Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (28 page)

“I knew there was a good chance we’d get killed,” she said. “I knew it’d be nearly impossible, but that didn’t matter.” She reached out and my hand met hers between the tables. Our fingers entangled.

“You’re a hell of a woman. Your husband’s a lucky man.”

“Robert, I should tell you something about him.”

“What? He isn’t a part of this, is he? One of the bad guys?”

“No, I don’t think so
— at least not more than he has to be.”

“You said I didn’t like him much. Why?”

“You thought he was weak,” she said, her voice groggy, slurring as if she was about to lose consciousness. “You thought he wasn’t awfully bright, made bad choices. You thought he wasn’t good enough for me and my daughter.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think he’s wonderful. A great father and husband. I couldn’t ask for more. And he can take care of himself. Always has. But he needs our help, now.” Her voice began to trail off. “You’ll understand better what I mean soon.”

“Sunny, did we, I mean you and I, uh, see each other after college, I mean up until the kidnapping?”

“Yes.”

“Were we . . . intimate?”

She looked at me squinting, then her gaze went to my hand and she acted as if she was trying to focus on it but the grogginess was impairing her vision. She rubbed a place between my thumb and forefinger. She smiled. “Yes.”

“My God,” I said. I didn’t like what I was hearing. “While you were married?”

She said weakly, “Yes,” and the word became a sigh as if she had gone to sleep.

I slipped from the table, careful not to fall, placed her arm back across her chest and covered her with the sheet once more. As I got back on my gurney, I glanced at the place on my hand that she was rubbing. I found what appeared to me to be an insignificant dark spot, like a freckle. I had no special memory of it
— just a freckle.

Chapter 27

Several minutes passed. I began thinking of William and how we were going to get him out. He was paralyzed. Dr. Xiang had said if we moved him, he could die. Of course, the good doctor also had said the computer chip at the base of my skull was a bump from my fall.

I remembered both occasions. The first was outside of William’s hospital room with Michelle. It was one of those memories framed in darkness again, the Doctor leaning close to my face, Michelle in the background with a cast on her arm and bandage across her forehead. “He is exceptionally lucky to be alive,” Xiang had said. “We need to be extremely cautious of moving him. The slightest movement in the wrong way could sever what is left of his spinal cord and kill him instantly.” I remember Michelle beginning to cry and turning away as Xiang continued, “We have hope, however. Doctors in Bethesda, Maryland have been working on a new treatment to regenerate spinal cord cells. It’s still experimental, but I have a friend there, and I’m relatively sure we can get your son admitted within a few months. Certain criteria must be met, and that will take time to compile and diagnose. They must support the prognosis at that time. The only risk to your son is that it might not work. What do you think? Should we try it?” Michelle then turned to the doctor and pleaded, “Yes, doctor. Yes, of course we should. Anything, anything to make my little boy whole again.”

The doctor had given me a second warning when he’d told me about my “bump.” I recalled it again on that screen in the middle of the dark. “Be sure not to bother the bump,” he’d said, smiling warmly. “It could cause complications.”

There was no other way to ensure William’s safety now but to move him, take him with us.

“Sunny?” I asked.

There was no reply.

“Sunny?”

Still nothing. She was out. Whatever Yumi had given her was too much.

The lights finally died a few minutes later. Within a couple of seconds, the emergency lights came on and an irritating alarm began an intermittent buzz. The sound of running feet came from the hallway. It was like a stampede.

*  *  *

By the time the big MH-53M Pave Low IV helicopter came barreling up the dry creek bed, its sister ship was but a pile of charred steel below it, barely smoldering. It hovered above the clearing caused by the first helicopter’s fiery crash for only a few seconds before a soldier came running out waving his arms.

The chopper touched down quickly, its tires bouncing on the ground. As it settled, the soldier vaulted onto its lowered back ramp. The large helicopter took off again before the man’s feet were inside. It banked in the direction of the Mount Rainy Biotronics facility, and its twin turbo engines raced at top speed.

*  *  *

When the halls quieted, I slipped from the table and tried to wake Sunny. There was no reaction even when I pinched her. I hoped when the time came to get out she’d be more responsive. In the meantime, I was compelled to do more than simply wait for Dr. Yumi. The proof she would give me in copied files and video would be interesting; however, a little firsthand reconnoitering was in order, now.

