Dark Matter

Again, Theodore answered. “If this object—a theoretical object that Morgan refuses to even admit he possesses—were dark matter, our humble building would be weighted down by what was essentially over a ton of gravitational pull. Tell us, Morgan. Do you have a miniature atom bomb hidden somewhere?”

“I know how much you enjoy sounding important, Theodore,” Martha said with a wink, “but for those of us in the room who speak English and not techno nerd, please elaborate.”

But it was Lionel who answered this time. “As I explained last week, the existence of dark matter was first theorized to explain the rotational speeds of galaxies. An answer to the missing mass problem,” Lionel explained. “Dark matter reconciles observable phenomenon with the big bang theory. It, along with the more nebulous concept, dark energy, allows for a sort of fudge factor. Theodore is right. If the crystal were dark matter, it would be significantly heavier than plutonium.”

“Couldn’t the crystal possess a femtogram of dark matter?” Martha insisted.

“Add a pinch of spice and make everything nice?” Theodore scoffed. “That’s about as brilliant as Zag’s concepts about these crystals focusing psychic energy like some idiotic lens. Oh wait, I get it. That’s one of your psychic tools, isn’t it, Zag? Do tell! And what would a parapsychologist of your training, Morgan, title such an artifact? A magic wand?”

“A magic wand?” Morgan grinned. “Now I rather like that, Theodore—and not just because I’ll enjoy watching you eat those words someday when it comes to the Eye. Unfortunately—” Morgan glanced at the conference room clock “—the topic will have to wait for another day.”

Morgan was the self-appointed timekeeper of the group. Discussions like these, while extremely valuable to the Institute, could get out of hand, lasting for hours. But that wasn’t why Morgan cut short today’s debate at what was surely its most interesting juncture.

Later, when he found Zag fast on his heels, Morgan knew his timing had been perfect.

“Morgan.” Zag continued hurrying down the hall toward him, the excitement in his eyes unmistakable. He was almost breathless when he stopped and asked, “How long are you going to keep us guessing? Do you have the Eye or not?”

“Wouldn’t it be wild if I did?” Morgan answered.

“So you haven’t authenticated it?”

Morgan paused, meeting the man’s curious eyes. At the moment, the pupils appeared impossibly large, showing only a rim of ice-water blue.

Morgan lowered his voice, dropping his final crumb of bait. “I’ve run some tests.”

The Eye of Athena was the oldest psychic relic ever found. It could be traced back to the Oracle at Delphi—even to Athena, the Greek goddess. Presumably, the Eye, or the central crystal on the ancient necklace, had been worn by the goddess herself. While he’d never explicitly stated he had the crystal, the last months Morgan had carefully hinted to having it ensconced in his vault, hoping for just this interest from the enigmatic Zag.

“I can help. You know I can,” the younger man said, reaching up to grip Morgan’s arm.

Jesus, he was practically salivating.

“If you’re suggesting some sort of collaboration?” Morgan asked. “I might be interested.”

Suddenly, the man’s curious eyes widened. A smile crossed his lips as he dropped his grip on Morgan and took a step back. “Why do I suddenly feel so easy?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you could mean by that,” Morgan said with a faint smile of his own.

Morgan hadn’t wanted to be the one to come, hat in hand, asking for help. Rather, he’d fanned Zag’s enthusiasm for the stone, knowing that eventually it would be Zag begging him for a chance to play.

“Well done,” Zag acknowledged. “Of course, you need my resources.”

“As I said,” Morgan answered carefully, “I am open to a collaboration between us. Here, at the Institute, and with my people in charge.”

The younger man acknowledged Morgan’s conditions with a quick nod. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Fifteen minutes later, Morgan was almost to his office, marveling at today’s success. For years now, he’d worked to capture the interest of Gonzague de Rozières and Halo Industries. Zag was exactly what the Institute needed: young blood and powerful ambition. At just thirty-four, Zag had done the impossible: he’d made the paranormal a bankable industry. And while his public-relations machine didn’t exactly publicize the true goings-on at Halo, Morgan had his sources.

Remote-viewers working for homeland security, research on artificial limbs—computers, even video games, operated by conscious thought. And then there was his pet project, his Halo-effect schools.

When Morgan alluded to having the crystal, he’d expected Zag to fall in with his plans.

