“I don’t know. But a possibility occurred to me that I haven’t checked into yet.” I put my fork down. “Alistair, please display any information that has been released on the development of the artificial brain announced last month by Bryson Nichols.”

Alistair displayed pages of information on a visiscreen. We examined them. “Here, look at this.” I pointed to a paragraph.

“So?”

“It says that much of the final-stage experimental work was conducted on patients with severe mental illness and advanced brain disease.” I turned to Abby. “They had to get those patients from somewhere. Alistair, please do a cross-link of information on Bryson Nichols or NTI and the Massachusetts Center for Mental Health.”

More information appeared. I pointed to another place on the screen. “Here’s a list of the board of directors of the center.” I scanned it. “Look who’s on the list.”

Abby gasped. “Bryson Nichols.”

27

The crowd at the Library was light. Bryson Nichols didn’t mind; the paucity of patrons gave him a clear view of an attractive woman in a short black skirt and low-cut blouse sitting in the middle of the room. Per Nichols’s programming, the Library mirrored a nineteenth-century English pub in most respects. But not all.

Nichols’s view was suddenly obstructed by the less appealing image of Damien Cleary holding a bourbon and soda.

Cleary sat. “I wondered when you were going to tap.”

“You were right. She may be putting the pieces together on Ray. Brandt received a tap from some university professor in Dallas asking about him.”

“Has he responded?”

Nichols glanced at the woman in the skirt. “Not yet. He will deny Ray’s ever having been there, of course.”

“And if that doesn’t stop the prying?”

Nichols refocused his attention on Cleary. “We may have to take more drastic measures. We’ll see. There may yet be an easy way out of this.”

Cleary sipped his drink. “You’re not still counting on Knowles, are you?”

“I already met with our esteemed attorney general.”

“And what did he say about the jungle girl?”

“Off the record, he said Ms. Caldwell’s case was on hold.”

“Did he say why?”

“He told me to ask Hutch Hardin.”

Cleary cleared his throat. “Hutch Hardin? What’s his involvement?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll find out. In the meantime there’s a small matter I need you to attend to. A woman we just transplanted voiced the same complaint as Ray did. Said she lost her connection.”

“And you want me to take care of her?”

Nichols shook his head, bemused by Cleary’s language. “No, I don’t want you to ‘take care of her.’ All you need to do is discredit her on the Grid before she becomes a problem. Something simple, not too harsh. Just so no one will give her a second thought. No need to blow this out of proportion.”