Chapter Twenty-eight


"Who the hell gave you the right to screen my mail and phone calls?" Benton yelled. He glared furiously at Race Bannon, as the younger man lounged comfortably in his chair at the breakfast table and looked back at him calmly. When he didn't reply immediately, Benton became even more furious. "Well? Your job does not . . ."

"My job," Race said coldly, "is to ensure your safety and well-being. It always has been. I diverted your mail and the incoming phone calls because all indications say that the problems you're having are tied to stress and that it should be minimized. There was a bunch of crap coming through at the time and the sheer volume of it was enough to drive a healthy man crazy. I simply pre-screened it and got rid of the junk."

"I don't want you . . ." Benton's voice rose even more and an angry flush suffused his face. Race let him get no further.

"Keep it down!" he commanded sharply. "You keep yelling like that and you'll have Estella out of bed and trying to get down those stairs on her own to find out what's going on." As Race expected, the reminder that Estella wasn't well was enough to calm Benton's temper somewhat.

"All right," he said begrudgingly. "But don't you dare do this again."

"Sit down and eat your breakfast," Race ordered just as IRIS announced,

"MR. BANNON, DR. VELASQUEZ-BANNON IS ASKING FOR YOU."

"Damn!" Race muttered, scowling at Benton. The older man had the grace to look chagrined as Race rose and headed for the stairs. He returned a few minutes later looking disgruntled. He sat down again, giving the other man a sour look. "Do me a favor, Benton. If you insist on yelling at one of the kids or me, would you please try to do it out of my wife's hearing? She's got enough problems as it is. She doesn't need the added stress of listening to us fight."

Benton sighed. "I'm sorry, Race. I didn't mean to lose my temper. I don't know what's wrong with me recently."

"Forget it."

After a few moments of silence, Benton asked, "So what is it you've been trying to hide from me?"

"What you do mean, hide?" Race hedged.

"You don't do things like intercept my e-mail and screen my calls . . . not unless you're trying to keep something from me. Out with it. You know that if you don't tell me, I'll just go looking until I figure it out for myself."

Race sighed in defeat. "You would, too. All right, just try not to get wound up about this, okay? It may just be a tempest in a teapot."

"Wound up about what?" Benton demanded irritably. "If you're trying to save me from stress, this isn't the way to do it!"

Race shook his head. "I can't win. Okay, look, the situation is heating up in Bangalore."

"Heating up how?"

"There's reports of unrest and some unconfirmed fighting in the rural areas. News is sketchy and the routine sources of information seem to be drying up. Also . . ." Race hesitated, causing Benton to glare at him once more. With another sigh, he continued, "Also, the Royal Palace officially announced Hadji's betrothal to Kefira. Most of the mail I filtered were congratulatory messages."

"Hadji announced his engagement?" Benton's hurt expression told Race he had been right about the way he would take this news.

"No, Benton, I don't think he did," the younger man consoled. "I think that someone at the Palace is playing politics and that it's a -"

"EXCUSE ME, DR. QUEST . . . MR. BANNON . . . BUT THERE IS AN INCOMING CALL FOR DR. QUEST FROM ADMIRAL BENNETT. DO YOU WISH TO TAKE THIS CALL OR SHALL I REQUEST THAT ADMIRAL BENNETT LEAVE A MESSAGE?"

Benton and Race exchanged a look. Then Benton rose, saying, "No, IRIS, I'll take it. Tell Admiral Bennett I'll be right with him and then route the call via vid phone to the big monitor in the study."

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

"Here, Benton, have some more coffee," Race said holding out the pot. He refilled both of their cups, and then said, "Come on, let's go see what he wants."

The two men walked briskly back to the study and settled comfortably into the high wing-backed chairs in the reading area, facing the view screen. Then Benton directed, "Okay, IRIS, put it through." The large monitor on the nearby wall flared and then steadied to show an image of Admiral Charles Bennett. He was dressed in uniform and appeared to be sitting in his Pentagon office. "Good morning, Admiral," Benton said cheerfully. "How are you this morning?"

"Very well, Dr. Quest, thank you. Good morning, Race."

"Admiral."

"I understand congratulations are in order."