I wheeled Sunny’s gurney to the wall on one side of the morgue where I hoped she’d be safe, and gently touched her forehead through the sheet before I turned from her.

When I scanned the room of tables, I noticed the sheet on one of them pulled back slightly, revealing the side of a young man’s face. It was the guard I had killed at the amusement of Dr. Xiang.

I slung the sheet away and found he was fully clothed, his helmet setting between his feet on the table. Again, I noted he was about my size.

*  *  *

I paused at the first door I came to, the only one on that side of the hundred-foot hallway, raised my copper-tinted goggles and adjusted my utility belt. Although the young guard had been unarmed when I absconded with his clothing, his uniform afforded me at least a bit of security in my search for the truth, for Will, and for Sunny’s husband. And the uniform fit surprisingly well. The only thing close to a weapon I had was intended to do
me
in — the cyanide pill. I couldn’t imagine a situation where I’d need the thing now, but to be sure, I took it out of my cheek and placed it in my uniform shirt pocket.

The door was labeled
Psychological Enhancement — Viewing Rooms
. I guessed that label was for the benefit of those still living in Biotronics’ make-believe world.

Harvey was back. My imaginary rabbit yawned and stretched inside my head. The thing was becoming too real. The intrusive bunny smacked his lips as if needing to bring moisture to his dry mouth after a long sleep.

Hey, Superman
, Harvey said,
this could be it. This could answer a whole bunch of questions.
He yawned again.

Or give rise to new, even more confusing ones, dumb bunny,
I thought. I still pictured him as a big white rabbit. Yet I could see him with a cute little pink nose. And other, more feminine features, maybe. Lazy, drooping ears. Large, bright eyes and long lashes. Full, red lips — kind of like Bugs Bunny’s girlfriend. I had to shake my head to get rid of the image before I went too far.

“Geez,” I whispered, “leave me alone. You’re driving me insane!”

The door was locked, a palm-scanning security pad beside it about chest high. Cautiously, I placed my hand on the red Plexiglas pad and hoped Rajiv had found time to fix my security clearance. I smiled when the lock snapped like a gun hammer. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Along one side of the corridor I’d entered were at least a dozen dark rooms in either direction. A dim glow emitted from several of them, and all opened to the connecting hallway I stood in. The place seemed vacant. At least, if anyone was around, they must have been busy with their jobs.

I looked into the first room on my left and found a dozen seats placed in stadium style — three rows of four. The front wall was glass — a huge picture window. In front of the window was a countertop with three cushioned, swiveled office chairs, pushed neatly underneath. On the countertop, three microphones protruded. Three small, color monitors were embedded inside the clear-glass counter and the keyboards were on drawers mounted underneath.

From in front of the window, I looked down one level into a dark space about twelve feet square. Nothing in the room I stood in now was even vaguely familiar, however the room below brought back some sort of remembrance, a fleeting wisp of a memory. That space contained only a simple, metal table and chair and a sort of chrome-framed recliner with black, plastic-covered cushions. An apparatus of some kind attached to a small chrome-plated stand stood between the metal chair and the recliner. A dozen or more brightly colored electronic leads looped from it, their ends, unattached, draped over a chrome bar along the back of the instrument.

Dachau
, Harvey said.
Auschwitz. Treblinka
.

“Yeah, a modern day Nazi torture camp,” I said before I realized I was talking to myself.

I left the dark room, curiosity and Harvey pushing me toward one emitting light. Peeking around the edge of the closest wall, I discovered a single technician, headphones on, watching intently the monitor in front of him. Past him, through the large picture window, was a room like the one I’d seen a moment before, except this one was occupied. A man in a white, terry-cloth robe sat back in the cushioned chrome recliner.

He watched a movie projected onto the wall in front of him, a set of headphones covering his ears, also. However, it wasn’t a movie. It was old TV
—
Andy Griffith
. Opie and Andy walking down a dirt road with fishing poles and big smiles.

Harvey began whistling the comedy show’s theme song in lieu of the real thing, probably echoing what was being piped into the guy’s ears in the
Psychological Enhancement
room below.

