Involuntary Control (Gray Spear Society) (34 page)

"OK," he said. "Marina, get out of sight. Smythe, stay here and be our lookout. As soon as General Clark appears, call me. Norbert and I will be waiting out front."

Aaron grabbed the transmitter and left the case with Marina. The gray surface was tacky and soft. Using the tips of his fingers, he gently held the transmitter by the edges.

The team split up. Aaron and Norbert went out the front door and stopped on the sidewalk. The day was getting very warm, and the sun was shining brightly.

"What's the plan, sir?" Norbert said.

"Isn't it obvious? Cops and robbers. You'll chase me through the motel. I'll run into one of the general's men and plant the device. Your job is to wave your gun and tell me to stop, and try to keep up with me."

"Sounds simple."

"I hope so," Aaron said, "but somehow these things never work out quite the way you planned. While we're standing here in the open, pretend to question me aggressively. If you're dressed like a cop, act like one. Always stay in character."

"Yes, sir."

They had a loud conversation about an imaginary stolen car. It lasted only a minute before Aaron's phone rang. He answered it.

"They're headed towards the parking garage in back," Smythe said.

Aaron closed his phone. "Let's go."

He took off at a sprint, and Norbert scrambled to keep up. Aaron pounded through the front doors of the hotel. He glanced at Smythe, who pointed at a particular hallway. Aaron veered in that direction.

"Stop!" Norbert yelled. "Stop now! I'll shoot!"

Aaron spotted General Clark and his staff up ahead. They wore formal Army uniforms now, and their shoes were polished to a gleaming finish. One of the men carried a leather satchel.

That's the target,
Aaron thought.

Running at full speed, he charged the group. They barely had time to turn before he crashed into them from behind. Bodies fell like bowling pins. Aaron jammed his hand deep into the satchel and pressed the transmitter against the interior leather surface. It stuck perfectly. He scrambled back to his feet and continued on.

He glanced back. Norbert was about thirty yards behind and yelling at the top of his lungs.

Aaron turned at the next corner. There was an exit up ahead, and he pushed himself to run faster. He had to slow at the last second to avoid crashing through a glass door. He went outside.

He immediately stopped running and pressed his back against the wall. Norbert burst out a few seconds later. Aaron grabbed him from behind and put him in a painful half-Nelson. Norbert struggled, but Aaron had a solid grip.

"Norbert," Aaron said calmly.

Norbert relaxed. "Sir?"

"What did I teach you about going through doors?"

"Always proceed with caution, sir. Look around. Check my blind spots. Sorry, sir. I got carried away with the chase."

Aaron released him. "I could've killed you easily. That was a rookie mistake. When we get back to Chicago, I want you to practice opening doors until you can't get ambushed like that."

"Yes, sir."

They walked off.

* * *

General Nolan Doolittle stood on the hard packed dirt inside the front gate of his new compound. A gnat buzzed around his ears and a drop of sweat rolled down his neck, but he ignored these distractions. He was good at ignoring unimportant things.

He wore his best dress uniform. The style was dated but still elegant in his opinion. His rows of medals jingled softly whenever he moved. Even though it wouldn't matter in the end, he wanted to impress his old friend, General Reginald Clark. It was a matter of pride and honor.

A black SUV rolled up to the outer gate and stopped. Four guards wearing green camouflage came forward immediately, two on each side. They carried huge rifles in plain view. The weapons held .50 caliber bullets designed to punch through light vehicle armor and bullet-proof glass. Of course the massive rounds would have no difficulty getting through a Kevlar vest.

Four men wearing formal Army uniforms stepped out of the SUV. Even though a long time had passed since their last meeting, Doolittle recognized General Clark at once. His sharp blue eyes and hook nose were very distinctive. The three younger officers with him were unfamiliar.

Doolittle frowned.
Just four?
He had expected a party of five.

One of the guards drove the SUV to a small lot outside the gate. Only pre-approved vehicles were permitted inside the compound.

The gate opened, and Clark walked through, followed by his men. Doolittle went forward to meet them.

"Snake-eater!" Doolittle called. "Seeing your ugly face brings back a lot of memories."

Clark grinned. "I haven't heard that name in thirty years. I can't believe you remembered. What did we used to call you? Crow. Because of that noise... err. Never mind."

The two buddies shook hands. That didn't seem like enough though, so they gave each other a hug.

Clark looked around. "This is very impressive."

"Thanks." Doolittle nodded.

"I still can't believe you built an entire military base in the middle of Illinois without anybody knowing."

"Some people know. The right people. I'll give you the grand tour, but first we have some tedious security measures to deal with. I'm sure you understand."

He nodded towards a booth with glass walls that was the size and shape of a large coffin. Arrays of sensors and loops of fine wire were embedded in the glass. A complex device was attached to the back of the booth, and it looked like the guts of a giant photocopy machine.

"Please surrender your weapons to the guards," Doolittle said, "along with any electronics or recording devices. You can keep your other possessions. Step into the booth one at a time. The scan will take about ten seconds, and you may feel a slight tingle."

One by one, Clark and his men complied. The scans proceeded without incident until a major with a satchel stood in the booth. The guards called Doolittle over. A computerized display showed the internal organs of the major in detail. The large blood vessels were in sharp focus. A piece of shrapnel was buried inside his liver.

"Sir," a guard said, "anomalous electromagnetic energy is coming from the satchel. We can't identify the source."

"Take it apart," Doolittle ordered.

