by Brian Tyree
Baldo lead him to the nearby OmniTrainer, glancing down at Ghost One’s feet. “He forgot to take his shoes off,” Baldo said to McCreary.
“Do it for him.”
Baldo loosened Hal’s shoe strings, tugged his shoes off and guided him onto the metal bowl-shaped floor of the OmniTrainer. Hal heard Baldo scurry away and climb into a chair in the box.
Douglas gaped at the training, fascinated. His first time to witness ghost sims. McCreary wore a headset with microphone, standing between Hal and the box. He nodded for Douglas to take a seat. Douglas sat in his RPA operator’s chair, spinning around to watch.
The CG simulator graphics appeared on Baldo’s screen.
“Mission sim up and ready, sir.”
“Play, real-time,” McCreary ordered.
“Yes, sir. Program playing in real time.”
The computer simulation played on a screen above Baldo. The same program Hal watched in 3D through his VR headgear. The technology amazed Hal. He appeared high above rolling countryside hills at night, plummeting toward Earth. The realism of the VR vertigo made him queasy. More so than an actual night jump.
Hal was unable to tell where he was from the topography details. The computer animation didn’t include any recognizable structures in the glowing city on the horizon.
“Beacon to Ghost One… You’re parachuting. Landing in five, four…”
Do I pretend to land? Hal pondered frantically during the countdown, and ended up feigning a half landing, barely bending his knees.
“Stand by for systems check,” McCreary said as he and Baldo ran down the checklist. Hal patiently waited, staring straight ahead at a digital country landscape bathed in artificial moonlight.
They wrapped up the checklist and a red flashing light appeared in Hal’s view on the horizon. The wordTARGET flashed above it.
“Proceed to target,” McCreary ordered.
The order perplexed Hal. Am I really supposed to walk? He had never seen a VR OmniTrainer and had no clue you could actually walk in place.
McCreary exchanged a look with Baldo. Ghost One wasn’t accustomed to ignoring commands.
“Beacon to Ghost One, proceed to target.”
Hal swallowed hard and plowed forward, walking in the same brisk stride he had been practicing around Henry’s house under Jenny’s tutelage. His feet naturally slipped on the slope of the metal bowl—enabling him to walk in place. Wow! Hal thought. Consciously silencing himself from saying it out loud.
The computer simulation moved in sync with Hal’s footsteps as he plodded through a grassy CG plain on the countryside toward a dark river. Trees and shrubs passing by at the speed of his walk. A thought struck him that nearly made him chortle aloud—Why the mind control?! If I knew it was this cool, I might have volunteered for the duty!
♦ ♦ ♦
Hal successfully completed the sim. The computer program stopped at the end, then returned to the starting point. He would have to repeat it again and again. Three more times. After that, he completed a simulated training for contingency plans, should the mission go awry. A variety of scenarios presented themselves and Hal responded to each intuitively, while following orders after to abort the mission and proceed to exfil. He found the process redundant. He got it after the first sim. Hal presumed the repetitions were necessary for retention with someone in a subconscious-sleepwalking state.
During the sims, Hal discovered that he could reach for any of his weapons and they would appear in his hands. If he reached down to his holster and closed his hand, he would be gripping his sidearm. The same was true of a submachine gun, grenades, fixed-blade knife, and even chemlights.
They practiced simulations with nearly every weapon—sidearm target practice, faux knife fights, and hand-to-hand close quarter combat. Hal wondered if he responded the same now as all of his subconscious simulations.
By the time the sim training came to an end, Hal had worked up a good lather. Baldo led Hal out of the OmniTrainer to a comfortable chair, brought over from the box. He kept the VR headgear on Hal. Running the mission brief through the VR as well as memory retention programs with flashing images and names of his targets. McCreary quizzed Hal, drilling him with virtual flashcards. He would say the target’s name and ask Hal to repeat it. Confirming Hal’s retention, while utilizing vocal, visual and muscle-memory learning techniques.
After three hours of intensive training, the preparation was complete. Baldo removed the VR headgear, placed Hal’s shoes back on his feet and guided him to the pickup for the drive home, just the way he arrived.