The younger man raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"I just heard that you and Estella are expecting again." Bennett grinned. "Nothing like starting over. When's the baby due?"

Race looked resigned. "You have no idea how often I hear that comment. Doctor's saying mid-January, although I suspect that Estella won't object too much if it comes early. She's seriously tired of being pregnant!"

Bennett chuckled. "I don't envy you the job of keeping track of her. As I recall, she was a real live wire. Boy or a girl?"

"We haven't asked. As long as it's healthy, we don't really care."

"Well, I wish you both luck. You have more nerve than I do."

All three men laughed at that and then Benton asked, "So what can we do for you this morning, Admiral?"

Bennett sobered abruptly. "Actually, it's more what I can do for you. I don't suppose that Mr. Singh is anywhere around, is he?"

"No," Benton replied. "He's in school in New York."

Bennett nodded, looking a bit unhappy. "I thought he might be. I'm sure he's got his own sources that are better than mine, but it never hurts to be sure. Information coming out of Bangalore and all of northeastern India . . . Nepal, Kashmir, and that entire area . . . has been sketchy and unreliable recently, but I got some news today that I know is trustworthy and I thought I would pass it on just in case he hasn't heard it."

"Go ahead," Benton invited. "We can reach him and we'll be sure he hears it."

Bennett hesitated for minute and then shrugged. "We have an undercover man who normally works that region. He disappeared about a month ago. Last night he resurfaced. He'd made a trip into Bangalore to see if he could find out what's going on there. He says that the situation is reaching crisis proportions. Do you know what I'm talking about when I refer to the Janissaries?"

"Yes," Race answered immediately. "Mercenary soldiers used by some of the ruling Sultans in the Middle and Far East in the last century. The class is still around, although it's pretty much been disbanded as an active fighting force."

"Exactly. The last ruler to actively use the Janissary was Vikram Singh in Bangalore."

Race nodded. "Hadji said that Vikram used them . . . pretty ruthlessly, too. They were the fighting force that kept Vikram and his father, Deepak, in power. Hadji banned them from the country when he became Sultan."

"Well, it appears that someone in Bangalore is supporting their rise again. There are confirmed incidents of attacks on rural villages by Janissary troops. There's also definitely been street fighting in Bangalore City. I thought if Hadji hasn't heard about this, that he probably should."

Suddenly, IRIS interrupted. "EXCUSE ME, DR. QUEST, BUT DR. BARBARA MASON HAS JUST ENTERED THE COMPOUND THROUGH THE MAIN GATE."

Benton looked at Race in surprise. "Was Barbara due out here today?" he asked.

Race nodded. "Yes. Estella's due for her weekly exam and it's easier for Barbara if she does it here on Saturday or Sunday, since she doesn't have office hours."

"Okay," Benton said agreeably. "When she reaches the house, just let her in IRIS. She knows where to find Estella. You can tell her we'll see her when we finish here."

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

Both Benton and Race turned to Bennett again, taking up where they left off with grim looks. "Yes, he definitely should know about this," Benton agreed. "We'll call him today and make sure he's aware of it."

Bennett hesitated again, and at Benton's questioning look, he said reluctantly, "I think I would suggest to him, Dr. Quest, that now is probably not the time for him to return to Bangalore. Ethan's operative says this has all of the earmarks of a political coup in the making and I don't know that it's particularly safe for him to be in country right now."

"We'll tell him," Benton replied calmly, but Race could see the way he tensed up. Bennett nodded and, wishing them a good day, broke the connection. The two men sat quietly for a time, Benton wrapped up in his own thoughts and Race watching him carefully. Finally, Benton sighed softly and said, "IRIS, put a call through to Hadji for me, please." He glanced over at Race. "I doubt he'll be there . . . not at this time of day . . . but we probably should at least leave the message for him so he gets it as soon as possible."

"He might be. It is Sunday." But the answering machine picked up almost immediately. After a leaving a brief message summarizing Bennett's warning, Benton asked IRIS to put a call through to Jonny. Race looked at him in surprise. "I noticed that the boys have been spending some time together recently," Benton explained. "I thought Hadji might be at Jonny's."

In the middle of the second ring, the connection was made and Jessie's voice said, "Hello?"

