The Siren Project (2 page)

“How did they know?” Mouse whispered.

“Say nothing!”

Before Mouse could reply, one of the
security men crashed the butt of his gun into the back of Mouse’s head. He
slumped to the floor, out cold. Mitch looked down surprised. He started to
complain, but another guard slammed the butt of his weapon into Mitch’s head,
knocking him unconscious.

* * * *

Mitch came to in total darkness,
handcuffed, a black canvas hood over his head. He lay on the cold metal floor
of a vehicle which vibrated as it sped along. Feigning unconsciousness, he listened
to the traffic sounds outside, and the occasional movement of a man shifting
his position close by.

A guard?

When the vehicle cornered, he let himself
roll naturally through the turns, finding there were motionless bodies either
side of him. He thought he heard muffled breathing coming from both of them.

At least they’re not
dead.

A sharp sound of metal scraping metal broke
the silence, the clatter of a guard moving his assault rifle, followed by a
sigh as the guard stretched.

No conversation?
He thought curiously.
Not giving anything away.

Beside him, the large form moved, followed
by a groan. Gunter coming to. Mitch felt Gunter tense, as he realized they were
prisoners, then relax again as he registered what was happening with hearing
alone.

The guards must have
seen Gunter come to. Still no talking,
Mitch
thought with a sinking feeling.

Gradually, the sounds of traffic died away,
and the cornering ceased as the vehicle moved onto a long straight road. Occasionally,
he heard the hum of a vehicle passing them at high speed.

A highway?

In all that time, not a single word was
uttered by any of the guards, and not a sound came from Mouse, signaling he'd
woken.

Maybe he came to first,
and is listening?

They drove for a long time on the highway, then
eventually, the vehicle lurched off onto a side road. Mitch heard the crunching
of tires on gravel for several minutes before they stopped. A metal door slid
open, men scrambled out, rocking the vehicle as their weight left, then Gunter’s
large body was dragged out. There was no sound of Gunter hitting the ground, so
Mitch guessed he was walking, not feigning unconsciousness. Strong hands then
pulled him roughly from the vehicle. He slipped and hit the ground hard,
landing on a gravely surface, before being dragged to his feet, and forced to
walk on stiff and clumsy legs. They were hustled into a building, down a flight
of stairs, and while they heard doors open and close, not a single word was
uttered by their captors.

Very disciplined. These
people know security.

He was thrown onto a cold concrete floor
where he was kicked in the stomach by a guard, knocking the wind from his
lungs. Mitch coughed as another guard pushed him onto his chest and unlocked
the handcuffs. A few moments later, the door clanged shut and footsteps echoed
away. He felt for the knot securing the canvas hood, spent a few minutes working
it loose, then tore the hood off gasping, thankful for clean air. He found
himself in a small bare cell, no furniture, no windows, just a wide glass
mirror on one wall. A single bare light bulb hung from the ceiling by a black
wire.

Observation room, barren,
designed to break my spirit. And a one way mirror!

Slowly, Mitch sat up, taking in his
surroundings with a practiced eye, recognizing the psychological trick of the place.
Even the bulb hanging from the roof was part of the design.

Anyone that can afford
a specialized interrogation facility, can afford decent light fittings.

Mitch stood up and stretched, then strolled
over to the mirror and tapped the glass. He motioned for them to come in and
talk.

“I don’t talk in my sleep, and I’m not
afraid of confined spaces,” he said, expecting the room to be bugged, “So cut
the crap. If you want to make a deal, bring a chair. I’m not sitting on the
floor.”

He ambled across the room, folded his arms
and leant against the wall with a relaxed patience indicating he was settling
down for the long haul. In less than a minute, two solid, armed men entered
carrying chairs, followed by a well-dressed older man who had the look of a
bearded university professor. The two chairs were placed facing each other in
the center of the room, then the older man nodded for the others to leave.

Once they had locked the door behind them,
his interrogator began, “Your chair, Mitchell, as requested.”

Mitch looked at the bare wooden chair with
disdain. “Got one with a cushion? I got a sensitive ass.”

The man smiled and sat down. “Bravado. I
like that.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Mitch said,
as he took his seat.

“You’re in a lot of trouble, Mitchell. That
facility you broke into tonight does a lot of sensitive defense work. Very high
security stuff.”

Mitch shrugged. “Their security wasn’t that
high.”

“We caught you.”

“Bullshit. You were tipped off. Those
special forces pussies were waiting for us. What were they hiding in? A sound
proof room? Had to be something like that, or we’d have heard them breathing.”

“You draw rapid conclusions from minimal
facts. A useful skill, if practiced in moderation.”

“The only thing I can’t figure is who’d be
dumb enough to sell me out, and make an enemy of me.”

The interrogator stroked his gray flecked
beard thoughtfully. “Let me introduce myself, Mitchell. My name is Gus
Knightly. I'm your controller.”

Mitch looked thoughtful. “Don’t you mean
jailer?”

“I have two PhDs. Believe me when I say I
never choose the wrong word.”

“God help me, you’re an egghead,” Mitch
sighed. “At least you’re not going to kill us.”

“Correct, providing you are cooperative.”

“If you think I’ll tell you who put me up
to the job tonight, you can forget it. The contract came through an
intermediary. We never met the principal.”

Knightly smiled, amused. “Do you really
think I want information from you?”

Mitch’s eyes narrowed, sensing he'd missed
something.

