The Killing Collective

by Gary Starta

  We were crazy for sending him in there!

  Now all she could do was wait. There was no one she could call for help.

  If Carter doesn’t walk out of that building alive, I’m going in there to finish this mission for him.

  She picked up her service revolver, checked to see that it was loaded, and unlocked the trigger as she got out of the car.

  ***

  The man referred to as “Mr. X” figured Agent Carter must be close by, but he had no time to try to find him. He’d have to act alone and hope it would provide enough of a distraction to get into the building on Admiral’s Row.

  As a young man, Quentin Borofsky had been no different from anyone else. His job was not clandestine in any way. His think tank was not linked to the JASONS, but he knew of them. Maybe he had a touch of the naiveté only youth and privilege could breed, but he really believed the power of intelligent, peace loving people was stronger than the power of the mob or any one corrupt individual.

  He woke up every morning believing with his whole heart the words and ideology of John F. Kennedy. He would not ask what his country could do for him; he would ask and do what he could for his country. He knew Camelot, like perfection, was a place you to which you travelled but never arrived; the closer you came to it, the farther away it seemed, and yet, the journey still had to be made. It was the getting there that was far more important than the arrival.

  He began hearing rumors of a leader in a new think tank who thought of himself as some kind of a messiah. Using the time-tested method of social contagion theory, he used fear and hatred to rise to a position of unlimited power. He called himself the Silver Man. No one ever knew his real name, but he was solely responsible for the birth of the group referred to as the JASONS.

  Quentin could no longer look in the mirror each morning knowing the JASONS had their own agenda and that no one was willing to step on their toes. One day, he dropped off the radar, changed his name and joined the military to fight in Syria. There, he learned the technical, mechanical and psychological tactics of espionage and warfare. By the time he came home, he was ready to do what he could to stop them or at least slow them down a little.

  Now he stood staring at the proud ruins of Admiral’s Row. Moss and wild flowers had draped themselves across her floors and walls. A large trees grew in the foyer. Nature was a woman without mercy, gradually and inexorably taking back for herself what man had the arrogance to think was his.

  This is what the entire planet will look like when all of humanity is dead. I’m going to fight him and go on fighting until there’s nothing left of the JASONS. If I fail, there are others who will take up where I left off. The worst sort of evil is not in the insane, criminal dictator who holds an entire people hostage; it’s those who raise him to power knowing what he is and the ones who sit by and watch him gobble up the world, bite by bite. I shall neither rest easily nor sleep peacefully until I’ve done everything I can to expose the man and the entire organization.

  Mr. X. inventoried his coat pockets and went around to the rear of the building. In the left front pocket he carried C-4, a handy explosive the military often used to break down doors. In the other, he packed a bigger wallop.

  They won’t go gentle into this good night.

  ***

  Carter trotted along quickly until he came to a bench just down the street from the building and stopped to get a better look at the layout. It was so cold that he could see his breath.

  I wonder if the soul really does escape through the mouth.

  He hadn’t been able to connect with Mr. X tonight, but was certain he’d be there. Every time one of them hit a dead end or was backed into a corner, someone had been there throwing them a lead or saving the day. He prayed Mr. X was preparing a diversion big enough to cover him.

  Carter approached the open entrance of the old manor and hunkered down in its skirt of overgrown bushes to wait for the right moment to make his attack.

  ***

  At headquarters, Deputy Director Fischetti barked orders to his S.W.A.T. team leader over the phone. “You will not fire unless I give the order. You will not shoot to kill without my order. Agents Carter and Seacrest are already there under cover, and I want them protected. Is that clear?”

  His stomach was in knots. Agent Carter was making a mess out of his murder investigations.

  You couldn’t have just accepted these as thrill kills, could you, Carter?

  Fischetti had been ordered tonight, in no uncertain terms, to wrap up these investigations by confirming that the motive was drug-related and thrill-related. The director explained in detail just how high up and far reaching the conspiracy reached. The F.B.I. had to play ball or be considered an acceptable loss. Washington was completely in the dark.

