by Ray Carole
‘He was a lunatic, total maniac but most geniuses are,’ Sully dove in.
Alex nodded with an expression of slight irony looking at Sully, which Gerry noted straight away. He’d obviously cottoned on to Sully’s ego during however long they’d worked together.
‘Ridley liked to identify the actual tipping point when a discontented person became a highly anxious, insecure and confused individual, profiling a downward spiral which gained uncontrollable momentum rapidly. The individual targeted would then enter the darkest realms of their life, in complete and utter desperation and depression. A lawless mind, almost, the thoughts that the brain commuted to the mind were reckless yet, of course, false.’
Sully watched his team nod their heads thoughtfully; they were obviously considering Ridley’s ethics. He gestured to Alex to let him jump in.
‘You’re a perfectly normal person going about your business, happy as a pig in shit one moment without the slightest suspicion of anything untoward. Then you notice a slight change in your attitude and outlook – let’s call this Phase 1. At first, you think maybe it’s just a phase, after all, you can’t be tip-top everyday of your life. As it continues to plague your daily life, chewing away at the motivation you once thought was unwavering, alarm bells start to ring. You think it could be that old cliché-style mid-life crisis, even though you’re 25 years old, have a stunning girlfriend, 100K-a-year job and a penis that should be moulded in chocolate and sold at Ann Summer’s stores.
‘So you start feeling down, not depressed though, that’s for all those losers who champion excuses of SAD syndrome, or have an uncle who suffers from it, so it’s hereditary and all that crap. But bit by bit, the self-doubt creeps in. The once-confident young man now constantly starts questioning: is this what I really want in life? Do I need a new career? Why am I so deflated and not putting any effort in these days? As the crisis in your mind gathers momentum, the relationship starts falling apart, the drink starts flowing, and the personal discipline and work ethic start to slip. Now that you’re on the slope, there’s no point holding on and you give in. Your new world fills with a negative cycle which constantly continues to reinforce itself. The more you try and work it out, the further the answer moves away. Chasing that answer takes you past Phase 2 when the frustration turns to desperation, the desperation needs a quick fix. More alcohol, more drugs or anything else that will make this thing subside.
‘You’re now in the addiction cycle, Phase 3, exactly where Ridley wants you. Even if you haven’t turned to some sort of drug for relief, you can hardly bear this shit anymore. What started as a simple seed of doubt planted in your brain has now matured into an addictive habit or condition of total despair being fed by our technology. However, if we take our foot off the gas now, you will survive and get back to where you used to be…eventually. If you’re not on that lucky list, it will persist and hound you until we get the result he desired: you, splayed out at the bottom of a multistorey car park, or maybe found hanged or gassed in your car. Obviously just short of suicide was the point that Ridley’s experiment reached its peak for him.’
His team looked aghast at what had just been described. Each of them sat in silence obviously re-running the script.
‘Any questions so far?’ Sully asked to break up the silence that was only interrupted by the air-con unit changing fanning planes.
Bob nodded slowly.
‘Go on, Bob.’
‘Where’s Ridley now, Boss?’
‘Ridley’s dead,’ Sully responded in a voice that indicated no further questioning on that front. He carried on.
‘It was no surprise that the intelligence community could see instantly how the genius idea could be utilised to its absolute maximum. The whole thing was messed up beyond all belief, but what an incredible thing to watch unravel. At the Phase 3 point the person was vulnerable to a brainwashing tactic. They were broken. This is where the real targeted manipulation can happen, defining future behaviours.
‘At this point the Government realised that they had begun to jump the gun and hence they brought me in to sort it all out and give it some shape. Breaking people down had become a mastered art but no one really knew what to do once Phase 3 was reached. It was no secret that the Americans had messed about with brainwashing programmes in the Sixties. These programmes were about creating fighting machines, men that ran at bullets, men that never questioned orders. But we wanted to do something far more special. Far more intricate and world-leading.’
He paused to look at Bob and Gerry, they were barely moving with each breath.
‘I was headhunted to think of how, in a modern world aghast with terror on every continent, especially UK soil, we could build on this capability of manipulation.’ His team nodded silently.
‘So back to the whiteboard Gerry, I saw you looking at it,’ Sully said, testing to see if Gerry was still sharp as a razor. Gerry was always quiet during briefs, never really contributing until the crux moment. Embarrassing for competent teams he worked with, his contributions normally discredited their assumptions and theories instantly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Bob didn’t look at all offended that he hadn’t been asked to comment, yet.
‘Gerry,’ Sully impatiently snapped him out of his moment of deliberation.
Gerry calmly nodded. Unflustered by Sully’s tone. ‘After Ridley’s unfortunate departure from this world, I reckon that someone realised the potential of this technology. But this technology had to be rolled out on a proper test group to see if it delivered the goods. The test group I’m guessing would be the elites – this type of manipulation has to be stress-tested on the most mentally robust specimens I am guessing – no point targeting the weak.’
