The Siren Project (18 page)

Christa looked surprised. “Through power
lines? Is that possible?”

 “It is, but it’s very tricky. The only
other option would be controlling the entire telephone system itself, routing
the call around exchanges Echelon had tapped. Either option would be incredibly
difficult. I doubt one man could pull it off alone.”

“You make it all sound like a game.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“So, I guess we won’t be using the
telephones for a while,” she said with a touch of resignation.

“What we really need is a good carrier
pigeon.” Mitch looked around the table, then under the table. “There’s never a
good carrier pigeon around when you need one.”

* * * *

The safe house was a small country
estate on the Patuxent River, south east of Washington. As they drove in and
parked, Mitch noted security cameras discreetly watching the drive and
surrounding gardens. They were greeted at the front door by two armed men, both
of whom were equipped with radio ear pieces, body armor and automatic weapons. The
guards were expecting them and, with few words, ushered them to a second floor
room fitted with a large one way window. A well lit operating theater lay
beyond the window, where several white coated attendants ran last minute checks
on a range of electronic monitoring equipment.

Waiting in the observation room was
Knightly and several other men Mitch hadn’t seen before, with one exception,
the Vice President of the United States. Standing against the back wall were
four more armed security men, all of whom remained quietly aloof.

Knightly made no attempt to introduce them
to the others, he merely whispered to Christa, “Psycho-empathically register
those men, my dear. Take your time, I want you to be sure.”

Christa nodded, then began concentrating on
each one in turn, starting with the Vice President.

Knightly turned and whispered to Mitch, “The
interrogation will begin shortly. I thought it might assist you to be present.”

“Interrogation? I thought you were studying
Prescott, so you could help him.”

“We are studying him, and if we can help
him, we will. But right now, it’s more important to find out what he knows.”

Mitch nodded toward the Vice President. “Why’s
he here?”

“The Government has been penetrated. My
problem is I don’t know how high the problem goes. I couldn’t get the President
here in time, so the Vice President was the next best option. I told him it was
a national security matter. What I really want is for Christa to examine him. If
he’s unconditioned, then we know at least the number two man in the country can
be trusted.”

“You think the President could be under
their control?” Mitch asked astonished.

“It’s prudent to consider all
possibilities.”

Mitch glanced at the Vice President, who
was engaged in a quiet conversation with his advisers. “Does he know what’s
going on?”

“Not yet. If Christa gives him the all
clear, I’ll give him a full briefing.”

“And the President?”

“We tell him nothing until we can be sure
he’s not one of theirs.”

“And if he is?”

“That’s not your concern.”

Mitch suppressed his irritation. “If you
were half as smart as you think you are, Professor, you’d start trusting me. I
know I’m all you’ve got and with Echelon breathing down my neck, I could use a
break.”

Knightly’s eyebrows raised, obviously
surprised. “Echelon? Are you sure?”

Mitch nodded.

“That explains a great deal. How did you
find out?”

“There’s a mole on the inside. He tipped me
off.”

Knightly's expression showed sudden
interest. “Is it Dr Steinus?”

“I don’t know. He’s smart, maybe a
scientist type. He’s close to the heart of this thing. He might even be the key
to busting Siren wide open, but it’s going to take time.” Mitch stepped closer
to Knightly, and whispered, “So what happens if the President is on the wrong
side of the fence?”

Knightly glanced at the Vice President
thoughtfully. “Once we know the Vice President is in control of his faculties,
we replace all his Secret Service guards with our own people, to ensure he
stays that way. Then we try to get to the President and do the same.”

“And if they’re both conditioned?”

Knightly cast a meaningful look toward the
four security men lingering against the far wall of the observation room.

An assassination squad?
Mitch guessed, then whispered. “You can’t be serious!”

“If either the Vice President or the
President are conditioned, they’re not the men the American people elected to
lead them. They’re unwitting traitors, operating with no regard for the
Constitution or the best interests of this country. And we know of no way to
reverse the process.”

Mitch was confronted by his own training. As
a former Secret Service agent, he'd once been charged with taking a bullet for
the President.  Now he was being asked to turn a blind eye to the very thing
he'd dedicated himself to prevent. “That’s nuts!”

Knightly turned to Christa. “What’s the
verdict?”

Christa continued to concentrate, not
looking directly at the Vice President and his companions. Slowly she said, “The
Vice President is . . . okay.”

Mitch relaxed.

“And the others?” Knightly pressed.

“Who is the shorter man, balding,
spectacles, on the Vice President’s left?”

Knightly turned and studied the man she'd
identified. “That’s Harry Deitel, Under Secretary of State.” His eyes narrowed.
“Why?”

Christa’s face was ashen. “He’s
conditioned.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m certain.”

Without another word, Knightly crossed to
the group of men surrounding the Vice President. “Excuse me, Mr Vice President,
but there’s a call for Mr Deitel.”

The balding man looked surprised, but not
alarmed. “Where can I take it?”

Knightly motioned to one of the security
men. “Show Mr Deitel to the phone please.”

The officer nodded. “This way, sir.”

He led the unsuspecting Deitel from the
room as Knightly returned to where Christa and Mitch were standing.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Mitch
asked with rising trepidation.

“He'll be detained, and interrogated.”

“And after the interrogation?” Christa
asked.

“We'll see. It’s not essential to arrange
for an accidental death for him. There’s no need for a formal transfer of
power, merely that he be removed from proximity to the President.” Knightly
glanced back at the Vice President’s group. “You’re positive none of the others
are unconditioned?”

