“Did we enable his behavior? Did we fill his head with stuff and nonsense? Are we responsible for him losing his way?”

“I’m not interested in assigning blame. Soon, I’ll reach the end of my rope with this investigation. No more money, no more time, no more near-misses by a group of psychopaths who are intent upon shutting me down. Sean’s family wants answers about why this kid is dead. Good, bad, or indifferent. So do I.”

“Very well,” Dr. Campbell said. He glanced at Beasley. Beasley fetched a small wooden box of cigarettes. He helped the doctor light one and then stepped back. “You should know that I’ve dreaded your visit, what it might reveal,” Dr. Campbell said after several puffs.

I figured this was as close to nervous as the old fellow ever got. What he’d witnessed in the remote mountains and the deepest jungles, on desert islands and in the eyes of his fellow man, had tempered him. A firecracker exploding behind his head probably wouldn’t have made him flinch.

We’d see, wouldn’t we?

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The coffee was bitter and good. Would’ve been better with a finger of brandy at the bottom of the cup. Dr. Campbell smoked. Beasley lurked. My mind circled back to Ryoko’s eerie comparison to a child-sized mannequin. Mandibole’s stage show had featured large dolls. No idea where I was going with that train of thought, but I had goosebumps.

“If you’d be so kind as to indulge a few questions,” I said. “You’re neither engineers nor physicists. What was your value to the Jeffers Project?”

“Numerous disciplines were vital to the endeavor. Psychology, biology, anthropology. You must realize, the construction of the collider and its subsequent applications were merely pieces of a whole. Layers of experimentation existed, beginning with the historical research and including behavioral studies on the entire workforce.”

“Which piece was yours?”

“Toshi and I contributed our unique perspective.”

“Doctor, I’ve followed you and your partner’s exploits since I was in first grade. Your unique perspective covers a lot of ground.”

“We confirmed to the planners and key investors the spectacular properties of the site.”

“What sort of properties do you mean?” I said. “Gold? Minerals? Fossils? Lost ruins?”

Dr. Campbell chuckled.

“My boy, you really have observed our long and winding journey from respectability to crackpot royalty. That’s gratifying.”

“I’m partial to folklore. Legends, gallant expeditions. Hacking through a jungle to photograph an ancient temple. You guys were the embodiment of Rudyard Kipling’s and H. Rider Haggard’s stories. The pulp cliff-hangers on Saturday morning. I loved you.”

“To study folklore is to commune with the ancestors.” He reached over and patted my arm.

“As for your query. This old, dirty continent is a honeycomb oozing black sap. Proper imaging equipment, such as ground radar, or if one physically ventured deep beneath the subsurface and the tunnels of the Jeffers site, would reveal a marvel.”

“A man of your experience doesn’t toss ‘marvel’ around blithely.”

“Well, it’s merely a theory. The Jeffers collider track, and its network of tributary passages, mirrors an older subterranean structure. The plexus of the Valley.”