Race could feel the momentary hesitation before Benton said quietly, "Hello, Jessie. It's Dr. Quest."

There was dead silence for the space of two heartbeats and then she replied. "Good morning, Dr. Quest." There was that fractional pause again and then she continued, "Is there something I can do for you?" There was no sign of anger, but her tone was distant and cool, carrying about as much emotion as IRIS' did.

Benton's face was carefully blank and his tone was neutral as he said, "I was wondering if I could talk to Jonny for a moment."

"I'm afraid he's not here. I'd be happy to take a message and have him call you back when he gets home." From the background both men heard an indistinct voice ask Jessie a question.

Benton's voice sharpened just slightly. "Is that Kefira? Are she and Hadji there?"

"Kefira's here," Jessie acknowledged in the same cool, impersonal tone. "Hadji's out with Jonny."

"May I talk with Kefira please?"

"Certainly. Just one moment."

Race felt his gut clench painfully. He hated this! There was a time when Benton would have talked with whichever one of the kids he'd reached. Now, he would speak with Jessie only when forced into it. For a long time, Jessie had tried desperately to break down the wall Benton had erected between them, but from the sound of it, those days were over. Race knew his daughter too well. The tone might be cool and neutrally pleasant, but he could still hear the anger that simmered under it. Jessie had her mother's hot temper and he knew from experience that it could erupt swiftly. Generally, the explosion would blow over quickly and then it was done. But on occasion, it went deeper. In those instances, anger turned to deep-seated fury that could seethe for years. Jessica Bannon was more than capable of holding a grudge . . . and Race wondered if maybe Benton's recent behavior had finally triggered one.

"Hello, Kefira. This is Dr. Quest. Is Jonny or Hadji there?"

Race rose abruptly and walked across the room, turning his back on the conversation as Benton acknowledged Kefira's confirmation that neither of the two young men were at home. Now Race was the one starting to get angry. Benton might be pissed off at his daughter, but to openly imply that he questioned her honesty was something else again. He sat down at the computer at Benton's desk and tried to shut out the conversation going on across the room. Race could hear the older man passing on Bennett's warning about the situation in Bangalore and decided to do some searching on his own. Trying to funnel his own anger into something productive, Race directed his energies toward trying to find any news he could on the situation on the northern Indian border.

"What are you doing?" Benton's voice demanded some minutes later, pulling Race's attention back to his companion. His glance flicked up to Benton's face and back to the screen in front of him.

"Research," he replied briefly.

"Kefira could have used your evaluation of the situation," Benton said irritability.

"You seemed to be doing just fine without my assistance."

"What the hell are you so touchy about?"

This time there was no hiding the anger Race was feeling. "Why don't you just drop it?" he said coldly.

"Sure . . . why not!" Benton snarled. "Everyone in this family seems determined to cop an attitude these days. Why should you be any different?!"

"If there is anyone in this family that has been copping an attitude lately, it's you," Race snapped back. "So don't jump down my throat about my attitude. And don't expect me to sit there and listen to you question my daughter's integrity and honesty."

"Well, do you blame me for not trusting her when she tells me that my son isn't there? After her comments of the other day . . ."

"And who precipitated that whole . . ."

"STOP IT!!!" Both men whirled at the sound of the new voice that cut across their escalating argument. Barbara stood in the doorway to the study supporting Estella who was scowling at both of them fiercely. "I am getting so sick of hearing people fighting in his house. Both of you, just shut up!!!"

"What are you doing up?" Race demanded, coming around the desk and pushing past Benton to reach his wife.

"Barbara needs to talk with us, and since the two of you seemed determined to squabble today, I decided to just bring the discussion to you rather than waiting until you settle down."

"Well, you talk all you like," Benton said grumpily. "I'm going out to the lighthouse."

"SIT DOWN!!!!" Estella's voice was a lash that froze Benton mid-stride. She didn't appear the least bit phased by his outraged expression. She pointed an imperious finger at the chair he'd been sitting in earlier and snapped, "Sit down, or I swear, baby or no baby, I'll come over there and plant you in it myself!"

Hazel eyes met green ones in a contest of wills until finally, Benton stalked across to the chair and threw himself into it. "Fine," he said huffily. "Then let's get it over with." He turned an unfriendly glare on Barbara as she helped Estella to a chair and then sat down herself. "What do you want now? More blood? Another pound of flesh? What?"

