Kill on Command (28 page)

“I need for you to call him.  He needs to take the prescription we gave him,” McFarland explained.

“What do I say?” she asked.

“Jesus!  Do I have to do everything?”  McFarland screamed, which was unlike him.   The nurse jumped.   The hours were getting to him.  He smoothed his hair and spoke again.

“Please call him and say you are checking on him.  I also apologize for yelling.  You did not deserve that.”

“Not a problem.  Doctor, how long can he keep this up?”  She looked at her iPad and called up the hotel information for Sean.  She dialed and asked to be connected.

“For a long time, I am afraid.  His fitness level and fitness potential are at the top of the group.  The medication for his headaches will help him sleep right now.  However, the obsessive compulsive disorder that has manifested itself, post procedure, will never fully go away,” McFarland, explained.  He did not mention it, but he had already devised a way to blunt the OCD.

Sweat was pouring off of Sean’s head as he continued doing crunches at a furious pace. He heard the phone ringing and picked it up.

“Sean?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Ms. Rodgers.  I am calling to check on you.”  She was having a tough time talking and watching him on the screen, so she turned away.

“To check on me?  Really?  That’s nice.  Why didn’t Dr. Baum call?”

“She is busy so I volunteered.”  She put her hand on her head.  She could feel him sucking her in.  There was something about the tone of his voice.

Sandy could, too.  She watched and listened from her room, shaking her head.  She knew Sean was going to give her fits with this behavior.  She hoped he was not going to talk the nurse into coming to his room.

“I am doing fine.  I appreciate the call,” he answered.

“Are you drinking water as we discussed?”

“I have a bottle of water in my hand right now.”

“Good.  Keep drinking.  It will take a few days to fully get over the dehydration.  Are you taking the medication we sent you?”

McFarland nodded at her and smiled.

“Not yet tonight.  I am about to.”

“Good.  Thank you.  I hope you are feeling better.  Have a good evening,” she added.

“Wait.  You’re not hanging up are you?”  Sean asked.  Sandy, McFarland and the nurse could see the big grin on his face through the monitor – the same one she had seen when she dropped him off after the procedure.

“Yes. I am.  My job is to take care of our patients, not chit chat,” she said, flirting back a little bit.

“You never told me your first name,” Sean said.

“It’s ‘Ms.’ Goodnight, Mr. Garrison.” She hung up. 

“I like her,” Sean said aloud in the room.  Sandy, McFarland and the nurse heard him.

Ms. Rodgers blushed.

McFarland made note of the behavior.  He had a big concern, but it might come in handy later.  He also made a note to talk with Dr. Baum on how they would keep Sean on some sort of medication to blunt his OCD.  Tell him he has high blood pressure, perhaps, but give him a readily available medication to treat his newly acquired disorder? There was a real need for daily medication.

Sean found the bottle of pills, took one out of the bottle and washed it down with the water.  He went into the bathroom and ran a hot towel over his face, brushed his teeth and sprawled on the bed.  He fell asleep in moments - thanks to the pills.

“Thank god!”  Sandy said from the other room.  He was really wearing her out.

Back at the building on Hanover Street, McFarland went up to Robert Waters’ office.  He entered after knocking.

“How can I help you, doctor?”  Waters asked, without looking up from what he was reading.

“I have a concern about the assignment of one of your operations people,” McFarland answered.

Waters looked at him.  He did not like to be second-guessed.

“Really?  Which one and why?”

“Sandy, the woman assigned to Number Two.”

“She is the best agent I have.  No.  I am not changing assignments,” Waters said, a little defensively.

“That may be, but I have a concern that she will at some point be compromised.  The personality of Number Two is very strong.  I suggest a male agent,” McFarland said, sitting down in one of the chairs across from Waters.

“I don’t have one.  I don’t think you know this woman.  I have no doubt she will perform as requested. I have leverage over her.”

“I don’t want to know what that is, but I wanted to give you my opinion on the matter.” 

Waters fiddled with some papers on his desk and then smoothed out a paper sitting in front of him.

“The fact of the matter is, doctor, this program and its purpose is greater than your experiment and the agent you are concerned with.  If I sense any deviation from our mission by either one, I will have them executed.  That’s one of the functions of the back-up teams.”

Waters paused.

“Please leave the operational end of this to me,” Waters added.

Dr. McFarland got up and left the office.  He still stood by his analysis.  He was certain the assignment of Sandy to Number Two would come back to bite them.  He did not want to be around when that happened.

XIV

Look into my eyes . . .

Boston - The Next Day – May 17, 2011

Sean w
oke up, mid-morning, more sore than he ever had been.  He was also hungrier than he could ever remember being.   He managed to sit up, but barely. Moving his torso felt like his abs were literally snapping in half.    He sat on the edge of the bed, reached over to the nightstand, picked up a bottle of water and started drinking.  Surely, flushing out everything with water would help right?  He slowly put one foot on the floor and then the other. His feet were pretty torn up.  He looked at his old running shoes in the corner and decided they needed to be retired.  Every muscle in his legs was sore. He walked into the bathroom and over to the shower and turned on the hot water. He then thought the best thing to do is work it out.  He dropped down in the bathroom and started doing push-ups.  The first dozen felt like every muscle fiber in his chest and shoulders was being ripped from the bone, but once the shower started warming up the room and he got into a grove, he felt better, or at least told himself he did. 

