TWENTY-FIVE
• • •
They met at Tony Cheng’s in Chinatown as planned. Jack had arrived a few minutes early to make sure they’d get a table far enough away from the other patrons that they could talk without fear of being overheard. He’d found a table in the corner farthest from the front door, near the kitchen, where the Chinese-speaking diners sat. Tiffany arrived a few minutes late, but at least she showed. Jack had wondered if she’d even go through with this meeting. She ordered the mixed vegetables and fried rice with a spring roll on the side. Jack got the sweet-and-sour pork. He remained quiet as Tiffany swallowed bite after bite of vegetables after barely chewing them.
Finally he said, “Food at the shelter didn’t do it for you, huh?”
She shrugged and put another forkful of bean sprouts, carrots, and mushrooms in her mouth.
“What’d they serve for breakfast this morning?”
“Oatmeal.”
“Any good?”
She shrugged again. “I didn’t have any. What did you have?”
He smiled. “A granola bar.”
Tiffany finished her vegetables and rice and took a bite of the spring roll. She rolled her eyes back and groaned. “This is so good. Thanks, Jack.”
Jack looked her over. Besides appearing unwashed and a bit disheveled, she looked to be in good condition. “Anybody give you trouble last night?”
She held his gaze briefly, then swallowed. “I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No. Nobody gave me trouble.”
“Good.” He didn’t like the idea of her alone on the streets. There were too many dangers, too many jerks lurking in too many shadows. “I wish there was someplace you could stay. Someplace else.”
“Are you worried about me?”
“Yes, I am.”
She set the spring roll on the plate. “I’ll be fine. I know how to disappear.”
“What? You have some superpower we never knew about?”
She smiled. “Something like that.”
“I told you. I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, you did say that.” Jack placed a piece of pork in his mouth and chewed slowly. “So I did more reading through the documents.”
“And?”
“You ever see The Manchurian Candidate?”
“The old one or the recent one?”
“Either. The recent one. I don’t know. I’ve never seen the older version.”
“Okay. What about it?”
“The brain implant. Mind control. You know the part I’m talking about?”
“Sure. It’s the whole premise of the story.”
“Yes. It’s not science fiction.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“It’s the Centralia Project. After World War II the CIA began experimenting with mind control and manipulation. They used all kinds of barbaric tactics in an attempt to perfect the practice of inducing amnesia and then controlling someone’s mind. Their intent was to cause a subject to perform a task that would normally be against his will and then never remember that he did it. It was the beginnings of creating the perfect assassin. It’s gone one step further now. They’re not only still using those barbaric tactics, but they’ve advanced to brain implants to directly manipulate the subject’s mind. It’s called artificial or synthetic telepathy.” He gave her a few seconds to assemble the pieces.
Tiffany widened her eyes and looked around the restaurant.
“Jedidiah Patrick,” Jack said.
“The Ranger.”
“He was a sniper. One of the best until he became the poster boy for the project. But then he had some kind of breakdown. Messed up. They tried fixing it —him —but apparently it didn’t go so well.”
“And now they’re trying it again, this time using a chip in his brain. But why?”
“You read it yourself. To assassinate Connelly.”
Tiffany sat straighter in her chair. “You have to tell someone.”
“Who?”
“The Secret Service. The FBI. I don’t know. Someone.”
Jack leaned in and lowered his voice. “Who can we trust? Don’t you think it’s going to look pretty suspicious, us having this information in the first place? And how are we going to corroborate anything? Show them the documents? They’re going to want to know how we got them. And then what do we tell them?” He pushed food around on his plate with the chopsticks. “Don’t you see? Anything we do or say will only incriminate us. Those involved with the project have insulated themselves. It’s how these ghost agencies work. You try to expose them and you’re a wacko conspiracy theorist. You do expose them and you must be part of them.”
Tiffany picked up the remainder of her spring roll but didn’t put it in her mouth. “Why can’t we just come clean and tell them the truth? Surely they’ll see it for what it is, see that we stumbled on it.”
“You broke into a secure database using your dad’s credentials. That’s a felony. Besides, the more I read those documents, the more sickened I am by how deep and high this Centralia thing goes. And the higher it goes, the more self-preservation becomes the priority.”
