by S. Burke
He searched the bedside table in the dark and found his cell phone, opened it and clicked on the number.
Nigel answered the call. “Cantrell.”
“Doc, it’s Mike. Man, I have the headache from hell, you wouldn’t have anything that would help by chance, would you?”
“I’ll be there in about five minutes. Are you nauseated?”
“Yeah, badly. Just threw up, in fact.”
“Drinking?”
“No, not in the last twenty four hours anyways.”
“Okay. I’m on my way.”
Mike sat in the darkened room and waited.
A tap at the door and Cantrell called out, “Mike, it’s me.”
“Come in, Doc. It’s open.”
“Where are you?”
“Sorry, the light kills my eyes, light switch to your left on the wall.”
“Can’t be helped, I need to see what I’m doing.” He flicked the switch and walked over to where Mike was seated.
“Grey doesn’t become you. Are you experiencing any dizziness, or pain in your arms?”
“No, just this infernal pain in my head. It hurts to move at all, and speaking is difficult.”
“Okay, are you allergic to anything?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll give you something, and you’ll sleep. The headache should be gone when you wake up.”
“What are you gonna give me?”
“A shot of morphine. It’ll fix it. I guess you are actually going to have to trust me, aren’t you?”
“Looks that way. I don’t like needles.”
“I’ve never met anyone that does. You aren’t the sort to pass out, are you?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll give this intravenously, it’ll work faster. You should lay down first and stay put, it’ll hit you pretty quickly.”
He helped the bigger man in to the bedroom and rolled his shirt up, exposing the vein on the inside of his elbow. He gave him a 30 mg shot IV and waited, watching the big man as he fell asleep.
Nigel took the cigarettes and ashtray and placed them in the other room. He’d mixed Maxolon with the shot to counteract any nausea.
He searched the desk top and found pen and paper, then wrote a note, telling Mike to call him again if he was still in pain when he awoke. He also advised that he take tomorrow off. He hoped for once Mike would take his advice.
His phone rang as he left Mike’s trailer. “Cantrell.”
“Sorry, Nigel. Did I wake you? It’s Trish.”
“No, not at all. What’s happening?”
“Can you come over to the main van, please? You need to see something.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Nigel wondered what was so important. The tension was getting to him, despite his years of training himself to relax.
He also doubted Mike Matheson would last much longer before he required a lengthy stay in hospital.
Trish was smoking outside the mobile unit. “Thanks for coming, Nigel. Have you seen Mike? He’s not responding to his calls.”
“Mike’s not well, Trish. I gave him something to help him sleep. He won’t be happy about it come tomorrow. He doesn’t like asking for help, does he?”
“What sort of unwell?”
“Not booze.”
“That’s a relief.”
“So what did you want me to look at?”
“Come inside. I’ll show you.”
They entered the trailer and Trish grabbed a document from the table. Without another word she handed it to him.
He looked at it carefully and raised his eyes to her. “Holy Jesus.”
“I’m getting confirmation from two other sources on this, Nigel.”
“How the fuck did you get your hands on this?”
“I called in some favours.”
“You must have done some very powerful people favours, Trish. Don’t bull-shit me now. Trust me, I’m not in the mood.”
“That’s all I’m telling you, Nigel. Oh, by the way, when were you planning on telling me that you had been placed in charge of this operation? Or were you going to just forget to mention it?”
“How the fuck did you find out? Mike?”
“You mean Mike knows?”
“Trish, this is important. Mike and Craig are the only two people cleared for this information. If there is a leak I need to know where it came from, and I need to know now.”
“There is no leak, Nigel. I got it from the Director himself. He assumed I already knew, and I played along.”
“That’s impossible.”
“What? Why?”
“Because the Director doesn’t know. Do you hear me? Neither Ted Prendergast nor Henry Weisman is in the loop on this thing. This came from much higher up the food chain, Trish. Either you’re lying to me, or we have a major breach of security here.”
“Shit, no! I mean, no, I’m not lying. It was Ted Prendergast who told me. He sent me the document.”
“Okay, let’s back up, tell me exactly how this went down, and I mean exactly! Think on it, I’ll get us both a drink.”
Nigel headed to the portable bar, poured them both a neat scotch and then decided to bring the bottle with him.
Trish was pale, unconsciously biting on her bottom lip, until she tasted blood. “Nigel, how do I know you aren’t lying?” she asked, absently wiping at her lip as she spoke. “I mean I barely know you, and I’ve known Ted for years. You’re telling me he’s bent? Aren’t you?”
“Drink the Scotch. We’ll go through this one step at a time. I’ll ask the questions for now. When I’m done, you can ask yours. I will answer as much as I can.”
“Ask.”
“When did you speak to the Director about this?”
“Firstly about two hours ago. He rang and asked for Mike. I couldn’t locate him and he wasn’t responding to his cell.”
“Did he tell you why he needed to talk to Mike?”
“He didn’t. He just asked me to have Mike call him as soon as I could reach him.”
“Did he ask where I was?”
“No.”
“When did you tell Mike he wanted him to call?”
