“A microscopic wire that is inserted directly into the targeted areas of the brain.” As there was an uneasy rustle in the room, Hammond quickly elaborated. “The wire is so small that you won’t even feel it go in, and when it’s removed there is no bleeding. Less than.008 millimeters in diameter. The fact that there have been so many breakthroughs in microtechnology in the last several years has been one of the reasons we’ve been able to develop the TACPAD.” She held up the helmet. “It’s so thin, you can’t even see the probe with the naked eye.”
She wrote again.
3 — TACPAD
Thermocouple
“The thermocouple does the opposite of the cryoprobe. It targets those areas we want to activate and emphasize. It raises the temperature of the designated area, which facilitates its functioning.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Barnes asked. “Wouldn’t that be like someone suffering heat exhaustion, where the body temperature goes too high? I’ve seen guys get their brains fried like that.”
Hammond shook her head. “No. It’s very controlled and specific. There is a low-grade electrical current running through the thermocouple that does slightly over half the emphasizing.”
“Hold on,” Dalton interrupted. “You just said that it’s not a good idea to up the voltage or amperage in the brain.”
“In an uncontrolled or nonspecific manner, yes. But here, we’re talking about less power than you would get from a double-A battery. It’s safe, I assure you,” Hammond said. “Doctors have been using this technique in brain research for years.”
“Do you use wires into the brain for that too?” Anderson asked.
“Yes. Again, so fine that you can’t see it or feel it.” She went back to the board.
4 — TACPAD
Cyberlink
“Not only has this technology been used by experimental psychologists, everything I’ve talked about up to now has also been used for the past couple of years in the Bright Gate program by our remote viewers. It is only in the past six months that we have developed the critical piece of technology that takes us one step beyond.
“The last component that makes the Psychic Warrior program possible is the cyberlink.” Hammond paused for a second in thought. “You’ve all seen or used simulators that act like the outside environment, such as pilots practice on?”
Everyone nodded.
“In a way, the cyberlink reverses the simulator process.” Hammond reached into the TACPAD and held up a black pad about two feet long by eight inches in width with numerous wires coming out of the back. “We can use our mainframe computer, code-named Sybyl, to help you locate where you are going on the virtual plane and also to orient you. More importantly, the computer gives you form— what we call an avatar— in hyperspace that you can project into real space.”
“Form?” Anderson asked.
“That is the key to being a Psychic Warrior,” Hammond said. “You have to be able to come out of hyperspace, or virtual reality, and into the real world. By using the precoded avatar formats that our programmers have developed with Sybyl, you will be able to stay oriented while in the virtual world and come out into the real.
“Sybyl is one of the most powerful computers in the world, perhaps the most powerful. She is able to calculate at a rate that was unheard of even six months ago. Because of that, she is capable of the vast number of concurrent calculations needed to give your virtual reality avatar enough substance so that you can project it into the real world. She also projects the power into the virtual plane that you reconfigure into mass when you want your avatar to materialize. The power she sends out is critical— that’s what allows us to make the transition from simply remote viewing into being able to project the avatar form in both the virtual and real planes.”
Hammond was now walking back and forth across the front of the classroom, her eyes gleaming. “But Sybyl does more than that. She is also your communications link back to our operations base here. You can also access the computer’s database for information as needed.” Hammond’s words were tumbling over each other as she raced to get them out. “It’s truly remarkable. You’ve never experienced anything like it. Through the link, you can get whatever knowledge you could ever possibly need. It’s like you are part of the computer.”
“As long as the computer has it in its database,” Dalton cautioned. “Correct?”
Hammond stared at him. “Sybyl has over— ” She paused.
“Suffice it to say Ican’t think of any information you would need that Sybyl doesn’t have somewhere in its memory and couldn’t access through the Internet.”
Raisor had been standing in the back of the class. “Time, Doctor,” he said.
Hammond nodded. “All right. You’ve seen the equipment that you will use in the isolation tank, and I’ve told you how it will help you. The other part of your classes here will consist of some refresher training on mind control techniques.” She pulled down another chart. “These are some of the techniques our experts will be reintroducing you to:”
• Biofeedback
• Attitude
• Visualization
• Relaxation
• Cognitive Task Enhancement
• Conscious Physiological Control Meditative States Death and Dying
• Mission Commitment
“Whoa,” Dalton said, reading down the list. “What the heck is death and dying? And mission commitment?”
Hammond held up her hands, palms out. “ ‘Going over’ is transcending to another level. Alevel most people never experience. In fact, the closest experience to ‘going over’ that I’ve heard of is those people who have near-death experiences. Who travel out-of-body while their physical self passes into what is often physical death. Some of our RVers experience an initial panic when they go on missions. The feeling that they may never return to their bodies, that they have indeed died.
“We have found the best way to deal with that is to train you on the emotional problem you will experience, to make you feel more comfortable with the theoretical concept of death and dying.”
