Kill on Command (21 page)

II
I

Green Light

Outside of Washington D.C.

April 29, 2011

Robert Waters walked into his boss’ office.  He was weari
ng a gray pinstriped Brooks Brother’s suit, a white button-down shirt, and a red tie.  A flag lapel pin finished his look.  As usual, he was met by security who wanded him and checked him for listening devices. Waters was meeting with the Deputy Director of the CIA’s National Clandestine Service, George Price. 

George Price had worked his way up the food chain at the CIA since joining the agency right out of the University of Florida. Not coming from an Ivy League college, he had a huge chip on his shoulder.  He knew people thought he was a hick.  To get where he was, he had put in his time in the world’s hellholes and had seen the worst that man can do to other men.  He believed that to succeed and win, the United States needed to be just as ruthless and just as cruel.  His boss, CIA Director, David O’Connor, did not share his tactics or his philosophies.  Price felt he should have the top job and spent a good deal of his brainpower figuring out ways to undermine the director. 

Price did not like Waters, but he needed him, he needed him to get things done quietly.  Price believed that Waters was created without any sort of moral or ethical compass.  He did what needed to get done regardless of those he trampled or killed in the process.  Simply put, Waters was the execution end of Price’s strategies.  To get things done, Waters regularly went outside of the CIA.  He used mercenaries.  He blackmailed.  He used unapproved facilities.  All off book.  Price looked the other way.  He was getting what he wanted after all.  Director O’Connor kept a close eye on both of them, because he believed that both men would trample the Constitution to accomplish their goals.

Waters closed the door behind him as he entered the Deputy Director’s office.  The office was not terribly large, but did have room for a table and a couch.  The window to the office overlooked nothing in particular.

“Sit down,” Price said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk.  Price had removed his jacket.  He refused to stand.

“How can I help you?” Waters asked, his tone less than enthusiastic.

“We are on the cusp of something great.  It is what many will see as victory. I see it as only the beginning,” Price related in the tone of a lecture.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Price.  How can I help?”

“We will get to that, Robert.  There are people around the world that want to see this country destroyed. There are others that supply the means for those people to do harm to our troops and our people.  They provide money.  They provide weapons.  They protect the people who mean to do us harm.  They are a real threat to our nation.”

Waters had heard all of this before.

“And you want them to go away,” Waters interjected.

Price did not answer.

“I have a solution” Waters said, his hands folded in his lap.  “I can begin at anytime.  I will wait for your call.”

Price again did not respond.  He knew the time was near.

They sat in silence for several seconds, a silence that would make most people squirm.  Waters liked to just sit in the chair staring at Price, attempting to see if he could make his superior speak first.  Price simply returned the glare.

Waters rose and showed himself out.

“Close the door,” Price shouted, as Waters left the office.

Robert Waters didn’t like Price and wanted to bring him down, even if it killed him.

IV

Pittsburgh

May 2, 2011

11:35 PM

Sean and Brian were catching the late SportsCenter when Brian saw an alert on his cell phone.

“Quick, Sean
!  Flip it over to WTAE!”

“Sure.  Hold on.  Hold on.”  Sean flipped to the Pittsburgh ABC affiliate in time to see President Barack Obama stepping up to the podium.  Sean looked at his watch.  “It’s 11:35.  What’s going on?”

Brian leaned over, took the remote and turned up the volume.

THE PRESIDENT:
  Good evening.  Tonight, I can report to the American people and to the world that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden, the leader of al Qaeda, and a terrorist who’s responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent men, women and children . . .

“Good!”  Brian said, half shouting.

Sean was silent.  He was hanging on the President’s every word.

V

Send in the killers

Washington D.C.

May 2, 2011 - 11:45 P.M.

A phone rang.  The President had just left the podium.

“
This is Waters,” he answered putting the phone to his ear.  He was still in his suit and had a drink in his hand.  He had just flipped off the TV and was looking out the window of his hotel.