“He’s at it again!” one of McFarland’s men shouted as he watched the monitors.

Sean slowly rose to his feet and got into the shower.  He let the hot water fall over his back and shoulders.  The water felt good.  He got out, dried off, shaved and brushed his teeth.  Again, he gave the team watching him a show, as he walked across the room and started getting dressed.  He figured that since he was getting measured for a suit he should put on his old one.  While getting dressed, he fought the urge to do a couple crunches.   He thought the sudden workout urge was strange, but did not dwell on it.  He picked up his phone and a note pad off the desk and went down to the lobby to get something to eat.  He knew there was a sandwich shop in the building.

Sandy was already sitting downstairs in the lobby, waiting for him.

Sean went straight to the restaurant.  It had some sort of French name that he could never quite pronounce.  When he entered, the smell of freshly baked bread greeted him.  The décor was done nicely in cool yellows and oranges.  He would feel soothed and relaxed if he was not in so much pain.  He ordered two grilled chicken sandwiches, a salad and an iced tea.  The bill was nearly $36.  Again he worried about the cost when he paid for the meal with the AMEX.  He quickly ate the meal, and wanted to go back up and order again, but the people behind the counter were already looking at him like he was some sort of freak.  He got up from his spot and dropped the wrappers in trash. 

He walked the short distance to the front of the hotel and saw Fred.

“Morning Fred!”  Sean said.

“Morning.”

“You know where there is place to get coffee around here?”

“Sure.  There are 1,000 Dunkin’s around here and one Starbucks.  The Starbucks is right around the corner,” he said, pointing down the street.

“Cool.  Thanks,” Sean said, and headed down Arlington to get his coffee. 

He ended up getting two coffees.  One for himself and one for Fred.  He walked back to the hotel, holding out the coffee in Fred’s direction as he approached.

“Here you go, buddy,” Sean said, handing the coffee to Fred.

“Thank you!  Anybody ever tell you that you are a good guy, Sean?”  Fred said, smiling.

“One or two times and you’re welcome.  Have a good day,” Sean said, as he walked back into the hotel.

Sandy watched the whole exchange.  She was finding it pretty hard to dislike Sean.  Bob and Bill were watching too.  They didn’t get it.  They thought he just wasted $3.50 on a doorman.

Sean wandered through the hotel until he found the conference room that had been reserved for his meetings.  The tailor was already there setting up.  The room had a conference table for eight.  It was not your typical table most hotels pick up at an office supply store, it had some character.  The room had a classic New England feel to it.  Above a side board, against the far wall, was a painting of a ship fighting a mighty storm.  He felt like he should know who painted it, but was at a loss.  Sean walked into the room and placed his coffee and notepad on the table.  He then walked around the table and shook hands with the tailor.

Sandy went back up to her room, where she could keep an eye on him.  Bill was stationed in the lobby.  Every so often, Bob took his place. 

“You must be Mr. Garrison.  My name is Oliver,” the man said extending his hand.  Oliver was fairly short with a faint English accent and looked to be in his early sixties.  Like all tailors, he had an old measuring tape over his shoulders.  He had on grey pinstriped suit pants and a white, French cuff-shirt.

“I am.  Good to meet you.” 

“Mr. Garrison.  I just need a few measurements and I will let you pick out the fabric.  I took the liberty of selecting a handful of our most popular and classic swatches for you to review.

“Great.  Thank you.”

Oliver went about measuring Sean.  Instead of a note pad, which would have suited the old guy, he used an iPad.  Sean thought to himself that Apple now had a hold of everyone.  The old guy was progressive.  Without his knowledge, everything that was being typed into the iPad was also being stored and reviewed by Waters’ team.  Sean picked a navy pinstripe fabric.  Oliver approved of the selection, quietly packed up his things, promising a final fitting, which he would arrange in Pittsburgh.

Sean looked at his watch, noting he only had a few minutes until his meeting.  He did not have to wait long.  Hass appeared at the door. 

“Hello Sean.  How are you feeling?”  Hass asked, extending his hand.

Sean rose to shake his hand.

“Good.  Much better, thank you for everything, Mr. Mathis.”

“Not a problem.  Well, I have a full day for you.  I have a pretty rigorous training program for you to review and I have also set up a meeting with the person who helped develop our people program here.  He will come in later today to talk with you about our philosophy.”

“Sounds good.”

“I hope you don’t mind working from the hotel.  We have gone completely virtual.  I found that it was a waste of resources to have a huge office, when most of the people are on the road all the time. You will work from home when not traveling,” Hass added.

“The hotel is great.  No complaints from me and working from home is ideal.”

“Good.  Feel free to order lunch or anything else you need from the hotel this afternoon,” Hass said, sliding a room service menu over to Sean.

