Involuntary Control (Gray Spear Society) (22 page)

Of the many millions of financial transactions the computer had examined, it had flagged 112,000 as suspicious. They formed a web of deceit that touched every department in White Flame Technology. The program had exposed the myriad secret relationships buried in the mass of data. It was a task far beyond the abilities of any human auditor.

A very small project, simply known as "project 708," was at the center of the web. It had an insignificant budget and a staff of just six people. Yet, all the tendrils of corruption originated there.

"Let's tell Aaron," Bethany said excitedly.

Leanna nodded and took off her headset. Bethany was reminded to take off her own headset before walking away. She had broken plenty of them that way.

They walked out into the main corridor. The long, echoing chamber was empty except for cars and some exercise equipment.

Bethany looked up at the ceiling. "Jack?" she called. "Can you hear me?"

A female voice answered through overhead speakers. "This is Nancy in the security booth. Jack is taking a break. What do you need?"

"We need Aaron."

"He's in the shooting range. Just follow the sound of gunshots, and don't forget your ear protection. He's using a big gun."

Bethany heard a thumping noise coming from the far side of the corridor. She and her sister walked to a wooden door with a small window. Aaron was firing a handgun on the other side.

Both girls put on big plastic earmuffs that were hanging on hooks. They made the world sound muffled, and the pressure bugged Bethany's ears. She hated them.

When she opened the door, she was glad she had ear protection. The gun boomed like a cannon. She actually felt the pressure wave strike her chest every time Aaron pulled the trigger.

He was shooting with one hand and standing sideways. She looked down the firing range at a paper target about fifty yards away. The target was shaped like a man, and Aaron was putting every bullet in its head.

Finally, his clip was empty. He turned to the twins and said, "Your turn now."

"No!" Leanna shook her head. "We didn't come here to shoot, sir. We need to tell you the results of our analysis."

"That can wait a few minutes. As long as you're in here, I want to see how you handle a gun."

Shelves covered one of the walls, and they held many different kinds of guns. Aaron chose one of the smaller pistols and began to load bullets into the clip. Crates on the floor were full of ammunition of all types.

"We hate guns," Bethany said.

Aaron shrugged. "I don't care. Weapons proficiency is mandatory for everybody around here. One day that skill will save your life."

She grimaced. "I don't want to, sir."

He looked at her seriously. "What if you get into a fight, and the rest of us aren't around to save you? What will you do then?"

"Beg for mercy?"

He snorted. "No. You're on my team, so I'm responsible for your lives. The best way to keep you safe is to teach you how to protect yourselves. We might as well start now."

He pushed Bethany to the firing line and put the gun in her hand. The heavy chunk of metal felt alien. She had never touched a gun before.

"Shooting is easy," he said. "The main thing is to get your body squarely behind the weapon so the recoil doesn't kick you around. I'll help you."

With surprising gentleness, he lifted her arm and adjusted the position of her body.

"Pull the trigger," he ordered. "Don't bother aiming for now."

She squeezed the trigger slowly, and the hammer fell a little earlier than she expected. The sharp recoil jerked her whole body. Even though the gun was small, it made a shockingly loud noise. She squealed in surprise and dropped it on the floor.

"Pick up the gun and try again," he said calmly.

She withdrew from the nasty thing.

"I gave you an order!" he roared.

She chewed her lip and stared at the gun.

"Bethany," he said in a softer voice, "you're getting close to insubordination, which will have very unpleasant consequences. I'll give you one more chance. Leanna, if you love your sister, now would be a good time to talk some sense into her."

Leanna came over and took Bethany's hand. The twins looked into each other's eyes.

"Aaron is right," Leanna said. "We should know how to protect ourselves."

"But the gun is loud and smelly," Bethany said.

"Do you want me to go first?"

Bethany sniffled. "Let's do it together."

She hesitantly picked up the gun and tried to get back into the correct firing position. Her arm was shaking. Leanna stood next to her and held her wrist.

"Three, two, one," Leanna said.

Bethany closed her eyes, turned her head, and pulled the trigger. It felt like being punched in the hand, but she held the gun this time.

"Good," Aaron said, "now keep your eyes open. You need to see what you're shooting at."

The lesson only lasted ten minutes, but it was a perfectly miserable ten minutes. Even with the ear protection, the gunshots were always startling, and the acrid odor of gunpowder irritated Bethany's nose. Both girls took turns until the clip was finally empty.

Aaron put the gun back on the shelf. "All done," he said. "That wasn't so bad. In a few months you'll be shooting like pros. What did you want to tell me?"

"We found something called project 708," Bethany said. "We think it's at the center of what's going on in Lemonseed, sir."

"That's great! How did you figure that out?"

"The computer found the pattern."

"So, what's the pattern?" he said.

The twins shrugged.

"Then how can you be sure the computer is right?" Aaron asked.

They stared at him.
Is that a serious question?
Bethany wondered.

"Never mind," he said. "What's the next step?"

"We'll get the name and address of the project manager, sir."

"Good. I'll pass that information along to Marina, and she can interrogate the guy. I think we're finally making some progress. It's about time. People are still dying and we're moving at a snail's pace."

* * *

"That's a nice house," Marina said. "I wished I lived there."

"What's wrong with your suite in headquarters?" Smythe said.

"Calling it a suite is generous. It's like living in a tool shed with a leaky roof."