  The director was pleased that Fischetti held back some of the drug he was ordered to surrender to the D.O.D. It helped convince the F.B.I. of his own loyalty and kept them on the trail he wished them to follow. It was imperative that Fischetti appeared to be backing them up while still keeping them on a tight leash. The irony was that Fischetti had truly acted out of loyalty to his agents and his cases in the beginning, but he knew he couldn’t be allowed to continue on without losing his job or something worse.

  What were the odds that Carter would accidentally meet a bunch of barhopping college students who’d been to one of those nutball meetings? If I hadn’t sent Red’s friends an email with the wrong address, he would have busted the thing wide open right then and there. Jesus, that was close!

  And that rookie, Deeprose? Boy! Under any other circumstances, she’d be worth her weight in gold. Her first time out she breaks all the rules, catches three killers single handedly, finds Montgomery in an obituary, for God’s sake, and finds a way to tie him back to Meese!

  If she wasn’t the straw that’s going to break my back, I’d pin a medal on her.

  If it had all ended there, I might still have been able to save them and myself too. But once Carter found the damn Burn List, he connected it to the JASONS as soon as he saw the curator’s name on it.

  “Liz! Where’s my bicarbonate of soda? Liz!!!”

  If I hadn’t sent the S.W.A.T. team on an intentional goose chase the night of the raid, Carter would have been exposed to the JASONS and killed. If Jill hadn’t been able to fight off the effects of the hallucinogen, she would be dead now. If someone hadn’t shown up in time to save Deeprose from those three harpies, she’d be dead too. It would have made things so much easier if they’d died when they were supposed to.

  I did my best to shield them, but my orders were clear, and now, tonight, there’s no turning back, no way out. How can I order their deaths and show up tomorrow like it was just another day at the office? Either I follow orders and let the JASONS go, arrange for Montgomery to take the fall, order the murder of Carter’s team and prosecute a bunch of kids who had no idea what they were doing, or…or what?

  Fischetti buried his head in his hands and contemplated the biggest decision of his life.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  The S.W.A.T. team arrived at Admiral’s Row much later than Bill Fischetti would have liked. He did a little reconnaissance to see if he could locate Carter, Seacrest and Montgomery, but he couldn’t wander too far from the scene. If he was going to keep his team in the dark about their real purpose for being here tonight, the only way to pull this off was to keep on top of things as they unfolded. They’d been told that Montgomery was their only target and to shoot to kill.

  If the chairman of the JASONS and his executive assistant weren’t able to escape undetected, the S.W.A.T. team would be ordered to stand down for them. They knew nothing of the JASONS, so Fischetti would simply explain them away as F.B.I. operatives who’d set a trap for Montgomery and his co-conspirators.

  It was the third part of the plan he wasn’t sure he could pull off. The S.W.A.T. team would be told that Montgomery could be holding Carter hostage. If anyone came out of that building using Carter as
a human shield, it was to be considered an acceptable loss. Catching Montgomery, dead or alive, was their first priority. He hoped Carter had the sense to stay out of his way.

  He briefed his men and headed out. Hidden in the brush across from the ruins of an officers’ residence, Fischetti and the team had eyes on the openings where the front door, windows, and roof had once been. A few expert snipers were already in place at the four corners of the manor, ready to pick off Montgomery and Carter from close range no matter which way they came out. They arrived in silence and maintained a silence that coursed through every one of them with nerve-racking electricity, begging for the moment of release.

  ***

  The Silver Man sat opposite Monty, smoking a pipe filled with vanilla scented tobacco while he waited for him to regain consciousness. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Montgomery. We haven’t finished our talk yet, and there’s so much I want to discuss with you before we begin our experiment.

