Undetectable (Great Minds Thriller)

by M. C. Soutter

  The doctor nodded. He looked satisfied now, and Kevin had the impression that Petak had simply been waiting for Kevin to speak these things aloud. That he had known all his symptoms before he had even walked through the door. It was a disquieting thought, but it was also strangely comforting. If Petak knew all these things, then maybe he really could help.

  “Oh, and apparently I smell like absolute piss,” Kevin said. He tried to smile good naturedly. “Which you probably already noticed. Not sure if that’s related or if I just need to change soaps, but I’m trying not to leave anything out.”

  The doctor grinned for the first time. “Right. Good job.” He reached over and put a hand on Kevin’s arm, as though to congratulate him for his willingness to open up. “You’re going to be all right,” he said. “And except for the exhaustion – which we’ll address – physically you seem okay. Better than okay, actually. Much stronger and fitter than before.”

  Something clicked in Kevin’s head.

  “Wait. You’ve seen me before this? When?”

  Petak nodded. He wagged his head from side to side, counting to himself. “Almost two months ago.”

  Kevin felt his legs go numb. He was glad he was already sitting down, otherwise he thought he might have collapsed on the spot. This man was a connection, an actual link to whatever had happened to him. To whatever had started all this. He knew it all, he knew everything, he –

  “I don’t know that much,” Petak said, reading the excitement in Kevin’s eyes. And doing his best to squelch it.

  “What?” Kevin’s voice rose in desperation. “No, you have to.” This was not fair. There was no one left. No one to guide him, no one to help. No one who could understand any part of what he was going through. All at once Kevin could feel his shoulders starting to shake.

  His eyes were welling up.

  “Jesus,” he said. He rubbed awkwardly at his face. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” the doctor said, his hand still on Kevin’s arm. “You haven’t slept in over 72 hours, and I just gave you a cocktail of uppers strong enough to send a smaller man straight to a crash cart. I’d be worried if you weren’t emotional.”

  “Just tell me what’s happening.”

  “I’ll give it a shot. You won’t think it’s enough, but believe me when I tell you that my only concern is your health. I’m your doctor. I’ve been given enough information to help you through this. But beyond that, I’m as much in the dark as you are.”

  “Given information? By whom?”

  Petak smiled. “Most of it by you.”

  I’m Practically Dead

  “What?”

  Kevin frowned and put a hand over his eyes. He still didn’t understand.

  “When you came to see me the first time,” Petak explained, “you told me you’d volunteered for something. A position with the government. You wouldn’t tell me what the position was, but you said the application involved submitting to a new procedure.”

  Kevin put his hand down, and his eyes went wide. “What kind of procedure?”

  Petak shook his head. “No idea. You wouldn’t tell me that either. Frankly, you didn’t seem too clear on the details yourself. But you had a list of possible side effects, and you told me I’d need to be ready for another visit. You also said you wouldn’t remember anything when we next met.”

  “Possible side effects?”

  “Right,” the doctor said, and shrugged. “Seems you got hit pretty much on the nose as far as those are concerned, but I was ready for the worst-case scenario. Why do you think I had that syringe all set to go?”

  Kevin took another deep breath, and he tried to steady himself. The idea of piecing together information that he himself had provided was making his head spin, and he was distracted. He needed to refocus on what was important.

  Like keeping myself from going insane, for example. That’s the place to start.

  “Let’s talk about the voices,” Kevin said. “What do I need to get ready for? What’s so important? Because as far as I can tell, I don’t work for the government. I’m a math teacher. What’s this position you’re saying I tried to get?”

  Petak nodded. “That’s the one big thing I know.” The man held up a single finger, and Kevin leaned forward. “I’m not sure if this is good news or bad, but I can tell you this much: you didn’t get picked for that position.”

  Kevin blinked. He sat back on the examination table and stared at the doctor. “Did not get picked?” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Then what am I doing here? Why am I going through all this ridiculous stuff?” He pointed behind him, as though indicating the world outside the office. “I’ve got this huge new apartment,” he said, waving his hands to show that words and gestures were insufficient to convey the sheer size, the sheer vastness of his new place. “And a personal assistant. A butler, Doctor. I don’t need a butler, and I don’t need that apartment. Why did I move? Why do I have a babysitter? And why do I feel like one of my doormen was keeping track of me?”

  Petak’s forehead may have tightened just briefly at this last piece of information, but then the look was gone. The skin went smooth. He shook his head again, his expression still calm and imperturbable. “I have no idea. But again, what I do know is that you can relax. You don’t need to get ready. That voice is a residual part of the procedure, whatever it was. It makes you nervous, makes you feel paranoid, as if you have to do something. As if people are conspiring against you, or as if you’re being followed. But none of that is true. You can ignore those feelings, and you can ignore that voice.”

