The Devil's Sanctuary (28 page)

NOTHING WAS
visible from the outside except a tall, dense fir hedge. If you looked between the branches you could make out a heavy steel fence immediately behind it. There were two gates in the hedge: a large one, wide enough for vehicles, and, in the side facing the clinic buildings, a smaller one where Daniel had seen a group of doctors emerge early one morning, then walk over toward the care center in formation. That was when he realized that the area inside the fir hedge contained the doctors’ housing.

He rang the bell beside the gate. A young male voice answered over the speaker. Daniel leaned toward the intercom and said, “My name is Daniel Brant. I’d like to see Doctor Obermann. It’s important.”

“Sorry,” the voice said. “No visitors are allowed in here. You’ll have to try to find her in her office.”

“I’ve already tried there. But apparently she’s at home. Please, tell her I’m here, and that it’s important,” Daniel said with as much gravity and authority as he could muster.

“One moment.”

The speaker fell silent. In the distance came the noise of the diggers preparing the site for the new buildings farther up the slope. After a few minutes there was a bleep and the gate opened automatically and incredibly slowly.

Inside he found himself in a different world.

There were a dozen or so single-story bungalows surrounding a lawn with a fountain at its center. There were flowerbeds with a few solitary late roses, trees with yellowing leaves, and a brick barbeque.

It was a peaceful, secluded place. It made Daniel think of the walled palace gardens of the Arab world, lying like hidden treasure, protected from prying eyes in the midst of bustling cities.

“She’ll be with you shortly,” the young guard said, leaning out of a small lodge beside the gate.

Daniel waited. The fountain splashed and the fir hedge softened the noise of the diggers to a distant murmur.

Then the door to one of the bungalows opened and Gisela Obermann came toward him on the paved path. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, she was dressed in jogging pants and a T-shirt, and her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed recently.

“Welcome, Doctor Brant,” she said, holding her hand out to him.

“Everything okay?” the guard wondered.

“Fine,” Gisela said.

She turned toward Daniel with a broad smile. “I’ve read your report with interest, Doctor. Come with me, let’s go inside.”

The guard disappeared into his lodge as Gisela led Daniel back to her house.

Her smile vanished the moment they were inside the door.

“You must be completely mad to come here,” she hissed, walking ahead of him into a living room, beautifully furnished but astonishingly messy and reeking of smoke. Books, bundles of papers, empty bottles, and dirty plates were spread everywhere. The blinds were drawn and a small reading lamp by one of the armchairs illuminated the gloom.

She cleared another armchair so that Daniel could sit down. When she came closer he noticed that she smelled of alcohol.

“The guard’s new, so he doesn’t yet recognize everyone in the valley. I managed to persuade him that you’re one of the visiting researchers who’s stayed on. If it had been any of the other guards you’d never have gotten in. What are you doing here? You’re not my patient anymore, and I’m forbidden to have any contact with you.”

“I know. But I have to talk to you. I tried to reach you at your office but was told that you’re ill.”

She made a noise that was something between a laugh and a snort.

“Karl Fischer’s put me on sick leave. He thinks I’m mentally unstable. According to him I’m exhausted. I need rest. I ought to get away from here, but I’ve got nowhere to go. My old apartment in Berlin isn’t there anymore. None of my old life is there. Himmelstal is all I’ve got.”

She reached for a wineglass lurking among the piles of paper on the table, drank the last dribble, and fetched a half-full bottle from the bookcase. She filled her glass with a quick, careless gesture as she went on.

“Except for the guard we’re completely alone. All the others will be at the care center at this time of day. But some of them come home early, so you can’t stay long.”

She forced the cork back into the bottle with clumsy fingers, then stopped.

“Would you like a glass? I can open another bottle. This Moselle is really lovely.”

“No thanks. I came because I need the answer to a question. Who is Corinne really? She’s not just an ordinary resident, is she?”

A movement on the other side of the room made Daniel turn his head. He saw a large white Persian cat lying on a pile of clothes on a chair over by the window. It blended in with the pale fabrics so well that he hadn’t noticed it before. The cat stretched, dropped to the floor, and crept silently across the room. Without looking at it, Gisela reached down to the floor, picked it up, and put it on her lap. Daniel couldn’t recall ever seeing the cat in the clinic grounds or down in the village. He assumed it was never let out of the doctors’ private compound.

