Death Match by Lincoln Child Page A

to protect our service. There are any number of would-be competitors who will do
whatever
it takes to obtain our testing techniques, our evaluation algorithms, anything. And remember, the secrecy is not just for
us
.” He gestured toward the other room below them, turned another knob.
    â€œ. . . if I’d known just what was in store for me, I don’t know if I’d have had the
cojones
to take that eval,” a tall, athletic-looking man in a crewneck sweater was saying. “It was a brutal day. But now that it’s seven months behind me, I know it was the best thing I ever did.”
    â€œI went to a typical online dating service once, a couple of years back,” another added. “Couldn’t have been more unlike Eden. Crude. Low-tech. They only asked a few questions. And guess what the first one was: Are you interested in a casual or a serious relationship? Can you believe it? I was so insulted I walked out the door right then!”
    â€œI’ll be paying off the loan for years,” said a woman. “But I’d have paid twice as much. It’s like they say on that wall in the lobby. What price can you put on happiness?”
    â€œAnybody here ever fight?” somebody else asked.
    â€œWe disagree,” a silver-haired woman at the far end responded. “Wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. But it just helps us learn more about each other, respect each other’s needs.”
    Mauchly turned off the sound again. “You see? It’s for
them
, as well. Eden provides a service nobody’s ever dreamed of before. We can’t take any chance, no matter how small, of compromising that service.” He paused. “Now listen. I’m bringing in someone you can talk to, ask a few questions. But you must understand, Dr. Lash:
he doesn’t know
. Morale at Eden is exceptionally high. People are very proud of the service they provide. We cannot undermine that, even with an unrelated tragedy. Understood?”
    Lash nodded.
    As if on cue, a door opened at the far end of the room and a figure in a white lab coat stepped forward.
    â€œPeter, there you are,” Mauchly said. “Come and meet Christopher Lash. He’s doing some random follow-up checks on a few of our clients. For statistical purposes.”
    The man came forward with a shy smile. He was little more than a youth, really. There was an abundance of carrot-colored hair above his forehead that bobbed slightly as he shook Lash’s hand.
    â€œThis is Peter Hapwood. He’s the evaluation engineer that did the one-on-one with the Thorpes when they came back for their class reunion.” Mauchly turned to Hapwood. “Do you remember Lewis and Lindsay Thorpe?”
    Hapwood nodded. “The supercouple.”
    â€œYes. The supercouple.” Mauchly turned his hand toward Lash, palm extended, as if inviting questions.
    â€œIn the one-on-one with the Thorpes,” Lash asked the young engineer, “did anything stand out in particular?”
    â€œNo, nothing. Not that I can remember.”
    â€œHow did they seem?”
    â€œThey seemed happy, like everybody else on their return interview.”
    â€œHow many couples have you interviewed? On their six-month return, I mean?”
    Hapwood thought a moment. “A thousand. Maybe twelve hundred.”
    â€œAnd they’ve all been happy?”
    â€œWithout exception. After all this time, it still seems uncanny.” Hapwood shot a quick look at Mauchly, as if wondering whether he’d said something inappropriate.
    â€œDid the Thorpes say anything about their lives since meeting each other?”
    â€œLet me think. No. Yes. They’d recently moved to Flagstaff, Arizona. I remember Mr. Thorpe saying he was having a little trouble with the altitude—he was a jogger, as I recall—but they both loved the area.”
    â€œAnything else come up in the questions?”
    â€œNot really. I just went through