I got lost in reminiscing
— until I heard a clank behind me. I feared it was the bolt of an M-16 slamming into place against a chambered bullet.

When I turned, I was somewhat relieved to see Dr. Yumi standing in front of the bolted door, even though she was holding a 9mm Makarov like the one Michelle had pulled on me. She was the third woman to have directed a gun barrel at me since sunset. I hoped the weapon was as much for my protection as for hers. Still not a hundred percent sold on her
Falon Gong
story, she had won some of my trust by apparently saving Sunny’s life and mine.

With her pistol pointed at me, Yumi said, “What you are doing is extremely dangerous, for both of us.”

I pretended not to consider the implication that she might have to shoot me. “Watching TV?”

“The old television and movies in the files before you help demonstrate American family values, stable family relationships with quiet discipline.”

“Okay,” I said, a little puzzled. “What is this place?” I tipped my head toward the room below.

“Have you ever wondered why you relate so much of the world around you to television, commercials and movies?”

I frowned at her without reply, unsure of where she was going with this question.

She said, “You want it all in one quick, neat little package?”

“Well, yeah, since my son’s life and mine are in danger, and I’ve been thrown around town like I’m some sort of puppet in the hands of a three-year-old.”

“You are not going to get it all wrapped up nicely.” She shook her head. “It does not come that way.”

“Go ahead, I’m a big boy.”

“Since you are here now, perhaps seeing for yourself is of benefit, your knowing as much as time allows might help our cause.”

Harvey said,
Here comes that “Falon Gong” thing
.

“Shoot . . . ,” I said, and then remembered the pistol in her right hand, “ . . . uh, let’s hear it.”

She motioned for me to go out the door. We went down the hall of viewing rooms to the end space, I guessed because it would be the last one anyone might use. Inside was an empty station, and through the large picture window, the room in front of it was dark.

She had me sit at the counter.

“The computer in front of you is in sleep mode. Move the mouse and type in the password
Brainstorm
.”

A puzzle piece fit into place.
Brainstorm
was the project name Major Jackson had asked me about. I took off my helmet, sat at the seat in front of the counter and did as she instructed. The computer came alive.

“Now, look for the file
Subject 374
.”

Chapter 28

I repeated, “Subject three seventy-four?”

“Yes,” Yumi said. “It is your file. You were the three hundred and seventy-fourth subject. The twelfth Robert Weller
— however, the first to live. Through hypnotic suggestion, the townspeople knew your name, thinking you were their neighbor, the hardware storeowner, by the brown coat and trousers you wore.”

As she went on, I remembered how Mr. Banks had recalled my name by the brown clothing I was wearing. Her comment “the first to live” was bothersome.

“In you,” she said, “we have found the most promise. Your potential ranks high across the entire gamut of psychic abilities, from telepathy to telekinesis. Your thought projection skills are incredible, as are your remote viewing capabilities. When Captain Vanzandtz defected to us over ten years ago, it became quite a coup for our Brainstorm project. She brought with her hundreds of names of the people, mostly students, she’d tested over the years and a database of thousands from other Central Intelligence Agency and Defense Intelligence Agency projects including
Grill Flame
,
Sun Streak
,
Star Gate
,
Thousand Eyes
. Your name topped her list. Added to a list of thousands from around the world, Xiang began gathering them — abducting the more gifted when the opportunity arose.

“Many of the subjects were either too weak or the drugs and mental stress they were subjected to were too strong. Most before you either died or were disposed of. Some were only useful in limited ways. We learned through trial and error the best combination to fit our needs. You would be interested to know Subject 375 was your friend Mike Wu
— Colonel Wu. He volunteered, seeking the power our project could unlock. In fact, his implant is a new and improved version. He has a stainless-steel covered, copper plate imbedded in his forehead to help direct his power. You must avoid him at all costs.”

I nodded. “Yes, I believe we’ve already had one of those my-magic-is-better-than-your-magic sort of run-ins at the store.”

She continued, “The rest of the subjects —
blanks
, we call them — are here and in various stages of programming. They come from all walks of life. All races and not only Americans. However Xiang had chosen to use mostly super-power nationalities such as English, Russian, French.”

