Killing Time by Caleb Carr

door to my quarters just as, in the distance behind us, the first of the
pilotless American fighter-bombers began to release their payloads, raining
cataclysmic destruction down on the now-burning Afghan plain.
     
CHAPTER 19
     
    That man's brutality conceals
itself behind a respectable face more often than an evil one should come as
news to no one, though I've never found it any less sad or infuriating for
being so apparent. Having passed my own childhood among socially admired but
covertly violent adults, I've always felt a particular kinship with those who
have not only suffered abuse but suffered it at the hands of people who are
deemed in some way estimable by society at large. Which is why, I'm sure, my
comradeship with Larissa and Malcolm Tressalian was cemented so firmly during
our journey north that morning. Among the many cases of childhood horror that
I've investigated, theirs remains the only one I can call truly unique; and if
ever there were a story guaranteed to rouse the familiar pangs of sorrow and
outrage in my heart, the one that I listened to Larissa tell in the candlelit
stillness of my quarters was it.
    As I've mentioned, Malcolm and
Larissa's father, Stephen Tressalian, was one of the first and most powerful
leaders of the information revolution. A celebrated prodigy as a child, the
elder Tressalian went on in early adulthood to design the hardware and software
for an Internet routing system that became standard international equipment and
the cornerstone of his empire. The achievement brought him fame, wealth, and a
wife, a beautiful film actress possessed of that polished but no less
pedestrian form of mental facility that so often passes for intelligence in
Hollywood; and further dramatic innovations in the field of information
delivery added even more stature to what had already become a household name.
    From the beginning Stephen
Tressalian was portrayed in the media as somehow nobler than the average
information baron. He spoke about the social and political advances that
information technology was supposedly bringing to the world often, publicly,
and well—well enough to have legions of admirers among not only international
business and political leaders but rank-and-file Internet users, as well. There
was much tabloid interest, therefore, when the technocrat and his bride
announced the birth of their first child, a boy, in 1991. As a toddler Malcolm
displayed a precocious brilliance that equaled his sire's; yet that ambitious
man was not to be satisfied with a son who could merely match his own
achievements. Unlike most fathers, Stephen Tressalian longed for an heir who
could outstrip him, believing that such would only add luster to his own
legacy. And so he began to cast about for ways to artificially augment
Malcolm's nascent genius.
    By sinister coincidence, during
the mid-1990s scientists at various universities and institutes were tampering
with the genetic structure of intelligence in mice and other small animals by
altering the biochemical mechanisms that controlled learning and memory.
Responsible researchers shielded both their work and its as-yet-inconclusive
findings from the general public, reminding the curious of the eternal
biological verity that mice are not men. But rumors about the studies began to
circulate, and before long there was irresponsible speculation about the
possibility of genetically treating human children—whether in the womb or after
birth—to enhance their ability to comprehend and store information.
    For the right price, then as
always, scientists could be found who were eager for a chance to experiment,
even if illegally; and thus it was that Malcolm, at the age of only three,
found himself entering a small private hospital in his family's home city of
Seattle. The official explanation, formulated with almost incredible cunning by
Stephen Tressalian and the gene therapist he had selected, was an attack of the
new strain of antibiotic-resistant bacterial