Mindbend

by Robin Cook

  When Mitchell paused in his patient survey, Adam pointed to Alan and asked, “What was this man’s problem?”

  Dr. Mitchell looked at Dr. Nachman, who nodded. Mitchell picked up the chart at the foot of Alan’s bed and read the summary out loud. “ ‘ Robert Iseman of Sandusky, Ohio; admitted for intractable temporal lobe epilepsy with criminally violent episodes; unresponsive to traditional treatment.’ Iseman had been committed to a psychiatric prison without hope of parole. He volunteered to participate in the Arolen treatment series.” Dr. Mitchell placed the chart back in its rack.

  “Has he been here long?” asked Adam.

  “A few days,” said Dr. Mitchell vaguely. “Why don’t we . . .”

  “Excuse me,” said Adam, interrupting, “but sometimes it’s easier to learn from a specific case than from generalities. What kind of treatment has this man had? It would seem from his bandages that he’s had some form of brain surgery.”

  “He has indeed,” said Mitchell after another quick glance at Dr. Nachman. “We know from his history that he was a particularly intractable case, and after a course of Conformin we implanted microelectrodes into the limbic system of his brain. That was his only hope for a lasting cure. You remember the classic experiments in which electrodes were imbedded in a bull’s head and used to stop it from charging? Well, we’ve perfected the technique. We can do a lot more than merely stop a bull from charging.”

  Adam nodded slowly, as if trying to understand, but his mind recoiled in horror.

  “Keep in mind that Mr. Iseman’s treatment has just begun,” Dr. Nachman said. “After he’s more fully recovered from the operation, he will undergo conditioning.”

  “Absolutely,” echoed Dr. Mitchell. “In fact, treatment will begin tomorrow, and he can anticipate discharge in about four days. Why don’t we go down to the conditioning rooms so you can see exactly what we do.”

  Adam took a final glance at Alan’s expressionless face and followed the doctors through the ward.

  “Mr. Iseman will be given a combination of reinforced operant conditioning and adversive conditioning,” Dr. Mitchell was saying. “A computer-guided program will be able to detect undesirable mental processes and reverse them before they manifest themselves in outward behavior.”

  Adam’s mind whirled. He wondered what Mitchell meant by “undesirable mental processes.” It probably ranged from refusing to prescribe Arolen products to belief in fee-for-service medicine.

  “Here is one of our conditioning rooms,” said Mitchell, swinging open a door and allowing Adam to look inside. It was a miniature of the theater on the Fjord. There was a large projection screen on the far wall facing two chairs that were fully equipped with electrodes and straps. Adam turned away in horror, allowing the door to swing shut.

  “Is there much effect on the personality?” he asked.

  “Of course,” said Dr. Mitchell. “That is part of the program. We select only the most desirable personality traits.”

  “What about intellect?” asked Adam.

  “Very little adverse effect,” said Dr. Mitchell, leading the way back through the ward. “We’ve been able to document some minor decrease in creativity, but memory retention is normal. In fact, in some regards memory is enhanced, particularly for technical information.”

  Adam looked at Alan as they passed. The man’s expression still hadn’t changed. He had been reduced to some kind of zombie.

  “The research is progressing well,” said Dr. Nachman as he let them through the steel doors. “Of course, application is limited.”

  “The fetology work certainly can be put to more general use,” said Dr. Glover.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” said Dr. Mitchell. “With the behavior-modification techniques we are perfecting, there will eventually be no locked wards either in hospitals or in prisons. In fact, both the National Institute of Mental Health and the Prisons Administration Board are funding our experiments.”

  They emerged into the three-story lobby with the bubble skylights. Dr. Glover was not about to let Mitchell get in the last word. He began to enumerate the various government agencies that were funding fetology.

  Adam was in a state of shock. MTIC planned the ultimate destruction of an independent medical profession. Doctors would no longer be free-thinking professionals. They would be employees of the MTIC-Arolen medical empire.

  “Adam,” said Dr. Nachman, trying to get Adam’s attention. “Are you still with us?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Adam quickly. “I’m just overwhelmed.”