  “Galatea, my lovely assistant, took the liberty of searching you. You have no explosives on you, Mr. Montgomery. I admire your courage and ingenuity, sir, but what you really need now is the courage to face what’s coming. I believe the appropriate term for this moment is ‘Checkmate’.”

  Monty, more alert now, seized another opportunity to draw him out into conversation. He’d been searched and the wire had been taken, but they missed the lapel camera. He wasn’t strapped into the chair because he was presumably too battered and broken to move. The enforcers were standing up, resting their backs against the door of the drawing room.

  This is my last chance to get the rest of the story documented and get the hell out of here before that masked freak injects me with Hyzopran.

  “Why are you really here, Mr. Montgomery? Any other law enforcement professional could have done a better job of infiltration and capture, and you still would have had your revenge in the end. Why were you chosen as the sacrificial lamb? Or did you volunteer for the job?”

  “I have nothing to lose and nothing to live for; my wife is dead and you arranged it. If it’ll help bring you down, I’m the only one with the right to volunteer for a suicide mission.” The Silver Man’s mouth was agape, it encouraged Monty to continue.

  “Don’t look so surprised! Yes, I remember you, now. Your name is Kenneth Anders Silverman. It’s so simple that it’s brilliant, except that Senator Pressman knew the name right off, and he’s not afraid to testify anymore if it’ll get rid of you forever. Now I know it too, thanks to your own inability to stay in the shadows with all the other insects that crawl in the night. I don’t have to worry about getting justice anymore, Silverman; you condemn yourself every time you open that loose cannon you call a mouth.”

  “That’s enough, Montgomery!”

  “You think so? Aw, but I’m just getting warmed up! Now, let’s see…you were a brilliant and emotionally high strung child who came from big money. Your father died shortly after your birth. Your mother alternated between coddling you and making you feel the burden a husband should’ve carried. You were sent away to school in Switzerland when it became clear that her own mental illness was progressing. It’s outrageously Freudian, but I’ll bet your hatred for people and your need for absolute control over them began in those early years.

  “You had all the advantages money could buy- the right schools and upper crusty connections – except that you had not one single friend, isn’t that right, sir? You were hated and feared by all your schoolmates and even most of the teachers. However, being in the top one percent both protected you from retribution or punishment. That was when you discovered that money could buy a silent immunity from the law and learned that justice was a thing won by the highest bidder. But power was the real drug you couldn’t put down.

  “Your work in bio-psychology and neuroscience won you a Nobel prize at the age of twenty. You had one of the brightest minds the world had ever seen, and you came along at just the right moment in U.S. history. The space race was on. You were awarded the chairman’s spot on a groundbreaking Washington think tank tasked with reverse engineering whatever the hell it is we found and stowed away in Area 51. By leapfrogging proper channels, you and your team were able to take us decades, if not centuries, into the future. I also remember you as an arrogant, unyielding bastard.”

  The Silver Man yawned politely. “I’m well aware of my own history, Mr. Montgomery. Is there anything else you’d care to get off your chest while you still have one?”

  “Here it is, Silverman. Maybe you really do have an organization that spans the planet, bottomless pockets and more power than the Pope. But maybe, you’re nothing but a paranoid psychopath with a gift for story-telling. Sure, I remember you being on the review board at Meese years back, but that’s all. The JASONS may exist nowhere except in your own mind. You are responsible for murder, assassination, kidnapping, overdosing people with an unknown hallucinogen, mind control, and plotting to overthrow at least one government, Silverman, and I’m going to lead the looney brigade right to your door. Personally.”

  Oh boy, if that doesn’t pull his tail, nothing will.

  Silverman stopped to gaze at his own reflection in a mirror above a cold, empty fireplace before continuing. “You’ve seen the Burn List, haven’t you, Mr. Montgomery? It was found on Meese’s server on a drive not available to employees below a top-secret clearance level by Mr. David Florio. He paid dearly for the blunder. One of our longtime and much esteemed colleagues was responsible for saving it there. He is now enjoying his golden years at the bottom of the East River. That ought to be enough to convince you we’re real.

