Sunday 1:50 p.m.
"Stop!" Peter screamed, as his eyes shot open and he tried to sit up. The thick straps across his chest held him down, but he strained against them as his brain, overwhelmed by the pain and the flood of memories, tried to make what he knew known. "It's Olivia! She's there and it'll happen any minute."
"Peter, Peter!" Walter said as he and Astrid turned away from their computers and hurried to the chair on which Peter was strapped. "Calm down, please!"
"Get me out!" Peter said, continuing to fight against his restraints. "We have to stop her now!"
"Peter, calm down!" Astrid ordered sharply. "We can't get you out unless you stop struggling!"
Gritting his teeth, Peter forced himself to lie still while Astrid unbuckled the straps that pined his wrists, chest, waist, and legs to the chair while Walter hovered nearby, nervously. As he waited, Peter closed his eyes and tried to form coherent thoughts that he could communicate to Astrid as quickly as possible. Everything depended on it.
"I am so sorry, son," Walter said. "I tried to come up with another solution, but, unable to test the procedures on human subjects, I could not guarantee any else would be effective. And, to be honest, I am concerned that some of my experiments caused brain damage in the rats. Fluffy just hasn't run the maze with the same vigor he used to."
"It's fine, Walter," Peter said dismissively as the essential information crystalized in his mind. "Where is Olivia? Is she still in New York?"
"I talked to her about an hour ago," Astrid said as she freed Peter's chest. As soon as she let go of the strap, he propped himself up on his elbows and waited impatiently while she unbuckled the one at his shins. "They were still searching Massive Dynamic for Parmas's accomplice."
"It's her," Peter said. "You have to call Charlie and get him to stop her."
"Peter, are you saying that Olivia is working with the Peruvian terrorists?"
"They to got her, like they got me," Peter said as Astrid pulled away the last strap and he was finally able to roll off the gurney. When his feet hit the ground, his knees gave way and he collapsed onto the floor. Even as he fell, he could feel the sudden change in position had turned his stomach, and when he hit the floor, he had to choke back the vomit.
"So, Olivia was brianwashed?" Astrid asked.
"If someone in Peru is doing it . . . yes, it is entirely possible," Walter said. "Why on earth did they go there?"
"To find out what happened to Peter," Astrid said. "I need to call Olivia."
"Son," Walter continued, kneeling down and putting his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Peter gasped, still trying to suppress the gagging. "Can I have something to drink . . . something salty?"
"The procedure upset your electrolyte balance," Walter said. "That is why you crave salt."
"Walter, please," Peter insisted.
"I'll see what I can find," Walter said, jumping up and shuffling to the refrigerator.
Trying to ignore the pounding headache that was, undoubtedly the root of his nausea and vertigo, Peter pulled himself up to his feet and managed to walk towards Astrid, who was holding her phone to her ear and, apparently, waiting for someone on the other end to answer.
Peter slipped onto a stool and felt better once he was off his feet. He leaned against the lab table, resting his head on a cool metal bar from the shelving unit next to the table. The cold pressure felt good against his throbbing headache. When Astrid's impatient pacing turned his way, he caught her eye and asked, "She's not answering?"
"No," Astrid said anxiously. "Maybe she's in a meeting or something."
"Call Charlie," Peter said.
Astrid pulled her phone from her ear and hung up, then started dialing a new number. "What do I tell him?" she asked, once the number was entered and she was once again waiting for someone to answer."
"He has to bring Olivia here," Peter said. "Right away. She'll try to get away, she'll try to stay, but he can't let her. Whatever it takes, they have to get her out of that building."
Astrid nodded as she started speaking to Charlie on the other end of the line, "Agent Francis, this is Agent Farnsworth. We just finished performing the procedure to reintroduce Peter's memories and he thinks Olivia might be programed to set off one of Parmas's devices. . . ."
"Peter!" Walter said sharply, making Peter's headache spike. "I have something for you to drink."
"Thanks Walter," Peter said, taking the large plastic cup from his father and, unwisely, looking into it before he drank. "What is this?"
"Chicken soup," Walter said. "Campbell's. Its sodium content is astronomical, and should have your electrolyte balanced in no time. Plus, the noodles at the bottom will help settle your stomach."
"You put ice in it, Walter. The glass is cold."
"You look flushed, son," Walter replied. "I thought you'd like something cold to drink."
Peter sighed and took a drink. Either by accident or some sort of bizarre reasoning that only Walter could have performed, the ice-cold condensed soup was exactly what Peter craved. He drank the entire glass and swallowed the noodles without bothering to chew them.
"I actually feel a lot better," Peter said as he put the cup down. "Thanks, Walter."
The old man smiled at him and opened his mouth as if to say something, but Astrid interrupted.