  Kevin shook his head. “It’s not like shutting a window, doc. It’s in me. It’s why I can’t sleep.”

  “I know, but I’m going to help you deal with it; you gave me information on this part, too. It’s important to start with the facts, and here’s the biggest one: you don’t need to get ready. For anything. They told me that every applicant has to go through what you’re experiencing, but only the one who’s picked actually has to follow through. You don’t have to follow through. All you have to do is get through to next Saturday.”

  Kevin laughed, which hurt his stomach. “There’s no way, I can’t possibly – ”

  “You can. Nine days, and everything goes back to normal. Everything you’re going through will wear off by then.”

  “Let me bring you up to speed,” Kevin said. “It’s been three days so far. I’m having a great time with whatever ultra-cocaine concoction you just stuck me with, but it’s going to wear off eventually. And I assume you’re not supposed to give me too many doses of something like that. Without you here, I’m practically dead. How am I going to get through a whole week and a half?”

  “Sleep is the first thing.”

  “I told you, I can’t. I’ve tried everything. Sleeping pills, booze, running around the park until I’m ready to fall down. And I’ve watched some really bad television.”

  “Which is exactly why you’re having so much difficulty. Listen to what you just said: you’re taking drugs, drinking too much, and exercising to the point of collapse. You’re killing yourself. Stop trying so hard.”

  “But I have to get to sleep.”

  “Well, yes and no. Sleep itself is regulated by the hypothalamus, and yours is apparently scrambled for the time being. So we need to create a viable alternative. In other words, what we need is to find your equivalent of sleep.”

  “Which means?”

  “Well, what calms you down? Over the last three days, when have you felt the least agitated? The least worked up?”

  Kevin thought back. He didn’t need to think for long. “When I was reading. Non-fiction stuff, studying. I barely noticed the time going by.”

  “Excellent. You’ve got a bookcase in this grand new apartment of yours?”

  “Bet your ass. I’m like a local library branch over there. You should see this thing.”

  “Good. So every night at ten o’clock, get yourself a big stack of serious non-fiction, lie down on the
couch, and just read until six the next morning. And don’t move, except to turn the pages or pick up another book. Your body needs an extended period of very low metabolism to recover each day, and that’s what we’re going to give it. This isn’t a perfect solution, but it’ll be good enough. Set an alarm so that you know when you’re done. Scheduling and consistency, those are the key things.”

  Kevin was nodding slowly now. He could picture doing what the doctor was advising. It made sense. In fact, he felt foolish for not having used exactly this strategy on his own. “And I should stop exercising?”

  “No. But don’t overdo it. Be normal, or as normal as possible. The symptoms you’re experiencing are shoving you around, and that’s understandable. But it’s your job to shove back. Force your life into a routine, an ordinary rhythm. Eat, go to work, talk to friends, exercise, watch a little bit of television, and rest – or in your case, read – and then repeat.”

  “I think I can do that.”

  “Of course you can. And ignore those voices, but don’t worry if they’re still bugging you. Remember that your only job is to stick to the routine. You don’t have to get ready for anything; you just have to make it through to the end of next week.”

  Kevin nodded again. He took a slow breath, and then he stood up carefully from the examination table. “How long until the stuff in that needle wears off?”

  “You’ve got maybe another hour and a half. But don’t push it.”

  “One errand back at school,” Kevin said. “Then back home to read on the couch. Promise.”

  “All right. Call me again if you need anything else. But I think you’re going to be fine.” He wrinkled his nose. “And incidentally, that odor problem will fix itself once you’ve gotten some rest. Your chemistry’s a little out of whack at the moment, is all.”

  Kevin put his hand out. “Thanks for the help.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “And… do you have my insurance information already?”

  Petak startled him by laughing. “Kevin, I don’t take insurance. Ever. You’re my only patient at the moment, and you paid in advance. Two months ago, as a matter of fact.”

  Just like with Andrew, Kevin thought ruefully. I’m really throwing my money around.

  “How much?”

  Petak smiled and shook his head. “You don’t want to know,” he said. He made a shooing motion with his hands, ushering Kevin out of the office.

  “Well, but approximately how much – ”

  “You do not want to know,” Petak repeated. “I don’t want you passing out before you get home. ”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.”

  “But I can call you again if I need to?”

  “Kevin, you can come see me once a week until your fortieth birthday if you want.”

  Kevin put his head into his hands for a moment. He had heard enough. He left the office, walked through the lobby and out on to the street, and he was on his way.

  A week and a half to go, he thought. No problem.

  The man with the chiseled face waited a full ten minutes after he saw Kevin Brooks leave the doctor’s office. Then he moved from his lookout spot on the opposite corner. He entered the building, walked through the lobby, and knocked sharply on Petak’s door.

  The door opened, and Petak frowned when he saw who it was. The man pushed past him into the waiting room, and Petak closed the door.