  “We’ve been operating at Meese for generations. It was a comfortable place to work before they decided to put us out to pasture. As if they could! Perhaps we should have taken them into our confidence after all, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, Mr. Montgomery, that if you don’t take the fall, they’ll have to.”

  “They haven’t broken any laws. What could possibly be pinned on them?”

  “The planning and execution of the Galatea Initiative. They’re entirely innocent, of course, but it’s going to take years to figure out the truth, and by then it won’t matter anymore. People will think what they’re programmed to think.”

  “I’ll let that one slide for the moment. Why did you try to frame Senator Pressman?”

  “He was on the team and made a deal with the devil. Now he has to pay the bill. Pressman agreed to be the one dissenting vote against Blake’s research funding in exchange for his very long and successful career in the Senate. It was always our intention to incriminate or eliminate him.”

  “Wait. If Pressman’s opinion of the drug was that it was unreliable and you all agreed, why did you bother steeling it from Meese’s lab to use on human test subjects? Why didn’t you all turn down Dr. Blake’s funding, drop the idea altogether and just move on to Phase Two?”

  “The List! The List! How dense can you people possibly be? The implant wasn’t going to be ready for another ten years, at least! We wanted our own people installed in key positions around the world until it was ready to be used in newborns. It was perfect as a short-term solution because of its instability. We couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome when we made our first neuroscientific test on Agent Carter and simultaneously overdosed him.”

  Time for a Hail Mary Pass, old boy. Just throw the ball toward the end zone and hope to God there’s a good receiver down there to catch it. Five more minutes. Just five more to get the rest of it…

  “Just so I’m clear on everything you’ve told me so far, do you mind telling me more about Galatea and the Galatea Initiative?”

  “Galatea was a code name we used for our project, but Agent Seacrest gave us the name just this afternoon. I rather like it, don’t you, Mr. Montgomery? My assistant wears the mask so that only our own contacts can identify her. It also keeps her real identity hidden from everyone but myself.”

  “Yes, yes, I know all that, but is the Nano-c
hip the whole ballgame? I mean, programming the human brain goes way beyond the desire to line your pockets and govern the world. It makes us slaves and you our master. If all you want is wealth and power, the JASONS already have it. You already control every significant achievement of the 20th and 21st century, so what’s your real goal?”

  “It’s not money and power, Mr. Montgomery, I assure you of that. The Galatea Initiative goes far beyond anything so banal. You’re correct; we rule from behind the scenes and we profit from the advancements we approve. We always have. There’s no need for outside funding, but the F.B.I. doesn’t know that, and it keeps them under our thumb. In ten years, the Nano-chip will negate the need to rely on any entity to keep our secret.

  “What’s the point, if it’s not money or power? Agent Carter knows, but in the condition he was in at the time he heard it, he can’t have remembered a thing. Well, it can’t hurt to let you both in on it, now. The die was cast when the information on your wire was sent to Washington in real time. Anyone who knows about us now will take the secret to the grave.

  “The human race will advance by several hundred years in a very short time span, Mr. Montgomery, without any threat of blowing ourselves up before we get there. The Nano-chip implant can be programmed to suppress activity of the neurotransmitters responsible for all undesirable urges and behaviors - including the fight or flight impulse. The thalamus doesn’t have to be tampered with in the least. It can continue to process and channel outside stimuli normally, but we will choose what gets past the neurons and into consciousness. Think of it! We can eradicate addiction, mental illness, war…the possibilities are endless! We can dispense with money altogether and work for the common good. As the Creator and founder of New Eden, I will make sure every man, woman, and child has all they need and more. No more greed, jealousy, or graft! It will a world completely and perfectly controlled and maintained by myself for its own good. When the time comes, I will pass the baton to one of the others. It will go on that way for eternity. I’ll be revered as a God.”