Legacy of a Mad Scientist (26 page)

After two rounds of nothing, Shou asked me why I
didn’t just hit him and get it over with.

I said, “Why don't you hit him?"

He didn’t laugh. He said something like… "He's half
my size, he's no challenge for me."

I looked him right in the eye…
“You’re twice my
size, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to beat you up either.”
Only I didn’t actually say it. I thought it. I wanted to say it,
and I think he got my meaning, because he turned around and went to
talk to Anthony.

Lots of them were watching.

None of them talk to me. I don’t know whether to be
happy or sad about that. Either way, I get what Mrs. Rabier meant.
There is a lot more to life than ballet. That much I do get.

When Shou blew the whistle to restart the match, the
third round…

I moved so fast! No one saw it coming. I kicked
Anthony in the chest; hard and fast, swinging my foot like they
showed us.

He landed on his back and with a "whoosh.”

Then he started flopping around like a fish out of
water.

The whole place got quiet.

For a second, I was afraid he was going to die.

Shou helped Anthony sit up and softly tapped him on
the back. Soon enough he was breathing again.

Once Anthony was okay, Shou gestured for me to step
to the center of the ring and raised my hand; winner by technical
knock out.

I remember he looked at me like I’d been hustling him
and asked me, "You're not a martial artist?"

"I'm a ballerina," I said.

He said, “Ahhh.” Then he smiled and nodded.

Cleary explained that I’d knocked the wind out of
Anthony and that when he
flexed his diaphragm
, it was like
he was like tugging at the door of a refrigerator you just
closed.

I asked him if it was permanent. He laughed and said
it was no big deal. Anthony would be fine.

I felt a little better then. I’m just glad I didn’t
kick him in the face.

Sunday, July 12, 2308

Fox sat in his plastic cell, meditating. He wondered
about the physical necessity of the interface at all. His previous
research showed that terillium saturated the human body, as well as
the airspace in an area and any metallic objects in its immediate
environment.

He focused, but there was nothing. In a strange
place, he needed the amplifier to make a connection. There was no
way around that.

Over the past week, he’d come to understand that he
was housed in a plastic structure, inside a large warehouse or
barn, constructed of wood and cement. His guards could be heard
lounging nearby.

In the mornings, the sun crashed through the rooftop
skylights and illuminated everything. The walls of Fox’s cell
glowed with an opaque brilliance. The sun moved across the sky and
eventually everything got dark. The soldiers only had no interior
electricity, so once night came on, it came on in full.

The cell was outfitted with surveillance cameras
running optic lines to a remote server and wirelessly streamed back
to the monitors at the nearby observation lab. Other than that,
there was no metal anywhere nearby.

Fox was fed twice a day, once in the morning and once
at evening, through a plastic airlock. He never saw any of his
guards.

There was a small bathroom attached to his cell. The
water pressure was weak, but it beat the “single drain“
alternative.

Mostly Fox sat.

He sat, and he thought.

He thought about the Micronix and the Metachron, and
he listened.

Fox listened to everything.

He could hear birds, from outside, a small family of
them in one of the ventilation ducts.

During the first night, his hearing really seemed to
increase.

He could hear desert insects in their nocturnal
hunts.

At one point, a rat came into the warehouse. Fox
could hear it outside his cell. Fox heard it far earlier than the
guards, who spotted it using night vision lenses and shot at it,
but missed.

Fox relaxed and let the sounds come to him.

He didn’t chase them. He just let them come.

He could hear the guards on their patrols, about a
hundred meters from the warehouse.

There were three other buildings, two to the north
and one to the east, as well as a low foothill to the southwest. As
the guards passed behind the buildings, their footsteps were either
muffled of reflected back. As they passed by the base of the hill,
the sound almost vanished entirely.

Fox came to know the guards, as well.

Mickey was a wizard with a deck of cards. The cook
was an Indian man, named Vickram, and the men thought he was also a
genius. The youngest member of the platoon, DeLeon, spent most of
his time getting razzed and took turns being mentored by the salty
vets.