Hass then walked Sean through the contacts he would need at the company.  The only true contacts he would have were with Hass, posing as Mathis and his travel secretary.  His AMEX was direct billed.  Hass also promised they would cover Sean’s phone expenses.  The last item was a new iPad, to be used to file his reports.  It also held his training materials. McFarland had put together a complete training program, much of it stolen material from several legitimate companies and repackaged.

Hass showed Sean where the training materials were located on the iPad and explained he would need to have everything finished by Thursday evening.  Friday morning, they would discuss his first assignment.

“I will check up on you in the morning.  I booked this conference room all week.  Please feel free to use it as you wish,” Hass said, as he left the room.

Sean sat back down and looked at the iPad.  He just stared at it for a couple of minutes until his eyes drifted over to the room service menu.  He quickly decided on a club sandwich and fries, with a pair of crab cakes as an appetizer and an iced tea to wash it down.  There were six large bottles of water on the table.  Sean guessed that Dr. Baum had insisted on it.  Sean worked until the food arrived, ate and then got back to work on the program materials. 

He was bouncing on the balls of his feet under the table.  He really wanted to go for a run.  Would anyone notice?  Maybe a couple of push-ups?  No.  He couldn’t.  He had to focus, but could not get the urge out of his head.  It felt like an itch that he couldn’t scratch.

Like everywhere Sean went, he was under surveillance.  There was a camera in the room that was placed to capture the entire space.  Upstairs, Sandy was watching Sean and gathering up her clothes and stuffing them into a hotel laundry bag.  This was one of the small perks of the job.  She did not have to cook or do laundry.  She placed the bag on the handle outside her door and she heard it being picked up moments later.  She was not as sore as Sean, but close.  She had always been in shape, but she felt he was going to push her to the limit.  She was thankful for the rest she was getting while he was in training.  Like, Sean, she realized she was going to need new shoes and more workout attire.  She sat down on the bed, opened up her laptop and found a New Balance store, not far from the hotel.    She called the store and explained what she wanted, the clothing sizes and type and size of shoes she needed.  She paid for them over the phone and talked the sales person into delivering them for a $20 tip.  Sandy’s $398 worth of workout attire arrived at the hotel by mid-day.  Sean was still working away on his training materials.  For the moment, she could rest.  She leaned back on the bed and took a bite out of a banana.

Sean lost track of time and before he knew it, Dr. Seamus McFarland appeared at the door.  McFarland, a thin man, about 5’7” with light brown hair entered the room.  He wore perfectly round glasses with a delicate wire frame.  The guy smelled like shaving cream.  Sean guessed Foamy. 

“Hello Sean.  I am Dr. Logan,” he said, using an alias and sitting down across from Sean.  No first name, unless doctor counts.  He did not try to shake hands.  Sean thought that he had a very pleasing voice.  Not too deep, but not too high.  Kind of like a network news anchor.

“Good afternoon,” Sean said, pushing the iPad aside. 

“Sean, we are going to have a little discussion about what we do here.  My goal is that you leave here today totally on board with our goals.”

“OK,” Sean responded.  There was something in McFarland’s voice that Sean couldn’t pinpoint.  He also noticed that the doctor never took his eyes off of Sean’s.  However, Sean didn’t feel uncomfortable.

Sandy saw McFarland come into the room.  It made her shiver.  If he wasn’t pure evil, he didn’t miss it by much.  When McFarland sat down in the chair, the cameras went dark.  Sandy tried to refresh her computer, but the cameras remained off.  She called Waters.

“What?” he snapped.

“I lost my cameras,” Sandy said, as she tried to refresh the screen again.

“I turned them off - all of the hotel’s cameras as well.  They were disabled before the doctor entered the building.”

“What?  Why?”

“It is none of your concern.  They will come back on in forty-two minutes.”

“How . . . .”

“Hang up the goddamn phone and do as you are instructed!”  He slammed the phone down.

Sandy threw the phone down on the bed. She could not stand Waters, saw him in the same light as she saw McFarland, but for the time being, she had to do what she was instructed.

“Sean, how much do you know about the mind?”  McFarland asked, removing his glasses and placing them on the table in front of him.  He reached over and picked up a bottle of water, opened it and took a drink. 

“Not much.  English majors don’t typically hang out on that side of campus.”

“Well, that’s OK.  There are really two areas I want to talk with you about today, the conscious and the unconscious mind.  The conscious mind is where we live.  It’s what is processing what I am saying right now. The unconscious mind does all the hard work.  It processes millions of bits of information every second.  It then decides what six or seven pieces of information are important for the conscious mind.  You’re smart Sean, so let’s say eight pieces.  You following?”

“Of course, Dr. Logan,” Sean replied.  Truth was McFarland’s voice and the boring stuff coming out of his mouth was started to make him a little drowsy. 

“So, the unconscious mind is a powerful thing.  It controls much of what we do.  It is also quite literal and takes sights, sounds and experiences very personally.”  McFarland stood up and went to one end of the room.  He picked up a remote and pushed a couple of buttons.  A screen descended from the ceiling and a projector came on as McFarland turned down the lights.