by Blake Banner
I left the class and wandered around for a while until I found the lounge again, and from there I wandered back to Dr. Banks’ office. I knocked on her door and waited for her reply. When she called for me to enter, I opened the door and moved to her desk.
“Hello, Lacklan. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been for a walk around the grounds. I saw a man teaching a class in hypnosis, and a woman teaching what I think was neuro-linguistic programming, or something similar.”
“Yes, that is all part of what we do here.”
I shrugged. “I was thinking, if I am going to be here for a long time, possibly the rest of my life, I would like to take some of those classes, if it was possible. It might help me to integrate my experiences, come to terms with them. They have been pretty horrific, but I am not alone in that. Soldiers, cops, criminals, victims of violence—all of these people have had experiences similar to mine. Maybe, in time, I could learn to help other people to become better integrated.”
She frowned at me for a long while. Finally, she said, “Integrated…?”
I searched for a word to better describe what I meant. I fumbled, “With other people… Not to be an eternal enemy, at war with the world, but…” I spread my hands, “To integrate…”
She raised her eyebrows high, “Into society, Lacklan! Into society!”
I laughed out loud. “Yes, exactly, into society….”
“Sooner or later, Lacklan, we all have to learn to share in a common experience, a common consciousness.”
I nodded. “Yes, I am becoming aware of that.” I hesitated. “In ancient Japan, the samurai, after a lifetime of war and violence, would often become Buddhist monks. They would seek to let their egos go, silence their minds and become one with…it. I think I am ready for something like that.”
She smiled. “Yes, you know, I think you may be, at that.”
Twelve
I spent the afternoon wandering around with a stupid smile on my face, and receiving stupid smiles in return. In my rambles I noted where Nurse Roberts had her little clinic and I popped in to say hello a couple of times. It was a small office with a couple of chairs and two storerooms. On my third visit, I sat in one of the two chairs while she carried out a stock take. While she worked, I told her about my visit to Dr. Banks. She seemed to think my spaced-out state of mind was amusing and told me, “I think we may need to reduce your dosage!”
I smiled at her. “Aw, don’t do that. I haven’t felt this good since…” I shook my head. “…ever! You know, drugs affect healthy people faster, and I am really, really healthy.”
“Well there is more to positive change than feeling good, Mr. Walker, you know?”
“Lacklan. I’d like you to call me Lacklan. Hey, Nurse Rogers…?”
She glanced up at me from her clipboard.
“Well?”
“Do you think, if I wasn’t high on drugs, and if I was properly dressed, do you think you could fancy me?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Now that is not appropriate, Mr. Walker! But…” she winked. “As a matter of fact, I think I could.”
I grinned at her with sleepy eyes. “You’re cute.”
She spoke to her clipboard. “You have no idea…”
“Can I close my eyes for a bit and just sit here?”
“Sure, honey.”
She went about her business, working her way through the store rooms, and I sat there in my state of bliss, listening to her. When she moved into the second store room I stood and followed after her, taking my time, scanning the cabinets. When I found the Epinephrine I took one, slipped the bottle out of the box, closed the box and replaced it at the back of the shelf. Then I palmed a syringe and stepped into the second room, still smiling like an idiot.
“I’m going to go now.”
She gave me one of her cute winks. “OK, honey.”
“Do you film me in my room?”
“Not anymore, sugar, that was just in the beginning.”
“Then maybe tonight you can give me a kiss before I go to sleep.”
She grinned. “Well sure I will, honey! Now you run along and let me work, and I’ll see you later.”
“OK.”
The rest of the day continued in that same strange, peaceful state of mind. I knew it was drug-induced and I kept expecting it to start wearing off, but it didn’t.
