Masquerade (52 page)

“You have a gentle touch,” she said acidly.

His skull-head smiled, leaf-dry lips over tombstone teeth.

He started the IV. “This contains a substance I created—a synthetic brain hormone in combination with certain folded proteins. You know what neurotransmitters are? They're the brain chemicals that send signals between neurons. My compound attacks the neurotransmitters in your frontal and temporal lobes. Those lobes control your judgment and emotions. There your neurotransmitters will make a startling readjustment—erasing
your judgment, sensitizing your emotions to a sharp pitch, and making you highly suggestible. You'll forget your past and bond to the first person you set eyes on. You'll enter a kind of dissociative catatonia and rigidly follow commands.”

She inhaled sharply, stunned. He was going to destroy her personality. Thank God she'd taken the antidote!

“Sound entertaining?” The doctor gave a nasty laugh. “The advantage of this compound is its speed and near infallibility. The disadvantage is you'll follow orders blindly and have no individuality.”

“You're a paragon—”

He slapped her. And then she felt a sudden wave of something warm and sickeningly sweet. Whatever was in the IV had hit her system. She waited for the antidote to fight back—

Allan Levine's attention had shifted. His last important task was to make certain Sarah Walker bonded to Hughes. That way Hughes himself could instruct her, and he'd have only himself to blame if his directions went awry.

Sarah abruptly demanded, “What have you given me?”

He looked down on her, a gaunt pillar. “Q101.”

She couldn't keep the panic from her voice. “Not LP48?”

He frowned. “I'd planned to use LP48 last night, when I had a full twenty-four hours to get you ready. But I had to switch to Q101 today, because your escape gave me too little time. The big disadvantage to Q101 is that it has no subtleties, which forced Hughes to redesign his plan again—” He gazed intently at her, as if trying to penetrate her brain. “How did you know about LP48?”

She moaned. The poison was spreading, and she couldn't stop it. She pulled against her restraints. She couldn't move, couldn't save herself. And Dr. Levine's Q101 would turn her into a robot—an unfeeling, nonthinking mechanical woman who looked like Liz Sansborough and would follow orders without question. She wanted her memories, her identity, her life!

And this time it could be worse—This time the drugs could permanently destroy her mind!

She stared at the tube that dripped Q101 into her system
and told herself she had no time to be angry . . . or to feel sorry for herself.

But what could she do? She was tied up, helpless—

Think!

She summoned all her newly acquired powers. She focused. Bremner needed her because she was Liz Sansborough's double. He would replace Liz Sansborough with her. Somehow, somewhere. But she was Sarah Walker. She wasn't Liz Sansborough.

She concentrated on that one single thought. No matter what they did to her, she had to remember she was Sarah Walker.

I'm Sarah Walker. I'm Sarah Walker
.

Silently she repeated the phrase over and over.
I'm Sarah Walker. I'm Sarah Walker
. . .

The drug was rushing through her veins with terrifying speed. She kept her eyes open and struggled to make the words throb with her heartbeat.

Resonate with her breathing.

Burn themselves forever into her brain:
I'm Sarah Walker
.

Allan Levine returned to work. He could see she was succumbing to the potent drug. Through her, he expected to gain more knowledge about Q101. There were side effects to study, of course. Q101 caused cell degeneration. He was keeping strict records, and he'd conduct an autopsy as soon as her corpse arrived back at the Languedoc. Hughes planned to eliminate her immediately after she killed the Carnivore. If all went well, he'd shoot her in the heart. That way her head—particularly her brain—would be undamaged.

6:18
P.M
.

“I trust you, Allan,” Hughes Bremner said in his most sincere voice.

“You understand, it's not you. It's the circumstances. If anything goes wrong—”

“Of course,” the doctor said.

Bremner had returned to the infirmary and now stood at the foot of Sarah Walker's cot. The doctor again checked the needle and then the drip through the line of clear tubing.

Her eyes remained eerily open, watching.

“Is everything all right?” Bremner asked.