Gisela stroked the cat’s fur and said, “Corinne is your cricket.”

“My what?”

“Your cricket. I shouldn’t be telling you this. But I’m no longer connected to your case. In fact I don’t consider that I have any responsibilities anymore. No rights, and no responsibilities.”

She let out a hoarse laugh.

“My cricket?” Daniel repeated, bewildered. “What does that mean?”

“Have you ever read Carlo Collodi’s story about Pinocchio? The wooden puppet that comes to life and becomes a boy? He moves and talks like any other boy. There’s just one thing missing: a conscience.”

“I’ve seen the Disney version,” Daniel said.

The look she gave him told him that didn’t count.

“Instead of a conscience, Pinocchio has a cricket that sits on his shoulder and whispers to him if something is right or wrong. In the end, after he’s been through a lot and has had constant advice from the cricket, Pinocchio gets a conscience of his own and becomes a real person. In academic language, you could say that the cricket’s whispers are
implemented
in him. Do you understand?”

“To be honest, no.”

She leaned toward him and whispered with exaggerated lip-movements, “
Corinne acts as your conscience.
”

Daniel laughed.

“She’s never given me any moral advice.”

“Of course not. That wouldn’t be very effective. It’s all much more subtle than that. You’re one of a group of eight subjects who each has a cricket. A chip has been implanted in your brain. With the help of a little gadget, your cricket can affect your behavior.”

“Conditioning?”

Daniel tried to sound nonchalant, but he was shuddering inside. A chip in his brain? That wasn’t possible. When could it have happened? Gisela was rambling. He remembered that she was on sick leave, for exhaustion. Besides, she was drunk.

“If you like. We’re not talking about electric shocks or anything as coarse as that. This is an extremely finely tuned instrument that emits electromagnetic radiation at low frequency. Don’t look so worried. It’s no more dangerous than cell phones, according to Doctor Pierce. If the test subject does something manipulative or displays a lack of empathy, the cricket can press a button and make him feel a degree of discomfort. Not pain, just a vague sense of unease, a slight anxiety. When the person is being helpful, unselfish, and sympathetic, the cricket can use the gadget to give him gently comforting feelings.”

“And how does the cricket know that the subject’s helpfulness isn’t put on? What if he’s just lying, pretending?” Daniel pointed out skeptically.

“The crickets would see through that. They’ve been well trained for the job.”

“So they manipulate their test subjects?”

He didn’t believe a word of what she was saying.

“Of course. You could say that they use his own weapons against him. There’s not really anything odd about it. It’s actually just what we all do to one another every day. Even if most parents would never admit that there’s anything manipulative about the way they’re raising their children. A worried frown when a child does something wrong. A smile when she does the right thing. Entirely unconscious, of course. You see it between bosses and their subordinates, teachers and students, between couples and friends. Tiny little signals in the form of facial expressions, body language, and tone of voice. And it works. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“The brain has particular nerve cells, the mirror neurons, whose main purpose is to reflect the emotions of our fellow human beings. This reflection is what makes us empathetic and socially mature. In psychotherapy we started consciously using the phenomenon of mirroring long before we knew about its biological basis.”

“But surely using an implanted chip to manipulate someone is entirely different from raising a child, or psychotherapy?” Daniel said. “It’s a form of abuse.”

Gisela nodded thoughtfully as she turned the cat onto its back like a baby and stroked its stomach.

“It is different, that’s true enough.” She was slurring slightly. “What I was describing is the way it works for normal people with normal neuron systems. Many of our residents here in Himmelstal have completely undeveloped mirror neurons. We don’t know why. But there’s a definite abnormality. Do you remember what I said the first time I told you about Himmelstal? That demanding empathy from a psychopath is like commanding a lame person to get up and walk? He simply doesn’t have what it takes. His mirror neurons are as feeble and undeveloped as a lame person’s leg muscles.”