“You may begin,” Price said and hung up without another word.

Robert Waters smiled.  The program he was going to jumpstart might seem unsavory, but it was for the greater good.  He had convinced himself of that.  It didn’t take much. He dialed the man who had brought him the idea, Dr. Seamus McFarland, who picked up on the first ring.

“Hello, Robert.  I was expecting your call this evening.  I assume we are operational?” 

“We are.  I am leaving for Boston now.  Meet me at the Hanover Street office at 7 A.M.  I want to review everything, before we push go.”

“Excellent.” 

Waters hung up and finished his drink.  He grabbed his overnight bag and headed downstairs.  Two ex-Marines named Bill and Bob were waiting to take him to a private airport for a quick trip up to Boston.  The Marines would accompany him.  Waters used them primarily for security and he knew they had tremendous capacity for violence.   According to official Marine records, both men died in Afghanistan in 2009 while awaiting court marshal for conduct un-becoming a U.S. Marine.  Waters knew talent when he saw it and had arranged to fake their deaths.  Bill and Bob were very interested in getting rich and Waters knew that.  They also did not want to spend ten to fifteen years in a cell in Leavenworth.  Both were exceptionally loyal to Waters and him alone.  Waters had several men of Bill and Bob’s background and skill set on his staff, all off book, of course.

Waters and his group landed in Boston shortly after 3:30 A.M.  He went straight to the office, located at the corner of Hanover and Prince Street in Boston’s financial district.  The office was half a block down from Policari Park.  The facility occupied the top two floors of the building.  The top floor held Waters’ office, a situation room and a room full of mainframes.  Right below it was space occupied by Dr. McFarland.  The rest of the building was empty.  The roof had an unusual number of dishes and antennae, but not enough to draw undue attention.  The building also offered underground parking, which was a necessity.

Bill parked the car in the underground garage near the elevator.  Waters got out and walked across the damp concrete to a subtle black elevator.  The Marines followed close behind.  The three took the elevator to the top floor that opened to an office space that looked more like a law firm than a covert CIA facility.  Waters traversed the long hall towards his office, passing a break room and a of couple spaces that doubled as sleeping quarters for the teams when they were off duty.  Bill and Bob went into one of the rooms to get a couple hours of rest before the day began.  Waters flipped on the lights in his office.  The office was a replica of his home office in Chestnut Hill.  He carefully placed his briefcase on the top left hand corner of his desk, making sure the edges of the briefcase were half an inch from the edge of the desk.  He sat in his chair, too excited to rest.  He looked at his watch.  It was nearly 4:30 in the morning.  He wanted to review the program again before Dr. McFarland and his team arrived.  He opened the cabinet behind his desk, revealing a small safe.  He pressed his thumb on the sensor and a green light came on.  He entered a sixteen-digit code and turned the handle counter-clock wise. He reached in and pulled out a thick folder with the words “CLASSIFIED” stamped on the front.  Inside was a spiral bound document with the words “DISPOSABLE PATRIOT” and the same “CLASSIFIED” stamp.  Waters removed the document and placed it on his desk.  Inside, the entire plan was outlined, from the problem to the solution and all of McFarland’s science in between.

He opened to the pages outlining Phase I, which detailed how they would find the candidates for the program.  It was quite simple and quite brilliant.  Government records and social media were the keys to finding the men that would serve as the vehicles to eliminate the threats on Waters’ list.  As he read the document, it took him back a year ago to the first day he sat down to discuss the idea with Dr. McFarland, who had been working with the CIA on and off again for the past twenty years. 

“Robert, thanks to the anal-retentive manner in which the government keeps records, we have a long list of candidates for this program.  As you requested, we don’t want these men affiliated with the government in any way.  We also need to make sure they are single, in their late twenties to early thirties, with no living relatives.  In addition, we need to make certain they have average intelligence as our procedures would not be successful on the feeble minded,” McFarland explained.