“Yes. I’ve been very careful, Gus.”

“Right then.” He gave a barely perceptible
nod to the three remaining members of the assassination squad waiting at the
back of the room. They relaxed slightly, then unobtrusively slipped from the
room, the Vice President and his entourage barely noticing their departure. “At
least we’ve still got someone in the Executive who can run the country. Thank
God for that.”

Over the intercom, a man’s voice announced,
“We’re ready, Mr Knightly.”

Everyone’s attention was drawn to the one
way window as several orderlies wheeled a stretcher into the interrogation
room. Prescott, bound in a straight jacket and secured to the stretcher by
leather straps, looked as if he was waking from a deep sleep. The two doctors
who would conduct the interrogation, took up position either side of the
stretcher.

“What have you done to him?” Mitch
demanded.

“He’s mildly sedated, nothing more,”
Knightly replied, then excused himself to begin briefing the Vice President.

One doctor readied several syringes while
the other attached sensors to Prescott’s head and neck. An orderly activated a
video camera to record the interrogation while all the time, Prescott looked
around with a mix of fear and anger on his face.

Mitch couldn’t hear what Knightly was
saying to the Vice President, but a few times the Vice President made
incredulous exclamations. Each time Knightly would point to Prescott through
the one way glass, demonstrating the proof of his claims. Once the Vice
President glanced at where the security men had stood, but Knightly put a firm
hand on his shoulder as if to restrain him, and then motioned to Christa. The
Vice President was clearly agitated but he continued to listen in stunned
silence.

“Did you know he was going to have the Vice
President assassinated, if he was conditioned?” Mitch whispered.

“I suspected. Gus has been trying to get me
close to the President and the Vice President for weeks now.”

“That’s a heavy responsibility. Deciding
whether the second most powerful man on Earth should live or die.”

“It is, but there’s too much at stake to
protect any one man, even the Vice President.”

Knightly finished his briefing of the Vice
President, then activated the small intercom beside the one way window. “You
may begin.”

One of the doctors injected a syringe into
Prescott’s arm, then waited several minutes before injecting a second. During
the minutes required for the drugs to take effect, the orderlies monitored his
vital signs, reporting in monotones that he was stable. Eventually, the lead
doctor shone a small light into his eyes, checking his retinal response, then
nodded toward the mirror. “He’s ready.”

A white coated man standing off to the side,
now replaced the doctor beside his bed. “Mr Prescott, can you hear me?” the
interrogator asked.

Prescott’s eyes stared vacantly at the
ceiling. When he answered, his words were only slightly slurred. “Yeah.”

“Do you remember meeting John Mitchell a
few days ago, at his hotel?”

“I remember . . . nothing.” Prescott turned
his face away from the light, almost shaking his head. “Nothing, nothing . . . “

The doctor turned the light down, then held
Prescott’s face. “Do you remember your name?”

“My name . . . is . . . nothing. Mr Nothing
. . . I’m Mr Nothing.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m . . . nothing years old.” He gave a
semi-stupefied giggle. “I must . . . be dead!”

The doctor checked Prescott’s retinal
response again, then glanced at the displays on the machines monitoring his
vital signs. After a moment, he turned to the one way window. “He's fully under
the control of the drug, however, there's a block on his mind preventing his
memory from working when an external source seeks information.”

Knightly walked to the intercom. “Increase
the dosage.”

The doctor hesitated, then turned to his
assistant. “Another ten milligrams.”

The assistant gave Prescott a booster shot,
then the interrogator let the drug take effect before continuing the
questioning. “Mr Prescott, do you remember meeting John Mitchell at his hotel?”

“No . . . no . . .” He murmured as he
descended deeper into a drug induced dream state.

The interrogator slapped his cheek. “Do you
remember meeting John Mitchell at his hotel?”

Prescott shook his head slowly. “No . . . thing
. . .”

The interrogator turned back to the one way
mirror and shook his head again. “Whatever they’ve done to him, it’s stronger
than our drugs.”

Knightly pressed the intercom button again.
“Give him another shot.”

The doctor's eyes widened. “We’re already
fifty percent above the safe level. Another shot might cause irreparable brain
damage.”

“You have your orders, Doctor.”

“No!” Mitch shouted. “That’s enough.” He
stepped forward toward the window and looked with anguish at his friend on the
operating table. “You’ll kill him.”

Knightly closed the intercom connection to
speak without the medical team overhearing. “We have to find a way of breaking
their mind blocks, otherwise we’re never going to beat this thing. You gave me
Prescott, you told me to study him, and I told you it would not be easy.”

“So you’re just going to sacrifice him?”

Knightly looked thoughtfully at Prescott’s
barely conscious form. “Would he hesitate to take a bullet for the President?”

The question took Mitch by surprise. “No,
he wouldn’t.”

“This may not look like it, Mitchell, but
this is as much taking a bullet as leaping in front of an assassin’s gun, only
this is a more insidious threat.” Knightly watched the expression of
resignation appear on Mitch’s face, then he pressed the intercom button again. “Double
the dosage.”

The doctor hesitated, then nodded to his
assistant to prepare the injection. When the assistant approached Prescott’s
body, the doctor relieved him of the syringe and administered it himself. He watched
the readouts for Prescott’s vital signs apprehensively until the third
injection had taken hold, then the interrogator tried again.