by Frank Klus
“I’m trying.”
“Eugene, if you flinch again I will have to put you in a head restraint,” Sistrunk said, “and I promise you it will be most uncomfortable.”
When Peter finished, Sistrunk reached into the cabinet—still unlocked—and pulled out the scary tubular thing with the wires. The tube was about the size of a cigar. Sistrunk undid the wiring and hooked it to the computer. Peter attached the object to something above Eugene, and then sat down behind the desk, operating the laptop. He periodically glanced at the monitor that was suspended from the ceiling, and then pushed some more buttons.
Sistrunk gave Eugene an evil smile as he reached up to the pointy object and started to lower it over Eugene’s skull. “This is the probare cerebrum or brain probe. It is used to begin your treatment, Eugene.”
Eugene felt his pulse quicken as he arched his head and glared at the strange object.
“Everything up until now was prep work for your treatment. It was important to understand how your mind works—you think too much about things that don’t really matter, Eugene.” He stopped to observe him; and then flashed his evil smile. “You see the pointy side of the probare cerebrum?”
Eugene looked up and gulped. “This is the acus,” pointing to the needle. “It uses an electromagnetic charge that can sever some synaptic nerve transmissions, and create new ones. I’m afraid it produces an irritating sensation.
“This wire mesh links the probe to a computer on the desk, and creates a mental image of your brain on the monitor over there. Shall we begin?”
Eugene was scared, but he tried not to show it.
“There is some discomfort when we begin the treatment. It may feel like I’m penetrating the skull, but the acus doesn’t actually touch the skin.”
Sistrunk, still smiling, grabbed Eugene’s head, pushing it level. Then Alisha put a head restraint over Eugene and attached it to the chair. Eugene couldn’t move his head.
Sistrunk now lowered the acus just above the skull, and pushed a button on the probe. It made a humming noise and a jabbing feeling as if it were going right through his cranium. “Please doctor, that hurts.”
Then Sistrunk began wiggling it, and occasionally dragging it across his scalp. The humming noise changed pitch as Sistrunk dragged it across his cranium. At once, Eugene felt a vicious headache. He felt like there was a cat inside his head trying to scratch his way out. He let out a high-pitched scream, and Frankenstein raised the probe.
“Oh, you make such a fuss; such a racket.” He then repeated the procedure. The headache came back, worse than before. Again, Eugene screamed. The session seemed to last several minutes. When it was over Eugene thought his head was going to explode.
“That wasn’t too bad now, was it?” Eugene hurt so much he couldn’t open his mouth.
“I understand, Eugene. Many people clench their jaws so hard during the procedure they find it difficult to open them. I assure you, Eugene, the pain is only in your mind. Ready for the next application?”
Alisha put a piece of rubber in Eugene’s mouth while Peter, operating the controls, made a slight change of one of the dials.
Gene was probed again. The pain was overwhelming. He made a muffled scream as tears streamed from his eyes. He began evacuating his bowels. He wanted to faint, but Alisha gave him an injection that kept him conscious. Throughout the procedure, Eugene shook violently and his eyes widened.
“That was a good one, Mr. Sulke. One more and I think we’ll finally start making progress.” Peter adjusted some controls again.
Once again, the probe was applied to the middle of his skull. This time the acus seemed to bore right through his head. Eugene let out a scream far worse than before. He felt his head exploding, but the doctor just smiled.
When he finished, the guard released Eugene; but when freed, Eugene came out swinging. He threw a haymaker at Hurd’s head. Hurd grabbed his head and ears, but Eugene just threw himself at him, screaming profusely. Hurd yelled for the other guard. Hurd tried to wrestle Eugene to the chair, but Eugene crouched down. Hurd then began beating him over the head, but Eugene leaped up and toward him, throwing punches with both fists. Finally, the other guard grabbed Eugene by the legs, and with Hurd holding his arms, they carried him to the gurney and strapped him on it. Then Hurd beat him with the soft truncheon.
Peter put the helmet and goggles back on him while Alisha gave him an injection that seemed to calm him down. After the helmet was reattached to the other device Hurd began to taunt him.