“I don’t find death to be theoretical,” Dalton said. “I’ve seen it many times and it’s damn real.”
Hammond shook her head. “But it’s not real when you go to the virtual plane. There’s another aspect to it. We’re talking about the concept of virtual death also. That you might encounter some conflict on one of your missions and your virtual self is wounded or killed but your real self is still alive. We want you to be prepared for that so you can come back to your real self.”
“So,” Dalton said, “what you are in essence saying is that you want to teach us to accept the virtual death?”
“Correct.”
Dalton shook his head. “I don’t like that. To me that means you want us to give up. To surrender our will. There’s a big difference between accepting a situation and surrendering one’s will.”
Hammond sighed. “It is what we think will be best.”
“Has anyone ever been ‘killed’ in cyberspace?” Dalton asked.
“We haven’t had that occurrence.” Hammond’s eyes shifted once more to Raisor.
Dalton caught that look. He also noted that the CIA agent was no longer leaning against the wall. “So this, like the other stuff you’re talking about,” Dalton said, “is still theoretical. For all you know, if someone’s cyberself their psyche, gets killed, they are dead.”
“Well, that’s theoretically possible,” Hammond said, “but the body will still be alive. The structure of the brain will still be intact. So there’s no reason to believe the self can’t be restored.”
Dalton shook his head. “But if you turned that thinking around, wouldn’t that be like saying if you programmed everything a person knew into a computer, that computer would be alive? Would be that person?”
“I think if you were truly able to do such a program,” Hammond said, “that the computer would indeed be alive. But no one’s been able to accomplish that ye
t, so your argument holds no weight. As you noted, the situation is exactly the opposite here— your real self remains here at Bright Gate, while the projected self, with the aid of the computer, will be out there on the mission.”
“Enough theorizing,” Raisor snapped. “We have a very tight schedule, Dr. Hammond. We should get started.”
She nodded. “The first thing we need to do is fit all of you for your TACPADs.”
Oma had dismissed Barsk, letting him rest after his journey from Kiev. She turned to the window and looked out on Moscow, a city she could rightly call hers. She knew if she so desired, she could wipe out the other six clans that also worked the city. But there was no point to that. Because the effort required would not be worth the reward gained. It would be like a jackal fighting the others over an already eaten carcass. Oma had no trouble seeing herself as a jackal. She believed that self-awareness was the trait that had led her to her current level of success. One always had to be aware of one’s capabilities and limitations, or else any other kind of awareness was worthless. She knew she could not judge others unless she was very certain where her own perspective was coming from.
In the midst of her musings, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingle and she turned, recognizing the feeling. A shadow flickered in the corner of her office. She waited as the shadow took on the form of a large creature— Chyort.
“Yes?” she said.
“Very careless to have a GRU turncoat be your grandson’s bodyguard.”
The voice echoed in her head, the rough edge giving it an inhuman quality.
“Really?” Oma said. There was a rumbling sound that she supposed was the creature’s laughter. It caused even her hardened stomach to feel queasy.
“Ah, so maybe it was not such a mistake? Wheels within wheels perhaps?”
“What I do with my personnel is none of your business,” Oma said.
“It is if it threatens this operation.”
“I felt confident you could deal with it if there was a problem,” Oma said. “And you did. So shall we move on?” There was a pause. She felt the red eyes burning into her.
“So perhaps you are bluffing. Maybe you didn’t know about Dmitri. Maybe I am working with the wrong people.”
“You’re working with me,” Oma said, “because I am the most powerful and because you know that we can achieve our goals together.”
“Remember, old hag, that my goals are the only ones I care about.”
“I assumed that long ago,” Oma replied. “My main concern is who else you are working for. Who made you what you are? The KGB? The GRU?”
“Perhaps I am from the devil.”
Oma shook her head. “I know there is no God and I need no Satan to accept the evil that men do. I saw enough horror in the Great Patriotic War to convince me of both of those things. When I saw what the Nazis did to my sons, my village, I knew that man could make greater evil than anything written in the Bible. Men made you, of that I am sure.”
The shadow seemed to grow behind the monster. “Keep in mind that I know what you fear. Everyone has something that controls them. A chain in their own mind that if someone takes, they can make you do what they will. I know what controls you inside your own head.”
Oma stared at him. “If you knew such a thing, I think we would be talking differently.”
The creature moved, shadows shifting in the corner. Oma had never really been sure of the form other than it had two arms and two legs. Occasionally she thought she could make out claws at the end of the huge hands, and a ridged spine on the back flaring into two large, leathery wings, but it was like trying to watch the water come in with a wave, always changing a little bit, nothing of permanence.
“The Americans are aware that there is a plot.”
She clenched her steel teeth together. “Was there a leak from my organization?”
“If there was, I would not be here right now,” Chyort said. “They found out from the same source that led to them stopping the beryllium shipment in Vilnius last year. The Americans put a very high priority on maintaining an eye on nuclear material. They do not trust our government— should we be surprised by that? They know how incompetent those fools truly are.”
