Sweet Dreams (27 page)

The Merc building and publication was the front they used and where most of the field operatives worked. It allowed them to go into otherwise inaccessible areas, such as the Middle East and other places where no one but a tree hugging

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newspaper could go because if you didn't let them in then you hated the environment, and who wanted to be known for that?

To say that it reminded Mark of James Bond or the like would be an under statement, the place was a maze of training rooms where hand to hand combat was taught too classes on reading satellite maps to French, Chinese and even some ancient Greek. It was far from a group of hell bent assassins who went around dealing out revenge; they were trained and organized in a way that made the CIA and the FBI look like a bunch of schoolyard kids playing hide-and-seek.

Mark learned that there were three classes of assassins, hit men, and hit women. The first was the
'Avenger Class.'
This was made up of people who came to the origination from some sort of family crisis. Like Mark, their families were killed or were somehow taken from them; they were here to avenge someone or something. They were trained to take on the deadliest missions and proved to be the only ones to jump when someone else wouldn't. In other words, they had nothing to lose!

The second was the
'Co-op Class.'
These were trained in highly sensitive missions involving stealth and agility. Most of these killers were made up of women, due to their ability to blend in. Isis, as Mark found out, was a CC assassin. Their missions had to do with chemical warfare and had to be carried out with absolute accuracy and discretion.

The third was the
'D Class.'
They were trained in everything to do with explosives and heavy weapons. They were called in when the WJA got involved in a warfare-type operation and in situations where multiple targets or buildings were to be eliminated.

Then, there was a Forth class that was rare; only a select 244 AARON

few would be advanced to this class, and it was called the

'Sniper Class.'
These highly trained snipers were trained in all three classes and also in hand-to-hand combat. The SC could only be held by a born assassin, one who was brought up by the WJA and had their training taught to them from birth. Only a handful had ever made it to this level. Mark soon realized that was what they were going to be training him for. At first, he cringed at the idea, but as he slowly began to remember his past and everything that he had learned, he knew that this was what he was born to do. As they walked through the main command center, he looked at all the people working and hurrying from one place to another. Screens lit up with live feeds and surveillance taken from every known device in order to accomplish the intended mission. Solomon looked at Mark with interest; he was wondering how much of this, he was taking in and if he was going too fast too soon. "Each person in this room is responsible for a single operative. They are making sure that they have everything they need, as well as monitoring their progress. If you have any questions, feel free to ask at any time, Mark."

"I do have one: Why is it I don't remember all the training I supposedly had as a child? I remember bits and pieces, but not everything." The memories were still jumbled and came in slow bursts, which Mark tried to process and figured it would take time to put it all together again.

"We use a process that buries the information deep within your subconscious. It was taught to you before you could even talk. The mind before the age of three years old is like a sponge, we simply put the information in there through a ma-

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chine that I created. Come with me and I'll show you."

They walked along a walkway that wound its way around the command center. It ran next to the wall about forty feet up in the air and was suspended by large cables coming from the ceiling. Along the way, they passed five doors in which all of them were closed without any windows to see in. When they reached the last door, Solomon opened it and they went inside. The room was dimly lit and almost dark and Mark could see into a second room through three large rounded windows on the south wall. It was a small computer room with three men in bunny suits working at the machines. Through the glass, he could see a small chair-like thing suspended from the ceiling like a giant robots hook. It had a rounded bottom with a soft velvet lining and a pillow at the top. The cradle looked like a half egg shape and wires with white round pads dangled from them like spider legs.

"You can see what I mean in a few minutes. We have one of my children now." Solomon pointed to a woman dressed in normal clothing holding what looked like a five-month-old baby. She held the child close to her body and looked down at it with love, and he could see even through the round glass windows that she cared deeply for the baby.

The lights dimmed so the room with the suspended baby cradle would be comfortable for the baby. After the sleeping child was put in the bed, the woman placed small electronic pads on the baby's feet. She then pulled down a clear plastic top and locked it in place.

After everything was set, the men at the computers began to work.

"What are you going to do?" Mark asked. He felt a little 246 AARON

sick at seeing the whole thing and for a brief second thought that he was about to witness some sort of evil sacrifice or at least a mad scientist moment where the crazy old man yelled at an Igor to--
pull the switch!

"Don't worry; we won't hurt him, just watch."

The baby looked around content as could be, as if in a baby swing. The clear plastic top acted like a monitor, and it flashed images so fast that you could not even tell what the pictures were. Mark looked over at the baby expecting the poor thing to be crying out in fear with great big tears rolling down his cheeks, but he just sucked his thumb as he looked up at the images with an indifferent look on his face.

"What's happening?" Mark looked confused.

"What you are looking at is all the information being delivered to the baby over there. Right now, he is learning everything there is to know about hand-to-hand combat. When the image is sent through the electronic pulse, it sends a signal to his brain and makes a muscle memory of it. So his brain retains the information and thinks he is actually performing the actions, like taking apart a weapon or pulling the trigger and so on." Solomon's voice grew excited as he talked.

"Does it hurt him?"

"No, no. Everything on a subconscious level, so the baby is just sleeping or watching the screen and will not remember anything. And the best part, is if the child grows up and doesn't want to be a part of the WJA, then they won't have any memory of it."

"How is that possible? I mean, I remember some about this place."

"Yes, but you only remember me, maybe a room or when

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we played catch in a park, you remember places, people and experiences but not any of your training. It will only come to you when you need it, and with practice, you will be able to turn it on and off at will."

Mark looked at him in disbelief.

"Don't believe me?"

