The Disappeared

[1]

Teri never saw D.C. again.

Several months later, after she had learned more about the Karma Project and its history, she called CIA headquarters in Washington. She asked to speak to an agent, any agent, and when one came on the line, she gave the man a brief background on the project, how it had unfolded, the people who had died, and how there were now some eighty-seven children scattered around the country, their lives permanently scarred by what the CIA had done.

It was when she brought up the name D.C. that the agent first began to protest. Until then, he had been patient with her, listening without comment, neither confirming nor denying anything she had said. But that tactic quickly shifted once she had tossed D.C. into the mix. The agent adamantly denied that any D.C. had ever worked for the CIA in any capacity whatsoever, past or present, and suggested several times over that she was obviously mistaken about the man’s connection with the agency.

Teri grew exasperated to the point of finally interrupting him. “Look, let’s not waste my time, all right? I’ve only got a few minutes and you need to know exactly what I have in mind. So pay attention.”

The man on the other end grew quiet again.

“If I don’t receive notice within one month that this man is no longer involved in the CIA or any CIA sponsored activities, I will immediately go to the press. I will sit down with them and I will share everything I know about the Karma Project and every piece of documentation I have in my possession. You following this?”

“Yes,” the agent answered quietly.

“You get notice to me within the next thirty days that D.C. is out in the cold and the issue becomes mute. My documents will be destroyed, and you won’t have to worry about Karma embarrassing the agency or the country. You got it?”

“If you’ll just let me—”

“Don’t waste my time.”

She gave the agent a post office box in Reno, Nevada, where he could contact her, and then she hung up. Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding. It was the most frightening thing she had ever done, and the biggest bluff she had ever played. Once the receiver was back in its cradle and she was out of the phone booth, walking down the street again, Teri felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. For eighty-seven children, it was already too late. Their lives had been shattered. But maybe it was early enough to prevent any future children from a similar fate. She could hold out that hope, at least. However dim it might be.

Four weeks later, a newspaper article arrived at the Reno post office. It was forwarded to another box at another office, and from there to another box, under yet a different name. By the time Teri held it in her hands, the news had been old: Malcolm Winters, a man in his late thirties who traveled and was often away, according to his neighbors, had hung himself from a chandelier two weeks before. He was survived by his wife of seven years and three children. He had been despondent lately about money problems, according to the article, which also went on to detail some four other women who were claiming to also be married to the man.

Across the top of the article, written in red ink, were the initials: D.C.

A red line had been drawn through the initials, diagonally, top to bottom.

[2]

Michael finally connected with Teri after she had rescued Gabe from the Devol Institute. He had spent that day staking out the offices where Dr. Childs ran his practice, and that night staking out the house where Dr. Childs lived. But Childs had never shown up at either place, and well past midnight, Michael had returned to his motel room, disappointed and wondering what to do next. The following morning, Lieutenant Sterns called and invited him back to the station under the pretense of another interview.

Teri and Gabe were there waiting for him.

Ten long years had passed, and their family was finally whole and back together again.

It was only for a short while.

[3]

The truth began to set in less than forty-eight hours later.

Michael and Gabe had spent most of the day miniature golfing and at the movies. Later, they stopped by the house to pick up Teri and the three of them went out to dinner together. After dinner, Gabe grew tired. He went off to bed late in the evening, and Teri and Michael sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

Teri nursed a cup of coffee as she tried to fill him in on most of what had happened over the past week or so. She chose her words carefully, keeping them reined in and under control. It was going to be the very last part of the story—the epilog, so to speak—that was going to hurt the most. And there was no reason she could think of to rush the pain.

Teri took a sip of coffee, and got up to pour herself another cup. Michael had listened patiently, without rushing her, and she had been grateful for that. It had, to a large extent, she supposed, kept her from breaking down and crying. “More coffee?”

“No, I better not. I’ll be up all night.”

She stared down at her empty cup, debating. Last night had been a light sleep, lots of tossing and turning; breezy, unremembered dreams; the sounds of the house bringing her up; her exhaustion taking her down again. It would be nice if her dreams could keep her in their fold tonight. She left the coffee cup on the counter and returned to the table.

“So what are we dancing around?” Michael finally asked.

