Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (147 page)

Turns out that “chief investigator” wasn’t exactly the person in charge. It was a lesson she learned fresh each and every day.

“The firmware upgrade?” Julia asked again. “Some programmer marched in after surgery and said he needed to upgrade the firmware? Change log files, fix bugs. Did you know about this? It was working
fine.
”

Terrance looked blank for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, right. Sorry, someone must have forgotten to brief you. It’s no big deal, a couple of extra commands, more implant control of the software.”

“That’s not what Chang said. He claimed it was log files and a couple of bug fixes.”

“Yeah, that too. Whatever, it’s all been completely tested. But never mind about that. You deserve congratulations. I take it everything went well? That’s a perfect record on all eight now, including the one yesterday.” He moved to put his arm around her.

She didn’t resist, and leaned toward him. “The hard part isn’t over yet. I was worried about this one. Couldn’t unfold one of the arrays around the middle cerebral artery, almost had to abort. And now we still have two weeks of training, with two subjects at once.”

“Rose and Westhelle are good, they’ll be fine.” He put his finger over her lips before she could reply and drew her tighter. “You’re amazing. I’m so proud you pulled it off. Everything’s going to be fine
.
”

He moved to kiss her as she turned her face onto his shoulder, and the kiss landed awkwardly on her cheek.

Fine wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted brilliant, flawless.

CHAPTER TWO

“Today’s going to be a little different.” Julia’s voice projected into Ian’s headphones.

“Thank God.” Ian couldn’t see anything, his goggles dark.

He’d spent 11 hours yesterday in the damn goggles, watching flashing checkerboards, drifting line segments, rotating patches of color, over and over again. How did Kendall describe it last night? Fingernails on a chalkboard for the eyes?

At least the chair was comfortable. He reclined and felt the weight of the audiovisual cables that stretched from his head back to the rack of amplifiers and electronic components. There was a strap around his chest and a probe attached to his finger. He occasionally heard muffled footsteps or snippets of conversation from the half dozen technologists scattered around the room.

“I was sort of hoping this was going to be music day.”

Hope he likes banjo,
came Chang’s muffled voice from somewhere in the background. He would be sitting next to Julia, doing something incomprehensible with the computer.

“No, Ian. Sadly, they cut the music day from the schedule. Donut day is gone, too, and sleep-in till noon day didn’t make the cut, either.” Julia’s voice was much crisper through his headphones.

“All right. Let’s go. I can handle it.”

“What are you afraid of, Ian?” Julia’s voice was soft, comforting.

“How do you mean?”

“What are you afraid of? Snakes, falling from heights, public speaking, crawlspaces?”

“You’re serious.”

“We’re trying to make the implant more useful, more than a glorified video recorder. If we can find exactly where in your brain things like fear or drowsiness or pain are processed, we can suppress them through your implant.”

Ian blinked as his goggles flashed to life and began cycling through colored photographs every few seconds. They fed him the magnified view of the hairs on a spider’s face, a bat with open jaws, a crowded elevator.

“No, none of that. Not really.”

Images kept coming. A view from the top of a skyscraper. Waves on an ocean. Dismembered bodies boiling with maggots. A soldier with a raised machine gun.

No skin response. No change in heart rate,
said a voice from the corner of the room. Another technician.

Images from horror films. Intestines. An electrical probe. A guillotine with a harvest of heads lying at its base. The rack, the wheel, and other medieval torture devices. The parade of the gruesome and terrible continued for several minutes.

Ian grew sleepy. As the days stretched on, he and Kendall had taken to breaking the monotony at nights with a few drinks. It was catching up to him. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he said.

A moment later the goggles went dark.

“Can you help us out a little, Ian? Any nightmares you remember? Bad experiences on assignment?” Julia probed. “You picture it, we’ll stimulate your brain, make it vivid.”

Ian closed his eyes. He thought about Ranger School. His Ranger Instructor screaming profanity in his ear. Crawling through a Florida swamp, covered in clouds of mosquitoes. A water moccasin gliding past Ian’s half-submerged face. He opened his eyes to complete darkness. He was in Cartagena. His platoon was deployed in a coca field creeping toward a large plantation house. Floodlights. The sound of dogs snarling.

This is better.
His galvanic skin response is positive.
Julia’s voice, now distant, muffled like the others.

I’ll bump it up,
Chang’s voice added.

“What are you seeing?” Julia asked, her voice clear in his ears, now.

Then Ian was in Pyongyang. Tied up. Smoldering cigarette butt coming toward his eye. Fetid smell of the interrogator’s breath. Had to move now.

“What is it, Ian?” Julia asked again.

“Hard to focus,” Ian said. “Different stuff. Missions in Columbia, North Korea.”

Hold on, that’s worse,
Chang’s voice said.
Bad signal to noise. I’m getting nothing.

Do we have to record a fear response? Can’t we just try suppressing the amygdala?
Julia’s voice this time, distant again.

No good. Too nonspecific. I need the whole network, including areas in the cortex.

