Madness

by Bill Wetterman

  Pendleton sat across from him. “What about during sex? She made love like a wild woman, and yet, off-the-cliff so to speak.”

  “My guess is they couldn’t control her coming down.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They stimulated that part of the brain that creates orgasms and couldn’t reduce her response on cue. Too much of a great thing causes pain.”

  “Can you help her?”

  Levi’s chest heaved. “There’s no way to know. Hercules has to be concerned. This meeting with you was a test. Your wife failed miserably. Thankfully, they have no idea about the notes.”

  “How did she fail?”

  “She recalled saving your life. They tried to erase you yet keep the aggressive memories intact. Impossible. That combined with their inability to retard her sexual response says she’s eventually going to become uncontrollable.”

  “Is that good news?”

  “Actually no, they’ll lose control of her. She’ll lose control of herself. She’ll be a highly trained assassin, living as an id with no basic control over her actions.

  “What would you do if you had her confined and available to you?”

  “If we can remove the implant, we relieve the sensory stimulation problems. We will shut down the device and wait and see. If we leave the implant intact, eventually the insanity will be irreversible.” Levi shook his head. “To attempt to shut down the device without removing it invites problems. The implant itself will have a sensory backup. How long that backup continues working is an unknown. But if she loses the signal from the main control and runs on the backup sensor, she’ll become totally insane, yet cunning.”

  “How long?”

  “If nothing’s done,” Levi said. “She could function well for three to four days after shutdown. During that time, her actions will become more unpredictable. As her mind deteriorates, her emotional swings will increase.”

  “Good God, man, can her mind be restored?”

  “Arthur, you’re talking about a science that’s still in its infancy. I’ll do the best I can do. All you have to do is get her to a clinic before all the nasty stuff we’ve talked about occurs.”

  #

  Kolb reviewed the data obtained after Pendleton’s visit with Peacock in the lab for a week. The more intensely she studied, the more irritated she became. Her face reddened, and she screamed at no one in particular. “What the hell happened?”

  “Sex is the strongest urge in the body,” Doctor Nyugen answered matter-of-factly, leaning up against Kolb’s desk. “Her id fought the signal to disconnect from the physical pleasure center, until the pain overrode the pleasure.”

  “But she reacted to the child’s photos.” Kolb stomped her foot, not buying into Nyugen simplistic argument.

  “She attached emotionally, albeit briefly, to her child and to Pendleton. That’s all.”

  “She told Pendleton my name. None of these things were supposed to happen.” Kolb swept her hand across her desktop sending papers flying. “Give me answers, people. None of those actions were supposed to happen—ever.”

  Polaris, who had spent over two years directly communicating with Peacock through her implant, swung his wheelchair away from the conference room windows. “A person with average mental abilities who is easily manipulated could have been controlled. However, you’re dealing with Peacock’s brain. She’s Mensa level. Ursa selected her for that reason.”

  The finest agent ever before his injury, Polaris pointed a finger at Kolb. “If an enemy had captured Peacock and attempted what you’ve done to her, she would have destroyed them before they laid a hand on her. We’re supposed to be the good guys. She trusted us. But our technology is turning out to be flawed, not even ninety percent certain with someone the caliber of Peacock.”

  “My technology,” Kolb spit out. “Remember your place.”

  “My place is with Ursa. I’m loaned to you. I’m not one of your techies.”

  “Quit bitching, Bea,” a male voice interrupted.

  Beatrice Kolb turned toward the doorway to see the masked face of Major, the head of Hercules, his deep brown eyes peering at her through the holes in his mask. Even though she’d seen him naked, no one had seen his face since she knew him. He ran all sections of Hercules. Second only to the president, even Ursa deferred to him. She had to defer to him as well.

  “I’m satisfied with last week’s performance,” Major said. “She gave away no major secrets. Your achievement with Peacock, Laverna, or Donna O’Conner—whomever you want to call her—is exemplary.”

