Boone thumbed through the rest of the contract and reached the final page. “And you signed this, Dr. Richardson? Correct? Is this your notarized signature?”

“Of course. But why do they want to talk to me right now?”

“I’m sure it’s just a small problem that needs to be cleared up. Pack some socks and a toothbrush. I’ll take you down to our research center in Purchase, New York. They want you to review some data tonight so you can meet with the staff tomorrow morning.”

“That’s out of the question,” Richardson said. “I have to teach my graduate students. I can’t leave New Haven.”

Boone reached out and grabbed Richardson’s right arm. He squeezed slightly so the doctor wouldn’t run away. Boone hadn’t drawn a gun or made threats, but there was something about his personality that was very intimidating. Unlike most people, he didn’t show any doubt or hesitation.

“I know your schedule, Dr. Richardson. I checked it before I drove up here. You don’t have any classes tomorrow.”

“Let go of me. Please.”

Boone released Richardson’s arm. “I’m not going to force you to get into the car and come down to New York. I’m not going to force you at all. But if you decide to be irrational, then you should prepare for negative consequences. In this case, I’d always feel regretful that such a brilliant man made the wrong choice.”

Like a soldier who had just delivered a message, Boone turned quickly and marched back to his SUV. Dr. Richardson felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. What was this man talking about? Negative consequences.

“Just a minute, Mr. Boone. Please…”

Boone stopped at the curb. It was too dark to see his face.

“If I go down to the research center, where am I supposed to stay?”

“We have some very comfortable living quarters for our staff.”

“And I’ll be back here tomorrow afternoon?”

Boone’s voice changed slightly. It sounded as if he was smiling. “You can count on it.”

Dr. Richardson packed an overnight bag while Nathan Boone waited for him in the downstairs hallway. They left immediately and drove south to New York. When they entered Westchester County, near the town of Purchase, Boone turned onto a two-lane country road. The SUV rolled past expensive suburban homes built of brick and stone. White oak and maple trees dotted the front lawns and the grass was covered with autumn leaves.

It was a few minutes after eight o’clock when Boone turned onto a gravel driveway and reached the entrance of a walled-in compound. A discreet sign announced that they had arrived at a research facility operated by the Evergreen Foundation. The guard in the booth recognized Boone and opened the gate.

They parked in a small lot surrounded by pine trees and got out of the SUV. When they walked up a flagstone path, Richardson saw the five large buildings that filled the compound. There were four glass-and-steel structures placed on the corners of a quadrangle and they were connected to each other by enclosed second-floor walkways. A windowless building with a white marble façade was in the center of the quadrangle. It reminded Dr. Richardson of photographs he had seen of the Kaaba, the Muslim shrine in Mecca where they kept the mysterious black rock that Abraham had received from an angel.

“That’s the foundation library,” Boone said, pointing at the building on the northern corner of the quadrangle. “Clockwise from that is the genetic research building, the computer research building, and the administrative center.”

“What’s the white building with no windows?”

“It’s called the Neurological Cybernetics Research Facility. They built it about a year ago.”

Boone guided Richardson into the administrative center. The lobby was empty except for a surveillance camera mounted on a wall bracket. Two elevators were at the end of the room. As the men walked across the lobby, one of the elevators opened its doors.

“Is someone watching us?”

Boone shrugged his shoulders. “That’s always a possibility, Doctor.”

“Someone has to be watching us because they just opened these doors.”

“I’m carrying a radio frequency identification chip. We call it a Protective Link. The chip tells a computer that I’m in the building and approaching an entrance point.”

They stepped into the elevator and the door glided shut. Boone waved his hand at a gray pad built into the wall. There was a faint clicking sound and the elevator began to rise.

“In most buildings, they just use ID cards.”

“A few people here still carry cards.” Boone raised his arm and Richardson saw a scar on the back of his right hand. “But everyone with a high security clearance has a Protective Link implanted beneath their skin. An implant is a good deal more secure and efficient.”

They reached the third floor. Boone escorted Richardson to a suite with a bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room. “This is where you’ll spend the night,” Boone explained. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, Doctor. Someone wants to talk to you.”

Boone left the room and the door clicked softly. This is crazy, Richardson thought. They’re treating me like I’m a criminal. For several minutes, the neurologist paced back and forth, and then his anger began to dissipate. Maybe he really had done something wrong. There was that conference in Jamaica and what else? A few meals and hotel rooms that had nothing to do with his research. How could they know about that? Who told them? He thought about his colleagues back at the university and decided that several of them were jealous of his success.

The door swung open and a young Asian man walked in carrying a thick green binder. The man wore a spotless white shirt and narrow black necktie that made him look neat and deferential. Richardson relaxed immediately.

“Good evening, Doctor. I’m Lawrence Takawa, the special projects manager for the Evergreen Foundation. Before we start, I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed reading your books, especially The Machine in the Skull. You certainly have come up with some interesting theories regarding the brain.”

“I want to know why I was brought here.”

“We needed to talk to you. Clause 18-C gives us that opportunity.”

“Why are we meeting tonight? I know that I signed the contract, but this is highly unusual. You could have contacted my secretary and arranged an appointment.”

“We needed to respond to a particular situation.”

“What do you want? A summary of this year’s research? I sent you a preliminary report. Didn’t anyone read it?”

“You’re not here to tell us anything, Dr. Richardson. Instead we want to give you some important information.” Lawrence motioned to one of the chairs and the two men sat facing each other. “You’ve done several different experiments over the last six years, but your research confirms one particular idea: there is no spiritual reality in the universe, human consciousness is simply a biochemical process within our brain.”

“That’s a simplistic summary, Mr. Takawa. But it’s basically correct.”

“Your research results support the philosophy of the Evergreen Foundation. The people who run the foundation believe that each human being is an autonomous biological unit. Our brain is an organic computer with its processing capabilities determined by genetic inheritance. During our lifetime, we fill our brain with learned knowledge and conditioned responses to different experiences. When we die, our brain computer is destroyed along with all its data and operating programs.”

Richardson nodded. “I think that’s clear.”

“It’s a wonderful theory,” Lawrence said. “Unfortunately, it’s not true. We’ve discovered that a fragment of energy exists inside every living thing, independent of the brain or body. This energy enters each plant or animal when they’re born. It leaves us when we die.”