“Do not ask questions. Do not speak to the guards unless spoken to, first. Otherwise you’ll be stunned again and then drugged for another week. We’ll repeat that punishment each time you disobey.” The guard walked off, his job done.
Mark decided to follow the simple rules, at least for the moment. He needed to find a way out of this strange prison. His energy and mental abilities had returned by the second week. There were no gaps as far as he could determine—except he did not know why he had been kidnapped. He was patient with the guards. Some still showed fear, while some tried to hide it. They rarely spoke except to give instructions, always abrupt, never with any friendliness.
Now, when he ate, Mark sat with the children; they also were prisoners, apparently unable to leave the dark gray walls of the building. Conversations were rare. It was not that he was ignored; rather, it was that they held him in awe for some unknown reason. Occasionally, he thought they were communicating nonverbally, with hand signs or body movements, or else their behavior patterns were so well ingrained, they required no words. When the children finished a meal, they would all stand at once and file out of the mess, youngest first. He had detected other activities that they performed in unrehearsed unison. When his fitness sessions coincided with any of the children, he noted that they ran or lifted weights or stretched or engaged in other exercises in groups, with a lack of conversation and a surprising degree of cohesive discipline.
One morning—it was the beginning of the third week, he guessed, since he had regained consciousness—the morning guard spoke to him as he finished his breakfast. “Today you start to earn your keep. You will help with training. Follow me.”
The guard headed off at a brisk walk. Mark paced him, without difficulty. The guard entered the training room and led Mark to a man who appeared to be a trainer.
“Midway,” said the guard. He turned and let the room. The trainer wore a different uniform and had sleeve badges that Mark had not previously seen. He looked Mark up and down.
“First, stand here and observe. Later, I will use you as a subject for demonstrations. If you prove adept, we can utilize you to support our training activities.” He turned and walked off.
Mark watched. The training levels, he decided, were mediocre. Schmidt’s course that he had taken last year with MayAnn had been far more advanced, far more rigorous. He recognized the focus here was on unarmed combat, in this session using judo defense forms and T’ai chi, and there was a small group practicing a basic T’ai chi sword form, using wooden swords.
The morning passed very slowly. He watched a group working on their own as they moved through a set of judo exercises. He stepped up alongside a duo, both older children, and gestured for permission to intrude. The closer young man nodded his consent. Mark then demonstrated the move, defending against an attacker attempting a rear choke, and showed the correct final stage where the attacker is placed in an armlock. Other pairs had stopped to watch, and now nodded and returned to their practice, correctly applying the te gatame hold. Mark thought there was a change of attitude, that the group and others nearby had sharply increased their level of interest in the training activities.
~~~
Mark raised his head, wide-awake, alert. It was, he estimated, midnight or just after. Someone was tapping softly on the door to his small room. He sat up and spun off the bed. He was fully clothed. He opened the door and peered out. One of the children, probably the oldest of the group, gestured to him and walked away, turning his head to check Mark was following.
Unquestioning and very intrigued, Mark followed. They headed down the corridor towards the dining room. When they reached the door, his companion pushed it open and waited for Mark to enter. All the children were there, waiting, watching, anxious. Mark stepped into the room, aware the door had been quietly closed behind him. His escort spoke.
“My name is Martin. I’m the eldest of our group. The guards run their computer backups at midnight every Saturday. The process takes their monitoring systems offline for two hours. It’s very inefficient. We have one hour and fifty-five minutes before the systems switch back on.”
Mark stared. It was the first words he had heard from the children.
Martin said, “Yes, I know. We don’t speak very much; our silence annoys the hell out of the guards and the trainers. We have other ways to communicate.”
“I thought as much. Sometimes I see very subtle signs from you all, hand signals, expressions, and other body language. I wondered if that was all.”
“It’s not all. We’ll explain later. We’ve heard about you—Mark Midway. The guards—they’re outsiders, employees of Cerberus, and they’re afraid of you. They know you’ve killed and that you’re a very aggressive fighter. That’s why they’re carrying stunners.”
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“No, of course not. You’re one of us. Or we’re one of you, I’m not sure which.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Knowledge. Training, real training. Perhaps leadership, if you will help us escape.” There was a ripple of agreement from the children surrounding Mark and Martin.
Mark looked around the room. The children were silent, focused intently on the discussion between him and Martin. He did not know where to start. Questions crowded into his mind, rushing to escape. “Are you sure? Are you getting any education? Do you study? Is this all of you?”
“Yes, we’re sure. We get some education. Not much. Not enough since they moved us. There are fifteen, here. There are more of us, though.”
Mark said, “There are other children?”
“Yes. There’s another fifteen—a group similar to us although younger—at one of the Genetics Center outbuildings, near the main laboratory. They mix the age groups so the older ones can care for the younger children. We were all together until about six weeks ago, when they moved us here.”
“You need to tell me more. Let’s sit, we’ll be more comfortable.” He moved towards the tables and the children followed.
“All right. Everyone can listen. Others may have input.” Martin said. “We’re part of Cerberus. We, the two groups of children, represent the Genetic Center’s current level of genetic engineering.”