Barbara gazed at him for a moment before her eyes fell. Race looked at her closely for the first time and was mildly alarmed. Deep grooves between her brows emphasized her weariness and the evidence of stress was clear. Before she could say a word, Race leaned forward in concern.

"Barbara, are you all right?"

She looked up and attempted a smile. "I've had a long night," she replied quietly. Shifting her eyes to Benton once more, she swallowed with difficulty and said, "I believe I've finally identified the source of the problem you've been having, Benton."

"Well, finally," he replied sourly. Then, in another sudden reversal of mood, his expression softened and he continued, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Barbara. I know that you've been working very hard, and I really do appreciate it. We're lucky to have someone as dedicated and caring as you are looking after all of us."

Those words, sounding so much like the old Benton Quest, seemed to strike the woman harder than his angry words just moments before. Her eyes fell again and Race saw her hands clench involuntarily into fists. Beside him, he heard Estella's voice catch in her throat. "Tell us what it is, Barbara," Race said quietly. "Better to know what we're facing and hit it straight on."

She took a deep breath and looked up into Benton's face once more. "It's that damned chip . . ." Her voice broke and she cleared her throat with difficulty as Benton looked at her in confusion.

"What chip?"

"Smallwood's chip . . . the one he fitted you with five years ago in England."

"You mean that business in Wychford?" he said incredulously.

"Yes. Last night I finally connected with the man that was in charge of the health program in Devon. He coordinated the research and treatment of the people from Wychford following the Smallwood incident. He e-mailed me all of his clinical notes and research. I spent all night going through them. The symptoms you're exhibiting are classic and were documented in every person to ever be subjected to one of the things."

Benton leaned back in his chair slowly. "What kind of symptoms?" he asked quietly.

"Weakness, dizziness, blackouts, outburst of temper . . ." she paused, looking at him for a moment and then added softly, ". . . unexplained behavioral changes . . . "

"What unexplained behav-" Benton trailed off, staring at each of them in turn.

"Why did you have Jonny's admission to M.I.T. pulled?" Barbara asked him gently. "Why did you continue to push him about school and his living arrangements, even after he had made a commitment to his new employer and moved out? Why are you holding a grudge against Jessie for all of it? Why are you constantly picking fights with the various members of the family? Benton, this isn't you."

"Why haven't you said anything?" he demanded.

"We have," Race replied. "Time and time again."

"It's progressive, Benton," Barbara told him. "It started slowly with little things that were actually part of your natural behavior and escalated from there. We were all confused and tried to talk with you about it, but it never occurred to us that it was anything other than your struggle to come to terms with your sons growing up. It wasn't until the physical symptoms began manifesting themselves that I began to be seriously concerned." She looked away again and her tone was bitter as she added, "I should have paid closer attention . . ."

Race's sharp, "No!" and Estella's wordless exclamation of protest, were overridden by Benton's firm, "Don't talk nonsense!" He leaned forward, caught her hand in his and squeezed it. "Barbara, you have done more for us than we had any right to ask of you, and you've done it without a word of complaint. I won't allow you to blame yourself for any of this, do you understand me?" When she wouldn't look at him, he reached out and caught her chin, raising her head until their eyes met. "You are the best friend any man could ever have and I will not tolerate you blaming yourself. Are we clear?" Finally, Barbara nodded, and he smiled at her. "Good. Now, I get the distinct feeling that you aren't done yet, and what you have to say is bad news, so let's get it over with so we can move on. What's the prognosis?"

"They were never able to find a way to treat it," she said after a minute. "I've read through Dr. Burroughs' clinical summaries so many times I think I could recite them from memory. Nothing worked."

Benton frowned, leaning back in his chair again. They could all see his scientific mind taking over again. "What kind of analysis did they do?"

"Everything they could think of. Most of the patients spent an extended period of time hospitalized. They even sent many of them to large research hospitals in London and Liverpool, but they didn't have any luck identifying what was causing the problem. The only thing they were able to say for certain was that it was some sort of reaction to the chip. No one else ever got sick. There were a few people from Wychford who weren't in town at the time of the incident and never had the chips fitted, and they never showed any signs of a problem."