When the file Subject 374 appeared in the computer window, it showed four folders.
PhaseOne
contained Acquire and Arrival.
PhaseTwo
contained
Clean
,
Program
,
Personal
, and
Sensory
.
PhaseThree
contained
PracticalApplication
. And
PhaseFour
held
Surveillance
.

“Open
PhaseTwo
,
Program
,” Yumi instructed.

When I did, a long list of movie files opened.

Yumi told me, “Pick one.”

“There are so many.”

“Nearly ten thousand hours’-worth. During programming the subject is only allowed four hours sleep per day.”

The one I selected was labeled
TVCommercialsModern9
.
avi
. A Dentisol toothpaste commercial began playing. It spoke of “Nothing is better than a clean mouth.” Next came a Norelco commercial, then Chevrolet. I fast-forwarded through Downy, La-Z-Boy, Goodyear, Sears, Wal-Mart, Doritos, MacDonald’s and countless others.

“Try another folder,” Yumi said.

I clicked on
MotionPicturesModern4
. In this file were subfolders — everything from
MyBigFatGreekWedding
, all three
LordoftheRings
,
Something’sGottaGive
,
TotalRecall
, Scanners, and
ThePassionofChrist
— even
TheDavinciCode
, as well as over a dozen James Bond movies and more. I clicked on one.

The movie
GangsofNewYork
came on.

In
MotionPicturesClassic7
I found Mr.
DeedsGoestoWashington
,
GonewiththeWind
,
TheManchurianCandidate
,
TheSandPebbles
,
Dracula
, and surprise, surprise,
Harvey
.

Yumi said, “Perhaps you’ve noticed when you see something that seems familiar to you, many times your mind will access the memory of a movie or television commercial? At times the thoughts come to you inappropriately humorous or perhaps the opposite.”

I stared at the screen. “Yeah,” I said flatly.

“That is because these are all your mind has to associate with reality. This is what you were programmed with.”

I scanned the list of folders and subfolders. There was a huge News file with hundreds of subfolders including ones named
Challenger
&Columbia,
PanAmflight103
and
WorldTradeCenter
. Another huge file was titled
TV
and its subfolders contained titles like
Soaps
,
Games
,
SitComs
,
Series
, and
Documentaries
. Inside were files called
Survivor
,
GeneralHospital
,
Friends
,
Jeopardy
,
DiscoveryChannel
, and
CrocodileHunter
.

I tried the Personal folder. Inside it was a file called
HomeMovies
, and a subfolder called
SixthBirthday
.
avi
. The camera shot was of a birthday cake with a crowd of children around it. In the background were a couple of adults I recognized as my parents. I remembered this movie as
my
sixth birthday and I watched it, astonished. On the screen, the children and my parents were looking at the camera, singing
Happy Birthday
to it. However, there was something odd about this movie. A child’s hands and arms reached out from the camera toward the table, and I realized the camera must have been on the child’s shoulder, or perhaps some sort of a helmet cam, like I’d seen occasionally on televised car races and football games — like I’d probably watched in a room like the one before me.

Yumi said, “Those are no more your parents than they are mine. The memory of your true parents has been washed away.”

The thought of it made me grimace.

There were a number of other
Birthday
files. I skipped them and went to the Wedding.avi one.

As I suspected, the film was shot from the groom’s perspective as if he also wore a helmet cam. Michelle was the bride. She looked slightly younger. Mike Wu wore a tuxedo and stood beside the cameraman. The camera came in real close to Michelle’s face for the wedding kiss. Her lips and eyes so close. My eyes began to tear.

I clicked on a different file.

This one was of Will. He wore a Little League Baseball outfit. He stood with a bat over his shoulder. An arm came out from below the camera and pitched a ball to him. He hit it and the camera followed the ball until it bounced and rolled to a tree.

In another file was the view from a walking person, this scene looking familiar. It was of the same route I had taken to work the day before. It also showed the same route from a driver’s point of view in what I remembered as our Buick. There was a scene from the viewpoint of a person walking from room to room through our house. Then came the scene from bed. The viewpoint was of a person lying there, looking toward the make-up table where Michelle sat, naked, as she brushed her hair and rubbed on lotion.