“Are there others?”
“We know there are hundreds of embryos at our level that the laboratory technicians are planning to implant over the next three or four months. They’ve probably already commenced.”
“You mentioned at your level—are there others, at different levels?”
“The difficulty is where to begin. We don’t know it all; however, we’ve managed to discover far more than people realize. Cerberus began their genetic experiments years ago; we don’t know exactly when. Their objective is to develop super soldiers. Their early experiments involved a form of gene therapy in adults, replacing what they considered to be bad or inadequate DNA with so-called improved DNA. They use nanotechnology for these customizations. There are probably more than two thousand of these—we call them DNA-hacks. They then developed ways to customize DNA at the embryo level, using customized protein to replace targeted DNA strands. The process uses programmable RNA sequences and is extremely precise. As the scientists and doctors at the Genetics Center build up their knowledge and improve their techniques, they release another batch of embryos. Cerberus already has over a thousand soldiers bred from embryos, including us. The earlier ones are not as advanced, and some are flawed.”
It was taking time for the details to sink in. Mark asked, “What is Cerberus?”
“We thought you might know more than we do about Cerberus—their people kidnapped you from the FBI and then released you, earlier this year? Then they captured you again, three weeks ago in Boston, and brought you to this facility. ”
“Aah. No, I didn’t know the name. You’ve heard of LifeLong, and about my parents—their research?”
“Yes, we’ve all heard about you. We know some of the background details of LifeLong. As far as we know, C
erberus is doing the same type of research. ”
“That’s probably why they want me,” said Mark.
“Yes, we think so, too. They need to understand your accelerated growth process.”
“So you mature at a normal rate?”
“No, we mature faster than normal, but not at your double rate. Cerberus wants that technology.”
Mark asked, “So why did they move you out of the—what—Genetics Center?”
“There have been some problems within Cerberus recently. We think a schism is developing—some of the DNA-hacks are not following the party line. They seem to have lost focus. We were separated from the mainstream, probably to protect us.”
“The training here seems half-hearted, almost inept?”
“Yes, we agree. The trainers are employees and not very interested and not supervised. They don’t know what we are, or what we could be, if we were trained properly. Cerberus doctors and lab people don’t yet know how advanced we are, perhaps because we’ve been hiding our strengths.”
“Hiding? What made you do that?”
“We know they’re breeding us to use as soldiers. However, we don’t know what their objectives are—that’s what we want to discover. We’ve all got increasing concerns about Cerberus’s objectives. Their labs are very good at genetic manipulation; in our case their DNA customizations increased our intelligence. They didn’t realize they had unintentionally increased our independence and curiosity. We won’t blindly obey orders given by some organization bosses.” There was a sigh of consensus from the gathered children.
One of the other older children spoke up. “Mark, my name is Nelson. I think tomorrow we’ll start wearing name tags, to help you identify us. We’ve used an hour. Martin, Mark—what do you want to cover in the next hour?”
Mark said, “Three things. Where are we? Will you help me to get out of here? Finally, will you come with me?”
“This facility is in Washington, D.C.,” said Nelson. “It’s an old commercial building, rented by Cerberus.”
“We’ll help you get out,” affirmed Martin. “Now for the answer to your third question.” He turned to the other children, all avid listeners. “What do you say? Will we go with Mark?”
Their shouted reply, Mark thought, even shocked Martin with its intensity. There were no objectors.
“Excellent,” he said. “Does anyone have access to a cell phone?”
“They are forbidden,” commented Nelson. “We can—er—borrow one from a guard. I’ll arrange that, in the next day or so. You’ll need to use it before the guard realizes it’s missing.”
“What do you intend?” asked Martin. The children all leaned forward to hear Mark’s answer.
“I have a friend,” he replied, “who’s been searching for details of Cerberus. He has a property in upper New York State. It had been used as a hotel and he purchased it and set it up for training law enforcement officers. We probably can go there while we develop a longer term plan.”
Mark returned to his small room, just minutes before resumption of the security camera functions. He was deep in thought as he reflected on his conversation with the children. He needed to contact Schmidt as soon as possible to arrange for the training facility. Perhaps, Mark thought, he should not have sold the LifeLong complex; however, it would have required expansion to accommodate these children. There also was the property he had purchased in New Hampshire, but again it would not house so many children, even if some of them were very young. Plus another fifteen children to be rescued—no, he decided, New Hampshire was more his personal refuge, unsuitable for housing thirty children. He had to rely on Schmidt. He reflected on the task of escaping from the guards with these children and concluded that if he could enlist Schmidt and MayAnn, it would not be a major problem. The security night shift, which routinely started at 11 p.m., consisted of five guards during the week, and often dropped to three or four on weekends—the children were not regarded as a major risk, and the routine had not changed since his arrival.
