The Forgotten Room

45

Logan, his satchel slung over one shoulder, reached the base of the central staircase without seeing a single person. Turning left, he once again made the journey down the dimly lit corridor of undressed stone toward the gleaming metal door that led to the basement laboratories. This time, however, he could see the thin, birdlike face of Laura Benedict on the far side of the perforated Plexiglas window set into the heavy steel door. As he approached, she punched a series of numbers onto a keypad set into the wall — apparently, the door was locked from both sides. With a low beep and an audible click, the door sprang ajar with a sigh of positively pressurized atmosphere.

Looking briefly over Logan’s shoulder to satisfy herself they were alone, she let him in, then pulled the door shut behind her. The air here was cool and smelt faintly of ammonia.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

Logan nodded. Once again, he was struck by the woman’s evident youth. She led the way down the gleaming corridor with the sharp, almost abrupt movements he recalled from their first meeting. Before, he’d been struck by the aura of sadness she’d seemed to wear almost like a garment. Now, however, he sensed a different emotion: anxiety, even fear.

“We can talk in my lab,” she said as they walked. “It’s not far. There’s nobody else in the secure area — I’ve already checked.”

“I would have thought you had all the computers you needed in your office.”

Benedict smiled wanly. “It’s true. I could probably get by without this lab. But it gives me a quiet place where I can be alone when I’m working on a particularly thorny problem — or when I need a break from Roger.”

As they walked, Logan glanced around curiously. Most of the doors were closed and bore simple airbrushed nameplates, but a few were open, revealing modern and sophisticated labs sporting equipment that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Unlike the rest of Lux, the lighting here was bright, fluorescent, even a little harsh. It was as different from the polished wood and leather of the mansion above as a level-4 biohazard facility was from a London gentleman’s club.

He followed Benedict around one corner, then another, and then — just as the basement was beginning to resemble a chrome-and-glass labyrinth — she stopped at an open door labeled BENEDICT. She ushered him into a sizable room that contained a steel desk surrounded by several Herman Miller chairs in matching gunmetal gray; a whiteboard, currently devoid of writing; two computers linked to a digital projector; and a rack of blade-server CPUs similar to the one in her upstairs office.

Benedict closed the door, then sat in one of the chairs and motioned Logan to do the same. Her face was pale with anxiety.

“Okay,” Logan said, taking the proffered seat and putting his satchel on the floor beside him. “Please tell me exactly what your suspicions are concerning Roger Carbon, and why you think that I, in particular, might be in danger.”

Benedict swallowed. “It’s hard to know where to begin. Honestly, I’m not sure I can pinpoint just when it started. Roger has such a corrosive personality, you know; he’s always getting into fights with somebody or other.” She paused. “I guess it started three months ago. I noticed that, all of a sudden, he’d become a little secretive. That wasn’t like him — normally, he doesn’t care who hears what he says, what he does. But he started closing his office door. Just occasionally at first, and then more frequently. And every time he did so, he’d get on the phone — I could hear murmurs through the wall, you see. And then, just a couple days before Will Strachey’s death, the two men had a dreadful argument in Roger’s office.”

“Strachey and Carbon? What was it about?”

“I’m not sure. Something about the West Wing. Roger had advocated for him to be in charge of that, you know.”

“That’s always struck me as odd,” Logan interjected. “If Carbon had wanted the work done quickly, you’d think he would have argued for somebody with more experience.”

“As it happened, I only caught the odd line or two of what was said. Will mentioned something about ‘I’m moving ahead whether you like it or not.’ And Roger replied, ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’ I have to tell you, I’ve never seen Will Strachey like that before — livid, really livid.”

“Go on,” Logan said.

“Then, just a few days ago, Roger made another one of his clandestine phone calls. Only this time he didn’t close his door all the way. I made out a little more of the conversation. It was something about a setback... a temporary setback. He seemed to be trying to persuade somebody not to take a certain course of action.”

“Can you provide any more details about the call?”

“Sorry. I wasn’t listening that carefully. It was only after overhearing those bits and pieces, and comparing them to the other things I’d noticed, that I began to grow... afraid.”

“Why do you think that I might be in danger?” Logan asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re looking into Will’s death. You’re also looking into the West Wing. If Roger is somehow involved with what’s happened, even your presence here is a threat to him.”

“I see.”

Benedict hesitated. “Three days ago, I saw him coming out of your set of rooms.”

“Really?”

“He seemed surprised to see me. Almost nervous — completely out of character. But then he said that he’d recalled something you should know, and, since you weren’t at home, would look for you elsewhere.” Benedict looked curiously at Logan. “Did he find you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Well, don’t you see? It’s clearly not safe for you here.”

“It’s not exactly safe for me out there, either.”

“The hurricane? You can go stay in one of those block of rooms Lux reserved at the Pawtucket Hilton. I mean, anything could happen here now, with the place deserted like it is. If your life is at risk, don’t you think the best thing would be to leave — leave immediately?”

Logan nodded, but absently, almost to himself. He hesitated. And then slowly he reached across the table and took Laura Benedict’s hand in his. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she made no attempt to pull it away. He held it for perhaps ten seconds, and as he did so he became aware of several emotions: fear, of course; uncertainty; doubt... and something else.

He released her hand. “You haven’t been at Lux very long, have you, Dr. Benedict?”

“Just over two years.”

“Yes. And I recall you saying that Will Strachey was your mentor when you first came here.”

“He was friendly, kind to a newcomer. It made all the difference in the world.”

“Lux provided me with a brief dossier on you — on all the people I’ve interviewed, in fact. As I recall, before coming to Lux, you taught at the Providence Technical University.”

“Yes, that’s right. For about four years.”

“Quantum mechanics, correct?”

Benedict nodded.

“Not quantum computing — the discipline you’re pursuing now.”

Benedict frowned, clearly confused as to where this was going. “They’re closely related fields.”

“Are they? I wasn’t aware of that. In any case, I understand your doctorate was in mechanical engineering. Pardon my ignorance. Is that related, as well?”

Benedict nodded again.

Logan leaned back in his chair. “Providence was your childhood home, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Just east of College Hill.”

“Ah. That would be near the large research lab... the name escapes me...”

“Ironhand.”

“Ironhand. That’s right. As I recall, they have a rather shady reputation for operating in the gray areas of science, sometimes doing weapons research for the highest bidder.”

“Dr. Logan, why are you asking all these questions? Don’t you think it’s more important that you—”

“Why did you suggest that I go to the Pawtucket Hilton just now?”

“Why...” Her confusion deepened. “That’s where Lux reserved all the rooms when the category of the hurricane was upgraded. It’s the safest place for you to go.”

“But over the phone, you told me that block of rooms had filled up hours ago.”

“Did I?” Benedict hesitated. “Well, given your affiliation with Lux, I’m sure the hotel could make some accommodation—”

But Logan interrupted again. “Dr. Benedict, I’m going to ask what might seem like a strange question. I hope you don’t mind. Is your maiden name Watkins?”

Laura Benedict went very still. “Excuse me?”

“Is your maiden name Watkins, by any chance?”

Another curious mixture of emotions — shock, incomprehension, perhaps annoyance — bloomed on her features. “Of course it isn’t. Why would you ask such a thing?”

Logan spread his hands. “Just a hunch.”

“Well, your hunch was wrong.” And then Benedict stood up very slowly. “My maiden name is Ramsey.”