Sweet Dreams

by Aaron Patterson

  They walked through the main command center, where people scurried from one place to another. Screens were lit throughout the room.

  Solomon swept his hand over the scene. “Each person in this room is responsible for a single operative. They are making sure the people in the field have everything they need. Plus, they monitor their progress.” He turned to Mark. ”You’ve been awfully quiet. Any questions.”

  “Why is it I don’t remember all the training I supposedly had as a child? I remember bits and pieces, like maybe some martial arts, but not everything.” The memories were jumbled and seemed to come in slow bursts.

  “We use a process that buries the information deep within a child’s subconscious. It was taught to you before you could even talk. The mind before the age of three years of age is like a sponge. We simply programmed the information into you using a machine I created. I’ll show you.”

  They followed a walkway that wound its way around the command center. It ran next to the wall, about forty feet in the air, and was suspended from the ceiling by large cables. Along the way, they passed five doors—all closed—with no windows through which he could peek. When they reached the last door, Solomon opened it, and they went inside.

  The room was dimly lit, but from there, they could see into a second room through one of the large, rounded windows on the south wall. It appeared to be a small computer room with three men in head-to-toe medical suits working at a machine.

  Mark could see a small chair apparatus suspended from the ceiling like a giant robot’s hook. It had a rounded bottom with a soft, padded lining and a pillow at the top. Round pads dangled from it like spider legs.

  “We have one of my children here now.” Solomon pointed to a woman dressed in ordinary clothing holding what looked to be maybe a five-month-old baby. She held the sleeping child close to her body and looked down at it with love. He could tell she cared deeply for the baby.

  After the child was put in the bed, the woman placed small electronic pads on the baby’s feet, then pulled down a clear plastic top and locked it in place.

  After everything was set, the men at the computers began to work.

  “What are you going to do?” Mark asked. He felt a little sick and for a brief second wondered if he was about to witness some sort of evil sacrifice or a mad-scientist moment where the crazy old man yelled for Igor to “pull the switch.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t hurt him. Just watch.”

  The baby woke and looked around, content as could be, as if in a baby swing. The clear plastic top apparently acted like a computer monitor, flashing images so fast Mark couldn’t tell what the pictures were. He watched the baby, expecting it to cry out in fear, but he—or was it she?—just sucked his thumb and watched the images with an indifferent expression on his face.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Right now, that child is learning everything there is to know about hand-to-hand combat. When the image is beamed through the electronic pulse, it sends a signal to his brain and makes a muscle memory of it. So his brain retains the information, and the baby’s brain thinks it is actually performing the actions, like taking apart a weapon or pulling the trigger and so on.” Solomon’s voice grew excited as he talked.

  “Does it hurt him?”

  “No, no. Everything’s on a subconscious level, so the baby is just sleeping or watching the screen and will not remember anything. And the best part is, if the child grows up and doesn’t want to be a part of the WJA, they won’t have any memory of it.”

  “How is that possible? I mean, I remember some things about this place.”

  “Yes, but you only remember me, or maybe a room, or when we played catch in a park. You remember places, people and experiences but not any of your training. It will only come to you when you need it. And with practice, you’ll be able to turn it on and off at will.”

  Mark gaped at him.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  The next instant, he felt the cold steel of a knife blade on his throat. Before he could even think, he grabbed the back of the knife with his hand and twisted it downward as he dropped to one knee. As the attacker was thrown off balance. Mark flipped around, and in one swift movement, threw the attacker to the floor and straddled him, holding the knife to his throat.

  “Hold on!” Big B yelled. He touched Mark’s shoulder. “It was just a test. Don’t kill him, buddy.”

  Mark looked up at Solomon, who was laughing, and released his attacker, who got up and pulled off his ski mask. He was one of the men who had been standing at the first checkpoint on the way in. He offered Mark a nod and walked away.

  “So, Mark, how did you know how to do that?” Solomon asked. “Have you ever had any training or experience with someone holding a knife to your throat?”

  Mark thought a moment. “I don’t know. I just reacted with my instincts.”

  “Exactly. That is what we do here, in this lab. We create instincts. You don’t remember them until you need them.”

  Mark folded his arms and thought about the explosion and the men at the cabin. He’d done what felt natural. He‘d known what to do, how to talk, what to say—and how to keep the situation in his control, as if he’d done it a thousand times.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Solomon said. “All the children in this program are either orphans or children of current employees. We make sure the orphans are placed in good foster care at around age eleven. All the employees’ children are free to come in for training and go home afterward, if they like. Anyone who lives here is cared for and assigned to a current family already in the program.”

  “So I was in the orphan program?”

  “Yes, and that older man you saw on the way in was your caregiver. He and his wife tried to give you as normal a life as possible. They loved you very much.”

  “I thought he looked familiar. Mr. Able, right?”

  “Yes. His wife passed last year, but he’s still here with us.” He patted Mark’s shoulder. “Big B will take you upstairs to get checked in and run through all the rules and legal information. I’ll see you later tonight, after dinner, and will try to ease your mind over a drink.”