  “Quite understandable,” said Dr. Nachman. “And I think that we should give you some time to enjoy our recreational facilities. A few hours at the beach will do you a world of good. Shall we meet for dinner at eight?”

  “What about visiting the operating rooms for psychosurgery? If possible, I’d like to see them.”

  “I’m afraid that is out of the question,” said Dr. Nachman. “They’re getting ready for a case this evening.”

  “Could I watch?” asked Adam.

  Dr. Nachman shook his head. “We appreciate your interest, but unfortunately there is no viewing gallery. If you decide to take the job down here, though, I’m certain we can get you into the OR.”

  As Adam went back to his room to change, he realized that he’d better figure out some way of smuggling tangible evidence out of the center. But what evidence? What could he bring back to New York that not only would convince Jennifer not to have an abortion, but would cause the medical profession to put MTIC out of business?

  After several hours of lying in the sun, Adam thought he had an idea. It was wild, and probably impossible to execute, but if successful, Adam knew he would have no trouble convincing anyone to take his warnings seriously.

  Cocktails and dinner were an ordeal for Adam. Dr. Nachman seemed to want to introduce him to as many people as possible, and it was almost eleven before he could escape to his room after pleading fatigue.

  He had decided he could not start to put his plan into effect until midnight. Too restless to lie down in the meantime, he took off his suit and dressed in a dark blue shirt and jeans, then carefully opened his shoulder bag and checked the supplies he’d organized that afternoon.

  At eleven fifty-five he could stand the suspense no longer. He left his room and took the stairway to the roof. The moonlight was again almost as bright as day. He quickly crossed the bridge to the first inner building and then walked across to look down at the second. The skylights blazed, but Adam wasn’t certain that indicated any special activity inside.

  Setting his bag on the roof, Adam opened it and pulled out the rope he’d stolen that afternoon from one of the sailboats. Then he searched for an appropriate ventilation pipe. After testing to see if it were securely fastened to the roof, he tied the rope to it and dropped the free end down three floors onto the bridge to the innermost building.

  Unaccustomed to climbing and terrified of heights, Adam summoned all his fortitude to climb up on the four-foot wall and lower his legs over the side. After a short prayer, Adam grasped the rope and let go of the wall. Hanging on for dear life, he inched his way down until his feet touched the roof of the bridge. He dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled to the roof of the hospital building, where he made his way over to the large central skylight. A movement below made him hold up.

  Slowly, he inched to the edge and looked down. Below him was a scene straight out of a science fiction horror film. The area under the skylight was an enormous operating room, but instead of being staffed with doctors and nurses, it was fully automated. Two patients were being worked on at once by robotlike machines with long flexible arms.

  On the far side of the room several patients were lying on a conveyor-beltlike system, their heads locked into stereotaxic vises. At present, there were only four, but Adam could see that the system was designed to accommodate at least a dozen at a time.

  Adam remained glued to the skylight, mesmerized by the sheer scop
e of the horror. One of the patients on the belt began to move forward and was fed into a large CAT scanner, which started to rotate around the patient’s head. When the rotation was complete, the machine paused while robotlike arms extended and incised the patient’s head at the same points at which Vandermer’s scars were made. A small amount of blood appeared and pooled below the patient’s head. Other arms appeared and smoothly bored into the patient’s skull. Adam could hear the whine of the drill through the skylight. Then the scanner began to function again, while a third set of arms extended and pushed into the patient’s brain. Adam guessed that the system was inserting the controlling electrodes into the patients’ brains using the CAT scanner to ensure proper placement.

  A movement at the left of the room caught Adam’s eye and he pulled back. Behind a leaded-glass partition, a group of people were seated at a control panel. They would have had a clear view of Adam if they cared to look up. Adam lay down. He could see in by peeking over the edge of the skylight, but was pretty sure now that he couldn’t be seen.

  He saw Dr. Nachman reach out and slap Dr. Mitchell on the back. One of the patients had been completed and was being moved off in preparation for the next. Adam thought he was going to be sick. MTIC-Arolen was definitely planning psychosurgery on a massive scale.

