Guinea Pig (26 page)

Chapter Thirty.

Junior analyst Ian Watkins sat at his desk in the computer services building, slowly growing more confused. He knew something was wrong as he studied the feeds from the Adamson Clinic, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

Maybe it was that there was a certain monotony to them. But then it had been much the same ever since he had started watching them. Day after day the patient lay on his cot, chained to it with stupid plastic chains, and the scientists and medical staff went about their business. The only time it had varied in the previous weeks was when that one mad scientist had started drilling holes in the patient four or five days before, while half a dozen soldiers had kept guard over the others. That had been a sickening thing to watch, even when he could see that the patient wasn't really human. But whatever he was the patient had known pain. And even through the silent images being broadcast to his monitors Ian had seen the rictus of agony all over his face. He was glad he hadn't been able to hear the screaming.

Now though he knew that the action had been sanctioned, and that was even more sickening. That the people he worked for could be a part of such a thing was beyond appalling. But he knew they were. The moment he'd alerted his bosses to what was happening they had ordered him not to say anything. In fact they had threatened him with prison if he so much as mentioned it to anyone else. Even while the atrocity was still happening. And later all the records of that half hour or so had vanished from the system. That could only mean that the sick doctor had had help from someone high up. From someone at a guess with a few stars on his shoulder.

After that Ian had kept his head down, done as he was ordered and tried to put those terrible images out of his mind. And he hadn't mentioned the matter ever again. After all if people that high up wanted that to happen, he could not stand against them. If he was lucky he would be re-posted to somewhere on the Arctic Circle to study penguins or report the weather. If he wasn't it could be much worse.

Don't make waves, keep your head down and do your job. That was what was expected of him, and even though what he had seen had been both sickening and criminal, it was what he intended to do. Besides, it wasn't as if there was any evidence left. Not any more. There was nothing he could have brought to the authorities or the press. So there was nothing he could do anyway.

But now there was something new, and while he didn't quite know what was wrong, he knew it was his duty to report it. After he'd worked out what it was. But all he really knew was that everything looked exactly the same as it had before.

Still, he had the tools to investigate and so after having spent a good twenty minutes sitting there growing more and more confused he decided to use some of them. His supervisor might be annoyed with him for doing it instead of watching the feed, but it had to be done.

He began by bringing up the metadata about the feed. Most domestic cameras had only some basic metadata that was recorded with whatever else they shot. Things like time and date, and sometimes the make and model of the unit. But these cameras were military spec, and the metadata they contained was extensive. There was everything from the magnification and focal range as the cameras followed the subjects, to the particular filtering programmes they were using to compensate for the various ambient light conditions in the hospital. If necessary he could reproduce the images they took exactly as they took them.

Ian's first thought was that everything looked exactly the same as it always did. The cameras were working perfectly. System checks showed no problems. There was no corruption in the data being sent – which would have been the first sign of any tampering. That was always the main worry with any military surveillance. The time stamp was correct as well to within a couple of seconds of the time displayed on the clock on the wall in front of him, exactly as it should be.

So maybe he was imagining it.

And then he noticed the date stamp. At that moment Ian's heart almost stopped beating as he realised the feed he was looking at was exactly twenty four hours old. That was why the time stamp was perfect. Something was happening in the hospital, and his immediate thought was that it was some sort of attack. But it wasn't. He knew that a moment later as he remembered that when the doctor had so brutally attacked the patient there had not been the slightest attempt to hide his actions from the cameras. There was no need since the same people who had signed off on the attack controlled the cameras. They simply didn't care. When the time came the records would be destroyed. There would be no evidence.

And it couldn't be an outside hacker. The system was secure. After all, even if someone else had managed to gain access to the encrypted data stream, there was nothing they could do. Even if someone did gain external access, while they might be able to copy it, they couldn't intercept it, unencrypt it, change it and then retransmit it – not in real time.

Which could only mean that this was coming from inside the hospital. It had to be the doctors and the priests doing this. Ian had no proof but he was certain of it. And that left him in a mess. His duty was to report this immediately. He was an analyst for the military not a civilian. But at the same time he had seen what his own people had done only a few days before. He had seen first-hand the sheer savagery and cold blooded viciousness of the people he worked for. And for day after day he had watched the suffering they had caused unfolding. It was written in the faces of the people he observed. He did not want to add to their misery.

“What are you doing Watkins?!”

His supervisor, a ferret like man of middling years suddenly shouted the question at him from a few feet behind him, and Ian jumped in his seat. He was getting tired of that. But his supervisor liked creeping around and doing that to “his people” as he called them. He claimed it kept them on their toes. But really it was all about power in Ian's view. He had it and he liked to flaunt it like any bully.

“Nothing Sir.”

