by Lund, S.
Brandon did as he suggested. The pain that had been lodged in his ribs was gone. Although he couldn't see his face, it no longer felt swollen or tender.
"Go on," Brandon said. "Debrief me."
"First, I want you to tell me everything you think you know—about yourself and your mission."
"And if I don't? What's going to happen to me?"
"That depends on how much of the truth you tell me right now." He pulled his chair closer. "I'm going to warn you, Brandon, that I already know the truth. All of it. What happens to you depends on how willing you are to tell us everything."
"That sounds like a threat."
Professor Singer closed his eyes briefly. "Not a threat. The rules of engagement. You must realize what jeopardy you're in."
"Wait," Brandon said, wanting some confirmation of what was really happening. "I need some answers before I provide any. I don't really know who you are. I don't know why I'm here other than the fact that I'm supposedly some kind of traitor. Which I'm not."
Singer stood, leaning closer so that his face was only a few inches away.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to tell you when I'm ready, and not before. Now, we're doing this my way. You listen to my questions. You provide me with your answers. You tell me everything. Don't leave anything out. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that you're in serious trouble and need my help. I need your complete cooperation if I'm going to give it. Believe me, I want this to go well. I've had to fight just to get you this far. To stop them from executing you on the spot."
Brandon nodded and swallowed hard. He searched Singer’s face for some hint, but it was absolutely blank of any emotion except for grim determination.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir," Brandon said, his old training kicking in.
Singer held his gaze, almost forcing Brandon to look away, but he held firm.
"Good."
Singer moved back and unbuttoned his jacket before sitting on the chair. He crossed his legs, folding his hands on one thigh like he was preparing himself. He took in a deep breath and laced his fingers together.
"What's your last memory of your old life?"
Brandon took in a deep breath. "I was in the bar with some new recruits in Helena, Montana. We were celebrating their successful completion of the first obstacle course in their training."
"This is with what group?"
"The Montana Militia."
"And it is? Tell me about this group."
"It's a patriotic group of former military and law enforcement types who believe that the current government has been taken over by hostile foreign forces,” Brandon replied.
"Such as?"
"Elements of the former Soviet Secret Police."
"And your plans were?" Singer raised his eyebrows.
"To prepare for civil war, if civil war became necessary. Nothing more. Just be prepared to act, if we were called to duty. You know what Vegetius said. 'Igitur qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum.'"
"If you want peace, prepare for war," Professor Singer said, translating from the Latin. He nodded as if pleased with Brandon’s words. "I've read your resume. You're very well educated in matters of war, I see. US Naval Academy in Annapolis. US War College. Navy SEAL with two tours of duty. You're impressive. What got you a dishonorable discharge?"
"Insubordination when my superiors were betraying their oath of commission."
He nodded, apparently accepting Brandon’s response.
"Are you married? In a relationship?"
"No," Brandon said. "I have casual encounters with several women who are not interested in a long-term relationship. I don't want to marry because I don't want to put my family in danger."
"When did you decide to join the militia and why?"
"I saw things," Brandon said, hesitating. "Crimes committed by my superiors. I saw them blatantly collaborating with the enemy, colluding with them, using methods that were against the law and our moral code."
"You didn't feel you could report these crimes? Help stop them?"
"Those who did report mysteriously went missing or were found to have committed suicide, or had some freak accident befall them. I understood then that the government was corrupt at the highest levels and relying on the normal channels of justice was no longer possible."
Singer nodded, seemingly pleased with Brandon’s responses. "You didn't consider yourself a traitor?"
"It isn't a crime to feel outraged at injustice and criminal behavior on the part of government officials. The militia is legal. We did and do nothing illegal. But we're going to be ready if the day ever comes that we're required to defend our country and the Constitution."
"Good. Thank you for being so candid. I can explain the gap in your memory."
"Please do, " Brandon said, curious but, at the same time, hesitant. "Enlighten me."
Singer took in a deep breath like he was considering his words carefully.
"You're not really a member of the militia. You're in deep cover. In fact, you're so deep, your cover can't be blown. These past twenty-four hours of torture have proven that quite well."
"So you're telling me that those two goons beating me for the past day was intentional?"
He nodded. "We did what we could to ensure that if you were ever captured, if you ever went twelve hours without your meds, you'd regress back to a pre-programmed identity so your real purpose can't be tortured out of you. People here—other than me, at least—think you're a real traitor, so that explains why you've been shackled and beaten."
"And how did you achieve this marvelous feat?"
"Cut the snark, O'Neil." Singer glared at him. "I'm your case officer and your superior. You don't remember me, but we go back a long way."
Brandon said nothing. Instead, he decided to just listen and see if what he heard was bullshit or believable.