The next instant Mark felt the cold steel of a knife blade on his throat. Before he could even think, he grabbed the back of the knife with his hand and pulled down as he dropped to the ground. The attacker was thrown off balance as Mark twisted, and in a swift movement, Mark was on top of the attacker with the knife to his temple.

"Hold on!" Big B yelled as he touched Mark's shoulder, it was just a test. Don't kill him, buddy." He laughed and shook his head in amazement.

Mark looked up at Solomon, who had a smirk on his face. The attacker got up and pulled off his ski mask. He was one of the men who were standing at the first checkpoint on the way in; he just smiled and walked away.

"So, Mark, how did you know how to do that? Have you ever had any training or experience with someone putting a knife to your throat?" Solomon asked.

Mark thought a moment. "I don't know, I just reacted with my instincts."

"Exactly! That is what we do here, in this lab; we create instincts. You don't remember them until you need them!"

Mark thought for a minute and smiled as he began to see what was going on. Everything began to make more sense as he thought about the explosion and the men at the cabin. He just did what was natural, he just knew what to do, how to talk 248 AARON

and kept the situation in his control at all times as if he had done it a thousand times.

"Oh, and one more thing," Solomon said. "All the children in this program are either orphans or children of current employees. We make sure that they are placed in good foster care at around age eleven. All the employees' kids are free to come in for training and go home afterwards if they like. Anyone who lives here is cared for and assigned to a current family already in the program."

"So I was in the orphan program?"

"Yes and that older man you saw on the way in was your caregiver. He and his wife tried to give you as normal a life as possible--they loved you very much."

"I thought he looked familiar. Mr. Able, right?"

"Yeah. His wife passed last year, but he is still here with us. Big B will take you up to get checked in and run through all the rules and legal information. I will see you later tonight. We will sit, and I will try to ease your mind over a drink."

Big B opened the door and walked with Mark back to the main lobby area. Mark looked around him as they entered the elevator. If this was one wild dream, he did not know if he wanted to wake up from it.

Chapter Eighteen

"CASSY, WHERE IS THIS JENKINS GUY?" KIRK ASKED

with a tone of anger in his voice. He was tired and most of all he was a sore loser. The meeting with Meskhenet was a bust and now he and Geoff found themselves back in Cassy's office and Kirk had a red hue flushing in his cheeks.

"Jenkins? Why... you think?"

"Is he here? I need to talk to him."

"No. He is running some errands and won't be back until late, but I'll write down his home address and phone number--

but just for the record, he's clean!"

"I'll be the judge of that." Kirk took the note from her and turned to leave.

"What got you all grumpy? You hit a dead end with the woman?"

"You could say that, we've got nothing but a witness that 250 AARON

seems to be invisible. The other one has an airtight alibi,"

Kirk ran his hand over his smooth head and cursed. "And all I have is a fuzzy picture with no fingerprints or any witnesses."

"Didn't you shoot your last witness?" Cassy had a glint of steel in her voice and she shot a tight look at Kirk and then broke into a cheerful
"I'm just joking,"
smile. Kirk glared at her and could tell that she meant to sting his ego. "Fine, I'll be taking my depressing mood elsewhere."

Kirk knew he was being impossible, but he didn't care, this whole thing stunk to high heaven and he knew it and they knew it but for some reason were covering it up.

"Glad I could help," Cassy giggled and hollered after Kirk, who was almost out the door. "Next time, a thank you would be nice!" Cassy hit the stapler a few times in frustration even though there wasn't any paper in the stupid thing. Detective Weston could be infuriating, and down right rude. Kirk slumped into the seat of the Mustang where Geoff sat staring intently at his laptop. "We got an address, and this better go somewhere or I might go mad and shoot someone! This is our last real lead so you might want to cross your fingers; this might just shut us down."

Geoff looked at the address and typed it into his laptop.

"Okay, we're about ten minutes from this address; do you want to go tonight or in the morning?"

Kirk looked at his watch and saw that it was almost ten o'clock. "We have time; we'll pay him a little visit; I won't go to sleep in this mood anyway, besides, he's sure to be home at this hour."

As they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the busy street, Kirk had this uneasy feeling that someone was watching

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him. He looked around and noticed headlights shining in his eyes through the rear view mirror. Kirk looked again as he realized the car behind them had been there throughout the day and he kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. From the classic dark Ford sedan, he knew it had to be his friends down at the station... or worse, the Feds.

"I think we might have company," Kirk said in a low deep voice as if the other car might hear him. Geoff turned to look, but Kirk hit him in the chest and scowled at him. "Don't look, you numb skull--just keep an eye on them in your side mirror."

"Sorry, man," Geoff muttered as he rubbed his chest. "I'm a little new to this whole detective, shake-down thing. Kirk shook his head from side to side and grunted. "I'm just a little frustrated, it's not you. Just don't listen to me, okay?"

Geoff nodded, he could feel the thick dark cloud that had moved over Kirk's head, and it seemed to loom there waiting for someone to dare enter its range and strike with a bolt of lightning.

Kirk switched lanes to see if the tailing car would follow, and a few seconds later, he saw the car move over as well. He sighed and pulled up to a nearby doughnut shop. "Hey, you want a coffee or something?"

"Yeah, I'll take a bottled water and a plain bagel, no cream cheese." Geoff laughed when he saw the look Kirk gave him. Kirk rolled his eyes and wandered into the shop muttering something about,
"A sissy only drinks bottled water,"
as he walked up to the counter and looked over his shoulder to see if the boys in blue were following.

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Just as he suspected, they pulled in a few cars down and turned off their headlights as if that would help conceal what they were up too. After getting a large twenty-ounce black coffee and a coconut-covered doughnut, he asked the man behind the counter if they had a back door to the place.