The Forgotten Room

“But over time, their role grew larger.”

“Yes,” Benedict said again. “When they began to understand the true possibilities of my work.”

My work. Benedict was breathing more quickly now, her body language becoming restless. Logan wasn’t sure how much longer she would be cooperative. “But you must have had other problems,” he said. “Getting that work off the ground, I mean.”

“It’s not unusual. In fact, it’s common.”

“Let me guess. Some Lux Fellows who worked or lived near the West Wing eventually started to report strange things. Others were seen acting in a peculiar ma

Benedict shrugged. “It was a relatively simple matter of adjusting the proximity beam.”

“Yes. I understand the device has two modes, a field generator and a narrowly confined transmission signal. Those people must have been affected by your initial experiments with the field mode.”

Benedict, who had been looking away, glanced back at him sharply. “As I said, it was a simple matter.”

“But you had a more serious problem on your hands. Lux had decided to renovate the West Wing.”

She looked at him, frowning.

Suddenly, Logan understood something. “You’ve told me that Carbon lobbied for Strachey to be the one put in charge of the renovation. And that’s true — isn’t it? What you left out was the fact that you convinced Carbon to suggest Strachey. What was it you told me — that Roger was a ‘pussycat’ in your hands? That doesn’t jibe with your being afraid of him; I should have noticed that before. You assumed that Strachey would be slow at getting up to speed; that the renovation would take a lot longer than it did. That the forgotten lab — your lab, now — would remain hidden. But he moved more quickly than you’d expected.”

“I was in the last stages of making the technology transportable,” Benedict said, turning away again. “Of making the central amplification unit u

“So you needed just a few more days…days that Strachey’s death should have given you.”

“He wasn’t supposed to die!” she said, wheeling back. Tears sprung from her eyes.

“A double irony, since I was called to Lux to investigate his death and, in turn, found the room — preventing you from finishing.”

Benedict said nothing.

“And then you tried to stop me, the same way you stopped him. Only it didn’t work…not the way you intended, at least. I imagine you’re wondering about that.”

Benedict looked at him but remained silent.

“What about Pamela Flood? Was she supposed to die? That’s the way your friends at Ironhand work. Doesn’t that tell you something about them? And how did they learn about Pam, anyway — was my phone tapped?”

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-HT2A serotonin 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 ba

“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 ma

“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 co

“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?”