by Thomas Shaw
“The first one was eliminated when we found out he was diabetic, and it turned out he didn’t even know it himself. Number two was eliminated because he was 6 feet 4 inches tall and had a strange looking overbite. It turns out that #3 was the perfect match. He is single, 31 years old, is in good physical shape and has this DDI personality trait SAM was looking for. In fact our pickup team is in California getting ready to evaluate our subject.”
“What do you mean – Pick up team!” Don asked, in astonishment. “Does this guy even know he’s being looked at to attempt this seemingly impossible mission?”
Ed took a long second before he answered.
“In a word… No,” he said, defensively. “But before you make some sort of judgment hear me out. SAM did an extensive background check on this guy and we found that he was the perfect choice because he doesn’t have any family. His mother and father were killed in an auto accident, he works in a dead-end job, and he’s very competitive in sports and even races his motorcycle in local motocross events. But the main redeeming reason is his special personality trait, which we are trying to confirm before we bring him in.”
Don just shook his head.
7
Irvine, California…
It was early morning when the Gulfstream landed at John Wayne Airport in Irvine, California. From all outward appearances it looked like any other corporate jet until it pulled into a private hanger and the doors closed a little too quickly. The agents that stepped from the plane were met by a small group of men and women who led them to a room that was normally used for filing flight plans, but not today. On the table were five manila envelopes and a laptop computer connected to an overhead projector. One of the agents who had stepped from the plane moments earlier, took off his sunglasses, walked over to the projection screen and pulled it to its full down position.
“My name is Agent Dean and I will be heading up this operation,” he stated in his, government issue, take charge manner. “We’ve asked for the assistance of the local FBI here in Los Angeles and your briefings are in those folders in front of you. As you can see, this information is marked top-secret so you will understand why YOU were chosen for this mission.” With a subtle motion of his finger Dean instructed another agent to turn the lights down. After a few quick keystrokes, he stepped back and spoke toward the projection screen.
“This is the guy we are here to observe,” Dean, said as the group of agents looked at a young man in his late twenties or early thirties. “Because of the nature of this operation, you will get your information on a need to know basis. I want you to form up in three groups.” With a slight nod of his head toward one of his agents, he said. “Ryan will take two of you to stakeout the Target’s house and by the way, our John Doe will be referred to, only as “Target 1” from now on.
Another slight head nod and Dean continued with “Cheryl will take two more local agents and track all of his movements. Agent Spencer, you will be attached to my group. OK ladies, let’s make it happen.”
They broke up into their appointed groups, some working around the computer as it flashed different pictures on the screen. Others moved into the hanger where a group of technicians were hurriedly working to set up a command center on a couple of long folding tables.
Ryan’s group was the first to leave the hanger. They had been loading the surveillance equipment into a plain white van, while other technicians put the finishing touches to the vinyl lettering attached to the side of the van, which read “Jetson Carpet Cleaners.” There was even a web address and phone number that, if accessed would be directed back to the command center.
Costa Mesa, California…
Forty-five minutes later a white van with new vinyl letters pulled up in front of an aging ranch style two-bedroom single bath home in an older section of Costa Mesa.
It was a little after noon when Ryan heard his call sign over his single piece earphone/microphone. Ryan held his hand over his ear to hear the message more clearly. “Ranger 1, this is Ranger 2, we have target in sight. He is in transit south bound on highway 101, you are clear to proceed; over.”
“Roger 2, we have a copy, over,” Ryan said without moving his hand. “OK boys and girls it’s ShowTime.” As he opened the back doors of the van and stepped out. Ryan walked with confidence to the front door, like a man who had an appointment. Without ringing the doorbell he stooped, as if to pick up a key left under the mat, but there was no key. Instead he pulled a specialized lock-picking device from his jumpsuit. In less than 30 seconds he had defeated the locks and opened the front door. A quick scan of the walls told him his information was correct; there was no alarm system in the house. Soon there were hoses and cables running from the van into the house. The sound of a high powered vacuum cleaner was coming from the van which easily masked any sounds in the house.
Each of the agents carried a floor plan of the house and knew exactly where to position their listening devices. Ryan unscrewed the light bulb out of a lamp and dropped in a metallic looking disk and replaced the bulb. While the other agents finished placing their transmitting devices, Ryan found the Target’s computer and turned it on. The Windows software displayed the icons and he quickly found the ACT contact manager program that the Target used to schedule his appointments. Ryan inserted his own thumb drive and ran a single executable file so SAM could easily read the contents of the computer before they left.
In less than 30 minutes their job was complete and they began to reload the cleaning equipment back into the van. Now they faced the tedious task of surveillance. Ryan once again cupped his hand over his ear and said, “Ranger 1 to base, copy?” There was slight static. “Base, go ahead,” Dean’s, voice, came over his earpiece.