“That’s just it, I didn’t. The Director rang back about forty five minutes ago and said to forget it. He said that seeing as you were in charge of the task force he’d speak to you instead.”
“What was your response?”
“I was shocked and almost asked him what he was talking about, but caught myself, and said I’d have you call him.”
“Why didn’t you contact me immediately?”
“I needed to think, Nigel. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. I still don’t! And I was angry as all hell for being kept in the dark. Then I wondered if maybe the Director had been misinformed. I couldn’t reach Mike. Frankly I didn’t want to talk to you. I didn’t know what to do. Then this arrived.” She held an envelope in her hand it was sealed and marked TOP SECRET. Her hand was shaking.
Nigel poured them another drink. “Did the Director mention anything about a document during his calls to you?”
“No, not one word.”
“But you are certain it came from him?”
“I-I … it must have, I thought, I mean, who else would have access to this? It’s marked Top Secret, Nigel. Surely only his level and up would have access? Wouldn’t they?” she finished lamely.
“Forget that for now; whose attention was this marked for?”
“Mike’s. But I open all his messages. I have done for years. He asked me to weed out the stuff that could be handled elsewhere, and gave me his code access. I know it’s against all the rules, but he was drowning in a sea of paperwork, and I knew I could help him stay afloat, so I took on more and more of the things he didn’t have the time to deal with. I didn’t open this one. It’s marked for his eyes only. I haven’t read the contents.”
“Jesus Christ, Trish. You have to know how wrong that was. Surely? The man needed more help than that. He’s clear
ly headed for a major breakdown. All you have done is delay it. And in doing so, you have breached just about every fucking rule in the book.”
“I- oh, God. I have. I didn’t mean … I thought I could help him.”
“Forget about that for the moment. I believe you honestly felt you were helping Mike. As far as the other is concerned that’s a different situation. I need to believe you, Trish. I need to believe I can trust you. At the moment we have a potentially catastrophic breach of security. The Director should have no access to the information you have been given. This task force has been set up to fail. That much is clear. As to whether he is an instigator or is being used himself, I will ascertain in my own way. Know this, I was appointed to this position not to bring Mike and the rest of you into line, but to ascertain why there had been no breakthrough, and to evaluate the team as a whole.”
He broke the seal on the document marked Top Secret and began reading. Trish sat smoking and drinking her beer, quietly reflecting on all Nigel Cantrell had said. Is Mike dirty? She couldn’t get her mind around that. She had known him too long to ever accept that as a possibility. Who wanted the team to fail? What in God’s name could they be covering up? Just how far up the food chain did this thing travel?
Trish watched Nigel’s face grow pale as he read. He read the entire document, and then read it again. He stood and walked outside with it still in his hand.
Trish followed him. “Nigel, what? For God’s sake, man, you look ill! What is it? Can you tell me?”
Nigel Cantrell looked at the woman’s worried face.
He looked down at the document still in his hand, and back at her; she was stunned to see his eyes filled with tears. That hit her harder than anything else could have. The cold realization was that, whatever the document contained, it had shaken this man to the very core of his being.
She watched the expressions flit across his face rapidly, and then he drew a deep, shaking breath.
“I need a drink,” was all he said and walked past her and headed inside. He headed to the bar, mixed a drink and, taking out his cigarette lighter, set fire to the document and dropped it in the sink, flushing the remainder of the ashes away.
Chapter 23
Craig showered and dressed in jeans and a sweater. He anticipated heading out on foot when darkness fell, as he wanted to get a feel for the lay of the land at night. Old habits die hard. He smiled to himself as he looked in the mirror, realizing he had automatically dressed in black from head to toe.
The ringing of the landline caused him to frown. What now?
“Crenshaw.”
“Oh, Mr Crenshaw, er, Jack, it’s Connie up at the house. Ms Harrington has asked if you would care to join her up here at the homestead for dinner this evening.”
“Hello, Connie. I meant to tell you today to thank the cook for me; last night’s dinner was just terrific.”
“Thank you, Mr Crenshaw, sorry, Jack. I’ll pass that on to Cookie, she’ll be pleased. About dinner this evening, can I tell Ms Harrington to expect you around eight o’clock?”
“No, I’ll pass, thanks, Connie. I’m weary, so I’d prefer to have my dinner here alone. Thank Ms Harrington for me, will you?”
“You … you said … no?”
“Uh-huh. Is that a problem, Connie?”
“Oh, no, sir. I mean, it’s just unusual, um, no sir. I’ll tell Ms Harrington.”
“Connie?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Try not to sound quite so pleased when you tell her.”
The housekeeper was laughing as she hung up the phone. Even the thought of the bitch upstairs screaming at her couldn’t stop her smiling. Well, what do you know, she thought happily. Finally a man with balls.
Nigel Cantrell drank almost the whole bottle of scotch. Well, to be more accurate he and Trish both hit the bottle hard. They talked of everything but what was on their minds, as the tension left them assisted by the alcohol. For a few hours they were just a man and a woman stressed to breaking point, getting drunk and reminiscing about times long passed.