“Perfect.” Satisfied, the doctor gestured, and a male nurse approached with a cart of shiny, sterilized instruments. The doctor swabbed the skin above Walker's carotid artery. She moved slightly, and he stopped. She was mumbling the same unintelligible phrase over and over. Her eyes were glazed and there was no way she could fight the drug, but still—

Dr. Levine waited, kept his face calm. What was she doing? Then he decided it didn't matter. It was nothing.

Soon she lay quiet again. He gave her another few seconds, then made a tiny incision in her neck. He slipped the microscopic explosive device under her skin, closed the incision, and carefully applied skin-toned tape over it. By 8:00
P.M.
, the incision would be invisible.

“All I have to do is press this button,” Bremner said with satisfaction. In his hand he held what looked like a gold cigarette lighter. He flipped open the cap and inspected the brown plastic button.

Dr. Levine said, “The button triggers the explosive device, and—”

“I know how it works!” Bremner snapped. “It will shatter her carotid artery. She'll die instantly. Just the kind of fail-safe I need in case anything goes wrong and I have no other way to eliminate her.”

The doctor nodded and glanced down. The woman was mumbling again. Her eyes were open and staring. Unnerved, he closed the lids.

Chapter 60

7:32
P.M
.

The mammoth Tour Languedoc filled a full Paris block and rose so high it seemed to fade into the summer sky. Asher Flores and Red Jack O'Keefe stood anxiously in a doorway across the street. The offices in the Languedoc skyscraper and neighboring buildings were closed, but, even on a Sunday night, the street was full of cars and pedestrians heading for cafés, cabarets, and cinemas.

Nearby in a delivery van, O'Keefe's comrades waited. It was a specially equipped surveillance vehicle, and they expected to use it to track Sarah. In the French manner, it sat with two wheels up on the sidewalk in a line of other similarly parked vehicles. From that location, the van could slip into traffic and tail any car leaving the Languedoc.

Asher and Jack had been studying the Languedoc for an hour. Marble steps led up to the foyer, clearly visible through floor-to-ceiling glass windows. A well-lit parking garage had been built only a few feet below street level. The garage entrance was patrolled by a sharp-eyed pair of attendants waiting to park or retrieve cars. The Company's overwhelming security left no need for visible muscle.

There were only three entrances to the Company's secret floor. One was from the helipad atop the building. Another was from the special elevator in the foyer. And the third was from
this parking garage, where the same elevator also opened next to the bank of regular elevators clearly visible from where Asher and Jack O'Keefe watched. At all three, cameras performed sentry duty, and the high-security elevator would open only for someone with a numeric code, fingerprints, or a face filed in the computer's data bank.

Asher and Jack O'Keefe walked around the block studying the layout, but learned nothing new—the Company's architects had created an invincible fortress. They saw no Company personnel. Bremner's people would be holed up on the top floor, no one getting in, no one leaving.

No way could Asher sneak onto the elevator or rent a helicopter to land on the roof. Company security would pick him up in an instant. If he tried to break in, he'd be sighted too swiftly by too much security for him to survive, much less help Sarah.

Their best choice, the most nerve-wracking choice, was to wait. To pray the antidote worked and Sarah would survive. Since Bremner wanted Sarah somehow to help murder the Carnivore, he'd keep her alive at least until then. Asher tried not to think about her condition, or what would happen to her later.

Instead he thought about the coming-in.

Obviously Bremner believed someone was coming in. But no way would the Carnivore ever let the Company preselect the spot, since then the Company could throw up a net, a terrible disadvantage if something went wrong and Liz and the Carnivore needed to escape. No, Liz would wait as long as possible and then lead Bremner and his people to a location of the Carnivore's choosing.

If Asher were right, she should arrive soon. If Bremner were going to use Sarah to make the hit at the coming-in point, Sarah would go with them. And if Bremner planned not to use her, Asher and some of O'Keefe's comrades would try to sneak into the Languedoc with the group when they returned with the Carnivore.

In or out, the action would be through one of the three entrances—the garage, the foyer, or the helipad. If it turned out
to be the helipad, they were screwed, unless the van could keep up with the tracking device from the streets below. But with the foyer or the garage, they had a better chance. At least, a chance.

