BRAINSTORM

by Gordon Kessler

  Earlier, Sunny had told me that Gold Rush would be destroyed. But I wanted to hear Yumi’s explanation. “Why the timetable? What does it matter? I heard Xiang say the chairman would close the facility if they didn’t find us, but why does that matter now?”

  “You do not understand what he meant by ‘close the facility’?”

  “I guess not.”

  “In order to close the facility, a twenty kiloton nuclear device is buried under this building.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “In a compartment at the base of the water tower in the middle of town is another, set to go off five seconds after the first. Detonating those devices will ‘close the facility’—the project—destroying all evidence of it ever being conducted. Only a handful of us know about this. It is business as usual for those who are not being evacuated. They will all die.”

  “But if Xiang thinks we’re dead, he won’t set them off, right?”

  “I am afraid it is too late for that. Dr. Xiang and his thugs have been extremely sloppy. Too much has gone wrong. It is only a matter of time before the outside world finds out. Xiang has ordered the essential scientists, key personnel and a number of the Brainstorm subjects to be evacuated to an airfield on the other side of the mountain. Besides his own private jet, two large planes are there. Critical files and equipment are being transported now. They will close shop here and restart the operation at another location. The satellite photos have become too revealing even with the continuous smoke screen.”

  I thought about the smoke. “The forest fires?”

  “No forests are ablaze. Only large smoke pots around the perimeter of the town and facility. The smoke is laced with a special gas that bends light and distorts photographs to eliminate the threat of aerial reconnaissance.”

  “How can we get to our people? What about the guards, the cameras?”

  “Leave that to me, also. In twenty minutes the lights will go out and the emergency lights will come on. Put on one of the guards’ uniforms then.”

  “Won’t the lights going out attract attention?”

  “This facility has been plagued with power problems. They took too many short cuts building it, putting most of the money into research and building a credible town. It is not uncommon for a rat to cause a blackout that knocks the cameras out. There will be much confusion with the evacuation going on at the same time as a blackout. Nevertheless, we must be careful. Most of the workers have been instructed to carry on as usual. They know nothing of the termination plans, only that we are having a drill. But the guards may search each room. So while you are in this room, you must stay covered up. They will think you are dead, as well you should be.”

  “And you’ll return to tell us when it’s safe?”

  “As soon as possible. We are supposed to be packing up all of our records. It would look suspicious if I was away from the laboratory long. You must give me some time before going to the children’s ward. I will send the guards away from there. You must stay here until I return. Then, go and do what you feel you must, then get out. And no matter what happens, you must leave with the proof of what is happening here and be a safe distance away before sunrise. The world must know.”

  She stepped up to my side. “Get back on the gurney.”

  “Wait,” I said, “we have a friend here. He could help. Can you arrange for him to go with us?”

  She sighed in response. “Possibly,” she said. “What is his name?”

  I hoped I was saving Rajiv and not betraying him.

  “Rajiv Shekhar,” I said. “He’s a neuroscientist.”

  “I will try. I cannot promise,” she said. “You must escape. You are the important one—part of the proof.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “I have been waiting for this day for many years. My life is not important. It is but a small sacrifice, exposing these monsters for what they are and what they are doing to my people. I am willing to make that sacrifice.”

  She paused, and I thought she was going to smile, but she didn’t. I wondered how she could have gotten into such a project.

  “Get back onto the table,” she ordered again.

  “Good luck,” I said as she covered Sunny’s face with the sheet, and I lay down.

  She said nothing in return. I watched her, trying to understand what kind of a person she really was, but I couldn’t. She grasped the sheet on my table and pulled it slowly, almost ritualistically, over me, and five seconds later, I heard the door mew as she left.

  Although covered, the bright room lights filtered easily through the thin white fabric.

  “I can’t believe we’re still alive,” Sunny whispered to me.

  “Believe it,” I said.

  “Do you think we’re going to make it?” she asked, and I heard her sheet move.

  “And I can’t believe I’m hearing doubt in your voice,” I said and pulled my sheet back.

  “I knew there was a good chance we’d get killed,” she said. “I knew it’d be nearly impossible, but that didn’t matter.” She reached out and my hand met hers between the tables. Our fingers entangled.

  “You’re a hell of a woman. Your husband’s a lucky man.”

  “Robert, I should tell you something about him.”

  “What? He isn’t a part of this, is he? One of the bad guys?”

  “No, I don’t think so—at least not more than he has to be.”

  “You said I didn’t like him much. Why?”

  “You thought he was weak,” she said, her voice groggy, slurring as if she was about to lose consciousness. “You thought he wasn’t awfully bright, made bad choices. You thought he wasn’t good enough for me and my daughter.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think he’s wonderful. A great father and husband. I couldn’t ask for more. And he can take care of himself. Always has. But he needs our help, now.” Her voice began to trail off. “You’ll understand better what I mean soon.”

  “Sunny, did we, I mean you and I, uh, see each other after college, I mean up until the kidnapping?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were we . . . intimate?”

