react to this picture because it reminds you of the family you used to live
with?”
One bark. No.
Travis said, “Did you ever live with any family?”
One bark.
“But you’re not a wild dog,” Nora said. “You must’ve lived somewhere before
Travis found you.”
Studying the Blue Cross advertisement, Travis suddenly thought he knew all the
right questions. “Did you react to this picture because of the baby?”
One bark. No.
“Because of the woman?”
No.
“Because of the man in the white lab coat?”
Much wagging: Yes, yes, yes.
“So he lived with a doctor,” Nora said. “Maybe a vet.”
“Or maybe a scientist,” Travis said as he followed the intuitive line of thought
that had stricken him.
Einstein wagged a “yes” at the mention of scientist.
“Research scientist,” Travis said. Yes.
“In a lab,” Travis said. Yes, yes, yes. “You’re a lab dog?” Nora asked. Yes.
“A research animal,” Travis said. Yes.
“And that’s why you’re so bright.” Yes.
“Because of something they’ve done to you.” Yes.
Travis’s heart raced. They actually were communicating, by God, not just in
broad strokes, and not just in the comparatively crude way he and Einstein had
communicated the night that the dog had formed a question mark out of
Milk-Bones. This was communication with extreme specificity. Here they were,
talking as if they were three people—well, almost talking—and suddenly nothing
would ever be the same again. Nothing could possibly be the same in a world
where men and animals possessed equal (if different) intellects, where they
faced life on equal terms, with equal rights, with similar hopes and dreams. All
right, okay, so maybe he was blowing this out of proportion. Not all animals had
suddenly been given human-level consciousness and intelligence; this was only
one dog, an experimental animal, perhaps the only one of his kind. But Jesus.
Jesus. Travis stared in awe at the retriever, and a chill swept through him, not
a chill of fear but of wonder.
Nora spoke to the dog, and in her voice was a trace of the same awe that had
briefly rendered Travis speechless: “They didn’t just let you go, did they?”
One bark. No.
“You escaped?”
Yes.
“That Tuesday morning I found you in the woods?” Travis asked. “Had you just
escaped then?”
Einstein neither barked nor wagged his tail.
“Days before that?” Travis asked.
The dog whined.
“He probably has a sense of time,” Nora said, “because virtually all animals
follow natural day-night rhythms, don’t they? They have instinctive clocks,
biological clocks. But he probably doesn’t have any concept of calendar days.
He doesn’t really understand how we divide time up into days and weeks and
months, so he has no way of answering your question.”
“Then that’s something we’ll have to teach him,” Travis said.
Einstein vigorously wagged his tail.
Thoughtfully, Nora said, “Escaped . .
Travis knew what she must be thinking. To Einstein, he said, “They’ll be looking
for you, won’t they?”
The dog whined and wagged his tail—which Travis interpreted as a “yes” with a
special edge of anxiety.
4
An hour after sunset, Lemuel Johnson and Cliff Soames, trailed by two additional
unmarked cars carrying eight NSA agents, arrived at Bordeaux Ridge. The unpaved
street through the center of the unfinished housing tract was lined with
vehicles, mostly black-and-whites bearing the Sheriffs Department shield, plus
cars and a van from the coroner’s office.
Lem was dismayed to see that the press had already arrived. Both print
journalists and television crews with minicams were being kept behind a police
line, half a block from the apparent scene of the murder. By quietly suppressing
details of the death of Wesley Dalberg in Holy Jim Canyon and of the associated
murders of the scientists working at Banodyne, and by instituting an aggressive
campaign of disinformation, the NSA had managed to keep the press ignorant of
the connections among all these events. Lem hoped that the deputies manning
these barriers were among Walt Gaines’s most trusted men and that they would
meet reporters’ questions with stony silence until a convincing cover story
could be developed.
Sawhorses were lifted out of the way to let the unmarked NSA cars through the
Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230