“How high does it go?”
“To the top.”
Her eyes widened. “The top?”
Jack sat back in his chair but didn’t answer her. Yes, it went to the top. The Oval Office. But of course the office was never mentioned in conjunction with the assassination attempt. The president and his position would be protected and shielded from any and all wrongdoing.
Tiffany’s face went slack. “Are we dead or what?”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “We just enjoyed a nice lunch and had a rousing conversation.”
“When are they going to do it?”
“Doesn’t say. But soon, by my best guess. They won’t want to sit on something like this for too long. Too many mistakes can happen, too much room for error.”
“And Patrick?”
“We need to find him and stop him before he pulls the trigger.”
• • •
The room was just like the many interrogation rooms seen in law enforcement facilities across the country. Bare except for a metal table and two chairs. A large mirror on one wall, no doubt a one-way window, and a cabinet mounted on the opposite side. Lit by a row of fluorescent lights attached to the ceiling.
Jed was escorted in by an armed guard. Murphy waited for him, seated at the table. Jed had agreed to talk on two conditions. One, that he meet with Murphy alone. As glad as he was to see Karen, he didn’t want her presence to alter his ability to evaluate Murphy or what the man had to say. He needed to be unbiased and focused. And the second condition was that he would get to see Lilly after the discussion. Murphy had agreed to both.
After the door closed, Murphy motioned to the empty chair across the table from him. “Please, sit.”
Jed walked to the chair and placed his hands on the back of it. “I’ll stand. Thanks.”
Murphy held his gaze on Jed for a few seconds. “I’m not the enemy, Patrick. You’ll see that soon enough.”
“I’ll stand.”
Murphy held up both hands. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
Jed wasted no time getting to his questions. He was in no mood for small talk with Murphy. “Where did you find Karen?”
“Crawfordsville, Indiana. Why do you ask?”
Jed stared at Murphy. He didn’t want to believe the man, every cell in his brain told him not to, but something compelled him to.
“Oh, I see,” Murphy said. “You still don’t trust me.” He studied Jed as he spoke, probing his soul with a steady gaze. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. All of this is a bit unconventional. I understand your position. But when we’re through talking, I hope you’ll understand mine.” Murphy’s eyes darted toward Jed’s temple. “How’s your head feeling, Patrick?”
Jed instinctively reached for the incision above his ear and touched it lightly. “It’s numb.”
“Have you had any headaches?”
“A few here and there. Nothing serious.”
Murphy smiled. “Good. You didn’t know about the implant, did you?”
Jed looked up sharply.
“Centralia,” Murphy said. “Standard procedure to plant a device in their operatives. Only yours didn’t quite take the way they wanted it to. Haven’t you wondered why you keep having those flashbacks? Where the memories were coming from —the real ones and the false ones?”
Jed clenched his fists under the table. “It was imprinting. Brainwashing.”
“At first, yes. But it was so much more than that. They were trying to rewire the hardware of your brain. We had to get rid of it —the implant. We knew it would mean some rough days, so we kept you under careful surveillance. But it’s gone now. There may yet be some glitches here and there, but you seem to be recovering nicely. So let’s get your questions answered before I show you what we know. Fire away.”
“Where is Crawfordsville?”
“Outside Indianapolis.”
“Where exactly is Crawfordsville?” Jed knew that if they had indeed picked up Karen in Crawfordsville, Murphy would have been the one to give the order. And if he gave the order, he’d know exactly where the town was.
Murphy’s face grew serious and he never took his eyes off Jed. “At the intersection of Routes 231 and 136, forty-five miles outside the Indianapolis city limit. Home of Wabash College and the General Lew Wallace museum. You want more?”
“How do you know so much about Connelly?”
Murphy smiled as one would at a child’s silly question. “There is no trust in Washington. Everyone spies on everyone else. We have our ways.”
“How can you be sure your information is accurate?”
“I have proof. Inarguable proof that you’ll see in a moment.”
Jed pulled out the chair and sat. “Okay. Let’s see it.”
Murphy leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “What I’m about to tell you will seem impossible. You won’t believe it. You won’t want to believe it. But stick with me; I have the proof you’re looking for.”
