Dream State

by K. Z. Howell

  The Baracuda had no such luck. It began an end over end flip that simply tore the old Detroit steel car into pieces, along with its occupants. He saw a flash of red as one seat was flung from the car, flipping several times until it came to an abrupt stop against the steel guardrail. The car continued to cartwheel and Simms saw Powell as his broken body was ejected upward and flew over fifty feet into the trunk of a tree.

  Agent Art Simms opened his door and found that his legs were shaking so badly he had to hold onto it to remain standing. Sanchez got out as well, still staring in shock at the devastation that had resulted from their simple mission. Like the utter mess Martin had made of it in the desert, these kids Mills wanted so desperately were dying wholesale and no one had even bothered to tell him why.

  The young trooper who had tossed the spikes so casually into the chase strolled over, grinning at his handiwork.

  “I guess that’s a couple felons who won’t be costing the taxpayers three squares and a cot!”

  Simms suddenly found his legs and launched himself at the grinning idiot.

  “You fucking moron!”

  Sanchez grabbed his boss around the waste and wrestled him back from the now confused and worried young lawman.

  “It was a stupid mistake Art! Just a stupid rookie mistake!”

  Simms eventually calmed down though Sanchez managed to get the Highway patrol senior officer to send the rookie back out of Simms sight. They were there for several hours as the ambulances and police cars picked up the shattered remains of the automobile and the bloodied pieces of the two people who had been inside. Powell had been torn apart by a piece of the big block engine when it came apart under incredible force.

  Tymauf had fared little better. When the paramedics removed her from the broken seat she had lost both legs at the knees and her left arm was twisted full reverse, though it was difficult to tell without the hand. Her hand was finally located an hour later fifty yards into the field beside the road. Simms watched as the medics carefully loaded what had obviously been a beautiful young woman into the back of a fire rescue ambulance. Just before they put her in, Simms watched as the hardened rescue medic gently closed her green eyes before bringing the sheet over her face.

  The news crews had a field day. They couldn’t identify the car or bodies and Simms wasn’t talking. Despite repeated attempts to get a statement from him on exactly why the FBI wanted the pair, Simms gave them nothing, he especially didn’t correct the newsies assumption that his team was FBI. This was bad enough without making it public that the NSA was operating a snatch mission against American civilians without a court mandate. He would let the higher ups deal with that.

  Simms was done. Both missions he had been assigned because of Mills had been simple little jobs that should have been a walk in the park for him. Instead, they had been the most fucked up disasters of his long career. Three Americans who, as far as he knew, had broken no law, had been a threat to no one, but had been on some technical bureaucrats wish list were dead. Either they were cursed, he was cursed or that damned Mills was a curse. He thought back to the young womans bright green eyes. They hadn’t been cursed, maybe he was but he had no doubt. Mills was a curse. And as soon as Martin brought back the Benji kid? Simms was done with Mills.

  Dream State

  Chapter 12

  Dreaming is the truest state of self truth.

  You cannot lie to yourself in a dream as a lie is a conscious decision.

  Professor August Bench

  Oil Field #17

  Southwest Oklahoma

  Special Agent Martin sat in the door seat of the Blackhawk as it sped just above the treeline to the west of the bright white ribbon of oil pipeline below. The intercepted message from Bejamin Bartlett had indicated he would be headed further north and the delay at Tinker airbase had made Martin late and anxious to make up for lost time. Ever since they had boarded the aircraft Martin had become more agitated and abusive. His constant haranguing of the pilot had to go faster had eventually gotten the co-pilot out of his seat to come back into the cabin and threaten to turn the airframe around and take it home. Martins agitation had not been soothed by the co-pilots threat. He recognized the insult of being told to shut up like a child. But he also understood that he had barely even gotten the chopper and he didn’t push his luck further.

  The adrenaline rush of the snafu at the airbase and the excitement of finally getting moving on his mission finally wore off, at least enough to let the beat of the rotors against the air to lull him into a peaceful state. He watched the trees and grass below slide behind him in a never ending parade of greens and browns. The powerful hum of the engine and even the whine of the propulsion system brought him a strangely melodic sense of peace. They were moving forward, he still felt the need to go faster, but his mind was suddenly much more at ease with his surroundings. The familiarity of the sounds and the landscape disappearing into the distance set his mind at ease. He closed his eyes for a moment, reliving the thrill of speeding into combat, of risking his life behind the wheel of a car on a race track going 150 miles per hour.

  The sound of a voice in the distance broke in on his reverie. He could barely make out the words over the sounds of the engine. “He’s getting away! Go faster!”

  Martin snapped his eyes open, over the radio set he heard the pilot say “there, just cresting the hill at two miles out.”

  Martin unsnapped his restraint and leapt to the cabin entry, looking out the front windscreen to see for himself.

  There! A white pick-up kicking up a dust trail as its driver headed south. The kid had gone south instead of north like the intercept said. No matter, Martin thought. He couldn’t escape now.

  “Pilot, get in front of him and block the road.” He ordered.

  “Are you nuts? This isn’t the movies, and that’s not gonna happen!” was the pilots reply.

