hip-swinging stroll, this time linking her arm in mine and brushing her breasts against me.

“Come along, honey,” she said, as we stepped out into the courtyard. “Let's get comfortable, and we'll work on smoothing you out.”

“Not tonight, Ms. Trask,” a man's voice said from the gloom.

I felt Cynthia jerk in surprise, her grip tightening on my arm.

Venner came walking forward, and several other men appeared, seeming to materialize out of nothing—wearing black fatigues and carrying Uzi-type assault rifles on slings.

“Dr. Crandall, move away from her,” Venner said.

As I wrenched my arm free of hers, she gave me a look of fury unlike anything I'd ever seen on a human face. It stayed on me while the soldiers cuffed her wrists behind her.

“Check out that pendant she's wearing,” I said to Venner. “My guess is it's a control for the nanos.”

He nodded and stepped to her to lift it off her neck. She didn't speak or struggle, but her fierce glare tuned on him.

Then I realized that they also had Kelso; he'd been standing in the shadows with another pair of guards, his wrists also cuffed behind his back. The men started walking him and Cynthia toward the gate. Kelso's eyes on me were calm as he passed—even with the patronizing hint of a wise man dealing with a dolt.

“There is still truth in what I've said, Tom,” he said.

I took three steps toward him and got my face right in his.

“Then bring my brother back from where you put him, you son of a bitch,” I said.

I had the slight, grim satisfaction of watching his gaze shift uneasily away. Then he and Cynthia moved on out of my sight—forever, I hoped with all my heart.

But a lot of questions still lingered. Whether Parallax would go with them or others would step in to carry on. Nick's health, and Paul's reaction to the changes that were coming his way. What was going to happen to the movie project. Whether Drabyak or Hap would ever come back into the picture.

Where Lisa and I stood.

Part Five

Forty-Five

M
ost of a month had passed before I went back to the film-set temple again. This time it was a sunny afternoon, and for a reason as much cheerier as the weather. The actual sibyl scene for the movie was scheduled to be shot today. It starred Lisa, and she had invited me to watch.

The cameras were due to start rolling any minute, with Dustin Sperry directing. While I waited, I was sitting on the courtyard wall—carefully staying clear of the equipment and crew making feverish last-minute adjustments—and looking through a copy of the script that she'd given me.

INT—THE VELVET GLOVE TAVERN—ETERNAL TWILIGHT

Uther steps warily through the door, still in shock from his battle with the Nhangs. The bartender is alone inside, polishing glasses. He barely glances at Uther; the sense is that he's seen all this many times before.

Uther: Where the hell am I?

Bartender: The Velvet Glove. Just like the sign says.

Uther: I mean the city, country, all that.

Bartender: People just call it “here.”

Uther: How did I get here?

Bartender: Nobody knows about that.

Uther—played by arrogant, young Chris Breen—was the soldier who had been ambushed and awoke in this strange world. He immediately encountered a mysterious, hauntingly beautiful woman—Sophia, played by Lisa—who was just as quickly abducted by the
Nhangs
, a vicious clan of thugs who were really demonic shape-shifters.

Uther put up a desperate fight, killing a couple of the
Nhangs
, but couldn't save Sophia and was nearly killed himself. He watched in horror as the dead
Nhangs
reverted to their true shape—reptilian, blood-drinking monsters. Uther then made his way through the city to the tavern, with the bartender played by a veteran character actor named William Stubbs. That was the scene I was reading now.

The fact that filming was still going on at all was a testament to how bizarre this real-life drama had been—and to how high-powered Venner's agency was. I still didn't know their actual identity, only that they were top-secret federal spooks; they were in the business of obtaining information, not giving it out, and they weren't interested in answering my questions. But their signature was that they'd gotten the job done with lightning speed and scary efficiency—besides nailing Kelso and Cynthia that night, they'd raided his lab and hauled away all the equipment inside—and the cover-up that followed was equally impressive. Nobody who wasn't directly involved in the events knew anything about what had really happened, and Venner's people kept the film project going because suddenly shutting it down would have attracted too much attention.

One thing that couldn't be hidden was Gunnar Kelso's absence. A cover story had been created there, too; supposedly he'd gone back to Sweden to tend to a dying relative, with the story supported by fictitious e-mails from him to Parallax members. I was sure that in reality the government intended to keep him working on his nano research under their supervision, and they would treat him quite well. He was an extremely valuable mind.

In other words, the harm he had done to Nick and to others would go unpunished. It was hard to accept, but there was nothing I could do. It helped a little to know that he would essentially be a prisoner.

But what graveled me almost worse was that Cynthia had also come away untouched—and was still holding her job as Parallax Productions CFO. I'd gotten at least a little reassurance from Venner on this point; it was only to avert attention, like the filming itself; he was keeping her on a tight leash, with the Lodge strictly off limits from here on, and once the movie was finished, she'd be quietly spirited away. But they obviously weren't going to press criminal charges against her; that would have required publicizing the matter. If she disappeared and stayed out of my life, that would be the best outcome I was likely to get.

There was a lot of dust yet to settle on other levels, but things were edging in that direction. I'd been keeping steady tabs on Nick; his condition was unchanged. Paul hadn't been in touch; if he was going to make any waves, there was no sign of it yet. I hadn't heard anything from or about Hap or Drabyak, either. I hadn't pushed anything on any count, just left it all alone and quietly started teaching my summer classes. And Lisa and I were still seeing each other, at least for now.

I turned the next page of the script.

Uther strides to the bar and grips the rail with both hands.

