Kill on Command (26 page)

Bill and Bob stood motionless for a moment, surveying the damage they had caused. 

Sandy rolled down her window.

“OK.  Let’s go.” 

Bill and Bob got into the truck and pulled out onto Canal Street.  Nobody said a word about the altercation.  Sandy had allowed the exchange on the street.  Once she sensed a potential confrontation, she wanted to see how her team would react.  They did OK.  But again, it was a couple drunks.  The real question was how they could handle someone much tougher, someone with the flawless skills of a brutal, merciless, manufactured killer, someone with no exploitable weakness, someone with speed they had never seen before.  That was the real question.

Oh, and Sandy was sure she could kill both of them if she had to.  Good info to have in your back pocket.

X
II

I think I got a bad wing

Boston Park Plaza Hotel – Same Night – May 14, 2011

Sean arrived back at the hotel and headed up to his room, turned on the TV and flipped over to the game.  He had missed part of the second period.  After a few minutes he realized he was really starting to get hungry as he had not eaten since breakfast.  Picking up the room service menu, flipping over to the dinner section, he landed on an order of wings, a cheeseburger and an ice water.  The total was nearly $50, which bothered him.

Of course, he was being watched, and those watching him began the process of getting him into the lab.  One of McFarland’s men picked up a phone and called an agent stationed in the hotel.  The agent walked into the kitchen undetected and checked the trays and found Sean’s order.  He injected a chemical into the burger patty, turned and left.  The second call was to an ambulance service, positioned nearby. 

Sean’s food was delivered within thirty minutes.  The waiter placed the tray on the desk and left.  Sean lifted the silver cover off of the plate of wings and dug in.  Halfway through the wings, he tried the burger.  The team monitoring Sean was anxiously watching.  In short order, Sean finished the burger and sat munching on fries.  Suddenly, he felt very tired.

“That run must have taken it out of me,” he said to himself.

He walked over to the bed and sat down.  Then he collapsed. 

The team sprang into action.  The ambulance pulled up to the loading area and two men took a gurney and headed to the service elevator.  Simultaneously, the hotel’s security system was compromised.  Every camera malfunctioned.  The agent from the lobby was at Sean’s door, which he quickly breeched.  He stepped into the room and over to Sean.  He felt his pulse and gave a thumbs-up to one of the cameras.  He searched the room and stood in front of the TV.  He was a B’s fan.  The gurney and EMTs arrived in short order, hooked-up IVs and wheeled Sean out of the room.

Sandy watched from her room.  She had time to relax.  The tough part of her job would start when he woke up, if he woke up.  Following him into the bar was easy and actually a little fun; what came next would not be.  Her life would be on the line.  She flipped through the room service menu, ordered a salad and a glass of chardonnay.  Unlike Sean, she didn’t care what it cost.

The ambulance made good time over to Hanover Street and pulled into the garage.  Dr. McFarland was waiting at the elevator.  The ambulance rolled to a stop and the gurney was removed.  Dr. McFarland checked Sean’s pulse, then placed his hand on the young man’s head.

“Sean, we have something special for you, my boy.”

The EMTs rolled him into the elevator and up to the 5
th
floor.  Everyone on the floor was flying around.  Robert Waters was standing near the nurse’s station, just watching.  His fun was still a couple of weeks away. 

Clothes removed, Sean was rolled into a room containing a CAT Scan - the machine scanned his skull and a program that Dr. McFarland had developed began mapping Sean’s brain.  The map was then relayed to a massive drill that was located in another room.  No human hands ever touched the drill once the procedure began, the computer controlled the operation.  The procedure required absolute precision, precision that the human hand was not capable of.  There was zero tolerance for deviation. If they were off by a fraction of a millimeter during the procedure, they would effectively turn the patient into a vegetable.   The drill was actually a very powerful laser, powerful enough to bore through the thickest skull.  Once inside the brain, the machine efficiently injected an implant into the brain tissue.  The scar the laser and the implant left was, for all intents and purposes, invisible.  As the laser was extracted, it actually fused the entry point.  If the mapping were correct, the drill would place the implant where it needed to be with 99.99% accuracy. 

The implant was a work of genius.  It was all organic and would dissolve into brain tissue.  It was filled with data that the brain would recognize and accept as its own.  The implant fooled the brain into believing it had actually experienced and mastered all of the competencies enclosed in the implant. The result was instant muscle memory.  Instant language skills.   The top five candidates would receive a second implant, which provided knowledge of weapons, aircraft and advanced hand-to-hand combat skills.   Based on the projected shelf life of the candidates, most would not utilize a quarter of what was implanted.  McFarland did not care.  He was a scientist and scientists experiment.  At least that’s what he told himself.

The whole procedure was based on organic nanotechnology.  The implant manipulated matter at two nanometers on a scale of one to two hundred nanometers. Only a handful of the most advanced scanners in the world could pick up any trace of the procedure.   The data that was contained in each implant originated from a massive computer and a cutting edge program that distilled memories down to their very essence, thus allowing the implant to impart vast amounts of information into the human brain instantly. It had taken McFarland and a research partner at MIT ten years to perfect it.  His partner, sadly, died in a nasty hit and run accident several years ago, leaving McFarland in sole possession of the technology. The crime was never solved.

McFarland planned for Sean to receive two implants.  All of his tests suggested that he was a perfect candidate for the additional data.

As monitors were being attached, an anesthesiologist rolled in his cart and began to administer the chemicals that would keep Sean out during the thirty-minute procedure. Sean would remain in a coma like state for twelve hours.  Sean was then moved into the room containing the machine that would change his life.  His torso was elevated into a seated position and rolled into the entry of the large machine.  The machine resembled an open MRI, but had a rather sinister looking laser drill affixed to an arm protruding from one side.  Once the procedure began, the machine would rotate around the patient’s head based on what the mapping program instructed.