“You have my attention,” Jed said.
Murphy glanced around the room as if to make sure they were truly alone. He adjusted his collar, shifted in his chair. “There’s no way to ease into this, so I’m just going straight in. The vice president is a traitor of the worst kind. We have very reliable intel from inside the White House that proves Connelly is planning something big.”
Jed rubbed his legs. “Something big. What do you mean?”
“Connelly is heading a group of insiders intent on taking over the country. They’re conspiring to get rid of the president, his cabinet, the Speaker of the House —they’re moving to assassinate all of them with a coordinated bombing so that he can blame it all on terrorists and foreign extremists. Then comes the real fun. He’s planning something that will forever change the landscape of American culture and liberty. People thought the Patriot Act was intrusive. They have no idea how things could and will change. He’ll implement martial law and draconian rule. Interments, relocations, mass deportation of dissidents, mass execution of protestors. Connelly is moving the Centralia Project way beyond military experiments and training. He’s dabbling in population control, mass brainwashing, you name it. He wants to take over; he wants complete, totalitarian rule.”
“Like Nazi Germany.”
“Only worse.” Murphy stood and pushed the chair under the table. “But that’s not enough for you, is it? My word carries little weight, huh?”
Jed shrugged.
“You’ve been lied to too many times. They destroyed your sense of trust.” He walked to the cabinet secured to the wall and opened the doors. Inside was a flat-screen TV.
Murphy removed a remote from the shelf. He pointed the remote at the screen as if to turn on the television, then stopped. “Do you mind if we have Karen in here for this part? I think she needs to see this too.”
Jed hesitated.
“It’s important that you both view this. There’s something we need you to do and we want you to do it as a team. We realize the importance of having Karen by your side.”
Jed wasn’t thrilled about the idea of getting Karen involved. He wanted to protect her, and the best way to do that was to keep her separate from whatever it was Murphy was going to have him do. But he also realized that he had little leverage for negotiating. Murphy had all the cards: Lilly, the thumb drive. Karen too. He could keep her from Jed, and right now Jed needed Karen more than ever. “Okay.”
Murphy crossed the room and opened the door. He spoke to someone in the hallway, and seconds later Karen entered and went right to Jed. Murphy slid the chair he had been using next to Jed and motioned for Karen to sit in it.
“Now,” he said. “I want you to see what is about to happen to this nation.”
He pointed the remote at the TV and pushed a button. The screen flicked on to show a grainy image of two men seated in what appeared to be a living room. Chairs, sofa, coffee table. Oriental rug. Nicely framed pictures on the wall. An ornate desk in one corner. The men sat across from each other, one on the sofa, the other on an overstuffed chair. The man on the sofa faced the camera, and though the image wasn’t clear, it was obvious that he was Michael Connelly, the vice president.
“I need the office,” Connelly said. “That’s the only way this is going to happen. I need total control.”
“We can arrange that,” the other man said. He sat with his back to the camera, and Jed didn’t recognize his voice.
Murphy paused the screen and pointed to the other man. “That’s Bob Ridgely, deputy director of National Clandestine Service, CIA. He’s a traitor as well. And the office that Connelly is talking about is the Oval Office.”
He started the video rolling again.
“I don’t want a mess,” Connelly said. “Make sure it’s clean. Make sure I’m clean.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Ridgely said.
Connelly lifted a snifter to his mouth and took a small sip. “Once I’m in, we can begin the process.”
The video cut out and the screen went blue.
Murphy turned to face Jed and Karen. “The process.” He let the words hang in the air like a stale odor. “The process is his plan to bring the entire country under the heavy thumb of the federal government. It begins with the plan I mentioned before and concludes with something that only vaguely resembles the United States of America and more closely aligns with, as you mentioned before, Jed, Nazi Germany.” He pointed the remote at the TV again. “Here’s the proof.”
The screen flicked on and this time Connelly was seated on a park bench, right leg crossed, left arm draped over the back of the bench. He wore a white shirt and tie, dark pants. In the background bicyclists rode by, only briefly appearing on-screen before they disappeared off the other side. And as before, the picture was grainy and shaky. It appeared to have been filmed from a concealed camera.