  Big B walked Mark back to the main lobby area. Mark glanced back as they entered the elevator. If this was a wild dream, he didn’t know whether he wanted to wake up or not.

  CHAPTER 18

  “CASSY, WHERE’S THIS JENKINS guy?” Kirk glared at her, his fists balled. He was frustrated and tired, but most of all, he was a sore loser. The meeting with Meskhenet was a bust, and now he found himself back in Cassy’s office.

  “Jenkins? Why? Do you think—”

  “Is he here? I need to talk to him.”

  “He’s running some errands and won’t be back until late, but I’ll give you his home address and phone number.” She checked her computer records, wrote down the information, and handed it to him. “Just for the record, Detective, he’s clean.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” He took the note and turned to leave.

  “What got you all grumpy? You hit a dead end with the woman?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You could say that. We have nothing but a witness who seems to be invisible. The other one has an airtight alibi.” Kirk ran his hand over his smooth head and cursed. “And all I have is a fuzzy picture with no fingerprints or any witnesses.”

  “Didn’t you shoot your last witness?” Cassy’s voice had a glint of steel in it. She shot a tight look at Kirk then broke into a cheerful I’m just joking smile.

  He could tell she meant to sting his ego. “Fine. I’ll be taking my depressing mood elsewhere.” He knew she was being flirtatious, but he didn’t care. This whole thing stunk to high heaven. He knew it and they knew it, but someone was covering it up.

  “Glad I could help.” Cassy giggled, which irritated him even further. He marched out of her office, not bothering to respond when she yelled, “Next time, a thank-you would be nice!”

  He opened the Mu
stang door and dropped into the seat.

  Geoff was staring at his laptop, like always. Didn’t even look up.

  “In case you’re interested, we got an address.” Kirk pounded the dash. “It better lead us somewhere worthwhile, or I might just shoot someone. This is our last real lead, so you might want to cross your fingers. If it’s a dead end, it’ll shut us down.”

  Geoff typed the address into his laptop. “We’re about ten minutes from this location. Do you want to go tonight or in the morning?”

  Kirk looked at his watch. Almost ten. “Let’s pay him a little visit. I won’t be able to sleep, if we don’t. Besides, he’s sure to be home at this hour.”

  As they pulled onto the busy street, Kirk had an uneasy feeling someone was watching them. He looked at the headlights in the rearview mirror. The car was almost on top of the Mustang’s rear bumper. From the classic dark Ford sedan, he knew it had to be his friends from down at the station—or worse, the feds.

  “We have company.” He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, as if the occupants of the other car might hear him.

  Geoff started to turn around, but Kirk backhanded his chest. “Don’t look, you numbskull. Just keep an eye on the car in your side mirror.”

  “Sorry, man,” Geoff muttered as he rubbed his chest. “I’m a little new to this detective thing.”

  Kirk switched lanes to see if the tailing car would follow, and it did. He sighed and parked in front of a doughnut shop. “Hey, you want a coffee or something?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take a bottled water and a plain bagel, no cream cheese.”

  Kirk rolled his eyes and got out of the car. He walked into the shop muttering, “Only sissies drink bottled water.” At the counter, he peeked through the window to see if the boys in blue were following.

  Just as he suspected, they had pulled in a few cars down and turned off their headlights. After getting a twenty-ounce black coffee and a coconut-covered doughnut he asked the man behind the counter where the back door was.

  “Right there.” The clerk pointed to a door down the hall just beyond the bathrooms.

  Kirk grabbed his items, tossed the man a twenty-dollar bill, and ambled out the back door. Making his way to the rear of the building and circling around, he came up behind the Crown Victoria. He set the coffee and doughnut down on a nearby newsstand.

  Ducking down, he pulled out his forty-five, crawled beneath the driver’s side window, and took a deep breath. The next instant, he jumped up, smashed the glass of the driver’s window and pointed the gun at the stunned man’s temple.

  The man jerked back as glass hit him in the face, showered across his body, and landed in the lap of his passenger. “Hey! What—?” He reached into his jacket to draw his weapon but stopped short when Kirk shoved his pistol against his head.

  “Easy, pal,” Kirk said. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret. I’ve got an itchy trigger finger, so move nice and easy. Place your guns on the dashboard, and no funny business, or I might slip and make a mess of your faces.” He motioned to the man sitting in the passenger seat, his belly hanging over the seat belt.

  The two men slowly took out their handguns and placed them on the dash. The man in the driver’s seat was thinner than his partner, but not by much. He grimaced, his lips disappearing into a thin line. His face was flushed. Kirk knew he was furious as well as embarrassed that a washed out cop got the drop on them.

  “Now, hand them over nice and easy-like.”

  As soon as he had their side arms, he brushed aside glass and leaned into the window. “So, what are you boys doing tailing me?”

  “We’re FBI. If you know what’s good for you—”

  “What’s good for me is you two to stay off my bumper, unless you want it shoved down your throats.”

  “You’d better watch yourself, Detective,” the guy in the passenger seat said. “And drop this case or—”

  “Or what?” Kirk demanded. “What, pray tell, do you think you’re going to do to me? Run to your daddy and tattle on me?”