The more Mark examined his intentions to rescue the children and to use Schmidt’s training property as a refuge, the more he was convinced he was doing the right thing. He was more worried, however, when he considered the other children. He had decided he would instigate their rescue and would need help from Schmidt or perhaps from Julian Kelly, to accommodate and care for them. Mark had subconsciously identified with the genetically customized children; their experiences were similar to his. They did not know their parents, they were at risk from whatever Cerberus intended, and they had no experience of normal family life. Even worse, Cerberus was increasing their numbers.
Mark tried to sleep and instead tossed and turned through the night. The next morning he barely reached the dining room on time for breakfast. He felt bleary-eyed and his brain was mired in spirals of concern for children he had not met, for DNA-modified children, designed to be super soldiers, at the whim of a corporation. He struggled to eat, finishing a half-hearted breakfast as the meal period ended. He watched the children leave. They seemed happier, confident. He hoped he could deliver on his promise.
***
Chapter 18
It was early morning, shortly after Maeve Donnelly had confirmed the identity of Major Dempsey, when Schmidt received two communications, each delivered by a private courier. One was expected—it was from Maeve, and contained a copy of the major’s military file. The second was a personal note signed by the President. Schmidt swore when he read the contents. He passed the note to MayAnn.
“Oh, look,’ she said, “he signed it with his first name.”
Schmidt swore again. “How can he expect me to operate properly if he is authorizing my recall?”
“I can see that would cramp your style,” MayAnn said, not entirely sympathetically. “Now you’ll have to operate within the same boundaries as the rest of us.”
“No way. This isn’t going to work.”
“General Schmidt—one star—a jump in rank, as well.”
“What? Let me see that.”
MayAnn passed the note back to Schmidt. He read it again, more thoroughly.
“I’ll be damned.”
“What is he planning?”
“I suspect he wants me to help recover the missing Alpha Company. I now rank the same as Jamieson.” He laughed. “That will upset some of his friends.” He thought for a moment. “It’ll upset some of my enemies, as well.”
The morning turned into mismanaged chaos as a more formal notification of Schmidt’s recall was delivered by the Army and other couriers delivered messages requesting his presence at briefing meetings.
Schmidt’s meeting with the President was one on one, private, just him and the President. He had been allocated ten minutes.
“Sir, I understand your motives, at least some of them. I must emphasize this changes how I operate. Sometimes there are advantages in working just outside the boundaries. My recall also introduces conflict of interest issues. Some of my business activities—”
“I had a discussion with Julian Kelly. I understand he is involved in most of your business investments? He’s undertaken to manage those; that is, if they’re likely to give rise to conflicts of interest. Maeve Donnelly will continue to manage your analysts and will support you without any change to their operations. I think they’re the key areas?”
“Yes, sir. My remaining question is—”
“For how long?” The President smiled. “As long as it takes. Archimedes, we need to resolve these Cerberus issues. I cannot have a group of so-called super soldiers running amok in the military, nor can I tolerate their penetration of our non-military law enforcement organizations. It is my—and your—absolute priority to resolve this. I’m also leaning towards approving the suggestion made by Jeremiah in our last meeting. If we can control Cerberus, I want someone to lead it, someone whom I can trust. You’re my candidate for that role. Now get out of here and sort out this mess for me.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll ne
ed a team to help—”
“Approved. Within reason. Try not to make more enemies when you steal resources.”
“Thank you. I’ll report once we sort out the 145th MP Battalion.”
Schmidt’s second meeting was with the Secretary for the Army and the Provost Marshal General, at the Pentagon.
“Welcome, Schmidt,” said the Secretary for the Army, Byron Perry, reaching out to shake hands. “I should add, congratulations, General Schmidt. You know General Cooper, I believe.”
“Yes, Byron, thank you,” replied Schmidt. “We’ve worked together.” He shook hands with the Provost Marshal General. “Harry,” he acknowledged.
“Good to see you, Schmidt,” said Cooper. Cooper was in uniform. “Old times, huh?”
“Worse, I think,” said Schmidt. “I’d like to introduce Special Agent Freewell. As you may know, she is the FBI Special Agent in Charge for the Cerberus investigation. I took the liberty of inviting her.”
“Welcome, Special Agent,” said Perry.
“Likewise,” agreed Cooper.
“Now tell me what this is all about,” said Schmidt.
Perry and Cooper exchanged looks. After a moment of silence, the Secretary of the Army took the lead. “We were briefed by SECDEF shortly after your presentation to the President last week. He was both impressed with your assessment and alarmed at the possible impacts across his jurisdiction. We, well, the President, decided to bring you into the Army at a rank that would give you the necessary level of authority. We’ve agreed—with some reluctance, I’ll admit—because the Cerberus activities are so widespread, that the FBI will take the primary role in arresting Jamieson, Buchanan, and anyone associated with their criminal activities. The Army will provide total support, whatever you both need. Schmidt, we must resolve this, as quickly as possible.”
Cooper added, “Agreed. This is critical, as you yourself have indicated. Schmidt, I understand Maeve Donnelly confirmed one of our senior investigators, Major Dempsey, is embedded with the 145th. We believe he is at risk, more so than we anticipated. We want to get him out, brief him and then have him take control of the unit.”
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