“At this point,” Yumi said, “an assistant would bring in the lotion and other olfactory prompts to give the memory more depth and realism.”

Then came a similar scene of the hardware store. It took time as the viewer inspected a number of different products on the shelves. The viewpoint went to the cash register and went through its operation.

Yumi said, “A narrator accompanies this portion as well as most of the other scenes during actual programming.”

I clicked on another file, this one labeled
FootballGame.avi
.

The video was shot from seats in a football stadium. It panned around at the people filling the seats. Below, the Denver Broncos played the Oakland Raiders. People were cheering. The camera panned back to the seating and as it came up to the seat next to it, the video jumped as if something had been spliced in. The surroundings were similar, but not quite the same, more like some sort of studio shot scene. Mike Wu looked into the camera smiling big
— looking back to the game, cheering the Broncos.

Yumi said, “Go ahead and take a couple of minutes to browse.”

I did as she suggested and found video labeled
Sentimentality
— which included ordering of Will’s snow skis. There were audio files, one was of my voice repeating, “Doc Xiang is a big man with a big heart. We’re lucky to have such a caring doctor, don’t you think?” Then, Michelle’s voice saying, “Very lucky. Dr. Xiang is a good man and a good friend.”

On the last of the
Personal
files labeled
SenatorAvery
was the exact morning show interview I’d watched with Michelle the morning before — Senator Avery discussing his thoughts of running for President and his views on China.

Yumi said, “He was to be your first target.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“We have an entire apartment complex in Washington DC devoted solely to the
Brainstorm
project. Within the next three months, Xiang hopes to have over a dozen psychic assassins such as you there, each with their own targets. Along with them will be several dozen support personnel including new family members. As much of your old information as possible has been either altered or deleted on numerous U.S. government databases including CIA and FBI fingerprint records that we have been able to hack into. Many of the records were easily altered by psychic persuasion of critical government computer information systems employees — basically accosting and hypnotizing them to alter data without realizing it. You were to have been given your new identification complete with social security number, credit cards, birth certificate and even school transcripts — we’ve been cultivating the many paper personalities for over twenty years.”

Now, I’d finally come to the point that I doubted who I thought I was. Up until this, nothing they’d told me made much sense. I chose not to believe most of it, not to consider the possibility it was true. Now, I wondered who I really was, but I wasn’t prepared to ask her now. The information Dr. Yumi had already given me was overwhelming. I asked, “What would happen if someone from my past ran into me? How could that be explained?”

“Very rarely would you leave the secure apartment. You would only think you had left after daily hypnosis sessions in which it would be suggested to you that you had visited your son at Bethesda, went to a restaurant, to a shopping center. On the rare occasions it was necessary for you to leave, you would be tasked with your assassination mission. During those times you would be watched, a team of troubleshooters always prepared to, let us say, fix any problem. All you had to do to complete your missions would be to make visual contact with your targets.

“Because of an implanted, hypnotically suggested dislike for the person
— for example because of the target being against funding that could mean the difference between having a normal son and a paraplegic one, your subconscious brain would go into a defensive posture. With your telepathic abilities, your subconscious mind would reach out to the target’s own brainwaves. The enhancement device we developed works like an automobile coil. It amplifies your brainwaves and helps direct them with greater force to the target. Your brain then tells the target’s central nervous system to shut down. It tells the target’s brain to stop all involuntarily commands to the heart, lungs and other bodily functions, and the target dies instantly.”

“Like the people I’ve already killed.”

“Yes. Exactly. Your subconscious sampled their thoughts, found them harmful and considered those people threats to your well-being. The only ones safe from you were the ones you weren’t threatened by or those who were wearing the copper-lined helmets. The copper protects the wearer from outside electronic fields and signals of all types. That is how the brain functions — through electrical signals. It sends commands in the form of these electrical signals through the body’s nervous system to perform all tasks and operations. The brain’s constant electrical communication with the body actually causes an electronic field — some people claim to be able to see it as an
aura
. In your case, your brain defends you through its enhanced telepathic powers which are transmitted much in the same way, however, more like through a directed surge of power from that electrical field.”