“The techniques were developed in the 1950s."
"By the Soviets, is that right?"
"The Russians, the Chinese, the Americans, just about everybody. It was a major element in the Cold War. Destroying the memory. Removing convictions. Modeling personalities."
"What methods were used?"
"Always the same ones: electroshock, drugs, sensory isolation." There was silence.
"Which drugs?" Mathilde asked.
"I worked mostly on the CIA 's program, MK-Ultra. The Americans used sedatives. Phenothiazine. Sodium amytal. Chlorpromazine."
Mathilde knew the names. They were the heavy artillery of psychiatry. In hospitals, these products were grouped together under the generic term chemical straitjacket. But in reality they were more like a grinder, a machine to mold the mind.
"What about sensory isolation?"
Valérie sneered. "The most advanced experiments were conducted in Canada, from 1954 onward, in a clinic in Montreal. First, the psychiatrists interviewed some of their female patients, who were depressives. They forced them to confess their faults, and any fantasies they were ashamed of them, they locked them in completely dark rooms, in which they could no longer see the floor, walls or ceiling. After that, they placed football helmets on their heads, in which extracts from their confessions were played on a loop. The women constantly heard the same words, the same sentences, which were the most painful parts of their confessions. The only respite was the sessions of electroshock therapy and sleep cures under sedation."
Mathilde glanced over at Anna, asleep on the couch. Her chest rose and fell slightly as she breathed.
The student went on:
"When the patients could no longer remember their names or their pasts, when they had no willpower left, the real treatment began. The therapists changed the tapes in the helmets, which now played out orders and commands, which were supposed to forge their new personalities."
Like all psychiatrists. Mathilde had heard of such aberrations, but she could not convince herself of either their reality or their effectiveness. "What were the results?" she asked in a neutral voice.
All the Americans managed to produce were zombies. The Russians and Chinese seem to have obtained better results, using more or less identical methods. After the Korean War, over seven thousand American prisoners of war returned to their country, absolutely convinced of values. Their personalities had been conditioned."
Mathilde scratched her shoulder. A tomblike chill was rising up her limbs. "And do you think that laboratories have continued to work in this field since then?"
"Of course."
"What sort of labs?"
Valérie laughed sarcastically. "You're really on another planet, aren't you? We're talking about military research centers. All armies work on manipulating brains."
"In France, too?"
"In France, in Germany, in Japan, in the USA. Everywhere that has the technological means. New products are constantly coming out. Right now, there's a lot of talk about a chemical compound called GHB, which wipes out what you have experienced during the previous twelve hours. It's called the rapist's drug because a drugged victim won't remember a thing. I'm sure the army is still working on that kind of product. The brain is the most dangerous weapon in the world."
"Thank you, Valérie."
She sounded surprised. "You don't want any precise sources? A bibliography?"
"That's all right. I'll call you back if necessary"
29
Mathilde went over to Anna, who was still asleep. She examined her arm for traces of injections. Nothing. She looked at her hair. Repeated absorption of sedatives provoked an electrostatic inflammation of the scalp. No particular sign.
She stood up in amazement at having almost believed the woman's story. No, really, she herself must be out of her mind as well… At that moment, she once again noticed the scars on the forehead-three tiny vertical lines barely an inch apart. She could not resist touching the temples and jaws. The prostheses shifted around beneath the skin.
Who had done that? How could Anna have forgotten such an operation?
Right from her first visit, she had mentioned the institute where the tomographic tests had been carried out. It was in Orsay. A hospital full of soldiers. Mathilde had written the name down somewhere in her notes. She looked quickly through her pad and came across a page full of her usual doodling. In the top right-hand corner, she had written Henri-Becquerel.
Mathilde got a bottle of water from the closet next to her consulting room; then, after taking a long swig from it, she picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"Rene? It's Mathilde. Mathilde Wilcrau."
A slight hesitation. The time. The years gone by. The surprise… Then a deep voice finally said, "How are things?"
"I'm not disturbing you?"
"Of course not. It's always a pleasure to hear your voice."
René Le Garrec had been her teacher and professor when she was studying at Val-de-Grace Hospital. A military psychiatrist and specialist in the traumas of war, he had set up the first medicopsychiatric emergency units open to victims of terrorism, war or natural disasters. He was a pioneer who had proved to Mathilde that you can wear a uniform without necessarily being an idiot.
"I just wanted to ask you something. Do you know the Henri Becquerel Institute?"
She noticed a slight hesitation.
"Yes, I do. It's a military hospital."
"What do they work on there?"
"They used to work on nuclear medicine."
"And now?"
Another hesitation. Mathilde was now sure of one thing: she was venturing into forbidden territory.
“I don't know exactly" the doctor replied. "They treat certain forms of trauma."
"From war?"
"I think so. I'd have to ask."
Mathilde had worked for three years in Le Garrec's department. Never had any mention been made of this institute.
As though trying to cover the clumsiness of his lie, the soldier went on the attack. "Why arc you asking me this?"
She made no attempt to duck and dive. "I have a patient who's had tests done there."
"What sort of tests?"
"Tomographic ones."
"I didn't know they had a PET scanner."
"It was Ackermann who carried them out."
"The cartographer?"
Eric Ackermann had written a book about the techniques for exploring the brain, bringing together the work of various teams from around the world. It had since become the standard reference book. Since its publication, the neurologist had the reputation of being one of the greatest topographers of the human brain. A traveler who voyaged around this region of the anatomy as though it were the sixth continent.
Mathilde confirmed.
Le Garrec observed, "It's odd he's working with us."
The us amused her. The army was more than just a corporation. it was a family "You're right," she said. "I knew Ackermann at the university. He was a real rebel. A conscientious objector, drugged up to his eyeballs. I find it hard to picture him working with soldiers. I think he was even condemned for illegal production of narcotics."
Le Garrec could not help laughing. "But that could be the reason. Do you want me to contact them?"
"No thanks. I just wanted to know if you had heard about their work, that's all."
"What's your patient's name?"
Mathilde now realized that she had gone a step too far. Le Garrec was going to start asking questions himself or, even worse, refer the matter to his superiors. Suddenly, the world Valérie Rannan had described seemed more probable. A universe of secret, impenetrable experiments, conducted in the name of a higher reason.