Dolan sighed. “Maybe. Probably. But perhaps you could give me just the rough parameters of the job you are offering?”
“That’s not how it works around this office,” Goodfellow said. “Limbus has a formula. We offer you a job that will resolve your difficulties once and for all. A job perfectly suited to your unique abilities. You accept that job unconditionally. Then we decide what responsibility to give you and prepare you for the assignment. You promise your services and we promise compensation. These terms are simple and non-negotiable.”
“You control everything, start to finish.”
“Not quite accurate. We decide everything. When you are ready, we send you where and when we please and compensate you after. If you fail to execute the job properly, the deal is off. If you refuse to go on the mission right now or later, the deal is off. If you try to run away…”
“You’ll terminate me,” Dolan said, face still devoid of emotion.
“Well, not exactly,” Goodfellow said. “We will just see to it that your mind is wiped clean. You will still be alive, Snake, but you won’t remember anything about Limbus or what happened when you met with us, or even who you were before. We’ll give you a brand new identity, all new thoughts and memories. You won’t be a danger to us then, but you won’t be you any more either.”
Dolan’s mouth dropped open. “You can do that?”
“Yes. Sometimes it works quite well.”
“Sometimes?”
“Well, unfortunately, a few dishonorably discharged individuals have a breakdown of sorts waiting for them. Months or years later, he or she might suddenly begin to remember bits and pieces of a deeply buried former identity. The process usually starts with very, very bad dreams that gradually seep into the waking hours. They get worse. If it gets out of control, the subject might hear voices, see things, and then eventually go completely psychotic. You see some of those unfortunates on the streets sometimes, always talking to their inner demons.”
“In short,” Dolan said, “if I try to fuck with Limbus, I’ll end up on the street corner wearing a tinfoil hat.”
“As I said, we have created our share of those over the years, though rarely on purpose. But you will not be dead. Not just for refusing or failing to complete a mission successfully. We are efficient enough to find a way to avoid executing our own people over something as trivial as human error.”
“And what do I get for all this exposure?” Dolan asked. “Never mind, I suppose you can’t tell me that.”
“No,” Goodfellow said.
“Can I ask for something as part of my compensation?”
“You can ask.”
“When this is all over, even with all the risks you just described, I want Limbus to make me forget.”
Goodfellow pursed his lips. He nodded. “That can be arranged.”
“I want your word on it.”
“Do what we ask you to do without question and to the best of your ability. When it’s all said and done, you will be discharged from the organization and I promise that you will be comfortable and happy and that you will forget about the mission and everything that happened in this life. You have my word.”
“Sounds good,” Dolan said, though now he wasn’t so sure. His mouth went dry. He felt like a man signing a deal with the devil. “But first there’s just a wee bit of danger?”
“Oh, yes. Quite a bit, but then, you already have had ample experience with putting your life on the line. You also have a special motivation that should prove useful, at least according to our intelligence. Those are the main reasons we have asked for your help.”
Dolan stretched and yawned. “I’m pretty out of shape. There is some sense of urgency here?”
Goodfellow said, “Well, time isn’t as much of a constraint on Limbus as it is on other organizations, but in this instance it is, shall we say, of the essence. Our reasons for taking on this project, and for the current need for speed, are complex and, unfortunately, well above both of our pay grades. Again, you must trust us. We start tomorrow. We need you to get in tip-top condition and back into the fray soonest.”
“I endanger my life in unknown ways without an explanation as to why, for which I receive a promissory note?”
“Precisely.”
Dolan smiled in a minor key. “Hell, I’m down with that. You have a deal.”
“I want you to know that I heard what you said, Mr. Dolan. Once we clean your mind, it will be changed forever.”
Then what have I got to lose? Dolan thought. Just pain.
“Why nothing at all,” Recruiter Goodfellow said, once again as if reading his mind, and perhaps for real this time. Dolan wouldn’t have put anything past Limbus at this point. “Nothing at all, except perhaps your life.”
