Acts of Honor (37 page)

Sara sat down on the bench and leaned against the wooden table, not sure she was ready to jump into his explanations with both feet. “I talked to your mother, Jarrod.”

Hunger filled his eyes. “How is she?”

“Graceful, composed, genteel, and still mourning you.”

He lifted his chin, looked out over the water. “It couldn’t be avoided.”

Sara looked up at him. “Why?”

“The mission required it.”

Sara’s temper flared. She tamped it. “Look, it’s really hard to identify allies and enemies around here. I told you I needed your trust, and I needed to know you trust me. Do you trust me, Jarrod?”

He slid his hands inside the pockets of his slacks. “If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. You would have been caught accessing the computer and leaving Braxton.”

She believed him. “I trust you, too.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“So I want to know why you’ve pretended to be more seriously diminished than you obviously have been.”

“I wasn’t pretending.” He leaned a hip against the table near her, his thigh brushing against her shoulder. “I started improving when we painted the isolation room. I made drastic improvements when we started going outside. I’m not a hundred percent yet, but I’m almost there. I can’t explain this, Sara, but it felt as if the infusion of color negated whatever they had done to me.”

“It makes perfect sense. Sensory deprivation, combined with other therapies that fall into the psychological-warfare arena, produce
exactly
those results. As long as you remained sensory deprived—which you did in isolation until we painted—then you were psychologically controlled.”

Understanding flashed through his eyes. “But break the deprivation cycle, and you break the control.”

“Exactly.” Ants crawled in the dirt at her feet. Sara scooted up to sit on the table. “How big is the underground at Braxton?”

“Small. But effective. It hasn’t occurred to some of the employees that they’ll never leave.”

Sara filled Jarrod in on her deductions about IWPT, about the commonalities between him and the other patients, ending with, “Something out of line is happening at IWPT.”

Watching him sort through the information, she draped her hands over her bent knees. “I believe Colonel Foster pulled you from a lower-priority mission and sent you to IWPT undercover to investigate. I also think someone there realized you were a Shadow Watcher and sacrificed you. You were deliberately damaged.” Sara rubbed at her temple. “What I don’t understand is why you weren’t damaged more severely. Obviously they have the capability to destroy a human mind. Lou, David, and ADR-40 prove that. So why weren’t you destroyed? Why were you only impaired?”

“I don’t know,” Jarrod admitted. “I was sent in undercover as a trainee. Dr. Owlsley, IWPT’s director, profiled me. I remember that vividly. It was a lengthy interrogation. Very intense. The training began and was going fine. Typical survival-school-type stuff. Sleep deprivation, hours and hours of interrogation—nothing I haven’t experienced a thousand times before in training.” He pursed his lips. “I remember being put in a box. I think I spent a couple of days in it. It was cramped—too small to sit or stand and too short to stretch out. And there was this low-level percussion. It didn’t bother me at first. I imagined it as a heart beating. But the longer it went on, the more irritating it became. By the time I got out of there, it had me half-crazy.”

Too agitated to sit, he stood up and stepped away from the table. “When they let me out of the box, the light was blinding white. It hurt my eyes. I was disoriented and confused, but I remember being injected with something. I don’t know what.” Jarrod’s voice quivered. “The next thing I remember is waking up in the middle of a nightmare. I was being strapped into an electric chair.” He shook as if sloughing off the memories. “That’s all I remember about it. Except for—”

“What?” Sara asked.

He stared down at her. “A red pinpoint of light.”

Sara rested a hand on his thigh, grounding him there with her. “Where did the light come from?”

“I don’t want to think about this, Sara,” he said stiffly. “I can’t push. The rage will come.”

“No, it won’t. Not anymore.” She gave his thigh a reassuring squeeze. “You’re stronger now, and it’s weaker because you know what it is. That gives you the power to fight it. Your will, Jarrod. That’s your defense. Haven’t you stopped the rage from coming?”

“Yes.”

“How did you stop it?”

“Focusing elsewhere. On the Celtic music. On you.”

Sara smiled. “See? Your will proved stronger because you knew what you were facing and how to defend against it.”

“Okay.” Jarrod swiped a hand at the hair at his temples. Weak sunlight streaked through the clouds, cast his shadow on the ground. “But if I start to lose it, get in the car and lock the doors.”

“I will.”

He closed his eyes and thought back. “I was in a dark room. Like a warehouse. Strapped to the chair. There were armed guards and Dr. Owlsley. Some other man in uniform was there.”

“Did you know him?”

“He seemed familiar, but it was too dark. I couldn’t see him clearly.”

“So they strapped you to the chair.”

“Yes.” Jarrod let out a shuddery breath. “I sensed something was wrong, but ignored it. Then, I saw this machine. I didn’t know what it was, which is odd because I’m briefed on all our latest technology. When I noted structural deficiencies, I started worrying.”

“Structural deficiencies?”

“The building had exposed wires—it wasn’t an approved military structure. The Air Force only permits working in areas that are safety hazards in critical situations, and there was nothing to suggest Alert Condition Alpha much less Delta.”

“So this machine is where the red light originated.”

No answer.

“Jarrod?”

His chest heaved. He opened his eyes, stared down at Sara, fear and finality riddling his gaze. “It was a noninvasive laser, Sara. It triggered memories.”

Sara’s heart beat hard and fast. She’d read about this! “They stimulated memories that caused intense reactions. Aggressive reactions.”

“Yes.” Jarrod sat beside her, clasped their hands. “They hammered on memories of Miranda and her affair with Royce. Over and over, I relived walking in on the two of them.”

