The Cain Conspiracy

by Mike Ryan

  “I don’t suppose I can say no,” the Colonel noted.

  “You could. Wouldn’t do you any good though.”

  “I thought not.”

  “I expect your cooperation with anything my men needs.”

  “They’ll get it.”

  “I’ll be back in a few days.”

  Sanders left instructions with the officers he was leaving behind to stay by the soldier’s bed until he was awake. They left the hospital to go back to New York for a couple days, eager for the soldier’s awakening. On the flight back, Sanders worked out some of the details for the inclusion of a new recruit to the organization.

  Once back in New York, Sanders asked his secretary to get Michelle Lawson on the phone for him. Lawson was one of the organization’s top handlers. She had previously worked with the FBI as a data information specialist. She quickly gained a reputation for being extremely smart and acquiring mounds of information almost instantly. That was one of the principal reasons why Sanders wanted her in his employment. Lawson has been able to garner the trust of every agent she ever worked with for being able to get anything they need and help them out of tough predicaments when necessary. Though she didn’t have movie star looks, more of the pretty girl next door, she was an attractive woman that never used her looks to her advantage. She was on the smaller side, about 5’3” and thin, with short, dirty blonde hair. Within minutes Lawson was on the line.

  “Shelly, how are you?” Sanders asked.

  “I’m good, sir. Your secretary sounded like she was in a hurry so I figured something important was going on.”

  “It is. We may have a new recruit in a few days.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I’m still working out the logistics of everything but I was thinking of adding him to your team. Are you able to handle one more? How many agents are you handling right now?”

  “Right now I have seven agents. One more shouldn’t be a problem,” she said.

  “Fantastic. Where are you right now?”

  “I’m in Madrid. I was going over a mission with Agent Samson.”

  “How soon can you wrap things up there? When can you get back to New York?” Sanders wondered.

  “I can wrap everything up here tomorrow and be there the day after.”

  “That’s fine. I would like you to be here when we introduce him to everything and get you acquainted.”

  “I look forward to it, sir.”

  “Great. I’ll see you in a few days then.”

  “One more thing, what’s his name?”

  “I guess that might be useful, huh? His name…is Matthew Cain.”

  Two days later Sanders got the call from one of his liaison officers in Israel to update the fallen soldier’s condition. The doctors were no longer giving him anesthesia and expected him to be alert the next day. Sanders immediately booked a flight for his private jet to leave for Ben Gurion International Airport near Tel Aviv near midnight so he’d arrive the following morning. Once he and his staff landed they promptly made their way to the hospital. They were greeted by his officers once they reached the hospital and went to Cain’s bed.

  “Has he been awake yet?”

  “Not yet, sir, but they expect him to be pretty soon,” an officer responded.

  “OK. Except for Shelly, the rest of you clear out of here,” Sanders told the bunch. “I don’t wanna smother him with people the moment he wakes up.”

  Sanders and Lawson grabbed a couple of chairs and waited near the bed, pulling out their iPad’s to do some work while they marked time. They wouldn’t have to wait long as the soldier woke up about an hour later. The government officials stayed out of the way as the doctors checked on him and made sure there were no complications. They were eager to finally talk to him and see what the effects of the surgery was. As the doctors were finishing up Sanders stood at the end of the bed. He nodded at Lawson to follow the doctors out to speak with them.

  “How you feeling, soldier?” Sanders asked.

  “Other than feeling like someone’s using a sledgehammer on my head, I guess OK.”

  “Remember anything about what happened?”

  The soldier lifted his head, slightly sitting up, and gazed down at the floor. A terrifying realization came over him as his mind was a complete blank. Sanders could tell by the concerned look that swept over his face that he was having trouble coming up with anything. The soldier ran his hand over his head, letting his fingers feel the stitches that permeated his skull.

  “What’s your name?” Sanders asked.

  The soldier opened his mouth as if he was about to spit it out, but closed it a moment later, shaking his head in disgust.

  “How long do I have to be in here?” the soldier wondered.

  “Doctors say a couple weeks, depending on how you do with everything,” Sanders replied.

  “You’re not a doctor?”

  “Don’t really have the uniform for it,” Sanders said, looking down at his black suit.

  “Who are you?”

  “Director Ed Sanders.”

  “Director of what?”

  “Well, we’ll get into that another time. The most important thing right now is you.”

  “I can’t remember anything,” the soldier said, frustration clearly evident in his voice.

  “That might be the least of your worries. They’ll be coming in here soon to test your other faculties.”

  Sanders started walking away toward Lawson, then stopped to look back at the soldier.

  “By the way, your name is Thomas Nelson. You were a member of Delta Force on a special mission when you were shot in the head.”

  The doctors came back in and started talking to Nelson in more detail. Sanders took Lawson aside to make sure her words with the doctors were productive.

  “Are they going to cooperate?” Sanders asked.