‘Carry on,’ Sully circling his index finger around the dot on the board.
‘Probably military, government or even pro-athletes. People who were considered the most resilient in the business. I would suggest hardened murderers in prison too, but maybe not if it’s run through cell phones or other mediums. Anyway, this has been done to confirm its complete viability and most importantly to see if it can be detected, and come to think of it, even defeated?’
Alex sucked in his breath, clearly impressed with Gerry’s lightening speed intellect and ability to piece together a problem with minimal clues. All he had was Alex’s brief and a dot on the whiteboard to go on. What represented a cold trail for most was bringing Gerry to his conclusion. Bob was nodding away at golden bollocks on his left, clearly a modern-day Columbo minus the Cuban cigar.
Gerry started his final deliberation. ‘That lone single black dot I think is actually a huge dot. That is that one person that has beaten this programme or has certainly made you realise it’s not foolproof before rolling it out. And I guess our next brief from you, Boss, is what we’re going to do about it.’
Looking at Gerry in awe, Sully was actually ecstatic about what he had spelt out but knew he would have to rein him in a little to stop him from jumping ahead. Smiling across at him he nodded his head to reaffirm his congratulations, Gerry casually added, ‘Yeah, I’ve been keeping my head busy with those Daily Mail cryptic crosswords of late,’ before dipping his head back down. Sully remembered that Gerry was never one to accept praise, which was good because he didn’t intend on giving any public displays of it.
Gerry piped up again: ‘Alex, if my theory is correct and that dot has a name, what stage did he get to? Phase 3 I take it, suicidal?’
Sully jumped up not allowing Alex to answer.
‘Hold on Gerry, you’re running away a little here. The black dot isn’t a test case or candidate. So park it for now.’ With that blunt comment, the heavy footsteps of Beast were heard again. Before he popped his head through Sully caught Alex’s look of confusion at his last comment about the black dot. Looking through him, Sully turned to meet Beast’s huge cow head popping in.
‘Boss…’ Beast began.
Sully nodded his acknowledgement and without saying a word, he and Alex left the room.
Moving along the corridor Beast was eager to talk. ‘Boss, we’ve intercepted the video diary so it’s not on the public website as we’re controlling it at the moment. Glad the guys ripped it off as you aren’t going to like this.’
Sully didn’t even respond, he just looked through Alex who, in his opinion, needed to get a serious grip on his sweat issues. The man was a streaky mess. He sighed inwardly, there was no point in light conversation until he saw whatever it was that had cropped up.
Standing around Beast’s workspace, the Mac had the video up.
Chapter 8
‘Fucking move,’ Decker screamed out to his tent walls.
‘MOVE. MOVE,’ he repeated even though the bullets racing out of his Kurtz compact MP5 sub-machine gun drowned out his calls. His last bullet signalling the start of a whole new world of hurt.
This was the drill, the first 10 seconds were done.
No more drills just instinct now.
And it was the second time working undercover that he’d had to deliver lifesaving actions in order to gain the upper hand.
Shooting through the windscreen to instantly drop two policemen, before firing across Larnaka’s front, who was sat in the driver’s seat of their beat-up old Toyota Corolla, to kill the other policeman, who like a novice had kept his head resting up against the window still inspecting their false IDs.
Their cover was blown.
In a place that offered no protection, not even from the corrupt policeman he had just killed, the decision cycle was clear-cut.
‘Go. Go. Go.’ Larnaka ripped the grab bag from underneath the seat along with the short-barrelled M4 carbine, before throwing the door open.
The door met instant resistance from the dead body slouched down next to it.
‘It’s stuck.’
‘Kick it, kick it.’
Swinging both legs up from the foot well and pounding the door the corpse was slowly pushed aside. About to exit the car they were met with a hail of bullets splashing the bonnet and windscreen.
The Corolla was a bullet magnet that four other policemen were now firing at from the next checkpoint 50 metres away.
The other traffic that had innocently boxed the Corolla in whilst queuing were all in panic mode, some just froze, others were frantically revving and smashing into each other trying to move out of the impossible situation.
Books was oblivious to all this as he exited with his own grab bag and started showering the police with accurate fire to maintain his life, unlike their wild inaccurate bursts condemning theirs.
Hearing the covering fire from Larnaka, Decker made a dash for the only cover in sight. A concrete bollard.
Peppered before with fragments from a car bomb, he judged it was about to take some more.
Laying low behind it he heard the cracks of the police bullets shooting over his head. He popped up quickly letting another few bursts go, managing to take out the policeman running towards him first before engaging the other two who dived for cover behind their own blast wall.
‘I’m with you, I’m with you on your right.’ Decker heard the shouts knowing his back was covered by Larnaka, who had finally got out of the car and started shooting.
Decker surveyed the scene looking for hard cover in the form of a building. ‘Right, see the buildings 7 o’clock, 100 metres across the waste ground?’