Uther: There was this woman. These creatures kidnapped her. I've got to find her.

Bartender: Lot of women in this world, kid. That one's trouble.

Uther: What? You're saying I should just let her go?

The bartender shrugs and nods his head toward the bar's rear exit.

Bartender: Your call. You walk through that door, you'll get a chance. Or you can go back out the way you came in. Trust me, it's a much smoother ride.

Uther stares at the rear door.

Uther: What happens if I find her?

Bartender: You'll find more trouble along with her. How it turns out depends on you. It's all about guts and brains.

I glanced up from the script to see Lisa walking toward me. She looked every bit the pagan priestess in gold sandals, a tiara, and her long glossy hair streaming down her shoulders, the only caveat being that for the moment, she was wrapped in a dressing gown over her tissue-thin tunic.

“Remember that guy Joe Bob, who used to rate drive-in movies by how many breasts they showed?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck keeping count. Come on, it's time.”

I smiled, and we started walking back to the temple. But the personal space between us was one of the areas where a lot of the dust was hovering. She still seemed to want to keep the relationship going, and I still felt that powerful draw toward her. But my doubts about her hadn't gone away; on the contrary, they'd festered deeper. I couldn't bring them out into the open, or tell her what had happened with Venner that night, or even that anything had happened. I'd had no choice but to lie to her—tell her that I'd never met with Kelso, that I'd called him a couple of times but got no answer, and then found out he'd suddenly left for Sweden.

The strain of uncertainty and secrecy was growing.

She hadn't pressed me about it; she was under a different kind of strain from another source, which was keeping her distracted. There was serious tension on the film set. Sperry was a competent director, but it was clear by now that Kelso's calming presence and authority had been the glue that held the overall effort together. His sudden absence put Sperry under a lot of extra pressure, and he wasn't handling it well; he'd taken to making last-minute script changes of questionable value but which threw everybody off-balance, and he'd gotten more and more abrasive with the cast and crew.

In particular, he tended to target Lisa, her refusal to jump in bed with him no doubt figuring in. Her fear that he'd get her fired hadn't materialized, at least; maybe he'd made a behind-the-scenes attempt that failed, or maybe he realized he had troubles enough and backed off.

But now she was worried that the film itself was going to suffer. With the hostile working atmosphere, morale was low and the performances had an off-base feel—undercutting the zest, spirit,
life
, that were all-important to a good production. She was doing her best to hold her own, but her hopes were fading that this role would be the springboard career move she yearned for.

Who do you have to fuck to get
off
this movie? was the grim old joke that kept coming around.

It was another thing that hurt and yet that I couldn't touch. She'd made it clear that she didn't want me getting into it with Sperry personally—as with a domestic dispute, that would only make things worse, and she was plenty capable of handling him herself. On a business level, she potentially had much more serious backup—agents, production people, investors, all with a tangible interest in success—but while I didn't know much about that aspect, those voices seemed oddly muted. It was almost like a sort of jinx had sprung up, with everybody subconsciously sensing that something was really wrong, to the point where they were willing to let this project drift away downriver until it disappeared from sight.

“How's the scene shaping up?” I asked Lisa as we walked across the courtyard.

“It should go okay—not much nuance in this one. Although Dustin's being pissy even for him.”

I slipped my arm around her waist. “Hang in there, baby. A few more weeks.”

“Oh, I'll make it. I just feel sort of worn-out instead of worked up. Not only me, everybody.”

She left me at the temple entrance and went on in to join the cast. I stayed just inside the doorway—remembering all too clearly the night when it was Cynthia who'd led me inside and playfully straddled the vapor-spewing chasm.

The fires were lit, the mist machine on full blast—without Kelso around to add in the nanos, the vapor was harmless—the place was warm and damp as a steam bath, and Lisa hadn't exaggerated the feminine charms on display. Besides her, a dozen other lovely priestesses were taking their places in a ceremonial lineup, a spectacle pretty much like I'd imagined it—a sort of ancient civilization wet T-shirt contest. It was actually quite tame, a little eye candy to spice up a familiar, and hokey, kind of scene.

The setup was that Uther's search for Sophia had brought him here to the temple. By now he knew that she was a demigoddess, and that the city's rival factions warred constantly with each other to enslave her so they could use her power. He'd fought battles and had narrow escapes, made dangerous mistakes but also honed his survival skills; he was getting accustomed to this world and learning how to cope.

But at this point in the action, he'd been captured and his future looked short. He was hanging by his wrists from a rope, hovering over the chasm. The sinister high priest—who, of course, lusted after Sophia besides wanting to usurp her powers of prophecy—had devised a fiendish way to torture them both. She would be forced to cut the rope, plunging Uther to his death in the smoldering depths of the earth.

Instead, she would cry out mysterious words that started the temple trembling, and she would manage to cut Uther's hands free. He would live to escape—but alone. As the building collapsed on the panicked assemblage, with flames and lava spewing from the chasm, the high priest would spirit Sophia away through a secret exit.

This would leave Uther facing a new enemy—doubt. Sophia
seemed
to have fallen as ardently in love with him as he had with her. But each of his daring rescue attempts ended with her being torn from his grasp at the last second. He was starting to fear that she might be contriving this somehow—toying with him for sport while luring him on to disaster—or even that she might really be one of the treacherous
Nhangs
.

The
Nhangs
. The guys playing those parts were definitely not part of Parallax; they were extras, bodybuilder types with hard eyes and lots of tattoos, and I could tell they made the rest of the cast uncomfortable. But they did their job—adding a creepy edge—real well.