What Morgan hadn’t anticipated was finding Carin Barnes waiting in his office, those stormy gray eyes cocked and ready to fire as he entered the room.

“You have got to be kidding,” she said, all Sturm und Drang as she jumped to her feet. “You are not going to give him the crystal.”

She made an imposing sight. Tall, just shy of Morgan’s six feet some, she had the slim figure of an athlete. She wore what Morgan had come to call her uniform: a dark suit with a cuffed white shirt underneath, looking every bit the FBI agent. She’d recently shorn her hair to within an inch of its life. The boy cut only made her gray eyes look larger on her refined face.

“Why would you even think such a thing, Carin?”

“Do not bullshit me, Morgan,” she said, stabbing the air with her finger. “Ten months after I hand you the Eye, Zag writes a check big enough to buy even your filthy-rich ass and I’m supposed to believe it’s not connected? I did not risk my career so that you could trade it in for some easy capital.”

Carin Barnes worked for NISA, the National Institute for Strategic Artifacts. Ten months ago, when David Gospel’s collection of artifacts surfaced—presumably purchased from black-market dealers—the FBI had been on the case. Carin’s job: bring back the stolen goods and deliver them to their country of origin.

Only, like Morgan, Carin and the Eye had a history, the kind that was difficult to ignore. She might be a dedicated agent, but her desire for the Eye went beyond even her duty to God and country. The last thing she wanted was to have such a powerful artifact end up filed away like some X-file project at the Bureau.

Carin had been the special agent in charge when the police confiscated Gospel’s collection of rare artifacts. With Morgan’s help, she’d been able to switch out the crystal for a clever fake.

“I know what you did for us,” Morgan said, stepping in to take both her hands in his. “I won’t throw it away. But Zag might be just what we need. Think about it. Halo Industries and all its resources at our disposal.”

She brushed off his hands. “You’re not thinking. Jesus Christ, Morgan, three weeks after I hand you the Eye, Zag suddenly takes an interest in the Institute? You don’t find that a tad convenient? You didn’t have to bring Zag into your confidence, signing him up for your damn Brain Trust. He knew you had the Eye—he came here just for that.”

“Don’t let your history with the man cloud your judgment.”

Carin’s cheeks flamed red. “Is that what you think?”

“He broke your heart and ruined your academic career. I wouldn’t blame you for carrying a grudge. But a man can change, Carin. It wasn’t so long ago that I committed similar damage to someone I loved.”

“My history with Zag taught me one simple fact. Something you ignore at your peril. You can’t trust him.”

But Morgan pushed on. “Okay. You’re right. You know him better than I ever will. But we’ve had the crystal for ten months and we are no closer to finding out how to harness its unique powers than the day you handed it to me. We need Halo.”

“It’s a bad move, Morgan.”

“But a necessary one.”

She slammed her fist on his desk in frustration. “Do you really think you’re in control here? Do you know how desperately Zag wants the Eye? He tried to buy it off Gospel just months before the man died!”

“Which only means he’s made a careful study of our prize and most certainly has valuable information—information from which we stand to greatly benefit.” He came in close, grabbing her shoulders. “Estelle gave her life for that crystal. What good is it doing sitting in my vault?”

“Estelle?” She shot him a look, her eyes the color of a summer storm. “That would be the woman whose heart you broke and whose career you ruined?”

He had the audacity to smile. “As if she cared about such things. Like you, Estelle had grander ambitions. And what about Markie?” he asked, stepping back. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted for your brother? Why you entrusted his care to me and what we could offer him here? Imagine it, Carin—a crystal that can enhance human brain functions. Let me do my job. Let me find out how the damn thing works. Let me use it to help people like Markie.”

“How dare you?”

Morgan knew he’d overstepped, opening deep wounds. Carin’s brother was a twenty-three-year-old autistic man living at the Institute. Twelve years her junior, Markie was the agent’s raison d’être…and it had been her work on autism—research meant to help her brother—that Zag had sabotaged.

Still, he pressed his point. “Do you remember the day when you brought Markie to Estelle? You’d never even heard the sound of his voice before then. She gave you that, Carin,” he continued, reminding her that it was Estelle’s gift as a psychic that had allowed Markie to utter his first and only words: I love you.