by A. A. Bell
‘That’s the risk of acquiring information or cooperation by force,’ Kitching commented. ‘We already know that a weak mind can be forced to confess anything, while trained soldiers can take up to two hundred hours to break.’
‘The main dilemma in this particular case,’ Zhou cautioned, ‘is that this goat herder also happens to be the brother of a high-ranking politician in his own country who’s taken a stance against the United States. He’s been replaced by a CIA look-alike until it can be confirmed beyond any shadow of a doubt that he’s guilty. No major international incident that way. In the meantime, his family have no idea where he really is, so his case isn’t politically convenient for publicity — at least not in the foreseeable future.’
The senator scratched the bald spot at the back of his head. ‘So who’s next?’
‘A French-Canadian woman,’ Van Danik replied, ‘who was working for the FBI in Toronto until her partner stumbled onto evidence that she was selling national secrets.’
‘In this case,’ Zhou continued, ‘it’s the details of her contacts and buyers that are more valuable than she is. She fell off a building during capture and is currently in a coma, so interrogation of her all-seeing, all-hearing subconscious is the only way to reach the information that’s locked inside her head — what’s left of it, that is. Her case would also be helpful in demonstrating our work’s application for debriefing critically wounded soldiers or unconscious victims of crime, which brings me to our next suggestion — a British serial killer who attempted to hang himself in jail. At no stage has he ever revealed the locations of his fourteen murder victims, despite being roomed for long periods with a very talented mole. However, he’s attempted suicide twice and was on life support at the time we interrogated his subconscious, and so far, results from our preliminary session have turned up the burial sites for his first two victims.’
‘He was unconscious during the procedure?’ asked Kitching.
Van Danik nodded. ‘That was the whole point. It made the process long and tedious — like interrogating a light bulb to find its favourite room in a city — but ultimately successful. The only dilemma in this case is that our boy is virtually brain dead after his last attempt at suicide, so we’d need to keep him alive long enough to find the other twelve burial sites — which could stir up a legal rights battle.’
‘That doesn’t faze me,’ said the senator. ‘I’m sure, that if it came down to a court challenge, the wishes of the victims’ families would outweigh the rights of a brain-dead criminal. And either way, the extra media attention would be ideal. So forget the terrorist. We only intend to fund two public test cases.’
‘Well, there are two other interesting options,’ Zhou said. ‘Firstly, the case of Mr Bennet Chiron, a thirty-two-year-old local man who was framed for an armed robbery that resulted in death. He was asleep in the house of the real perpetrators at the time of the robbery. The evidence that he’d overheard while sleeping had remained locked in his unconscious until our session.’
‘Interesting indeed!’ remarked the senator. ‘I wonder how beneficial it could be to interrogate my political opponents while they’re sleeping? I might discover plans for their next smear campaign in time to help it backfire.’
He chuckled, but Zhou exchanged a nervous glance with Van Danik.
‘Theoretically that might be possible, Senator,’ Zhou said, ‘but it would only work if there was any dirt for your opponents to dig up.’
‘Quite so, quite so!’ Sloan chuckled. ‘No need to kiss my ass, though, Doctor. You’ve already got my attention — and funding for the final stage of your project. It’s a long time since I’ve been so pleased by preliminary findings from research and development. A very long time.’
‘Then perhaps there was no need to leave the most intriguing case for last?’ Zhou said with a smile. ‘Atwenty-two-year-old blind woman who was orphaned aged ten and was institutionalised as a ward of the state two years later. She’s suffered several conflicting diagnoses over the years in regards to her rare medical condition, which we’ve already cracked, to a certain degree, in a single brief session.’
‘Bingo,’ said the senator. ‘She holds three of the trump cards for attracting public sympathy — female, handicapped and an orphan.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed the general. ‘And as a ward of the state, technically she’s already ours.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Zhou replied. ‘She’s a rather strong-willed young woman who only cooperates when it suits her.’
‘But she did volunteer to cooperate for the tests?’ asked Garland. ‘And she knows what to expect when her case becomes a media circus?’
‘She did and she does,’ Van Danik replied. ‘But that’s all still subject to the tenuous blessing of the matron at Serenity — the woman’s current legal guardian — and I wouldn’t rely too heavily on getting or keeping her long-term support. Not long enough to see the case through court to a successful conclusion, anyway. Matron Sanchez is a force of nature. I can mathematically prove it.’
Kitching rapped his fingers on the table. ‘If you want the woman, Senator, you’ve got her. I can use my authority to transfer her guardianship to you or one of the other docs until we’re finished with her.’
‘She’s not a box of ammunition,’ Zhou argued. ‘She’s a wilful young woman with special needs.’
‘I thought you said she was mentally retarded?’ asked the senator.
‘The motion of a ship may be retarded,’ Zhou replied, ‘or the progress of a political campaign, but it’s not appropriate to use that term in relation to people.’
‘You know what I mean. She’s from the shallow end of the gene pool, none too intellectually stellar. Am I right?’