“Do the Americans know of Phase Two?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
Oma considered the way that answer had been phrased. “I will move up the timetable.”
“That would be prudent.”
She stared at the demon. “Was Dmitri really working for the GRU? I suspected, but I had no proof.”
“Is proof necessary? But, yes, he was turned by the GRU. Your grandson needed a lesson, one that the death of Seogky was not enough for. Also, it reduces his power, does it not? Which keeps your hand strong, does it not?”
“This is my organization,” Oma said, surprised at the demon’s insight. “I have run it for over forty years. I do not need your help.”
“I care nothing for your organization. Only that you keep it together long enough for me to accomplish my goal. The target will be at the location I gave you at 0800 local time two days from now.”
“Two days? You told me it would be seven!”
Chyort moved again. Oma swore she could hear the click of claws on the hardwood floor. A scaly hand with three-inch claws came into the light and picked up a Faberge egg that rested on the desk. She could see the egg through the claw. It took all her willpower to not move her chair back.
“The GRU is not as stupid as you would like to think,” Chyort said. “They have moved up the timetable while keeping a train on the original schedule as a decoy. They hope to move the bombs before anyone can plan anything. I suggest you call that big Navy ape of yours.”
“I can handle it.”
“You have the papers on the weapon’s location?”
“Yes.”
“And the computer program to run the weapon?”
“Yes.”
The egg dropped back into its holder. The room seemed to expand again to normal size as the shadow disappeared. Oma’s anger at being told what to do had never even had a chance to get started. She was simply grateful the demon was gone.
Oma sat still for several moments, reflecting on the conversation. It was something her husband had taught her how to do many years ago. To always go over every encounter or conversation immediately, to sift through and find the hidden meanings, the things said that had not been meant to be said. And what had not been said.
She didn’t know who the creature was. For all she knew, he was Chyort, the devil, but as she’d told him, she didn’t believe in such things. The first time he had appeared in her office, three months ago, it had taken all her considerable willpower to control her fear. Chyort was the name he had given himself or someone had given him. She had had some of her people make inquiries, and they had learned of a myth in the army, a myth about a creature with such a name that dated back to the war in Afghanistan. But there was nothing more than those vague rumors. She had them checking further, trying to uncover the truth behind the myth.
The only thing she held on to was that Chyort wanted something. And he needed her help to achieve his goal. That told her his power was limited. She had long ago learned that every relationship, whether it be personal or business, was a rope that pulled both ways. So far, Chyort had done all the pulling, but in doing so he had firmly handed her the other end of the rope. Oma smiled. She would wait and pull when it was most opportune for her own goals.
She didn’t know exactly what Chyort’s objective was, but each encounter they had she learned something more. Another thing he had said today that she found curious was the comment about the “Navy ape.” That meant he knew about Leksi, which was not surprising— everyone knew Leksi worked for her; what was more interesting was the way he had said it. She had picked up a note of derision. She considered that. Afghanistan and dislike of the Navy. That pointed to an army man, someone who was in an elite unit and thus able to sneer at Leksi’s naval com
mando background. That meant Spetsnatz, the Russian version of the American Special Forces. Oma marked that mentally for further investigation.
She hit a number on her phone and it automatically summoned who she needed. Then she leaned back in the comfort of her chair, feeling the ache in her spine as she continued to consider what she had learned in this latest encounter. She was still pondering that when a green light flashed on the edge of her desk. She pushed a button and the wood-paneled steel door slid open.
The man who walked in drew attention wherever he went. He was just shy of seven feet tall, and his head was completely shaved, revealing a jagged scar running from the crown down the left side, disappearing inside the black turtleneck he wore. He was not only tall, he was wide, his broad chest and thick arms indicating extreme strength. He walked to the front of her desk and halted, waiting, his manner indicating his military training.
“We must move up our timetable,” Oma said.
Leksi waited.
Oma’s left hand moved, writing the information Chyort had given her onto a piece of paper. She slid it across the desk. One of Leksi’s massive hands reached down and carefully picked it up. He peered at the Cyrillic writing, read it a second time, then handed it back to her. She tossed it in an opening on the left side of her desk and there was a flash, destroying the paper.
“I know it is not much time, but the window of opportunity grows tighter. You must accompany Barsk on Phase Two first. Then you must immediately return and complete Phase One.”
Leksi still had not said a word, a trait that Oma valued. He was a former naval commando, an expert in weapons and martial arts. But more importantly, he would do whatever she asked, without the slightest hesitation. He was not particularly imaginative but he was thorough. She had already gone over the plan for this operation with him several times and felt secure that he would follow it through to the letter. Today’s news only changed the timetable and the order of events, not the mode of execution.
She held out the papers. “This is the location you must go to for Phase Two.”
He took the papers.
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