The Cure (16 page)

“Thanks, Erin. But it’s all true. You already have all the evidence you need if you really think about it. I know nothing about genetic engineering or medicine, but didn’t you ever question how Drake could have done what he did? Identify the precise genes that contribute to the condition and then find a way to reverse them—at the genetic level?”

Erin frowned. She had. She had guessed that it was pure luck, plus the novel approach of sequencing entire genomes, which would have been impossible only years earlier. A dovetailing of knowledge about the physical basis of psychopathy, advances in sequencing, an impressive algorithm, and lots of luck—which scientists liked to call “serendipity” for some reason.

But the odds of being able to do what he had done, when she really thought about it in a fully sober manner, were millions to one against. She had been so eager to believe. And his animal data was so compelling. But Kyle Hansen’s story would explain a lot.

“Am I detecting some faint stirrings of belief on your face?” asked Hansen.

Erin raised her eyebrows. “Maybe,” she replied. “But even if Drake
is
an alien, even if you prove this beyond a doubt, that still doesn’t mean any of this is true,” she pointed out. “He could have lied about all of it.”

Hansen looked uncomfortable. “True. But I’ve worked with him closely for years and have come to trust him implicitly. He’s aboveboard, unless he’s forced to use deception out of necessity, like in your case.” He leaned forward. “The important point here is that you have the key to saving the human race. I know that sounds preposterous and melodramatic, but it happens to be true. So let me take you to our headquarters, so you can meet this alien you’ve been collaborating with. Let me cement the truth of what I’m telling you even more firmly in your mind. So you can join our efforts without any reservations. And tell Drake about your breakthrough. So we can get on with saving ourselves.”

Erin shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m all that impressed with that computer of his. The cure he’s come up with is stunning. Nothing short of a miracle. This much is true. But it’s still years away from approval.”

Erin had discussed this at length with Raborn many times. First they needed to prove it worked. But even with a working cure in hand, it would take some doing to get the FDA to agree to clinical trials to demonstrate this, while at the same time keeping her out of jail.

They planned to introduce the cure into a population of psychopaths some
other
research group was studying, far away from Erin Palmer. When these other researchers realized what was going on and announced the impossible, that their subjects had somehow miraculously been cured, it would make worldwide news. It would be huge. Then Raborn would send vials with the cure and animal data to the head of the FDA, anonymously, explaining that this was responsible. The FDA would be forced to take it seriously. It might take a decade, but eventually the treatment would become available.

But even if they succeeded, Erin had come to believe this wouldn’t matter much anyway. “Even if such a treatment were approved today,” explained Erin, “psychopaths don’t see anything wrong with the way they are. They think they’re superior. And when it comes to looking out for number one, and being able to operate without remorse, without conscience, without soul, maybe they are. And the ones whose cure would have the biggest impact on society—the dictators of the world, leaders of drug cartels, and the like—would be the very last to agree to use it. Unless you think the FDA, or our government, or Drake for that matter, has jurisdiction over a Middle Eastern psychopathic dictator.”

How many dictators and tyrants throughout history had been psychopathic? Erin suspected almost all of them.
Sociopath
was a word that was often used interchangeably with
psychopath,
but there was a difference, although it was subtle and not well-known, even among those in the profession. Sociopaths also suffered from antisocial disorder, but their upbringing and environment played a role in this. This wasn’t true for psychopaths. They could have an idyllic upbringing and it wouldn’t change a thing. Their mother could have been Mother Teresa and their father Gandhi. It wouldn’t matter. Because for them it was all about wiring.

But their environments did dictate where they would ply their psychopathy in many cases. Those raised in educated, loving homes might turn to white-collar crime, cons, corporate backstabbing, insider trading, and corruption. They might go on to become doctors and lawyers and accountants, because this was a clear path to get ahead. If blending in and stabbing people in the back, metaphorically, was what was needed, this was what they would do.

