Perfect Killer (5 page)

Twenty minutes later, Gabriel carried his notepad and the folder of materials the General had left in his room and made his way to the only new structure in the compound, a marble-sided pool house outfitted as Braxton's private office and conference room. A tall, beefy man with a discreetly shouldered sidearm stood by the multipaned glass doors of the pool house, saluted Gabriel, then opened the door for him. Braxton tried to hire the best of former military, including those from the Special Forces. Gabriel learned the General had even hired several veterans of Task Force 86M, Gabriel's old command. The most elite of the elite, 86M was a small, tight group of specialists.

Gabriel returned the salute. "Good morning."
"Morning, sir."
Inside, the door to the women's room opened as Gabriel stepped inside. He

recognized Brigadier General Laura LaHaye as she emerged.
"Hey, Dan," she said as she offered her hand. She was a tall lean woman in her late
forties with a long, pointed jaw, permanent scowl lines, heavy eyebrows, and three
Ph.D.'s. Gabriel knew her as the non-communicative head of an extensive, black-funded
operation about which he had learned very little even when he worked for the Joint Chiefs. LaHaye controlled several super-secret operations attached to the Army's
Research, Development, and Engineering Command, but like himself, even those at the
top of RDECOM did not know the full extent of her operations even as they were required
to provide support and logistics for her work. Gabriel's access at the Pentagon allowed him
to learn that she had significant operations at the Edgewood Chemical Biological Center at
Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland and, strangely at the DOD Combat Feeding
Program at the Natick, Massachusetts, Soldier Systems Center.
"Laura." He shook her warm, dust-dry hand. "Good to see you again." "It's been too long," she said, returning his handshake. "How's life up there on the
Hudson?"
He caught her insinuation immediately: "up there" meant ivory tower, out of touch
with reality, and too far away from the orbits of military power circling the Pentagon. "Surprisingly stimulating; he replied, then made an obvious show of checking his
watch. "Three minutes. We better get moving."
She nodded and the two of them followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee to
the conference room. When they entered, Gabriel spotted Clark Braxton in conversation
with Defense Therapeutics CEO Walter Bentley and Wim Baaker, who was a top official
with the NATO Pharma Lab in the Netherlands. With them was a short, round man
Gabriel did not recognize. The men stood by an antique mahogany sideboard covered with
a lavishly arrayed continental breakfast heavy on yogurt, freshly sliced fruit, and cheese.
A single table had been set for them, its white tablecloth laid with gleaming silver
flatware. An overhead projector sat on a metal projection stand next to the table. "Dan, Laura!" Braxton called out. He gave his watch a faint glance before smiling.
"Come on in and get some coffee before we start."
LaHaye and Gabriel nodded their greetings.
"You're looking well this morning Greg," LaHaye said to the pudgy man. "Thank you, Laura," the man said.
At the sideboard, all six people swapped handshakes and greetings. "Dan, I don't think you've met Greg McGovern," Braxton said of the short, round
man. "Greg is the head of research and development at Defense Therapeutics.' Pastry crumbs clung to the corner of McGovern's mouth. He reeked of an overdose of expensive cologne. Braxton spoke often about this man, expressing his exasperation over the scientist's slovenly ways, but always conceding this as an acceptable trade-off for
McGovern's near-Hawking-like genius in molecular pharmacology.
"Pleasure," Gabriel lied as he shook McGovern's clammy hand slick with pastry
butter. Gabriel resisted the immediate impulse to wipe his hand on the thigh of his pants. "Good," Braxton said as he picked up a plate and loaded it from the breakfast
buffet. "Let's move along. We have a lot to cover this morning."
Gabriel made a pretense of spilling the first couple of pieces of fruit, which offered
the opportunity to wipe off his hand as he cleaned up the convenient mess. Two audiovisual functionaries pulled down blackout shades over the numerous
windows and lowered the screen in front of the overhead projector.
"Your standing in the polls has certainly skyrocketed," said CEO Walter Bentley. "My campaign people are awfully talented," Braxton said modestly "They've been
working very, very hard."
"The Democrats and Republicans seem to be working hard for you as well,"
Bentley said with a chuckle. "The more mud their candidates sling, the better you look." "Well, it's still early in the primary season," said Braxton. "We have a long way to
go to maintain our lead so we can lance the abscess which threatens our way of life." Braxton stood up, holding his coffee cup in one hand. The lights dimmed
immediately, and from high up in the rear of the room came the whir of a projector fan. In
front of the table, a simple graph filled the screen.
"Thank you very much for interrupting your tight schedules, but as you know, the
elections are approaching, and because—God willing—Dan Gabriel's probably going to
be the next secretary of defense, it's vital to bring him up to speed on the significant
progress you're making." Braxton looked at each one and, in turn, got their nods of
appreciation. "I have a series of briefings arranged for Dan, but I want him to have as
much time as possible for him to get to know you all after this formal session is over." Again, nods all around. Then Braxton addressed Gabriel. "Dan, I know you're
familiar with some of what I have to say, but bear with me because it's vital for
establishing the context for addressing the single most serious problem facing American
armed forces today: overextension and underfunding. "With his free hand, he pulled from
his pocket a custom-made laser pointer, which had been built into a .50-caliber round. "This data clearly shows that for the past thirty years, the number of personnel
under arms and the net present value of defense appropriations, adjusted for inflation, have