“The Target’s home is hot… over.”
“Base copy; over and out.”
Quantico, Virginia at that same moment…
SAM broke in on the conversation Ed was having with Don. “Dr. Merrill, please excuse my interruption but we have data coming in from California. Would you like an update?”
“Yes I would,” Ed said, “I think it’s about time Dr. Goodman hears this from the horse’s mouth.”
“Horse’s mouth does not make sense,” SAM replied. “Would you please explain?” “Never mind, SAM; go ahead with the report.”
“The pick-up team is in place, the Target’s house is hot and Target 1 is currently under visual. I have a list of his appointments for the next two months. Would you like to go over this now or wait for our normal meeting?”
“Let’s hold that information for our strategy meeting but I would like you to take a few minutes and tell Dr. Goodman how you came up with Target 1,” Ed instructed SAM.
“Target 1 was determined by physiological and personality traits that could be transformed into a “special” person by using your CBM project Dr. Goodman,” SAM said with casual ease.
“OK SAM, get to the point, we don’t need all the details,” Ed broke in.
“Target 1 has several personalities as well as the physical traits necessary for your CBM programming to be effective but the deciding factor and what made his personality so unique is called Diminished Divergent Identity. In laymen terms this means the person is nondescript or of unmemorable character. In short it means people don’t remember meeting him at all after a brief encounter and very limited remembrance after longer encounters.”
“Is it alright if I ask a question?” Don broke in.
“Sure, fire away,” Ed added.
“Is this guy ex-military?” Don asked.
“No, no military service,” replied SAM.
“Why pick a civilian for something that sounds like a military mission?” Don said.
“There are other factors that led Dr. Merrill to make the final selection,” SAM continued. “Target 1 does not have any surviving family, no steady girlfriend and stuck is in a job with little chance of promotion, in other words, he was determined to be expendable,” SAM added, without emotion.
�
��Excuse me,” Don turned to Ed in disbelief. “Determined to be expendable, what is this?”
"I had to make some hard decisions, Don," Ed said, in a well-rehearsed voice. "With your CBM techniques the odds are about 50/50 that this guy comes out alive. If he does, he's a hero who has saved the world; If not... we've spent a lot of tax dollars for nothing. But worst of all, we have or should I say, I have less than a month to make it happen."
No one spoke for several long seconds.
Costa Mesa, California…
Jim Peterson had no idea he had been renamed to something as bazaar as “Target 1” with a bunch of FBI agents monitoring his every move. In his mind he had a good life selling corporate health insurance and driving around in his two year old Nissan Z300-X. But the best part of today was obvious, it was FRIDAY. This was his night to hit the Devils Triangle. Every “single” person in the Costa Mesa area knows the triangle is defined by three restaurants in close proximity in Orange County. He always started at the El Torrito and let fate take it from there; and tonight would be no different… he thought.
Jim finished his last call by in San Clemente and now faced the daunting task of negotiating the traffic back to his house.
Quantico, Virginia…
SAM received the download and processed the data in a flash on the overhead screens… there wasn’t much to work with. The Target’s next business appointment was on the following Monday and that would need to be changed. He had an appointment to have his hair cut later that afternoon. Not much going on.
“What does this mean?” Don said, challenging Ed for an answer. SAM responded… “If the decision is made to bring the Target in, we will need to reschedule his appointments, so this information is important.”
“We need a lot more information than this,” Don stated, clearly frustrated.
“What would you like to know?” SAM said, in her calm and measured female voice. “Well, for starters I need to know this guy’s complete medical and education history.”
For the next 45 minutes Don and SAM had a spirited conversation about everything they’ve learned about Jim Peterson.
Costa Mesa, California…
After a quick dinner, shower and a power nap, Jim arrived at the El Torrito restaurant at about 9:30 that evening followed closely by three FBI agents.
It was a little early for the hard-core party people but Jim always felt a little uneasy when the place was packed with professional pickup artists who seemed to thrive on the commotion. He ordered a Bourbon and Coke and let the adventure begin. About 20 minutes into the evening, four ladies settled into a table about 20 feet from Jim.
Jim knew he would have to make his move soon before the “professionals” would be all over them. With nerves churning up a weird feeling in his stomach, he sucked in a deep breath and took the four steps that placed him squarely in front of their table.
“Hello ladies, are we having a TGIF meeting?” Jim said, thinking it was a great ice breaker.
“Sure, don’t you think it’s the whole idea?” The young brunette said.
“You bet,” Jim said, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Do you ladies work at the same place?”
