by Bobby Nash
“I have agents rounding up Pearce, Creasy, and Gulley as we speak. They are each being brought in for questioning.”
“Very good,” Conrad said without looking up from his reading.
McHenry started to stand, but the Secretary stopped him.
“How do you plan to proceed?”
The Ddputy director eased back into his seat and crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to appear casual. When he realized it didn’t work, he planted both feet directly in front of him and leaned forward, elbows resting atop his legs.
“As I mentioned, the investigation is ongoing. Just prior to this meeting, I instructed my office to find the person in charge of this rogue operation and put a stop to it,” he said. “We’re questioning suspects, digging into their lives, you know generally investigating. As soon as I hear from my people, you will hear from me, Mr. Secretary. Meanwhile, my investigators are also working with DC Metro on the investigation. We will find out who is behind this, sir. That’s a guarantee.”
“I’d be careful if I were you,” Conrad said. “My grandfather used to caution me on the dangers of letting your mouth write checks your ass can’t cash.”
“I am familiar with the sentiment,” McHenry said. “I assure you my agency is on the job. I am on the job.”
“Excellent,” Conrad exclaimed. Seemingly satisfied, he slapped a hand on the folder in his lap. “Please, keep me appraised, Agent McHenry.”
McHenry stood. He had worked political circles long enough o know when he was being dismissed
“Thank you, sir,” he said after standing. After a nod from the Secretary who had already started on his next topic, McHenry headed for the door.
Once he was in the hallway and the door closed behind him, McHenry allowed himself a moment to relax. The throbbing headache he had woke with that morning had been building in intensity all day. The short nap he took in his office after dinner had helped, but now the pain had returned with a vengeance. His eyes felt as though they were ready to burst from their socket.
He waited until he was outside in the night breeze before fishing out his cell phone. He hit the speed dial for Agent Corwin.
The agent answered on the second ring.
“Update, please, Agent Corwin,” he said without preamble or pleasantry.
“The three persons of interest have arrived. Agent Patterson and a detective from DC Metro are about to interrogate them… under my supervision, of course,” Corwin added.
“Of course,” McHenry said. “Call me as soon as you have something to report.”
He hung up the phone without waiting for Corwin’s reply. Bob Corwin was a competent agent, but a bit of a kiss ass, which really annoyed McHenry. He had spent his career surrounded my people like Corwin. There seemed to be an inexhaustible supply of men and women like him, eager to move up through the ranks even if they had to do so on the backs of their fellow agent’s work. Corwin was good middle management, but McHenry knew that the investigation would most likely hinge on Agent Samantha Patterson.
Patterson was the polar opposite of Corwin and their differences complimented one another. Patterson was a first rate investigator. She had a steel-trap mind that rarely missed anything. If not for her attitude and short temper, she would have gone far in the Service instead of nearly washing out.
He was impressed with the work she had put in to claw her way back into her former position. He hoped she realized that she had been blessed by a very rare gift that only a select few in her position had ever been given,
A second chance.
He hoped she didn’t blow it.
###
“Good evening, Mr. Gulley.”
Agent Patterson was all smiles as she stepped into the interrogation room. The room itself was anything but inviting. The walls were concrete cinder blocks, the bottom half painted a dark grey while the upper half of the room was painted a dull off-white that did not look good under the harsh fluorescent lights that dangled above the single table in the center of the room. Three chairs sat around the table, two on one side and one on the other, where Greg Gulley sat.
“I’m Samantha Patterson. I’m with the Secret Service.” She dropped her stack of folders onto the table as though they were heavy. She also placed a half-empty water-bottle next to them.
“This is Detective Walker with DC Metro. He’ll be joining us, if that’s okay,” she said playfully, as if they were going to give the man a chance to say otherwise.
The suspect spread his arms and shrugged as though it made no difference to him. He was smug and Walker took an instant dislike to him.
“Howdy,” Walker said without smiling as he took his seat, leaning the cane against his leg.
“I appreciate you coming in, Mr. Gulley, and apologize for the late hour, but when you’re in the middle of an investigation and you start to pick up momentum, you run with it. I’m sure it’s much the same in your line of work. You’re a scientist, right?”
“Yes. I am,” Gulley said. “I’m a neurobiologist with a PhD in Neuroscience so it’s Doctor. Gulley, not Mister.”
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Walker said, sheepish. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“Sorry. Basically, I work with the brain. More specifically, I deal with with the physiology, biochemistry, anatomy, and molecular biology of neurons and neural circuits as they relate to one’s behavior and ability to learn. Most of my work is theoretical and developmental. We’re trying to find treatments and eventually cures for Parkinson’s Disease, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, learning disabilities, obsessive/compulsive disorders, and develop tools to aid in learning new skills, recover from brain damage, and other applications.”
“Sounds like a big job.”
“Indeed,” Gulley said. “We’ve made great advances, but at the end of the day, we still only know how a small percentage of the brain actually works.”