  “Thank you,” she said, holding in her anger. If Peacock snapped, all of Kolb’s work would be in question. The name Beatrice Kolb would become synonymous with disgrace. Maybe she’d make adjustments on the technical side. No, adjustments meant recalling Peacock from the field. She would be back on the operating table, and Major wouldn’t let that happen.

  “As for you, Polaris,” Major said. “When you’re working with Peacock, you’re working for Doctor Kolb. And Doctor Kolb works for me, not Ursa.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Kolb held back the sneer with which she wanted to stab Polaris. She needed him. He understood how to read Peacock and adjust her brainwaves accordingly. Maybe she could use Polaris to bring Peacock onboard by appealing to logic—oh, and by being nice. Kolb knew herself too well.

  Nice isn’t the best word to describe me.

  #

  Serge Latovsky perched in front of a large screen in a briefing room inside the Kremlin, while his Minister of Defense, General Pavel Sakharov, interpreted the field information.

  “The enemy’s forces are in full retreat,” Sakharov said. “We’ve taken Azkaban and Sedar. The enemy ran when we drove west of the mountains toward the Caspian Sea. In another day that force will be on Iranian soil as well. The Iranians are determined, but they’re confused and ill equipped.”

  Latovsky smiled. “Cross through Azerbaijan and move on Tabriz. Tehran won’t know where to turn.”

  Sakharov’s aide handed him a paper.

  “President Latovsky,” Sakharov continued as the aide left. “I’ve received a report of a massive earthquake inside Iran near Gorban. We would have been there by this time tomorrow. The quake measured a 7.4. The good news is we haven’t advanced that far yet. The bad news is that moving men and equipment west along the Caspian Sea will be far more difficult.”

  Latovsky drummed his fingers on his armchair. First, the Iranians enter the battle too soon—now an earthquake. Of course, the region was prone to quakes and aftershocks. The roads weren’t the best under normal conditions. Regardless, a plan is a plan. “Make our plan work, Pavel. The earthquake is a minor inconvenience.”

  “I doubt we’ll run into much military opposition, but there will be nomads and refugees.”

  “Push against Tabriz. Azerbaijan will fall as quickly as Turkmenistan.”

  “I should think Grandayatollah al-Sistani would be ready to sue for peace,” Sakharov said.

  “And I wondered why we haven’t encountered Iranian short-range missiles.”

  “Maybe the last Israeli attack on Tehran’s missile defenses crippled them.”

  “Within three days, we will be crippling the Israelis.” Latovsky held in a sneer. These hornets, the Iranians and Israelis, needed their nests sprayed. An attack on them was too long coming in his opinion. Political and religious problems abounded in the Middle East due to Dark Age thinking. He was about to vault them into the Twenty-First Century.

  Chapter 6

  Peacock stepped forward to shake Sir Jarvis Franks’ hand, as the interrogation of the prisoner in Monroe’s assassination attempt got underway. A funny fellow, Franks, Pendleton had mentioned him as being a powerful man—good in a pinch. Wait. Pendleton had mentioned? She sucked in a breath of air. A series of visuals rolled like a movie through her mind as Franks shook her hand.

  “Good to see you again, Laverna,” Franks whispered.

  “Yes, go
od to see you,” she answered, trying to recall any past conversation they might have had.

  She took her place at a table in the interrogation room inside MI6. Across from her sat the assassin she’d subdued during the attempt on Monroe’s life. However, a past memory played in her mind of watching the presidential election in a mansion in Bethesda. Arthur was describing Franks and giggling as he did. She couldn’t recapture her emotions, but she knew she was having fun back then.

  Somewhere inside I love Arthur Pendleton. Kolb will not win.

  After an hour of interrogation that went nowhere, Peacock remembered another incident from her past and asked, “Did you know a man named Thomas Reed?”

  The suspect winced, but said nothing.

  “That’s an interesting question, Ms. Smythe,” Franks said, and cocked his head toward her.

  “Thomas Reed is a rogue agent,” she continued. “I went on an operation once where the same bomb configuration was used. Reed had a part in that.”