*
Dolan got a good meal, a long, hot shower, and one good night’s sleep. After that, they flat out ran his sorry ass into the dirt.
The building may have been dilapidated on the outside, but as he’d suspected, Limbus was a very well-funded outfit. They had a large gym below ground. It was sterile white and packed with state-of-the-art equipment. Dolan worked out twice daily, roughly two hours a shot, lifted weights and did lots of cardio. He had the place to himself most of the time, although he did spot some of the stoic ex-military types leaving just when he arrived, or showing up as he headed for the shower. They were respectful but never said a word to him and their facial expressions did not invite conversation.
Limbus fed him well, generally sending meals directly to his room. They went heavy on the protein and vegetables to get him lean and strong again, and in between workouts provided him with a firing range and mixed martial arts training. The firing range was indoors near the gym, extremely large, with obstacles and rooms and windows that made it feel similar to those used by SWAT teams everywhere for urban training. Dolan worked alone with a variety of guns. The course changed daily, so he had to stay sharp to keep from being marked down. Overhead cameras watched his every move and doubtless reported back to Recruiter Goodfellow, Mr. Cranston, and whoever it was who gave those men their marching orders.
The mixed martial arts training hurt. Limbus had anticipated everything. They sent different instructors from several schools of fighting to each of the sessions so Dolan never got comfortable with an opponent or any individual style. The variety made him sharper and more confident. The routine was exhausting, and Limbus a hard taskmaster, but Dolan grudgingly came to admire its efficiency. He felt like a man with a purpose, even if that purpose was to disappear forever.
The powerful female nurse came to get him one morning. Dolan tried to engage the blond woman in conversation, but she was either mute or didn’t speak English. Perhaps she really was a Viking. She walked ahead of him, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. The floor was cold on his bare feet. He was still in his shorts. The nurse did not look back to see if Dolan was following her; she just assumed it. He stopped trying to converse and hugged himself against the chill. She walked him into the infirmary and then into one small room. There were no furnishings and the walls were the usual bone white.
The nurse turned around. She motioned for him to lie down on a padded gurney. Nervously, Dolan sat on the edge of the gurney, looked in her empty eyes, gave up, and went flat. The nurse cleaned the inside of his arm with rubbing alcohol. She was good with the needle; it barely hurt. Then she hooked Dolan up to an IV bag full of something clear. He immediately fell asleep again. He slept deeply and did not remember any dreams.
Dolan woke up feeling great, better than he had in years. He got dressed and hit the gym and lifted nearly ten percent more on his bench press. Had they given him a brew of vitamins and anti-toxins, perhaps mixed with other kinds of performance enhancing drugs? Dolan didn’t much care after one treatment. Whatever it was, it worked. He felt stronger and more confident. When the nurse came for him again a day or two later, he went along willingly. They were whipping him into tip-top condition.
It was hard to keep t
rack of time, but Dolan figured by charting his sleep hours and workouts that he’d been training for about ten days when it happened. He’d eaten dinner alone in his room, set the tray outside on the floor, and already done his stretches. Someone knocked and the sound startled Dolan. He knew the outer door would lock itself soon, keeping him trapped in his quarters for the night. Dolan didn’t mind that. He had a tablet in the room with seemingly unlimited movies and a substantial library of electronic books. He was exhausted from the training. It wasn’t that boring. He noticed faint music started playing, coming from somewhere behind the wall. That was unusual. He hadn’t asked for it.
Dolan padded to the door in his shorts and opened it a crack. “Yes?”
The girl had flaming red hair and large blue eyes. Her cheeks were dusted with freckles. She wore a low-cut black evening gown with one strand of pearls and black high heels, and she carried a velvet purse just big enough for feminine essentials. She smiled and his pulse kicked into high gear.
“My name is Colleen. May I come in?”
Dolan felt his mouth go dry. “Excuse me?”
“May I join you?”