  “Pilot hurry. We have to stop him now!” Martin insisted “Force him off the road!”

  “Hell no! I’ll bring you past him and your men can fast rope down and stop him. I’m not risking this bird just because you’re in a hurry!” the pilot said as he pulled ahead of Benji and flared the chopper.

  Martins men kicked the big ropes out and checked that they reached the ground before turning to their leader to await the order to rope down.

  Martin went ballistic.

  “That’s not fast enough! By God, I’ll show you how to move fast. I’ll show you!” he screamed.

  Special agent Martin grabbed his rifle and stepped out into the air.

  As he leaped out without grabbing the fat fast rope, the pilot was turning the aircraft into the wind. The turn combined with the rotor wash to send the unattached agent straight into the rear stabilizer rotor. The impact of the body with the blurring blade shattered the smaller rotor, making the aircraft uncontrollable. As bits of Agent Martin rained down from 120 feet above, Benji Bartlett drove through the bloody rain and sped onward toward the gate less than a mile ahead. The Blackhawks pilot struggled to keep the bird in the air but without the rear rotor the torque of the main rotor spun it out of control. The co-pilot slapped the auto rotate switch, freeing the spinning blade from the engine and allowing them to come straight down in a controlled crash. The pilot got out a single call of “Mayday” before they impacted the ground and rolled over as the still spinning main shattered against the earth.

  Benji saw the helicopter turning to face him a few hundred yards ahead. He stared as 4 thick ropes fell from the sides and touched the ground. He floored the pick-up, hoping to get past before whoever was inside came down those ropes. Just as he reached a spot under the helicopter he saw a bright red rain appear on the hood and then the windshield of his vehicle. He was confused at first. Then an arm wearing a black sleeve, shredded at the shoulder laded on the hood and splattered blood before sliding off the right side in a trail of red. He felt a slight bump as the disembodied arm went under the rear wheel, but he kept going.

  Behind h
im he saw the helicopter come down in the roadway and crash onto its side. He had no idea why, but he suddenly had a chance. He reached the gate and slammed to a stop. Leaping out, he fumbled through the keys until he found the right one and threw open the barrier. Without a glance back, Benji sped through and turned onto the road going toward Elk City a few miles away.

  NSA Research and Development Center

  Arlington, Virginia

  The phone rang in Dr. Kendra Mills office, she had only just made it in and it was already after 10:00 a.m. Her bruised and abused body had refused to wake her at her usual time, the drugs her extortionist superior had forced her to ingest still swam to the surface of her vision occasionally. Despite the brutal night she had spent with Director Hall, she felt sore but remarkably calm, as though good things would be happening soon. The identifying number on her office phone should have sent her into a panic. Number 100 was the identifier for Directors Hall’s direct line. She almost smiled as she picked up the receiver and a wave of happiness washed over her as she heard him yell into the receiver: “Mills! Get into my office, right now!” Before slamming his end down and cutting the connection.

  The pretty Director of Technical Operations picked up her briefcase and gave her office one last look before stepping into the hallway and strolling confidently down to the corner suite of the Director of Operations. She didn’t knock, why would she? Kendra Mills opened the door and strode right in, unperturbed by the angry screaming of Director Hall. The glass wall of the office suite barely muffled Halls angry voice. The entire staff in the cubicles outside had heard about the horribly botched operations in Indiana and Oklahoma.

  No one was surprised that Hall would be using Mills as a scapegoat. They were all surprised when they heard the gunshots ring out. The six booms of Dr. Mills revolver echoed off the walls and all six bullets went into Director Halls chest before he could hit the floor.

  Three Weeks Later

  Assistant Director of the NSA, Kurt Minuchen headed up the investigation himself. As the reports came from the three sites of the disastrous operation he realized a common theme. Whoever these former students of Mills had been, they were aware of the operation. There was no other possible explanation for both the Indiana team and the Oklahoma team to have had such catastrophic difficulties in carrying out the very simple task of taking them into custody.

  For the tenth time he compared the witness statements at both the Oklahoma site and at Halls office. Totally separate by hundreds of miles, very different witnesses on each scene, yet the only major difference in the descriptions of the activities was the state they were done in.

  The witnesses to Halls murder by Dr. Mills all stated that Mills had been calm, some said relaxed, when she went into Halls office and emptied a 357 magnum into his chest. Then she very methodically took down his diplomas and removed his personal items from the desk and replaced them with her own. Just as though she had been promoted to his powerful position and was moving into her new office! The oddest statement though, that came from Zach Loudon and another security officer who were first into the room. They both swore that former Director Kendra Mills had done all that, even the security video showed that she had done all of it, with her eyes closed! Loudons statement said that when he entered the room and ordered her to put her hands up, she was sitting in the Directors chair as though working, but her eyes were closed and she woke with a start when he gave the order. Mills own testimony swears that she didn’t do it. That she dreamt it, but who could blame her?

  In the Oklahoma debacle that same theme was repeated by all three survivors of the assault team that had witnessed the death of Agent Martin. They all swore that the agent had simply stepped out the helicopter door just as calmly and relaxed as a man sleeping. One man, closest to Martin as he went out the door, even said he was certain the mans eyes were closed and he looked just like he was sleeping, down to the twitching eyelids of a dreaming person!

