Lincoln Child - The Forgotten Room

When Benedict’s only response was to shake her head, Logan placed one hand on the desk and folded the other over it. “Tell me about the research, then,” he said. “Have you succeeded where your forebears did not — creating a wholly safe treatment for schizophrenia, with no possibility of misuse?”

Now Benedict answered. “I did try. At first. But I soon learned that what was true in the 1930s is even more true today. You can guess the rest for yourself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, please don’t be coy, Dr. Logan. After all, you’ve already seen Sorrel.”

Logan nodded slowly. So she knew about his visit to Fall River — a journey undertaken only that day. “In other words,” he began again, “the problem has become more porous, rather than more solvable, as technology has advanced. So I assume you put aside its beneficial effects in favor of enhancing its harmful ones. In other words, weaponizing it.”

“Simplistic, but correct.”

“Interesting.” Logan paused, thinking. “If all efforts to use the sound waves to cure schizophrenia were abandoned, and attention paid solely to the effects that the wave caused naturally — and enhancing them — no doubt some extremely disagreeable reactions would result.”

“Hallucinations. Paracusia. Delusions. And that was just the start.”

“The start of what?” Logan asked.

“My refinements.”

“What refinements, exactly?”

Benedict gripped the back of the chair, leaned in toward him. “You know, it’s almost a relief to talk about it with somebody who can understand — even, perhaps, appreciate. The Ironhand people are mostly interested in the end result. You see, I’ve been able to accomplish two things in particular: widen the perceived effects of the beam and enhance its functionality.”

Logan waited, listening.

“My grandfather and the others, of course, weren’t interested in intensifying the schizoid effects,” Benedict went on. “Nor was I, initially... until I realized the so-called negative effects were the only ones the device could produce effectively. Initially, the sonic waves only affected certain 5-HT 2Aserotonin receptors in the frontal cortex.”

Logan nodded. Sorrel had hinted as much.

“But I was able to create not just a single wave, but a harmonic series that would not only trigger additional effects on the brain, but also enhance the effects of the initial carrier wave.”

“The devil’s interval,” Logan murmured.

She looked at him. “I’m sorry?”

“The flatted fifth. G flat, for example, over C. It was a particular interval between two notes banned from church music in the Renaissance for its supposedly evil influence.”

“Indeed? In any case, this synergistic wave — of two hypersonic pulses — caused a far wider spectrum of serotonin receptors to, in essence, overload. This effect could be maintained long after the wave itself had been cut off — I’ve witnessed serotonergic abnormalities lasting for eight, even twelve hours. Theoretically, with an initial pulse of sufficient strength, they could be imprinted indefinitely.”

Indefinitely . Logan felt a sudden chill. “Witnessed these abnormalities in what?”

Benedict paused. “Lab animals.”

“And in Strachey, too. And perhaps other human subjects — willing or otherwise — at Ironhand?” When there was no reply, Logan added: “What kind of abnormalities?”

“I’ve already mentioned a few.” She drew in a breath. “Perception distortion, for example.”

“As in synesthesia.”

Benedict nodded. “All manner of false sensory signals. Enhanced sight, sound, taste, combined with hallucinatory factors. Eidetic imagery. Ego death. Altered sense of time. Catastrophic shifts in cognition. Complete dissociation from reality—”

“My God!” Logan interrupted this catalogue of horrors. “You’re talking not only about complete psychosis here — you’re also talking about the worst LSD trip of all time!”

“Scientists once thought LSD and schizophrenia were connected,” Benedict said, shrugging. “And there were a few files in the room concerning early tests on ergotamine derivatives — that was a few years before LSD was actually synthesized from ergotamine, of course. But my hypersonic interval is so much cleaner.”

“Cleaner.” Logan shook his head, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. As she’d spoken, Benedict’s voice had grown stronger, the shine of her eyes brighter; she took obvious pride in what she’d accomplished.

“Of course , cleaner,” Benedict told him. “Isn’t that what we want — clean, effective weapons? This is the cleanest weapon there is.”

“Laura, how...” Logan stopped, momentarily baffled. “Can’t you see how wrong this is?”

“Wrong? I’m helping my country.”

“How, exactly?”

“By giving it a new way to defend itself. Look what’s happening in the news every day . We’re being attacked, not just on one, but on many fronts. And we may insist on fighting fair, but our enemies don’t. Not anymore. That’s why, without this technology, we’re going to lose the war.”

“But don’t we have enough weapons as it is? And this — this device of yours is cruel. It’s unthinkable. To drive somebody, perhaps an entire army, insane, or to send them on an endless bad trip... Laura, there are reasons chemical weapons were outlawed. And what if this weapon is deployed? Just how long do you think it will take for the technology to be leaked — and the same diabolical ordnance used against our own men and women?”

Logan fell silent. For a moment, the two merely looked at each other. Once again, the basement lights faltered for a moment before brightening again. At last, Benedict turned on her heel, opened the door to the lab, and began making her way back down the corridor. Logan jumped to his feet, turned off the recorder and slipped it into his satchel, and began to follow.

“Listen,” he said as they made their way back through the passages. “I understand. You’re in denial. It’s only human. At the start, you were thinking — understandably — about a wrong done to your grandfather. And a weapon with as much potential power as this one... well, it could be worth a great deal. It meant money.”

“Naturally it meant money,” Benedict said, stopping to face him. “My grandfather was a brilliant man. He practically invented this technology single-handedly — only to be marginalized, to have his greatest creation swept under the rug. He was never recognized for his achievements. He should be recognized. Compensated. My family should have been compensated.” She turned back, continued down the hall. “This is my rightful legacy,” she said over her shoulder. “My inheritance.”

“What is it you want to inherit, Laura?” Logan asked. “Ruin, madness, death? Listen: I’ll bet you haven’t spent much time really thinking about how this would end — about the damage this research would cause if placed in the wrong hands. It’s true — your grandfather, and by extension yourself, have accomplished something remarkable. But if you’d take a moment to step back, to see the ethical reality of the situation, you’ll know that this isn’t the way.”

Ahead, the metal of the secure barrier came into view. As Logan spoke, Benedict slowed, then stopped. “I was wrong,” she said quietly, without looking back.

She paused, her thin body rocking slightly. And then she began walking again.

“Yes,” Logan said as they came up to the barrier and she unlocked the door with a quick punch of her fingers over the keypad. “But, Laura, given what happened to your grandfather, I understand. What happened to him, to the others, was awful — shameful. And yet Lux was right to stop their work. Do you see now why you can’t go ahead with this? Why the research must end? Why you can’t involve Ironhand in these secrets?”