by Brian Tyree
The onscreen Hal returned in the same sweatsuit and running shoes. His movements were methodical and robotic. He removed his sweat pants and shirt, tossing them in a laundry basket. Sleep-jogging? Hal thought. He watched himself remove his shoes and socks, placing them neatly in the closet. He turned off the light and returned to his bed. I haven’t sleepwalked since boot camp.
Hal felt Yarbo’s eyes on him and he returned to his work, dragging the video file to the trash and emptying it. Hal closed his laptop and turned his attention back to analyzing aerial footage taken from a C-31 air strike on an Afghani village. Watching a hail of machine gun fire from a Gatling cannon rip up a Taliban unit was more entertaining than boring recon drone footage.
Hal split the screen in half, opening a new window with the FBI link to the most wanted ISIS and Al Qaeda terrorists. He studied each face, but didn’t recognize any. Hal closed the window and performed a search in a military database of Islamic terrorists in Afghanistan.
Hal scrolled through dozens of pictures, but nothing registered. He added the word known to the search field. Pulling up hundreds of matching links. Hal clicked one taken from a CNN.com article. He scrolled down, skimming it from top to bottom before closing it and returning to the next link on the search. “Afghan President Targets Known Terrorists” was the headline. He clicked on it and a photo leapt off the page, triggering a flashback of the Middle Eastern man in a designer suit. It was the same man on the screen—Mohammed Durrani-the Interim President of Afghanistan.
Hal took a shaky drink of coffee. Anxious. He set it down and tidied up his desk. More certain than ever he was being watched. He grabbed his cell phone and put it in the top drawer, then picked up a file folder and started to leave. “I’m heading down to the commissary. Catch up with you later.”
“Gimme’ a minute,” Yarbo said. “I’ll join you.”
“I gotta’ run some errands first, but I’ll find you there.”
Hal left the office. Spotting another “motion detector” in the outer hallway. The building was older, 1960s simple office architecture. The window-lined hallway faced the parking lot outside. A long yellow school bus parked at the curb in front of the entrance. The people aboard flowed into the building. Fifty high school students—boys and girls—potential Air Force recruits. They paraded down the hallway toward Hal. Some gaping out the windows to the retired fighter planes on display. Hal knifed to the middle of the crowd and pretended to drop the folder. Ducking down to pick up the papers. Enveloped by the crowd—obscured from the view of surveillance cameras.
A melee ensued as the hopeful recruits helped him pick up the papers. A few set their backpacks down. He spotted a pair of sunglasses clinging to one and a trendy beanie hat on another.
Hal emerged, standing up on the far end of the crowd, wearing the wrap-around Oakley shades and beanie hat. He fell in behind the tour guide who led the crowd back out to the awaiting bus. Hal shuffled onto the bus, trudging to the back where he sat low and out of sight. Eyeing the windows for any sign of guards. He leaned back, relieved. The coast was clear.
♦ ♦ ♦
Baldo squinted at the monitor, zooming in on areas of the crowd. No sign of Hal. Baldo brought up the feed of Hal’s desk. Empty. He checked the cameras in the corridor near the commissary. Not much movement. He spotted Yarbo talking on his phone on the way to lunch. No sign of Hal.
Baldo pulled up hidden cameras inside the commissary. He zoomed over the AF personnel eating lunch. Closely examining the faces. Hal wasn’t among them.
Next, Baldo brought up the cameras overlooking the parking lot. He zoomed to Hal’s truck. Empty. Not a soul around. Baldo quickly scanned the cameras in Hal’s home. They came up on a multi-cam view on the main monitor. His home was quiet and still. Baldo picked up the phone... “Sheridan is off the map.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The last of the high-schoolers trampled onto the bus, scrambling to find open seats. The yellow school bus pulled away from the Air Force parking lot. It was about a mile ride down First Street to the main gate at Holloman. Hal stayed low in the seat, watching out the window as the bus snailed along. It couldn’t reach the gate fast enough.