  He pulled a knife from his pocket and slashed the front tire. It deflated with a loud hissing sound. The two feds yelled, but were quieted with a wave of Kirk’s gun.

  “You two sit tight, and I’ll be on my way. Next time, I won’t be so nice.” He grinned, showing them all of his teeth. The driver managed to turn an even brighter shade of red. Kirk laughed in his face, daring him with his eyes to try something.

  Walking back to the newsstand, he grabbed his coffee and doughnut and returned to his car.

  “You okay?” Geoff asked.

  “Yup,” Kirk sipped his coffee. “Had some business to tend to.”

  “Where’s my water and bagel?”

  Kirk hit his forehead with his palm. “Right, water—uh, want a doughnut?”

  * * *

  MARIA WAS WORRIED. NEITHER she nor anyone else had heard from Mark in days. She tried to be cheerful at the office, but it was hard when her anxiety level increased exponentially with each day he didn’t show up at the office or call her or Hank or Bert—or someone she knew.

  She’d tried calling his cell phone several times, but every time, she got his voice mail.

  Watching but not seeing the game show on television, she sipped a cup of herbal tea and tried to believe he was okay. But, where was he? Why hadn’t he called her back?

  The more she thought about his disappearance, the sicker she felt inside. Christmas without his family had been hard for him, but he seemed to cheer up with her there. They’d had a wonderful time. At least that’s how she thought the weekend went. But maybe his loss had finally gotten to him. And he’d… She didn’t dare think about what he might have done to himself.

  Picking up her cell phone, she dialed his number again and listened as it rang—and rang.

  * * *

  MARK SAT IN FRONT of the warm fire staring at the flames. Solomon’s office was a comfortable place, much like his own living room. The firelight flickered on the dark bookcases and reflected off Isis’s black hair. The four had talked into the early morning hours, the others filling Mark in on his past as well as the wonders of WJA.

  Solomon was a wonderful host. He made them any drink they could dream up. Beautiful Isis talked in smooth, soothing tones that would have lulled him to sleep, if she hadn’t been so interesting. Big B could wake the dead with his laugh and his energetic presence. Mark found himself bonding to the big guy as if they were long lost brothers. But as he sipped his iced coconut mocha and looked around at his new friends, he still wasn’t sure yet what to think of it all.

  The orientation had taken just over two hours. It included a new driver’s license and ID that couldn’t be traced, plus a fingerprint laser transference, which was, amazingly enough, painless. The new credit card was what he liked the most and what he was to use for any and all transactions. It was untraceable. The money came directly from the WJA, not through any bank, and routed through hundreds of cities to throw off the scent, if needed.

  His credit card bills and student loans had been paid off with a simple phone call. Everything that made him Mark Appleton was placed into a vault in the lower security room. His name stayed the same, but any past records, including his Social Security number, were erased. On paper, he no longer existed. No birth certificate, no traceable fingerprints, no identity. Everything old was replaced with the new, which indicated he worked for Global Advisor as a consultant.

  He thought about how he was going to break the news to Hank that he’d found another job. It would be hard, but he knew Hank would understand. Then he thought about Maria. They had grown close, but he had to commit himself full-time to the project. Would she would accept a friend who could never tell her where he was or what he was doing? Mark took another sip of the coconut mocha and smiled. He could change who he was to a point, but he’d always love his mochas.

  He didn’t return to his apartment until late and crashed onto his bed fully dressed. For the first time since his K and Sam
antha’s deaths, he slept undisturbed.

  When he awoke, he rolled onto his back, wondering if the morning would bring more amazing experiences or something from a horror novel. Opening his eyes, he gazed at the ceiling, trying to get his brain to wake up. A beep from his cell phone brought him into reality. He pushed the past few days from his mind.

  Rolling out of his bed, he shuffled into the living room and picked up his phone.

  “Hey, Mark, just wondering if you want to do anything tonight. I’ll call you later.” Maria.

  He hit the next button.

  “Mark, just wondering where you are—”

  She sounded more urgent with each message. One was from Hank, who was wondering if he was going to come into work this week. He said with the New Year coming up, that he could take the next week off as well, if he needed it.

  He dialed his office, hoping Maria would answer. When he heard her sweet voice, his heart jumped into his throat.

  “S-E-D, how can I help you?”

  “Hey, kiddo.”

  “Mark! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t call. I had to go to a long meeting and got tied up.”

  “It’s been three days, Mark. I thought you might have gone off and done something stupid. You were in a funky mood the other night.”

  “I just had some business to deal with. But it’s taken care of now. I need to talk to you about some things. Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?”

  “I have to work a little late to get ready for the weekend. If you’ll pick me up at eight, I’ll be ready.”

  “Okay, eight it is. Hey, can you get Hank on the line? I need to talk to him, too.”

  She transferred him to Hank, who seemed pleased to hear his voice. “Hey, bud. You okay?”

  “Yeah, I just wanted to see if you could break away for lunch. I’d like to talk to you.” He tried not to sound nervous. He loved working at SED, but his life was now headed in a totally different direction.