by Ray Carole
‘I should of seen it coming mate, I’m sorry, I think about you everyday. On my worst days here I believe you’re pushing me when I need it the most.’
The intensity of operations after six full-on months with the new Cell hadn’t disappointed. He recalled the exhilaration of being out on the ground following terrorists to meeting’s, or discovering where they lived. Though the stresses were immense, bordering insane, it only took a few hours back at base to purge it out of them with a few drinks and the odd call home.
Smiling, he remembered Andy’s deep conversations that seemed to pop up from nowhere and were subject to some scary theories. Thinking it was the combination of work, booze and isolation, Decker just slapped him on the shoulder with the comforting words of ‘you think too much mate’.
One of Andy’s wild theories was that Larnaka and Mohammed were spies and that the Brits were being played by them. At one point he even reckoned they were working for the Iranian’s. Decker just couldn’t see it, ridiculous accusations; they both put their lives on the line everyday, there could be no way that they were the batting for the other side. His paranoia dissipated over time and he dropped his private rambling’s as Decker threatened to sack him.
But it was what he started doing next that made Decker send him home for enforced rest or leave, without throwing the book at him. In the SAS you didn’t shop your mates, you covered each other’s asses and hid any issues from the head shed or Bosses where possible.
Decker recalled the day he’d walked prematurely back into his own room, having forgotten his phone, to find Andy looking through his private stuff. His diary had been open and Andy had his head in his laptop. He’d lost it, slapping Andy open handed across the face, knowing Andy had paranoia issues and breaking his nose wouldn’t help. He felt the rage he’d felt back then.
‘What the hell are you doing Andy? Why are you looking through my stuff?’
Andy in shock, was speechless. ‘Answer me’ Decker raised his hand again.
Andy spoke: ‘You’re up to something I know it. I thought it was those two Iraqi’s but it’s you.’
Decker could see he was vacant, on the edge, struggling to come up with a decent excuse. ‘Andy you have to get a grip, I covered your ass last time. This paranoia has to stop.’ Decker squeezed his hand around his neck, Andy’s eyes avoided his. ‘Look at me Andy, drop it, this is getting too much, you need time off.’
Andy looked at him: ‘Tell me you’re not up to anything Harry, tell me.’
‘Of course not you crazy horse. We’ve been here for seven months non-stop now. No wonder your mind’s wandering. This tells me we all need time off soon and you’re the first mate.’
Andy looked broken and confused.
‘You’re out of here tomorrow for two weeks Andy, fuck off to Bali or somewhere, lose yourself in booze and women, we all need it.’
Andy had trembled as he’d loosened his grip. ‘Sorry mate, this is all getting too much, you’re right, I need to hit reset.’
Decker drew him into a man hug, gave him a few solid slaps on the back and told him he would be flying out tomorrow night.
Holding the photo in his hand, it had remained in pretty good condition all things considered, unlike the characters in it. Smiling at it, he began to talk to it. He knew in his heart he was like one of those drunken bums on a local park bench talking to thin air, but he was past caring. He knew they had suffered, but Decker knew he was smarter, he was in Antarctica talking about it.
‘War’ Decker bitterly growled out. ‘War, it affected us all us didn’t it? Talking to the audience of four and his former self. He was actually aware that he was acting like his local park tramp, shouting at his invisible friends in a frenzy when the cider supply runs out.
‘Christ it made you a non believer Mohammad’ Not expecting a reply or speech bubble to jump out the photo, he thought about the power of conflict, death and destruction. All the sectarian violence in Baghdad had seen Mohammed confide in Decker in the most bizarre circumstances.
Smirking to himself and thinking ‘everyone came to me with their fucking problems? And me? Who was my sounding board? Who did I bother with my issues?
Mohammed was different.
Decker remembered being sat outside their sleeping accommodation with Mo, as he called him. Both relaxed and witnessing the usual fireworks display of tracer rounds flying high into the Baghdad skyline. Burning out into nothing. Like kids watching fireworks he thought, never get bored of watching it.
Sharing a hubbly bubbly pipe that was the closest Decker had ever been to smoking pot, they just chilled. A little lightheadedness, but just what the Doctor didn’t order after 16 odd hours working.
Feeling the affects of mindfulness or escapism was what he always attributed to what Mohammed said to him next. Though he also thought Mo may be pulling his leg as he understood the dry British sense of humour the guys banded around.
Picturing Mo blow out heavily the words were crisp ‘I’m a non believer Harry, I’m a non fucking believer brother’
Decker laughing at the time, almost choking, due to the context and it was the first time he heard Mo curse.
‘No man, my people are killing each other, blowing each other up, chopping each other heads off. This ain’t no religion. There ain’t no Allah. There has to be another way’
Recognising he was wasted or serious Decker sat up. ‘You serious Mo? Or just high?’
‘I’m serious, pass me a beer god dam it’
Decker dipped into the cool box and pulled two cold ones out.
‘Over this last few months things have changed, I see that you infidels have probably got it right. I don’t even like the Middle East anymore. Once were done here if we get out alive, I’m off to the USA or even your place’
He was serious and Decker could actually believe him. His people were brutally murdering each other in almost genocidal fashion.