They, along with Norbert, were crouched behind some bushes. A two-story house stood in front of them. The exterior was made of white stone blocks, and Spanish tile covered the roof.  It was so wide and deep Marina guessed the massive home had at least ten thousand square feet of floor space. The windows had beveled edges that cast rainbows in the evening sunlight, and the frames had arched tops.

A white picket fence marked off a couple of acres of grassy land. Beyond the fence lay farmland. The house was in the center of the property, and lush trees guarded it on all sides. There was a very large garden in the back yard. An elaborate play structure stood next to the garden.

"What's the plan?" Norbert said.

"I don't see any security," Marina said. "I guess we'll just go in."

"Did you see the bikes out front? Children live here. The guy has a family."

"Then Smythe and I will interrogate the guy while you keep the family under control."

"How should I do that, ma'am?" he said.

"Use a firm voice and wave your gun around like a crazy man. That sometimes works for me. Come on." She stood up.

They went to the back door. The lock didn't look difficult for Marina to pick, but when she tried the handle, she discovered it didn't matter. The door opened easily.
Folks trust each other around here.

Norbert and Smythe followed her into the house. They moved silently, except for Norbert, whose footsteps on the wooden floor could be heard clearly.
He needs a lot more training,
Marina thought.

They passed through a gorgeous kitchen with white marble countertops. From the sound of voices, she could tell the family was eating dinner in the next room. She drew two guns, one for each hand, and boldly entered the room.

The wife screamed.

"Quiet!" Marina yelled. "Stay in your seats! Are you Robert Adamson?"

The husband nodded. His expression showed deep anxiety. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Adamson had a beautiful family. His wife was a skinny blonde who fell easily into the category of "trophy wife." A boy and two girls appeared to be of middle school or high school age. A rural lifestyle had made all of them slim and tanned.

Adamson himself was not such a prize. He was pudgy, and his face had unfortunate red blotches. He was losing all his hair at a very young age. However, judging by the house, he was clearly a successful breadwinner.

Norbert and Smythe covered the other exits in the room. They also had their guns out.

Marina looked around. They were in a huge, formal dining room with a wooden table big enough to seat twenty. The family occupied just the seats at the end, which looked a little silly. Through an arched doorway she saw a living room.

"I'll ask the questions," she said. "Go into the next room. The wife and kids will stay here. As long as they keep quiet, they won't get hurt. They don't matter to us."

She and Smythe escorted Adamson into the living room. Norbert remained in the dining room and stood guard over the family.

The living room was just as impressive as the rest of the house. A full-sized grand piano made of bleached white wood occupied one corner. There were large bookshelves full of old books that were clearly intended for show rather than actual reading. The carpet was plush and golden colored.

"Nice house," Marina said.

"Thanks," Adamson said.

"I guess being an evil son of a bitch pays well."

"What are you talking about?"

"Get on the floor on your belly. Hands behind your back."

Adamson complied with her orders. Coils of rope hung from Marina's belt, and she used them to tie his wrists and ankles together. She put mittens on his hands to make it harder for him to free himself. She pulled the knots tight and double checked they were secure. Finally, she ran a loop of rope around his neck and tied it to his ankles to discourage him from thrashing around.

She checked the back of his neck. "He has the scar."

"Shit," Smythe said, "but at least we're prepared this time."

"Scar?" Adamson said. "I don't have a scar."

"I have news for you, buddy. White Flame put a gadget inside your skull."

"That's not true! I obviously would remember something like that."

"Are you sure?" Smythe said. "I'm going to give you a shot. It's just a muscle relaxant along with an antipsychotic. It should be harmless."

He had a small medical kit on his belt. He took out a syringe that already had a dosage prepared. He injected the medicine into Adamson's arm.

A few seconds later he started to go limp. Smythe had effectively paralyzed him.

Marina sat down in front of Adamson's face. "Now we can begin. You're the project manager for something called project 708."

"That's classified information!" he said. "How do you know that?"

"We also know the project involves a massive, secret experiment in Lemonseed. Brain implants are part of it, and you're one of the subjects. So, my question to you is simple. What is project 708?"

"I'll never reveal that information."

She drew a long knife from a scabbard on her ankle and held it up. "I've performed many successful interrogations over the years. I was trained in the art of torture by a master, and after what I've seen around here, I'm perfectly happy to hone my skills on you. Just let me know which way you want to go. I should warn you though. If you decide to be a tough guy, your kids will grow up with a permanently maimed and crippled father, or no father at all. This is the last time I'll ask nicely. What is project 708?" She yelled in his face.

His eyes rolled back in his head. She sighed with frustration.

The muscle relaxant did its job, and he could only twitch feebly. She gave him a tiny dose of venom to calm him even more. He remained awake, but his soft grunts made him sound like a weak animal. There was no intelligence in his eyes.

"Now what?" Marina said.

Smythe shrugged. "Obviously, the antipsychotic didn't work. At least he isn't tearing himself apart like the last one."

"This is extremely irritating."

"Maybe we should haul this guy away and hold him until he snaps out of it."

"What good will that do?" she said. "As soon as we ask him any questions, he'll lose his mind."

He shrugged again. "Just an idea. Frankly, I'm stumped."

There was a commotion in the other room.

"Norbert?" Marina said. "What's going on in there?"