Teri looked at him, seriously, not knowing how else to skirt around it. Her voice was soft. “I don’t think it’s over. I think Gabe’s got something similar to Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome.”

She explained as much as she knew, and Michael took the news like a trooper, barely a reaction. He suggested they have him tested, since they were relying primarily on the word of Childs and neither of them had reason to trust anything the man said. Especially as it related to Gabe. Teri agreed. She called Cindy to let her know what they were going to do, in case she wanted to have Cody tested as well.

At first, Cindy balked at the idea. She was still whirling from the shock of finding Cody alive, and Teri suspected she hadn’t even had a chance yet to deal with the fact that Cody was the same age today as he had been when he had disappeared. When you looked at him, there wasn’t a hint of what was going on inside his body. He appeared as healthy and as precious as the day he had been born.

But looks could be deceiving.

“He’s the same age, Cindy. How do you think he got that way?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it wasn’t by the love of God.”

There was a long pause at the other end. Then Cindy said, “Maybe it was, though. Maybe that’s exactly what it was. The love of God.”

After that, it felt like an uphill battle. Teri did her best to try to convince her friend that she had nothing to lose, that neither of them had anything to lose. But that wasn’t entirely true, and they both knew it. There was something to lose. There was Cody. And there was Gabe. In the end, Cindy said she needed to talk it over with her husband. They both needed to think about it, that it was not something to be taken lightly.

The next morning, to Teri’s surprise, her friend called back and reluctantly agreed to have Cody tested, too.

[4]

After a barrage of doctors and batteries of tests, Teri finally admitted two things to herself. First, that Childs hadn’t lied after all. The physicians and specialists all agreed that Gabe’s cells were not regenerating the way normal, healthy cells regenerate. It was a classic indication of Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome, they said. After which, they went into long explanations that all boiled down to the same thing: Gabe was aging prematurely, and as with most cases of progeria, he probably wouldn’t survive his teens. The news in Cody’s case was equally as grim.

Teri was devastated. The next few days, she fell into a funk that had her sleeping long hours throughout the day and struggling on and off with a barrage of headaches throughout the night. Michael helped out with most of the duties around the house – cooking the meals, doing the dishes, mowing the lawn. More important, he spent a great deal of time with Gabe. For both of them, it was time long overdue.

Several days later, Teri bounced back. She went to Michael one night after Gabe had gone off to bed and told him that she didn’t know what they were going to do, but they were going to do something.

“Like what?” Michael asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Search for a specialist, I guess.”

Michael looked at her, entertaining a thought he didn’t seem to want to share.

“If you have any suggestions…”

He glanced away.

“This is Gabe we’re talking about, Michael. Your son for Christ’s sake.”

“I know that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.”

“Just say it, will you.”

“What about Childs?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Teri was stunned. She shook her head, and climbed up from the couch. “Jesus, Michael. How could you even think such a thing? I mean—he’s the cause of all this. He’s the one who did this to Gabe in the first place. How could you even—”

“He’s the only one who knows what’s going on inside Gabe. He may be the only one who can put a stop to it. I don’t think he could make it any worse. Do you?”

She shook her head again, and ran a hand through her hair. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you.”

“Just think about it, Teri. Will you? At least give it a chance.”

It was not an idea that deserved a chance. Not from her way of thinking. Not so soon after all that had happened. And for a while, Teri not only hated the idea, she hated Michael for bringing it up. But what she hated even more was that he was probably right. This wasn’t about Dr. Childs. It was about Gabe. And if that’s what it was going to take…

[5]

There were four branches of the Devol Research Institute nationwide: Houston, Texas; St. Charles, Illinois; Reston, Virginia, and the local branch. In those four facilities, a total of eighty-seven children, not including Gabe and Cody, had been discovered. All of them had been comatose.

Seventy-four of the children were returned to their parents, who had to assume the responsibility of caring for a child they thought had been dead for better than ten years. Thirteen of the children were placed in state care facilities, some because efforts to locate their parents had failed, others because the parents no longer proved to be capable of providing care.

Over the next few months, seven other children would come out of their comas.