"You were sent to Davis Cove to bring Anna McLean to her brother. He's been compromised by the militia using a new technology we don't yet have access to, and we were hoping that you and she would be able to find him, discover his plans, and help us stop them. You discovered that someone was stalking her—someone you recognized. You shot him, but not until after he shot you. He's dead. You survived and drove to the cabin to ask for help. Unfortunately, your accident meant you were unconscious and missed one of your doses of medication. As a result, you regressed. Now your mind and real identity can't be reached through torture or truth serum. It's a fail-safe mechanism to protect the program from discovery by the wrong people."
"Isn't this conversation being monitored?"
He smiled. "Suffice to say that I have ways of dealing with security in this facility. We're good."
"How do I know that this isn't some grand plot to corrupt me and get me to do your bidding?"
"You don’t. You have to trust me."
Then Singer spoke into his cell for a moment, and the door opened. Two techs entered, pushing a large cart with what looked like ultrasound technology.
"Now it's time for the debrief," Singer said and motioned to one of the techs. "He's ready."
The tech brought over a strange cage-like helmet that they placed over Brandon’s head. He tried to resist, but was restrained. There was nothing he could do as they wrestled it on his head.
Once it was in place, Brandon couldn’t move his head at all. The next thing he knew, one of the techs was placing a mouthpiece into Brandon’s mouth. He tried to spit it out, but the tech clamped it to the helmet, and Brandon was helpless.
"Believe me, you want that in your mouth," the tech said, his eyes widening when he caught Brandon’s eye. "This will make you bite down hard. We've seen guys bite their tongues off so you're going to want to cooperate."
The other tech slid a syringe into the portal in Brandon’s IV tube.
"What the fuck?" he mumbled around the mouthpiece as the tech injected a clear liquid into the IV.
"Just relax an
d let this take effect," Singer said. "You'll feel a little weird for a while, but then it should all become clear."
At first, Brandon felt completely normal, then the tech turned on a switch and whatever it was they had pressed against his skull hit like a sledgehammer. A blazing white light filled his vision, and he heard an intense blaring noise like a scream. It seemed to go on and on—and then, blackness.
Sometime later—Brandon had no idea how long—he woke up. For the first time in a while, everything became clear. Not only did he know who he was, who he really was, Brandon had memories of everything that had happened from that September evening at the bar until that very moment.
All of it came with a huge adrenaline rush, like Brandon’s brain was flooded with endorphins and was overloading. Images flashed through his mind of events from the past—his time in Afghanistan and Iraq; his friendship with Theo; being recruited into the program designed to create super warfighters, just as Anna had said.
He remembered Singer telling him about their plan to get Brandon into the militia so he could find Theo and bring him home. How Theo had been compromised and needed to be deprogrammed so he could be salvaged. That was what Brandon would tell Anna so she would know just enough to get her to come with along, but not enough for her to say no.
Brandon panted as the images flashed in his mind's eye and knowledge returned. His heart rate increased, the beep beep beep of the ECG monitor too fast. He heard a roar, like a growling lion, and realized it was coming from his own lips. The experience was so overwhelming he couldn't hold back.
He caught his breath for a moment then glanced around, the real world slowly coming back into focus. His fists were clenched, his arms flexed, his body ready to fight.
"Holy fuck, that's intense," he managed to say despite the pounding in his ears.
He turned to Singer, who merely nodded, a smile on his face.
"Welcome back. I was a bit worried about you for a while, but everything's good now. Tell me the last thing you remember."
"I was driving down the road to her place, but I was bleeding pretty heavily, even considering my fast clotting factor. I must have lost consciousness and crashed the truck at that point."
"That's what I understand,” Singer said with a nod. “You lost consciousness for long enough to revert back to the base identity. Luckily, you were able to convince Anna to come with you, despite not knowing what your mission was."
"What happens now?"
"We're sending you back out. Your original mission was to take Anna to find Theo and meet with Denton, and you're going to keep to it. We'll make it look like you've escaped, and you can take her with you, see if you can get inside. Everything's being arranged. We've put on a big show of how you were beaten and were going to be tried and then executed. You'll be rescued on your way to another facility, and you can go and finish your mission. Take Anna with you, use her to get Theo back into our control and get you close to Denton. But you need to keep up your cover. Anna will cooperate but she believes you're a traitor. She's been sworn in and is now a CIA employee. She'll get the minimum briefing about the mission, and will rely on you as her handler to advise her on how to behave while you're in the field. She only knows what she needs to know, and I want to keep it like that."
"I don't know why we can't tell her the truth," Brandon said, feeling bad for Anna. Everyone was deceiving her. "Did I know her before?" he asked, rubbing his forehead, the dull pain from the re-programming receding. "I have this strange sense that I met her before."
"No, you two never met, although I’m sure Theo showed you photos of her. Be sure you make her believe you're on the side of the anti-government forces. I hate to deceive her, but it's better that she doesn't know everything at this point. I don't want her going and getting tortured, giving intel away. I trust you to hold out for twelve hours at least, until your alternate identity kicks in, but she'd crumple right away. At most, Denton will think she turned on the CIA once she learned about Theo. But they'll let her reunite with Theo. He's their hero and she's his beloved kid sister."
