“Shit. You better find me some wipes if I’m putting that bloody mess on my head.”
“Unless it can spread wider, it might not fit over your fat American head anyway.”
Gorka fingered a blood-covered hard object at the back of the black helmet. “I found where the cable screws onto a connector at the base of the helmet, where it comes out of his collar. It's a coax cable. Let’s disconnect that, and ease it off him to see what’s on the inside. I think you’re right. Without that frizzy wig over the top, it looks too small for me.”
As they worked the helmet free, they noticed metal studs protruding from the man’s shaved head. The flesh around them was red and puckered. The studs were embedded or perhaps screwed into the bone. With the helmet removed, there were three of the studs, which aligned with three socketed metal plates inside the helmet, below each antenna.
Grayson asked, “Did you find a power tool section in here?”
“I wasn’t looking for any. Why?”
“I’ll need to drill holes in your head for those electrodes.” The mischievous grin gave him away.
“Breaking my foot wasn’t enough? My nose might be broken too, and I have a split lip.”
“I had to stop you from charging those tanks with the rifle we were fighting over. At least you’re better off than this guy.”
“Thanks. I think. Those were Black Panthers, like our M-1 Abrams by the way. Where the crap is that that precious damned rifle I paid so dearly for you to keep?”
Grayson frowned. “I used it to kill an old man, and a woman, who puppet master here left as his watchdogs, carrying other police rifles. I tricked the overconfident prick into walking down the escalator to get close to me, by pretending I was under his control. He brought more human shields down with him. I think when the sun went down that he intended to use the tunnels to use for his escape, to emerge someplace in the dark. He ordered me to drop the rifle and kick it away before he came near me. I’ll tell you later.”
He reached under the back of the dead man's shirt and jacket to pull the cable out and coiled it on top of the transmitter and battery inside the fabric covered fanny pack. “We need to find something to carry this stuff. It’s obvious we can’t just slip that helmet onto your head and hope it works. They connected it to the poor bastard’s brain at three points.”
Gorka shuddered. “I wonder how many people they experimented on to perfect those connections?”
“They couldn’t have that many Compellers. They must have used normal people until they were sure they had the right places to insert electrodes. Then did it to him.”
“Oh God.” Gorka looked revolted.
“I guess it was pretty bad for him, and the ones they experimented with,” Grayson agreed.
“No. I meant what we need to do now.”
“Take the technology and try to get away, of course.”
Mike pointed at the shaved head with its screwed-in metal studs. “Part of the technology is inside that. We need it all.”
Grayson also looked revolted but shrugged. “When you’re right, you’re right. Now we do need to look for those tools. A saw perhaps.”
In the back of the shop was a small office space with a tiny sink and kitchen hot plate for the employees or owner, to save them from eating out. A large chopping knife and a steel mallet, with spiky points on one side of the head for tenderizing meat, served as their instruments of removal. They hammered on the back edge of the knife to force the blade down through the neck vertebrae.
They found a cloth shoulder tote bag hanging on a wall hook in the back, which when emptied of personal belongings, served to carry the electronics, wrapped in plastic bubble wrap they taped around one object, to avoid a leaky mess.
“How do we get back to Malfoy and Alice?” Gorka wondered. “I don’t relish walking, but I found a pair of crutches they sold in the pharmacy. Even extended they’re a bit short for me, but they’re better than nothing. I’ve heard street noises echoing down the escalator tunnel. Someone has noticed the missing Controller, and the injured people up there are calling for help. We probably can’t hope to blend in, even if civilians are walking around. Men in silver suits will be up there.”
“With power still off the trains are stopped, Mike. We can go down to Level 2 and walk the rail line to the next station. The one closer to where the chopper landed is the Seoul University stop. We can climb out there.”
“OK, let’s go. When we reach street level we can use our transceivers to ask them to come pick us up.”
****
The trek proved to be less strenuous for Gorka than they anticipated. They weren’t the only refugees to flee to the depths when the warning spread that people at street level were starting to act like those at the stadium. Not everyone on the last train that stopped at the station before the power went off or the people in the shops went to the surface to fall under the sway of Agent-X.
The two Americans climbed down to the rails at the end of an empty and dark train, with their stolen new flashlights and entered the tunnel. They quickly attracted people that had been hiding. The first four men to approach them, calling out in Korean, must have thought they’d encountered the very devil they’d fled.
Gorka Compelled them to help carry him at double the speed he could make on his own, using the crutches crossed in an X as an improvised litter, with him sitting on them between the four men, his legs dangling. At the next station, also without power, he made them help him reach the surface, and then embedded a command to forget what they had been doing, and released them. That wouldn’t erase the memory of those in the tunnel that stayed away from the two strangers, but they couldn’t see them very well either, and the Americans avoided talking when near them, so they wouldn’t hear them speaking English. Now outside in the dark, Mike pulled out his transceiver and called on channel 12.
