The conference room inside the American Heritage Foundation was dead silent. Bob Stenson stood next to the large mahogany table, staring down at the devices sitting in the middle of it—the laptop supercomputer and the echo box, which had until last night been in the possession of Edward Parks and Skylar Drummond. There was also a second, commercially available computer, which belonged to the balding scientist Stenson had brought in to test Edward Parks’s device. The scientist’s computer was wired to Parks’s supercomputer, running system diagnostics.
The scientist, Carter Harwood, was the only person Stenson had ever trusted to work on Edward Parks’s devices. Like all Foundation employees and independent contractors, Harwood had come to their attention through strong personal recommendations. He had also survived their exhaustive background check. A great many leading scientists, it turned out, had a flag or two in their personal histories that disqualified them from further consideration by the Foundation. Such was the case with Pembrose and Landgraf, the scientists Senator Davis had brought with him to JB MDL. One was a former heroin addict. The other had started undergoing hormone therapy for gender reassignment.
When Stenson had cleared Harwood, twelve years ago, the Foundation director knew his man might never be capable of completing Edward Parks’s research, should it go unfinished for one reason or another, but Stenson was certain that Harwood could be trusted. And, ultimately, that was more important. Because what Stenson really needed in this position was a forger, not an artist. It was Harwood who produced the duplicate machines that had just been tested in the nondescript building on the grounds of JB MDL. He knew the devices better than anyone except for Edward Parks himself. Which was why Stenson listened when Harwood said there was a problem.
On the laptop supercomputer’s screen, there was an incomplete three-dimensional rendering of the conference room space. The progress counter read: 13 percent. The counter hadn’t changed in twenty-two minutes.
Stenson was immediately thankful he had not yet ordered the end of Edward Parks, who still might have a purpose to serve, after all. “Why isn’t it working?”
“I don’t know yet. I can’t give you an answer until I finish running the diagnostics.” Harwood, calm and clinical, motioned to his own computer, which was connected to Eddie’s. Harwood’s $3,000 machine was going to reveal what was wrong with the $300,000 machine.
Stenson looked around the table to his three lieutenants, who seemed equally dumbfounded. “Any ideas?”
Caitlin McCloskey pointed to the scratches from where Eddie had dropped the devices. “Maybe they were damaged when they were dropped.”
Harwood shook his head. “That was my first thought as well. But it’s not the case. I’m sure of it. Whatever the problem is, it’s not hardware related.”
Jason Greers asked, “So why would it work yesterday, but not today? Something has to have changed.”
Daryl Trotter made a comment that caused everyone to stiffen. “Only if the device was actually working yesterday.”
Jason took immediate offense, because this entire wild-goose chase had essentially started with him. “What are you suggesting, that the doctor and her mental patient faked the recordings?”
Daryl couldn’t stop himself from correcting Jason. “Technically, they’re echo reconstructions, not recordings.”
Jason snapped, “Whatever they are!”
Caitlin smiled briefly, knowing how much their boss disliked emotional outbursts. Jason was losing his cool.
Daryl remained completely even-keeled. “I’m not suggesting anything, Jason. I’m clarifying that there are two possible scenarios. One scenario is that the three reconstructions stored on the device—the one with Dr. Fenton and Michael Barnes, the one with the boy being hit, and the one of the kidnapping suspect being interrogated—are legitimate. In that case, you are correct. Something had to have changed. But if they’re not legitimate, the logic doesn’t follow.”
Stenson chimed in. “They’re legitimate. We know too much about Skylar Drummond and Edward Parks. Neither is capable of the kind of forethought to have intentionally set all this in motion. It’s simply too far-fetched.”
Vindicated, Greers glared smugly at Trotter, who shrugged. He was only trying to help. He wanted to make sure they considered every alternative. “So what changed?”
Harwood looked up as the diagnostics concluded. “Nothing.”
Jason stared at him. “Not possible.”
The scientist stared right back. “Machines don’t lie. I’m telling you I’ve compared every line of code from the previous version I tested, which I had stored on my machine, to the present version on the Parks machine. Not a single character in a single line of code changed.”
Caitlin McCloskey was dumbfounded. “So how do you explain it?”
Jason Greers didn’t know. Neither did Bob Stenson. Then Daryl Trotter got an idea. “Does each reconstruction include a separate file of the original degenerated sound waves that served as the basis for the reconstruction?”
Harwood knew the answer, but double-checked just to make sure. “All three folders include files with the original fragments, as well as each reconstructed version.”
“Why?” asked Stenson.
Trotter smiled. “I know what changed.”
CHAPTER 107
The Remains of Michael Barnes’s House, Swedesboro, New Jersey, May 28, 9:15 a.m.
Following the local sheriff, Marcus Fenton was allowed to pass beneath the yellow crime-scene tape that now stretched around the entire perimeter of Michael Barnes’s property. It wasn’t long after sunrise when the first of Barnes’s neighbors had noticed the currency fluttering into their properties. A few Facebook updates and tweets later, hundreds of people from all over the area had raced to the property, trying to grab whatever cash they could. Homeland had initially assigned a dozen agents to the scene, but quickly added another two dozen to maintain security and, more importantly, collect all the cash. By eleven forty-five a.m., their count had reached well over $400,000, and they were barely through half of what they had found.
Much of the debris was still smoldering as the sheriff led Fenton toward the back of the property. The hood of Barnes’s car was lodged in his kitchen window. Articles of clothing, ranging from an olive-green winter parka to bright-orange swim trunks to white running shoes, dangled from tree branches in every direction. The two men were met by the Homeland agent in charge (AIC), Arlo Gunn, who was coordinating the cleanup. After brief introductions, Fenton asked, “What the hell happened?”
Gunn smiled. “We were hoping you could tell us.”
Fenton looked around at the devastation surrounding them, realizing how quickly his situation was going from bad to worse. “I have no idea.”
“Michael Barnes worked for you, didn’t he?” He asked it casually, without any hint of suspicion.
“He did. He was my head of security.”
“Where is that?”
“Harmony House. In Woodbury.”
“What kind of facility is it?”
“It’s a government-funded assisted-living facility for patients with particular gifts.”
Gunn scratched his sideburns, as if making mental notes for later. “How long had he worked for you?”
“Well over a decade. Almost fifteen years.”
Gunn nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. “How would you have characterized your relationship with the deceased?”
“Professionally, he was a trusted employee. But we had no personal relationship outside the workplace.”
“Had he ever mentioned that he kept a stockpile of cash and explosives on his property?”
“No, he never did. Honestly, I still find all this hard to believe.”
“Really?”
Fenton cleared his throat. “I mean, that he could have been so paranoid. And stupid. I had no idea.”
Gunn nodded. “Had the two of you gotten into any kind of argument yesterday?”
Fenton could feel his shirt collar sticking to the back of his neck. He was starting to sweat. “I wouldn’t describe it as an argument. We were managing a patient crisis.”
“What kind of patient crisis?”
Fenton was quite certain Gunn already knew the answer. He was more interested in how Fenton answered than what he said. “A patient had fled the facility.”
“Which was Barnes’s job to prevent from happening.”
“It was among his responsibilities, yes.”
“So in other words, he had failed you.”