The man liked being called Sir Ian knew. Even though he held no rank. It made him feel important. “There's something disturbing me about the feed and I can't quite figure out what. So I was just checking the data.”

And just like that Ian knew his decision had been made. He wasn't going to report it. He didn't have to. It might be his duty, but in the end there were limits to what he could be expected to do. And in any case it didn't matter. He could only report what he knew, and at this stage he didn't know anything. At least not as far as his bosses could tell. Not until they developed a mind reading machine.

“And did you find anything?”

His supervisor was already starting to dress him down, satisfied that he wouldn't have, and that he had breached protocol by even doing what he had.

“No Sir. Not yet.”

“And why would you? This is a state of the art system. The security protocols are all tight. And nothing can go wrong with it. The only thing that can go wrong with it is you! When instead of watching the prisoner as you should be you start playing with the computer.”

“Tell me, are you bored with your work here? Do you want to find another job?”

There it was, the sarcasm and the not so well veiled threat that Ian had expected. And it wasn't just a threat he knew. The man would fire him and happily. He loved having that sort of power over others. Fortunately Ian knew how to placate him.

“No Sir.”

He kept his eyes downcast and his voice low as he caved in to his threat. It was primitive and pathetic, almost high school level submissiveness, and Ian hated doing it. But it usually worked. And this time he was sure it would too. The supervisor would accept his submission as proof of his superiority and power and then all but preen himself as he gloated over his victory for the next hour or so. But that was okay.

“Well then perhaps you should get back to your work and stop wasting everybody's time!”

“Yes Sir.”

“And don't think this will be forgotten. There will be a mention made in your file and you may be put on report.”

The man started in with his usual barrage of threats while Ian turned off the metadata in front of him and switched back to watching the feeds. He wasn't actually bothered by the threats – he was used to them. And for the moment he was actually quite pleased with himself, for two reasons.

The first was of course that his supervisor was about to get his own roasting in due course when the breach was discovered. And it would be discovered – soon. The priests and the doctors had maybe another half hour or so at best before someone else did the same checks and found the same problem. And then it would be fun to watch the payback. In fact Ian wondered if the man would suffer all the terrible fates he had threatened him with. He could but hope.

But there was another reason to feel good. He didn't know what the subjects in the hospital were up to, or why they'd done this. But at least he wasn't going to be a part of the machine that crushed them. That tortured people. He had let them have a little more time. A tiny bit more hope. As little as it was this was his rebellion.

And no one would ever know that he had done anything at all.

Chapter Thirty One.

It was peaceful in the morning sun, and most of the men were doing little. Just as they had been doing for the past eight or nine days. Guard duty was monotonous by its very nature. It only got exciting when things went wrong. Thus far as they'd kept watch around the derelict hospital nothing had gone wrong. And given the nature of the prison they guarded, nothing could go wrong. But the peace was shattered by the sound of the alarm and the voice of their captain over the loudspeaker ordering them to gear up.

As the soldiers heard the alarm sound they panicked. All of them were nervous. They knew only a little of what was happening inside the hospital, less since this disease had broken out, but what they did know was that it was dangerous. And they knew their orders. What lay inside the broken hospital chained to a table could not leave it. Ever. So disease or no disease they would have to go in and sort things out, and pray that their masks were sufficient to protect them from whatever germs were inside.

So while the heavy artillery readied themselves in case of an escape attempt, the soldiers formed up into their squads and waited for the order to storm the ruined hospital. To find out why the alarm had sounded. And then to stop whatever was happening that had set it off.

The first squad, a team of thirty heavily armed and highly trained soldiers, geared up and prepared for action. It was overkill of course. Normally a team would be six or eight men and they wouldn't be carrying the weapons they were. But everyone was nervous and the orders to form up had been given.

The attack was to come from the front car park. Since the back of the building was damaged it was the only way in without crawling through piles of rubble or digging. So the men lined up and checked their weapons as they waited for the order to be given. High explosive bullets, grenade launchers, heavy calibre machine guns and so forth. Whatever they hit would not be getting up again. It would be in pieces.

And once they were ready they stood there waiting for the captain to join them and give the order. But he was still on the sat-phone with their bosses elsewhere, being given the details of whatever had happened.

Suddenly an old woman appeared in front of them. Stepping out of the front door of the hospital's huge glass atrium, wearing a summer dress as if she was there to enjoy a walk in the park, and smiling as if nothing was wrong. For a moment everyone was shocked, wondering who she was and where she'd come from. Wondering what to do. After all you didn't kill harmless old ladies with long white hair. The soldiers stared at her and each other, and then they looked to the captain who was also standing there staring, waiting for some sort of order. But the white haired woman didn't wait for him to give it.

“
People.” She smiled some more as she addressed them. “Is this really what you want to do? To go in and murder an innocent man chained to a bed? Wouldn't you rather be home with your families and loved ones?”