“I remember you saying that. Do you mind if I open a window? I’m sorry, but it’s a bit stuffy in here.”

He moved a couple of piles of paper from the windowsill and pushed one of the windows open.

The space in front of the houses was empty, except for the guard who was leaning against his lodge, smoking. A couple of sparrows were picking at some crumbs by the barbeque.

Daniel took a few deep breaths of the autumn air, then returned to his armchair and said cautiously, “You said something about a chip?”

Gisela Obermann nodded.

“Because psychopaths aren’t affected by their parents’ frowns and aren’t receptive to therapy, we have to use more concrete methods,” she explained, reaching for her glass.

The cat slid sideways on her lap as she leaned forward, but it seemed to be fast asleep, hanging like a limp rag over her thighs. She moved it back into place again.

“Straight to the source,” she went on, tapping her head. “We insert a chip that picks up tiny signals sent by the cricket, which sets the brain’s own system of reward and punishment into action. Our hope is that the mirror neurons will be stimulated by this and that we’ll be able to wake them up. But we haven’t reached that point yet. So far it’s just a form…well, a form of subtle training, I suppose you could say.”

She paused and drained her glass.

“Obviously, residents aren’t supposed to know any of this. Doctor Fischer would throw me out of the valley at once if he knew I’d told you about the Pinocchio Project. But he’s probably going to do that anyway, I’m afraid.”

“So Corinne works for you? Her job is to manipulate other residents?”

“Her job is to manipulate
you,
” Gisela said, pointing a shaky index finger at Daniel. “No one else. There are other crickets whose job it is to manipulate other residents.”

“Who are the other crickets?”

She shook her head and waved her hand defensively.

“I’ve already said far too much. Are you sure you don’t want me to open another bottle of wine. It’s so
refreshing.
I’d never have survived in Himmelstal without this wine.”

Daniel shook his head.

“I don’t really understand what sort of people these crickets are. As I understand it, Corinne has been here in the valley for several years.”

“You know perfectly well how long she’s been here,” Gisela said irritably, shuffling so that the cat’s soft body rippled on her lap. It seemed to be completely unconscious.

“Oh, don’t try that business about not being Max. Your multiple personalities were just a trick, weren’t they? It was stupid of me to fall for it.”

“That was entirely your idea, Gisela. I’ve never said a word about multiple personalities,” Daniel reminded her calmly. “So Corinne is some sort of psychologist, a doctor? And that’s why she has access to Max’s medical records?”

Gisela laughed.

“Corinne’s an actress, didn’t you know? The crickets come from all different backgrounds. They’ve been carefully selected and tested, and they’ve been given thorough training by the clinic. It takes special skills to be a good cricket. Insight, being a good listener, social competence. But they also have to be very tough. Corinne came here with the sole purpose of being your cricket. She’s got all the information about you, and her task is to live as an ordinary resident, living and working in the village, and making friends with you.”

Daniel gulped hard.

“Love? Sex? Is that part of the job description?” he asked.

“Absolutely not. The crickets are supposed to get close to their residents but never to get intimate with them. The crickets are instructed to punish any sign of a sexual approach by triggering feelings of unease.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Then they call for reinforcements. All the crickets have a direct line to the main security office.”

Daniel considered this.

From outside in the garden he could hear the bleeping sound as the gate opened, followed by the guard talking to someone. Presumably one of the doctors who had gotten home from work early.

Gisela didn’t seem to have noticed. She was lying back in her armchair, slightly crooked, and her body seemed as fluid as the cat’s.

“This chip,” Daniel said. “When did you insert it into my brain?”

“Just after you entered Zone Two,” Gisela replied calmly.

Daniel tried to control the urge to panic. He had been unconscious after the electric shock. Unconscious, then maybe sedated? He remembered having a terrible headache when he woke up.

He hadn’t noticed any scars from an operation on his head. But perhaps a tiny chip wouldn’t leave much trace? He felt through his hair with his fingertips. He could see the chip in his mind’s eye as a tiny metallic flake, sharp as a razor blade, and he imagined it cutting into the tissue of his brain. He swallowed and said, “So I’ve been walking around with a chip in my head for two months?”