  “What did you tell him?” the man with the chiseled face demanded.

  You People Are Like Bugs

  “I told him what he needed to hear,” Petak said coldly.

  “Congratulations,” the other man said, and he took a step toward Petak. They were less than a foot apart now. “But what did you tell him?”

  Petak held his ground. “Craig, do you know – ” He stopped. Suddenly he seemed pensive. “By the way, is Craig your first name or your last?”

  Craig narrowed his eyes. Irrelevant question. Stop stalling.

  The doctor shrugged. He started again, his voice as cold as before. “Craig, do you know the optimal state of mind for learning? For aptitude, recall, and assimilation?”

  “I asked you to tell me what – ”

  “I’m telling you what I told him, Craig. I’m explaining it, because you people are like bugs. You can see approximately five inches in any direction, and you’re fairly certain that the world outside that radius is populated entirely by food, predators, and prey. With nothing else in between. But that’s not actually the case, so just try to be quiet and listen for one goddamned minute. Can you do that, Craig Craigerson?”

  Craig glared at the doctor, but he did not respond.

  “Thank you. The answer, of course, is a calm state of mind. To learn effectively, you need to be at peace. Agitation is terrible for your brain, whether induced pharmacologically, physically, or psychologically. Both time and resources are wasted while the body is busy handling a cascade of physiological and chemical responses. Blood vessels constrict. The adrenal glands kick into gear. The heart and lungs go into overdrive. It’s a mess.”

  “Get to the point.”

  Petak smiled sourly. “The point, Craiginator, is you don’t want him stressed. You want him cool. Calm.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Craig, who was now scanning the waiting room as though looking for something to hit Petak over the head with. “That’s terrific.” He walked over to a picture hanging on the wall, a pastel of a giant sailboat on the ocean, and he tilted his head at it like a collector. “So now, for the last time, what did you tell him?”

  Dr. Petak sat down in one of the little easy chairs at the side of the room. He put one leg over the other. “To relax, of course. I told him he’s not your guy, that one of the other applicants got picked. I told him he should go home and chill the hell out.”

  “What?” Craig spun around to face the doctor, his expression twisted by anger and surprise. “But he is our guy. He's your guy, and there are no other applicants. The scrubbing procedure specifically included elements to remind him, on a subconscious level, that he needs to – ”

  “Yes, wonderful,” Petak cut in dismissively. “I know all about those ridiculous voices your people implanted, and they’re about as subconscious as a slap in the face. You’re driving the man absolutely bat-shit. Why didn’t you just hire a drill instructor to follow him around shouting marching orders?”

  Craig was still livid. “We’re not fucking around here,” he hissed. “We need him ready, do you get that?”

  “Of course, but – ”

  “No, you shut up now. Your turn to listen. Counter-terrorism at this level has very tight timing parameters, and Brooks’ window is as tight as they come. He needs to be operational next Friday. On the button. Not Thursday, not Saturday. And we don’t give a shit if he loses some sleep along the way. This is bigger than me and you, and it’s bigger than him. Do we hope he won’t be necessary? Of course. Same as with any operation. Everything’s contingency planning, and this contingency is no different. He’s an experiment. He’s a backup on a backup, and there’s a 95% chance that nothing’s going to happen anyway. Which is how it usually goes, and it’s how we want it. So then everybody can take a little breath, and we start getting ready for the next time a level-seven asset has to go out in the open. Could be in a week, could be in a month. But we have to be ready every single time, and everything’s got to line up just right.”

  Petak stayed quiet for an extra moment after Craig was done speaking. To let the air clear, and to let the other man breathe. “I understand,” he said slowly.

  “I’m not sure you do.”

  “For him to be useful, first he’s got to survive long enough to make his window.”

  “Don’t exaggerate. He’s fine.”

  “He was not fine. He would have been dead by tomorrow.”

  “Would have?” Suddenly Craig was suspicious again. “What else did you tell him?”

  Petak threw up his hands. “Nothing, you idiot! I advised him o
n how to get through the day. I want him to live, don’t you see? I’m not going to tell him what’s actually going on – he’ll blow his own cover, and they’ll pick him off just for sport. Besides which, he’s not ready for the information. The scrubbing procedure calls for a very specific waiting period before lifting the veil. It’s like waking a sleepwalker; you don’t do it if you can possibly help it.”

  “Good,” Craig said, visibly relieved. “It’s good you understand that.”

  “I designed the procedure,” Petak said, with a look of disgust. “It was an elegant piece of work before your people started inserting auditory hallucinations and paranoia. My protocol already made him want to read. It made him want to eat right and go jogging all the time. But no, you’ve got to shove it down his throat every thirty seconds. You’re like a bunch of kids who don’t want to read the instruction manual on a new toy.”