A nurse shaved two tiny areas on Sean’s head.  He probably wouldn’t notice.  The rest of his hair was taped down.  McFarland was checking the mapping program.  Satisfied, he turned to the group.

“People, we are ready!” he said to the team with a huge smile.  He leaned over the terminal in the rear of the machine and clicked the “yes” prompt.  The machine began powering up, making an ominous hum.  The floor vibrated despite the fact that the machine was bolted to the floor with a dozen 14” screws.  The arm rapidly spun around Sean’s head and the procedure began.  Sean sat motionless.  Two men observed the machine from the rear of the terminal.  Two others monitored Sean’s vital signs.  There was a sight increase in blood pressure, but not anything significant.  The entire procedure lasted nearly thirty minutes.  A slight burning smell was noticeable in the room after the machine shut down.

The room was silent.  All eyes were on Dr. McFarland.

McFarland walked over to the terminal and ran a diagnostic report.  It looked like a success.  Sean’s vitals were all strong.  He gave the group a thumbs-up.  However, the true test of success would be in twelve hours when they brought him out of the coma.

Sean was wheeled to a recovery room where a second team was waiting.  This group would administer the serum to speed up Sean’s reaction times by altering the chemical reaction between cells thus reducing synaptic delay.  McFarland was certain Sean’s reaction time would be second to none once the serum took effect.  To be effective, the serum would be injected into Sean’s IV three times over the next twelve-hour period while he remained in a coma.  The impact of the serum would manifest itself over the next several days.

The final procedure was the injection of the tracker into Sean’s buttocks.  As soon as the implant was inserted, it went active and Sandy saw Sean’s image pop up on her phone.  The same image went active on a screen in Robert Waters’ situation room.

At the twelve-hour mark, Dr. McFarland came into the recovery room to check his work.  McFarland ordered another CAT scan. He examined Sean’s brain from every angle.  Everything appeared normal.  Of course, they would know more in the next few hours.

“Please take him back to room three and ask Dr. Baum to see me,”  McFarland requested.

“Yes, doctor?” Baum said, entering the room.

“Dr. Baum, are you clear on the explanation on why he is here?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Good, we need to make sure there is no doubt in his mind that the only thing that transpired here was treatment for dehydration and a bump on the head.”

Dr. Baum nodded and headed down the hall to Sean’s room.  He was stirring.  She walked over to his bedside.

“Mr. Garrison.  Mr. Garrison.”

“Wha.  Whe.  Where am I?”  Sean started to sit up and noticed the IV.

“Back in my office.  You collapsed on Saturday night.  The hotel called our office and we had the EMTs bring you here.”

“What?” he asked, still foggy.

“You fell and hit your head on the way to the elevator in the hotel,”  Dr. Baum explained.

“I did?”

“Yes, a guest found you.”

“You have a concussion.  Plus, you are very dehydrated.  Ergo, the IV.  Did you drink any water after the physical?”

“Not really.  I drank a couple beers . . .  .  Please stop saying ‘ergo’.”  Sean felt his head.  He was a little foggy.

“Well there you go.  The IV should have taken care of the hydration issue,” Dr. Baum ignored his other comment, turned to a nurse and motioned for her to remove the IV.

“What time is it?”  Sean asked, hesitantly.  He was completely lost.

“It is Sunday afternoon.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“No.  I am not.  Do you feel like standing up?”

“Sure, but my head is killing me.”  Sean sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  He still felt weak.  He stood up, a little dizzy, but OK.

“You feel like going back to the hotel?”

“Yes.” 

“I am going to give you a prescription for that headache.   I will have it filled and dropped by the hotel.   I am also going to call the hotel and ask them to stock your room with water.  Any particular kind?”  Dr. Baum said, as she filled out a prescription.

“Anything is fine, doctor. Thank you.”
 

“I will give you a few minutes to get dressed.  We took the opportuni
ty to have your clothes cleaned,” Dr. Baum said, pointing to the clothes, folded neatly on the chair.

“Thank you,” Sean said, walking slowly towards the clothes.  He felt that was odd, but didn’t say anything.

“Oh, I will also let Mr. Mathis know that you will not be making it on Monday.  I am sure he will understand,” Baum said, closing the door.

Sean slowly got dressed.  “So, this is what a concussion feels like,” he said to himself.  Several minutes later, Dr. Baum came back into the room.  A nurse with a wheelchair followed right behind her.

“Please have a seat Mr. Garrison.  This is Ms. Rodgers.  She is one of our best nurses and will accompany you to the hotel.  We have a van downstairs, manned by two of our EMTs.”

Sean sat in the chair and Ms. Rodgers wheeled him out of the room.  She was cute, but he could not muster the words to say something clever.  She sorta looked like that girl from 'Til Tuesday.  The short blonde hair . . . He could not remember her name . . . . They got on the elevator and took the short ride down to the basement.  The door opened and the two EMTs helped Sean onto the van.  Ms. Rodgers sat beside him, put her hand on his leg.  He still was so out of it that he barely noticed. The EMTs parked in the back of the hotel again.  Just like the day before, the hotel’s security system went down.  Ms. Rodgers helped him into the wheel chair and pushed him through the loading area to the service elevator and up to his floor. 

“Do you have my key?”  Sean asked.

“Of course.” she said, holding up the key.  She opened the door and pushed him inside.  The room had been cleaned and the tray from last night was gone.  In its place were a dozen slender one-liter bottles of water.  Someone had arranged them like bowling pins.  Sean smiled.