  “They were a little hesitant at first, but I convinced them it was the best move they could make in the interest of national security. They’ll be no problems,” she replied.

  “Excellent,” Sanders said as his phone rang. “Stay in there with them to make sure there are no hiccups.”

  Sanders took his conversation outside to avoid any prying ears. Lawson went back to Nelson as the doctors were checking him out.

  “How’s he looking?” Lawson asked.

  “Vitals are looking good,” a doctor noted. “Just saw the MRI results. There’s no bleeding, clots, or swelling. Some minor tissue damage but, all in all, everything’s looking fantastic.”

  “That’s great.”

  The doctor left the room and Nelson laid still, staring up at the ceiling, wondering when he was going to start remember things.

  “I take it you’re not a doctor either?” Nelson asked, not bothering to look at his visitor.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You with the other guy?”

  “If you’re referring to Director Sanders, then yes, I am,” she replied.

  “What do you’s want?”

  “In a few minutes a specialist is going to come in here and give you a series of tests.”

  “What kind?”

  “Just to see what kind of additional rehab, if any, you’re going to need. I’ve already heard about your memory. We’re going to need to see if you’re having any other difficulties with your vision, motor skills, things like that.”

  “If you’re not a doctor, then why are you here?” Nelson wondered.

  “We work for the government in a top secret capacity. I can’t tell you more than that at the moment. What I can tell you is that we’re interested in you working for us when you get out of here.”

  “Why would you want someone who’s been shot in the head and can’t even remember his name?”

  “We’ve had our eye on you for a while. As long as the doctors think you’re gonna make a full recovery, there’s no reason for you not to work for us. As far as your memory, in our line of work, sometimes it’s better that way.”

&n
bsp; “What kind of work is that?”

  “Let’s get you healthy before we discuss that.”

  The specialist came into the room and Lawson disappeared from sight. The specialist was a doctor that worked for the organization that flew in with Sanders and Lawson, so they trusted that Nelson could be left alone with him.

  Lawson caught up to Sanders outside the hospital as he was finishing up his phone call.

  “What’s the word?” Lawson asked.

  “As soon as he’s ready to be moved…he’s ours,” he proudly responded. “The death certificate is being prepared as we speak. So you need to get to work right away on preparing the necessary documents and making the notifications.”

  “I’ll get on it.”

  “I want everything ready to go by the time he’s able to leave here.”

  “What if he’s not interested in joining?” she wondered.

  “What other options does a soldier with a particular set of skills and no memory have? He’ll play ball.”

  After a couple hours of testing the specialist emerged from Nelson’s room.

  “What’s the word, Doc?” Sanders asked.

  “Well, it’s one of the most unusual cases I’ve ever seen.”

  “In what way?”

  “He seems to be fine in every aspect. Now, I’ve heard of cases where people shot in the head resume their normal lives immediately, so it’s not unprecedented, but it is rare.”

  “So there’s no after effects?”

  “Well I didn’t say that,” the doctor continued. “I asked about his past and he couldn’t tell me a thing about it. As far as his motor skills, vision, speech, everything like that seems to check out OK.”

  “Did you administer the Epideptriol?”

  “I did.”

  “Give you any problems?”

  “Nope. Not a bit. Told him it would help stimulate the tissues in his brain and maybe jog his memory.”

  “Great. Thanks, Doc.”

  “What’s the Epideptriol?” Lawson asked.

  “It’s an experimental drug. It’s designed to attack the part of the brain that controls your memory and kill the tissue,” Sanders explained.

  “He’ll never regain his memory, will he?”

  “Not if we can help it. It’s in his best interest that he doesn’t.”

  “Why? Why wouldn’t you want him to get his memory back?”

  “Without going into too many details there are things in his past that would be better for him if he doesn’t remember.”

  “I see.”

  “So you must not ever tell him, even if he asks. That’s a direct order,” Sanders told her.

  “How often will the drug be administered?”

  “Once a week to start with when possible. Hopefully down the road we won‘t need it as much, if at all.”

  Sanders noticed a solemn expression on Lawson’s face.

  “Don’t go getting soft on me now,” Sanders said.

  “It just seems a shame for a person to go through life without remembering a thing about your past, who you are.”

  “Maybe it is. But it’s what helps keep us in business,” Sanders continued. “Let’s get back in there and see what he has to say.”

  It was hard for the government officials to not see the dejection on Nelson’s face as they approached his bed. They pulled up a couple of chairs and sat by his side. Nelson was fiddling with his fingernails, trying hard not to look at his visitors. It was embarrassing to not remember a thing about who he was. Sanders and Lawson quietly waited for the fallen soldier to acknowledge their presence. They could see how tough it was for him and didn’t want to press him needlessly. A grimace rolled over Nelson’s face as he stared down at the covers on his bed. He finally looked up at the pair sitting next to him, water filling up his eyes as he struggled to contain his emotions.

