Page 76 of Mind Maze

“Propaganda and Psychological Warfare: The Past, Present, and Future. Page one-fourteen, to be exact.”

It’s a shame her father spent so many years muddying this brilliant brain of hers. I’ve taken it for granted how clever she is time and time again. Her memory is impeccable when not clouded with drugs. She puts puzzles together at a dizzying speed.

“You have a photographic memory?” I ask, arching a brow.

She shrugs. “I remember things and store them to use later. It’s more of an internal cataloguing system. You never know when you’ll need to access those files.”

It makes me wonder if this system was born from years of being forced to repress memories—a survival tactic to hold onto every clue about the truth she was being denied.

“I think they’re using subliminal messaging as a type of propaganda,” I explain. “Before I realized what was happening, I kept thinking what a stand-up guy Huxley was.”

She nods emphatically. “Me too. And how wonderful this event is.”

At least I’m not going crazy.

“It was benign messaging on a group already primed to believe it since these are friends and colleagues of the president, but it was a test.” I dart my gaze down the hallway to see people still milling about without a care in the world. “It could be something they’re gearing up to try on the masses.”

And here’s where our families collide.

“So, essentially, influential people like your father and the CUP organization could get these messages out to their followers,” Romy says, eyebrows scrunching. “Like a trickle-down effect. A pyramid of ideas to be introduced in a non-intrusive way.”

“Exactly,” I say with a nod. “If the president wants a bill to pass, instead of blabbing on camera about why it’s needed, he could just plant the desire for the need to have such bill with Congress at an event like this.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “That’s…that’s just plain evil. Smart, but really, really evil.”

“Huxley wrote that particular book with—”

“Major Nicolas Cameron.”

“You remember. Of course you do.”

She beams at me, proud to add her own piece to the puzzle.

“So,” she says, tapping a finger to her chin. “We know how your father ties in, but how does mine enter the equation?”

This one, I know the answer to. I wait for her to piece it together.

“The news.” She gasps, placing a palm on her chest above her breasts that look enticing in her dress. “Oh no.”

She gets it.

Her family is just as flawed as mine.

“But why?” she asks, her nose scrunching. “Why would Dad want to do that?”

“Power.” I shrug. “That’s what most old men want after they’ve had everything else in life. Power is like the ultimate thing to have. I’m guessing it’s the prized hard-on they’ve been unable to get in their old age.”

I don’t crave power. I crave knowledge.

I want to find Calista and that’s it.

Well, that’s not only it. Not now. Not that you’ve royally complicated everything.

“It would be subtle,” Romy says, eyes darting all over me. “It would suck you right in.”

She staggers back, shaking her head. Her face sours like she’s eaten something horrible.

She gets it.

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