Involuntary Control (Gray Spear Society) (35 page)

"We manufacture the implants here," Doolittle said. "Every step in the long process is fully automated. The air on the factory floor is ultrapure nitrogen. This viewing area is completely sealed and separately ventilated."

"How did you build this amazing factory?" Clark said.

"White Flame Technology did the engineering and construction for me. It's all state-of-the-art. We used to make the implants in a borrowed facility in Ohio, but I wanted direct control. It was a matter of security. The old factory is destroyed now, of course."

He led the group back outside. The bright sunlight strained his eyes after the darkness inside the factory.

"I'm more than impressed," Clark said. "I always knew you were a visionary, but I had no idea you were capable of this."

"I can't take all the credit. It took a lot of talented people working together to reach this point. I depend on many loyal allies and supporters."

"But you're in charge."

"Someone has to be," Doolittle said, "and I'm the most qualified."

They entered another building and climbed down two flights of stairs to reach an underground area. The walls, floor, and ceiling were plain concrete. Fluorescent lights provided intense illumination that allowed no shadows. All the doors were made of steel plate and had electronic locks.

"Our holding area," Doolittle said. "This is where we keep dangerous prisoners who are waiting their turn for surgery. Once a subject has been processed, there is no more need for physical restraint. A much more effective form of restraint is inside his head."

They were in a square room connected to ten cells. The doors of the cells stood open, and they were empty. Each cell contained a concrete bench and a stainless steel toilet. Doolittle moved around the room until he was behind his guards.

"General Clark," he said, "I'd like you and your officers to each pick a cell. One man to a room, please."

"What?" Clark stared at him with a confused expression.

"You heard me."

Doolittle's guards stepped forward and brandished their weapons. Horror replaced confusion on Clark's face.

"Why?"

"I need strong, reliable allies," Doolittle said. "Men in positions of authority who will follow my orders. You'll do nicely. Don't worry. The procedure is relatively painless. In a day or two you'll be headed home, hardly the worse for wear. You'll have an interesting story to tell, but you'll never tell it."

"You fucking bastard!" Clark charged forward.

A guard knocked him down using the butt of a rifle.

Clark spit out blood and teeth. "Why did you bother giving us the tour?"

"You're an old friend," Doolittle said calmly. "I wanted to impress you. Call it vanity."

"With friends like you..."

"If you don't get into a cell right now, I'll have my men put you in one. You won't like that."

Clark glared at Doolittle for a moment before crawling into the nearest cell.

After the steel door slammed closed, Doolittle said, "And when you go home, we'll still be friends, the best of friends, because I'll trust you completely. As I already stated, nothing is more valuable than trust."

* * *

Aaron looked across a grassy field at a military base. It had two fences, one inside the other. Massive, concrete buildings were painted dull blue, green, or tan. There were no signs anywhere and very few windows. The guards wore generic green camouflage and combat helmets, but the huge expensive rifles they carried weren't standard issue in any army.

"Looks like we found the enemy," Aaron said, "again."

Marina, Norbert, and Smythe crouched behind some bushes with him. They couldn't get any closer without exposing themselves. Aaron didn't see any guard towers, but that didn't mean nobody was watching.

"How are we going to get inside, sir?" Norbert said.

"That's a very good question. Smythe, you're our military man. Do you have any thoughts?"

"Going through the fence isn't an option, sir," Smythe said. "That bare ground in between is probably littered with sensors and mines. Notice how the guards keep their distance. Tunneling underneath isn't practical."

"We could enter from above," Aaron said.

"Sir?" Norbert said.

"Parachutes."

"They'll see us hanging in the sky, sir. We'll be used for target practice."

"Then we'll enter at night," Aaron said.

"Sir," Smythe said, "do you even know how to use a parachute?"

"I can learn."

"I respect your fighting spirit, sir, but that's a terrible idea. I see at least two radar dishes. There is no way for an airplane or a helicopter to approach undetected. Besides, nighttime air insertion is a highly specialized skill, requiring extensive training."

Aaron furrowed his brow. He didn't like to be denied, but Smythe's argument was hard to refute. The simple fact was none of them were qualified to parachute directly into a hostile military base at night. At some point in the future, they would have to fill that gap in their repertoire of skills.

"I concede," Aaron said, "but we still need a plan. We're not leaving until we think of one."

He looked around. The military base was in the middle of a vast, empty field that had probably once been a huge farm. Now only weeds and natural grass grew there. A line of trees and bushes formed a screen at the edge of the field. The purpose of the screen seemed to be keeping neighbors from seeing the base. Some of the trees had been recently planted and still needed wires for support.

"Logistics," Aaron said.

"Sir?" Smythe said.

"A base that large has a huge logistical footprint. They must receive fresh supplies at least once a day. We just need to smuggle ourselves in."

"I'm sure every incoming vehicle is thoroughly searched, sir."

"True." Aaron narrowed his eyes.

"What about garbage trucks?" Marina said. "I bet the guards don't spend a lot of time searching smelly, rusty trucks that come in empty and go out full. And the things are made out of thick steel plates, which will help shield any hidden passengers from detectors."

He kissed her on the lips. "Brilliant. That's our plan. Norbert, I want to take some pictures while we're here. Go back to the van and get a camera with the longest telephoto lens you can find, and a tripod."

"Yes, sir." Norbert ran off.

Aaron took out his phone and called Bethany.