♦ ♦ ♦
“What do you mean you don’t know where he is?” Trest’s voice crackled over Baldo’s phone.
“I was watching him, along with the others and I can’t find him now. He was at his office. It looked like he left for lunch and I lost him in the corridor. His truck is still in the lot and he’s not at home.”
“Is he in the can?”
“Negative. I had one of our guys check.”
“What about the gates?”
“I called them all. Nobody has a record of him leaving base.”
“Well, what’s happening at the base today? Are there any visiting speakers or forums he might be at? Did you check the public affairs calendar?”
“Checking it now, sir.” Baldo searched on his computer. “Just a tour from Alamogordo High School, sir.”
“Has their bus left the base?”
“I’ll call the gate.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The tour bus reached the main gate at First and Santa Fe Drive. The Air Force guards waved it through. Politely nodding to students on board. The kiosk phone rang, but by the time a guard picked it up, it was too late. The school bus was free and clear of the base.
♦ ♦ ♦
“I’ve got something here...” Charlie said in Chinese. Pulling headphones down connected to the MSS laptop. Jagged audio waveform lines skipped across a window on his busy screen. Weng hovered over him, studying the screen. “...Chatter from the police scanner. It’s coming from the Security Forces on the base. They’re tracking a school bus that just left the base.”
“Pull up the live YG-30 feed,” Weng said.
“Yes, sir.” Charlie typed on the military-grade laptop, remotely controlling the YG-30 spy satellite about five-hundred miles above New Mexico. The YG-30 was the newest PLA military spy satellite in the Yaogan Weixing series. The wide-angle, high-res observation vehicle used electro-optical sensors to surveil any spot on Earth across a wide spectrum of wavelengths including optical, infrared, gamma and UV radiation.
Weng watched as the image zoomed down from space, zeroing in on Holloman AFB. The ultra-high resolution enabled Charlie to pick any spot and continue zooming while maintaining a sharp image. Weng spotted the yellow bus. “Here.”
Charlie typed on the computer and the image centered on the yellow bus. Charlie spotted the flashing lights of a police SUV several blocks away. He pointed it out to Weng.
♦ ♦ ♦
Hal casually glanced out the window of the rear exit. Unaware of the police car. A ruckus erupted several seats away, grabbing his attention. “My hat’s gone!” A student said. “Someone stole it!”
The bus stopped at a light. The kid scanned the bus. “There! In the back!” He pointed at Hal. Hal jerked the lever of the emergency exit, jolting the door open—triggering a high-pitched alarm. Hal leapt out, hitting the ground on a sprint. Dodging cars, dashing in the opposite direction. Causing one to slam on the brakes. All eyes in the bus were on him as he crossed two lanes of oncoming traffic. A garbage truck rumbled by, momentarily shielding their view. It passed by and Hal was gone.
Sirens sounded ahead of the bus. A white SUV with flashing lights parked in front of the bus, blocking its path. The SUV had two blue stripes running the length of the vehicle and a seal of the Air Force Security Police.
♦ ♦ ♦
The MSS agents in the bunkhouse observed the entire event over the live feed from the YG-30 spy satellite. Including the mysterious man in the skull-cap beanie and sunglasses.
“Stay on him,” Weng said, “while we gear up.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MKULTRA
The weathered garbage truck passed a suburban strip mall with a large supermarket. It slowed for a tight turn onto a narrow street. Hal stepped down from the running board on the b
ack of the truck, landing in a jog. He continued across the small street to a run-down motel.
Hal paid cash, got the key, and before heading up to the room, darted across the road to the supermarket. Throwing the beanie hat and sunglasses in the trash on the way in.
