Claney’s eyes glistened. “So when the gullible Kathleen found out, she wanted to stop him, and then Shelby strangled her in his own house. It was a strangulation you did, wasn’t it, Dickens?”
“Indeed it was, sir,” the man answered, his face unmoved. “But first, I stunned her and removed her clothing in order to create the impression of her expecting a man.”
“Good,” Claney grinned. “I do appreciate details. Our friend is now busy remembering them…”
Frank clenched his fists and shut his eyes. He couldn’t get to Claney. He couldn’t wring Dickens’ neck. He racked his brains for a way to escape his bonds once the two left the room. He wouldn’t have long to wait: Claney had a plane to catch leaving Dickens with too many things on his plate — the Vaccination, the police and some reporter they kept talking about.
“The man is easily excited,” Claney pointed at Frank. “So excited he even tried to attempt his father’s failed plan to murder the President. For that purpose, he infiltrated Memoria’s HQ with several accomplices. When his plan failed, he sought refuge in the Bronx camp. But Anna Gautier, even though a migrant herself, didn’t even want to hear them out. Then Shelby massacred the whole Council, one by one, and lost one of his accomplices in their desperate self-defense. By the way — Bow, what did you say happened to his other associates?
Frank tensed at the sight of the pale researcher. Bow averted his eyes.
“Maggie Douggan,” he started in a soft and reluctant voice, “is now being prepared for the second stage of the personality correction program. The brain of Barney Douggan has collapsed during the mnemocapsule decompression rendering him in a trance-like state, a bit like a coma. Trying to resuscitate him is not recommended. His system has been weakened by the procedure and such resuscitation may be dangerous to…”
Flexing his muscles one by one, Frank searched Bow’s table for some kind of sharp object. He had to get out of there. He had to save Maggie, find Barney and prevent the disaster from happening. He had no idea how the mnemocapsules worked, let alone what they contained. But now he was certain that the vaccinated would somehow obey Claney’s orders. The chemical mind lock could have something to do with it, too. Possibly, the two devices were programmed to work together to advance the mad Congressman’s plans. He had to find out when and how they would be activated. He needed to know Claney’s main target.
“Does that mean that you can’t apply correction to Douggan?” Claney glanced at Dickens.
“Not enough time,” he answered.
“Currently, Douggan responds to basic voice commands,” Bow said. “We gave him a false memories matrix, reinserted the capsule and submerged him into a trance. If we bring him to now, memory fusion may occur rendering the subject’s behavior unpredictable.”
“Rendering what?” Claney frowned.
“A new matrix needs time to root. At least twenty-four hours.”
“Shame,” Claney sighed. “I’m sorry about it. He would complete our motley crew,” Claney nodded at Frank and turned back to Dickens, “Can’t think of another name for them.”
“How about traitors,” the blond man suggested.
“Sounds good. Let it be traitors, then,” Claney glanced at his watch. “Bow? When can I expect the new tape for our traitors?”
“About forty minutes. Are you going to take a look?”
“No. Let Dickens watch it. I’ve got to go.”
He headed for the door. Now or never.
“Wait,” Frank croaked. “Can I have a glass of water?”
Claney stopped. “You asking me?”
“I need to ask you something. But I can’t speak. Throat’s too dry.”
“Bow,” Claney jerked his chin pointing at Frank.
Obediently, the researcher filled a plastic cup from the water cooler and put it to Frank’s lips.
“Thank you,” Frank said.
It was a strange feeling, moving his head when the rest of his body was strapped to the bed. Drinking allowed him to glance around the room. Frank noticed a scalpel in the heap of surgical tools on the table. He still had to get hold of it somehow, then cut the straps…
“Well?” Claney lost patience. “Didn’t you want to ask me about something?”
“Yes, of course,” Frank swallowed. “When will it all start?”
Claney looked at Dickens, then at Bow, then back at Frank.
“It already has. This morning.”
Frank pursed his lips to conceal his feelings. He still couldn’t work out how it was possible that thousands of people had already been “vaccinated”. And how was Claney going to make them obey his orders all at once? As he’d just said it should take at least twenty-four hours. But by then they couldn’t hide their game any more.
Back at Barney’s place, Max had explained to them why you couldn’t make a large crowd obey all at once. It had to happen in stages, at perfectly choreographed and mutually exclusive moments.
“Well,” said Claney, “I’ll be off, then.”
“Shall I get the chopper ready?” Dickens asked.
“You don’t need to. I’ll take a car to the Town Hall and then to the airport. Bow, you finish with Shelby here. Tell the other techs to get the girl ready as soon as they can. Make sure you supervise their every step.”
“They won’t start on her without me,” the researcher said.
“Good. Oh, and try to bring Douggan to. I want all three to make a full confession in front of the media tomorrow morning.” Claney looked back ay Dickens. “Start feeding the camp leaders’ massacre into the Net. After that, start the main phase. The roof equipment works fine, I hope? No more monkey wrenches in our works?”
“No, sir. I’ve double-checked everything I could. Even if they cut the power to the building, we’ll still have enough energy for the transmission.”
“You sure you have enough men?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait for my plane to take off and then commence. Do make sure there’re no more setbacks, will you? And keep an eye on what the police are up to.”
Claney glanced at Frank and walked out. Dickens lingered, staring at Frank with those pale cold eyes of his as if trying to read his thoughts. Then he nodded to Bow and closed the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty. Things Fall into Place
William Bow stood by Frank’s bed smoothing out the cables he’d connected back on the headband.
“Are you going to put it on?” Frank said.
The researcher didn’t answer. His fingers twitched. He fiddled over every connection and stepped back to the equipment stand. He bent over the console and tapped the keyboard, looking up at the monitor.
“What was Claney going on about?” Frank raised his head studying the objects on the table. “What’s going to happen in the morning?”
The researcher didn’t answer. In sterilization boxes to his left was the scalpel Frank had already seen plus a pair of surgical scissors and three syringes marked with fluorescent yellow stickers and filled with a cloudy greenish liquid. There were other tools whose purpose was hard to define.
“Dickens will kill you,” Frank dropped as nonchalantly as he could manage. He lowered his head onto the headrest. “Memoria bosses couldn’t care less whether you live or die. All they’re interested in is the result they want, and they’ll do whatever necessary to get it. Then they’ll get rid of those who worked on it for them. Bow, can you hear me? I’m sorry to say, but your type is dispensable.”