‘Does that mean if you get killed tomorrow there is no 72 virgins waiting for big Mo?
Mo laughing ‘Oh no we can still do that Harry, Ive earned it’ Leaning over and toasting his beer to Decker. The clatter of the bottles was like his two ski poles tapping.
Again Decker was left with another dream team member from the photo sharing a moment from the past.
The clatter of the bottles also made him think about his downfall. As far as he can remember or recognise, it started happening after Baghdad, when he was sent back home by the Boss....
As he took another look at the photo he couldn’t help but notice it was only him and Larnaka that didn’t have any issues on that team at the time, maybe facing up now was the time and the place.
Like any proud soldier, especially one who had endured what he had, facing up to the fact that he was mentally weak, unstable and maybe a victim of PTSD was unthinkable. He had read about people taking years to admit they were suffering from mental health problems. It was a disease like alcoholism, and like any alcoholic, the first step was admitting you had a problem. He would never do this, even though he knew that his theory might well be his way of denial, a way of blaming something else to protect himself from the possibility he was a PTSD sufferer.
That’s why he had to be right about his theory.
Carrying on with his group discussions that were one way, he felt the need to chat again to a photo that was the closest form of comfort he could muster 10,000 miles from any NHS shrink back in UK.
Looking at his former team he started to unload.
*****
‘You know what, I initially treated my downfall as a malfunctioning of my mind, like a few loose wires here and there, so I decided to fight back with my knowledge of Cognitive Psychology, I was still fighting what I perceived to be my own mind cracking up. Like others who fall deeper into PTSD or other types of mental illness I thought that I
’d combat it with my own knowledge of the mind and fortunately I think I got there just in time.
‘This evil that was driving me insane with its sick images, random voices and thoughts that came from nowhere. I decided to name the evil trigger of these memories. I know, it sounds crazy but I called it something. I named it The Fear to isolate it. To me it had become a small part of my mind that was hell-bent on destroying me…’
A constant band of tension occupied his head back then, just like walking around with an axe buried deep in your forehead. This is what had led him to his reclusive lifestyle, his paranoia. He felt safer behind four walls, well, until he trashed all his electrical equipment thinking the residual white noise was causing all his problems. A combination of paranoia that had seen him smash up phones, car radios and even his prized flat-screen TV got launched off his balcony. Just thinking back to how noisy his mind was then, made him hold then rub his head frantically.
‘Over a period of months I started to mobilise my mind and started winning my war within against The Fear by confronting it. Long story short, I steadily made it back a stable state and this 1400-mile slog to create history is the final barrier I set – on my own, controlling my own mind whilst shattering myself physically every waking hour in Antarctica.’
Feeling how exhausted he was confirmed he was right about that, Antarctica had done the job of knackering him out.
‘I was happy that I’d defeated my own mind by battering THE FEAR into submission by silencing it completely. It took time to recognise every stab in the back that they were giving me, but it was a good job well done. But what I’ve been left with is this feeling that it wasn’t just me, it wasn’t my mind I was defeating, it was something bigger. Something controlled and orchestrated, programmed to intrude my mind that resulted in this sickening behaviour. This is my theory. I know you would agree with me, but I just have to convince myself by backing it with credible evidence.’
It wasn’t just thoughts and assumptions voiced in a pub trying to explain a conspiracy theory. He truly believed it, he just had to prove it. So much so it caused him to shift up and check behind him again.
*****
Nothing.
It was these random acts that scared him sometimes. When nothing was there, self-doubt crept in again with no one to advise him.
This thing he called The Fear in his mind was the key and he knew it. Nailing it down to the specifics would take more than a few heart-to-heart conversations with a photo.
Standing up and walking around he sighed and held his head. Frustrated he yelled out, ‘The Fear, The Fear, I know this is where it all lies, it’s more than intuition that I called it that. If I am right and it is something bigger, then by who, and why?’ After viewing the ins and outs of black ops he knew that the government would be the only people strong enough to execute something like this, with the ability to deny it later, he sniggered. Cowards. Why him though? He’d given his all to fiercely protect his country’s freedoms let alone that of others in war. Had he not proven his loyalty to deserve a little more respect?
He shook his head in disbelief and placed the photo gently back in the envelope then back into his diary. He closed it and took a moment. Sitting back down and still in deep thought looking to his front he unscrewed his flask lid, a hiss of pressure released the hot steam into the cold air. As he caught a whiff of his lunch he scanned left to right over the horizon that was just about visible. ‘I know you’re out there, and it’s time that I let other people know about you.’
Chapter 7
Sully held his stare at Alex and Beast, silently demanding an immediate explanation to the words that they had just been privy to between a guy named Steve and another he calls Champ.
Both jumping in at the same time to explain, Sully cut them down. ‘Shut the fuck up. One of you start shooting now.’
As he predicted, Beast was the first to get talking. ‘We will intercept his last video diary when he goes to post it, see what’s on it then destroy it, or post it on his site if it’s okay.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Okay I’m on it Boss,’ Beast moved back to his workspace as he was talking.