[6]

Six Months Later

The Last Day

They left the house around ten-thirty. Gabe was dressed in the same dark blue suit Teri had bought for him for Walt’s funeral shortly after that last night at the Institute. Michael did the driving on the way over. Teri didn’t know if it had been the right thing or not, but she had been the one who had made the funeral arrangements for Walt. She had purchased a plot for him at the Hillcrest Cemetery, next to his father and son. Maybe in death they could find the peace that had eluded them in life.

Gabe sat in the front seat between her and Michael on the ride over.

All three of them were quiet.

It was a beautiful fall day, the sky blue, the temperature in the mid-seventies, a few degrees higher than normal for this time of year. They walked hand-in-hand-in-hand down the row of tombstones, past a family mausoleum, past a cinerarium to the end of the third row where the oak tree was now barren of its leaves.

Teri, who had brought a bouquet of roses with her, stood in silent prayer.

Gabe looked up at her, his eyes trying to see what was going on inside her heart. A little piece of her was dying, she thought. That was what was going on.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

She let him take the roses from her hands and place them at the base of the gravestone. Michael, who was standing behind her, placed his hand over her shoulder for comfort.

Gabe looked up. “You think we should say something?”

Everything she had to say was in her heart. Thank you, Walt. Thank you for helping me bring Gabe home again. Thank you for beating back your own demons long enough to be there for me. And my apologies, because I should have known. I should have tried to help. It was all right there.

“He knows,” she said quietly. “He knows.”

[7]

There were only two things that had needed to be done today. The first was their visit to Walt’s grave. As much as it had taken out of Teri, it was nothing compared to what was yet to come.

Michael drove on the way back from the cemetery. Gabe sat in the back this time, quiet as a mouse. What Teri wouldn’t have paid for the chance to know what was going on inside his head.

The aging had become less theoretical and more physical the past few months. He had lost nearly fifteen pounds, much of it from his face and arms. The streaks of gray had become more prominent, especially over his ears. He had broken his right arm twice since getting the cast off from the automobile accident. The first break had been a re-break; the second had been several inches higher. Both had happened while throwing a baseball with Michael. They didn’t play catch anymore.

When it became apparent that Gabe’s aging was accelerating at an alarming rate, Teri pulled Michael aside again and together they agreed that it was time to see if they could find Childs. Though luck did play its part, finding him was not as difficult as Teri had thought it would be. The key was something that had been bothering her for months. She couldn’t understand the name: the Devol Research Institute. Where had that come from? Why hadn’t it been called the Childs Research Institute? It was something that bothered her endlessly over the span of several months, and then she woke up one night with the answer. Dr. Timothy Childs was an alias. The man’s true last name was Devol. It made perfect sense.

She checked the California AMA membership list and discovered there was only one Devol practicing in the state. His full name was William Devol and he lived and practiced in a little town east of Sacramento called Placerville. Teri had been through there several times in her life, always on the way to Reno to play the slots or catch a show. Placerville was a five—maybe six—hour trip down the state, almost all freeways.

She was surprised to find that he had set up a nice little family practice there. Out front, a sign hung from a four-by-four redwood post, his name routed into the wood: William Devol, M.D. And under that: General Practitioner. He practiced out of an old house that had been converted, bedrooms to examination rooms, living room to waiting room, dining room to office.

When Teri entered, she was greeted by the comforting smile of a receptionist. “I was wondering if I could see the doctor today?”

“Certainly. Have you been in before?”

“No.”

The woman, who was in her late forties and had one eye slightly off center, handed her a clipboard with a pencil and several forms. “If you’ll have a seat and fill these out. The doctor is busy with another patient now, but he should be available shortly.”

Teri filled out the form, which included a brief medical history and some insurance information, using the name Jennifer Cunningham. The receptionist, who was apparently a nurse as well, took her temperature, her blood pressure, weight, and asked about the purpose of her visit—”Headaches,” Teri told her—then had Teri wait in the second examination room.

“Dr. Devol will be in shortly.”

“Thank you.”

He came through the door several minutes later, reading her chart and introducing himself without even looking up. “Miss Cunningham, I’m Dr. Devol—”

The color fell out of his face, though he managed to maintain his composure far better than she ever would have imagined. He snapped her Cunningham file closed, put it aside on the counter, and sat down.

“You never cease to amaze, Teri.”

“The feeling’s mutual, believe me.”

“So what can I do for you?”

“Not for me, for Gabe.”