Whenever Asher thought about losing Sarah, his gut knotted and his head hammered. Was this love? This overwhelming desire to protect? The fear she might experience more pain? The wrenching sense of loss when he allowed himself to consider she might die?

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Sarah.

He had to save her. He'd do anything!

When he thought about all the lousy relationships he'd seen, and how he'd always successfully avoided any that might get serious, he figured this must be love.

He refused to think about losing her, yet the worry lived in the back of his mind like a demon.

He pushed away the fear and returned to logistics. Was the Carnivore alive after all? Perhaps Liz was coming in alone but wanted to put Bremner through his paces to make certain no tricks awaited her surrender. Or . . . did she want Bremner to sit up there in his Languedoc aerie waiting all night? Her idea of a grim joke, making Bremner figure out for himself the Carnivore was never coming in? A small revenge?

He fervently hoped not. That would be the worst scenario of all for Sarah. Hughes Bremner would no longer need her alive.

7:40
P.M
.

Dr. Allan Levine removed the intravenous tube from Sarah Walker's right arm. Next he removed the monitors from her forehead. As he'd expected, the tiny incision above her carotid artery was invisible. He studied her waxy, unconscious face. Her vibrancy had disappeared, a good sign.

“Well, Allan?” Hughes Bremner stepped into the stark-white infirmary.

“She's doing very well. Remember what to expect: Judgment erased and emotions sensitized to a high pitch.” Dr. Levine
pointed. “Stand there. She bonds to the first person she sees.”

“She'll do what I say?” Bremner moved to the spot beside the hospital bed.

“Rigidly.” Dr. Levine turned Walker's head so Hughes Bremner would be first in her line of sight.

Bremner asked, “When will the drugs wear off?”

The doctor hesitated. He'd experimented on primates with substance Q101, and the only glitch he'd found was with those who'd taken the drug short-term: Less than two hours. Once off Q101, about a third exhibited hazy recognition when shown a once-loved object like a ball or a stuffed animal. Autopsies on their brains had disclosed less cell degeneration than in the brains of those who'd been on Q10l longer. Since Walker would be on the drug less than two hours, he'd increased her dose to compensate. In any case, hazy recognition shouldn't break her trance short-term.

“Allan?” Bremner was staring at him.

“Relax, Hughes. The drugs will hold as long as you need. I was thinking of something else. Such as when I'll get my private lab and permanent funding.”

Bremner laughed. This he understood. “By tomorrow night, you'll have fortune enough to build a dozen labs.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

Sarah Walker's eyelids fluttered.

“She's waking up.” The doctor took her pulse, listened to her lungs, checked the whites of her eyes.

At last her lids opened.

Her gaze locked instantly onto Hughes Bremner. She blinked infrequently. Drool slid onto her chin. She stared at Bremner adoringly, a china-eyed, ashen-faced doll.

Bremner said, “Close your mouth.”

She blinked and closed it.

Bremner smiled. “Very good. Get up.”

Dr. Levine helped her. Her gaze still riveted to Bremner, she sat on the edge of the hospital bed, then slid down until her feet touched the floor. The doctor supported her while she balanced herself.

Her gaze never left Bremner. He ordered her to walk to the door. She did. He told her to sit. She did. He asked her who he was.

“The Man,” she said.

“Do you know who you are?”

“No.” She showed no interest in knowing.

He smiled. “Come here.”

She came.

“I'm going to hurt you, but you won't mind.” He punched her in the kidneys.

She grunted and doubled over. Urine dribbled onto the floor. Then she stood straight again.

“You did very well,” Bremner told her.

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly in as much of a smile as her stiff lips could manage. Her eyes glowed with devotion for the Man and gratitude for his praise.

Dr. Levine rubbed his small, knobby hands up and down his sunken chest, elated. “Well, Hughes. Well, well.” He'd give a lot if his old mentor—his surrogate father, Dr. Cameron—could see what he'd accomplished with MK-U
LTRA
.