"Grigoriy is really a stinker, Jago, but he's always been a great and loyal business partner. And now you have to focus on the treasure hunt of your life. See you tomorrow, Jago, and thanks for your faithful and constant support."
While he was leaving Reed’s office, Jago C. Green understood from Reed’s honeyed words that, for the first time in many years, the Colonel felt powerless in the face of events.
94
The day after Pavel’s communication Mark went out early in the morning. He was going to meet with Marshall and make him understand the gravity of the situation in general and not only that of their patients.
"David? Hi, this is Mark, are you free? I need to talk to you. Okay, I'm coming."
After a few minutes, Mark knocked on the door of Marshall’s office and waited for David to reply before entering his office.
"How are you?" Mark asked gently.
"Another question? I’ll tell you now that I'm not going to listen to bullshit, so..." David said rudely.
"What’s happened now?" Mark replied stiffly to the rude response.
"A "Transtem 1.1" patient hit a male nurse in the face breaking his nose."
"What was the trigger?"
"Trigger?" asked David.
"The patients react disproportionately to negative stimuli…that’s clear from the data; and in addition I personally analyzed a similar situation when they called me the other day to the ER."
"I had no idea. Let me ask ER for more details."
Marshall dialed the number of the department where the patient was hospitalized.
"Hello, this is Marshall. Jane, can you tell me please if the patient was reacting to something that Steve did? Ah! I understand, thank you. Bye."
"He couldn’t find the patient’s vein when taking of a blood sample. He needed several attempts." David said.
"You see, their aggression is reactive even in this case," Mark replied.
"You were explaining this to me the other day in the emergency room." David changed his tone. Mark decided to give him all the details he knew:
"We’re dealing with a certain George Turner, 1st Armored Division at Fort Bliss. He arrived after a car accident. He was suffering from hallucinations, symptoms of the Capgras syndrome. He was violent, he tried to attack the paramedics and he also proved to be aggressive with me. I visited him and found a cyst on his neck, so I ordered routine tests and an MRI.
“Turner is one of the transplant patients with brain tissue produced by Biosketch Technologies Inc.,” continued Mark, “but he’s not part of "Transtem 1.1" because he’s not a civilian. He’s part of a classified project called "Brainexe." He also has a micro transponder RF-ID tag. This is a nice affair, is it not?
“The project doesn’t have any tracking with the exception of the number of soldiers involved: 4842. All of them have been assigned for the most part to special training programs in the Special Forces at various military bases of which no one knows the names. Does all this tell you anything, in addition to the considerations that I made the other day?"
"Shit!" complained David.
"Yeah, shit," agreed Mark without the trace of a smile.
"Who gave you this information?" asked David.
"Safe sources that I use whenever I need information. Remember that I was an operative, not just a doctor."
"I don’t know ..."
"Davis arranged for me to get here, he knew about this already."
"Davis is out of the game..." said David.
"Well, then you should know that Alan Cox is a British secret agent: a negotiator, skilled in hostage rescues. He has carried out missions in Nigeria, Libya, Sudan, Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo and at the same time, he works as a Commercial Director for the BCG Corporation. And he’s here because he suffered a violent shock."
"How the fuck is that possible?"
"Davis...he knows exactly what he's doing."
"He didn’t say anything to me," David Marshall said annoyed.
"Because it’s better if you keep out of this dangerous and absolutely toxic and lethal liaison. It’s a form of protection for you," replied Mark. He was now fed up with David and his behavior.
"From what you are telling me I have to conclude that he doesn’t protect you, even if apparently..."
"I’m a Special Agent with an awkward past and no future. David, I have no choice but to stay in this game, you can still choose. You're a free man; I’m not. I’m burnt.
“Something terrible is happening and we’re not even close to imagining the worst of it, David. They want to create the perfect soldier, a human war machine…have you seen the aggression that is generated by this treatment? Only they’re no longer in control of the situation, it’s got completely out of hand. You understand that the violent episodes will be hidden within the walls of military bases if they fail to control the side effect of the brain waves? So they have to find a solution, otherwise they risk that these soldiers will attack their masters, them! It is inevitable."
"What are you doing about it?" asked David.
"Investigating and taking action."
"I understand, you already said, but how? Are you going to infiltrate Biosketch Technologies Inc. or will one of your colleagues do that?"
"You have seen too many spy stories, David. I can’t infiltrate Biosketch, for the most part their personnel are agents within the company. No one can get in there unless he has passed a full security check and you know what that means, and then it is a virtually impregnable fortress. There is a woman who is trying to kill me. I have to convince her that Reed is a criminal; and if I can do that, she will be the person who will help us."
"Reed? Are you insane? You’ve actually set yourself up as bait? And why is this killer chasing you?"
"Without this woman I can’t do anything, let alone the people who have always worked with me. Biosketch Technologies Inc. is too complex and is protected at a political level, while this person is very close to Colonel Reed. I have no choice again."
