Hal was in a subconscious state. Unaware of everything he was hearing through a bone phone surgically implanted into his skull near his inner ear. He obeyed McCreary’s commands with methodical precision and without question. Even though his eyes were half open, his mind was in a slumbering daze.
Hal parked outside the hangar, in a trance. Calmly walking past the guards, who were on order to not stop him or ask any questions. McCreary waited to meet him inside the hanger. Hal crossed the threshold, and McCreary spoke to him in the same calm monotone voice. “Follow me. You’re doing fine.”
Hal followed McCreary to the small room off the side of the hangar. He opened the door to Dr. Elm and a couple associates in lab coats. The room was more cluttered now — looking like a small operating room with a modern EKG monitor and a breathing apparatus stationed by the reclining dental chair.
“Somnambulism is fine—” Elm said, interrupted by a “Shhh” from McCreary, who whispered, “He can only hear my voice.”
Elm nodded and McCreary led Hal to the padded dental chair. “Lie down.” Hal turned, angled his back to the chair, swiveled his hips, and eased into the chair. Like a programmed android. “Sleep.”
Hal closed his eyes. McCreary nodded to one of Dr. Elm’s associates. A man in a lab coat. He gave Hal an injection that rendered him unconscious. A long-haired woman in a lab coat began attaching EKG electrodes to his chest. She wheeled the machine over, monitoring his heart rate. Dr. Elm and the other associate tugged a more ominous white machine on wheels near the dental chair. They attached electrodes from the machine to Hal’s temples, scalp and chest.
“You may not want to stay for this” Elm said to McCreary. Also nodding to Trest, who stood just inside the door. Neither budged.
“What does it do?” Trest asked.
“It scrambles the electromagnetic signals in a specific area of his brain, the part that handles short term memory,” Elm said. “We’re deleting his recent memory flashes.” Elm nodded to the associate and stepped away from Hal. Hal’s head jolted and shook from electric shock. Elm raised a hand, bringing the shocks to a halt. He looked to the woman at the EKG.
“Nominal heart rate. BP. Everything’s fine.”
Elm motioned for another shock and Hal received another ZAP, causing him to convulse while remaining unconscious.
“How much does it erase?” McCreary asked.
“We’re focusing the electrical current on the area of the subconscious brain where dreams form. In previous cases, it typically scrambles or deletes this neural activity within the last week or two.”
“What about his other memories? Like day to day. Things he needs to remember for work?” Trest asked.
“Those memories aren’t affected.” Elm said. “They’re stored in the conscious part of his brain. Everything he sees and remembers on your missions is stored in the subconscious area of the brain. I’d pull him from action for a while though.”
“How long?” Trest asked.
“Depends on the individual. Hard to tell. Until they stop seeing the flashbacks. Could be weeks. Could be months.”
Elm ordered two more rounds of shock therapy. Hal was under deep sedation, meaning they would have to take him back home. Something they had planned as a contingency, months before, but never executed. Until now. McCreary called Douglas up to monitor the neighborhood from above with the MQ-10S. When the coast was clear, they carried Hal to his door, used his own key to open it, and laid him back in bed. Baldo had night watch duty and kept an eye on him from the surveillance monitors in Hangar 302.
Hal’s annoying alarm clock worked this time. Waking him up on the dot. He had an excruciating headache and no memory of anything, aside from being on the computer until late and going back to bed. He knew he had been searching something on the internet, but couldn’t remember what. He started the computer up and performed a history search from the previous day. Baldo had erased everything related to Mexico and the drug lord, and replaced the history with PTSD websites. Hal clicked on it and opened the site. It didn’t feel right. He read about military-related stress disorders, but his throbbing headache made focusing on the words too painful. Hal got up, rummaged around his bathroom cabinets and found a bottle of Tylenol. He popped a couple and drank straight from the bathroom faucet, washing them down. Hal returned to the computer and searched Google Maps for Psychiatrists in Alamogordo — the nearest town with MRI and CT scan machines.
Baldo shook the sleep out of his eyes and rattled away at the computer. It was as if he was behind the Google Maps firewall. He pulled up psychiatrist offices in Alamogordo and one-by-one marked the offices closed or out of business. There were only a handful of psychiatrists in the town of thirty-thousand people, and Baldo limited Hal’s options. He could see Hal’s cursor clicking on an open office and hovering over the phone number.
Baldo picked up a phone in the box. “He’s getting a second opinion. Sheridan. In Alamogordo.”
Hal’s skull appeared in an electronic image on a computer screen. An older neurologist, Dr. Morris, examined it with reading glasses. “Your lab ran a 3T MRI and a CT scan of your skull and brain. I see nothing abnormal. The visions you described sound more psychological than neurological to me. When is the last time you saw them?”
Hal had to think about it. Unable to recall recent ones. “A week ago. Maybe longer.”
“And nightmares? When was your last one?”
“A week ago. Or two.”
“You don’t have a neurologic condition that I can determine. All our tests came out normal, so you’re beyond my area of expertise, Mr. Sheridan. I recommend seeing a psychologist. They are better equipped to delve into your psyche and figure out what’s going on. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
“I’m just relieved everything checked out. No tumors or anything.”
“Definitely not. You’ve got the brain of a healthy forty-year-old man.”
“What about the headaches? Could you see what’s causing them?”
“Not from these scans. Could be anything. Seasonal migraines. Dehydration. Have you had migraines before?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Headaches from hangovers. I’ve had plenty of those.”
“These could also be alcohol related, or from another trigger — too much coffee, not enough sleep… Drink more water, especially before you sleep and see if that helps.”
Hal thanked him and left the office. Dr. Morris picked up the phone. “Is Stuart Elm in?” He waited until Dr. Elm picked up the other line. “You were right. Hal Sheridan came in to see me today.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“Exactly what you told me say.”
CHAPTER NINE
FUZHOU
A stocky man with a flat top and chiseled physique sat eyes closed in a chair against the wall in Hangar 302. He wore tight-fitting workout gear and electrodes attached to his temples. Trest and Dr. Elm hovered over him along with another man in a lab coat.
“Lee Brunell.” Elm said. “Former PJ, Combat Control Tech. Thirty-two years old.”
“Is he asleep?” Trest asked.
“Yes. Induced REM sleep,” Elm said. “He’s cleared all our SomnControl tests and is ready to go.” Elm’s associate removed the electrodes from the man’s temples.
“You have the comm on Ghost Four,” Trest said to McCreary, who stepped forward wearing a lightweight wireless headset.
“Initiate control sequence.”
Baldo, a few yards away in the box, typed at the computer. Playing the familiar sequence of high pitched notes. Brunell’s eyes opened, looking forward in a daze.