Lunch was at one thirty in the dining room. The dining room—at least the one where I ate in my bathrobe—was a large space with a foam-tiled ceiling and plate glass walls all along one side. The tables were round and seated eight people at each. I noticed that none of the students I had seen earlier, or their teachers, ate with us. The people who did eat in that dining room were all like me, really peaceful, and smiled a lot. It dawned on me then that the water, or the food, was drugged. But I didn’t mind. It was all part of the peaceful, integrated matrix.
As I ate and drank, I was aware that I didn’t especially want to do what I was going to do. In fact I would have been very happy to stay in that place, in that integrated state. It was very enjoyable. I had not lied to Nurse Rogers. This was the best I had felt as far back as I could remember. It was a real nice state to be in.
The only reason I was going to do what I was going to do, was because I had formed an intention. I intended it. And you always see through your intentions. That is why they are intentions.
After lunch I spent the afternoon meditating in the garden. I had a very special meditation technique that originated in Tibetan Buddhism, which was used widely in martial arts. You visualized a person—or sometimes a god—doing a movement or an action that you wanted to master. You watched them do it perfectly over and over again, however complex, and then you closed in on them and joined with them until you were actually looking through their eyes. And then you performed the movements as though you were that person, or that god.
And that was how I spent the afternoon. The semi-trance state, though drug-induced, was very helpful for that.
At six PM we were called for supper, and then we all went to watch a movie together, and then we all went to brush our teeth and go to bed. But before going to bed, while I was still in the bathroom, I took the vial of Epinephrine, which is basically adrenaline, drew 5 ml into the syringe, and injected myself with it.
My heart began to pound and I felt a twist of anxiety in my belly, followed by a rush of excitement when I thought about what I was going to do. It was the result I had been hoping for. I’d figured that, whatever cocktail they’d been feeding me, there was a good chance adrenaline would counter the effect. I took my bathrobe off and climbed into bed to wait for Nurse Rogers.
She came in about half an hour later with a glass of water and some pills. I kept my eyes closed but smiled. I heard her say, “Are we ready for our medicine?”
I opened one eye. “First the kiss you promised me.”
“Now, now, first the medicine and then the kiss. Open wide.”
“OK.”
I opened my mouth and she leaned forward to pop in the first of the pills. I gently took hold of her wrist with my left hand and smiled at her, then I seized her throat with my right and sat up, forcing her down on her back. She dropped the pills. Her eyes were wide. She was getting enough air to breathe, but not to scream. I leered at her. “Guess who’s been a very bad boy, Nurse Rogers…”
I stood up, stark naked, holding her up by her throat, and forced her to lie on the bed. Then I sat astride her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. I leaned over her and spoke quietly.
“Did they tell you what I do for a living?” She nodded. “I kill people for a living. I am a very, very bad person, Nurse Rogers. Now I want you to ask yourself, do you think I would have any problem at all killing you, considering the fact that you have been actively trying to destroy my mind? Please think about that for a moment.”
She took her time, then gave a single nod. I said, “I am going to let go of your throat, Nurse Rogers. If you scream I will
put your head in an arm lock and break your neck. Are we clear?”
Another nod. I released her throat. She gave a ragged gasp and whispered, “What do you want from me?”
“First, I want information. Where are we, and what is the real date?”
She swallowed, then whispered, “We are two miles northeast of Maplecrest, two and a half hours north of New York. Today is Thursday, 17th May.”
I smiled. “Aren’t we a good girl?”
She nodded.
“Now, clothes and a car.”
“Next to my clinic is the nurses’ changing room. You’ll find nurses’ uniforms in there, and the clothes of the nurses on duty…” She reached in her uniform pocket and pulled out some keys. “Cream Ford Focus, parked out front.”
I took them and our eyes locked. I said, “Now, take your stockings off. I need them to tie you up.”
Her chest was rising and falling fast and there was a strange expression on her face.
“Lacklan …”
“What…?”
“I am so hot right now…”
I looked down at her, and after a moment I smiled.