Waters just nodded and scribbled some notes on a pad in front of him.  He reached, picked up a steaming mug and took a sip of coffee.

McFarland continued.  “The military has kept records of every man that has come into a recruiting station, filled out paperwork and taken tests.”

“I don’t want active duty personnel,” Waters said, getting impatient.  He placed the mug back on the desk.

“Robert.  Patience.  Patience.  There are a significant number of men who came in, filled out the paperwork, took the tests and for whatever reason, did not commit.  We have all of their data.  For the demographic we require, we have 7,258 possible candidates, based on age.  When we run the universe through our screens, it reduces considerably.  Dead or incarcerated, reduces the group to 5,978.  IQ alone drops the universe down to 578 men.  When you then look at those with no living relatives, that number goes down to 112.   When we look at their physical descriptions, it drops to forty-five.”

“Great and how are we going to contact them?  How are we going to get them into the program?”

“Social media.  Specifically, LinkedIn.  We have all of the profiles of the forty-five finalists.  We reach out to them with the promise of a new career, a career with travel, great pay and all the things a twenty-something is looking for.  We get them to interview and test them further.  Psychologically.  Physically.  I am confident we will end up with twelve to fifteen solid candidates who will become our patriots.”

“Who will they think they are working for?”  Waters asked.

“We have set up several shell corporations that you have generously funded.  Their paychecks will be direct deposited.  Likewise, all of their expenses will go on an American Express card linked to the shell corporations. A member of my team will manage them acting as their boss.  I don’t have to remind you that this is the easy part.”

“Yes, it is the easy part.  How confident are you that the science will work?”

“Well, Robert, we will lose some of these men and we are prepared for that.”

“How many did you lose in the tests?”

“We lost seventy-five percent of the detainees you sent to us,” McFarland responded, removing his glasses and cleaning them with a cloth he pulled from his jacket pocket.

“What was the cause?”

“The implant is, of course, one cause.  We had made some small calculation errors and the result was death or the procedure left them in a vegetative state.  But, the procedure was quick and left little or no evidence that anything had even happened.  Our organic implant enters the diencephalon area of the forebrain and influences language and physical skills.  The basal ganglia which controls muscle memory is also impacted.”

“The serum?”  Waters asked next.

“Yes, we eventually lost everyone due to the effects of the serum.  However, it happened over the course of fifteen to thirty days, which is all the time we need.  The shelf life of these men will be roughly a month.  Possibly less, if they are killed by your targets in the process of executing their assignments.” 

“But it worked?”

“Oh yes, it works, but it causes the body to burn itself up.  The men all experienced systemic failure.  There is no antidote and no help to be had once the serum is administered.  Their reaction times will increase during this timeframe. Strength is not affected.”

“How fast?”  Waters asked, leaning forward.

“If you are fast already, you become world class.  If you are slow, you become average.  Average to good.  Good to great.  There is no doubt in my mind that we will have one or two men, maybe three, in this group that will be lightning quick, which will help you achieve your goals. It is a matter of shortening the synaptic delay or the time it takes for a chemical reaction to take place and transmit the data to another cell.  Our serum speeds up that reaction, thus shortening the synaptic delay.  There has also been quite a bit of research done on reaction times and IQ.  Those with higher IQs tend to have better reaction times.  The men with high IQs will excel.”

“After hearing that, the second piece, the hypnosis, sounds like the least of our concerns,” Waters added

“Correct.  I am supremely confident in the mechanism to control the candidates given the length of time they will be active.  The hypnosis really has no downside for us.  Only you and I will know the triggers that will activate each candidate.  Issues could appear the longer candidates are active.  If the triggers are broken, for instance, they could achieve total recall, which I don’t have to remind you would be very bad for us and your mission.  This is highly unlikely, however.”

“I am not worried about that.  I will have each of these guys shadowed by a primary handler and a back up team.  If they step out of line, we will terminate them.  I have no intention of leaving anything to chance.”

“I knew I liked you Robert,” McFarland said, laughing.