They shared a love of rock and roll music and argued good-naturedly about the best bands of the eighties. They laughed at shared reminiscences of college days. Nigel, although pretty drunk, was still aware of exactly what he was saying.
The conversation lulled a little, and he suggested Trish head off and get some sleep while she could.
“Nigel, you don’t think … Mike is- is … you don’t believe he …”
“No, Trish. If it makes you feel any better, I think Mike’s clean.”
“Thanks. That makes me feel good.”
“Trish, does he have any idea that you are in love with him?”
The pretty agent was about to protest, and stopped herself. “Nigel, half the time he can’t even remember my name.”
“I’m sorry, Trish. I had no right to ask you that.”
“No, you didn’t.” She smiled. “G’night, Doc.”
“’Night, Trish.
Chapter 24
Four Years Earlier
Operation Pale Horse
Underground Facility
The men were lined up, awaiting instructions. Ranger walked down the lines, inspecting each of them in turn. “Teams Alpha, Bravo, Charlie. Fall out, now.”
Team Alpha; Quinn Hamersley, Charles Underwood, Brad Collingsworth and Danny Attwood walked forward and waited.
“Team Alpha, remain here. Teams Bravo and Charlie, you are being relocated, follow Denver. Training is beginning.”
The uniformed officer led Team Alpha into a bunker. They entered a lift and were taken down four levels. They exited the lift into a windowless area, with a long corridor off to the left; the man now known as Quinn quickly counted the number of doors. It appeared there were at least twelve on either side of the corridor.
“The doors are numbered, gentleman.” The officer handed each man a number and they were instructed to enter the correlating room, and wait for further instructions.
Quinn looked around room 4; it was bare except for an overhead light, a door at the opposite end and a bench. He sat and waited. A disembodied voice instructed him to disrobe and enter the far door.
He looked around at the new room, and shivered a little in the cool air. A tank was fixed to the wall on the far end of the room. The tank was bath shaped and full of liquid.
The voice instructed him further. “This is a sensory deprivation tank. It will induce total relaxation. You have nothing to fear. Climb in the tank and lie back, rest. You will find it a pleasurable experience. We are attaching sensors that will monitor your brainwave patterns, these are painless.”
Quentin did as instructed.
A uniformed man entered the room and closed the lid, leaving Quentin’s head free. “Lie back and relax. Enjoy the lack of sensation.”
The room was plunged into total darkness. Quentin was surprised at first, attempting to identify the liquid he was floating in, with no success. He couldn’t smell anything, he was floating, and the initial feeling of panic subsided as he accustomed himself to the complete darkness. There was no sound whatsoever apart from his own breathing, which began to slow down as he relaxed. It was an unknown sensation in his experience and he began to drift into an almost sleep like state. Time ceased to be calculated. He found himself drifting on a pleasurable sea of relaxation.
The two men in the next room monitored the feedback from the sensors.
One white coated male read the data. “He is entering the forty minute stage.”
“Let’s see if he responds as expected,” his companion said.
Quentin was almost asleep. He began to feel itchy all over, yet was unable to move sufficiently to scratch. The sensation wasn’t painful, it was merely annoying. “I’m getting itchy,” he said. There was no response.
The sensation ceased after a short while, and he again began to drift.
“His brainwaves are entering the ‘theta’ range.”
“Already? Hmm, ahead of
schedule by at least seven minutes. This boy should make a good subject.”
Similar monitoring was going on in twenty-one other rooms spread down the corridors.
“Time,” the senior white coated male said.
“Confirmed.”
“Okay. Bring the lights up, slowly now. Don’t jolt him too much.”
“Quentin? You will be released from the tank now. Please shower and dress and sit in the ante-room. You will be given further instructions shortly.”
A uniformed man entered the tank room and disengaged the lid. He then removed the sensor detectors from Quentin’s head and assisted him to climb from the tank. Quentin felt a little disoriented, but otherwise just fine. He followed the instructions and showered, dressing quickly into his uniform, then sat and waited for further instructions.
The same scenes were played out in the other rooms. With one exception; the subject in room eighteen had experienced a panic attack during the process. He felt an overwhelming sensation of claustrophobia and needed to be removed from the tank after only ten minutes and given a sedative to reduce the panic. He was then moved into an empty room, laid on a gurney, and watched carefully as his heart rate and breathing began to normalize.
“Only one out of twenty-two. Not bad. He can go straight to FSM.”
“Faulty source monitoring? Already? It’s too soon.”
“That’s what I said. I was told to follow orders. The training has been modified and brought forward.”
“Jesus, that’s dangerous. They’ll lose more than a few.”
“I tried to tell them that. I was told to follow orders, and not question. You know what’ll happen if we don’t … right?”
“Poor bastards.”
“You got that right.”
“Why this first? I mean I’ve wondered, why not the field training first and then this?”
“Think about it. First up, they would be more difficult to break if in the absolute peak of physical condition. Secondly, why spend all that time on the field work if they aren’t gonna be susceptible to the conditioning?”