An hour later, scratched and bruised, but smiling, with a pocket full of various narcotics, I made my way in my bathrobe toward the nurses’ changing rooms. The place was still and silent. The lights had been dimmed, the doors were locked, and the main reception area was empty. Banks’ office was closed and no light showed under the door. The next passage along took me to the small clinic, and next to it the changing rooms. They were not locked and I let myself in. I closed the door before putting on the lights. There were a dozen lockers, wooden benches, and, against the far wall, a row of showers. There was also a row of hooks against the wall where jeans, shirts, and jackets had been hung. I selected some clothes that were more or less my size, got dressed, transferred the medication to the jacket, on the basis that you never know when you’re going to need to dope somebody, and stepped into the corridor again.
To my left was the reception area. To my right there was a T-junction. Coming from that general direction I could hear the soft murmur of voices with the occasional burst of canned laughter. It was the unmistakable sound of a common room or a night watchman’s room.
I moved silently to the corner and peered around. I saw what I had hoped I would see. A door ajar, and through it the ape who’d knocked me down in Banks’ office. I wondered if his three pals were there. I hoped they were.
I crossed the passage, went in and closed the door behind me. They were there, all four of them. It was like when you were a kid and you got that battery operated machine gun, and they remembered to include the batteries.
I smiled nicely. “Hello, boys.”
The big Russian-looking guy was on the left, by the coffee machine, in the kitchen area. The other three were sitting around a coffee table. A small, portable TV was playing reruns of sitcoms. The Aryan guy was reading Guns’n’Ammo and the other two, the black guy with the mustache and the lobotomized Stallone, were playing cards. The lobotomy had his back to me. He looked around and said, “Huh?”
I reached him in two strides, grabbed his hair in my left hand, shoved forward, and smashed my knuckles into the base of his skull. I felt the vertebra dislodge and knew he wouldn’t be a problem. I let go and he slumped across the table, drooling.
Then the other three were moving. Logically, I should have disposed of the big Russian-looking guy first while the other two negotiated the coffee table, but I wanted him last. So I took a step to my left and kicked the table hard into the Aryan’s shins. I know it hurt because he screamed and cursed. It also destabilized the black guy with the moustache. He stood for a moment, waving his arms. I knew Ivan the Terrible was moving at me across the room, so I took another step, grabbed the black guy’s wrist in both my hands, moved under his arm and twisted savagely. He had to bend forward to avoid dislocating his shoulder, but when he did that, I kicked him hard in the forehead. Twice. I let go and he fell forward, to join his Stallone-Clone pal on the table. That was about four hundred and forty pounds the Aryan had to dislodge before he could get out.
By now the Russian Bear was upon me, calling me names my mother would not have approved of, and grabbing my head in both his hands. Grabbing is always a mistake because it opens your guard to your opponent, and occupies at least two of your most lethal weapons. While he held me I delivered three crosses to his jaw. He was tough and didn’t go down. But he was human and he let go and staggered back. While he was still dazed, I kicked him hard in the nuts and he went down on his knees. I figured that was a good place for him and left him there.
I turned. The Aryan had managed to extricate himself from the coffee table and his two pals, and was coming at me like a Valkyrie on steroids. He wanted to grab me too. Everybody wanted to grab me that day. As he lunged, I stepped inside his guard and rammed the heel of my right hand up into the tip of his jaw. It stopped him dead and his eye rolled. As he began to fall, I took his neck in an arm lock and twisted savagely. It broke his neck and I knew he wouldn’t be giving anybody a kicking ever again. That was one good thing that happened that day.
I turned back to Ivan, the Russian Bear, who was probably from Idaho or Detroit for all I knew. I signaled him to get to his feet. He stared at me. He had murder in his eyes. I said, “You’re pretty good when there are four of you and you catch a guy buy surprise. Let’s see how good you are on a level playing field.”
He wasn’t very good. He roared and charged me, with his arms outstretched, to grab hold of me and take me down. I stepped to the left, my right hand went to his right wrist and my left to the elbow. I pulled on the wrist and pushed on the elbow and he sprawled on the floor. I didn’t waste any more time. I slammed the blade of my foot into the back of his neck and broke it.