Confused, Dolan stepped back from the door before remembering he was in just his shorts. Colleen swept past him without a second thought. Her perfume was intoxicating, the scent completely out of place in this harsh new world. Colleen was too beautiful and exotic to be found standing in the hallway in such a sterile, white, fabricated corporate environment. Where the hell had she come from? Was she one of them or just another recruit?
Colleen set her purse down on his desk. She hummed along with the faint music. She slipped out of her high heels and turned her back. She cocked her hip to one side. The girl had an amazing figure. She motioned to the light hair at the nape of her neck and the fastening gadget seated there. She wiggled her fingers.
“Please unzip me.”
“What are you doing here?” Dolan asked finally. It was a rude question, pretty pointless in the end, and they both knew it. His erection was instant, visible and weirdly embarrassing. Dolan also became acutely aware of the security cameras mounted everywhere. When he did not move closer, Colleen managed to undo her own zipper. She slithered out of the little black dress. She turned to face him. Now she wore only a tight smile, a pair of tiny lace panties, and the one strand of pearls. Her breasts were perfect. She reached over to flip off one of the light switches so that the room was mostly dark. She stopped humming but the soft music continued. Colleen stepped closer and put her hands on his bare shoulders.
“Who sent you?” Dolan asked, his own voice seeming to come from somewhere else. He licked his lips. Again, too obvious a question.
Colleen kissed him. The effect was electric. Dolan sat down heavily on the bed and she immediately slid over to sit next to him. Her hand drifted down to his manhood and she kissed him again. Dolan fought against his own drugged-up physicality and long-dormant sexual desire. He took her hand by the wrist. She turned her head and he thought of his wife and the war and the fire and all the other things he badly needed to forget. His erection flagged.
“Wait a second, okay?”
Colleen stopped obediently. “Okay. Did you want anything special first?”
“I don’t know you,” Dolan said. “You don’t know me. Someone paid you to come here. Or made you come. That’s strange. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but that just doesn’t feel right.”
He could see most of her pretty face in the light of the desk lamp. The rest was in shadow. Dolan read what was behind the sparkle in her eyes. She was actually relieved that he’d stopped her, not frustrated or annoyed. His erection went away. He held on to her hands. He ignored the prying cameras and thought about what he needed, really needed. And that was the death of his past.
“What can I do for you?” Colleen said.
“Lie down,” Dolan said at long last. “Let’s just talk until we fall asleep.”
*
The next morning, Snake Dolan woke up alone again, though a female scent on the other pillow and a small, false eyelash proved she’d been there. He took a long, ice-cold shower. The animal part of him felt deprived and angry for having missed out on getting laid, but mostly he was glad to have done something thoughtful for someone else. He was turning back into a killing machine, so it felt good to remember he was also just a human being. This assignment wouldn’t last forever. They never did. A man had to go back to the world and still be a man somehow, even if he didn’t remember why. That part had never changed and never would. He’d blown it badly last time and didn’t want to make the same mistake.
He left the room.
The building seemed virtually empty, unusual for this hour of the morning. Assuming it was indeed morning. There was no way to be sure without going outside. Dolan went to the cafeteria and made himself a protein shake with fresh fruit and oatmeal. He hit the gym, stretched, did five miles on the treadmill and then some light weights for toning. He didn’t want to bulk up any more; it was better to be light on his feet when the time came.
And then it came.
“Mr. Dolan?”
Dolan turned from his position on the slanted bench and lowered the two thirty-five-pound free weights to the floor. The two burly mercenary types were standing in the doorway waiting for him. The big blond nurse appeared between them. Dolan felt an electric charge run through his body. Something was up. He could tell. He got up, toweled the sweat off his upper body and walked their way.
“Should I shower and change?”
The nurse spoke her first words. It turned out she had a bit of an accent; Dolan thought it might have been Swiss. “There is no time. You must come with us.”
Dolan complied. His heart sped up with excitement. He was about to find out what this had all been about, what his assignment was, what was expected of him. He would face the actual mission at long last. Dolan followed the three employees into the hall. He wore only gym shorts and tennis shoes and socks. He assumed they would have his gear ready and waiting. Limbus was damned impressive that way.