  She looked at me squinting, then her gaze went to my hand and she acted as if she was trying to focus on it but the grogginess was impairing her vision. She rubbed a place between my thumb and forefinger. She smiled. “Yes.”

  “My God,” I said. I didn’t like what I was hearing. “While you were married?”

  She said weakly, “Yes,” and the word became a sigh as if she had gone to sleep.

  I slipped from the table, careful not to fall, placed her arm back across her chest and covered her with the sheet once more. As I got back on my gurney, I glanced at the place on my hand that she was rubbing. I found what appeared to me to be an insignificant dark spot, like a freckle. I had no special memory of it—just a freckle.

  Chapter 27

  Several minutes passed. I began thinking of William and how we were going to get him out. He was paralyzed. Dr. Xiang had said if we moved him, he could die. Of course, the good doctor also had said the computer chip at the base of my skull was a bump from my fall.

  I remembered both occasions. The first was outside of William’s hospital room with Michelle. It was one of those memories framed in darkness again, the Doctor leaning close to my face, Michelle in the background with a cast on her arm and bandage across her forehead. “He is exceptionally lucky to be alive,” Xiang had said. “We need to be extremely cautious of moving him. The slightest movement in the wrong way could sever what is left of his spinal cord and kill him instantly.” I remember Michelle beginning to cry and turning away as Xiang continued, “We have hope, however. Doctors in Bethesda, Maryland have been working on a new treatment to regenerate spinal cord cells. It’s still experimental, but I have a friend there, and I’m relatively sure we can get your son admitted within a few months. Certain criteria must be met, and that will take time to compile and diagnose. They must support t
he prognosis at that time. The only risk to your son is that it might not work. What do you think? Should we try it?” Michelle then turned to the doctor and pleaded, “Yes, doctor. Yes, of course we should. Anything, anything to make my little boy whole again.”

  The doctor had given me a second warning when he’d told me about my “bump.” I recalled it again on that screen in the middle of the dark. “Be sure not to bother the bump,” he’d said, smiling warmly. “It could cause complications.”

  There was no other way to ensure William’s safety now but to move him, take him with us.

  “Sunny?” I asked.

  There was no reply.

  “Sunny?”

  Still nothing. She was out. Whatever Yumi had given her was too much.

  The lights finally died a few minutes later. Within a couple of seconds, the emergency lights came on and an irritating alarm began an intermittent buzz. The sound of running feet came from the hallway. It was like a stampede.

  * * *

  By the time the big MH-53M Pave Low IV helicopter came barreling up the dry creek bed, its sister ship was but a pile of charred steel below it, barely smoldering. It hovered above the clearing caused by the first helicopter’s fiery crash for only a few seconds before a soldier came running out waving his arms.

  The chopper touched down quickly, its tires bouncing on the ground. As it settled, the soldier vaulted onto its lowered back ramp. The large helicopter took off again before the man’s feet were inside. It banked in the direction of the Mount Rainy Biotronics facility, and its twin turbo engines raced at top speed.

  * * *

  When the halls quieted, I slipped from the table and tried to wake Sunny. There was no reaction even when I pinched her. I hoped when the time came to get out she’d be more responsive. In the meantime, I was compelled to do more than simply wait for Dr. Yumi. The proof she would give me in copied files and video would be interesting; however, a little firsthand reconnoitering was in order, now.

  I wheeled Sunny’s gurney to the wall on one side of the morgue where I hoped she’d be safe, and gently touched her forehead through the sheet before I turned from her.

  When I scanned the room of tables, I noticed the sheet on one of them pulled back slightly, revealing the side of a young man’s face. It was the guard I had killed at the amusement of Dr. Xiang.

  I slung the sheet away and found he was fully clothed, his helmet setting between his feet on the table. Again, I noted he was about my size.

  * * *

  I paused at the first door I came to, the only one on that side of the hundred-foot hallway, raised my copper-tinted goggles and adjusted my utility belt. Although the young guard had been unarmed when I absconded with his clothing, his uniform afforded me at least a bit of security in my search for the truth, for Will, and for Sunny’s husband. And the uniform fit surprisingly well. The only thing close to a weapon I had was intended to do me in—the cyanide pill. I couldn’t imagine a situation where I’d need the thing now, but to be sure, I took it out of my cheek and placed it in my uniform shirt pocket.

  The door was labeled Psychological Enhancement—Viewing Rooms. I guessed that label was for the benefit of those still living in Biotronics’ make-believe world.

  Harvey was back. My imaginary rabbit yawned and stretched inside my head. The thing was becoming too real. The intrusive bunny smacked his lips as if needing to bring moisture to his dry mouth after a long sleep.

  Hey, Superman, Harvey said, this could be it. This could answer a whole bunch of questions. He yawned again.

  Or give rise to new, even more confusing ones, dumb bunny, I thought. I still pictured him as a big white rabbit. Yet I could see him with a cute little pink nose. And other, more feminine features, maybe. Lazy, drooping ears. Large, bright eyes and long lashes. Full, red lips—kind of like Bugs Bunny’s girlfriend. I had to shake my head to get rid of the image before I went too far.