"An accidental control group . . . eliminating the question of environmental factors being the source of the problem," he mused. "What about the chip itself? What kind of research was done with that?"

She looked at him blankly, and Race got the distinct impression that her mind was only partially focused on his question. "I . . . I don't . . . I don't know. There was nothing in Dr. Burrough's notes about the work on the chip. But he's getting me the British notes, so maybe that will tell us something."

Benton nodded. "We need all of those records. We'll look at them again and see if we can figure out what's going on."

Estella had been watching Barbara closely and she didn't like what she was seeing. Barbara was fighting to hide it, but she was incredibly distressed . . . much more so than the situation seemed to warrant. Finally, in a quiet voice, she asked, "What aren't you telling us, Barbara?"

Barbara swallowed hard and her eyes fell once more, "I . . . I . . ." Benton leaned forward and caught her chin once more, bringing her head up until their eyes locked. "Tell me," he commanded her softly.

Sudden tears brimmed in her eyes and she caught her bottom lip in her teeth, struggling not to break down. "It was total, Benton," she finally whispered. "All of them . . . every one . . . " Her voice cracked and she closed her eyes, two tears trickling down her face.

Benton's right hand cupped her cheek gently and he wiped away a tear with his thumb. "It's all right," he said consolingly. "Just tell me."

"They all died, Benton. All of them . . . from the oldest to the youngest. They couldn't find a way to save any of them."

"What was the progression?" he questioned evenly.

"Anxiety followed by behavioral changes, then weakness and the onset of volatile mood swings, then dizziness, blackouts and increased weakness in the extremities, coma, and finally death."

"What kind of timeline?"

She shook her head, freeing herself from his grip. "If there was a pattern, they couldn't find it. The earliest to die was a 35-year-old man about four months after the destruction of the project. From onset of symptoms to death was less than a month. The last to die was a nine-year-old girl who showed absolutely no sign of a problem for four years, then exhibited symptoms for close to a year before she finally succumbed. They tried everything. Nothing . . ." At that point, her voice cracked again and she simply couldn't go on.

The resulting silence was heavy, as Benton contemplated that prospect. Finally, he looked up at his best friend with a quiet resolve. A small smile touched his lips and Race saw humor reflected in that gaze. "It seems I have a new challenge," he told the other man.

"Benton . . ." Race said with difficulty, putting his arm around his wife as she turned her face into his shoulder with a soft sob.

Benton looked from one of them to the other. Finally, he rose and went to put his arm around Barbara as she sat huddled in the big wing chair. "Hey," he said to her, "you've fought for months to make me believe there was a problem and get me to do something about it. After all that time, we finally know what the problem is. Don't give up on me now."

As she looked up at him, he saw her fighting to rekindle the hope that had been extinguished through a long night of cold, clinical reports and the frustrated notations of doctors faced with a disorder that ultimately defeated their every effort to save their dying patients. She sniffed and used her fingers to wipe her eyes, trying to stop the tears that still threatened to overwhelm her. Finally, she nodded. "I'm all right," she said hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

He smiled at her. "You've been working too hard and not getting enough sleep. That's exactly what you're always lecturing me about. Now it's my turn. Estella needs to go back to bed and so do you. I would like it very much if you would take her upstairs and see her safely back into bed and then find yourself a place to lie down and sleep. I don't care where . . . you can use one of the kid's rooms or you can lie down in mine. Just get some rest. In the meantime, Race is going to take your keys, go to your house, and transfer all of the records here so we can start working with IRIS on analysis." His arm tightened affectionately. "We'll beat this, Barbara. I'm not ready to die yet and I have no intention of doing so. I promise." Slowly, Barbara nodded and rose unsteadily to her feet. "Can you and Estella manage?"

"Yes," she replied, and turned toward the other woman who was rising to her feet with Race's assistance. Taking Estella's arm, the two of the moved slowly from the study, leaving Benton and Race alone once more.

"We have to find a way to beat this, Benton," Race said quietly. "I won't see you die because of Smallwood and his idiocy."

"I don't intend to, old friend. Every problem has a solution and I mean to find the answer to this one. Can you manage to get the records from Barbara's place?"