“We are a go?”
One of the two mercenaries offered Dolan a quick nod.
It’s on.
The nurse walked faster than the three men and so she led the way. With every step, Dolan felt more and more excited. It was finally about to happen. Everything he saw became sharp and crisp, the molding around the white doors and windows, the grout in the tiles running down the seemingly endless hallways, the vague scent of the nurse’s antiseptic and some kind of old lady perfume she wore, the sour sweat drying on his own body. For a time, there was only his own slow breathing, heartbeats, and the sound of shoes and suit fabric to his left and right. These were perhaps his last few moments as Snake Dolan.
Fine by me…
They turned right, went through an entrance he had never seen before and gradually approached a large set of double-wide steel doors. The two mercenaries stayed a few feet behind, as if allowed no farther, but the nurse marched ahead. She punched a code into a small box near the center of the doors. The mercenaries exchanged nervous looks. Dolan studied them, wondering what would happen next.
The monstrous doors grumbled, squealed, and slowly parted. They boomed against the far walls and stopped.
The room beyond was even more pristine than the other parts of the Limbus branch. It was a laboratory, but like nothing Dolan had previously seen. The space was huge and full of odd-looking electronic equipment and long tubes filled with a powder-blue fluid of some kind. In the center of the room was a big table with a thin pad on top. It was covered with cups and bracelets and wires that gave Dolan a deep shiver. It looked like a torture chamber out of an old horror movie. Beside it were long needles and scalpels galore, all shining like holiday tinsel on their rolling metal trays.
No one was on the large, man-sized table.
Dolan became curious. As the nurse went to a control panel to confer with two strangers in white lab coats, Dolan approached the table, idly wondering who woul
d ever willingly lie down on it and why. Bad joke. Another part of his mind recognized his fate and shivered, but Dolan buried the fear along with his questions. He’d come too far to back out now. He wanted to get this thing done and over with.
Above the table and yards away sat a gigantic, flat screen television, much like the ones in giant football stadiums. It was designed to hold one huge image made up of several smaller parts. It seemed to be a holograph of sorts.
“Snake?”
Dolan didn’t catch his nickname at first. Then he turned and realized one of the new men in white coats had addressed him. The man was bald with a bulbous nose and thick eyebrows that gave him a clownish look. His name tag said DR. BARTLETT. Dolan faced the man.
Dr. Bartlett said, “We cannot delay this mission for long for very complex reasons, but I want to give you just a sense of what is about to happen so you will be better prepared.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you know anything about time, Snake? What it is or is not?”
“Not really,” Dolan said. His heart was thudding now. His bare body broke out in goose bumps. “I never gave that kind of thing much thought.”
“Let’s start with this. Everything changes constantly, because what we are and what we experience is made up of star dust—these tiny particles which are slowly separating and disintegrating in a pretty orderly fashion. We cannot comprehend the enormity of that universe, so we manage things by counting seconds and hours and years and decades and centuries. We use time. But we just made all that stuff up. Time is an invention of the human mind. Therefore it is always relative to how it is perceived. It exists in its own continuum and is in one sense as stagnant as visualized, although it also ebbs and flows in both directions.”
Dolan took a deep breath, then another. “You’re kind of losing me.”
“Let’s look at it this way then,” Dr. Bartlett said. “Time is a lot like space. If we were floating around in a space suit, there would be no up or down or left or right. We all just measure time as we experience that for our own convenience. In reality, what we think of as time does not really exist. The past was just more organized, and the present and future are accelerated products of ever increasing entropy. Things fall apart, the center cannot hold, the poet wrote. As I said, time is a purely human construct, a way our level of consciousness manages the information it receives and the events that appear to take place around us. Viewed from a wholly different reality, those same events could be read in reverse, broken down into perpetual sections, or perhaps be thought of as happening at exactly the same millisecond. Are you following me now, Snake?”
Limbus, Inc. Book II Page 4