"You're right. I guess I don't like lying to her. It's hard enough that she thinks her brother is either dead or a traitor."
"It's motivation for her to cooperate."
Brandon lay back and tried to relax, thinking about the Black Unit. There were risks to using neural-stimulation technology and chemicals to implant brain programming, to erase the ability to access the past. Some of the first volunteers to the program had developed dangerous side-effects, including serious depression from the hacking of their brain hormones and endorphins. Others developed intractable epilepsy and died. Brandon was at risk of both, but taking part in the program was an acceptable risk, in his view. Program scientists were perfecting their capabilities, and soon the risks would be brought down to nothing more than regular military service in wartime.
They weren't there yet.
Theo had gone under deep cover like Brandon, and had joined the militia to find Denton, the leader, who was a former Black Unit member. But they’d lost Theo. Singer suspected that the rebels had discovered the secrets of the Unit and that Theo's brain had been hacked. Brandon knew Theo was alive and was with Denton, and feared he was ready to send his own Black Unit to the capital, hoping to take it out with a bang.
A very big bang.
Brandon had to find Theo, get Anna inside and close to him, find out the plan, and stop the plot. He felt bad that they were using Anna as bait, but she was the only way into the inner sanctum to get Theo back.
Save a whole lot of people in the process…
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning after Anna woke and had a shower, she went to the cafeteria for breakfast. While she was checking her email before going to see Brandon, Special Agent Holmes arrived and sat on the chair across from her.
"What do you want?" she said, barely hiding his disgust.
Holmes didn’t seem to care. "We're going to move Brandon tomorrow morning. The security is just not good enough, so we've set up a cell for him at a secure location on a military base. I just wanted to give you a heads-up."
"Is he well enough to be transferred?" she asked, remembering how broken he had appeared. "He's got multiple broken bones and internal injuries. Your people really beat him up."
Holmes shook his head. "I'm not concerned about his health. He'll heal. It's his security I want to ensure. I'm worried that his contacts in the militia will try to break him out. Besides, he can endure a little—or a lot of—pain, given who and what he is."
"And what is he?"
"He's a loose cannon. He and his group are the greatest threats we face as a country. He must be in the more secure location within twenty-four hours, no later."
Anna said nothing, figuring this was all part of the plan Professor Singer had told her about.
She was torn. She knew of the plans to rescue Brandon. She had thought they would take place in a day or two at the earliest. Was this the plan to let Brandon escape?
Holmes stood up, his hands on his hips. "We leave tomorrow morning, first thing. No earlier. No later. Be ready. Professor Singer wants you to come along. Seems like Brandon’s going to be one of your guinea pigs."
Then he left Anna alone. She sighed and wondered whether everything would be in place, not feeling at all confident in her ability to do what Professor Singer thought she could.
Later, Professor Singer arrived and took Anna back into the room where he had first debriefed her. They sat down and he turned to Anna, his expression unreadable.
"We can talk here," he said and motioned to the two-way mirror. "The cameras are off. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine, I guess. Still not all that happy about being operational rather than in research. What are you telling everyone about my involvement in Brandon's case?"
"You're going to study him, working under my authority. Look at his brain, try to see why he became a traitor. It fits in perfectly with your dissertation research, so you'
re just here to study him. That's your cover story."
Anna nodded. “Holmes told me that you'll be transporting Brandon tomorrow to a new location. More secure than this place. Is that when his people will try to rescue him?"
"Yes. We need to move up our plans. Tomorrow morning he'll be transported to the remote facility. We roll at ten hundred hours."
"Okay. I'll be ready," she said and took in a deep breath. "As ready as I can be, given I have absolutely no training."
"I have absolute trust in your instincts, Anna. They're truly good, so you should trust yourself. Your father would be proud."
She sighed. "I hope so."
Professor Singer nodded. "He would be. You should go see Brandon again. If he says anything you think I need to know, you can call me at any time of the day or night."
"I will."
"But first, you need to go to the treatment room and get a tracker implanted."
Anna frowned, not happy with the idea of having anything implanted, tracker or not.
"Is that really necessary?"
"Absolutely. If you get taken somewhere, we want to know where. It's in your contract. You signed a waiver."
"Okay," she said with a sigh, not really wanting to have their implant. "What does it involve?"
"Just a few moments and a bit of pain, but they try to freeze you up enough first."
"Where do they put it?"
"Back of your hand below your thumb so it's easy to reach. Up behind the base of your thumb. Don't worry. It only takes fifteen minutes, and you'll have just a minimal scar."
With that, Professor Singer led her to the treatment room, where she waited to get the tracker.
Anna sat on the gurney inside a large room with banks of cupboards and carts for medication. The shelves were filled with boxes of bandages, and surgical and various implements found in any hospital. On one of the carts was a portable ultrasound and a metal halo brace, the type used in neurosurgery and during insertion of electrodes for deep brain stimulation.