Fox was astonished that Stanwood would assign an
entire platoon of what were clearly some of the countries most
elite soldiers, just to guard him.

Monday, July 13, 2308

Much like he had in the canyon, Von Kalt spent
several days occupying a patio chair and hardly moved. He ate with
the troops, did some light stretching, and would occasionally go
for a short walk, but ninety percent of his time was spent in the
cushioned lounge chair, on the outdoor balcony.

Monday afternoon, the secure line rang with a call
from Director Stanwood. Angstrom answered and was told to put Von
Kalt on.

Deputy Director Von Kalt abruptly rose from the patio
and carried the portable terminal into one of the bedrooms.

“We need confirmation that the children are there,”
Stanwood said. “We don’t need to extract them, we just need visual
confirmation.”

“I can do that, but I’ll have to send someone in to
wire the place.”

“That’s fine. But keep that final-solution team
ready, just in case.”

“Ready to go in and do what, sir?”

“You know very well what I mean.”

“Director Stanwood, I give you my word, as soon as
the Attorney General signs a warrant for Mrs. Fox or the Fox
children, my men will be standing by, ready to do their duty, to
the death, if necessary. But I will not issue an unlawful
order.”

Stanwood said nothing; he just stared at his
deputy.

“If you’re asking me to have a team ready to
eliminate a threat to national security
, you’d better be
ready to show evidence that will stand up in court of an imminent
threat. My men aren’t going to go wax this guys wife and kids in a
metropolitan camp. And if you send us in there on a rendition,
without warrants, you know damn well it will get messy.”

“What are you afraid of? We’re talking about two kids
and a housewife. Take more men if you think you need to.”

“Sir, as your second, I have access to all the same
information you do. The same Presidential access applies to both of
us. While I can’t tell my men, due to their security clearance, I
can tell you. And I’m telling you, I think this is Fox’s version of
an ambush. The more men we send, the more body bags we’re going to
need.”

“I will note your formal protest and add my own
footnote that I heard fear and cowardice in your voice,
commander.”

“Fear and cowardice? You want subtext?
Go Fuck
Yourself!
What do you hear in that?”

“Shall I interpret that as a formal resignation?”

“Whatever happened to No Women, No Kids?”

“Whatever happened to following orders?”

“That’s what I’m telling you, this rendition will
fail. There is no way we can take them alive.”

Stanwood scowled at Von Kalt. “You took the doctor.
The
Doctor. You, Deputy Director Rudolph Von Kalt, took down
the man who can kill with a thought.”

Von Kalt rolled his eyes. “We can’t gas a camp
facility. We can’t set the dosage low enough for the kids to
survive and still knock out the adults. We should wait until the
program ends and pick them up at home.”

“He planned this, I know he did,” Stanwood
muttered.

“Still not talking then?” Von Kalt surmised.

“That’s why we need leverage. Please tell me you
understand.”

“Look, our only option here is a covert intrusion on
spider lines. They have limited internal surveillance, so we’ll
have to install new cameras at night to watch during the day. We’re
not even certain they’re there yet. I have scoured all their
internal documents and there is no actual proof, just gaps where
the proof should be.”

“No one wants to kill a mom and her kids. That’s
insane and would serve no purpose. You have to bring them in
alive,” Stanwood said.

“Glad we can agree on something,” Von Kalt
replied.

“Keep me informed.” Stanwood reached out to switch
off the channel.

“Wait, before you go… The 3AM and Black Willow
files... Fox’s daughter, Ashley, is that not the same little girl
in those exercises?”

“I’ve reviewed the Black Willow data, extensively,
and I have every confidence you will keep all classified material
to yourself.”

“And how come none of the vets who participated are
named? It’s all code names. I couldn’t find a proper name file
anywhere.”

“Who? The vets?” Stanwood asked.

“The subjects, the aggressors and the defenders. I
get the code names, but the original name file, where is that?”

“The project was sealed at the presidential level,
only he has access to it. Since he has never accessed it, ever, our
permissions aren’t enough to scan it,” Stanwood looked away,
scanning a file on his desk.