Patrons dotted the supermarket. Business was slow on weekday afternoons. Hal shoveled six packs of Coke into a cart along with a couple four packs of Starbucks bottled drinks. He pulled down a yellow four-pack carton of Red Bull, eyeing the label to see exactly what flavor “yellow” was. A woman pushed a cart past his line of sight at the end of the aisle. He looked up, seeming to recognize her, but couldn’t place it. An image flashed in his mind, startling him. Causing the Red Bull to slip from his hand. It hit the floor and burst, spraying a stream of urine-looking energy drink on his leg. Hal was oblivious to it. His mind focused on the woman from his vision. Realizing it was her—the same young woman in a lab coat who gave him an injection in his dream. She looked different, dressed in casual track pants and a loose sweater. Hal started toward her in a brisk gait. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
She looked back. Recognizing him, but pretending not to. She cut down another aisle.
“Ma’am?”
Hal picked up the pace. Trying to jog while not appearing to be a stalker to the store patrons. He lost sight of her, but locked onto her again when he reached the end of the aisle. She ditched her shopping cart and darted to a manager by the exit. Terrified, she pointed Hal out to the manager like he was a serial killer. The manager picked up a phone on a post nearby. Calling security, Hal presumed.
The woman continued out the door. The manager stepped in front of it after she passed, blocking the exit. Hal sprinted for another exit, knocking over displays and slaloming shopping carts. A security guard dashed down an aisle on his tail. Hal leapt the chain of a closed cashier stand and the manager cut him off as he landed. Shoving a stack of a dozen shopping carts toward him. Hal planted his hands on the carts and vaulted them like they were a pommel horse. He sprinted to the exit, now blocked by the security guard—a thin frail man who had no business security guarding anything. Hal leaped on a run, hurtling toward the guard and planting a foot on his chest. The two tumbled through the exit. Hal rolled to his feet and was up in a flash—bolting across the parking lot—head on a swivel—looking for the woman.
Hal spotted her fumbling with keys to remotely unlock her car. He raced at break-neck speed, arriving as her car pulled out from a parking space. Hal pounded on her roof. “Roll down your window! I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
She ignored him, continuing to back up. Onlookers on-looked.
“Stop the car!” Hal rattled the door handle. Locked. The back door was also locked. The car jolted to a halt. Either from her stopping it or putting it into drive without stopping. Hal knew he had about three seconds before she was gone. He raised his right fist above his left shoulder then swung his elbow hard across his body—slamming it into the window of the back door—smashing it. She tore out, chirping the tires. Hal dove through the window into the back seat.
Then sprang upright behind her, saw her phone in the charger and lunged for it. Ripping the battery out and tossing the phone and battery on the floor. He reached into his jacket like he was grabbing a gun and sat back behind her, thrusting two knuckles hard into the back of her seat.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!”
“Bullshit!” She said. “You don’t have a gun.” She tore off out of the parking lot into the street. “I’m taking you to the police!”
She drove like mad, accelerating through a residential area. Swerving around cars. Not giving him an opportunity to flee before she reached a police station.
“Alright, I don’t have a gun. I just want to talk to you. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She spotted a police car stopping at a red light a block ahead.
“We’re in luck. We don’t have to go to the station.”
“You know me,” Hal said.
She glanced at him through the rear view. Confused. Panicked. Eyes flicking to the police car. She reached to her window control, approaching the cop car. Hal placed a hand on the back of her neck, sending a chill up her spine.
“Don’t. You roll the window down and I’ll snap your neck before you can even yell.” She paused—pulling her hand away from the window control.
“Just drive. Calmly. Ease up on the gas.” She did, and they glided past the police cruiser. “Good.” The young, attractive woman looked at Hal in the rear view. Her brown eyes making contact with his. “How do you know me?” He asked.
“I don’t. You were looking at me odd in the store. It creeped me out so I ran!”
“No— There was a look of recognition. You know me from somewhere. Where?”
She refused to answer. Looking straight ahead. Hal released her neck. Focusing on her through the mirror, like an archaeologist trying to dig up more memories of her deep within his mind. Hal spotted her purse on the passenger seat. He reached over the seat and grabbed it before she could. He rifled through it. Finding her wallet. Discovering her credit cards and driver’s license inside. He read it. “Jennifer Morgan. This is from Virginia.” Hal shuffled through a few credit cards and stopped on one. “Why do you have a government ID?” He glared at her. Waiting for the answer. “Again. How do you know me?”