‘Yes.’
‘We need to get there and bunker down.’
‘Okay.’
‘You put some fire down and we’ll head over.’
‘Got it.’
Just before the shit had hit the proverbial, Decker had managed to inform Zero over their comms about the imminent contact.
Zero had acknowledged moments before the bloodshed.
This was great news, in times of extreme danger this was not the norm, communications were normally down.
Now Decker knew a predator drone would be watching them and the Quick Reaction Force (QRF) would be coming. However they were 10 minutes away before their heavy armour would arrive on the scene.
‘At the speeds bullets fly that’s a lifetime,’ he thought.
Reaching in to his bag he pulled out two grenades, the type that threw out multiple flashes and bangs with plenty of smoke. The buildings they were heading for were slightly behind them and to the left. Moving back amongst the cars was their best option. The smoke would give them some sort of cover, as the police weren’t going to shoot randomly into their own people, or would they? You never knew in Baghdad.
‘When I pop smoke, I will make a run for it.’
‘Okay.’
‘Anyone tries stopping us, shoot them you hear me? We stop now we’re dead.’
‘Got it.’
Quickly checking all around him for any locals that were trying to play the hero and have a go for it, Decker was happy they were alone, still surrounded by onlookers, albeit on the ground, Baghdad locals had learnt quickly to keep their heads down when the bullets started flying.
He released the grenades which followed by a few bursts from Decker’s fellow operator silenced the police while the smokescreen was building up.
White smog finally covered their front, he screamed out:
‘Moving, Moving,’ as he listened to another burst covering his tracks from behind.
This was a standard drill practised hundreds of times on the range. Known as a hard compromise it wasn’t a case of just legging it and not looking back.
Professionals don’t do that.
This would be a great sight to watch from the operations room via the drone’s predator downlink, but a stark difference on the ground.
Breaking out of the traffic and jumping over a gravel mound he quickly swung his body back around, on his knees, hunting for his next kill. All he could see was a white mist rolling through the line of cars.
This was good.
He couldn’t make out any enemy, but peppered the checkpoint with a burst from his M4, to let his colleague know that he was covering and the police know they were still in a fierce gun battle.
They would be up for the fight, Decker thought.
He knew this seconds before he let rip at the checkpoint again.
It was an Illegal Vehicle Checkpoint or IVCP in the business. It wasn’t the police but local militias, Al Qaeda flexing their muscles in the daylight waiting for a prize like Decker.
Iraqi police weren’t the smartest dressed police force in the world but Decker was quick enough to notice these ill-fitting uniforms, the mismatch of footwear and poor protocol at the checkpoint. Instinct had once again saved his ass so far. Or started another fight. He almost grinned.
The idea of him wearing an orange boiler suit, suffering global media humiliation with his head getting hacked off by the AQI group of fanatics who were rampant at the moment, was in his head as the ultimate ending to avoid.
There was no fucking chance that that was going to be his conclusion.
His colleague sprinted towards him, narrowly dodging a few bullets around their feet. They were still in the fight for sure.
‘Maintain cover, I’ll try and make contact,’ he instructed.
This was now the first opportunity that he’d had to try and communicate with two other operators in another car that had taken another route close by.
He knew they would have been informed about the situation by Zero. More importantly he also knew the other operators in the car wouldn’t follow orders to hold off and stay out of the game.
‘Dave, Dave it’s Harry.’
‘Got you Harry, you North or South side of the bus station?’
‘South mate, wasteland area he
ading for buildings, there’s a huge pylon next to them.’
‘Pop some smoke Harry to give us an idea,’ Dave commanded.
‘I have but will pop another.’
Smoke would let the rescue team identify the exact area as they all knew every suburb of Baghdad like their childhood council estates.
‘We’re inbound coming from the North.’ Dave shouting, adrenaline ramping.
Exactly what Decker had expected. They were coming and coming at all costs. He knew they’d enter all guns blazing mowing down anyone that crossed their paths.
‘Roger, we’ll try and get to hard cover,’ Decker shouted.
‘See you in a second we’re about 500 out.’
He threw out another smoke to signal his rough position to the rescue car.
‘Dave’s coming, we need to get to the buildings,’ Decker pointed to the exact one behind them still over 50 metres away.
‘Okay, you go Harry.’
‘Fucking cunt.’ He let out an animal-like scream. He was down. A 7.62 short had clipped him in his calf and certainly shattered his tibia, he could feel the serrated edge of the bone dig into his jeans.
Crawling straight back to the cover he knew he was out of the game. No chance of walking and limping with the aid of his mate, he would be too slow.
Laid on his back the empty cases were landing on his chest from the covering fire getting put down by Larnaka.
Knowing it was hopeless he turned onto his front, weapon in his shoulder. ‘You make the break for the building I will cover you. I can’t stand up. If we stay here we’re both dead. They’ll close in soon.’