Hal wasn’t sure if he should shower or go right to bed. He couldn’t remember waking up sweaty or smelling of body odor. He figured showering was common and maybe even worked into his mind control programming. If not, oh well. He wasn’t going back to bed hot and dripping from head to toe in sweat.
Falling asleep wasn’t easy. Not just because of all the caffeine in his system, but from the rush of the training he just completed. He couldn’t wait to tell Jenny and Hank. He wanted to tell everyone he knew.
♦ ♦ ♦
“How’d it go?” A gravelly voice sounded on the other end of McCreary’s home phone. He was groggy, having just awoken. His mind cleared, realizing it was Trest.
“Fine— Great, sir. Went really well.”
“He found the barn okay?”
“Yes, sir. No problem there.”
There was a pause. “No problem there? So, where was it?”
“Not a problem, sir. Just a couple delays in command responses. I’m thinking it’s the new environment. He completed all the sims with the usual speed, diligence and aggression. He’ll be fine.”
“Good to hear. POTUS has been on my ass like we’re in a Castro District bath-house, so this France mission has to go off without a hitch.
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”
“The ISIS cell is so deep in a Paris no-go zone the French won’t risk offending the Muslims by taking it out. Their President turned down a SEAL Team six op to infiltrate! All the more reason we have to ace this mission. Going into unfriendly land unseen is one thing. Going into ally country is another. He paused for effect then repeated his words… “Without a hitch.”
“Yes, sir. A-game.”
“Alright. Tomorrow night.”
“Roger that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SCIROC
“Those… look amazing!” Jenny said, as Henry entered the dining room from his backyard, gripping a metal tray of mesquite-grilled steaks—cooked to perfection. He wore a chef’s hat and novelty apron printed with the six-pack abs of a boxer and a championship belt that read “Grill Master.” Henry removed the hat and apron, setting the tray of steaks on the rustic polished-oak dining room table, joining Hal and Jenny.
It was early evening. Over the course of dinner, Hal walked them through his entire training. Giving them a play-by-play. From the high-pitched sound of the tone that woke him through an implant to the interactive VR training and mission brief. Henry the technophile had several questions about the VR hardware and training. He was eager to know the minute details of the training. Jenny listened in disbelief as Hal revealed more of the world that had been hidden to her for the last two years.
The three speculated on next steps—how his mission may go down and how he might be able to steal a suit—should the opportunity present itself. They discussed every possible scenario and contingency they could imagine. Including all the back-up plans Hal covered in his training. The discussion ran well into the warm peach cobbler Henry prepared, topped with heaping scoops of frigid vanilla bean ice cream.
Hal expected the mission to happen soon, while the training was still fresh in his mind. Possibly even tonight. He asked Henry for a double-shot espresso to go with his peach cobbler.
The three set up an assembly line on the dinner dishes with Hal washing, Jenny rinsing and Henry drying. Halfway into it, Jenny received a cryptic text. The same kind she always received
the evening of one of the ghost missions, never knowing her subjects were leaving the facility. This one had an additional note with longitude and latitude coordinates—a new location. She showed the message to Hal and Henry.
“It’s running out,” Henry alarmed, handing the phone back.
He was referring to a timer on the encrypted app that would delete the message after thirty seconds. Jenny snapped a screen shot of it before it disappeared. “Who puts longitude and latitude?” She asked, rhetorically. “Just tell me the location!”
Henry removed his phone, opening a map application. “What are they?”
She read the numbers slowly, “Longitude 32.851866, Latitude 106.060970.”
Henry typed them into his phone. A map popped up with a pointer hovering over a light beige blank area zoomed all the way in. Henry zoomed out. “That’s Otero County. Just East of the base. The Ba—”
“—Barrett Ranch,” Hal completed his sentence.
“How did you know?”
“I was there. That’s the barn where I trained.”
“Why didn’t you say?” Henry asked, agitated. “You know he’s a friend. You were with me for his birthday barbecue!”
“I know,” Hal replied, “and that’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to contact him or involve him in any way.”
“I’m gonna’ call it a night,” Henry said. “You two stay as long as you like.” He started out of the kitchen.
