Page 49 of Thorn

Thorn,

Most of that file was redacted. Below you can find the only portion that was left readable, Lynx.

Researchers in the field of thought processes have long sought out an explanation for memory. A physical basis for memory has been elusive to our scientific understanding of brain function. Dr. David DuBois believes that it is possible to transplant memories, much like a computer download, from one sentient being to another.

In his initial studies Dr. DuBois studied sea snails. Sea snails, like many marine organisms, transmit nerve impulses similarly to the way other mammals, including humans, do. In his experiments, DuBois trained a snail in a simple performance of self-protection when being shocked. RNA (genetic information) was extracted and implanted into a snail, which had not received any training. This snail changed its behaviors to include the performance of self-protection.

Thorn read it again.

Well, DuBois was supposed to be the foremost thinker on the subject of PTSD and traumatic brain injuries. It would make sense that if he was working with folks with traumatic events that he might want to find a way to manipulate memory. Experimenting on humans without consent, though, should probably have gotten his medical license revoked. It seemed to Thorn that a man who would do that felt that his theories took precedence over the sailor’s free-will and that was about as anti-American as you can get. It was narcissistic to think that you had the answers. That your needs and goals and desires were more important than someone else’s.

Thorn read through the material a third time.

Then he thought about DuBois being Juliette’s dad. And he thought about the woman with the bruise on her cheek. Maybe Juliette was on the run because she knew her dad wielded a great deal of power. And she was in an untenable situation as a subject of that power.

There was that anger boiling in his gut, again. Thorn had quashed it down earlier to protect the woman as they disembarked the plane. But there was no reason for him to do so now that he was alone in this room.

Any person of power who wielded control to cause pain was low life scum in Thorn’s book.

He rubbed a hand over his face to get his thoughts back in line. Sure, it was probably a normal reaction to find out his fellow sailors had been mistreated. But this emotion seemed bigger than that. This emotion expanded when he thought DuBois had been abusive to his daughter – well, to Juliette. That relationship hadn’t been confirmed, yet.

He pictured the flash of her face on the video when she was kidnapped − her eyes, the fear.

When Nutsbe was handing out assignments, Honey had said he should go down to track Juliette. That was Honey’s specialization. Lynx knew that. But Lynx had been staring Thorn in the eye, then she’d intervened, insisting that Thorn be handed the assignment.

Thorn had never known Lynx to be wrong in the way she read people. She’d seen something playing out on his face.

He wondered what it was.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Thorn

Paris, France

Sunday, Zero Eight Hundred Hours

Thealarm on his phone beeped beside Thorn’s head. He stretched out to swipe it silent. Relieved to have been jarred awake, Thorn rolled over and stared up at the shadows cast across his ceiling.

The last picture he’d seen in his dream was of Lynx, her hand on his shoulder, nodding. For most of the dream he saw himself with the world beneath his feet, shifting and spinning as he tried to catch his balance. It reminded him of the Greek pictures of the Titan Atlas. But in this dream, Thorn wasn’t trying to support the world, he was simply trying to find his place to stand on it. He’d been working to catch his balance all night.

And like a veil over all of this, were Juliette’s blue-green eyes.

Juliette’s eyes were an astonishing color. She reminded him of the National Geographic cover of the iconic Afghan girl from the mid-eighties. Juliette’s hair was honey blonde, and her skin was a lighter shade than that girl’s, but their eyes were almost the same color and held that same haunted expression. Maybe that was what got its hook into him.

He threw back his covers and climbed from the bed. Before Thorn hit the shower, he moved through his exercise routine of planks and squats, pushups and some stretches that kept him flexible. He showered and decided to just let his beard grow for the time being.

Today, he wore civilian clothes. He thought if they were going to be going on a Juliette hunt, that blending in would serve him better than looking official. When Gage and Honey knocked on his door, he saw that they’d thought the same.

“What happened with DuBois?” Thorn asked after they’d ordered room service.

“He was uncooperative,” Gage said dryly. “We offered him a couple of diazepine, which he refused. We handed that assignment off to Strike Force. Maybe they had a better time of him.”

“Is that a bite mark on your hand?” Thorn asked Gage.

“Yeah, when they do his blood draw, they’ll check for rabies and let me know.”

By the time room service brought up their steak and eggs, Thorn had caught his team up with what he’d been up to. They’d read the same files he had.

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