  After ducking away from the skylight, Adam climbed to his feet and crossed the roof to the access door. Luckily, it was not locked. He entered a stairwell similar to the one he had used to reach the roof of his building. Except for a steady hum of the automated machinery from the OR, everything was quiet. Moving quickly, he descended to the second floor and carefully opened the door. As he had expected, he was just beyond the conditioning room. He looked down the hall into the darkened ward. The only light came from the glass-enclosed nurses’ station on the opposite side of the ward. The nurse on duty appeared to be eating. Beyond her were two immobile orderlies sitting in straight-back chairs.

  Staying close to the wall, Adam moved into the ward and ducked down behind the first bed. In the half light he caught a glimpse of the patient’s face. To his surprise, the man was awake. Adam waited, wondering if the patient would sound an alarm, but he just lay still, his unblinking gaze fixed on Adam.

  Taking a deep breath, Adam began to crawl the length of the ward under the beds. When he got to the second from the end, he raised his head to look at the nurses’ station. He was surprised how close he was to it. The nurse was still working on her sandwich, and the two orderlies hadn’t moved.

  It was now or never for his plan. Adam turned to the patient on the bed above him. Alan gave no sign of recognition.

  “Alan, I want to take you out of here,” Adam whispered. “Can you make it?”

  There was no response. Adam might as well have been talking to the IV pole. Alan didn’t even blink as Adam carefully undid the tape that held the IV in place and pulled out the catheter.

  “If I get you up, do you think you can walk?”

  Again, there was no response.

  Grasping Alan’s covers, Adam was about to yank them back when he saw a flashlight beam dance across the ceiling of the ward. Looking at the double entry doors, Adam saw the nurse pressing her thumb against the scanner. As the doors hissed open, Adam slid to the floor and ducked under the bed.

  The nurse walked up the center aisle, shining her flashlight at each patient. Adam held his breath as she passed Alan’s bed, hoping she wouldn’t spot the detached IV. She didn’t pause. Adam could see her feet move to the end of the ward, pivot, then return. The double doors hissed open, and the nurse went back outside.

  Guessing she wouldn’t be back for a while, Adam felt it was an opportune time to make his move. Pulling back Alan’s covers, Adam grabbed him by the arms and eased him over to the side of the bed. Then, as gently as he could, he lifted Alan’s torso and lowered the man to the floor. There was a slight thud when his legs hit the floor, but no one at the nurses’ station seemed to hear.

  “Can you crawl along the floor?” Adam whispered in Alan’s ear.

  There was no response.

  Refusing to give up, he grasped Alan’s hand and began to pull him along the floor. To his surprise, Alan responded and soon began to crawl on his own. It was as if he couldn’t act unless he were shown what to do.

  They made it to the end of the ward. When Adam looked back, all was quiet at the nurses’ station. The next fifty feet were going to be the most dangerous. Leaving the protection of the beds, they crawled down the hall toward the stairs. If anyone looked in their direction, they would be seen. When they reached the door, Adam opened it a few inches and was alarmed when light spilled out from the stairwell. Holding his breath, he opened the door wider and urged Alan through. A moment later they were safe.

  Adam stood up and stretched. Then he bent over and lifted Alan to his feet. He was unsteady at first but regained his balance after a few seconds.

  “Can you understand me?” asked Adam. There was a suggestion of a nod, but Adam wasn’t sure. “We’re getting out of here!” Taking Alan by the hand, Adam led the way up the stairs. Alan walked as if he had no idea where his feet were, but by the time they reached the third floor his movements became smoother. It seemed that the more he had to do, the easier it became. By the time they got to the roof, Alan seemed to be operating under his own power. Such rapid improvement made Adam think that Alan had been receiving a small but constant dose of tranquilizer through the IV. When they emerged onto the roof, Alan seemed almost awake, and Adam noticed that the pupils of his eyes were no longer fully dilated. But there still seemed no way Alan would be able to climb the rope three stories to the outer building. Adam wasn’t sure he could even do it himself and cursed his lack of foresight in not planning better for their escape.