“Henry...” Hal said. It sounded unusual to Henry because Hal never referred to him by anything other than Hank or Uncle Hank. “You okay?”
“No problem, pal.”
“I should’ve told you,” Hal said. “The fewer people that know about this the better. I withheld it for his safety and yours.”
“I understand. No worries.” Henry gave Hal a friendly smack on the shoulder and tightened his grip on it. “Knock ‘em dead, kid.” Henry’s eyes told Hal not to sweat it. They were good. And then he passed through the dark living room, disappearing into the blackness of the hallway.
“I better hit the road too,” Jenny said. Hal nodded in agreement. Finishing his coffee. He gave her several minutes to drive out ahead of him, inconspicuous to any spying eyes.
♦ ♦ ♦
Hal lied on his back in bed. Awake with eyes closed. Certain he would get the call tonight, but when? He had no idea. The waiting now was even more arduous than before, when he wasn’t sure if they would even summon him. Analog seconds ticked by on an imaginary clock in his mind, with minute and hour hands perpetually frozen. Henry’s espresso was kicking in full force. Not that he needed it to help him stay awake tonight. The adrenaline rush he felt reminded him of his very first combat mission as a CSAR PJ. The mission itself was a cake walk. All he did was hop out of an HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopter and watch Marines load a wounded brother onto the helo. He leaped back in and held the IV bag while two other PJs worked on the Marine. Hal remembered the feeling of his boots hitting foreign dirt when he jumped out. He could still see the dust kicking out on all sides of his soles, like he had landed on the moon. Not knowing what lay on the horizon, raising his M4, ready to fire at anything that mov—
—BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP… The call came inside his skull. The loudness startled him. Finally, go time.
Hal got up, threw his sweatsuit on and mirrored everything from his training. The voice of McCreary came over his implanted bone phone. Now, wide awake, he clearly recognized the voice as his superior officer at work. McCreary led him down the street, but this time there was no gray pickup waiting for him. Hal continued down the street as he expected, en route to Stealth Alley and Hangar 302.
Hal followed the commands, passing the Security Force guards posted outside the dark and eerie hangar, entering through the side door. McCreary’s voice guiding him to a quick right where he went in the small clinic room. Everything was portable. It could all be cleaned out in a moment’s notice.
Hal maintained drill sergeant-like eye discipline, staring straight ahead, but froze for a moment when he saw Jenny in a lab coat next to Dr. Elm. McCreary instructed him to lie down on the angled chair and close his eyes. Jenny and Dr. Elm sprang into action, following a routine like a seasoned Formula One pit crew. Hooking electrodes to Hal’s brain and heart, and activating the monitoring equipment the wires fed into. Dr. Elm grabbed an iPad with a touch-screen checklist as Jenny called out the stats… “Heart rate: 122 over 60. Pulse 72.”
Jenny stepped around the gurney to the electro-encephalogram (EEG) monitor. Moving the screen toward her while stealthily moving it away from Dr. Elm. Were Dr. Elm to look up, the pattern of tight, narrow jagged lines animating on the monitor would inform him that Hal was awake. Having done this dozens of times, Jenny told the doctor what he wanted to hear, “EEG waveform reading: NREM N3.” Jenny had explained this to Henry and Hal nights before. NREM N3 was a sleep level identifier. N3 was the third of four sleep stages and was an acceptable stage to induce sleepwalking via the injection. The fourth and deepest sleep stage where sleepwalking naturally occurred was REM— rapid eye movement. NREM stages were the non-REM sleep stages, and all four naturally cycled every 90 minutes during sleep. The ghosts would receive an injection that extended the cycle to several hours.
Dr. Elm removed a vile of liquid from a Styrofoam box in a duffel bag. He popped the cap and swabbed the rubber top with an alcohol pad, then stabbed a syringe needle into it, filling it.
Jenny leaned over Hal, disconnecting his electrodes. She whispered to him, “It’s a sedative for your flight. It’s okay.”
