tissues. In closely guarded technology, the MEI creates electrically charged molecules that are 1,200 to 1,500 times more visible than current MRI readings. This method is the first of its kind to employ electrons to create an enhanced view of the body. “This new technology will benefit every known discipline of medicine and possibly many that have not yet been pioneered,” said Dr. John Smart, one of the machine’s inventors and professor emeritus at Harvard Medical School. “This technology may very well pave the way to new disciplines in health studies.” The MEI technology has received FDA approval for limited human testing and is currently being installed in Pasadena General Hospital. Human testing is planned to begin April 16 of this year.
Ostin set down his paper. “Now here’s the clincher. Twelve days later a small article ran in the Times saying that the MEI experiment had been temporarily suspended due to some minor technical malfunction.”
“Hmm,” I said. “What are the odds that all those babies started dying the day the machine was turned on and ended the exact same day they turned it off?”
“Impossible odds,” Ostin said. “Crazy impossible. The machine must have something to do with it.”
“You mean they put all those babies through the machine?”
“No, they wouldn’t do that. I’m guessing that something went wrong and the machine’s waves traveled through the walls.”
“And if the machine was somehow responsible for those deaths,”
Taylor said, “the people who owned the machine wouldn’t want others to find out about what happened to all those babies or they could be sued for millions.”
“Tens of millions,” I said.
“Hundreds of millions,” Ostin said.
“Wow,” Taylor said. “Think about it, they’ve been hiding this from the public for fifteen years. If they knew that we knew . . .”
“That,” Ostin said, looking even more worried, “is why I needed to talk to you.” He turned to Taylor. “How did you look up those first hospital records?”
“On the Internet.”
“Where?”
“On my computer,” Taylor said.
“At home?”
“Yes. Why?”
He combed his fingers back through his hair. “I was afraid of that.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“Hopefully, nothing. But they might have set up spiders.”
Taylor asked, “What’s that?”
“Spiders comb the Web looking for references to certain topics or inquiries. They could have programmed their computer to alert them whenever someone looks up a certain topic.”
“Such as birth records at Pasadena General during those eleven days,” I said.
Ostin nodded. “Exactly,” he said breathlessly. “You need to clear off anything on your computer connected to that search, cookies and everything. If they track you down . . .”
“What would they do?”
“They’ve already killed forty people. With more than two billion dollars of research at stake, who knows?”
Taylor suddenly blanched. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“Something happened Saturday while I was at your party. What was the name of that company again?”
“Elgen Inc.”
Taylor suddenly looked pale. “Meet me at my locker.” She sprinted off toward the building. She had already opened her locker by the
time we caught up to her. She pulled out a glossy, trifold brochure and handed it to me. The piece looked like a recruitment brochure for some kind of school. The cover of the brochure had a picture of well-dressed, smiling students walking in front of a beautiful building. Taylor said in a hushed voice, “This guy came over Saturday night and met with my parents. He said he was from a very special school in Pasadena, California. He told my parents that nationally this school only selects seventeen students a year and that I had been recommended by an anonymous source for entry. They said it was the most prestigious boarding school in the country and those who attended
Ostin set down his paper. “Now here’s the clincher. Twelve days later a small article ran in the Times saying that the MEI experiment had been temporarily suspended due to some minor technical malfunction.”
“Hmm,” I said. “What are the odds that all those babies started dying the day the machine was turned on and ended the exact same day they turned it off?”
“Impossible odds,” Ostin said. “Crazy impossible. The machine must have something to do with it.”
“You mean they put all those babies through the machine?”
“No, they wouldn’t do that. I’m guessing that something went wrong and the machine’s waves traveled through the walls.”
“And if the machine was somehow responsible for those deaths,”
Taylor said, “the people who owned the machine wouldn’t want others to find out about what happened to all those babies or they could be sued for millions.”
“Tens of millions,” I said.
“Hundreds of millions,” Ostin said.
“Wow,” Taylor said. “Think about it, they’ve been hiding this from the public for fifteen years. If they knew that we knew . . .”
“That,” Ostin said, looking even more worried, “is why I needed to talk to you.” He turned to Taylor. “How did you look up those first hospital records?”
“On the Internet.”
“Where?”
“On my computer,” Taylor said.
“At home?”
“Yes. Why?”
He combed his fingers back through his hair. “I was afraid of that.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“Hopefully, nothing. But they might have set up spiders.”
Taylor asked, “What’s that?”
“Spiders comb the Web looking for references to certain topics or inquiries. They could have programmed their computer to alert them whenever someone looks up a certain topic.”
“Such as birth records at Pasadena General during those eleven days,” I said.
Ostin nodded. “Exactly,” he said breathlessly. “You need to clear off anything on your computer connected to that search, cookies and everything. If they track you down . . .”
“What would they do?”
“They’ve already killed forty people. With more than two billion dollars of research at stake, who knows?”
Taylor suddenly blanched. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“Something happened Saturday while I was at your party. What was the name of that company again?”
“Elgen Inc.”
Taylor suddenly looked pale. “Meet me at my locker.” She sprinted off toward the building. She had already opened her locker by the
time we caught up to her. She pulled out a glossy, trifold brochure and handed it to me. The piece looked like a recruitment brochure for some kind of school. The cover of the brochure had a picture of well-dressed, smiling students walking in front of a beautiful building. Taylor said in a hushed voice, “This guy came over Saturday night and met with my parents. He said he was from a very special school in Pasadena, California. He told my parents that nationally this school only selects seventeen students a year and that I had been recommended by an anonymous source for entry. They said it was the most prestigious boarding school in the country and those who attended
Similar Books