But they especially thrived in environments for which butchery was in fashion. A psychopath raised in a gang environment, or a mob environment, or in a brutal society in Iran or Syria, would have no trouble becoming the most ruthless among the ruthless. Whatever it took to climb the ladder. If getting a law degree was what it took, fine. But if cutting off heads was required, this wouldn’t trouble them a bit. If brutal rape and torture would cement fear in their subjects, no problem at all.

In brutal regimes, those capable of rising to the top were invariably psychopathic. And they preyed on the ignorance of the West. The quote that Apgar had given her during their first meeting from
The Bad Seed
was exactly right. These people appeared to be charming and reasonable men, not monsters. And normal people could never imagine a mind so alien to their own.

So when Saddam Hussein or Mahmoud Ahmadinejad had given interviews to eager Western journalists, the journalists were putty in their hands, along with a huge number of the viewers of these programs. The psychopaths were warm, articulate, and smooth. So reasonable and unthreatening, that what was said about them had to be a gross exaggeration, a lie. “Am I responsible for personally using an axe to behead dozens of dissidents, smiling as the blood spurted over my face? Impossible. Look how clean I look in my pressed uniform. Look how nonthreatening my posture and smile are. This is just Western propaganda, of course. Our society is quite progressive.”

And the West ate it up.

Ironically, those whose genes made them the
most
compassionate, the
most
empathetic, who were the most removed from the psychopathic mentality, were the easiest to fool. These minds were unable to fathom a mind whose operation was so impossibly different than their own, whose motivations were so foreign. These empathetic elements could easily believe the lies—it was the
truth
their very genetic makeup wouldn’t allow them to believe. And when public relations were required, the most dangerous psychopaths of all could play the good people of the world like a Stradivarius in the hands of a master.

“So a cure is an incredible accomplishment,” continued Erin. “And the possibilities, although limited, are intriguing. But it won’t accomplish what Drake and his computer think it will. Those capable of destroying mankind with less remorse than you or I would feel over swatting a fly will still remain.”

Hansen sighed. “You make some valid points. But there’s more to this than you’ve been told.” A guilty look came over his face. “And I have a feeling that, necessary as it is, it’s something that will take you some time to get comfortable with.”

16

FOR JUST A
moment, Erin wasn’t sure if she even wanted Hansen to continue. The surprises, the tectonic shifts in her reality, were coming too rapidly. And this latest sounded worrisome. What had she missed this time? She wasn’t sure she could handle any more psychological shocks to her system. But regardless, she knew there was no closing Pandora’s box now.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Let me regroup for a minute. Brace myself for whatever you’re about to throw at me. You know what always helps with shocks to the system? With having everything you thought you knew about your life and the world turned upside down?”

Hansen’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “No. What?” he said finally.

“Cheesecake,” replied Erin, the corners of her mouth turning up into a smile. “You bought lunch, how about I buy dessert? Then you can throw the next grenade while I take comfort in my food. A bad habit to turn to sweets when you’re stressed, but there you have it.”

“You clearly haven’t abused it,” said Hansen appreciatively. “I’d have guessed you ate like a model.” He paused. “Hell, I’d have guessed you
were
a model.”

“Okay, flattery helps also,” she admitted. “But not as much as cheesecake. Let’s go.”

They were standing in line to order when Hansen’s phone issued two short vibrations and then stopped, alerting him to a new text message. “Sorry,” he said, “but I’d better check this. Drake must have left a message. I think he was checking in on us and called earlier. It’s not like we have a curfew or anything,” he added with the hint of a smile. “But he believes you to be the most important person on the planet right now.”

“Why? Even if I dropped dead this instant, he could still recreate my work, using another researcher for confirmation.”

“Even forgetting about the risk involved in conducting the testing, which admittedly, you took the brunt of, it would take years. And we may not
have
years,” he added pointedly as he began to read the message on his phone.

Kyle Hansen’s eyes widened and his face became ashen.

“What is it?” she asked.