“Grab her!”

The captain bellowed the order from the comms tent where he was still standing with the sat phone in his hands. Actually he screamed it at them a little hysterically, and instantly three men rushed towards her. But then they stopped suddenly, barely three steps towards her. Caught in mid stride and unmoving. Held there by a force they didn't understand. But they did understand one thing immediately. The little old lady was no harmless civilian. She was the enemy.

“Shoot her!” The captain yelled the order and instantly they obeyed. They might have had doubts even having seen what she could do, but their training gave them no choice. So they started firing. Fingers squeezed hard on triggers, bullets began flying, smoke and flame billowed forth from their weapons, and for a second the entire courtyard seemed to become a blaze of battle and death. But that was only an appearance.

It took them a while to realise it. But as they kept firing, some of them slowly noticed that their bullets weren't hitting the woman. Even through the thick smoke and the explosions and fire, they could see she was still standing there smiling at them, her summer dress fluttering about in the gentle breeze. In time more and more of them realised the same thing and one by one gave up firing. What was the point if you couldn't hit your target?

Then when the smoke cleared they realised that they hadn't hit her at all. Not once. She was still smiling, there was no blood on her, her dress wasn't even torn.

Stranger still the soldiers could see a curved line of spent bullets lying on the ground in front of them. A curved line half way between them and the woman which told them exactly where their bullets had stopped flying. They knew it because the remains of the bullets had gathered around it, and were in fact piling up against it almost as though it was a wall. An invisible wall that bent around her. On the other side of course there was only the courtyard – and an old woman who was starting to look a little annoyed.

“Now really ladies and gentlemen!” She put her hands on her hips and stood up a little straighter like an annoyed school mistress. “Is this the way you greet people?”

“Retreat!” The captain gave the order sounding even more hysterical than before. But he wasn't alone. Everyone else was feeling the same. In all their training and drills this had never happened. They had never expected it, never prepared for it. Not for little old ladies with invisible shields around them. “Fall back and let the artillery speak!”

It was a good plan, the best one they had under the circumstances, and everyone obeyed. Even the three men who had been somehow caught in mid stride obeyed as they were released from whatever had held them. So they ran for their back lines in what was supposed to be an organised retreat but which was really a panicked rout. And the instant they reached them the artillery spoke.

Tanks fired, people with rocket launchers and RPG's joined them, and even short range missiles were unleashed on the woman, and the entire car park in front of the hospital became an inferno. A continuing explosion of fire and violence which nothing could survive. But in the end it did no more damage to the white haired old woman in the flowing summer dress than the bullets. There was a wall of nothing between them and her and it seemed that nothing could cross it.

One by one the guns fell silent and the rockets stopped firing. The inferno of flames and noise quietened down. And slowly the woman reappeared from the smoke, still standing there unharmed. And the invisible wall was still standing there, so much more clearly defined as the pile of bullets, twisted steel, blackened shell remains and rubble had now piled several feet high against it. While on the other side there was still only bare courtyard and the white haired woman.

She was by then starting to look very, very annoyed.

“If you've quite finished children!” She had waited until there was complete silence before speaking, probably so that there could be no argument later that they hadn't heard her. And everyone there understood that she wanted to be heard.

“Now pay attention and bring this message back to your masters. William Simons is not to be touched. There will be no more trying to kill him. No more trying to take samples from him. No more chains and imprisonment. No more restricting him in any way. He does not concern you humans.”

“Remember that. He is no concern of yours.” She did something then, a minor flick of her fingers and maybe there was a tiny change in her expression. Perhaps her lips even moved slightly. None of them could really say what she did, or really even if she did anything at all. But they could all see the results of her actions.

Fog.

Thick fog suddenly began descending on them from out of the clear blue sky. Another impossibility in a series of impossibilities. But no one was willing to say that. Not after everything else that had just happened. Impossible had become the norm for them lately.

Soon the woman was gone, disappeared into the thick grey cloud that was everywhere, and despite it being wrong, most of the soldiers knew a sense of relief at seeing her vanish. Maybe it meant nothing. It didn't mean that she was necessarily gone. But it did mean that they didn't have to stare at an old woman with long white hair who had just defeated their best weapons without lifting a finger. And maybe it also meant that if they couldn't see her she couldn't see them either. There was some comfort in that.

“Oh, and go home to your families. This is a very frightening time for them and they need you.”

Her voice came out of nowhere. From in front of them and behind, to both sides and even above. Instantly hearts started racing again, and they all started desperately spinning around like tops trying to find her, despite her peaceful words. But at least no one shot at her. They couldn't, not even those who had bullets left in their guns. They couldn't when they couldn't see her and didn't even know where her voice was coming from.

But wherever she was they knew one thing. She wasn't gone.