“Are you even sure it’s there?” Von Kalt asked.

“Oh, it’s there. It has to be. Why are you looking
for that anyhow? It isn’t going to help you find them,” Stanwood
said.

“Once you consider it, there’s no reason to even
believe Fox ended the project. After all, if the members serve
anonymously? I mean… It’s the ultimate MK Ultra. He could have
sleeping agents anywhere.”

“Now you’re catching on, deputy. Yes, he could have
agents anywhere. In fact, one might say, the only way to be sure
that someone was not under Fox’s control, would be to measure their
opposition to him. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Von Kalt raised an eyebrow.

“His enemies show courage in voicing their dissent,”
Stanwood said.

“Courage can be misread as ignorance,” Von Kalt
countered.

“And curiosity kills the cat,” Stanwood added. “But
the cat kills everything else. Install the cameras.”

“I’ll keep you informed.” Von Kalt switched the
terminal off.

Monday, July 13, 2308

Croswell arrived at the public parking garage and
exited his vehicle, in which he’d had his lunch, only to climb into
another. This vehicle would proceed to travel aimlessly until
docking at another location, allowing the Secretary to switch
vehicles again.

When Croswell was in the field, he preferred to be
careful. These days, he considered anywhere away from his home base
of the capital to be
the field
. He flooded his target city
with a fleet of secret service vehicles and moved among them like
an invisible pea in a shell game. Even his agents never knew whose
vehicle he was going to climb into. Doubles and drivers, disguised
as himself, added to the apparent chaos, but Croswell’s security
protocols had never lost a subject and were the stuff of
legend.

Fox had never appreciated the majesty of
Security
, but that was where Croswell shined. If Fox had
listened to Croswell, ever, about anything: there was no doubt,
things would be different today.

Croswell considered calling Stanwood, but the men
he’d assigned to keep an eye on the director’s office confirmed
that he hadn’t shown up in three days. Besides and despite his
procrastination, he’d arrived at the vehicle scheduled to deliver
him to Ross’s lab.

Seventeen minutes later, Croswell docked and walked
into Ross’s observation lab. “So where the hell is he?” he
asked.

“We’ve narrowed it down to five locations. Betting
money says he’d keep him close to the front lines,” Ross
answered.

“I can guarantee you he isn’t using anything
military.”

“We found seventeen undercover operations. Nine of
them were already on the books at DOJ. And three more they waved us
off of for diplomatic issues, I guess we’re training somebody’s
someone. So, we’ve narrowed our interests down to five
occupations.

“Several military types, always in headgear out of
doors and no vehicles. They’re cooking with gas or fire, nothing
electric. Confirmed in Jacksonville, El Paso, Las Cruces and
Tucson.

“I thought you said five?”

“Sorry, two in Jacksonville.”

“So that’s out. Stanwood wouldn’t set up that close
to another operation. What about Barstow?”

“He won’t risk it. And China Lake is out too, that’s
Fox’s home turf.”

“Stanwood is old school. He’ll have at least twenty
boots on the ground. And it won’t be a known operations facility.
My money is on Houston or Colorado,” Croswell said.

‘Get this, and this is why we included Jacksonville…
They all test their jamming equipment for sixty seconds, every
night at two-forty.”

“How do you know, if there’s nothing to jam?”

Ross looked down, “ I um… Uh. I put resources in
play.”

“Please tell me you did not activate anything that
generates any kind of fiscal or paper trail.” Croswell raised his
hand to his forehead, pinching his brow and massaging his
eyebrows.

“No, just the Geo Syncs. And some gliders,” Ross
answered.

“Oh sure, okay. That’s fine.” Croswell waved a hand
sarcastically.

“We were over all seventeen locations, all night.
These five squeaked, for sixty seconds, all at two-forty am,” Ross
stated.

“Could be he’s running multiples,” Croswell
suggested.

“I’m guessing this is Miller’s hand at play. And I’d
bet every one of them is a minefield, just waiting to get tripped,”
Ross said.