both been falling." His pointer emphasized the decline, then moved on to the bottom part
of the slide. "At this very same time, global demands for U.S. military intervention have
been rising." He paused for effect and took a sip from his cup.
"In short, every year we get more to do and less to do it with."
A new slide appeared.
"Technology leverages our effectiveness. Computers allow a single Apache attack
helicopter pilot to deliver the firepower of an artillery battalion; advanced guidance
systems mean one precision bomb can do the work that hundreds used to do; satellite and
other electronic surveillance can give us usable data like never before."
He drained his coffee cup and set it on the table.
"The most recent Iraq war clearly proved the power of light, fast, smart troops. But
it also demonstrated that the soldier has become the weak link now that gains from
technology have plateaued."
Another slide appeared.
"Facing us with the necessity to improve the only part of our fighting force which
has eluded efficiency so far: the soldier on the ground."
A new slide.
"You're all too familiar with the ultimate conundrum of victory; it can't be done
from the air or from a ship; it can only be achieved by troops on the ground. But troops are
not only financially costly, they can be politically disastrous when feet on the street turn
into bodies on the ground. The relatively brittle nature of the average ground soldier
complicates this mightily."
A bar chart appeared, showing every major conflict from the past 150 years. Braxton motioned for a refill of his coffee cup. When the white-uniformed waiter
failed to respond instantly Gabriel felt, rather than saw, the nano-glint of nearincandescent anger flash across Braxton's face. From long years beside the general,
Gabriel recognized it for what it was. But for most others, the burst of fury was so brief it
fell below the limits of conscious perception like a single motion-picture frame, leaving
them only with a vague sense of danger and insecurity that compelled them to do what the
General commanded. Braxton exploited it ruthlessly to his advantage.
The waiter appeared in the projector's light and apologized as he refilled Braxton's
cup. The General sipped from his cup and gave the waiter a warm, magnanimous nod. The
waiter responded with a bow of respect and a broad, relieved smile.
Braxton turned to his small audience. Again, I know you're familiar with these
facts. But it is critical to maintain focus on the problem." His laser pointer lingered on
1945. The heart of our new initiative has roots during World War Two. You're all familiar
with the pivotal study by General S.L.A. Marshall, who found that only about fifteen
percent of American troops actually fired their weapons at the enemy, even when attacked.
Fortunately for us, the German and Japanese troops exhibited identical firing rates,
otherwise the conflict would have had a far darker outcome.
"We all know that Marshall has had his detractors over the years, but his
conclusions have been verified over and over," Braxton continued. "We know that humans
innately hesitate to kill other humans. This is good for the overall survival of the species,
but awfully bad when you're trying to win a war."
He nodded and looked around the room to make sure he had every attendee's total
attention. "It's critical to remember that heroism is not just about killing," Braxton
continued. "We should remember that the vast, vast majority of those soldiers who did not
shoot their own weapons nevertheless performed bravely. Some rescued wounded
comrades, others valiantly transported ammunition for the fifteen percent who pulled their
triggers.
"New infantry training instituted after WW Two tried to address this firing-rate
issue. But while we increased the firing rate dramatically by Vietnam, we did not improve
the kill rate because soldiers shot to miss." He shook his head. "The majority of average
infantry troops still shoot to miss. I'm not, repeat,
not
talking Special Ops here or firstwave invasion forces like Marines or Airborne, but the average grunt who constitutes a
vast majority of military personnel. Think about it: if we can produce a grunt who shoots
to kill every time, we'd need only about one-fourth of the number of troops." Gabriel nodded. This metric was well-known among those assembled and thus
drew no reaction.
The General paused for effect. "Do the math: it means we can deploy an efficient
killing machine and need only one-fourth the tents, supplies, meals, hospitals, helicopters, doctors, and other logistical supply-chain expenses. A one hundred percent shoot-to-kill ratio will save billions!" He sipped from his cup. Then in a far softer voice he said, "I also don't need to tell you how much that decreases the political costs of war here at home.
Fewer bodies mean less opposition.
"But to enhance the killing power of this leaner force, we need something else."
Braxton nodded; the slide changed. "Call it battle fatigue or something more scientific, but
in a modern ground war, some forty to fifty percent of casualties will be the psychiatric.
Only about two percent of troops are psychologically built to withstand sustained combat
beyond about three weeks." He looked at Gabriel and nodded with a faint smile. "Today,
thanks to some significant research and testing pioneered by Dr. LaHaye and her staff,
we're pretty good at determining who those people are and steering them into one Special
Forces unit or another.
"The armed forces are thus faced with the seemingly impossible task of turning the
other ninety-eight percent of ground troops into a smaller, more lethal Special Forces
operation."
The screen went blank. "I say 'seemingly' because over the past ten years, Drs.
LaHaye and McGovern have focused their considerable intellectual power on the human
pharmacological and psychological engineering aspect of this issue and have produced
surprising results. Significantly Wim's laboratory has been able to develop the final pieces
which will allow us to fully implement Laura and Greg's discoveries on a combat
operations level."
The slide projector went dark.
"A new era of combat effectiveness will begin in just a handful of days," Braxton
said as he walked back to his table. "We have found the formula for creating the perfect
killing machine."