Sara chewed at her lower lip, getting a firm fix on this. “Jarrod, if you hadn’t already made peace with Miranda’s infidelity and her and Royce betraying you, how do you think that hammering and reliving the event would have affected you?”

Jarrod stiffened and stared straight into her eyes. “It would have driven me insane.”

“Like Lou and David?” Sara speculated. “Like ADR-40?”

“Maybe.” Jarrod dragged a hand through his hair, thumbed a slat on the tabletop with his nail. “Maybe not.”

“Except for David, they all had unfaithful spouses or significant others. They all had been betrayed.”

He stared out into the woods surrounding the little clearing. “This laser can trigger thoughts and manipulate them, Sara.” Jarrod grunted. “It sounds almost implausible.”

“It’s not only plausible, it’s happening. There are contracts between technological firms and the DoD right now, studying this exact technology. I read a recent report on noninvasive microwave laser technology, Jarrod. Scientists were effectively using the technology to manipulate attacks and counterattacks in exercises. The conditions were controlled, but the experiments were working.”

“So if they’re working, then why push people over the edge?”

“Probably attempting to perfect the technology. Testing its parameters. The experiment I read about had the exercise participants divided into two groups. Red and blue. Red was the enemy.”

Jarrod jerked. “I remember that. Red is the enemy. I heard it in the dark room.”

“Mobile field units of the blue team utilized the noninvasive laser technology on the red team. The goal wasn’t to kill them, of course, but to render them incapable of fighting. The stimulation planted thoughts of severe stomach cramps. The men fell to the ground on the field, writhing in pain.”

“So it worked.”

“Short-term. It could inflict the desired response, but it couldn’t sustain it.”

“Who headed that experiment?”

Sara swallowed hard. “Dr. Owlsley.”

“He’s pushing the parameters, Sara,” Jarrod said. “That, or something else is going on at IWPT. Something not covered by the DoD contract.” Agitated, Jarrod moved away from the table. “We have to find out what they’re doing.”

“I know.” Sara shuddered. “That’s why, as soon as it can be arranged, I’m going to IWPT.”

“Are you insane?” Jarrod strode over to her, grasped her shoulders and squeezed hard. “Sara, you can’t go there.”

She lifted her hands to cover his on her shoulders. “I’m not insane, I’m scared stiff. But we can’t stop them from out here. I have to go.”

He stared hard at her. “The soldier in me understands. The man in me doesn’t want you in danger. Sara, this is serious. You won’t come out the same as you go in. That’s a proven fact. Fontaine is involved, and he’s going
to do his damnedest to make sure you leave IWPT in worse condition than ADR-40.”

Just the thought terrified her. “I know the risks. Really, I do.” Trembling, she pressed her face against Jarrod’s chest. “But if I don’t get in there, then I can’t prove they’re doing anything wrong. They won’t stop, Jarrod. You know they won’t stop. Look at the timing on this. Gaps of months between David and Michael being damaged and sent to Braxton. More gaps between Michael and Ray. But now the pattern has changed, and the gaps have closed. It’s almost as if time has become urgent to them. Instead of months between transferees, it’s become weeks.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Jarrod swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He let his hand drift down her face and cup her chin. “But I don’t like it. I don’t want you at risk.”

“Jarrod,” she said just above a whisper. “We’re all at risk.”

His hands cupping her face shook. And because no words would convey all he was feeling, he kissed her hard, letting his emotions flow to her through touch.

And Sara kissed him back, burying the guilt, shoving it aside, wanting just this once to be totally free to love him.

“Sara.” He lifted his lips from hers and looked into her eyes. “You’re fired.”

Her arms circling his sides stilled. “What?”

“You’re fired.” He stared at her mouth, let his gaze drift to her eyes. “Let go of the guilt about breaching your professional ethics and make love with me, Sara. You’re not my doctor anymore.”

She wanted nothing more. “You can’t fire me. You need me, Jarrod.”

“Yes, honey.” He tightened his hold on her, brought her closer. “As much as I resent it, I do.”

He could replace her professionally but not personally. Sara’s heart melted. “I need you, too.”

They undressed and made love atop the picnic table, eagerly, urgently, and Sara swore she would never regret it.

Still hazy in the afterglow, she snuggled to his side and mentally drifted. He was definitely the one.

They talked quietly for a long time, then strolled along the sandy beach, hands linked, hearts and minds attuned. On the way back to the table, Sara sat down in the sand near the water’s edge. She felt content. Amazing, with all of the uncertainty ahead that she could feel that way, but for the moment, she did.

Jarrod sat down beside her and looked out over the water. He laced their fingers and braced their hands on his thigh. “I admire you for going to IWPT.”

His rough denim jeans didn’t feel nearly so good as his skin. “Don’t. I’m not driven by ideals, I’m driven by fear. Mind control in any form gives me the creeps, but this
 . . .
” Her voice trailed off, and she forced herself to reveal her deepest fear. “I’m afraid of what I’ll be like
 . . .
afterward.”

“You should be afraid.” He briefed her on details, leaving nothing he recalled out, fearful that anything he omitted would be exactly what Sara needed to survive. He talked and talked, randomly, generally, and then specifically. “Before you go in, it’s imperative that you deal with any outstanding emotional issues. Owlsley’s profile is thorough. He’ll find your Achilles’ heel and then exploit it with the laser. You’ll already be weakened, confused, and disoriented from the percussion therapy and sensory deprivation. You won’t be able to avoid it, Sara. You will come out of this scrambled. The difference is degree.”