Dr. Elm handed the needle and syringe to Jenny. Her eyes welled. She knew the solution wouldn’t harm Hal, but she fought back tears from the guilt tearing at her insides. Knowing she had contributed to countless previous manipulations like this one. She injected Hal in the arm. Elm handed her another needle containing the sleepwalking and mind-control agent. She guided it toward Hal’s arm then dipped the needle below, out of Dr. Elm’s view. Shooting the chemical concoction into the mattress pad.
Jenny returned the needle to Dr. Elm. He nodded to her approvingly. That was her cue to leave. Done for the night. She left out the same side door Hal entered. Dr. Elm escorted her, then turned back toward the hangar. His Bruno Magli shoes clacking on the cold concrete as he strode up to McCreary and Baldo. They were leaning against an MJ-1E lift truck. “He’s ready,” Dr. Elm informed them.
Baldo grabbed the sturdy handle of a large black crate on wheels near the lift truck. A metal, military-grade Pelican case. Tugging it behind him toward the small clinic as McCreary followed behind. The rugged, crash-proof case was designed to transport air-to-air missiles. This one housed something else entirely. Baldo dragged it into the small room, popped the latches and swung the lid open, revealing the complete SCIROC System. Self-Contained Infra-Red and Optical Camouflage. Initially, they called it the Sci-Rock, but Trest decreed for confidentiality reasons it would henceforth be known simply as “the suit.”
Each of the suit components fit snugly into custom-molded foam within the Pelican case. Baldo and McCreary removed cotton gloves from a slot on the side of the crate, a precaution to avoid leaving any fingerprints on the suit. Not only to avoid linking them to the suit, but also to prevent smudging the multi-spectral camouflage coating the suit, helmet and weapons. Smudges were deadly to the ghosts, creating blurs on the microscopic nano-lenses and monitors embedded in the suit, resulting in areas that wouldn’t cloak properly during activation.
McCreary touched a button on his headset. “Beacon to Ghost One… Sit up. Extend your arms straight up.” Hal did as commanded and Baldo removed Hal’s sweatshirt. McCreary removed a thin vest of body armor from the case, fastening it around Hal’s T-shirt. Baldo and McCreary pulled the top of the stealth suit out. Tugging it over Hal’s outstretched arms like they were stretching a thick sweater over a child for winter. “Straighten your legs.” Hal lifted them straight over the end of the dental chair. McCreary and Baldo removed Hal’s shoes.
“I hate this part,” Baldo muttered under his breath, pulling Hal’s sweat pants off as McCreary set his shoes aside. A pant leg got stuck on a sock as Baldo tried to remove it. Pulling the sock down to reveal an Ace bandage wrapped around Hal’s ankle. “That’s new,” Baldo commented to McCreary. “What should we do with it?”
McCreary fished the stealth boots out of the crate. Thrusting a cotton-gloved hand deep inside the left boot, assessing the space while looking at Hal’s bulging ankle. “I’m concerned about taking the wrap off. If he twists it, the pain could wake him.” McCreary looked to the door, thinking he would call on Dr. Elm’s advice, but remembered Elm had already left for the night. McCreary couldn’t dwell on it too long. They were on a tight schedule. “Take off his sock. Carefully. We’ll see if we can get the boot on over the wrap.”
Baldo followed his instructions. Gingerly removing the sock from Hal’s wrapped ankle. McCreary opened the boot mouth wide and slipped it on. It was snug, but a good fit. Baldo put the other boot on and activated the internal tightening motor, pulling the bootlace bands to an exact fit. He did the same for the other boot.
McCreary removed the backpack, which in itself was a technological marvel. Not only did it contain a rebreather, converting the wearer’s exhaled carbon dioxide to oxygen, it also housed an auto-reeling mechanism for the most compact parachute ever invented—constructed of a new synthetic material half the thickness of a standard PJ chute. The backpack also contained the computer hardware for the suit, which regulated pressurization for high altitude, controlled the cooling system and powered all the comms.
McCreary unplugged the backpack from a charger and turned the unit on. Making sure it was fully charged. At the same time, Baldo removed the helmet from a round depression in the protective foam, unplugging it from a USB charger built into the case. He turned the helmet and face-shield on, waiting for a blue light beside the green power indicator inside, telling him the helmet was in wireless sync with the backpack.