"Hello, sir," she responded immediately

"Hi," he said. "Get my location from my phone. Pull up a recent satellite image of this area. Tell me what you see."

He heard her typing on a keyboard. Two minutes passed.

"Is there a problem?" he said.

"Yes, sir," she said. "Some kind of special security is blocking us from looking at your location. Our satellite access codes aren't working correctly."

"Use a foreign satellite."

"If you don't mind, sir, we want to break through this blockage."

"Why?"

"It's an interesting challenge," she said, "and we should practice dealing with situations like this."

He pursed his lips. "OK. I'll give you three more minutes."

He heard more rapid typing. The twins spoke to each other in their own arcane language. They seemed to be talking about a computer virus.

"Oops," Bethany said.

"What?" Aaron said.

"Uh, I have good news, sir. We extracted an image. The picture was taken yesterday by an American satellite, and it's very detailed."

"Is there bad news?"

"We accidently crashed the United States Space Command. But don't worry, sir. Their systems will reboot in a minute."

He sighed. "Just examine the image, please."

"It looks like a big factory in the middle of an empty field," she said.

"It's a secret military base. I want you to find out who hauls away their garbage."

"Why, sir?"

"What did I tell you about questioning my orders?"

"Sorry, sir." She sounded contrite.

"For your information," he said, "we're going to sneak into the base by hiding inside a garbage truck."

"Eww! Stinky."

"I expect so. How is the Vietnam research coming?"

"We're making progress, sir," she said. "It was a very nasty war."

"Yes, it was. I'll let you get back to your important tasks." He closed his phone.

"Did I hear right?" Marina said. "The twins took down the United States Space Command?"

Aaron nodded. "By accident. Be glad they're on our side."

Chapter Twenty-one

General Doolittle walked into his physical sciences laboratory. Men and women in lab coats were focused on various projects. Most of the scientists didn't notice his arrival, and he didn't want to interrupt their work by announcing his presence. The others nodded respectfully or saluted.

The room was full of complicated mysterious equipment. Doolittle had a discordant relationship with science. He didn't understand it, which made him uneasy, but its value was undeniable. Some days, he wished he had taken his college classes more seriously.

He went to one table in particular. A short man with sparse hair and wire rim glasses was looking through a microscope.

Doolittle cleared his throat.

The man looked up and appeared startled. He saluted awkwardly. "Sir!"

"Dr. Xi?" Doolittle said.

"Yes, sir. I finished my examination of the transmitter. I have some results for you."

"Proceed."

Xi pointed at the transmitter, which still looked like a stick of gray chewing gum to Doolittle. It was under the microscope.

"It was manufactured by White Flame Technology," Xi said.

"What?" Doolittle exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"It's the TLX-42 tracking kit, specifically. Very advanced technology. The circuitry uses organic polymers instead of metal wires to make the device less detectable. The product is still in the final stages of development. White Flame only released samples to a handful of high value customers."

"Then it's likely a White Flame employee planted the transmitter on General Clark."

"A reasonable conclusion, sir," Xi said. "I don't know how anybody else would get one. It isn't listed in the catalog."

Doolittle tapped his fingers on the table. His relationship with White Flame was more like a temporary alliance than real employment. The salary they paid him was simply for the sake of appearances. Apparently, he had hidden enemies within the corporation.

"I have a serial number for you," Xi added. "It was inside the transmitter." He handed over a scrap of paper.

"Thank you, Dr. Xi." Doolittle stuffed the paper in his pocket. "Excellent work. I'll take over the investigation from here. This serial number should lead me straight to the culprit."

* * *

Aaron looked up at a sign. In faded black letters it read, "Consolidated Waste Services." He could already smell the garbage.

Carrying a briefcase, he walked under the sign. Marina was with him, and they both wore basic business attire. His clothes were gray, and hers were tan.

Several bright yellow garbage trucks were parked in front of a building. They were huge beasts decorated with an assortment of hydraulic hoses and pistons. In places where the paint had worn off, rust had taken its place. The stench reminded Aaron of a fish market, and he smiled.
Perfect,
he thought.

He and Marina walked into a small, brick building that seemed to be the office. A hideously overweight woman sat behind a desk. She was painting her nails and chewing gum. Aaron ignored her.

He walked through a doorway into an adjacent room and found a man in blue coveralls. His scrappy, black beard needed to be trimmed or shaved off entirely. He wore a blue Cubs hat with stains on the brim. A cigarette dangled from his mouth.

Aaron closed the door. He and Marina sat down.

"Who are you?" the man said.

"My name isn't important. You're Mr. Ford?" Aaron offered his hand.

"Yeah, that's me." Ford gave his hand a perfunctory shake. His gaze drifted over to Marina.

"I have a proposition for you. A very lucrative one."

"What?"

"You have a special customer," Aaron said. "Old County Road 8. You know the one I'm talking about. Tall fences and guys with very big guns. Pastel colored buildings."

Ford's eyes widened. "I can't, uh... I don't know anything about that customer."

"When is the next garbage pick-up?"

Ford shrugged.

"I have money in this briefcase," Aaron said, "and I have a gun in my pocket. Which would you rather see, the money or the gun?"

Ford took a long, shaky drag on his cigarette. "The money."

Aaron placed the briefcase on the desk, opened it, and turned it around so Ford could see the contents. He coughed up some smoke.