being interviewed by the FBI in the rec room. Hazelius occupied his usual place at the head of the table.
With a deep breath, Ford entered the room. If the scientists seemed haggard before, they looked like zombies now, eating in silence, their red-rimmed eyes staring off into space. Hazelius in particular looked like hell.
Ford poured himself a mug of coffee. When Wardlaw arrived a few minutes later, Ford observed him out of the corner of his eye. In contrast to the others, the man seemed rested, unperturbed, and unusually friendly, nodding as he made his way to his seat.
Kate went back and forth from the kitchen, laying down platters of food. Ford tried to keep his eyes off her. A desultory conversation arose around him, trivialities. Nobody wanted to talk about Volkonsky. Anything but Volkonsky.
Corcoran took a seat beside him. He could feel her eyes on him, and he turned, to see a knowing smile on her face. She leaned over and spoke sotto voce. “Where were you last night?”
“Out for a walk.”
“Yeah, right.” She smirked and her eyes slid over to Kate.
Corcoran turned to the group and said, “We’re all over the news this morning. You hear about it?”
Everyone paused in their eating.
“No one?” Corcoran looked around with an air of triumph. “It’s not what you think. There was nothing in the news about Peter Volkonsky—at least, not yet.”
Again she surveyed the group, enjoying the attention. “This is something different. Weird. You know that televangelist, Spates, who runs a megachurch over in Virginia? There was a story about him and us in the
“Spates?” Innes leaned in from across the table. “The preacher who was busted with those prostitutes? What could he possibly have to do with us?”
Her smile broadened. “His sermon last Sunday was
“I can’t imagine why,” said Innes.
“Said we were a bunch of godless scientists putting the lie to the book of Genesis. The whole sermon is available as a podcast on his Web site. ‘Ah greet yeew in the nayum of our Lorud and Saveeyore Cheesus Chraiyst,’ ” she intoned in a near-perfect imitation of his southern drawl, once again demonstrating her ability to mimic.
“You’ve
She nudged Ford under the table with her leg. “You hadn’t heard this?”
“No.”
“Who has time to surf the news?” Thibodeaux said, her voice high and irritated. “I can’t get my work done as it is.”
“I don’t get it,” said Dolby. “How are we putting the lie to the book of Genesis?”
“We’re researching the Big Bang—that secular humanist theory which claims the universe was created without the guiding hand of God. We’re part of the war on faith. We’re Christ haters.”
Dolby shook his head in disgust.
“According to the
Innes turned to Hazelius. “Did you know about this, Gregory?”
Hazelius nodded wearily.
“What are we going to do about it?”
Hazelius laid down his coffee mug, wiped his eyes. “The Stanford-Binet curve demonstrates that seventy percent of human beings fall in the average or below-average range in intelligence. In other words, more than two- thirds of all human beings are average, which is stupid enough, or they’re clinical morons.”
“I’m not sure I follow your point,” said Innes.
“What I’m saying is, this is the way of the world, George. Live with it.”
“But surely we need to issue a statement refuting the accusation,” said Innes. “As far as I’m concerned, the Big Bang theory is perfectly consistent with a belief in God. One doesn’t exclude the other.”
Edelstein’s eyes rose from his book, suddenly glittering with amusement. “If that’s what you really think, George, then you understand neither God nor the Big Bang.”
“Just a second, Alan,” said Ken Dolby, interrupting. “You can have an entirely physical theory, like the Big Bang, and still believe God was behind it.”
Edelstein’s dark eyes turned to him. “If the theory is fully explanative—which a good theory must be—then God would be unnecessary. A mere spectator. What kind of a useless God is that?”
“Alan, why don’t you tell us what you really think?” said Dolby sarcastically.
Innes spoke loudly, shifting into his professional voice. “Surely the world is big enough for God and science.”
Corcoran rolled her eyes.
“I would object to any statement made in the name of the Isabella project that mentions God,” said Edelstein.
“Enough discussion,” said Hazelius. “There will be no statements. Let the politicians handle it.”
The door to the rec room opened and three scientists came out, followed by Special Agents Greer and Alvarez, and Lieutenant Bia. The room fell silent.
“I wanted to thank you for your cooperation,” said Greer stiffly, clipboard in hand, addressing the group. “You have my card. If there’s anything you need or if you think of anything useful, please call me.”
“When will you know something?” Hazelius asked.
“Two, three days.”
There was a silence. Then Hazelius said, “May I ask a question or two?”
Greer waited.
“Was the gun found in the car?”
Greer hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
“Where?”
“On the floor on the driver’s side.”
“As I understand it, Dr. Volkonsky was shot in the right temple at point-blank range, while he was sitting behind the wheel. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“Were any of the car’s windows open?”
“They were all closed.”
“And the AC was on?”
“Yes.”
“Doors locked?”
“That is correct.”
“Keys in the ignition?”
“Yes.”
“Did Dr. Volkonsky’s right hand test positive for powder residue?”
A silence. “The results aren’t in yet,” Greer said.
“Thank you.”
Ford recognized the significance of the questions, and it was clear Greer did, too. As the agents filed out of the room, the meal resumed in tense silence. The unvoiced word “suicide” seemed to hang in the air.
As the meal concluded, Hazelius rose. “A few words.” His tired eyes traveled around the room. “I know all of you are deeply shaken, as am I.”
People shifted positions uncomfortably. Ford glanced at Kate. She looked more than shaken—she was devastated.
“The problems with Isabella fell hardest on Peter—for reasons we all know. He made a superhuman effort to fix the software problems with Isabella. I guess he must have given up. I’d like to share a few lines to his memory, from a poem by Keats about that transcendent moment of discovery.”
He recited from memory:
