He grasped his hands together and made that same wet chuckling sound.
The general took over. “One can only imagine the effects of dispersing H12K over an enemy’s battlefield or city. Within an hour it would produce a scene of chaos, with hospitals and medical workers overwhelmed, inhabitants bleeding to death, utter bedlam. This is far better than a nuclear weapon, because it leaves infrastructure intact. It’s far more reliable than nerve gas, which remains in the region for a long time and can drift in the wrong direction when the wind shifts. H12K degrades within two hours in the environment. You simply administer it, wait half a day, and enter the area unopposed. Admittedly, our own refinement, the drug that brings on the dysphoria, does not replicate a subject’s long-term need to be rid of a hated, alien limb — the need is relatively brief, but more than sufficient to do the trick. Nor have we progressed to a point where we can specify which limb is considered alien: for now, all subjects present with the same symptoms. In a war situation, of course, these aren’t concerns. Just think of how we might have deployed this in Vietnam or the Middle East! It is truly the ideal weapon.”
“Ideal,” echoed Pendergast.
“I’m glad you see it our way.”
“I understand you’ve been collecting your test subjects from among undocumented people arriving at the southern border.”
“Undocumented people.” The general frowned. “You mean illegal aliens? They suit our purposes very well. No one is likely to come looking for them. They’re a self-selected group, if you think about it — deserving of no consideration.”
“You’re a sick fuck,” said Gladstone, straining at her bonds.
“Another unsolicited outburst. Please gag her.”
Gladstone did her best to resist, but the waiting soldiers stepped forward and, holding her head immobile, stuffed a cloth in her mouth and wrapped duct tape around it.
The general kept his gaze on Pendergast. “Perhaps my explanation has persuaded you to cooperate?”
Pendergast said nothing.
“You seemed interested.”
“I am interested — interested in the profoundly psychotic pathology I see on display in both you and the doctor.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s remarkable you’ve managed to brainwash so many soldiers with this folie à deux. Or perhaps they don’t know the extent of the atrocities committed here?”
“I warned you,” said Alves-Vettoretto. “He’s a snake.”
“We didn’t need to brainwash anyone. When we first established this operation, we were careful to identify soldiers disaffected with the transformation of the U.S. Army — disgusted with the loosening of discipline, the admittance of homosexuals, the placing of women in combat roles, and the indiscriminate mixing of races.” His voice rose in volume. “We selected patriotic, tough, God-fearing boys who obey orders without question, not the sniveling, politically correct enlisted men you see in today’s—” He caught himself, took a deep breath, exhaled. “I’m getting off subject. Our soldiers are well aware of what we’re doing — and support it one hundred percent.”
“It seems you and your men were born seventy-five years too late, and in the wrong country,” said Pendergast.
The general ignored this. “We’re on a schedule here, and all this is wasting precious time. You will now answer my questions or the good doctor will inject your associate with the drug. Dr. Smith? Reinsert the needle, but hold off the injection until I give the command.”
Smith picked up the needle again, examined it, then stepped forward. He slid it into the IV port and looked up at the general with anticipation.
“I will ask again: who knows about this facility?”
Gladstone stared pleadingly at Pendergast. But he didn’t answer.
“You know what’s going to happen, of course. Surely you aren’t going to put her through this? It will be on your shoulders.”
Silence.
“We normally just let them bleed to death. And you will be watching.”
“I can only ask you: please, do not do this,” said Pendergast.
“Then answer my question.”
A long silence. Son of a bitch, answer him! Gladstone thought, moaning and squirming.
The general sighed, then nodded to the doctor. “Inject.”
“Wait,” said Pendergast sharply.
The general glanced back at him.
“Very well. I’ll answer your questions: you have my word.”
The general smiled and gestured to Smith to pause.
Pendergast went on. “Nobody knows of this facility but me, Dr. Gladstone, and the late Dr. Lam.”
The general arched his eyebrows. “Nobody?”
“That’s correct.”
“What about your partner? We know you’re not working alone.”
“He is en route from Mexico to the U.S. and I wasn’t able to contact him.”
“Why didn’t you tell the task force?”
“No time. More to the point: We’d become sure there was a mole in the investigation, someone very close to the center. I couldn’t trust anyone.”
The general smiled. “Now, how did you identify the source of the amputated feet?”
“It was a drift analysis program, developed by Drs. Lam and Gladstone.”
“In their lab?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone else have it?”
“No.”
“An unfortunate fire will take care of that. Well, I’m relieved to know we’re safe — at least for now. Dr. Smith, you may remove the needle.”
Alves-Vettoretto spoke. “How do you know he’s telling us the truth?”
“An excellent question! You haven’t been around long enough to appreciate my methods. The fact is, we will know soon enough if Mr. Pendergast has lied or not.”
Gladstone, moaning and struggling, saw Alves-Vettoretto frown in confusion.
“You’re wondering how I can be so sure,” the general said. “Because he is about to witness, with his own eyes, the effects of the drug on a subject. You see — Dr. Smith already administered the H12K to Dr. Gladstone. He did that when he first inserted the IV. There’s nothing in that other needle but saline. Once Mr. Pendergast sees what happens... and knows the same will happen to him... then he will be totally forthcoming, if he has not been already.” He turned to Pendergast with a smile and checked his watch. “It takes about an hour for the drug to act on the brain. Almost forty minutes have gone by since Dr. Smith inserted the IV. That means we have another twenty until the show begins.” He gestured at the long mirror on the wall. “It can get rather messy, unfortunately, so let us retire to the observation room and watch from there.”
He turned. “Ms. Alves-Vettoretto. You haven’t seen the results of the drug in action yet, have you?”
She shook her head.
“Then, by all means, please join us.”
59
When Coldmoon was about two hundred yards from the main building, the swamp gave way to a thin forest of sickly pines growing upon sand. The storm had finally broken for real. A heavy rain came down, accompanied by lightning, booming thunder, and gusts of wind that pressed the trees down and almost blew him off his feet. Coldmoon was glad of it. Even though he was soaked, the night was muggy and warm and he was grateful for the rain now washing away the mud from his skin and clothes. It also provided excellent cover — there was almost no chance that, in this chaos, he would be seen or heard.
He walked through the forest and soon came to a looming cinder-block wall, about fifteen feet high, with spikes along its top. It was too smooth and high to climb, and the trees on either side had been cleared back at least a hundred feet.