Hansen didn’t reply. Instead he handed her the phone. It was open to a text message.

Yuma compound attacked. SF responsible. Rest of team down. I’m on run, can’t risk voice msg. Abandoning phone. Don’t try to contact me. Go to MB in CO asap & get started. He’ll expect you. I’ll contact u there in 48 hours. If I’m late, start w/out me. Keep Erin safe!! She’s the key.

Erin handed the phone back to Hansen. She wasn’t sure what to believe, but the timing was far too unlikely for her taste. “So I guess we can’t go back to your headquarters in Yuma now, after all. We suddenly can’t prove what you’ve told me is true, can we?”

Hansen shook his head, but the stunned, horrified look still hadn’t left his face. “Let’s take a rain check on the dessert,” he said leaving the line and motioning for Erin to follow. They found a nearby table that was free and sat down once again.

“This can’t be,” said Hansen the moment they were seated. “It’s too much of a coincidence that this happened right when you found the cure and were about to tell Drake. I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said.

Erin gazed at Kyle Hansen with a new respect. Of all the responses he could have had to this situation, this was the one that restored her belief in his veracity the fastest. She couldn’t have said it better herself. As she stared into Hansen’s eyes, she realized that there was something about him that she trusted. He seemed to have a keen mind, good sense of humor, and an unpretentious, friendly personality. She found herself drawn to him. Drawn to him more than she was prepared to admit, even to herself.

“Yuma was totally off the grid,” he continued. “Until now. So you have to be involved in what happened somehow.”

“What
did
happen?” asked Erin. “And what’s the connection between San Francisco and Yuma? Was Drake working with somebody there?”

“San Francisco?”

“Yes. Drake texted that San Francisco was responsible.”

Hansen looked at her in confusion for several seconds before the light of comprehension finally gleamed in his eyes. “You’re thinking about his use of the letters
SF
. Drake didn’t mean San Francisco. In this case,
SF
stands for Steve Fuller.”

Erin gasped.

“How do you know Steve Fuller?” demanded Hansen immediately.

“Wow,” said Erin, annoyed with herself. “I think we’ve established that I wouldn’t make a good poker player. I’ll admit it. I have heard the name. But why don’t you go first. What does he have to do with any of this?”

Hansen considered her for an extended period. “Okay,” he said at last. “I guess I can go first. Fuller is an international arms dealer. And a psychopath.” He hesitated again, as though uncertain what to say next. Erin hoped he was weighing the best way to tell her the truth, rather than taking time to concoct the best lie. “While Drake has been working on this project with you, he’s been keeping track of those who pose the greatest threat to our survival. And Fuller is among a handful of the world’s most dangerous players. I’m sure that’s what he meant by
SF.
”

“How does Drake know this guy’s behind it?”

Hansen shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he recognized him during the attack.”

“But why? Why would Fuller attack Drake?”

“I have no idea how he would even know of Drake’s existence. But maybe he got wind that Drake was trying to cure psychopathy.”

Erin stared at him blankly.

“If psychopathy were cured,” explained Hansen, “this would have a big negative impact on an arms dealer. If his best customers suddenly grew a conscience, stopped buying weapons, and started singing folk songs around the campfire, this would be very bad for business. And Fuller is a psychopath himself. Like you said, the last thing they want is to be cured. So what would a brutal, powerful, psychopathic arms dealer do if he found out Drake intended to rid the planet of this condition?”

Erin had to admit that if the attack was real, this reasoning did provide a logical underpinning for it. Perhaps even a compelling one.

“That’s all I know about Steve Fuller,” said Hansen. “So now it’s your turn.”

Erin stared deeply into his eyes. She had the feeling he knew more, but decided not to press. For now. Her gut told her that if he was withholding information, it was only because he didn’t perceive it to be relevant. And the fact that he didn’t seem to be a talented or practiced liar was a hugely positive personality trait in her book, and a great change of pace after working with the world’s smoothest liars for so many years.