He bobbed his head. “Yeah, okay; write up a few lines on it, and keep watching for anything that eventuates. We might get a few grabs out of it.”
Morag licked her lips. This was getting away on her. “Like I said, there’s more to it.” Time to bluff, she thought. “NASA is scrambling a secret team to head up there now. Something big is happening… and I can join them.”
He looked up slowly. “Really? How the hell would you know that, let alone be able to join them?”
She held his eyes, her own unwavering even though her heart was racing. Here goes nothing. “Because I know Eileen Marie Collins, the retired NASA astronaut and first female commander of a space shuttle.”
His eyebrows went up. “You got an in?”
“You bet. I can join their team, and be first on the ground — we’re talking first breakers.” She nodded, trying to radiate confidence.
“I’m listening; what would you need?” Benson sat back.
She shrugged. “Not much really; a cameraman with high-altitude experience, travel expenses, plus my exclusive byline. It’s my story.”
She sat frozen, waiting as she saw him ruminating.
“When?” he asked, still holding her gaze.
“Gotta go right now if I’m going to catch that NASA team.”
Benson continued to stare, and time seemed to stand still. And then…
“Go.”
“Yes.” Her face split with a grin as she got to her feet.
“And Morag.”
She paused.
“You better bring me something hot.”
“Count on it.” She headed for the door.
CHAPTER 10
Jack Hammerson reread the summary of the report before him, titled: BREAKOUT. It was the result of several years’ observational analysis, interviews and conversations with Captain Alex Hunter, Hammerson’s HAWC team leader.
Alex Hunter was the first, and probably the last of their AWP, or Advanced Warrior Program, soldiers. The Arcadian program, from which he had drawn his codename, had literally caused him to rise from the ashes of a living death. Science had given him gifts and curses, but it was looking more likely they were in unequal measure.
He rubbed a hand across his face, his focus still on just a few paragraphs as if his mind had become a wheel stuck in sand, ever spinning, but not able to escape.
The military psychologists; Hammerson; Alex’s partner, Aimee Weir; and even Alex Hunter himself had worked hard to suppress the psychopathic urges of The Other that inhabited the deep, dark places in his mind. Alex had been given techniques to calm himself, and usually they worked, or at least he said they did.
Early diagnosis of a dissociative identity, or in layman’s terms, a split personality disorder, were far from satisfactory, and in fact, the detection of a neocortical mass in the center of his head led to theories that there was a physical aspect to the aberrant personality that haunted him. What they had at first thought to be a benign knot of scar tissue that surrounded an old bullet fragment in his brain was suspected of being something far more sinister.
Under MRI analysis, the mass was neuro-architecturally determined to be a bundle of synapses that had its own blood flow and was even triggering independent electrical coupling and neuronal synchronization, just like his brain did. But when they tried to investigate it more thoroughly, Alex’s body and mind had reacted — it was if the mass, the source of The Other, was defending itself.
“Hmm.” Hammerson scratched his chin. Yeah, that’s you, isn’t it? He thought. That’s where you live; the monster from his Id.
The HAWC commander turned the page, feeling his heart sink even further as he read on. There was the potential for total takeover of his personality. Alex Hunter, the person they knew, loved, and respected was currently the dominant personality pattern. And The Other was the rogue pattern he kept locked away. But the report’s author suggested that this psychological entity was becoming stronger not weaker, and perhaps it wasn’t Alex who freed it at will, but The Other that let itself out, whenever it chose.
The author also suggested they needed to prepare for the possibility of this darker personality not just asserting itself to become the dominant one, but one day becoming the only one.
Jack Hammerson knew that when that manifestation occurred, Alex Hunter wouldn’t be Alex Hunter anymore; he’d be a near unstoppable killing machine. The implications were horrifying — for Aimee; his son, Joshua; and Alex himself. And then there were the implications to Hammerson and his HAWCs.
What do you do with mad dogs? Hammerson already knew the answer to that. His eyes moved to the icon on his screen labeled ‘SWP’ — Synthetic Warrior Program. There was an old saying about hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. To that end, he had prepared a contingency plan to defend them all against a rogue Alex Hunter. He hoped the day would never come, but if it did, then they were ready to fight fire with fire.
Create a monster to kill a monster, Hammerson thought glumly. I hope, never. He sat staring at the report for several more seconds, not seeing the words anymore as his mind had turned inwards. The knock at the door gave him a start.
“Jesus.” Hammerson closed the report and pushed back from his desk. “Come.”
He already knew who it would be, so he cleared his mind and smiled as he stood. Alex Hunter paused to briefly salute, then he crossed to his superior officer with hand outstretched.
“Sir.”
Hammerson gripped the hand, examining his protégé. Alex had gray-green eyes that could project warmth, like now, or radiate a cold ruthlessness with an unblinking stare.
“Good job on the Manhattan.” Hammerson pointed to the chair opposite his own at the huge mahogany desk. “We recovered the device, all terrorists down, and Joe Public gets to sleep easy.”
“Except we lost the senator and his wife,” Alex said.
“True.” Hammerson sighed. “Gillian and Robert Anderson were dead the moment they boarded. Sometimes fate has plans for people and nothing or no one can change it. You saved millions of lives that day, but bottom line, we can’t protect everyone, everywhere.”
Alex stared into space. “We are the sword and shield.”
“Damn right.” Hammerson nodded. “Let’s move on. Are you rested?”
Alex turned. “Sure, if you call being decontaminated and debriefed for hours resting. I’m still waiting for that leave you promised me.”
“I promised you leave? Must be slipping.” Hammerson chuckled. “Anyway; I promised Aimee I’d give you leave — there’s a difference.” Hammerson raised his eyebrows. “How are she and Joshua by the way?” He watched Alex closely.
“Good, no, great. Having us all together, like a real family, it’s changed my life.” Alex seemed to relax further into the chair.
“And the headaches?” Hammerson smiled, watching.
Alex waved it away. “No, none.”
“Anger flare ups, conflict, or… voices?” Hammerson’s eyes narrowed. “That one voice.”
Alex’s eyes slowly lifted, the gaze direct. “No, no, and no.” He opened his hands, arms wide. “No change, I’m fine, Jack. So there’s probably no need to watch them, us, anymore, right?”
“Probably not.” Hammerson just left it there, committing to nothing. The techniques they were using seemed to work while he was conscious. But even Alex knew that when dreaming, the monster ran free.