Authors: Dominick Fencer,Baibin Nighthawk
62
Two days later the Colonel was talking about Anaïs with Green in his office at Biosketch Technologies Inc.
"I agree, it is necessary to wait for the video camera results, guessing is pointless when even Interpol hasn’t received any reports. Where is she now and how is she?"
"She is at home in Zermatt, sir, and I think she’s still not well. She’s suffering from dizziness and persistent intercostal pain…she was complaining about it a few days ago."
"Is there anyone with her?"
"No Colonel, she’s alone."
"And that dickhead Allegri, you told me about him, the one who lives with his partner and her son? Does Anaïs know that he has four children by three different women and that every day of the week he sleeps with one of them in rotation?"
"SkylineP92 is not aware of this, and he’s been very careful not to tell her, but the other night she left him at the restaurant, even though he had offered to take her to the hotel. So she told me."
"That girl should find a real man, someone to cuddle with and give her food for the soul. You know that after this mission she will go to Mayer."
"She told me about it, moreover, I understand. She’s sick and tired of this high voltage life without compensation; what's the advantage of the money she’s earned if she cannot even spend it? Do you know what she is going to do in the next few days? She’ll climb a couple of icefalls, go flying in an ultralight and I'll bet that if the weather permits, she’ll also practice some paragliding. All this by herself!"
"I'll let her go as promised, after she has brought me Savannah’s head." said Reed shaking his head.
The phone suddenly rang in his pocket.
"Tomorrow, at 2:30 am, no. 57 road 14, Specialized Dental Services Oral & Maxillofacial Surgery Center, East Village, a maximum of three hours available, incoming data for anesthesiologist encrypted on your smartphone."
"I’m ready."
Reed closed the communication at once, and turning to Green said:
"Tomorrow, at 2:30 am, no. 57 road 14, Specialized Dental Services Oral & Maxillofacial Surgery Center, East Village. No more than three hours available,” read Reed. “Call Jenkins, tell him to alert the team. We start tonight, we’ll not get any sleep. At 9:00 or no later than 9:30 am we must be back here, payment in two days."
"OK, I’ll start the procedure immediately."
"We’ll meet there. Make sure that nobody takes the same vehicle."
"Yes sir. Goodbye."
The next morning at 2:25 am a surgeon, an anesthetist and two nurses from Biosketch Technologies Inc., plus Colonel Reed and Jenkins, who was keeping an eye on the premises, were getting ready for the tissue sampling in the temporary surgery room that had been set up for the occasion.
The three patients, all three around thirty-five years of age, arrived already premedicated and it was very easy for the anesthesiologist to carry out his tasks. Brain tissue and bone marrow samples were taken from all; at 4:30 am Reed’s team was leaving the building while the FSB (The Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation, ex KGB) agents took the patients back to the hospitals where they were treated and cleaned and dismantled the temporary surgery room.
At 7:30 the following morning, two men arrived at the Specialized Dental Services Oral & Maxillofacial Surgery Center for the first appointment. At 9:00 am, the Colonel’s team had already put the tissue and the scaffold into production and had begun the day's work at Biosketch Technologies Inc.
63
"Good morning, Cox. How's the new therapy working? How are you feeling?"
"Hello, Dr. Stearman. I don’t feel so hectic anymore and since yesterday the hairy monster has disappeared, but...I can’t feel my lungs. I wonder if the drugs made them atrophy in two days. You know well that they already removed almost all my internal organs, and I wonder how the others can keep working. But if I lose my lungs too...can someone die twice in one lifetime?"
"You are a great philosopher, Cox. Cells die and reproduce themselves every day so, with this in mind as objective data, do you have any trouble breathing?"
"I have a nagging feeling of oppression in my sternum. So are you telling me that it's not because of the drugs?" asked Alan Cox.
“No, it isn’t the drugs. I’m ready to start the parallel therapy with hypnosis. I'm going to work on the reactive part of the mind, the unconscious; our emotional pain is very often not due to the direct effect of reality on us, but to a distorted interpretation of it, which creates mistaken beliefs which our mind erroneously elaborates. When we listen to our thoughts, rather than to objective reality, we become victims of the emotional imbalance that we call pain, and we end up accepting it as an inevitable part and parcel of our lives. I’ll try to reduce your emotional suffering by teaching you to change those thoughts, emotions and behaviors that have created the disorders from which you suffer."
"I’m ready. Will I get my BlackBerry back?"
"I really wonder if you'll want it back...but let's say ‘yes’,” replied Mark. “I am convinced that together we’ll do a great job. Are you ready?”
Mark paused a moment, waiting for Cox to nod his head, then he continued.