The guards grabbed the obviously surprised major. They took his satchel and cut it apart with combat knives. Papers and scraps of leather were laid out carefully on the dirt, and each piece was given its own scan. The process ended when a scrap of leather was given to Doolittle. It appeared a stick of gray chewing gum was stuck to the leather, but when he touched the gum, he found the surface to be hard and sticky. He brought it up to his nose. The "gum" smelled like rubber cement.

"It's a transmitter," a guard said.

Doolittle raised his eyebrows. He walked over to General Clark and held the thing up to his face. "Do you have an explanation, old pal?"

Clark cleared his throat. "No, sorry."

"You were compromised."

"Evidently."

"And you seem to be missing a man," Doolittle added.

"A woman tried to tail us this morning. He stayed to deal with her."

"And was she dealt with?"

"I'm not sure." Clark's face turned red. "My man never reported back to me, but I didn't have time to look for him. I had this meeting."

Doolittle grunted with disappointment.
Why am I always surrounded by incompetents?

He looked through the gate at the line of trees far beyond. Somebody had probably followed Clark to the compound.

Doolittle turned and walked several steps, causing gravel to crunch under his boots. A dozen of his guards stood around. They weren't the rent-a-cops employed by White Flame. These men were professional mercenaries with blood on their hands and souls made of black ice. All they cared about was getting paid, and Doolittle paid extremely well. They would obey his orders, no matter how violent and bizarre.

He gave the "gray gum" to the nearest guard. "Take this straight to the lab for analysis. Explain the situation to the egg heads. Also, tell the security chief that intruders might be in the area."

"Yes, sir." The guard jogged away.

Doolittle faced Clark and smiled. "I have no choice but to forgive your mistakes. That's what good friends do. Let's begin the tour."

Doolittle led the way, Clark and his staff followed, and the guards brought up the rear. They first went to the fence. There were two ten-foot fences, one inside the other, with five meters of dead space in between. Both the inner and outer fence were electrified.

"We're using the latest high resolution back scatter technology," Doolittle said. "Every square inch of the perimeter is hot. The field extends thirty meters above ground and ten meters below. A worm can't get through without getting detected."

"I don't see any guard towers," Clark said.

"Human eyes get tired and bored. Automated security systems don't. If there is an intrusion, the team in the command bunker will orchestrate the response."

"What kind of responses are you capable of?"

"We cover the full range." Doolittle pointed at a boxy white tower in the center of the compound. "We can shoot microwaves and dazzlers from up there and hit any target inside or outside the compound. Of course all my men are heavily armed and authorized to employ lethal force. For bigger threats, we have bigger guns."

"Where?" Clark said. "I don't see any."

"They're mostly underground. I have thirty auto-cannons ready to pop up through trap doors. They will automatically destroy ground targets with shells capable of punching through most types of armor. There are missile batteries for dealing with air threats. I also have a tank squadron parked under cover, in case I need some tactical flexibility."

"Wow."

"And there are other surprises," Doolittle said. "I designed this compound to withstand an attack by a full infantry regiment."

"Are you expecting to fight a war here?"

"Yes. It's inevitable, in fact. Let's move on."

Doolittle led the group through the large compound. Most of the buildings had blank concrete walls and steel roofs. Windows were a rarity, and everything was painted bland colors. There were no visible markings or signs, a trick he had learned at White Flame. From a distance it was impossible to distinguish any structure as more valuable than any other. An adversary wouldn't know what to attack first.

Even the guards were dressed anonymously. Their rank insignia was hard to distinguish from the background camouflage pattern. Normally, Doolittle donned the same type of fatigues and body armor as his men. He didn't want to make himself an obvious target either.

"I'm curious. What do you know about my operation? What have you heard?"

"Just rumors," Clark said. "Some kind of mind control involving brain surgery. A high-tech implant? The results are supposed to be extremely impressive."

Doolittle frowned. Those "rumors" were uncomfortably accurate. Obviously, his supposed allies were doing a poor job of keeping their damn mouths shut. It wouldn't be long before too many people knew the truth and all hell broke loose. He was expecting an international brawl for control of the technology. That day was approaching at an accelerating rate, and he wasn't nearly ready for it. He needed more time.

"Who is the source of these rumors?" Doolittle said.

"A friend," Clark said. "I won't betray his trust."

We'll see about that,
Doolittle thought. "I understand. Trust is everything in this business."

They entered one of the larger buildings.

"This is our medical facility," Doolittle said. "We have a full hospital staff and the latest equipment. We can treat wounds here or perform any surgery. Everything is brand new."

They walked through a ward with thirty hospital beds, all unoccupied.

"It's big," Clark said.

"It's the heart of our entire operation," Doolittle said. "We're just about to ramp up. Every bed will be in use before long."

They proceeded to an enclosed balcony overlooking a surgical theatre.

"Here you can see our star performers," he said, "the surgical robots. Those are the complicated machines with all the arms in front. They can execute procedures much faster than any human surgeon with micrometer precision. That's important when you're attaching wires to nerve cells in the brain."

"So, the rumors were right?" Clark said.

"Yes. The mind control relies on a tiny implant in the back of the brain. The first time we tried the procedure, it took seventeen hours and the patient died. Now we can do it in 100 minutes with a 97 percent success rate. I love technology."

"What happens to the 3 percent who fail?"

"Unfortunately," Doolittle said, "they're rendered permanently insane. Nothing can be done for them. Let's move along."

The group left the medical building and entered another. This building was completely open inside. A glass enclosed walkway provided a magnificent view of a complex factory. Many robots worked beside a slow moving assembly line. The lighting was dim and red.