"Shit! Reed is the number three in the CIA, Mark! And you’re now saying to me he’s the person that is hunting you down. What the fuck did you do before you came here? At this point I’m beginning to doubt whether or not I should trust you. Reed, my goodness! It’s Reed who is hunting you!" Marshall said, raising his voice, in fact he couldn’t hide his fear.
"You are the only one not involved Marshall,” said Mark, trying to calm David down, “but you have been cheated and they are keeping an eye on you, and for fuck's sake, remember what probably happened to your predecessor Ronald Barth. They think you are stupid, David, but it’s dangerous. You're not one of them! Don’t think that you are safe! And as far as I'm concerned, they burned me because I dared to attack Reed. I cannot tell you why, but for your own safety, the less you know about me the better."
"And you think I really believe you?" David was furious and upset.
"Yes, because now you have all the facts you need to understand the situation, and remember that they are finalizing the contracts for "Transtem 1.1" with several foreign institutions. Can you imagine the money involved in those deals? They won’t stop. I have a chance of stopping this escalation of madness, but I need you to set me free to act while continuing to work in your hospital. I'll probably need the laboratory. No one will notice anything, I promise you, and you won’t be risking more than you're risking now. Davis obviously already knew everything!"
"I…I don’t know what to think. I'm confused, you scare me. I have to think about it. Now go away Mark, leave me to think."
"I want an answer, David."
"Get out of my office, I told you I've had enough."
At this point, Mark left without saying goodbye to David Marshall and walked to his own office, where he checked the weather forecast, the TAF and METAR. Then turned off the computer and left the offices. He was fed up with that chicken-shit Marshall who continued to pretend not to see and not to hear, even though the facts were now evident.
/> Still unnerved, he drove too fast to the Dallas Air-Park. He needed to fly, just like he needed to breathe.
When he arrived at the airport he was furious: he had entered full-swing into an acidic mood. He was pissed off at that dull, ball-less Marshall who had also questioned his good faith. He was pissed at Colonel Reed and his stack of yes men who, for 30 phony pieces of silver, would sell their mothers and their own souls.
He was furious with himself for having got stuck in a shitty situation only because he hadn’t planned the elimination of the Colonel's son more carefully and without acting impulsively.
During the drive he also thought about his failed relationships with women, not least with Aisha, which even if it had been just a brief passionate affair, hadn’t been at all happy.
In fact, he began to feel the weight of not having a woman with whom to meet and to share his emotions and experiences, someone to share a peaceful break, perhaps lying on a beach in the sun, resting his head on her legs while she caressed him: a moment of ease and complicity far from the rest of the world.
Finally he arrived at the Dallas Air-Park and, after having parked, he went immediately to the reception of the rental company: he decided to rent a Columbia 400. He showed the PPL and the booklet of flight hours belonging to one of his aliases, signed the documents and paid cash for a couple of hours, choosing the full-coverage solution.
Once all the formalities were carried out, he walked to the aircraft accompanied by the service manager, he performed the exterior and interior pre-flight checks of the aircraft with him. After verifying that everything was free in front of him, he called the tower, which quickly gave him authorization to take off.
He lined up and took off from runway 19 with a slight crosswind, then headed towards the Enchanted Rock, which he had never seen. He climbed up to 1000 feet, the sky was clear except for a few frayed and emaciated cirrus clouds, which timidly dissolved into the air.
Shortly he would reach the region of the Enchanted Rock, the second tallest monadnock in the United States. The Rock was a huge rose granite boulder, 1825 feet above sea level, which seemed to have fallen from sky, the only high ground in the area. He was flying over a very picturesque natural park about which David Marshall had talked some time ago with great fanfare.
He thought about David and their last heated discussion: how could he pretend not to see and not to hear, avoiding reality? Why had he entered into the perverse mechanism of the confirmation bias with Bain, and even become hostile to him?
All of a sudden, the shrill sound of the collision alarm brought him back to the present: he had left the throttle at almost full capacity and the plane was flying at more than 180 knots towards the top of the mountain, he had lost altitude and hadn't noticed.
Mark saw the trees approaching fast, instinctively he decreased the throttle and turned the stick to the left, but a tail wind caused the plane to drift significantly, pushing down the left wing: in the rush to correct the trajectory and to avoid ending up in the trees, he had forgotten to coordinate the pedal while turning; a look at the bank-and-turn indicator gave him immediate confirmation. As if that were not enough, the wrenching noise of the plane going into a stall sounded in his ear and the strain on his wrists felt like he was supporting a mountain.
"Shit! I'm entering a stall!" he exclaimed loudly, realizing all the mistakes that he had racked up.
He felt his heart pounding in his ears, but he didn’t panic, the vibrations and the shaking of the aircraft caused by the buffeting were transmitted to his body, he lowered the nose of the aircraft to restore the angle of attack and the flows on the surface of the wings.
Then he pushed the pedal to keep the ball in the middle of the inclinometer, coordinating the balance of the aircraft while pushing the throttle to full power because he had seen the ground racing towards him and in a few moments he had lost more than 150 feet. He initiated a climb and with this maneuver he was able finally to bring the airplane straight and level.
"Shit! I can’t lose so many feet like a jerk and risk dying!"