“You’re a real smart ass, aren’t you? Thought you could take me, didn’t you? Well, you aren’t so smart now, are you?” Hurd flashed a menacing look at Eugene. “You better start cooperating, smart ass! You haven’t experienced real punishment yet.”
“FUCK YOU!” Eugene yelled, as he spat at Hurd.
“Stop this nonsense, Mr. Sulke,” Sistrunk said.
“Resume your position, Mr. Hurd,” Sistrunk said with a disapproving look. Hurd went to parade rest, but he was still within striking distance of Eugene. Sistrunk turned his attention to his “patient”.
“Now, if one plus one is two, is that not an absolute truth?”
“FUCK YOU!”
“ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION,” Hurd demanded.
Alisha gave him another injection, and then Sistrunk repeated the question.
“Yes, you asshole.”
Hurd slapped him again.
“So there are absolute truths.”
Gene was silent.
“MR. SULKE, YOU MUST ANSWER THE QUESTION.”
Gene spat at the doctor, and got slapped two more times.
Chad Armstrong had spent much of the morning going over the plans Daniel cracked from the Squad’s private web site.
“What do ya think?” Ray said.
Chad looked worried. “Can we really be sure of the schedule?”
“What d’ya mean?”
“Is it a set schedule, or approximated? Does it stay the same from day-to-day or does it change? I don’t want to assume it stays the same. Assumptions get you killed.”
“I preach that myself. Suppose we wait and see if anything changes.”
“Good idea, Ray. All the same though, I want a plan with built-in flexibility in case their schedule does change.”
He called the rest of the team in and summarized what he’d found out, and what worried him. “We need a plan based on what we know, and still allow us to seamlessly change it if circumstances change. Study the plans and let me know your ideas.”
The men spent hours on a plan, but nothing concrete emerged.
“I think we should wait until tomorrow to see if anything changes,” Foote said. “Me and Wrenn would be able to tell.”
“I know, Terry. Ray and I discussed this. I suppose that’s what we’ll have to do.”
The phone rang. It was one of Armstrong’s men. “Yeah, Jimmy.”
“Sir, I heard a shriek from the basement. It was somewhat faint, but it was clearly a scream of terror.”
“Eugene,” Armstrong said out loud. The others just looked at him. “Understood,” Armstrong said as he hung up. “There’s no question now, boys—Eugene’s in a bad way. It’s tonight or never. I need a detailed plan now.”
It was early nightfall when the team came up with a plan. They would assume the schedule would hold, but the moment it changed, the attack would be called off. Spotters would be used to determine if anything changed. Armstrong would give the go or no go. The assault would be coordinated to begin at 2:33 a.m. Four vans would be positioned for the assault and rescue. All six of Armstrong’s sharpshooters would be used for the assault, including Sean, Ray, and Cass.
Armstrong’s men would take various routes to the House so as not to attract suspicion. Coordination of the assault and rescue would be by mobile phone, using an encrypted voice command that each member of the team would have. Low volume silence was to be in effect the moment the team was near the House. There would be no unnecessary talking
, and when necessary, talking would be at a whisper. There would be no time to practice. Each man had an assignment, and each knew how to carry it out. There could be no mistakes. They had one chance to do the job right.
1:30—guard change.
1:45—the new guards were in place and the old guards were gone.
2:00—all was quiet.
2:15—Spotters made a final check.
Eugene was being badgered relentlessly now. “If one plus one equals two, and if this is an absolute truth, then how can there be no absolute truths?”
“Well I guess I wouldn’t know.” Hurd kept beating him for each insolent answer Eugene gave, and he was barely conscious now.
“YES YOU DO! YOU KNOW THERE ARE ABSOLUTE TRUTHS. YOU KNOW ZINNEY IS A LIAR!”
Eugene tried to muster whatever energy he had left to spit at Frankenstein.
“ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION,” Hurd screamed.
“Fuck you!” Eugene said in a low grumbling voice.
“We’ll have to increase the volume of the probe,” Sistrunk said to Peter. Then, turning to Eugene, “You still have doubts. You want to hold on to your belief in this radical. He tells you things that don’t make sense. Right, Mr. Sulke?”
Eugene glared at him. By this time he was bleeding from the nose and upper lip. His face was a gory mixture of black, blue, red and purple. His left eye was closed.
“You don’t believe I’m right. Your colors are still dark. You are still hanging on to an outrageous belief. You keep lying to yourself, to your family, to me. You are a philosophical mongrel. Aren’t you, Mr. Sulke?”
“Fuck you!” Eugene was crying now, and his throat was hoarse.
Suddenly, gunfire was heard.
“We’re under attack,” the upstairs guard shouted.
“Quick,” yelled Sistrunk to Hurd. “Get him in the closet.”
Shots were fired simultaneously at 2:33. Five guards were taken out immediately. The side yard guard responded to the shooting, and he was shot. Six guards down. The initial volley went through the windows, where the window guards were scheduled to be. Their fates were unknown.
The sharpshooters took out two more guards, once their new position became known. There were eight guards down, leaving the four inside. Suddenly, a howitzer shell blasted through the front door. Ray and Cassandra rushed in taking out two guards—one wounded from the initial volley.
While this was going on, Armstrong, Foote, Wrenn, and Sean came over the back fence. Foote and Wrenn carried a tall ladder. The ladder was set up against the house, and Sean climbed to the roof.
As the three rushed inside through the back door, Sean went into action immediately. A fresh squadron came to the rescue. Sean radioed their position to Paulie. Together they took out one of them, forcing the other two to take cover.
Foote and Wrenn entered the back of the house and shot the two guards there, and then shot the upstairs guard at the top of the basement steps. Then they went down into the basement, Wrenn in the lead. Hurd shot at him and winged him; Wrenn letting out a cry. Foote then shot Hurd, and checked on his buddy. Wrenn assured him he was all right, and they descended the stairs.
There was no sign of Eugene. Peter and Alisha had escaped, but Wrenn and Foote caught Sistrunk before he could follow them.
“Where is Eugene Sulke?” Foote demanded.
Sistrunk was silent while Wrenn perused the clinic. He saw the medical shelves, opened them up and grabbed something that looked like a painkiller and some bandages.
“Where is Sulke?” Foote repeated.
Sistrunk didn’t move, and Foote grabbed him. “You tell me where he is or I’ll start cutting off your fingers one by one.”
There was yelling from the closet.
Wrenn ran over there and yelled for Eugene. “In here,” came the muffled reply. Wrenn tried to open the door, but it was locked.
“Where is the key?” Foote said, staring at Sistrunk with flared nostrils.
“Hurry up, you guys,” Armstrong shouted from upstairs.
“Where is the key?” Foote said a little louder. When the doctor hesitated, Foote took out his knife.
“A doctor without fingers is pretty useless.” Foote pointed to the locked door.
Sistrunk just flashed his evil smile. “I look forward to seeing you in that chair over there.” Foote slugged him, and Sistrunk went down. Then Foote, with a murderous look on his face, went for Sistrunk. One look at that knife was all Frankenstein needed for motivation.
“Mr. Hurd has the key.” He went over to his body and fished the key from his pocket, eyeing the holstered gun the whole time.
Sistrunk showed Foote the key and then opened the closet. They saw a semi-conscious, emaciated, and severely beaten man they assumed to be Eugene Sulke. The place reeked of crap and piss.
Foote and Wrenn got him out of there, and they pushed him up the stairs to the main floor.
“Are you Eugene Sulke?” Armstrong said. He nodded he was.
Ray and Cassandra hurried him out the back door as a van pulled up to the back alley. Ray got in, and Cassandra pushed Eugene after.
“Come on, come on. Quickly!” the driver urged. Cassandra jumped in, and the van took off.
Inside the house, Armstrong went down into the basement, and confronted the doctor.
“I demand you let me go,” Sistrunk yelled.
Armstrong answered him with the butt of his rifle, sending Sistrunk to the floor. Sistrunk just looked up at him while Armstrong pointed his gun at him.
“What did you do to Eugene Sulke?”
“Nothing. Oh, a few cuts and bruises. It happens. People resist treatment.”
“Treatment?”
“Yes. They all come in here filled with such strange notions; such strange ideas. They need our help. We change them from misfits to constructive members of society. What’s so wrong with that?”
Armstrong looked around the lab. He saw the helmet sitting on the gurney. “What’s that for?”
“To cure Eugene of course. Let me help you. You will be caught, you know.” Armstrong still had his piece trained on Frankenstein. He looked at him as Sistrunk flashed his evil smile that so unnerved Eugene.
“How do you do it?”
“I’m sorry.”
“How do you change someone?”
“With a glorious invention, commonly known as the brain probe. I use it to force new neuron connections. Of course, that’s a bit simplistic, but I put it that way so you can understand.”
“Are you telling me that you’ve been fucking with Eugene’s head to change him against his will? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Sistrunk started to become hostile. “One day you’ll be in that chair, and I’m going to enjoy treating you.”
Armstrong was seething now, while Sistrunk flashed his sinister smile. As he looked around the lab, Sistrunk pulled the dead guard’s gun out from his lab coat, and began to point it at Armstrong.
“Sit in that chair,” Sistrunk demanded.
Armstrong turned around with a wry smile on his face, and shot the doctor.
Armstrong spied the truncheons hanging behind the metal chair. He grabbed the hard one and began smashing everything he saw in the lab: computers, machines, and the glass cabinet—everything. Then he took the gas can he brought down with him and emptied half of it; struck a match; and torched that horrible place. He hurried back upstairs, and emptied out the rest of the gas. He burned the house down while retreating to a second van.
While this was going on, Sean held the rescue squad under fire. “Come on Sean!” said Armstrong, and both climbed into the second van.
“I heard a shot from the basement,” Sean said.
“I shot that doctor. He got the drop on me. We left him alone in the basement for two minutes. He must have fished out the revolver from one of the dead guards. I figured he didn’t know how to use it. He never cocked the trigger.”
Everyone was out, and Foote wrapped Wrenn’s arm with the ba
ndages his buddy grabbed. He stopped the bleeding while they drove to a hospital in neutral territory. They switched vehicles on the way out so that the Squad would not be looking for them.
Ray and Cassandra were trying to talk to Eugene, reassuring him that he’d be all right. The van stuck to the back roads while traveling west from Old Chicago. A couple miles down the road they turned off into an empty parking lot, where another car and driver waited for them. They continued on the old road while the driver of the van went in a different direction.
Eugene was drifting in and out of consciousness until he opened his eyes. “Where am I?”
“You’re with us, buddy,” Ray said. “Do you remember me?”
Eugene stared blankly at him for a minute. “Ray?”
“Yeah, buddy. Can you tell us what happened to you?”
“Water, please.”
Eugene gulped it down.
“I hurt all over, and I’m hungry.”
“Ray, he needs to get to a hospital,” Cassandra said, “and,” as she made a face, “he needs a bath and new clothes.”
“Driver, do you know how to get to St. Teresa Medical Center in Snowden?”
“Yeah. It’s in neutral territory, but we’re going to have to get back on the tollway.”
“For how long?”
“About two miles.”
“Will we be able to bypass any tollgates?”
“Yeah, we will.”
“Go ahead and take it,” Ray said.
“What do you remember, Gene?” Cassandra asked.
Eugene just turned around to look at her. “You’re pretty cute yourself.”
Cassandra smiled, and then threw a curious glance at Ray before turning back to Eugene. “Thank you.”
“You have a pretty wife, Ray.”
“I know, man. I’m pretty lucky.”
Eugene turned back to Cassandra. “You were right about him.”
“Who? Dennis?”
“Yeah. He came to my house Saturday morning. I was supposed to go to his house, but I decided it was best to stay away from him. I made up some excuse so I wouldn’t have to go, but he came to my house anyway. We were drinking some beer, and the next thing I remembered was waking up in that place.”