"I'm guessing we won't need to," Race replied, turning to the computer on the desk. "Barbara's e-mail account, both for the office and home is based on the Quest mainframe. She's not overly computer literate and I'm guessing she didn't download the stuff off of the e-mail system . . . she simply opened it and printed what was there."

Benton looked at him in surprise. "Her account is based here? Since when?"

"Since you got sick," Race replied. "She didn't have computer access and I needed an easy way for IRIS to get her your vitals on a regular basis. So I installed complete set ups in both her office and at home and showed her how to use them." Race shot the older man a quick look, trying to gauge Benton's reaction to that revelation.

"You really did turn IRIS into a babysitter, didn't you." Benton said, sounding amused.

"24-7," Race agreed, carefully hiding his relief at the other man's response. Then he exclaimed in satisfaction. "Yes! Here's all the stuff Burroughs sent her. IRIS, download all files received in the last 72 hours from wburroughs@uta.edu. Create project file, name Smallwood, and begin analysis of data for any type of pattern. Also, monitor mail address bmason@quest.com for incoming mail relating to Smallwood project, download and add to analysis." Race glanced up at Benton. "Hard copies?"

Benton nodded emphatically. "If Barbara's not that computer literate, she's going to be more comfortable working with paper."

"Also, print all files, IRIS."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. SPECIFY OUTPUT LOCATION."

"Send them to the laser printer in the study area of my room, IRIS," Benton replied. He glanced at Race. "We'll set Barbara up there. The workstation is the most detailed one in the house and it also makes her readily available to Estella, should she need her." Then he grinned slightly. "Furthermore, she's not accustomed to working in the lighthouse and I think she'll appreciate the view from the house more than the white walls of the lab."

Race smiled back with a trace of his old humor. "Oh, I don't know. She was pretty impressed with the lighthouse the other day."

"She's seen it before," Benton said in surprise. "It hasn't changed."

"Actually, she hadn't. There'd never been a reason for her to be out there and she's pretty sensitive to your issues about security." Then Race hesitated, leaning back in the chair. When Benton looked at him questioningly, he said, "Benton, what about the boys? They have the right to know about this. And, truth is, we could probably use Hadji's help."

Benton shook his head. "Hadji's got enough on his plate as it is, Race. Let's not worry them unnecessarily. We'll wait until we know exactly what we're up against. If we're lucky, we'll find the answer and they won't even need to know about it until it's all over."

"They'll all be seriously pissed."

Benton shrugged. "Can't help that."

"Are you sure . . ."

And just that quickly, Benton's mood changed again. "It's my call," he snarled. "Don't interfere!" And with that, he spun and stalked out of the room. A few moments later, Race heard the back door slam and when he turned to the windows, he spotted Benton on his way out to the lighthouse. Race turned away, very unsettled. It wasn't going to be easy dealing with Benton if his moods shifted that quickly, particularly with the pressure they were all going to be under from now on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Barbara helped ease Estella down onto the bed and then pulled the blankets up over her. "How do you feel?" she asked. "I really shouldn't have let you go downstairs."

"I'm fine. I've learned how far I can push things. And we really didn't have a choice. The way Benton and Race were fighting this morning, you'd never had gotten Benton up here."

"At least he seems to listen to you."

Estella grimaced. "He's solicitous . . . really does get on my nerves sometimes. Race is bad enough, but when both of them get started it drives me absolutely crazy." Looking at the other woman, she directed quietly. "Close the door for a second, would you? I want to talk to you about something those two don't need to overhear."

Looking at Estella with mild alarm, Barbara crossed the room and closed the door. Then she came back to the bed, sat down, and reached for Estella's wrist. "What's the problem?"

Before Barbara could take hold of her, Estella moved, catching the other woman's hand. "Not me. You. Barbara, don't play games with me. I know how you feel about Benton . . . even if both he and Race are too blind to see it. It was all you could do to keep yourself together down there. I told you once that I'm here to talk to when you need it and I think you need it right now."

Barbara stared at the other woman and suddenly all her defenses collapsed. Exhaustion, fear, and helplessness hit her all at once and she finally crumbled. "He's dying," she sobbed, collapsing face down on the bed. "He's dying and there's nothing I can do to prevent it."