Hidden in Dreams (26 page)

He stared at her a long moment, more than night shadows creasing his features. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. I am.”

He nodded slowly. “When I was boarding the flight, I had this sudden impression that I was traveling down for the wrong reasons. I felt . . . selfish. Ashamed. And I didn’t understand why. Until now.”

She reached over and took his hand. One friend offering solace to another. “Would you like to pray with me?”

27

D
orothy already had the kettle boiling when Elena entered her home. The retired policewoman had a no-nonsense solidity to her that Elena found very reassuring. “I didn’t notice your bodyguards tonight.”

“They’ve been dismissed.”

“So it’s just me on duty.” She did not seem to mind that in the least.

Elena set a chamomile tea bag in her cup. She felt so tired her bones ached. Perhaps the tea would help calm her mind. But as she took her first sip, her phone rang. The readout said it was Rachel. Elena was very tempted not to answer. But the day looming beyond the night and the storm forced her hand. “Yes?”

“Why is it,” Rachel demanded, “that you suddenly distrust me?”

Elena resisted the sudden surge of emotions. Perhaps it was just fatigue. But she was certain she heard a vestige of Miriam’s voice in those words. Angrily she pushed it all aside. She needed clarity and control now more than ever. “You already know the answer to that.”

“No, no, you are incorrect, what you say.” Rachel’s voice had taken on a slight accent, as though the events and the pressures and the emotions had torn away her civilized and educated veneer. “I have done everything in my power to do right by you. I protected you every step of the way. Nothing has changed.”

Elena carried the phone out onto the screened-in porch. The storm was passing now. Rain dripped lazily from her roof, while off in the distance lightning silhouetted mountains of clouds. “For the second time tonight, you’re totally off course.”

“I . . . What?”

“Everything . . . Wait a moment, please.” Elena pressed the phone to her ribs and stared at the night. A thought had come to her, brilliant as the brief illuminations off to her right. She took a breath. Another. Trying to steady herself.

Reed would definitely not approve of what she was about to do. And yet, what alternative did they have? The reality had been stated during their telephone conference. If they waited, the new banking order would become entrenched. No matter what evidence they brought forward, it would be too late to turn things around.

It was either now or never.

Elena walked back into the condo. She asked Dorothy, “Can I use your phone?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks.” Elena stepped to the side table where she kept a pen and notepad. “Rachel, where are you calling from?”

“My office.”

“Do you have a number where I can call you, one that isn’t linked to you in any way?”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes. And it needs to be totally removed from any risk of a potential microphone catching your words.”

“Wait a moment.” The phone was set down. Then: “Call me back at this number.”

Elena wrote it down, ended the call, then dialed the number into Dorothy’s phone.

As soon as she came on the line, Rachel implored, “All I’m asking is for you to trust me.”

“Prove you’re worth it.”

She was silent a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Do you really think there is nothing at all wrong with this situation? Either you were a part of it from the beginning, or you are blinded by your trust in Trevor Tenning.”

“H-he gave me my big break. I was just another junior VP, and he appointed me head of this new division. He’s mentored me since he first came on as CEO—”

“I know all that. And it changes nothing. There is something terribly wrong at SuenaMed. Either you help me, or you are one of them. The enemy.”

Rachel was quiet for so long Elena thought she had cut the connection. A very different woman came back, subdued and afraid. “The economic crisis isn’t real?”

“Of course it’s real. That’s not what I am saying, Rachel. It’s also
manufactured
.”

“By Trevor?”

“He is the public face, yes.”

“I don’t . . . You’re . . .” Rachel faltered, stopped, breathed hard. “What do you mean?”

Elena reached out and traced the pattern of a raindrop on her window. Thunder rippled through the air, a powerful resonance of unseen forces at work. She was taking a terrible risk. But there was no time for discussion or argument or hunting down alternatives. Elena said, “Do you have access to the original research for SuenaMind?”

“Do I . . . You’re not making any sense.”

“Yes or no, Rachel.”

“I am SuenaMind’s product director. Of course I can access it. All the way back to the original molecular formulation.”

“Not that far. I’m talking about the research leading up to the murder of your predecessor.”

“That’s not . . . He wasn’t . . .”

“There was an unexpected medical discovery. One your company and its owners have kept secret. So you won’t find anything in the corporate files. You’ll need to access the former director’s personal data. Maybe he hid disks somewhere, or a laptop, something.”

There was a long silence, then, “What am I looking for?”

“We are working on a thesis that goes as follows: Under certain circumstances, your drug creates a hypnotic state so powerful it can dominate even the most basic subconscious urges. Including the formation of dream states. We need evidence to prove this is correct.”

Rachel moaned softly. Perhaps in denial. Perhaps in dismay at what Elena had uncovered. “What brought you to this?”

“That’s not your concern, Rachel.” That was also the sort of question the enemy would be asking. Elena fought against the terror that threatened to swamp her. But she could do nothing about the metallic tone of her voice. “You want me to trust you? Then find me the evidence that confirms what we already know. Give us what we need to take this public. We have to stop them before it’s too late. And Rachel.”

The woman responded with a voice both ancient and deep. “Yes?”

