Jarek did hold a PsyD among a slate of advanced degrees. But he had no patients. His so-called practice was a cover for the comings and goings of researchers and volunteers engaged in secret, government-sponsored psychic experiments in a basement lab. Aiden had been down there for sleep tests wearing headgear studded with EEG sensors and other oddities.
Although it was a Saturday, Jarek had agreed to a morning meeting after Aiden insisted it was an emergency. He’d downed a lot of beer the previous night in a futile attempt to hatchet the letter’s turmoil yet still managed to get on the road early, before Darlene awoke. He was still too pissed to deal with her.
He found a parking space a block away, threw the trash bag with the chunkie-infused toaster over his shoulder and rang the bell. Abel Jarek, sixty-something and portly, opened the door. Stylish the man wasn’t. He was garbed in a rumpled sports jacket and jeans a couple sizes too large.
Jarek led him through the reception area to his office, where the psychiatrist charade was operating full throttle. The framed degrees were from top-tier universities and the bookshelves were crammed with medical texts. Aiden settled into the sofa. Jarek took the armchair and gestured to the bag.
“I presume that’s your latest manifestation.”
“Uh-huh, two nights ago. As a bonus, you get a free toaster.”
Jarek looked at him quizzically. Aiden explained.
“Other than the touchdown, was there anything else unusual about it?”
“Pretty much the same as the others.”
He wished there had been something different, something good for a change. Instead of chunkies, maybe a bundle of cash in large denominations. He’d fantasized about such things since his teens. If he had to have a psychic power, why couldn’t it have been something useful? The ability to predict the future or do Jedi mind tricks would have been cool. Instead, he’d been given the inglorious and embarrassing ability to create sticky, shit-colored blobs in his sleep.
“I’ll have a full analysis done to be sure it’s the same as previous manifestations.”
The chemical makeup of chunkies was as unusual as their appearances. They were composed of small amounts of various elements and compounds; nearly a third of the periodic table was represented. Among the exclusions were the naturally radioactive and synthetic elements. Although the fundamental building blocks of life were present, chunkies betrayed no evidence of ever having been alive.
“About my fee,” Aiden said. “How about four hundred this time?”
“Three hundred per manifestation has been our agreement.”
“Inflation.” He put on his best pleading face. “I really need it.”
Jarek sighed. “All right. Just this once.”
The Doc had money to burn and had paid generously since their first encounter. Aiden had answered an innocuous website ad, one of U-OPS’ clandestine efforts at trawling for individuals with authentic psychic abilities. The researchers, in addition to studying his chunkies, had subjected Aiden to tests and procedures aimed at having him create manifestations while conscious. That hadn’t happened. The best he’d done was make one in his sleep last year, during an all-nighter in the lab. Despite needing the money, of late he’d grown tired of being a guinea pig and had been avoiding further testing.
“So, Aiden, you claim this is an emergency? Did something else of a psychic nature occur?”
“The thing is, my niece has been having these nightmares. She had one the same night I made this chunkie.”
He had to remind himself that Leah wasn’t really his niece, not by blood anyway. Nor was Darlene his real sister. He still found it difficult to get a handle on that new reality.
“And you think there’s a connection?”
Aiden shrugged, waiting for Jarek to go on.
“I’m afraid I have little familiarity with children’s nightmares. And I’ve never encountered evidence to suggest a genetic basis for psychic powers. There’s simply no data to indicate it runs in families. Therefore, I strongly doubt she inherited your manifestational ability.”
“So you never worked with kids,” Aiden probed, observing Jarek closely.
“No.”
“How about babies? Ever work with them?”
Jarek frowned. “Aiden, I’m afraid you’re losing me. And I fail to see how any of this constitutes an emergency.”
He decided it was time to dispense with the small talk and get to the real reason he was here.
“What about Tau Nine-One? They experimented with babies and psychic powers, didn’t they?”
Jarek raised his eyebrows. “Where did you hear about that place?”
“Came across it somewhere. What do you know about the experiment?”
“Very little. My understanding is that it ended decades ago.”
“Yeah, when the babies were eighteen months old.” Aiden paused. “And it’s no coincidence I happen to be twenty-nine.”
Jarek’s surprise was palpable. “You believe you were one of those babies? A quiver kid?”
“A what?”
Jarek hesitated. “I shouldn’t be talking about this. Technically, I could be in violation of national security documents bearing my signature.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t. C’mon, Doc, what’s a quiver kid?”
“I don’t know.”
Aiden scowled.
“I’m telling the truth. Those babies were referred to as quiver kids but I never knew details of the experiment, nor the rationale for that nomenclature.”
“So tell me what you do know.”
“First answer a question. What makes you think you’re one of them?”
Aiden brought him up to speed on the events of the past few days, including sharing the main points of his father’s letter. When he finished, Jarek wore a deep frown.
“I had no idea. You were the right age, of course. But U-OPS did a thorough background check and there was no indication you were adopted. There was nothing to connect you with that place.”
“My parents kept a lid on it.”
Jarek got up and retrieved a water bottle from a mini-fridge beneath the credenza. “Would you like one?”
“No thanks. What about Tau Nine-One?”
“In its current configuration it’s been around since 1991. That’s how it got its name. Tau is the nineteenth letter of the Greek alphabet. Ergo, Tau Nine-One.
“The site was originally an early-twentieth-century mining camp with a railroad line built to service it. Gold and silver had been discovered, but the veins played out quickly and the mining camp went bust.
“In the early 1950s it was taken over by the government and reconstituted as a support facility for the Pinetree Line, a joint US-Canadian initiative. Pinetree was one of the first early warning systems to guard against an ICBM sneak attack by the Soviets. A series of radar stations were constructed farther north, around the Canadian border.
“The site’s function as part of Pinetree didn’t last long, however. It was shut down by the late Fifties. A few years later, the DOD retasked it into a storage depot for extra ordnance: artillery shells, grenades, what have you. But in the late Eighties, environmental groups learned about the explosives and campaigned to have them removed. The DOD eventually gave in and removed the ordnance. They were in the process of mothballing the facility when something happened.”