"Peter," she said anxiously. "Charlie says Olivia isn't answering his calls. What do we do?"
~B~R~E~A~K~
Sunday 2:05 p.m.
"Ok, I see an open door," Charlie said as he jogged down a long hall one floor above the auditorium in Massive Dynamic's headquarters. On his right was a row of windows looking out to the street, only four stories below. On his left was a series of glass walls, windows, and doors that looked in on now-empty conference rooms. About thirty yards ahead of him was a dark wood door, probably leading to a maintenance closet, that was open just a crack. Ordinarily, Charlie would think nothing of an open maintenance closet door, but it was exactly as Peter described, which meant things were going to get very bad, very fast.
"Approach her carefully," Peter said, his voice coming clearly through the blue-tooth headset. "I don't know exactly what she's supposed to be doing – other than activating the machine. It's possible they have her programed to shoot anyone who tries to stop her."
"There's not a lot of cover here," Charlie said, lowering his voice as he approached. "How do you suggest I take her?"
"You got the Taser, right?"
"Yes."
"That's what I suggest," Peter replied. "Shoot first, ask questions later."
"What if your wrong?" Charlie asked as he looked down at the boxy black gun he'd commandeered from one of Massive Dynamic's security guards. "I might need Olivia's help to find the real bad guy."
"I'm not wrong."
"If you say so," Charlie said, taking a deep sigh as he carefully approached the open door.
Very carefully, Charlie started opening the dark wood door. In the dim light of the closet, he could see Olivia kneeling over what looked like a large cardboard box doing something intricate – though Charlie had no idea what that was.
"Olivia?" He asked cautiously, once he had the door open enough for him to step in.
"Give me a minute, will you?" she asked. Her voice sounded suspiciously flat. "I just want to finish this."
"Step away from the box," Charlie said authoritatively. She didn't move.
"Tase her!" Peter said insistently from the other end of the phone line. "She's not herself. You're putting everyone in danger."
Charlie ignored Peter's protests; instead his attention was focused on Olivia. "Liv, that's an order," Charlie said more insistently. "Step away now."
"Just let me finish," she said, not even turning to look at him.
"Step away or I will shoot," Charlie said.
"Take cover!" Peter yelled in his ear. "She'll shoot first."
Peter's warning was too late. He was still talking when Olivia started to turn with a motion that Charlie's gut told him was threatening. Charlie swung backwards, to the side of the door, and out of the line of fire a hairs breath before three bullets tore through the space he had just occupied and crashed through the windows across the hall.
A spider's web of cracks spread across the window, and a chilly New York autumn breeze whipped into the hall, but Charlie barely noticed. Peter was still talking, asking desperately for an update, but Charlie ignored the chatter. Years of training, first as a marine, then as Federal Agent, had taught him how to ignore all the distractions and focuses solely on the threat, while keeping a cool enough head to plan his next move.
Having fired her gun, Olivia would do one of two things. She must know that he'd dodged, so she could either come out of the closet and finish the job, or assume she'd scared him off and go back to work. In the first case, Charlie was at a great disadvantage. There was no cover, so his only chance of stopping her was to shoot her with the Taser before she managed to get off another shot with her gun. Unfortunately, bullets were much, much faster than Tasers.
After a tense moment in which he waited for one of his best friends to step out and shoot him, Charlie had to conclude that she'd returned her attentions to the freezing bomb she was about to set off.
Taking a deep breath and not sparing a thought for the fact that it could very well be his last, Charlie swung around the door frame and shot his Taser at the place where he knew she had been before she fired. It was a big risk, if he missed he'd be dead and there would be no one to stop her from killing hundreds of innocent people. But, if he didn't take the shot, or he took too long to take it, those things would happen anyways, and he'd know he could have stopped it.
The Taser's electrodes shot out of the boxy gun, trailing spiral wires. Only when they sunk into Olivia's back and he could see her spasm as the electricity coursed through her body did he exhale.
"She's down," he said as he put the Taser down and walked over to his unconscious partner slumped over the box she'd been so focused on.
"Thank God," Peter said, clearly relived. "What happened? Did I hear bullets?"
"You were right, she shot first," Charlie said as he performed the standard safety procedures to secure Olivia in custody, pulling her hands out from under her body and cuffing them behind her back. "But she was so focused on getting this thing operational so, when she thought she'd scared me away, she went right back to work." He carefully removed the Taser's electrodes.
"Did she activate the device?" Peter asked as Charlie pulled Olivia away from the bomb and laid her on the ground.
"I'm just looking at it now," Charlie said, turning his attention to the box.
It appeared to be a plain banker's box with the guts of a computer dumped haphazardly inside it. Perhaps Astrid or Peter could have looked at the mess of wires, circuit boards covered in multi-colored microchips, and the occasional light blinking white or red, and known what it was doing. