“Yes, that’s our hypothesis. We further hypothesize that the communication component that’s been added to the implant is a triggering mechanism. A Bluetooth-enabled phone or WiFi-connected computer could tell the implant to unlock the memories. Those triggering events could happen based on a set schedule, or when certain events occur. Or perhaps even when Hughes arrives at certain GPS locations. It’s also possible that certain cues, emotions, images, or sensations could unlock memories. The implant could be keyed to determine which memories are safe to reveal.”
Conner leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Well, gentlemen, it seems there’s a very simple way to confirm your plethora of suppositions. Call Rapture Therapeutics. Ask them. After all, we own the company.”
“We just got through speaking with them,” Dr. Anderson said. “Their chief science officer confirmed that they do have a team researching memory manipulation. And that project is still active. Or was, until very recently.”
Conner sensed bad news coming.
“The project is called Rapture Aurora. They conducted their research following Looking Glass protocols: compartmentalization, need-to-know access. The team working on the memory therapy was a completely independent cell, with its own budget and facilities. For the sake of the larger Looking Glass project, contact was limited. Rapture hasn’t heard from the cell in three weeks.”
“They must have had a case manager,” Conner said. Realization dawned on him the moment he said the words. “Wait. Let me guess. The Aurora project was based in Germany. And the case manager was Gunter Thorne.”
“Correct.”
Conner shook his head. “What about Thorne’s records? Protocol is for a secure backup in case he was compromised.”
“Rapture has been looking since he turned up dead in Desmond Hughes’s hotel room. They haven’t found it. They’re assuming Hughes hid the files or destroyed them.”
Conner paced for a moment, then turned to the scientists. “Okay, let’s back up, review what we know, and try to put together a working theory here. Fact: two weeks ago, Desmond Hughes hides Rendition. Every scientist working on the project goes missing. All the files are gone. Hughes turns up in Berlin, where he contacts a journalist at Der Spiegel—Garin Meyer. Hughes is going to expose us and the entire Looking Glass project.”
Dr. Anderson spoke up. “Rapture Aurora—and his memory loss—must have been his backup plan.”
“Right. Des would have known about Aurora. Icarus Capital was an investor in Rapture Therapeutics—in fact, we used Icarus to fund most of the Looking Glass projects operating out of Rapture.”
“So,” Anderson said, “Hughes contacts the Aurora project team, gets them to administer their memory alteration technology on him, then either kills or hides the team. He somehow figures out where Gunter Thorne is keeping the project files and destroys or hides those as well, wiping out any chance of us figuring out exactly how Aurora works.”
“Very clever, Des,” Conner mumbled.
“But somehow,” Anderson continued, “Gunter Thorne figured out what Hughes was up to. Maybe he noticed the files were gone, or perhaps he has some intrusion detection system Hughes was unaware of. He tracks Hughes back to the Concord Hotel, confronts him. A struggle ensues. Desmond comes out on top. He assumes Thorne had already alerted us. He activates Aurora, wiping his memories.”
Conner shook his head. “What a mess.”
“In a sense, it’s brilliant,” Anderson said. “We can’t torture the answers out of him—the memories are blocked no matter how much pain he endures. And without the Rapture Aurora research, we can’t possibly unblock them.”
Conner nodded. “He’s brilliant, no question about it.” Conner sat down and tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. “Is Aurora a core piece of the Rapture component? Could the loss of the Aurora research derail the Looking Glass?”
“No. Rapture is still intact. The memory piece was completed years ago. This additional Aurora research, using implants, seems to be a continuation beyond what was needed for Rapture.”
“Okay. Options?”
“We see only one predictable path,” the white-haired scientist said. “A brain biopsy.”
Conner disliked the idea instantly. However, he simply asked, “How?”
“I wouldn’t recommend we do it on board the Kentaro Maru. Our facilities are advanced, but given the risks, I would strongly advocate conducting it in a hospital that specializes in neurosurgery. Mayo Clinic and Johns Hopkins would be my top choices. New York-Presbyterian, Mass General, and Cleveland Clinic would also be appropriate. The problem is, very soon the pandemic will consume every hospital in the world, as well as the physicians we’d need for a biopsy.”
“Assuming we could solve those problems, what would a biopsy tell us?”
“We could get a better look at the implant and sample the substance in his hippocampus. We try to identify the substance, run tests on it to see if we can dissolve it without harming the underlying neurons.”
“I’m guessing that’s not a three-day turnaround.”
“No, it’s not.”
“How long?”
“It’s impossible—”
“Guess.”
“Two months? Who knows. I should also add that any brain biopsy carries risk to the patient. In this particular case, there could be risks we don’t appreciate.”
“Such as?”
“A failsafe. If the implant and memory blockage are part of a purposeful plan on Hughes’s part, or perhaps someone manipulating him, they might have programmed a failsafe. A foreign object entering his brain, in the region of the implant, might trigger some defense mechanism. Maybe it destroys the memories completely or even kills the subject. There’s no way to know.”
“It’s all moot. We don’t have two months.” Conner rubbed his temple. He felt a headache coming on. “We have Rook and Rapture, but he has Rendition. Without it, we can’t complete the Looking Glass. Two thousand years of work will go down the drain, and the entire human race with it.”
The older scientist leaned back in his chair. “We could cut him loose and allow this to play out.”
“Play out?”