Small talk ensued for the next six or seven minutes with names exchanged and what they did for a living; the usual stuff… then the professionals moved in. And Jim found himself sitting at the bar nursing his second drink.
The evening passed with Jim making several more attempts to “meet the ladies” but always with the same results; back to the bar nursing another drink.
Quantico, Virginia…
Don and SAM poured over the information that had been gleaned from Jim’s life. Everything from his IQ to the number of girls he had some sort of relations with.
Don noticed that Jim was physically fit for a 31 year old person. For the past five years he had been an active runner, participating in 10 K fun runs on a regular schedule.
Don took special notice of the mental aptitude Jim displayed and quietly noted that he would make a good candidate for his CBM program. Don and SAM went over every detail in Jim’s life as time on the East Coast slipped from late evening into early morning.
Costa Mesa, California…
The El Torrito restaurant was packed by 10:30 and Jim decided it was time to move to the next leg of the triangle. He paid his tab, pulled on his light wind breaker and headed for his car. The three agents followed at a safe distance, reporting back to SAM.
Jim pulled up to the Claim Jumper restaurant and started the impossible task of finding a parking place. He knew the place would be packed but steeled himself to the mission or knew it would be another lonely weekend.
Then he saw the break he was looking for. The four ladies he had met an hour earlier were walking out the front door heading toward the parking lot. With a little timing effort he managed to pull up in front on the “ladies” as they stepped out of the multitude.
“Hello ladies,” Jim said, through his open window. “Are the crowds getting a little intense in there?”
“Excuse me,” The brunette said. “Are you taking a census?”
“Hey Janis, It’s me… Jim, I just met you at El Torrito’s.,” Jim said, struggling to make a connection.
“El Torrito’s? Sure whatever,” Janis said, without a glimmer of recognition. The ladies moved away from his car and disappeared into the parking lot.
This event did not go unnoticed by the agents…
Quantico, Virginia…
SAM and four other scientists were listening to every word the agents were passing back from California about how these girls didn’t seem to recognize Target 1 at all. There was a long moment of silence. Then… “Bring him in,” Dr. Merrill said, with assertion.
8
“Hey dude… can you tell me how to get to the 405 toward L.A.?” The agent said, feeling comfortable in his role.
“Sure…” Jim said, wanting to help. “Just take the exit over here.” Pointing over his shoulder. “Hang a left and…..”
Jim barely felt the mist that was sprayed in his face as he turned back to the stranger. He immediately slumped forward against the steering wheel. The agent quickly pulled him upright before he hit the horn with his chest. The second agent entered through the other door and helped pull Target 1 into the passenger seat.
In less than 30 seconds two cars pulled out of the parking lot and onto the 405 heading for the John Wayne Airport. By the time the agents turned into the hanger, the Gulf Stream’s engines were turning at idle and ready for immediate departure.
SAM was in full control mode and had already filed the flight plan for its return to Quantico and was instructing the technicians onboard about their upcoming assignments.
As the big Gulf Stream pulled out of the hanger, the doors closed immediately, and the cars involved in the “pick up” quietly disappeared into the night. Even Jim’s Nissan was moving quickly toward a destination that only a few people knew about.
In the Control Tower, the Gulf Stream was cleared for immediate departure on runway two - five by a person none of the controllers had ever seen before but who flashed his FBI credentials and had a take charge manner that was very convincing.
When the jet radioed the Irvine tower that they were wheels up and departing the pattern, the stranger made a few quick keystrokes on the controller’s console and the Gulf Stream disappeared off their radar screen. Without making any eye contact, the stranger calmly said, “That plane was never here! Is there any part of this statement you don’t understand… your future job relies on your answer,” as he cast a sideways glance at the startled controllers. Without waiting for a response, the stranger simply turned to pick up his briefcase and walked out of the control tower.
At that same moment the white van sitting beside the empty hanger, having completed their “clean up”, were making their departure as well.
As far as the flight records at John Wayne Airport, the Gulf Stream had never been there; SAM had mad
e sure of that.
The Gulf Stream made a 180 degree turn and was climbing to 43,000 feet for the return flight to Quantico, Virginia when SAM notified the technicians onboard to start their “procedure”.
Quantico, Virginia…
The large digital clock on the wall had just clicked over to 2:47AM when SAM announced to Dr. Merrill, Dr. Goodman and two other technicians that this part of the mission was complete and they should get some sleep. There would be an early start in the morning. They all agreed and headed off to their respective rooms. As the lights went off throughout the “Icehouse,” SAM was just shifting into high gear.
“OK gentlemen… it’s time to start,” SAM said, as her voice was being transmitted via special satellite to the Gulf Stream.