“You received your contract from Gilbert Mobious,
a patent lawyer who pimps for industrial espionage experts like yourself. He’s
a pathetic little rodent of a man who’d sell out his own mother.”

Mitch hid his surprise. “If you already
have Mobious, why the theatrics?” Mitch motioned to the interrogation room. “He’s
got to be more use to you than me.”

Knightly studied Mitch before answering. “We
haven't arrested Mobious. As far as I know, he’s still practicing law and
industrial espionage in sunny, downtown San Diego. Quite frankly, I have no
interest in him or his profiteering exploits.”

“Lucky for him.”

“It is important that you understand that
you have a choice to make. You can choose to be uncooperative, or . . . you and
your companions can work for me, on a special project.”

“And where are they?”

“Held in similar rooms to this, just a few
feet away.”

“Why do you need us to work for you? Is
there suddenly a world goon shortage?’

“I work for a US Government agency. Not an
organization you’ve ever heard of, not one that congress knows it funds, but a
useful organization. One that now requires your services.”

“Oh jeez, not more of ‘your country needs
you' crap. What do I look like to you? Some wet behind the ears putz who
believes in apple pie and Uncle Sam?”

“Your options are limited, Mitchell. Working
on a single project for me would be, by far, the best alternative for you.”

Mitch fell into a thoughtful silence, then
said, “I’ll bite. Exactly what kind of spook bullshit is it you’re into?”

“We watch all those other ... spooks, as
you call them. The watchers of the watchers. That’s why very few people have
ever heard of us. Anonymity is our shield.”

“Sounds kind of schizophrenic, everyone
watching everyone else. So who watches you?”

“No one. We’re it. We’re the conscience,
the last safeguard on the whole system. If we fail, then chaos. Naturally, we
are very selective about our personnel. Normally you and your two companions
would not come close to qualifying.”

Mitch tilted his head a little bored. “Makes
you sound kind of self important. Besides, I’m done with spook stuff. The pay
sucks.”

Knightly nodded. “Of course. The pay. Your
record speaks for itself, Mitchell. A Marine Corps officer, graduated Annapolis
no less, one combat tour earning a silver star for gallantry against the
enemies of the United States.”

“I'm no hero.”

“Of course not. Then you quit the Corps and
joined the Secret Service. Not exactly chasing the big dollars there, were you?”

“You forgot to mention I couldn’t hold down
either job.”

Knightly smiled. “Yes, your military career
was cut short because you were too . . . what was the word they used in your
personnel file?”

“Insubordinate?”

Knightly nodded. “Then you were kicked out
of the Secret Service for assaulting your superior officer. He was in hospital
for several weeks.”

“He was in hospital for a month, and he was
an asshole.”

“Our file says you were concerned about
inadequate security for the President of France, whom your team was guarding at
the time.”

Mitch shook his head evasively. “I don’t
recall.”

“Men don’t join the Marines, or the Secret
Service, for the pay and benefits. Men don’t volunteer to take a bullet for
someone else for money, not men like you.”

“You don’t know dick about men like me.”

“I’ve been studying you for a long time,
Mitchell. I know what kind of man you are. You dislike authority figures, yet
you won't hesitate to risk your life for another man. You have . . . a sense of
duty.”

“Don’t give me any of that flag waving bullshit.
I burned my flag years ago. I wised up.”

“Sure you did,” Knightly said, unconvinced.
“When you left the Secret Service you tried running your own security firm, but
you took on a client you knew you couldn’t protect, a movie star I believe.”

“She was young, and beautiful. She had a
psycho stalking her and she offered me a load of cash. What was I supposed to
do?”

“When she died, your business failed. Potential
clients thought you were unreliable.”

“I made a mistake. I thought I could
protect anyone, even a whacked out cokehead. I was wrong.” Mitch ran a hand
through his close cropped dark hair, remembering his frustration at the time.

“The police never found her murderer, even
though there was no doubt as to his identity.”

Mitch’s expression hardened. “Maybe they
didn't know where to look.”

“I assume his body will never be found?”

“Assume what you like.”

“I’m reassured, Mitchell. I need a
passionate man, one capable of revenge.” Knightly paused a moment in thought. “So
with your private security business ruined, you moved to California and turned
to industrial espionage. Is this when you got smart and went for the money?”

“You could say that.”

“This is where our records are a little
thin, but we have our suspicions about a number of break-ins at high technology
research facilities. That is your specialty, isn’t it, high technology?”

“It’s where the money is. Ask Bill Gates.”

“Of course. It’s also the reason why you’re
sitting here now, talking to me.”

“Oh right, we’re back to the controller
thing. Except you still haven’t told me how you knew to have Delta Force hiding
in a cupboard waiting for us.”

“Quite simple really. I hired you for that
job, or rather, I contracted Mr Mobious to hire you.”

“Remind me to bust his ass next time I see
him.”

“It was a test. I wanted to make sure you
were the man I was looking for. I’m satisfied you are.”

“Lucky me.”

“Not so lucky,” Knightly said, his tone
leaving Mitch with a strangely uncomfortable feeling. “I can see you’re a
direct man, Mitchell, so I’ll give it to you straight. You have seen me, this
facility-”

“All I’ve seen is the inside of this cruddy
cell, and I never remember a face. At least not a butt ugly one.”

Knightly smiled at the insult. “Even so,
there is no exit strategy for you. Work for me, and it’s an even money bet you
will not be alive in three months time.”

Mitch looked puzzled. “If you’re this super
spook organization, you must have plenty of money, all the latest techno toys. What
do you need me for?”