“Something from childhood?” Julia encouraged. “Early images can be the most powerful.” He remembered the waiting room. His mother turning him over the nurse, who led him back. “We’re going to put you to sleep now.”

Big spike there,
Chang’s voice said.

Implant 6, looks like the medial temporal lobe.

“Ian, sweetheart. Can you hear me?” It was the nurse, a kind woman who would later give him ice cream that he wouldn’t be able to eat through his sore throat. “Looks like he’s out. Wow. Those tonsils are really swollen. Any time you’re ready, doctor.”

I’m seeing a cluster in the posterior cingulum,
said another technologist, now receded into the background.
Also right dorsolateral prefrontal.

Ian, the child, tried to talk. “Don’t touch me. I’m awake!” The words did not reach his lips. For some reason he couldn’t move, though he was fully awake.

Chang’s voice.
Looks like we’ve found it. Take all those clusters and start stimulating there. Let’s ramp up the fear response. Run positive current. 200 microamps.

Run image sequence.
Julia, this time.
Don’t push too hard.

Ian felt like he was choking. Run! Can’t move. His mouth was being spread open, his teeth clamped on a bite block.

Lights flashed on. Spiders. Where did they come from? Crawling out of the goggles into his eyes. Digging. Pain. A bat. Menacing. Had to get out of here. His eyes blinked to clear the sweat.

Heart rate 155.

Then he stood in the clouds looking down. He was going to fall. He rocked the chair to stabilize himself.
I want my Mum! No!
The knife was moving closer. Where was he?

Increase the current to 300 microamps. Use interleaved recording.

He felt his footing giving loose. The knife was in his throat. He could feel the doctor’s glove against his tongue. “Ahhh!” Ian cried out weakly. A sharp pain, like liquid fire in his throat.

Drowning. Couldn’t get air. Sinking. Blood in his mouth. He tried to buck, to fight back, but his muscles were paralyzed. The hand in his mouth, twisting, cutting.

We’ve got it. Shut it down.
Julia.

Give me a sec,
Chang said.
This is perfect. Increase to 350 microamps.

Couldn’t stop them. Out of control. Searing pain. Couldn’t breathe. Drowning in blood. His throat.
Nooo! I said, stop it!

Heart rate 170.

Stop it!

This is crucial data, Julia. Too valuable. Increase to 400 microamps.

The memory changed, like a TV changing channels.

Crouched behind a rock. Machine gun fire all around him. They found us! We’re going to die.
Hold your ground, soldier!
He could taste blood in his throat. Sharp pain.

New clusters in frontal lobe. Right dorsomedial.

Chang. Stop it! That’s too much current – you’re going to fry those cells! That’s an order.

But we need this.

Now!

Ian jerked with the impact of the bullets. He screamed.

Negative current. Reduce to 200 microamps.

Cold sweat. Ian reached up and ripped the goggles off his face, threw them against the wall. He blinked, took a deep breath. He could see Julia, her face flushed. Chang slouched behind the desk with a sullen look, typing in the computer. The nightmare snapped off like a light switch in his mind. He looked at his hands, still shaking.

________

“Check it out, Ian. She wants you, man. “ Kendall took a swig from his bottle of Fat Tire. “Must be the tenth time she’s tried to catch your eye.”

“She’ll have to come get it.”

“What about her friend? Think I’ve got a shot?”

“Anything’s possible.”

Ian stared down at his glass. Did they have to put the bloody lime on the glass? Not a single bar in Adams Morgan with a decent gin and tonic. Practically have to ask them not to put an umbrella in. He was looking forward to getting back to Africa. Still felt like home in so many ways.

“We ship out tomorrow,” Kendall said. “Nice ass to remember. One checking you out isn’t bad, either.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.” Ian took a drag on the cigar, then put it back on the ashtray.

Today had been physical labor, running through mud and an obstacle course. He was wrung out, but that was just muscle fatigue, no big deal. It had been a welcome relief from the mind games of the last few days. And yesterday, that memory of his tonsillectomy, dredged up from God knows where.

“What do you make of the briefing?” Kendall asked.

Ian raised an eyebrow.

“Come on. You think that lard at the next table is a Blackwing spy? You want to go talk in a soundproof room?”

Ian mulled it over. “I think Markov’s full of shit.”

Kendall leaned in. “I’ve told you that from the beginning.”

“But he’s smart and full of shit. Don’t underestimate him. He’s been doing this for twenty years. He was a real agent. Walked in our shoes not too long ago.”

“So why won’t he tell us anything?” Kendall took another swig of beer, then shook his head. “I just got a bad feeling about it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know.”

Kendall lowered his voice again. “He doesn’t know? Come on. They’re not going to send us out with this kind of intel without knowing. Infiltrate a military base? Don’t know who owns it. Don’t know what they’re doing there. But it sure as hell is important. So we’re risking not one, but two of our best with ten million dollars in technology to go chase it?”

“You heard Markov. This comes from way over his head. Even CIA Director Price didn’t seem to know much more. I hear he’s taking orders directly from Sarah Redd.”

“The Director of National Intelligence? She’s involved?”

Ian shrugged.