  Looking at the landscaped space between the hospital and the next building he knew they could probably go down easier than up, but he suspected there was no way of escaping from the enclosed garden.

  Afraid Alan’s absence would be noticed, Adam realized he had to act. For lack of a better idea, he took the end of the rope and tied it under Alan’s arms. Then, grasping the rope, Adam began to pull himself up the side of the building. The most difficult part was at the top when Adam had to let go of the rope and grasp the top of the wall. His feet flailed in the air as he tried to get purchase on the sheer concrete. Finally, he made it onto the roof.

  After catching his breath, he bent over the wall. Alan was still standing with his back against the side of the building.

  Adam tensed the rope but was only able to lift Alan a few inches. He realized he needed more leverage. Suddenly, he remembered seeing pictures of Egyptian slaves hauling stones up the pyramids. They’d held the ropes over their shoulders like beasts of burden. Adam decided to do the same. Straining forward with all his might, he staggered back to the far wall and quickly tied the slack onto the same pipe where the rope had initially been fastened. When he ran back to the side, he saw Alan dangling about a third of the way up.

  Adam repeated his maneuver three more times. On the fourth tug the rope stuck, and when Adam looked, he saw Alan was caught directly under the lip of the wall surrounding the roof. Reaching down, he pulled the doctor sideways and got hold of his legs, and with great effort, he heaved him over. The two men fell onto the roof.

  When Adam got his breath back, he untied the rope and stuffed it into his shoulder bag. Then he helped Alan up. There was an angry abrasion on the man’s right cheek, but otherwise he seemed to have weathered the ordeal admirably.

  Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Adam led Alan across the roof to the outer building and then down the stairwell. At that point Adam was stumbling more than Alan. His arms felt limp, his thighs quivered from exertion, and the palms of his hands were raw. When they reached Adam’s room, he dropped the doctor on the bed and collapsed beside him.

  Adam was out of shape for such rigorous physical activity. He would have liked to have rested, but he knew the danger of discovery increased
with every minute that passed. He helped Alan out of his hospital gown and quickly dressed him. Fortunately, the two men were approximately the same size. Then he tucked Alan into bed and prayed that he was still sufficiently drugged to go back to sleep. As a precaution, Adam locked the door behind him when he left the room to see if he could find a car. As he hurried down the hall, he wished once again that he had made better plans for escape.

  • • •

  Selma Parkman yawned and glanced at the clock over the medication locker. It was only one-fifteen. She had over five hours’ more duty, and she was already bored to death. Glancing over at the two orderlies, she wished she had a little of their patience. From the moment she had arrived at the center she had been amazed at the staff’s placid acceptance of the dull routine.

  “I think I’ll take a walk,” she said, flipping closed her Robert Ludlum novel. The orderlies didn’t answer.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked petulantly.

  “We’ll watch the ward,” said one of them at last.

  “You do that,” said Selma, working her feet into her shoes.She knew that nothing would happen while she was gone. Nothing ever happened. When she’d taken the job, she’d expected a bit more excitement than baby-sitting a bunch of automatons. She’d left a good job in Philadelphia at the Hobart Psychiatric Institute to come down to Puerto Rico, and she was beginning to wonder if she had made a mistake.

  Selma left the nurses’ station and, desperate for some conversation, took the elevator to the OR floor and entered the gallery. Dr. Nachman smiled when he saw her. “Bored?” he said. “I can see we’ll have to get you a more exciting schedule.” In reality, he was irritated by her restlessness and had put her on the list for a course of Conformin treatment.

  Selma watched the computer-generated images appearing on the screen in front of the operators, but she had no idea what she was seeing and soon became as bored as she’d been downstairs. She said good-bye, but no one responded. Shrugging her shoulders, she left the gallery, descended a floor, and retraced her steps to the nurses’ station. The orderlies were as she’d left them. It wasn’t time for her rounds, but since she was already up, she got the flashlight and went into the ward.