“Well, now please relax and stretch out your legs... now your sensory perceptions…your thoughts and your emotions…are no longer focused on your surroundings. Focus on your inner world and your memories, just like when you are daydreaming...matter no longer exists, we’re back to when you were a child, do you remember an episode which gave you a shock, or caused you physical pain?"
"A happy child…I was a happy child. I had two great parents and I wasn’t afraid of anything, just the usual small things...I felt so light...then when I grew up...it was as if I had lost my verve...all of a sudden."
"What do you mean?"
"I started as a product manager and then I went on with my career...and I became commercial director...travel...jet lag and deals."
"What do you want to tell me about?"
"Travel...jet lag and deals...nothing more..."
"When did you first notice that horrible feeling of suffocation?"
"Travel, jet lag and deals, the BlackBerry was always with me, nothing more." Cox was beginning to get agitated and Savannah noticed it immediately.
"Tell me about an incident that struck you particularly, Cox."
"I’m not allowed."
"You’re not allowed…what?"
"I’m not allowed...travel...jet lag and deals...nothing more...just be satisfied, sir."
"Why are you calling me, sir?"
"You’re questioning me. Do you want to submit me to a polygraph?"
"We’re just talking about your work. It's not an interrogation session, Cox, please relax."
"I don’t understand, sir...Nigeria...two years ago... I'm not allowed... I breathed in water, but I didn’t say anything."
"Nigeria? Who were you dealing with?" asked Mark.
"I don’t know what you're talking about, sir. There was a guerrilla attack, it was January 15th, all those dead... Nigeria, Shell...pitch dark and mice. I couldn’t breathe underwater, and then I woke up in the hospital... I had been operated on for appendicitis."
Cox was sweating and began to suffer a panic attack, then Mark brought him back to the present.
"Alan, look what a beautiful day it is outside."
"Why am I all sweaty?" asked Cox.
"How do you feel?"
"Well, I have the feeling that I was afraid. Is that real?"
"Hypnosis works on the subconscious and sometimes there are unexploded bombs from old battles that need to be identified and blown up. Enough for today, we can continue working tomorrow."
"Did I tell you anything interesting?" asked Cox, still worrying.
"Not for the moment, but the path doesn’t end with just a couple of sessions, it takes time and each case is on its own."
Mark stood up, carried out the routine morning check up, but did not fill in Alan Cox’s medical records with what he had heard. He simply wrote "first hypnosis session" with the day’s date, then he returned to his office very puzzled.
For the moment, he decided not even to talk about it with David Marshall: he had a strong suspicion, and he decided that he would check it out as soon as Cox was ready.
64
Brad Foster was just fifteen years old, he was attending Dallas High School and had been hospitalized for several days with severe Internet Addiction Disorder. He was described as the youngest American patient suffering from Cybersex Addiction.
Mark was studying Brad Foster’s medical record in his office, when he received a message from Pavel.
"QRL? Digitrevenant69. I need to talk to you."
"QRV go on," replied Mark.
"No trace of her in the CIA archives, I’ve played this game and I can assure you that I performed one of the best drill downs ever, but there was nothing."
"I suppose she is a special agent, she has a slight French accent, even though she speaks American very well. Please check with social security: if Reed has been using her, she must be a U.S. citizen."
"QSL, I'll call you back as soon as I have some news."
"A.?"
"I have not seen her for days and I only had a few telephone calls with her. She hurt me."
"Move on my friend, move on!"
"I am a hopeless dreamer, and despite everything, not talking to her is what hurts most..."
"Incurable I would say, as soon as I see you I'll put you in cognitive behavioral therapy, enough of this lady who rules your roost!"
"QRV, let's hope it is the right way to get rid of her. Goodbye."
"See you soon."
Mark left his office to face Brad, who was on tranquilizers.
"Hello Brad, my name is Mark Stearman and from now on I'll be your doctor. How do you feel?"
"Good morning, doctor…like a sewer. I have a heavy head and I feel confused. I am always sleepy, too...I feel like a prisoner in a jail on Mars."
"I understand. How are your compulsions?"
"Meaning the fact I want to punch the clown non-stop?" laughed the boy.
"Yes, I’d like to know if your obsession with the pornographic images of people you met online is still strong."
"It's still really strong and when it climbs up in my throat, I'm forced to get rid of that tightness...when I orgasm, my throat relaxes and I can breathe better, but afterwards I’m ashamed of what I have done, and at end of the day it hurts."
"Do you also use porn magazines?"
"No, they don’t interest me. I like to imagine the scene as the girl describes it to me in the chat room."
"How do you feel after you orgasm?"
"Depressed. I don’t do anything and I have no interest in anything, and then, as I said, I get a feeling of guilt."
"Have you ever had sex with a girl?" asked Mark.
"No, I'm afraid that they might give me an infectious disease, and I’m also very shy."
"How do you see your penis?"