  “Answer her question,” Franks said.

  Loomis, who stood in back by the door observing, put his cell to his ear. Strange, Peacock thought.

  “I don’t know anyone named Thomas Reed,” the suspect answered.

  “One more time,” Franks said. “Who do you work for?”

  “My only interest is keeping the world green,” he said.

  “Well, you’re bloody nuts thinking you can keep the world green this way.” Franks gave out a little huff. “What terrorist group are you a member of?”

  “Who are the real terrorists? The U.S. and China produce ninety percent of the world’s pollution.”

  “I’m not buying this,” Peacock said. “The bomb was sophisticated. This man was part of a professionally executed plan. You can’t convince me a group of tree huggers pulled this off.”

  Loomis clicked off his cell. “B.B.C. just announced a group calling itself Sanctuary claimed responsibility for the attack.”

  Polaris spoke inside Peacock’s head. “Ursa thinks Sanctuary is a myth. He’s ordering you home. Trust no one.”

  Polaris had intervened for the third time in as many days. Trust no one meant, not Franks, not Loomis, not Sherman, only herself. A sudden anger rose up in her. She couldn’t understand why she was angry, but the emotion fit somehow. Maybe Doctor Kolb’s team was playing in her head again.

  Loomis called out, “Sherman is ordering us back to Washington.”

  “And tomorrow’s my day off,” Peacock said. “Tell Sherman I’ll report in and then take off. I need the rest.”

  “We’ll keep Sherman updated,” Franks said and exhaled deeply.

  He knows something he’s not telling.

  Peacock and Loomis left and headed out to Heathrow and a presidential jet to fly back to Washington.

  There’s never a day off, she thought. She’d be reporting to a meeting with Ursa once she went off duty at the White House.

  #

  Polaris grabbed the buzzer and signaled Kolb.

  “What?” Kolb grunted.

  “Peacock’s off program.”

  “What!” Kolb hurried over to Polaris and watched the monitor. “Something angered her. That’s not supposed to happen. She’s supposed to cycle down and not even notice.”

  “She just took control of herself. She doesn’t realize that’s what happened.”

  “We’re supposed to control the emotions, not her. Adjust her. Shock her. Do something.”

  “Wait,” Polaris said, lifting his hand. “She’s back in balance.”

  Kolb swung atop the desk where Polaris sat. “Don’t page me next time. If this happens again, shock her back instantly. That’s an order.”

  #

  Day 1016 in Hercules

  “This way, Madam.” A large Herculean male escorted Peacock out of Ursa’s office. They walked down the hallway and into the main Herculean meeting room. “In here.”

  Peacock stared into the face of Ursa, who posed with a kindly look she didn’t trust. He’d allowed that bitch Kolb to turn her into a mental and emotional wreck.

  Her closest companions from her time in Hercules rose as one to greet her. Magnus, her trainer, whose ribs she’d bruised in their last encounter, gave her a hug. Felicia Lange, her closest friend in Hercules waved at her from across the table. Ursa’s technical assistant, Carna Esposito said in a monotone, “Good to see you again.”

  Carna never showed emotion. Maybe she had none. Peacock could relate.

  Peacock’s heart rate felt slightly elevated, most probably by an electronically induced increase in adrenalin to keep her sharp.

  “How are you feeling?” Ursa asked.

  “I’m doing what I’m programmed to do. Why don’t you ask Kolb?”

  She didn’t say the words sarcastically. She stated the fact.

  “Kolb’s worried about your programming,” Ursa said. “Should I be worried as well?”

  Peacock smirked. “Don’t ask me. Worrying isn’t in my nature, with or without the thing in my brain. Do you have a change of assignment for me?”

  “First, we need to brief you.”

  “First, I want to see my son. Can you make that happen?”

  Ursa cracked his hairy knuckles. “You’re upset with me. Are you off program?”

  “No. I remember, although vaguely, your promise to let me keep my son for a week and visit him occasionally with Pendleton present.” She stared at him. “You broke your promise.”