It wasn’t to be his last day on Earth, however, and once he had leveled the aircraft and had full power, he started to regain altitude, flying towards the center of the park.
In those brief moments he had forgotten everything, no Marshall, no Reed, not even the obsession with his father; it had been just him and the plane. Now all had returned to normal as if nothing happened.
At that point Mark didn’t hesitate, he headed back to the airport. Soon he was carrying out the pre-landing checks, calling the tower and finally turning into the circuit to land: at that time there was no traffic in sight and, apart from a slight crosswind, he had no difficulty in maneuvering.
The manager was surprised that Mark had returned the aircraft before the agreed two hours, and promised Mark that he could use the pre-paid half-hour on a subsequent flight.
Mark, dazed by the adrenaline that he was now getting over, was completely parched and went immediately to the bar.
Over a beer he analyzed what had happened: he would never have imagined that he, who was always critical of the lack of professionalism that he noted in others, could make such a naive and yet almost fatal mistake. It was his second mistake in a short period, so it was time to change course.
As he was driving back to Dallas, the phone rang: it was David Marshall.
"Hello Mark, this is David. I need to talk to you…can you come to my house, please?"
"When?" Mark replied, without even greeting him.
"As soon as you can."
"I'll be there in an hour, the time it’ll take to get there."
"Thanks, I'll be waiting for you."
Marshall had spoken in a strange way, toneless and scared and Mark was curious to know what the reason was after their last conversation.
95
David had prepared a cup of coffee, chocolate chip cookies and fresh fruit. He made the former secret agent at home in the sitting room and they began to nibble on the cookies without mentioning the dispute they had had a few hours before.
"Do you know what this is?" Marshall asked showing Mark a postcard.
"When did you receive it?"
"Shortly before leaving the Southwestern County Medical Center. Who the hell is the friend of the Blue Fairy?"
"Davis...fucking Davis! It's always him...it’s not a normal card, it’s encrypted," Mark said amazed.
"Why didn’t he send it to you?"
"Because you're the head of the department and this is ordinary postal mail and wouldn’t attract attention. No one is interested enough to open your mail, and if it were opened they would see a postcard addressed to you and some magazines."
"What are you going to do?"
"I’ll work on it and let you know."
"Mark, I'm sorry about earlier, I seem to be living in a nightmare."
"I’ll demonstrate to you that I'm right, I'm sure this card will give us more information; and as I told you, Davis may be playing cat and mouse, but the real players in this game are me and Reed."
"As soon as you have some news, call me immediately."
After the conversation, Mark pocketed the card, said goodbye to Marshall and headed home.
The first thing he did on entering his apartment was jump in the shower to wash off the stink of fear from his skin; he wanted to erase all traces of the weaknesses that had led him to risk his life for nothing that afternoon.
He was exhausted and lay down on the couch with his hands behind his head; he needed to figure out why he had been distracted at a time that demanded his maximum attention.
‘Anger makes me deaf and blind, it’s time I begin to take control or I risk killing myself like an idiot. I still haven’t defeated my demon and unresolved anger is one of its manifestations I must stop before it annihilates me.’
He took a picture of the card with his smartphone and sent it to Pavel on the secure line.
"QRV Digitrevenant69?" Mark made an attempt, kn
owing full well that in Sofia it was 4:00 in the morning.
"QRV," Pavel replied.
"You’re still up?"
"I’m binge eating ice cream, watching a romantic movie on TV. I was really moved by the movie, but for the last hour I’ve been moving my bowels in the bathroom. I have a terrible stomach ache, it’s too cold..."
"And how much did you eat? Is it just diarrhea or are you spewing up as well?"
"Luckily only the poop…"
"Drink a coke so you can replenish your fluids and sugar, then if the phenomenon doesn’t fade, see a doctor and get some tests done to check that it’s not food poisoning. How much did you eat? You idiot!"
"Yeah, thanks for the advice, doc…but you rang to ask me something."
"We’ll talk about it tomorrow Pavel…when you're better."
"Look, I've already seen that it’s an encrypted code."
"Faster than lightning, huh? Exactly, when you can, find out what it says."
"I don’t want anything for this one, I enjoy doing it…and then you just gave me your medical opinion."
"Not a big deal as a medical opinion, but thank you my friend. Now you have to try to sleep if you can, otherwise you’ll be pooped tomorrow, too. Goodbye!"
"Goodbye, Mark. Thanks for keeping me company here in the bathroom; I was feeling lonely! Goodnight to you!"
96
The next afternoon, Mark was in his office watching the latest aggregated data of the "Transtem 1.1" project: the effect on the brain waves and their frequency had now stabilized, but the levels remained at the maximum tolerable threshold. While the behavioral data showed the same aggressive response to annoyance and stress; the aggressive side effect hadn’t been resolved at all, in fact, it was even worse.
The patients seemed to be more introverted and analytical, so their reasoning had become sequential and extremely detailed, even pedantic most of the time.
Black Hawk Day Rewind: An action packed spy thriller (Mark Savannah Espionage Series Book 1) Page 25