When the General seated himself, Laura LaHaye and Greg McGovern took up positions by the overhead projector. LaHaye turned it on, filling the screen with a map showing the Central Russian steppes. McGovern then stepped into the projected light and held a small glass jar sloshing with yellow liquid.

"About two millennia before the rise of Rome, the Kayak and Wires tribes of the steppes found an extract of
Amanita muscaria—
mushroom very closely related to the socalled angel of death—produced a powerful combat-enhancing effect which almost totally eliminated pain, generated phenomenal stamina and bravery, and did it all without reducing mental alertness."

McGovern waved the liquid-filled jar over his head. "The shamans of the tribe fed the mushrooms to their reindeer to concentrate the important psychoactive ingredients in the animals' urine." He shook the jar again. "Warriors who drank reindeer urine were unstoppable in battle." McGovern smiled, sloshed the yellow liquid again, and looked at his small audience.

"This is one of the more effective chemical concoctions in the history of attempts to enhance the combat performance of troops," McGovern continued. "The Crusaders were terrified by the stealthy fearlessness of the Muslim
hashshashin,
who smoked hashish before killing. And let's not forget Pizarro, whose men were nearly overwhelmed by Inca warriors chewing on coca leaves. More recently, the British gave their soldiers rum and the Russians got vodka and the soldiers from our teetotaling nation, amphetamines."