“It’s getting worse?”

“Yes,” she said, holding on. She wasn’t sure exactly when she had started to lose her grip. Maybe when Walt had died. Or maybe when she first realized Gabe’s health was getting worse. But being here in this room with the man who was largely responsible for everything that had happened…

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

“I want my little boy back.”

He wasn’t sure he could do anything, he said. But he was willing to take a look at Gabe and at least talk about the options. The key word: options. It slipped past her when she first heard it, but later that night when she was in bed, reading an Ed Gorman mystery, that word came to mind again. Options. That was a word meant to muddy the waters, she thought. It was his subtle little way of saying there were some things they could try but nothing he would be willing to bet on.

Eventually, they did try some things. Childs placed Gabe on a vegetarian diet, limiting his caloric intake and increasing his vitamins. In addition, he setup a regiment of growth hormone shots, using a derivative he had recently developed. And finally, he tried a synthetic version of the original Genesis drug, without the hallucinogen. It was this synthetic version that showed the most promise, somewhat inhibiting Gabe’s aging process, though falling short of halting it altogether.

Childs felt there was a good chance it might eventually provide the answer.

But time was running out.

Gabe was growing weaker.

[8]

Michael pulled the car into the driveway and parked. They sat there in silence, Teri not wanting to move because getting out would take them one step closer to what lay ahead. Just the thought of it left her feeling angry. It was what Childs had referred to as their “last great hope.”

She glanced over the seat at Gabe. “How’re you doing?”

“Okay,” he answered.

Michael took her hand, again for comfort. “How about you?”

She smiled emptily and started out of the car.

Childs was waiting for them inside the house. He had spent the morning setting up the medical equipment in Gabe’s room. Everything was ready, he said as Teri came through the entryway. She nodded, asked him to give her a few minutes, and directed Gabe into the living room. They sat on the couch together, the afternoon sun slanting through the sliding glass door. It was a warm day. Gabe peeled off his jacket and sat back.

“Come here,” she said. He moved next to her and she wrapped her arms around him, thinking distantly how tiny he felt, wondering how much weight he had lost. “Scared?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Not scared,” she said. “Just sad. I’m going to miss you.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“I know.” She kissed him on the top of his head, and they stared silently out the window until Michael came into the room. He asked Gabe how he was doing, and like a trooper, Gabe said, fine. Michael picked him up and they spent a few minutes talking, Gabe looking even more fragile in his father’s arms.

And then it was time.

Gabe’s room had been refurbished, accommodating a new hospital bed, an ECG machine, and in the corner, playing sergeant at arms, a thin metal IV-stand. Childs stood off to one side, out of the way.

Michael carried Gabe into the room and dropped him playfully on the bed. Gabe bounced and let out a laugh. “You like that, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you, too.”

It was Teri’s turn next. She gave him a long, hard hug, not wanting to let go, even though she knew what they were about to do was the right choice, the only choice. It was going to save his life.

“You’re choking me, Mom.”

“Sorry,” she said, pulling away. She smiled and tried to keep the smile from turning to tears. “I guess it’s time, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” he said.

Teri pulled a chair next to the bed, took Gabe’s hand in her own, and nodded to Childs. A few short minutes later, Gabe closed his eyes and fell into a restful sleep. Minutes after that, he received a dose of AA103 and slipped effortlessly through his dreams and into a coma.

The last thing he said was, “See you in a blink.”

Teri held his hand and cried and refused to leave his side until late the next morning.

[9]

How had it come to this?

Hovering over his bed every morning.

Spending nights at the University Library, scouring through medical texts, looking for the last piece of the puzzle.

Trading shifts with Michael, pleased that some of Gabe’s weight had returned, wondering how much longer until they would get to wake him up.

Turning him, moving him, stretching his muscles, reading him stories.

Not much longer.

Still, how had it come to this?

She didn’t want to think about it. There wasn’t time to think about it.

And that was precisely the point, wasn’t it?

[10]

December 4th, 1981, the Central Intelligence Agency and the Department of Defense, under Executive Order 12333 were required to comply with H.H.S. (Health and Human Services) regulations regarding the protection of human subjects. Both agencies had in the past and continue through the present to conduct and support biomedical and behavioral research.

Among other things, these regulations stated: