MindWar (Nick Hall Book 3)

by Douglas E. Richards

  “True enough,” agreed Girdler. “Which is why Victor modified the implants. Basically, he armed nineteen of the twenty sets. He gave the man he selected in each country the detonation code, which can be activated remotely via the Internet.”

  “Armed?” said the president. “Like with an explosive?”

  “No,” replied Campbell. “Armed with software that will trigger the implants to cause a deadly stroke. A little less dramatic, but just as effective.”

  Admiral Siegel’s eyes widened. “So if they have the detonation codes, that means we do as well, correct?”

  Girdler nodded. “Correct.”

  “Wow,” said Siegel. “That’s a lot to process. So, at minimum, we have total access to the eyes, ears, and thoughts of twenty of the highest-ranking officials in several key governments. And before long, as these people rise, we’ll have eyes and ears in the corridors of power in the Kremlin, in the Politburo, in the Worker’s Party, and others. And all the while, we’ll have the ability in cases of extreme need to snuff out any one of the nineteen like we’re the hand of God.”

  “In many ways we hit the jackpot with this one,” said Girdler.

  “In every way,” replied the admiral. “Like Mike alluded to, this largely balances the scales. You may be falling short when it comes to Islamic fundamentalists, but you’re exceeding expectations when it comes to intel on foreign governments.” He paused. “Although with Nick’s efforts, you’re still more effective in the terrorism space than anyone could have dreamed of seven months ago.”

  “This really is a remarkable development,” said the president.

  His virtual head turned to face Alex Altschuler, his expression one of concern. “But how was Victor able to arm the implants?” he asked. “I know the protection on the BrainWeb prototypes isn’t absolute, like quantum encryption would be, but I was told it was your best work. Not impregnable, but just about. Was Victor able to breach it?”

  Altschuler shook his head. “No, but the sets he controls do have a design flaw. I designed them to prevent anyone from reverse engineering the central code, or changing it. But there is nothing to prevent the implants from accepting software add-ons. This is what Drew did to give us our intel feeds, and what Victor did to create his bomb. I’ve since corrected for this. The latest version of the software won’t accept add-ons, under any circumstances. Rest assured,” he added decisively, “when I perfect quantum encryption, BrainWeb will be absolutely safe for widespread commercial release.”

  Siegel tilted his head and shot Girdler a funny look. “You considered arming the implants you gave to Victor, didn’t you, Justin?”

  “I did,” said Girdler softly. “How did you know?”

  “Because you never miss an angle,” replied Siegel. “And I mean that as a compliment,” he added hastily. He stared at the general with great interest. “So why did you decide against it?”

  Girdler sighed. “I felt that spying on our enemies from inside of their heads was questionable enough, ethically, but that the ends justified the means. But imbedding kill codes?” He shook his head. “This was just a bridge too far. I couldn’t do it.”

  Siegel nodded thoughtfully. “I’m not sure whether to be wildly impressed, or wildly disappointed.”

  “That makes two of us,” said the general grimly.

  31

  Victor’s eye fluttered open but his memory did not.

  He was groggy—drugged—and his memory remained opaque, even when he realized he had been bound like a hog and propped back against the wall of his office, his ankles and wrists tied together with plastic zip-ties, his mouth covered by duct tape.

  Eduardo Alvarez was tied beside him, wrists together, ankles together, seated against the wall, his mouth also taped shut. Worse, Victor realized that both he and Alvarez were chained by a plastic strip to his imposing desk, built into the wall at considerable cost.

  Neither of them were going anywhere.

  “Eduardo, wake up!” he screamed through the telepathy channel of their implants.

  Alvarez began to rustle, and Victor continued to prod him awake.

  Alvarez’s eyes finally opened and he tried to speak into the duct tape, but his eyes fell shut again, and Victor guessed he must think he was hallucinating. Seconds later his eyes slowly opened once more, and he now appeared to be surprised that his mouth was taped and his body bound.

  “Victor?” he replied to his friend on their implant channel. “What’s going . . .” He trailed off, but his thoughts became more coherent as adrenaline worked its way through his system. “What happened to us?”

  “I’m not sure,” transmitted Victor, but even as he did a small portion of the fog cleared, just enough for him to channel vague, dreamlike impressions. “I think someone threw a gas canister into the office.”

  Alvarez stared blankly at his friend for some time, before finally nodding. “Right,” he replied tentatively. “I remember now. We held our breath and tried the doors, but they were locked from the outside.”

  “That’s right. I remember my lungs burning, finally having to take a breath.” Victor shuddered. “I was sure it would be my last.”

  Alvarez looked around. “Who could have done this?” he asked. “And how? This office is at the heart of the compound. No way a stranger makes it all the way here, or shoots something in.”

  Victor frowned deeply, ignoring an itch that had erupted on his leg, one that seemed to have known he had no way to scratch it. How could this have happened? His automated security systems were the best in the world. Everyone who had a right to be here was programmed in, so they would be ignored, but anyone else wouldn’t make it ten feet without alarms being sounded and Victor being warned. And he had a number of actual human bodyguards as well, watching monitors, patrolling the grounds.

  “It had to be an inside job,” concluded Alvarez.

  Victor nodded. He was right. It was the only way this could have happened.

  There was a noise just outside of the main door, which Victor identified as the sound of a padlock being pulled open.

  The zookeeper was returning.

  Victor braced himself. They were about to get answers.

  The door swung inward and a young man stepped across the threshold, looking grimly satisfied. Victor’s eyes bulged in disbelief.

  It was Lucas.

  “Hello, Father,” he said cheerfully. “Uncle Eduardo. Comfortable?”

  Victor shouted into the tape over his mouth.

  “Sorry,” said Lucas, “I didn’t quite catch that. I made sure to gag you so I wouldn’t have to put up with your bullshit for once. So I wouldn’t have to choke back vomit while listening to your insipid sermonizing. And I didn’t want you to embarrass yourself by begging for mercy.” His face transformed into a mask of pure malevolence. “Not that it would help.”

  Victor arched his back slightly so he could see the top of his desk, searching frantically for anything he could use as a weapon, his paperweight, letter opener, or lamp. But his desk was as barren as the Sahara. Lucas had left nothing to chance, having cleared the desktop and having made sure nothing even remotely helpful might be in reach of him or his first lieutenant on the floor.

  Victor was utterly horrified, but a small part of him still couldn’t help but be proud.

  Lucas calmly pulled out a chair and sat in front of his two prisoners, looming above them. He placed a gun on his lap and stayed well out of range of a possible lunge, which couldn’t happen anyway since he had left his prisoners with no way to cut the plastic straps that bound them to the desk.

  Lucas followed his father’s eyes and deduced what he was thinking. “Have I been careful enough for you?” he asked with a cruel sneer. “Are you satisfied with my preparations?”

  Lucas cupped his right ear as though straining to hear. “What’s that?” he demanded. “No answer again?” He shook his head sadly. “I guess it’s too bad I don’t have implants. If I did, you could still communicate with me. You
’d still be able to plead your case, even with your mouth taped shut.”

  “Is that what this is about!” shouted Victor, but only gibberish came out through the tape.

  Lucas laughed, an icy sound, easily guessing what his father had been trying to say. “No, Dad, this isn’t me having a hissy fit over being denied some cute technology. Although it did piss me off. Think of this as a tribute. To you. You’ve been a great mentor. You’ve taught me that being smart isn’t enough. That I need to be tough. That the strong should take what they want from the weak. Oh, and let’s not forget, you’ve taught me how to kill without remorse.”

  Victor suddenly felt unable to breathe. Despite the presence of the drug in his system, dulling his mind and senses, the pain he felt from this betrayal, from the extent of his son’s venom, was almost unbearable.

  “I taught him just the opposite,” he transmitted to Alvarez, feeling the need to defend himself. “I taught him to only kill when there was no other choice. I insisted that he not become a monster.”

  “Nothing you did is responsible,” replied his friend. “You didn’t turn him into a monster. He must have always been one. He must be the kind of psychopath you described earlier.”

  Victor searched his mind. This had to be true. But it seemed so impossible. Psychopaths were brilliant liars and born con artists, no doubt, capable of fooling almost anyone. But he couldn’t believe that even the most accomplished psychopath could fool his own father, not when his father was as sharp as Victor.

  Lucas had never displayed a single telltale sign. Not once. The boy knew what his father was, knew that he might be more accepting of violent tendencies than anyone, but if anything Lucas had seemed to be a pacifist. That’s why Victor had been so worried about pushing him into his first kill, fearing this might be a line the boy refused to cross.

  Clearly this fear had been misplaced.

  “Thanks also for giving me the opportunity to access all facets of your business,” continued Lucas, “along with some quality time to think. I’m pretty sure I aced your assignment. Turns out I did find something you should have been paranoid about. Something you missed. Me.” He shot his father a look of contempt. “Are you proud? Have I impressed you?”

  Victor stopped his futile efforts at communication. Instead, he closed his eyes, ignoring Alvarez’s desperate insistence that they had to come up with a plan of escape, had to do something. But Victor had already strained his mind to its limits, and he was sure there was no way out.

  Victor had been correct in thinking his son was a singular talent, but had utterly missed that he was a psychopath. It was an epic mistake.

  The last one he would ever make.

  “So let me give you a preview of the future,” said Lucas icily. “Since you won’t be around to see it for yourself. I’m going to take over the family business like you planned. Just a little ahead of schedule. I’m sure I can run it better than you have. Not to mention living longer. Do you know why? Because I’m superior. And because I’ve learned something about survival that you never did.” He paused for effect. “Never have children,” he finished, breaking into laughter.

  Victor kept his eyes closed and didn’t respond, not wanting to give his son any further satisfaction.

  “Just so you know,” continued Lucas, “I’ve studied the arguments you gave about delaying the use of implants. You actually made some good points. So in your honor, to hone my mental skills, I’ll leave them out of my head for a little longer.” He shrugged. “So congratulations. You win. Although something tells me you’re in no mood to celebrate this victory at the moment,” he added with cruel smile.

  “Now that the business is under new management,” he continued, “I’m afraid I’m going to be making some key changes in strategic direction. First of all, I’ll be ending your ridiculous search for ESP. What a wild goose chase. You can’t really think this exists. Are you really that gullible? Probably something this General Girdler of yours cooked up as part of a PsyOps strategy to fuck with his enemies, to make everyone chase their tails. I don’t like wasting my time,” he added.

  “Second of all, I plan to consolidate your gains and pull in my horns. No more placing implants in future world leaders. Not that Machiavelli wouldn’t be proud, but who needs the hassle and drama? I will continue to pull the strings of those you already reached, because, well . . . why not? You already went to the trouble of turning them into puppets, and you never know when you’re going to need the President of the Russian Federation in your pocket. But mostly I plan to focus my energy on the tech aspect of the business, the creative side. Challenge myself. You always say this is the secret to happiness.” He smiled thinly. “And I’m sure that knowing I’ll be happy will be a great comfort to you as you go into the afterlife.”

  Lucas turned to face Alvarez full on for the first time. “Eduardo,” he said, dropping the Uncle from the name, “I’m sorry about this. You’ve been very good to me. Never preachy or judgmental. Never trying to mold me in your image. Really sorry you’re involved, but you are loyal to my father, a quality I’ll never understand. Loyalty is like wisdom teeth. Something our ancestors may have needed, but something that has become nothing but a liability. Like having children,” he added, shooting his father a wry smile.

  He raised the gun and pointed it at Victor’s chest. “Speaking of which,” he said matter-of-factly, “I’m afraid it’s time for you and Eduardo to die. Just so you know, I’ll be shooting you in the heart. A head shot would be more interesting, but you both have implants. And as you pointed out, why destroy valuable property? Waste not, want not, I always say.”

  Lucas spread his hands wide. “But I am not without compassion,” he said. “Out of respect for you, I’ll let you and Eduardo say your goodbyes. You have twenty seconds.”

  “I’m truly sorry, my friend,” Victor sent through his implants. “I failed completely to understand the nature of my own son. Forgive me for being so blind.”

  “I was fooled just as badly,” replied Alvarez.

  “It has been an honor working with you, Eduardo. Thank you for your loyalty and all you’ve done for me.”

  “It has been an honor for me as well,” replied Alvarez in resignation.

  Victor was about to transmit one last thought, but Lucas depressed the trigger, firing at both of their chests in rapid succession, and watched the light go out in their eyes with grim satisfaction.

  PART 4

  Troy Browning

  32

  President Timothy Cochran eyed Bob Siegel’s computer-generated doppelganger, seated in front of his magnificent desk in the Oval Office. The real Bob Siegel wasn’t far away, but a virtual meeting was less of a chore for the admiral, and Cochran had been assured that the NSA had developed technology that made transmissions on this channel more impenetrable than an actual meeting in his office would have been.

  Siegel’s spies in Iran had been reporting a deteriorating condition in the country for some time, and the dam had burst, just the night before. Prior to this, the Director of National Intelligence had thought chances were good the situation would self-stabilize, but the president had long suspected it would go in the other direction.

  Cochran didn’t have a crystal ball, he just relied on a simple rule when it came to the Middle East: things always tended to go from bad to worse. He was becoming pretty sure it was some kind of scientific principle.

  And there wasn’t much room for Iran to get any worse, which made things extremely scary.

  “Before we begin,” said the president. “What did you think of Girdler and his team?”

  The looming crisis was the chief order of business, but Siegel wasn’t going to try to rush the president, and they hadn’t spoken during the few days since he had returned from Utah.

  “It was quite an experience,” he replied, still assimilating all he had learned. “I’ve never seen a more cohesive group of people. It’s apparent every second that you’re with them. No egos, total respec
t and support for one another—and affection. Total belief in the mission. But a sober belief.”

  “I agree. They don’t act like a group of zealots. They question everything they’re doing, and make great efforts to police themselves.”

  “An impressive group,” said the admiral, “with an even more impressive team dynamic. On paper, there is no way a collection of hardened military men, inexperienced civilians, and quirky genius scientists should get along so well.”

  “I think the secret is that they’re all decent, caring people,” said Cochran. “And they’ve been through hell and back together.”

  “They’re hard not to like. And if I can say that after Nick Hall probed me without permission, and after the group kicked off our meeting by basically hazing me, that’s really saying something.”

  “Nick’s actions weren’t entirely without permission,” admitted Cochran. “He was under my orders. Not that he ever would have allowed you to join THT without taking this step, under any circumstances. Besides, if he didn’t have the chance to read you earlier, the moment you met he’d have given you a rectal probing that outer space aliens would have envied.”

  “We didn’t have to ever meet,” said Siegel. “You could have chosen to keep me out of his range for the duration.”

  “Which would have been a poor way to add you to such a perfectly cohesive team. They’d never go for it, and they’d never trust you. But now that you have Nick’s good housekeeping seal of approval, I can keep you out of Utah indefinitely.”

  The president frowned, knowing it was time to move on to a decidedly less pleasant topic. “I’ve read your entire report on Iran, Bob,” he began. “Not that it was necessary. You could have saved me a lot of time with just a two-word summary.”

  “We’re fucked?” guessed Siegel.

  “Those are the two words,” said Cochran with a tired smile.