Malfoy answered quickly, and the handler surprised them when he said he’d pick them up with a car and drive them back to the helicopter. He’d known that an American registered aircraft, flying into the affected area in the dark, would attract unwanted attention, and he’d arranged for an embassy car to meet him at the chopper. This way, he could say they made an emergency landing when they observed the other multiple aircraft crashes.
On liftoff, the pilot told Air Traffic Control he was abandoning his earlier flight plan to travel over the affected area to the US Embassy and was returning to Osan Air Base.
Grayson refused an offer by Alice to hold the bag he carried when he climbed into the chopper. “This is what we came to get. I’m not letting it out of mine or Chipper’s hands. You’ll learn soon of how many innocent Koreans died because of what’s in this bag. I killed two of them myself to get the job done, and I’ll never feel good about that. However, the true perpetrator is dead, and I feel damn good about that. This bag needs to get back to Washington as soon as possible. On another B-1, or on the same one if it’s still here.” When he said he needed ice and a plastic cooler for the bag, he drew strange looks from the two handlers. Electronics didn’t need ice.
Grayson ignored their unasked questions. “We didn’t know if we could do this or not, so the B-1 may not have stayed. We need something fast to get back, if not.”
Alice answered since Malfoy had turned to speak to the pilot. “We checked. The aircraft was serviced and held for your return. I hope the crew got some sleep. You completed this mission much faster than we thought was possible. I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had a ghost of a chance to succeed. I have no idea how you pulled it off, in a strange city, not speaking the language, and one of you is half crippled. We heard of some of what went on from radio broadcasts because in a free society they can’t fully shut down the news media. There were drones from the news services that sent back images, briefly, before the damned police shot them down. I don’t know who ordered them to do that.”
“It was the North Korean agent that was in control of that action. You knew that was who we were after. He ma
de it happen.”
That answer didn’t match what she and Malfoy understood about the stadium riot. “That doesn’t sound like simply making people act irrationally. That requires purposeful direction.”
Grayson shrugged. “Yes. It does seem that way.”
Malfoy heard the last exchange. “Are you just jerking our chains about this, making up shit?”
“Chipper and I aren’t authorized to discuss this with you, or anyone else in this country. Did you two simply make up your mission names, or did your parents name you Malfoy and Alice in Wonderland at birth? Perhaps we have restrictions on telling you the facts, just as the two of you have on what you tell us. I doubt what we know will remain entirely secret much longer, but the details won’t come from us. Watch the news here, listen to the witnesses when they get interviewed. Then decide if they were experiencing delusions and behaving irrationally for no reason. You’re smart, figure it out for yourselves.”
Despite being rebuffed, Malfoy looked at the bag and asked him, “Is that a mind control device?”
“No. Is your gun a murderer?”
“It can help me be a better murderer.”
“There you go.” Grayson smiled and changed the subject. “Will the B-1 flight crew be ready for us?”
Malfoy nodded. “Yes. I’d suggest you shower and change clothes for the long flight home. Banker is a bland sounding nickname, but the caked blood on the back of your jacket kind of spoils that image.”
“Thanks. We need a doctor to meet us.”
“Is that your blood on the jacket?” Alice asked him, with sudden concern.
“Nope. The doctor is for Chipper, anyway. Some clumsy ass stepped on his foot and bumped into his nose. Both of them may be broken or fractured.”
“Screw you, partner.” Chipper didn’t sound particularly angry, and he grinned.
“Charging a Black Panther tank with a rifle would have caused more than a few dings, friend.”
“Point made. Thanks.”
The remarks drew another of the strange looks from their handlers, but the remainder of the short trip to Osan had no conversation.
After a cleanup, a ready-to-eat meal, and a doctor’s brief ministrations for cuts, bruises, and pain meds for Gorka, neither man had any trouble sleeping on the B-1 flight home. Although Chipper managed to live up to his mission nickname. With his swollen nose, he mouth breathed, with hours of loud snoring.
Chapter 8: Control versus Compel
Stiles had been to Washington as a tourist once, as part of a school summer program for extra credit for a civics class when he was a senior. He didn’t give a shit about the extra credit since he made sure he always received good grades whether he studied or not. He was smart and enjoyed learning new things, although he was sometimes lazy. As that summer approached, he was bored with his mother’s questions about his unexplained sources of income. He’d make her forget, but when fresh influxes of cash arrived, it triggered new questions as if it was the first time it happened.
The Washington monuments impressed him back then, as did the memorials to famous and powerful men. He craved to be acknowledged as powerful and respected, although in his mind people being in fear of him was the same as respect. Becoming famous, with its attendant publicity didn’t suit his darker side. Someone would eventually notice the number of bodies that had some vague connection to his activities if he took on a more public life. He couldn’t Control all the people that would pry into his life, and expose his darker nature. He didn’t consider it dark himself, but experience told him other people did, and it was impossible to get rid of everyone that did. He fantasized about having the ability to control more people at greater distances, and he was closer than he knew, to realizing that fantasy.