“I remember reading somewhere that we use… what is it, ten percent of our brain during our lifetime?” Walker asked.
The suspect chuckled. “Well, there are some who believe that, but most int eh scientific community believe that the human brain functions in ways that are hard to quantify by mere percentages. Our brains are very complex organisms, detective. We certainly do not use anywhere near the brain’s full capacity. Imagine what we could accomplish if we did.”
Detective Walker held a tight smile and nodded. He wanted to fire back a response, but that wasn’t the plan. When he and Agent Patterson had planned their approach to interrogating Dr. Gulley, they both opted against the tried and true good cop/bad cop technique. It was a method that often worked, getting the suspect to side with one cop or the other. They knew that a smart guy like Greg Gulley would easily see through that ploy, so they decided to try a new tact. Good cop/dumb cop.
Smart guys liked to tell people how smart they were, especially these days when intelligence was more often mocked and ridiculed than respected. They had used the same tactic with Lana Creasy as well, though she had presented as far less condescending as her former colleague. Their conversation with her had gone well. Walker’s gut told him that she wasn’t involved, but he wasn’t ready to cut her loose yet.
He wanted to hear what Gully and Pearce had to say first.
He had called Jacks, but his partner was tied up in a family matter. She suggested that he and Agent Patterson start without her and that she would join them as soon as she could. Walker told her not to rush and disconnected the call. His partner had an intense relationship with her family and it sounded like things were boiling over tonight.
Allowing the suspect to open up about his area of study so early in the conversation made him feel superior to the cops questioning him. It gave him a sense of being in control and that might make him a little bit cocky. That’s when he would slip up. Detective Walker was willing to play the roll and looked forward to watching the man trip himself up with his condescending tone.
“I can imagine,” was all he said
instead.
“Well, we appreciate you taking time to talk with us, Mr. Gulley,” Agent Patterson said as she took a seat next to Detective Walker.
“Of course,” he said, still smiling. “I must admit, it was a bit surprising when I pulled into my driveway and saw Secret Service Agents waiting on me. I was certain it was some kind of practical joke until they asked me to come in. I’m not really sure what reason you could possibly want to talk to me about.”
“Where had you been, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Hmmm?”
She had surprised him. He hadn’t been expecting that question.
“Oh. I was out for a ride. A late-night drive is just the thing to clear my head. I often drive around the sparse streets in the early morning hours and enjoy the peace and quiet. It helps me wind down before turning in for the night.”
“You have trouble sleeping?”
He smiled. “Not trouble, but my brain doesn’t like to shut down, which does interfere with my sleep rhythms from time to time. A nice ride helps calm my brain so it’s easier to fall asleep.”
“I just count sheep,” Walker added.
Gulley shot him an amused look.
“We’ll try to get you out of here as quickly as possible so you can get some sleep. We’re looking into a murder,” Patterson said.
“Good Lord,” her suspect said loudly, adding just the proper amount of flourish. “Who was killed?”
“Do you recognize the name Malcolm Washington?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“How about Marnie Jameson? Cavin Hutchinson? Or Jon Kilgallon?”
“Yes. I know all three of them. We worked together once. I haven’t seen them in ages. Well, except Jon. I went to one of his book signings a few weeks back. Have you read any of his novels? They’re a little simple where plot is concerned, but darn if I don’t enjoy them.”
He paused as if thinking of something.
“Are you telling me that they’re all dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How horrible. I’m not sure what I can tall you that can help, though. We haven’t worked together in ages. As these things happen, we lost touch after we moved on.”
“I understand,” Patterson said. “It happens. What you can help us with is related to your old job. What can you tell us about Project: Blood Shot?”
Detective Walker bit his lower lip to keep from smiling as a wave of discomfort washed over the man sitting across from him.
Gotcha! he thought.
“What would you like to know, Agent Patterson?” Gulley asked, his tone suddenly serious.
“Everything,” she said.
thirty
Washington DC
Sunday
“Do you honestly think you’re going to get away with this?”
“Whatever do you mean, Detective?”
Greg Gulley sat in an interview room at a Secret Service field office just a few blocks from the White House. He stared across the table at Samantha Patterson and Melvin Walker, she a Secret Service Agent and he a homicide detective with DC Metro.
“I don’t know how you’re doing this, but it stops! Now! You’re done!” Walker leaned forward, pointing a finger across the table at the man he was now convinced was The Controller.
“Oh, Detective,” Gulley said with a chuckle. “If I knew what you were talking about, I assure you, I would just be getting started.”
Gulley leaned back in his seat, looking comfortable in the hard metal chair. Walker had thought the man cocky when they first interviewed him, but now, he was turned up to eleven.
Walker was about to say more when Agent Patterson put a hand on his arm and eased him back. He was about to protest, but acquiesced so she could take her turn at him.
“How did you do it?” she asked, her voice soft, non-threatening.
“I told you…”
She waved away his protestation.