A voice came from offscreen. “When you do plan to initiate this?”
Connelly looked around the park casually. His face showed no emotion. “As soon as possible. We can’t wait too long. We want the assassinations and the subsequent attack to appear as if they were coordinated terrorist efforts.”
The camera shifted and shook as the other speaker coughed.
Murphy paused the screen. “The man speaking to Connelly is David Dunbar, one of Connelly’s aides who is in fact one of us. He’s a spy and was wearing a lapel camera here.” Murphy stopped and looked at the floor. He shook his finger at the screen. “Two weeks later David was found dead in his apartment. Murdered.”
He pushed the button on the remote to roll the video. Dunbar said, “Subsequent attack. What do you have in mind?
Again, Connelly looked around. He paused while he watched a woman in shorts and a sports bra jog by. When she passed, he said, “You don’t need to concern yourself with that. It’ll be big enough to bring the country to her knees and look to daddy to keep her safe.”
“And then what? Where do we go from there?”
It was obvious Dunbar was trying to bait the vice president.
Connelly looked directly at Dunbar, almost directly into the camera. “We become the nation we were meant to be. The potential has always been there. People were never meant to lead themselves. They can’t. People are sheep who need to be led. For thousands of years, monarchy was the government of choice. Why? Because it worked. One man calling the shots. Leading. Then man got the idea that people could lead their own lives, and ever since we’ve had nothing but problems.”
He slipped his arm off the back of the bench, uncrossed his legs, and leaned in. “Think of it, David. The power and influence of this country led by one strong leader. Think of what we could accomplish, what we could gain.”
Murphy stopped the video with Connelly’s face frozen on the screen. His mouth was tight, his nose flared, his eyes narrowed and intense.
“He’s a devil, Patrick, and needs to be stopped.”
“Why did you show me this?”
“Ignorance is bliss, but with knowledge comes the responsibility to act on it. That responsibility is yours now. You know the truth. You see what over three hundred million sheep will never see —nor would they believe it if they did see it.”
“What do want from me?” Jed thought he knew where Murphy was going with this but wanted to hear the man say it himself.
“I want you to assassinate Michael Connelly.”
Karen put her hand on Jed’s arm. She looked him directly in the eyes but didn’t say a word. Jed could tell by her look, though, by the intensity in her eyes, the shadow of fear he saw there, that she agreed with Murphy. She didn’t want to say it, not there, not in that room, but she did agree.
“Why me? Why not get someone else?”
“Patrick, there are only a handful of men capable of pulling this off, and every one of them has already been appropriated by Centralia. But you . . . you’re on the other side now. So there is no one else. You’re the last one we know hasn’t turned.”
“Why would Connelly want to do this?”
“Why does anyone go over the edge? Minh, Hussein, Lenin, Pol Pot, Hitler. They weren’t always evil. There was a time in each of their lives when they were just like you and me.”
Jed raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, not like you and me. When they were average citizens going about average lives, day in and day out. Just one of the masses. So what do they all have in common? They were hungry for power, obsessed with it. They got a taste of it early on in their careers and developed an appetite for it that couldn’t be satisfied. Some say they were possessed by a devil.”
“And you think Connelly is like Hitler?”
“The same spirit is there. Hungry for power. Willing to take whatever measures are necessary to satisfy his appetite. Willing to kill. Willing to ruin a great nation.” He paused and stared at his hands for a moment. “Tell me something, Patrick. If you knew in 1933 what Adolf Hitler was capable of, what he would become, what atrocities would occur under his watch and order, would you stop him?”
It was a valid question. And the answer was rather obvious.
Murphy didn’t wait for Jed’s answer, though. “Of course you would. Who in his right mind wouldn’t? You just saw what Connelly is planning. You heard it from his own mouth. You know he’s evil. You feel it in your heart, don’t you?”
Jed did. And it disturbed him. But there was no denying the video he’d seen. It was Connelly on that screen; there was no confusion there. And Jed had looked into the man’s eyes and seen what resided there. Connelly was evil. He turned to Karen, who still had her hand on his arm. She said nothing, but he saw the fear in the lines of her face. She had tears in her eyes too. She knew this was the only way.