The Third Gate Read Free

ahospital without patients; the few people they passed were dressed in street clothes, ambulatory, and obviously healthy. Logan peered curiously into the open doorways as they walked by. He saw conference rooms, a large, empty lecture hall with seats for at least a hundred, laboratories bristling with equipment, what appeared to be a reference library full of paperbound journals and dedicated terminals. More strangely, he noticed several apparently identical rooms, each containing a single narrow bed with literally dozens—if not hundreds—of wires leading to nearby monitoring instruments. Other doors were closed, their small windows covered by privacy curtains. A group of men and women in white lab coats passed them in the hallway. They glanced at Logan, nodded to Rush.
    Stopping before a door marked DIRECTOR , Rush opened it and beckoned Logan through an anteroom housing two secretaries and a profusion of bookcases into a private office beyond. It was tastefully decorated, as minimalist as the outer office was crowded. Three of the walls held spare postmodernist paintings in cool blues and grays; the fourth wall appeared to be entirely of glass, covered at the moment by blinds.
    In the center of the room was a teakwood table, polished to a brilliant gleam and flanked by two leather chairs. Rush took one and ushered Logan toward the other.
    “Can I offer you anything?” the director asked. “Coffee, tea, soda?”
    Logan shook his head.
    Rush crossed one leg over the other. “Jeremy, I have to be frank. I wasn’t sure you’d be willing to take on this assignment, given how busy you are … and how closemouthed I was concerning the particulars.”
    “You weren’t sure—even given the fee I charged?”
    Rush smiled. “It’s true—your fee is certainly healthy. But then your, ah, work has become somewhat high profile recently.” He hesitated. “What is it you call your profession again?”
    “I’m an enigmalogist.”
    “Right. An enigmalogist.” Rush glanced curiously at Logan.“And it’s true you were able to document the existence of the Loch Ness monster?”
    “You’d have to take that up with my client for that particular assignment, the University of Edinburgh.”
    “Serves me right for asking.” Rush paused. “Speaking of universities, you are a professor, aren’t you?”
    “Medieval history. At Yale.”
    “And what do they think of your other profession at Yale?”
    “High visibility is never a problem. It helps guarantee a large admissions pool.” Logan glanced around the office. He’d often found that new clients preferred to talk about his past accomplishments. It postponed discussion of their own problems.
    “I remember those …  investigations you did at the Peabody Institute and the Applied Physics Lab back in school,” Rush said. “Who would have thought they’d lead you to this?”
    “Not me, certainly.” Logan shifted in his seat. “So. Care to tell me just what CTS stands for? Nothing around here seems to give any clue.”
    “We do keep our cards pretty close to our vest. Center for Transmortality Studies.”
    “Transmortality Studies,” Logan repeated.
    Rush nodded. “I founded CTS two years ago.”
    Logan glanced at him in surprise. “You founded the Center?”
    Rush took a deep breath. A grim look came over his face. “You see, Jeremy, it’s like this. Just over three years ago, I was working an ER shift when my wife, Jennifer, was brought in by paramedics. She’d been in a terrible accident and was completely unresponsive. We tried everything—heart massage, paddles—but it was hopeless. It was the worst moment of my life. There I was, not only unable to save my own wife … but I was expected to pronounce her dead, as well.”
    Logan shook his head in sympathy.
    “Except that I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Against the advice of the assisting doctors I continued heroic measures.” Heleaned forward. “And, Jeremy—she pulled through