“Please. It’s classified.” Hal found her military ID, memorizing her off-base address in Alamogordo.
“You know me,” Hal said, “and I have clearance.” He rolled the window down. “Talk or I’m throwing everything out.” She was silent. “Visa card…” He flipped it out the window.
“Asshole!”
“Master card...” Hal flung it out too. She watched it flutter to the ground and skip across the pavement through her side view mirror.
“AmEx...” Hal held it up, waiting for her to talk. Then tossed it. “Next up, military ID.”
“Alright. Stop!!” she said. “I’m Doctor Jennifer Morgan. I’m a research psychologist...”
Hal nodded for her to continue. “Pull over—into that alley.” She did and they continued down the dirt alley that separated urban yards in an older section of town. They pulled to a boarded-up house and vacant lot. “Here. Drive into the bushes.” She glanced up at him through the rear view. “To hide your car. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She pulled into the unkempt vacant lot. Decades of neglect in the form of trash, dead tumbleweeds, thick clumps of grass and large wild, shrubs cluttered the lot. “This’ll do.” They were far enough behind the shrubs that her car was unseen from the street.
Hal slid across the back seat away from her. Creating distance so she didn’t feel as threatened. Hal remembered his first flashes of her. He thought it was a fantasy then because of her beauty. It was obvious now that she wasn’t a fantasy. She was just as beautiful, but didn’t have the angelic appearance in glowing white from his dreams. “Turn the car off and keep your hands on the wheel. Where I can see them.” She followed his orders. “You were saying?” Hal asked.
“I was working for the US government on a black project. They told me if any of you tried to contact me, I was to report it immediately as a matter of national security.”
“Any of us?” Hal asked. “There are more like me involved?”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“That’s not gonna’ cut it!” He said. “Who is ‘any of you?’ What the hell is going on and why am I having these dreams?! I’ve seen you in at least three of them! And I’ve seen a hell of a lot more—assassinations… black ops... drug cartel missions… I know I’ve killed people—against my will! And I was somehow unconscious doing it!”
“What are you talking about?” She asked, astounded.
“ENOUGH!” Hal screamed. Startling her. “Stop fucking around!!”
“I’m not!” She asserted. “I am involved in psychological experimentation ONLY! They told me you are all VOLUN
TEERS!”
Hal was speechless.
“Assassinations?? What are you talking about?” She asked. “Are these in your dreams?” Hal could see that she was sincere. Her voice was calm. She was making direct eye contact. She doesn’t know.
His tone calmed. “Combat missions, mostly. And others. Drug dealer raids in foreign countries… ...Who knows what else?!”
She looked at him like he had cracked. “Combat missions? How do you know they aren’t hallucinations or nightmares?”
He rolled up his sleeve, showing the gash on his arm. “Is that a hallucination? I woke up with it after one of these dreams. The last time I served in actual combat was about fifteen years ago!”
Her expression was bewilderment. “As?”
“Pararescue. Air Force Special Tactics.”
“May I see your ID?” She asked.
Hal removed his military ID from his wallet, handing it over. She studied it closely. “They told me you were a chemist,” she said. “I read your file. “PhD from MIT, involved in DARPA research and a dozen classified projects. Chief Chemist in the formulation of the RAM stealth paint Iron Ball.”
Hal cracked up. “I flunked chemistry in high school! I don’t even attempt math without a calculator!” He laughed. “How could I possibly create Iron Ball?” He shook his head in disbelief. The levels of conspiracy were mind-blowing. He turned back to her. “You mentioned before that there are others like me? Who? What are their names?”
“I should really talk to my commander about this.”
“Who is he—? —You can never mention this. To anyone. If they find out we talked they’ll kill you. I know they’re watching me and I wouldn’t be surprised if they bugged your car and are sending specialists right now.”
“Specialists?? Why would they bug me?”
“Because they’re manipulating you! Just like they are me!”
She exhaled. Nervous. Thinking to herself. Planning her next move.