"Small, very small I would say," replied the boy looking away awkwardly.
"So maybe you think girls might laugh at you...this is an illusion, in reality everything you have is perfectly normal,” smiled Mark, watching the boy’s face turn his way. “The tension that you feel before the impulse is called craving. Guilt leads to humiliation, a sense of failure and inadequacy. You become isolated and focus more and more on the internet... Did you lie to your parents?"
"Yes, I couldn’t help it."
"Brad, tomorrow we’ll start cognitive behavioral therapy to get rid of your dependence on virtual sex. This will not only give you back a normal life, but also free you from insecurity and the sense of frustration and failure that result from the addiction; due to your age the therapy will only be between you and me. I’m also prescribing some antidepressants; however, we’ll gradually diminish the dosage over the course of therapy.”
Mark paused for a moment, then continued.
“I read that you had a very serious accident. What happened?"
"I fell off a motorcycle and hit my head. The helmet was not fastened properly and flew off. I was in a coma for two days and I suffered a brain injury. I couldn’t speak right. That was two years ago, then I was accepted for the Transtem 1.1 project and I was reborn. Do you think that my addiction is linked to the accident?"
"Apparently not. The tests haven’t revealed any problems and the injury is fully healed; however, it’s a hypothesis to reconsider if you don’t react to therapy. But I’m very confident and we’ll also work on the subconscious level. I'll get you out of this hospital as soon as possible, you can count on me. See you tomorrow and please note down your moods and any other information in the patient diary that you have. It’s an old fashioned paper one for the moment. You won’t get a tablet like the other patients. Have a good day, Brad!"
"See you tomorrow, Dr. Stearman, thanks."
When Mark returned from lunch, he called David Marshall on the phone:
"David? Hello, it’s Mark. Do you have a few minutes for me?"
"Sure, come on over. I'll make you a cup of coffee in the meantime."
"Perfect...and the chocolates?"
"Four, there are only four left. Two are yours."
Mark immediately went to David’s office.
"Thanks, David...how can you resist these?” said Mark, putting a chocolate in his mouth. “Could you tell me something about the Transtem 1.1 project? I'm not aware of it and Brad Foster, due to the injury caused by the accident, was recruited to the project."
"You haven’t read anything about it? It’s a very famous project here in the USA, almost a media event I would say based on the way the press has been following it regularly.”
David was obviously surprised, but he continued:
“It involves the transplantation of new tissue created through the use of stem cells in the laboratory at Biosketch Technologies Inc., a company based in New Mexico. The new tissue is transplanted into patients who have suffered traumas resulting in damage to cartilage, bone, and especially nervous tissue. In fact, about 95% of the patients involved in the project have damage to brain tissue.
“The transplant patients are then followed by accredited university hospitals, the data is checked and entered in the internal databases of the hospitals and then sent daily to Biosketch Technologies Inc., where the research team is based and works."
"Is Biosketch a private organization? I've never heard of them."
"No, it was actually created by the Department of Defense and is directed and managed by the CIA; however, the company’s purpose is public and consists in helping U.S. citizens who have suffered permanent damage. Their services are free. They are now ready to export the technology and the clinical model abroad, allowing them to expand their research and development in other areas. I must say that we have been working with them and have been following patients for at least two years, and the results have been outstanding."
"But why these two government institutions? They’re not specialized in the field?"
"The project was created by a top official at the CIA; he set up an excellent team and the Department of Defense funds the project, taking care of all former soldiers who have sustained serious injuries."
"An impressive marketing operation! Who is the CEO of the company?"
"Colonel Walton I. Reed, he is often in television interviews and, in addition to being very bright, he is also a man of great power."
Mark was able to mask his surprise and, at the same time, his anger: even if Davis was hiding him from Reed, he didn’t trust anyone. He didn’t know the reason for Davis’s favor, let alone know if Davis knew it was the very same Colonel that was hunting him down.
"Look Mark, these are the MRIs of Brad after the accident, two months later, six months later and after transplantation, as you can see the result is impressive. You can’t even see the scar tissue, just a light shadow."
"I’ve never seen anything like it...I'm impressed! Do you have other patients transplanted under the Transtem 1.1 protocol? I'd like to see their MRIs."
"We’re following thirty-five of these patients in our hospital. I personally follow about ten of them. Here you go,” said Davis turning the screen of his computer towards Mark.
Mark looked at the images of the patients for about ten minutes and then said:
"Very interesting indeed, the new tissue has repaired the damage. Have all the patients recovered their psychomotor functions completely?"
"Yes, all of them. None of our patients experienced any rejection, infection or partial recovery. Reed and his team have restored life to many people."
Mark then stood up, thanked Marshall, and returned to his office to prepare the daily reports. At 5:00 pm, he went to check on the students.