‘On paper it may seem that way. Her last IQ test suggested she has the mental acuity of a twelve-year-old, but in all fairness she was twelve years old at the time, and considering the learning challenges she must have experienced as her problem developed, I’d consider that score to be quite a compliment. We have every reason to believe that she’s developed well beyond that since then, despite any formal recognition of it in her files.’
‘Cut to the bottom line,’ snapped the senator. ‘Can she be bent to our needs or not?’
‘Yes, sir, but —’
‘Funding isn’t bottomless,’ warned the general. ‘So let’s forget that Chiron fellow for now as well as the terrorist and —’
‘General,’ Zhou interrupted, ‘there are complications with Miss Chambers that you need to know about. We didn’t get as much time with her as we needed, so we’ve still got a fair amount of prep work to do for her case. And she’ll require an operation afterwards, as part of the deal for delaying or cancelling the surgery that’s already scheduled for this Monday.’
‘Expensive surgery?’ asked Garland.
‘Not in the grand scheme of things. It’s a relatively simple optical procedure, but it can’t be done before we’re finished with her court case. There’s a chance she may regain normal vision, which would damage our ability to gather last-minute evidence or demonstrations, if required.’
‘Consider it funded,’ Garland replied. ‘By controlling the timing of her surgery, we can also ensure that we’re seen to give her tragic tale a happy ending. All the better for publicity.’
‘You must also understand that she’s psychologically unstable,’ Zhou said with a tentative glance around the table. ‘It may be risky to allow the resulting court case to drag on for months just to maximise media coverage. That’s something you could only do with Chiron.’
‘Is there any risk to Miss Chambers if we delay her surgery?’ asked Garland.
Zhou shrugged. ‘I won’t know that until I can get a better look inside her eyes.’
‘Then get to it,’ Kitching ordered. ‘We can’t afford to be accused of delaying her recovery for our own benefit. Do whatever it takes — whatever she needs — over the weekend. And get back to me.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
After piling all the vegetables on the floor beside him, he explored the top shelf, almost knocking over milk and bottles of soft drink before he found a square-shaped container that he knew contained tofu sausages — he’d already eaten two for breakfast.
The task of finding saucepans was easier because they hung on hooks in order of size, but lighting the gas stove worried him. He took great care with both the switch and the gas outlet before striking the match. Gas had never smelled more sour nor the flames more sweet. The match scorched his fingers and he yelped, shaking it into the sink then flushing water over it to ensure it extinguished.
He filled the biggest saucepan first, listening until he heard it overflow, then added the potatoes and corn cobs, displacing even more water. He poured out a little extra for good measure before shifting the pot onto the flame.
Zero points for style and accuracy, he thought. But at least I’m coping. Sort of.
Now for the cabbage.
He reached for the wall rack of knives and selected the biggest, a meat cleaver — much blunter than the others, and no serrations to take off his fingertips.
‘What are you doing?’
His mother’s voice was right behind him.
Startled, he dropped the knife on the bench. ‘Whoa! Way to give me a heart attack. I thought you were still in the garage.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ She watched him fumble to find the knife again. ‘What’s with the blindfold?’
He shrugged and chopped off one end from the cabbage. ‘Just testing a theory — to see if improving my appreciation of minor details can help to put bigger worries into perspective.’
‘You can’t hide from your problems and hope they go away.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’ He tore the outer cabbage leaves into pieces and felt for the smaller pot, then dropped them into it.
‘So what are your bigger worries?’
He filled the cabbage pot to overflowing too, and shifted it clumsily onto the stove, splashing water and making the flame sizzle. ‘Huh … What do you know? I honestly don’t remember. I guess it works.’
‘Are you losing it?’ his mother said.
‘Maybe. I’d make a lousy blind person, that’s for sure. Damn! I forgot to light the grill for the sausages.’
He reached for the matches again, but she snatched the box, slapped his hand and switched on the kitchen light.
Lifting his blindfold a little, he kept his eyes closed. ‘Hey, did you know that you really can detect light through your eyelids? I could tell the light went on even without hearing the click.’
‘Open your eyes, Bennet! Sit down right now and put your shirt on. You’re acting like a mental case.’
‘I am not acting. Well actually I am. But I have a good reason.’
‘You’re trying to boil lettuce. What reason can you have for that?’
‘I’m what?’ He opened his eyes and saw that she was right. ‘Oh well …’ He reached for the refrigerator. ‘Try, try again.’
She grabbed his arm. ‘What are you doing? Get that shirt off your head before you hurt yourself!’ She tried to remove it, but he blocked her.
‘I want to do this, Ma!’
‘Why?’
‘To appreciate what I have. Being blind makes it … makes everything so surreal, if you can imagine that? So many mundane things I used to take for granted, even in jail.’
‘Like what?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Your health?’
‘Oh, much more than that! On a microscopic scale, it seems like everything. I can smell the boiling water. I didn’t realise it even had a smell. Did you? And the steam makes the air feel different — charged with a kind of energy I’d never have noticed without the blindfold.’