  “Geez,” I whispered, “leave me alone. You’re driving me insane!”

  The door was locked, a palm-scanning security pad beside it about chest high. Cautiously, I placed my hand on the red Plexiglas pad and hoped Rajiv had found time to fix my security clearance. I smiled when the lock snapped like a gun hammer. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Along one side of the corridor I’d entered were at least a dozen dark rooms in either direction. A dim glow emitted from several of them, and all opened to the connecting hallway I stood in. The place seemed vacant. At least, if anyone was around, they must have been busy with their jobs.

  I looked into the first room on my left and found a dozen seats placed in stadium style—three rows of four. The front wall was glass—a huge picture window. In front of the window was a countertop with three cushioned, swiveled office chairs, pushed neatly underneath. On the countertop, three microphones protruded. Three small, color monitors were embedded inside the clear-glass counter and the keyboards were on drawers mounted underneath.

  From in front of the window, I looked down one level into a dark space about twelve feet square. Nothing in the room I stood in now was even vaguely familiar, however the room below brought back some sort of remembrance, a fleeting wisp of a memory. That space contained only a simple, metal table and chair and a sort of chrome-framed recliner with black, plastic-covered cushions. An apparatus of some kind attached to a small chrome-plated stand stood between the metal chair and the recliner. A dozen or more brightly colored electronic leads looped from it, their ends, unattached, draped over a chrome bar along the back of the instrument.

  Dachau, Harvey said. Auschwitz. Treblinka.

  “Yeah, a modern day Nazi torture camp,” I said before I realized I was talking to myself.

  I left the dark room, curiosity and Harvey pushing me toward one emitting light. Peeking around the edge of the closest wall, I discovered a single technician, headphones on, watching intently the monitor in front of him. Past him, through the large picture window, was a room like the one I’d seen a moment before, except this one was occupied. A man in a white, terry-cloth robe sat back in the cushioned chrome recliner.

  He watched a movie projected onto the wall in front of him, a set of headphones covering his ears, also. However, it wasn’t a movie. It was old TV—Andy Griffith. Opie and Andy walking down a dirt road with fishing poles and big smiles.

  Harvey began whistling the comedy show’s theme song in lieu of the real thing, probably echoing what was being piped into the guy’s ears in the Psychological Enhancement room below.

  I got lost in reminiscing—until I heard a clank behind me. I feared it was the bolt of an M-16 slamming into place against a chambered bullet.

  When I turned, I was somewhat relieved to see Dr. Yumi standing in front of the bolted door, even though she was holding a 9mm Makarov like the one Michelle had pulled on me. She was the third woman to have directed a gun barrel at me since sunset. I hoped the weapon was as much for my protection as for hers. Still not a hundred percent sold on her Falon Gong story, she had won some of my trust by apparently saving Sunny’s life and mine.

  With her pistol pointed at me, Yumi said, “What you are doing is extremely dangerous, for both of us.”

  I pretended not to consider the implication that she might have to shoot me. “Watching TV?”

  “The old television and movies in the files before you help demonstrate American family values, stable family relationships with quiet discipline.”

  “Okay,” I said, a little puzzled. “What is this place?” I tipped my head toward the room below.

  “Have you ever wondered why you relate so much of the world around you to television, commercials and movies?”

  I frowned at her without reply, unsure of where she was going with this question.

  She said, “You want it all in one quick, neat little package?”

  “Well, yeah, since my son’s life and mine are in danger, and I’ve been thrown around town like I’m some sort of puppet in the hands of a three-year-ol
d.”

  “You are not going to get it all wrapped up nicely.” She shook her head. “It does not come that way.”

  “Go ahead, I’m a big boy.”

  “Since you are here now, perhaps seeing for yourself is of benefit, your knowing as much as time allows might help our cause.”

  Harvey said, Here comes that “Falon Gong” thing.

  “Shoot . . . ,” I said, and then remembered the pistol in her right hand, “ . . . uh, let’s hear it.”

  She motioned for me to go out the door. We went down the hall of viewing rooms to the end space, I guessed because it would be the last one anyone might use. Inside was an empty station, and through the large picture window, the room in front of it was dark.

  She had me sit at the counter.

  “The computer in front of you is in sleep mode. Move the mouse and type in the password Brainstorm.”

  A puzzle piece fit into place. Brainstorm was the project name Major Jackson had asked me about. I took off my helmet, sat at the seat in front of the counter and did as she instructed. The computer came alive.

  “Now, look for the file Subject 374.”

  Chapter 28

  I repeated, “Subject three seventy-four?”

  “Yes,” Yumi said. “It is your file. You were the three hundred and seventy-fourth subject. The twelfth Robert Weller—however, the first to live. Through hypnotic suggestion, the townspeople knew your name, thinking you were their neighbor, the hardware storeowner, by the brown coat and trousers you wore.”