  “I told you. I proposed that plan. I was overruled.”

  A shock exploded in her head, like a finger of electricity that knocked the fight out of her. She refused to show the pain.

  I must have been off program. Kolb will not win.

  “Magnus,” Ursa said, “Bring Peacock up-to-date.”

  “Do you remember disposing of Lytle?” Magnus asked.

  “Yes clearly. I killed him on the shore after he rammed my car and almost murdered my husband.”

  “Good. Do you remember our assault on Thomas Reed’s house?”

  “Yes. The same explosive Reed booby-trapped his doors with was used by the group that attacked Monroe’s limousine in London.”

  “Right, obviously Reed’s work,” Magnus said, and took hold of an envelope Carna handed him. “Lytle carried the location of Reed’s new hideout on his body. We need your help to finish the job we started.”

  Peacock grinned. She hungered for revenge and a chance to kill her enemies. Attacking, killing, and escaping victorious were the core talents of her training. Still, she felt conflicted by her duties for the president.

  “How many bosses do I have?” She turned to Ursa. “Who has the final say?”

  “I do.”

  She swung around to see President Monroe standing inside the doorway behind her. No security people were present, except Herculeans.

  “I’m at your service, Mister President.”

  “Thank you for capturing one of the assassins.” Monroe limped slightly as he stepped across the floor and into a chair. “Everyone sit down.”

  He motioned Peacock into a chair facing him. “Ursa, do all present have top-secret clearance?”

  “Yes Sir, Mr. President.”

  “All right then. Where do I begin? Arthur Pendleton loosed Serge Latovsky’s troops against the Iranians. My sources say a second strike by Russia is imminent on Iran’s western borders.” He bowed his head. “The United Nations voted to remain neutral. Only the United States and China’s veto power in the Security Council kept them from sending military support. The Muslim world is fighting against itself in the streets of its major cities. Israel asks Russia what its intentions are and gets no response.”

  Peacock observed the others who paled at Monroe’s words. She understood the seriousness of the situation, but not their emotions over it. Decisions and then action, she understood.

  “Friends . . .” Monroe choked as tears flowed down his face. “The fact is the United States is unable to respond. We used to be the guardian of freed
om. But our currency is on the verge of total collapse.”

  Several old memories flashed through Peacock’s head. Her husband’s belief in saving the world by ending war and religious feuding equaled what was happening now. She recalled a conversation with Polaris before Kolb ripped her head apart.

  “Did you ever rebel?” she’d asked Polaris. “Did you ever question what we’re doing?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “And?”

  “And, it does no good,” Polaris had said. “If you’re looking for a black or white world, there is no such thing, only win or lose.”

  Monroe’s voice startled her back to reality. “Pendleton called me an hour ago. He gave me an ultimatum. I cede him my powers as Commander-in-Chief over our military, or he’ll bankrupt us.” Monroe shrugged. “I concede to his demands and he elevates me back to power. I’m to speak to members of Congress tomorrow in closed session—no media. I have no choice but to say ‘No’ to Pendleton and preserve our freedom. But Congress may disagree.”

  Consequences—Peacock weighed them. Monroe was her boss today. Whatever he ordered, she was obligated to do. A warrior trains for death in battle—or winning in personal combat—even if her side loses the war. Her duty was to obey Monroe. She would do her duty.

  “There is another attack on my life planned. We know this from Lytle’s notes. Peacock, I’m giving you a twenty-four hour leave of absence from my security team. Ursa, deliver her safely to Reed’s location and bring her home.”

  Peacock nodded. “So I’m to kill everyone on Reed’s property and bring home any documents in the hopes of finding out about the next assassination plot.”

  “Precisely.” Monroe stood. “I don’t know if I’ll live out the week, but I’ll fight for America’s freedom to my last breath. Ursa, Peacock, my friends, destroy my enemies and the enemies of this country.”

  Peacock stepped in front of him as he turned to leave. “I asked to see my son. If I return alive, will you honor my request?”

  “Absolutely.”