Sully turned his attention to Alex, sensing an air of nervousness around him through his silence. Sully gritted his teeth. These geek sorts were sensitive and he was exercising every ounce of his patience after his brief being interrupted not to jump down his throat.
Alex took his glasses off his head and wiped the build-up of sweat off them, before replacing them. The action seemed to calm him down. Alex replaced them before rushing into his half-cocked explanation.
‘Okay I started following this guy on his groundbreaking solo expedition – you know these types interest me. His blogs and previous video calls are pretty spooky. He talks about his mind-’
‘Cut to the chase Alex, is he some sort of problem?’
‘No, it’s just he’s sent a few left field blogs that highlight his paranoia, and slightly mad way of thinking that he has an entity in his mind that he does daily battle with.’
Beast standing behind Alex wasn’t expecting that response. He noted too Alex’s voice was raising in pitch. So did Sully.
‘So what I’m thinking-’
‘How long has he been down there?’ Sully cut him off again.
‘Over 30 days on his own and he’s skied over 500 miles.’
‘Well I would be slightly barking mad if I was him. So, the million dollar question coming up here is: is this something worth worrying about or can we get back to our briefing and stop fucking about with your sideline monitoring of mad men on ice?’
‘Yes of course, as I said it’s…’
Sully already walking away, ‘Save it, let’s finish this brief.’
Nodding, Alex walked past Sully to continue his brief to the guys.
Sully stood still for a moment, rubbing his chin before following Alex.
Knowing that the cameras were off them Sully walked back in to find Gerry and Bob chatting away like they had known each other years. He watched them sit back straight up again, immediately breaking their small talk. Professionals he thought. Alex had some way to go with his decorum.
‘Apologies guys, just a small development we’re keeping our eyes on. Crack on Alex, you were about to tell about Ridley.’
Clearing his throat, Alex picked up where he left off earlier.
‘So Ridley was interested in how the mind is affected by what someone says to you. This seems all innocent enough, but what Ridley was thinking of for the future was way outside of what anyone could possibly comprehend. Cognitive psychology was his bag, and his experiment was about to revolutionise the way people will be manipulated and monitored. He wanted to embed thoughts into people’s heads without them knowing it. Initially it was going to be through the cell phones that everyone is addicted to.’ He paused to check that they were all still with him. They barely nodded to indicate that of course they were and he continued.
‘As you know a cell phone is controlled by a network provider. This means every phone operated by that network provider could possibly be manipulated if the technology was developed to do so. Technology was already monitoring cell phones, so providers knew the exact location of a phone, what was being said, and who owned it. The systems and infrastructures were already in place to monitor worldwide networks. Now, Ridley knew that if someone said something to you on a cell phone, it could impact on your thought processes and your emotions, potentially for the rest of the day. What he started to develop was a way for a network provider to subliminally send thoughts undetected to the receiver: minus a voice. He called this ‘Intra Subliminal pulsing’ or ‘blitzing’. The problem was how to implant thoughts in a recipient’s head whilst they were on the cell phone? Ridley was dealing with a programme that focused entirely on manipulating individuals to change their thinking and t
he course of their behaviour at an individual level. This could enable the right individual or influencer to manipulate groups, companies or government officials thinking and behaviour. And of course, all of this would be undetected by the poor sod using the phone. In the 70s the Americans had developed something similar. People would listen to radios and Intra-Subliminal pulsing was used, radiating across the airwaves without the listeners hearing it, moving below the detection levels of conscious human hearing. It was proved that the brain picked up these messages and turned them into thoughts without the person suspecting where they came from, they were just thoughts after all.’ He broke for air before continuing.
‘Ridley started really working on this around 2012 with the latest technological capabilities. From what I’ve been told, the initial controlled testing was a little shaky but produced encouraging results. They had the breakthrough they wanted and this changed the dynamics completely. They were at the 80% stage then. What Ridley failed to realise with his creation and what was spotted instantly by our intelligence guys – that he may have created singularly the most covert type of warfare known to man. Commercially this was the end of his experiment. He was defining the new battle lines of psychological warfare that could be commanded from a single location. This location could be far from the front lines of every individual involved, without a chance of getting one’s hands dirty, you could build a command centre anywhere in the world, provided you had the technology to man it.’
Alex made an obvious gesture to the floor above. Obviously manning whatever they manned.
‘But Ridley was only ever focused on negative thoughts for individuals to interpret. His particular expertise and lifelong research dealt with individuals with manic depression and self-esteem disorders. Over a protracted period, his findings could isolate the key drivers to individuals suffering each condition. Behind the smile and the eloquent manner in which Jim Ridley addressed people, was nothing but a charm offensive with false mannerisms. This was a man that had had an exceptionally genius idea, of how to manipulate a mass of individuals, by infecting them with a life-threatening depressive disease. Because they would end up killing themselves such was the mental hold the technology could inflict. This disease, like any, started small with a few simple intrusions of the mind to get the ball rolling—’