  The knock on the door announced the arrival of the Assistant Directors 9:00 o’clock.

  “Come in”

  Senior Special Agent Zachary Loudon and Doctor Sharon Daunton, lead technician over former Director Mills division, stepped into the office.

  “Take a seat” he said, barely looking up from the reports he had been puzzling over.

  Once they were seated the spy master shook his head and placed the papers back into the folder with the bright red ‘CLASSIFIED’ stamp on the face. He looked at both people seated across from him, suddenly less certain of his decision.

  “The decision has been made to continue pursuing the technology Kendra Mills had been developing. Dr. Daunton, I would like for you to take over her department and oversee the further development of the program. Since you have been the lead technician I expect you won’t have any problem continuing on as the department chief?”

  “No, sir” she replied. “We have everything that Dr. Mills had now, including a secret thumb drive with a great deal of additional data from the original experiments. My team should be able to make even progress since no one is hiding data from us now.”

  “Good, Doctor. That’s very good. It seems the former Director was playing us for fools all along.”

  Assistant Director Minuchen continued with his typical ‘ The NSA mission is very important and we have faith you will serve your nation well’ speech before turning his attention to Zachary Loudon.

  “Agent Loudon, with the untimely death of Robert Hall we are lacking operational oversight for this offices field teams. I am appointing you to be the acting Director until a permanent replacement is found. Take Roberts old office and get this unit back on track for us as quickly as you can.”

  “Certainly, sir. I have already had the field teams copy my office with their statuses. I can shift over and have them back on track in a few days.” Loudon replied.

  “Good. One other thing, what happened to the other two of Mills former test subjects?” Minuchen asked.

  Loudon had checked on that already in anticipation of the question.

  “We have no clue, sir. Bartlett got to his office and retrieved his vehicle. We put out a BOLO but by the time the mess at the crash site got sorted out he could have been three states away. I have inquiries out to the locals at the homes every relative or old friend we can find. No luck. To be honest sir, after the mess of that day and the shitty press we got from it, I’m not sure the locals want to cooperate. Whoever leaked that we were responsible for all those deaths on American soil may have hurt us for a long time to come.”

  Minuchen shook his balding head, “How things went that badly, that quickly and that publicly is going to be a stain on the agency for a very long time.”

  Loudon nodded his agreement. “Yes, sir. Honestly, I thought Mills project was a pipe dream. That day though, that just proves it isn’t. Martin was a bit of a hothead but Simms? There is no way Simms screwed the pooch like that. Powell and Tymauf knew he was coming. They knew when he was coming. The only way they had that information is if Robert or Simms had given it to them, and they most certainly didn’t do that. Elegant proof that those four had the ability to see things like Mills had said.”

  “I have to agree. I’ve looked at the investigation reports a dozen times. I have no doubt that Bench and those four were onto something extraordinary. I want you to keep looking for the other two. I think having them would be an invaluable asset. But under no circumstance do you try to take them. If we can’t talk them into helping we just need to make sure no one else finds out what they could do.” Minuchen said.

  “Either way” he continued, “The project needs to continue. Do the best you can. With three of them dead now there really isn’t much we could gain now any way.”

  With that he dismissed them back to their work.

  As Daunton and Loudon walked down the hallway Daunton asked what the Director had meant by three of them dead.

  Loudon replied. “There were originally four of them that knew what they had found, other t
han Professor Bench of course. Bench died from natural causes. Will Grant was killed by that idiot Martin. Kathryn Tymauf died in the car crash in Indianapolis. So three out of five dead. That leaves only Bartlett and Grants wife, Jennifer. “

  “But that’s not true” she said incredulously, “Tymauf isn’t dead, though why she isn’t I will never understand.”

  Loudon stopped dead in his tracks. Daunton took a couple steps before she realized he had frozen in the hallway. He was staring at her with a mix of disbelief and horror on his face.

  “Zach?” she said “Zach, what is it? I thought you knew. “

  “Tymauf is alive?” he whispered, “Where? How?” His voice was a croak in his throat.

  “The paramedics gave reviving her one last try with a defibrillator after they were in the ambulance. Despite her injuries they managed to bring her back. They got her stable in the hospital and closed up her wounds. The surgeons say she will eventually be able to live on her own, though right now she is on a feeding tube.” Daunton said.

  Loudon gently grabbed her elbow “Where is she, Sharon? Has anyone from this office been to see her”

  Daunton was suddenly frightened, she’d known Zach for years and thought him one of the few good men in the spy division, but now he was showing her something she never thought she would see on his face.

  Fear.

  “Of course Zach! I see her every evening. A lot of the techs stop by to visit with her. She’s a living miracle!”

  “Where do you see her Sharon? Where is she right this minute?” He was almost yelling now, his eyes had taken on an almost wild look.

  “Well she’s here, silly! In our infirmary. Indiana didn’t know what to do with her, so she was transferred here over a week ago. That’s why I asked about the Director saying three of them were dead. A.D. Minuchen signed the transfer papers himself. How could he have forgotten?”