The debt was paid in full, with interest. I reached in his pocket and found a large bunch of keys. I figured he would probably have one to the main entrance, otherwise I would have to resort to more primitive methods. On the way, I stopped at Banks’ office and kicked in the door. I found a notepad and a pen and wrote a message for her. It just said, “I’ll be back for you.”
As I put down the pen, something caught my eye. It was a small, highly polished walnut box with business cards in it. I took one out and examined it. Lara Banks MD, Director of the Richard John Erickson Institute for Research in Psycho-Social Dynamics. Beneath it was the address of the clinic, and then her private address, 2501 Pennsylvania Avenue, in D.C.
I put the card in my pocket, let myself out, found Nurse Rogers’ car, and set off for Echo Bay.
But I had underestimated the security at the Institute. I had assumed that they relied on the four male nurses to keep the drugged, pliant inmates quiet during the night. Obviously that wasn’t the case, or maybe they had laid on special security because I was there. I would never know. The fact was that as I moved along County Road 56, through the dense forest in the pitch black, within a couple of minutes I became aware of headlamps in my rearview mirror, and they were gaining on me fast.
I yanked on the hand brake and spun the wheel, then floored the pedal and accelerated into the oncoming lights. It was a gamble, but I had no time to waste. I was on the wrong side of the road, and he was not on a suicide mission. Sooner or later he was going to veer to his left. When he did, we were going to dance.
He was chicken. He moved to the left when he was twenty feet away. I moved to the middle of the road, yanked on the brake again and spun the wheel left. My trunk arced around and smashed into the side of the oncoming car. I could see now it was a black, foreign SUV.
There was a screaming of brakes on blacktop and the second car, a Q5, smashed into the back of the first one. I already had the door open and jumped out as the Focus skidded to a halt. I ran to the front car and wrenched open the driver’s door. The airbag was deflating and the driver looked stunned. He looked more stunned when I smashed my fist into his temple. His pal was gaping at me from the passenger seat as I rea
ched under his jacket and found his weapon. The penny dropped too late and he started fumbling for his own piece. I put a single round through his head and it was all over for him.
Meanwhile, the two guys in the Q5 had staggered out with their automatics drawn. There was no contest. They were badly shaken and concussed. I shot each one in the head. Then I approached their bodies and knelt to take their guns and one of their watches. I checked the time. It was nine PM, Thursday the 17th of May. I had fifteen hours.
I returned to the Focus. The trunk was dented and scratched, but other than that, it was undamaged.
I climbed in, fired her up, and started again for the town of Maplecrest. From there, I figured it would be south toward the Hudson, where I’d pick up the I-87. I’d make Echo Bay by eleven-thirty, with maybe thirteen hours to go.
Maplecrest was a tiny collection of houses and large lawns along a riverbank with a crossroads at the far end. At the crossroads, I turned left onto County Road 40 and burned rubber south like I had all the hounds of hell biting at my ass. Most of the way I was in thick forest. There was no moon and the only light was from my headlamps, which cast bizarre and wild shadows from the trees into the dense undergrowth. As I drove, I tried to figure out what had happened to me. Ben—Omega—wanted Marni alive, because they needed her father’s research. They believed their best chance of getting hold of Marni was through me, and they needed me to do that before twelve noon the next day, because she and Gibbons were going to blow the whistle on Omega in front of the UN—and the whole world—in the General Assembly Hall.
That much was clear. What was not clear, what was giving me a headache, was why the hell he had drugged me and put me in that crazy institute. Clearly the big thing for Omega was to turn people into ants. The one theme that ran through all their research and experimentation was the minimizing of individuality to make people obedient and pliant. The sun beetles, the Biosphere 3 research, and the Richard John Erickson Institute were all about the same thing.
