“What’s that have to do with these guys?”
“DARPA was experimenting with soldiers who’d suffered traumatic brain injuries. Rebuilding memories, restoring cognitive function, essentially reversing all kinds of brain damage. They use special chips inserted directly into the brain. Boston Scientific is also involved. Hu said that there had been great advances beyond the restorative medical ones. Soldiers implanted with chips could get uploads of new information to make them more combat-efficient. That includes artificial regulation of some of the brain chemistry and nerve conduction.”
The sergeant and his men continued to stare at me, and now I found their glares a little more unnerving.
“Tell me, Rudy,” I said, “would any of that stuff involve nanotechnology?”
“Yes,” he said, “it would. That’s what made me think of it. There are so many nanoscience experts here, and then we see a group of soldiers who could very well be part of the brain-enhancement program.”
Lieutenant Pepper got out of the car and walked briskly over to me. He stopped and assumed a parade rest posture. Very neat and correct.
“You are Captain Ledger,” he said, making it a statement. “I’ve been instructed to bring you to the camp. However, I’ll have to ask that you turn over your cell phones and any communications equipment before we go.”
“Not a chance.”
“Sir, I’m afraid I must insist.”
“Maybe you should go make that call again,” I said. “Ask very specifically how much of whose ass needs to be kissed here. I’m pretty sure it’s my hairy butt that’s going to be getting all the love. Go on, make the call.”
Pepper tried to kill me with a stare of pure hatred, but I knew he’d already asked that question. Because he didn’t, in fact, go and make a follow-up call to let me know that he knew. Too bad for him if he wasn’t smart enough to bluff with the wrong cards.
“I need to advise you to turn off your Wi-Fi,” he said. It was weak and lame, but I let him have that little victory. Rudy and I made a big show of turning our cell Internet connections off. I also turned off my ringer but put the phone on vibrate.
They had two Humvees. I got in the back behind Pepper, with Rudy and Ghost beside me. Bird Dog sat on the top step of the plane with a bottle of Mountain Dew and tried to look as if he was just another working stiff taking it easy. Pepper left two soldiers behind with him. As we were leaving the airstrip, I saw a flock of pigeons go flapping up from behind the helo. The soldiers didn’t take notice of them. Nor, I imagine, did they notice the smile Bird Dog hid behind his bottle as he took a long swig.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR
“Auntie,” yelled Bug. “I think I got something.”
Aunt Sallie was in the TOC, and she wheeled toward the glass wall of the MindReader Q1 clean room that lined one side of the big chamber. Bug — who was anything but clean — slapped a pizza box from his desk and hammered some keys to send data to the main screens. All the technicians and operations officers looked up to see a text message scroll across.
“I cloned Joe’s phone and rerouted his messages to me,” said Bug. “This is from Good Sister.”
The message read:
I am in hell.
Only he can save me.
Only he can save my soul.
Auntie said, “What the hell?”
“It’s Good Sister, and she’s freaking out. What do I do?”
“Ask her what kind of damn help she needs.”
Bug typed furiously, but before he could get his entire question out there was a new message, and it kept repeating over and over.
Love is the answer.
Love is the key.
Love is the answer.
Love is the key.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE
The DARPA camp was fifteen miles deeper into the woods. The sun wasn’t yet above the trees, and we drove through areas of dense shadow that was so dark the driver had to use headlights. There was absolutely no conversation during the trip, though both Rudy and I tried to strike one up. The driver and the lieutenant ignored us. I noticed Rudy covertly trying to catch a good look at the driver’s head. In the back-seat gloom the scars were hard to see, but they were there, and even my unskilled eyes could see both combat and surgical scarring. Not sure if it was relevant to anything, but it was interesting. Rudy certainly thought so.
One thing I noticed was that Ghost was on edge. He sat straight up on the seat between us, and turned his head frequently to look past Rudy or me. His body rippled with nervous energy, and I knew my dog well enough to see that he wasn’t happy. His dark eyes searched the woods on either side of the road, and whatever he was seeing was invisible to me. He didn’t like it, though, which meant I didn’t like it. Whatever it was. I caught a brief glimpse of something gray and big that ran on all fours. I saw it for a moment as it moved through a tiny clearing a few yards into the woods. There and gone. Ghost almost lunged at the door, but stopped himself as the animal vanished. Rudy saw it, too.
“Was that a wolf?” he asked quietly.
“I… think so?” I said, and it came out as a question.
“Do they get that big?”
“I don’t know.”
We tried asking Pepper about it, but his answer was a shrug. Ghost growled under his breath and continued to stare out the window. A few minutes later, we arrived at the DARPA camp.
When the military wants to hide something they can do a damn good job, because we were rolling in through the gate before we saw the camp, the buildings, the people, or even the gate, which was a portable swing bar covered in foliage. Like our babysitters, the guards at the camp were dressed for concealment but not for information. No one had a nametag. I saw a lot of men with scars on their faces and heads. The only ones who weren’t marked by combat were the scientists in white lab coats. It was interesting and noteworthy, but so far it wasn’t anything ominous. Might even have been a noble thing, rehabbing and re-employing wounded vets. I’m all for that.
If that’s what it was. Maybe I’d have been more reassured if the looks we got were accompanied by smiles, or even by the poker-faced stare soldiers learn to use during basic training. The kind they wear when a drill sergeant screams obscenities in their face. What I was seeing, though, was something that looked like hostility. And that made no sense. Beside me, Ghost was getting antsy. He was seeing it, too. Hard to fool a dog when it comes to emotion.
“When you said ‘camp,’” said Rudy, “I expected something more rustic. A few Boy Scout tents.”
“Your tax dollars at work,” I said as I climbed out. A woman came out of one of the cabins and walked across the clearing toward us. She was tall, with short black hair and a stern but pretty face that reminded me of a younger version of the actress who played Cersei Lannister on Game of Thrones. An unsmiling and uncompromising face.
“Captain Ledger,” she said as she came toward us offering her hand. “I’m Major Schellinger. Welcome to the Dog Park.”
We shook and I introduced Rudy.
“Did you receive our authorization?” I asked.
“I did,” she said, “and I have to admit that it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a set of credentials framed in the wording of an Executive Order. May I ask why I’ve been asked to grant this level of access to my facility.”