He nodded toward LaHaye, who stepped up to the overhead projector, replaced the slide of the steppes with a clear sheet of acetate, and began to write on it.
"The psychochemical mood alterants Dr. McGovern mentioned have two functions: decrease anxiety and increase stamina. Our new, smaller, deadlier military must have these because frightened, tired soldiers don't kill well. Conversely, if we control anxiety in three-quarters of the troops on the battlefield, killing efficiency soars by at least four hundred percent!" She sketched a bar chart in red and colored it in.
"But controlling anxiety by itself can't do it all because the sustained use of today's drugs eventually impairs other functions like stamina or mental acuity," she explained. "Some cause psychotic or toxic side effects, and most produce a hangover once the dosage wears off. Harris Lieberman's team at the Army's Research Institute of Environmental Medicine studied Navy Seals and Army Rangers and found that combat stress and lack of sleep made them perform worse than if they had been drunk or blitzed on narcotics."
"Contrary to those effects, the ideal pharmaceutical, which we call the nondepleting neurotrop, produces a warfighter resistant to out-of-control emotions, who will kill on command, logically, methodically and without hesitation—perfect killers.
"We have seen this behavior in natural two-percenters and, on a rare basis, in people who have made dramatic personality shifts following specific and limited combat head wounds. The study of those personality-altering head wounds eventually grew into a pharmaceutical-based program as surgical intervention to produce better warfighters was abandoned as too imprecise and, of course, too permanent.
"Thus, as becomes clear, the search for a perfect, controllable, and totally reversible pharmaceutical enhancement to produce the perfect killer is the Holy Grail of combat psychiatry. My operations command and Dr. McGovern's laboratory in cooperation with Defense Therapeutics down in Los Angeles have achieved those goals with Xantaeus. We have succeeded where others failed because we have created a drug which functions more like a subtle hallucinogen, reshaping the patient's perception of reality rather than overloading them with crude compounds which eventually overwhelm the brain's natural chemical environment."
"And this doesn't produce flashbacks like LSD?" Gabriel asked.
LaHaye shook her head. "When administered correctly. Proper dosage control and time-based administration are vital, and that is where Mr. Baaker comes in."
Across the table, Wim Baaker unfolded his cranelike frame and approached the small podium.
"It's good to see you again, General Gabriel," Baaker began as the title slide featuring a massive laboratory building appeared on the screen. "I believe we met at the NATO subcommittee meeting on combat nutrition prior to Desert Storm."
Gabriel nodded.
"Well, to refresh your memory, the NATO Combat Pharmaceutical Lab is located in Rijswijk, near Den Haag, and employs more than five thousand people." Baaker's voice was dull, flat, and deep from the back of his throat. "We were founded in 1930 and charged with conducting applied research for the Dutch government, including her military forces, to whom we provide advice and consultation in areas such as protection against chemical weapons, munitions technology, and weapons system and platforms technology.
"One of our subsidiaries, which provides support services to my classified operations, is TNO Pharma, which has developed, among other things, highly effective, microprocessor-controlled, transdermal delivery systems for appropriate molecules. We have expanded upon the pioneering products such as nicotine patches and those containing nitroglycerin for angina patients and developed more precise delivery methods for a wide variety of pharmaceuticals such as Xantaeus, which must be applied precisely to avoid the unfortunate side effects of previous drugs."
Baaker paused and looked at each person in turn.
Gabriel felt the ghosts of My Lai, Thanh Thong, and a host of more successfully covered-up incidents. He could almost see the near disasters hovering in the projector's vague penumbra.
Baaker cleared his throat. "Indeed, the first of our new devices is currently undergoing testing by RDECOM under the guise of the Transdermal Nutrient Delivery System. We are exploiting advances in nutritional sciences, microminiaturized physiological sensors, and molecular delivery to make this possible. We hope to deploy this within the next year."
The slide changed.
"Here is how the system works: Biosensors currently in development monitor the warfighter's metabolism, then send information to a microchip processor. This processor might then activate a microelectrical mechanical system that transmits the appropriate chemicals either through skin pores or pumped directly into blood capillaries."
The slides changed to show, in succession, a diagram of the patchlike device, a close-up photo of it, and a shot of the device installed on a heavily muscled man stripped to the waist.
"For now we are developing and testing this system as a nutrient delivery system, which serves a real need while also serving as solid cover for the Xantaeus project." Baaker paused. "Please understand this is not a sham cover. The TDNDS will undoubtedly provide significant benefits delivering vitamins, micronutrients, and nutraceuticals to warfighters with limited access to normal meals either because of protective garments or sustained combat.
"However, the TDNDS's real beauty comes with an ability allowing us to administer—along with nutritional supplements—precisely controlled amounts of Xantaeus or other drugs.
"We've tested three generations of the TDNDS system, all controlled by a microprocessor and based on a number of inputs, including simple periodic timing, triggers transmitted by encrypted radio signals, and/or from real-time personal biosensors monitoring the individual warfighter's metabolism and blood chemistry. This latter control structure will develop as the technology advances to make sure we can wirelessly connect each individual warfighters biometry with field command by extending the same GPS, identification, and data-connection technology currently used on the battlefield. This highly secret research gives us the power to shape the most lethally effective military force the world has ever experienced."
The implications of Baaker's presentation and those of LaHaye, McGovern, and the General twisted like a knife slash in Dan Gabriel's gut. He had heard vague rumors of dissenters, including his distant cousin Rick Gabriel, who warned that unspeakable horrors lurked beneath the growing enthusiasm for drugs like Xantaeus. The Pentagon establishment had done an effective job at silencing those voices who accused the drug of issuing in the era of the "chemical soldier" and creating a farm of warfare that would turn every battle into its own holocaust and destroy the very essence of what it means to be human.
But like others in the military, Gabriel had paid scant attention and given no real thought to those critics, preferring to believe the day of the nondepleting neurotrop would never come and decisions would never need to be made. But the day had clearly come, and he would now have to decide what was right.