“Not that. How did you finally make it work? I’ve read the reports from Project: Blood Shot. Some very smart people couldn’t make it work, but you did. You succeeded where all of the failed, Dr. Gulley. There are quite a few people who are very curious to find out how you did that.”
“I can imagine they are,” Gulley said, still smiling, knowing he held all the cards.
“Would you care to tell us?” Patterson asked.
“I doubt you would understand it. The science behind the project is simply beyond your comprehension.”
Walker looked at Patterson.
“Is it just me, or did that sound like an insult to you too?”
“It was a tad bit condescending, yes,” she nodded.
“You two think you’re funny, don’t you?”
Walker shrugged.
“Comedy is subjective,” he said.
Agent Patterson laughed, but tried to cover it with her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I don’t mean to disrespect your work, Doctor, and you have made a tremendous breakthrough if you have made the project successful after all these years, but the one thing I can’t shake, the one thing that still bothers me about all of this is why?”
“Why what?”
“You’ve created the ultimate deterrent. With a simple suggestion, your discovery can stop wars, pacify violent offenders without throwing more violence against them. You have the power to save a lot of lives, Doctor, but instead you’ve chosen to use this power to take lives. You’ve become a killer.”
“I’ve not killed anyone,” Gulley said. “I dare you to prove otherwise.”
Patterson sat back, interlaced her fingers across her stomach. “Maybe not with your own hands, but you put the idea in their heads and pushed innocent people to murder and then suicide.”
“If what you suggest is true, Agent Patterson, then this interrogation is pointless, wouldn’t you say?”
“Why’s that?” Walker asked.
Gulley leaned forward and rested his elbows on the bare, metal table.
“If I were this guy you think I am, this Controller, and I can do this amazing thing you claim I can do, what makes you think you would ever be able to arrest me? Even if I admitted it, which I’m not, if I could control men’s minds as you suggest, I would become invaluable to the United States. I imagine the CIA or military intelligence would fall all over themselves to own a piece of the technology that can turn any man, woman, or child into a spy or an assassin from afar, even without the weapon knowing that they were being used.”
He pointed toward the one-way mirror.
“I imagine whoever is on the other side of that is either on the phone now or will be shortly, so, no, Agent Patterson, I don’t think you will be arresting me today.”
“We’ll see,” Patterson said. “Oh, and for the record, no one actually mentioned The Controller except you.”
“Oops,” Walker said, feeling cocky.
Gulley shrugged.
“I guess you got me then,” he said. “So what? It changes nothing.”
“Have you infected anyone else?” she asked. “Are there other walking suicide bombs out there?”
Gulley laughed.
“Suicide Bombs. I like that. Thank you, Agent Patterson. I was looking for something to call the test subjects that sounded better than the operative. I will definitely be using your suggestion.”
“How many are active, Doctor?”
“What will I get for telling you?”
“A clean conscience.”
“Overrated,” he snorted and leaned back.
Patterson and Walker exchanged glances. They needed to try a different tactic.
“On the other hand,” Gulley said, interrupting their silent communication. “It might be fun watching you try to stop them.”
“How many?” Patterson asked, her voice rising.
“Two.”
“Where are they?”
“Are you sure that’s the question you want to ask?” Gulley said. “I would think you would b
e more concerned about who more than where.”
Suddenly, both the detective and agent appeared concerned.
“I like you, Agent Patterson so I’ll be honest with you. There’s only one person left from the original project that needs to be eliminated. Your boss.”
“Corwin?”
“Think higher up the food chain,” Gulley said. “He makes you run alongside his car.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said. “You just threatened the President of the United States in front of a Secret Service Agent and a cop!”
“Hey, I never said I was going to kill him,” Gulley said, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed. “Besides, I have the perfect alibi. You.”
“Who did you send to do it?” Walker demanded.
“The question you really should be asking yourself, Detective, is why isn’t your partner here?”
Walker started to speak, but Gulley cut him off.
“Oh, right. Family stuff. Tell, me, Detective, in all the time that you’ve known her, has your partner ever let family stuff keep her away from her job?”
“You infected Jacks?”
The Controller’s smile widened.
Walker was on his feet in a shot, the cane clattering to the floor as he reached for the man across the table from him. Before anyone else could move, Walker planted a fist in the man’s face, knocking him backward and toppling the chair his was sitting in and sending The Controller to the hard, unforgiving concrete floor.
Agent Patterson held Detective Walker back even as the door to the room burst open and three agents poured in, followed by Robert Corwin. The agents helped the doctor to his feet, a small trickle of blood running down his lip onto his chin.
“Did you send my partner after the President?” Walker shouted.
“Get him out of here,” Corwin said and one of his agents forcibly escorted the uncooperative detective from the room.
“Answer the question,” Patterson said. “Who is her target?”
The Controller spit blood onto the floor. “Smart. Of course, she isn’t going after Montgomery. She doesn’t have access.”