‘You’re raving.’ She headed for the telephone. ‘My doctor warned me to watch out for signs once you came out of jail. And working with those nutcases all day …’
‘No!’ He headed her off. ‘I promise, I’m not crazy. Try it yourself if you don’t believe me!’
‘Benny, look at yourself! Take that shirt off your head and behave normally!’
He sighed and obliged, but crumpled his T-shirt into a ball instead of putting it on properly.
‘It wouldn’t hurt to see a doctor anyway.’
‘No, Ma.’
‘Just talk to someone …’
‘Honestly, there’s no need.’
‘But what if you’re —’
‘No!’ Ben slammed the phone with his hand — too hard. It shattered, sending plastic fragments skittering across the bench onto the floor. Then, regaining his composure, Ben bit his lip and rubbed his temple, hating himself for venting his anger on her. He couldn’t blame her for worrying; it had taken him a long time to get over the depression and rage that had dogged him during and after his imprisonment.
Quietly, his mother collected the phone fragments and held them out to him. Her mouth opened to say something, but he snatched the pieces and threw them into the bin.
‘Okay, maybe I have been feeling low again,’ he said. ‘I just need some time to float and catch my breath. Is that too much to ask?’
She shrugged. ‘I can’t help feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.’
He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and for a long moment they held each other; Ben with his eyes closed, exploring the familiar softness of her hair and the perfumed scents that rose from her skin, as they always had for as long as he could remember.
‘Let me try that blindfold,’ she said, giving in to him.
He smiled and wrapped the shirt around her eyes, then ushered her closer to the refrigerator.
‘Find the cabbage,’ he said, ‘or it’s boiled lettuce for both of us.’
Mira clutched to her ear the receiver of the payphone that she’d found during her exploration of the other buildings at Serenity. For the seventh time, she listened to the constant buzzing tone — still no answer at the number call-connect had provided for Ben. She hung up, worried now that he hadn’t made it home safely.
Pressing the button on the side of her invisible watch, she triggered the electronic voice. ‘The time is nine fifty-five pee em.’
‘Uh-oh.’
Where had the time gone? Only five minutes left before she had to be back in her room, and she had no intention of losing her privileges now that she had them.
‘Clear the way!’ she shouted to Freddie, who was whispering to others about collecting GPS badges from his latest band of followers. ‘Coming through!’
Using the combination of what she could see through her sunglasses and feel with her invisible walking stick, she skipped swiftly back down the hall towards the staircase.
‘You are now leaving nursing station B4 on level B,’ reported the GPS badge inside her shirt collar. ‘To your right is an elevator. To your left is a staircase. Above you is accommodation level C. Below you is accommodation level A.’
‘I know,’ she sang as she danced down the stairs. ‘And I have my freedom to come and go as I please!’
Naked except for a thick foam of blue bubbles, Matron Sanchez reached out of her oversized hot tub to answer a call on her walkabout phone.
‘What’s the emergency?’ she asked, accidentally bumping an empty bottle of food colouring back into the water with her. Appropriate, she thought, considering her role as the narrating sea-nymph.
‘Sorry, Matron,’ Zhou said. He swiftly summarised their situation, then requested another meeting with Mira in the morning. ‘Would that be convenient?’
‘Not exactly.’ Sanchez dabbed globs of blue bubbles
onto her cheeks and chin. ‘Our festival kicks off tomorrow with a craft market in the morning and mini-Olympics throughout the day, so there’ll be visitors all over the place. I won’t be able to guarantee a quiet place for you to work, let alone a secure location.’
‘What about a gate pass so Mira can come to our hotel for the weekend? There’s a secure meeting room on the ground floor here, and of course we’ll pick up the tab for her expenses on both days.’
‘No can do, sorry. I need every able-bodied staff member on deck here. I’ve already got my night-shifters working overtime.’
‘What about putting her in a taxi and sending her to us that way? She’ll only be unsupervised for the drive, then she’ll be with us the whole time.’
‘Sorry, Doctor. I really do wish that was an option, for Mira’s sake, but she has … let’s call them “issues” about travelling alone. She needs full-time supervision with staff who can handle her particular psychoses.’
‘Behind great beauty lurks the shadow of neuroses,’ Zhou muttered.
‘Something like that. Around here, it lurks everywhere. I wish I could help, but it’s bad timing, I’m afraid. Can you come Monday morning instead? Her surgery isn’t scheduled until half-past two in the afternoon.’
‘We may need longer than that. A whole day, if not two, since there’s a lot of cross-questioning to get through. What about Ben? He seems to get on with her well enough by himself?’
‘I’m afraid Ben’s no longer working for us. I can’t say one way or the other if he’d be available as a volunteer. I’ve already tried to contact him a few times this evening with no luck. I wanted to invite him to our Shakespearean play tomorrow night, which reminds me, I also extend an invitation to you and your team. As promised, I’ve reserved you tickets for the sunset session.’
‘Well, then, I suppose a noisy room at Serenity is better than no room at all,’ Zhou said, giving in. ‘If we can use the same area we used before, then please expect us in the morning.’