“Don’t call back unless you have what we need.”

28

W
hen Elena returned to her living room, Dorothy was seated at one of the breakfast stools, her knitting piled on the counter beside her mug. “Your tea’s gone cold.”

“I’ll make another.”

The television was on and showed an excited reporter being drenched by torrential rain and wind. Dorothy said, “The hurricane’s moved over the southern islands of the Bahamas. Our own forecast is coming up. I’ll cut it off if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” She poured out her mug and reheated the kettle. Over the breakfast counter she watched as the weather forecasters explained why Hector’s path was still impossible to predict. A high-pressure zone over the Midwest states might or might not move eastward. The high-pressure zone was potent enough to hold the hurricane offshore. The weather forecaster was almost apologetic as he explained the difficulty they were having in predicting movement of both weather systems. Then the channel switched to an advertisement. Elena muted the sound and set Dorothy’s cell phone and her own on the counter next to the policewoman’s knitting. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Why I’m here.”

“Whatever happens, whatever I might say,” Elena told her solemnly, “don’t let me use any phone.”

•    •    •

Elena slept and did not dream. Or rather, she dreamed and all of the dreams were her own.

She awoke to a remarkable sense of calm. The clock read a quarter to seven. She had not bothered to set the alarm because she had not expected to sleep so long or so well. Jacob was due to pick her up in just over an hour. If she hurried, she had time for a brief workout.

When Elena emerged from the bedroom in jogging shorts and T-shirt, Dorothy greeted her with a smile and a lifting of her coffee mug. “Good night?”

“The best. Nothing happened. What about from your end?”

“Your phone rang once. I answered, and they clicked off.”

“Did you make note of the number?”

“Caller withheld. I called a pal on the force, they ran a check. Disposable phone assigned to one Mr. Jones.”

Elena entered the kitchen and poured herself a mug. “A lie.”

“Happens all the time. The salespeople will forgo the ID check for a ten-spot.” The policewoman sipped again. “Do you recall our little conversation?”

“You mean, we talked last night?”

“You showed up. Sleepwalking again. Started across the living room, I assume for your phone. I told you to go back to bed. Said it a second time.” Dorothy pointed into the living room with her mug. “You touched the place where you set down your phone. Sort of grabbed at it with your hand, then you turned and walked back into the bedroom.”

Elena released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.” Dorothy refreshed both their mugs. “Sorry I can’t run with you. Hip replacement.”

“The development has a small gym. I can put in a half hour on the elliptical before Jacob gets here.”

“I’ll come down and keep watch.” Dorothy spooned in half a sugar. “Jacob, that’s the fellow who dropped you off?”

“Yes. Jacob Rawlings is a clinical psychologist from Atlanta.”

“Smart and handsome both.” She sipped and nodded approval. “There’s some who’ll tell you marrying into your profession only guarantees you’ll take your work home. I married a cop. Good man. We had thirty-one great years before his heart went.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” She finished her mug and set it in the sink. “Jacob says he wants to be my beau. But he’s not.”

Dorothy liked that. “You got a thing against handsome men?”

“No, I . . .” Elena was almost grateful when the phone started ringing. “Is that one yours?”

“Believe so.” Dorothy walked to her purse on the sofa, answered, listened a moment, then reentered the kitchen and said, “Your friend Rachel sounds in a bad way.”

“She must have made note of your number when I called her last night.” Elena started out onto her screened-in porch, then entered her bedroom and asked, “Are you calling from a safe place?”

“The basement of a man who died four years ago.” Rachel’s voice was both low and unsteady. “A man my company murdered.”

Her relief at having taken a proper risk left her weak at the knees. Elena seated herself at the desk by the window and reached for a pad and pen. “Tell me everything.”

•    •    •

Rachel spoke in fits and starts, interrupting herself to add details and to regain her fractured control. Her predecessor’s name was Larry Kroom. He had started the search for a new ADHD treatment, and led it from day one. His motive was simple and very personal. Both of his children suffered from attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. Two boys. Identical twins. Eleven years old when they lost their father. At this point, Rachel had to stop and set down the phone. Elena listened to the woman try to stifle broken sobs, and knew with an expansive relief two great truths. First, they had the smoking gun. And second, Rachel Lamprey was on their side.

When she finally came back on the line, Rachel went on, “His wife said SuenaMed security came and cleaned out his office. But the records I’m holding weren’t in his office. They were hidden in a box behind the children’s infant clothes, at the back of a cluttered and dusty basement. On top was a note to his wife that said simply, ‘Only give this to someone you can trust, and only if they ask for it.’” Rachel had great difficulty forming the word
trust
. As though just speaking it left her convicted of some vast wrong.

Larry Kroom had discovered the drug’s potency as a manipulator of the subconscious by accident. The results did not appear on any report, because the tests were not performed in the lab at all.

He had given the drug to his children.

Both of his boys’ symptoms were growing increasingly severe. At points in virtually every day, they had become almost uncontrollable, and the standard treatments had proved only marginally effective. The situation had grown so serious that both boys were assigned to a special school, which effectively meant they were relegated to a lower strata for life.