  “I’ve been trying to remember anything…a name, a face, just something that might trigger the rest of my memory,” Nelson began, wiping his eyes. “But I just can’t.”

  “Sometimes it just takes time for a person’s memory to come back to them,” Lawson explained. “Even the simplest thing could bring it back. It could happen right out of the blue.”

  “She’s right,” Sanders jumped in. “The key thing to remember is you don’t have to fight this battle alone. We’re here to help you. We can help get your life back together.”

  “Why? What’s in it for you?” Nelson asked.

  “The chance to add an experienced soldier to our staff. There’s no question in our minds that your fighting skills could be a great weapon in our arsenal. We think you’d be a valuable piece of our organization,” Sanders told him.

  “What part of the government are you with?”

  “Well, that’s something we really can’t divulge to anyone who’s not actively involved with us.”

  “What if I say no?”

  “You’re within your right to do so, though we don’t see any valid reason why you would want to.”

  “Maybe I just wanna go home and be with my family.”

  “Home? Where is that? Can you tell us?” Sanders asked with a sarcastic edge.

  Nelson looked away from the pair, angry that he couldn’t answer the question.

  “I’m sure my family could help get me through it,” Nelson said.

  “I’m sure they could if you had any,” Sanders replied.

  “What?”

  “Your family could help you if you had any,” Sanders repeated, looking at Lawson. “Unfortunately, you don’t have any.”

  “I don’t have any family?” Nelson dejectedly responded.

  “See for yourself,” Sanders said, handing Nelson his file. “From Seattle, Washington, you were the only child born to your parents who died in a car accident two weeks after you graduated high school. It was their deaths that led you to join the military. Alone and nowhere else to go, ten years ago you enlisted.”

  “No aunts or uncles?”

  “One aunt who died from cancer when you were a child, and one uncle, who became a drunk and a petty thief who moved out to California never to be heard from again.”

  Nelson eagerly read the file, his eyes not moving fast enough for his brain to process the information contained in it. He reread the same passages over and over again, hoping some of it would change by the next time he read it. Sanders and Lawson gave Nelson all the time he needed to read and digest the file, watching his facial expressions as he ate it up. They knew it was something he needed to see to be able to move on with his situation. After half an hour of trying to unfold everything in his mind he finally put the folder down. He looked as confused and aggravated as before.

  “Nothing seems familiar,” Nelson stated. “Everything is as blank as it was.”

  “It’s something to start with,” Lawson responded.

  “About our job offer,” Sanders said. “What do you say?”

  “You haven’t told me anything about it yet. For all I know I’d be tending sheep.”

  “Not likely. Slaughtering them maybe.”

  “I’m not agreeing to anything until you tell me specifics,” Nelson said. “You say everything’s top secret? I understand that means you avoid saying too much. But unless you get specific I’m not doing anything.”

  Sanders looked at Lawson, wondering how much he should tell. She nodded as if to spur him on. Within a minute he started to explain the details of the job offer.

  “Without giving away our cover, we work for an ultra secret agency that targets people who are a threat to the United States,” Sanders said.

  “You mean terrorists.”

  “Not necessarily. Could be terrorists, world leaders, dictators, people in position of power, rebels, perpetrators of major crime, criminal organizations, or anyone that poses a threat or could do so in the near future. It casts a wide net. We‘re not pigeonholed into any one area. If we believe you‘re a threat to the United States, either financially, politically, or physically, then we
‘re coming after you.”

  “And you neutralize the threat?” Nelson asked.

  “We eliminate the threat,” Sanders succinctly replied.

  “You’re a kill squad?”

  “That’s a very narrow way of looking at it, Mr. Nelson. We’re not just a kill squad as you put it. Much like the CIA, we assemble mountains of information that may prove valuable to protecting our country.”

  “You’re basically a black ops organization?”

  “If that helps you to understand in it’s most basic form…yes.”

  Sanders could see Nelson was thinking about the offer but didn’t appear to be fully convinced yet.

  “We do not pay people to kill. I can get anybody to do that. I can train a monkey to do that if I wanted to. Any target that’s eliminated must be done in a way that completely exonerates the United States. The government does not officially condone or approve of these actions and cannot be implicated in any manner. If it’s discovered we’re behind some of these missions it’d be one of the worst scandals in this country’s history. Even bigger than Watergate.”

  “Watergate? What’s that?” Nelson asked.

  “Google it sometime. To get back on point, you don’t get paid to kill. You get paid to be invisible. You get paid to scope out a target, infiltrate that target’s territory, eliminate said target, do it without your presence being noticed or compromised, and without any involvement suspected of the United States. To take it even further, your life as it stands right now will be gone. You cannot be arrested, put in jail, appear in traffic court, criminal court, divorce court, or any court. Your picture cannot appear in any newspaper. Your name won’t return any information in a computer, and your fingerprint won’t come up in any database. To put it bluntly, you…do not exist.”