When he arrived in Washington, he uncharacteristically paid off his limo driver as well as forcing him to forget who had hired him, and let him drive away. It was part of his new strategy of leaving less of a traceable footprint behind, such as bodies that could be used to trace his movements. He knew some mysterious government agency was looking for him and appeared to gain information from his Shields.
The new agency had apparently traced him via people that died in insurance frauds for which he received payoffs he didn’t think could be found. It was more than the agents seeming to understand what he could do mentally. Some of his Shields provided information he’d commanded they forget.
It was as if those looking for him could break through the mental barriers in the minds of his Shields. Embedded instructions that had worked for years against normal police interrogations, and deal-making tactics. That alone had convinced him that his ability wasn’t as unique as he’d long believed. Two or more of the agents that questioned his Shields had bypassed his mental commands and forced them to tell what they knew about Stiles or his business.
He remembered the man at the mall that he couldn’t control. That man didn’t make people get out of his way, or force them to attack the person threatening him, but he’d resisted Stiles strongest efforts to make him obey. His mind behaved differently than the minds of other people did. That suggested a very few people could control others just as he did, and there were some few people that he couldn’t control. It was this new information that tempered his more cautious approach to finding out who was responsible for ruining his expanding empire and had taken away his earnings. He wanted revenge, but not blind vengeance.
Even his new cautious approach was soon proven inadequate, even before he tried to track down the agency that had interfered with his lifestyle. He remained overconfident and wanted to do a tourist thing he’d missed doing as a teen. That lack of genuine caution, however, proved to be a boon to his longer-term goals. It happened because of his desire to rectify a disappointment of that field trip of years past. As a teen, he’d wanted to see the Senate or House of Representatives at work, the people that controlled the country. However, he discovered that his group of fifteen could not obtain tickets to enter the observation gallery around either chamber. Visiting alone this time, he easily could do what would have been difficult with his group. He intended to obtain someone else’s gallery ticket, and sit above the House members while they were in session. All he need do was mentally order someone to surrender their ticket to him.
He didn’t know who that would be until he saw a line of people in an outer corridor, preparing to present their gallery tickets. He spotted a man alone and mentally ordered him to step out of line for a drink of water and a visit to the bathroom. He ordered him to hand over his ticket, and forget he had one. It was a simple mental command process, and he sent the man off to do something else. He was leaving the Men’s room when he saw a dozen Capitol Police, and what to Stiles appeared to be two Secret Service agents, rushing up the stairs from the chamber floor level. He slipped his ticket into the trash, pretended to zip his fly, and went to the same water fountain he’d made the other man use. With hands on weapons, the police and agents went to the people in line, checking tickets and identification.
Stiles exit from the Men’s room helped him avoid the checks. Because he wasn’t standing in line with a ticket when they arrived, they ignored him. It was apparent they didn’t know who they were looking for anyway. He had a false ID with his real picture ready if asked, and he wasn’t about to project a false image, knowing multiple cameras had already seen him and likely could see him now. He considered it a credible assumption that it was his mental commands to obtain a ticket which had somehow initiated this hurried search. He had no way of knowing that the two presumed Secret Service agents were Immunes, a term he didn’t yet know.
There was one obstinate individual that persisted in asserting his constitutional right not to have to show his papers to some government Nazis. That was the primary reason they ignored so many of the people that offered no objections or appeared to be calm and cooperative. Stiles saw the two agents speak into their wrists, and they sent the uniformed officers to check on other more willing citizens while they
talked to the angry individual.
In seconds, a small attractive black-haired woman, with a dark complexion, raced up the stairs and hurried to the two agents, who were listening to a steady string of abusive insults from the angry citizen. The woman, who flashed a gold badge that matched the badges flashed earlier by the two men in suits, looked at the recalcitrant man and said nothing. Suddenly the man calmed immediately and promptly produced his identification without another word. As did everyone else in line, including the people that had already had their identities checked.
Simultaneously, Stiles sensed a strange thought that he should relax and produce his identification. Nevertheless, he was certain the woman had not said anything, and he knew that thought he had just sensed wasn’t his own. He recalled his early years exploring his talent, making other kids tell him what they experienced when he made them do something. They described something like what he’s sensed here, but they insisted it was their thoughts.
It was his detecting another Controller’s commands that clinched his suspicion these other agents had also sensed his commands. He didn’t know the woman would consider herself a Compeller, not a Controller as he described himself because she had only one active copy of the double gene version Stiles carried.
Regardless, he realized he’d just sensed a group broadcast, the first he’d ever received. He knew it wasn’t his thoughts and the actions of the newly arrived woman reinforced that perception because it logically followed that she had issued the silent order as a group command.
The two men immediately grinned at her silent broadcast message and turned to tell the people they had already checked to please put their identification away. They then looked at the other ID’s the woman had forced to be displayed, and the woman herself handed back the stubborn man’s driver’s license without a comment from him.
Controller: Controller Trilogy, Book 1 Page 24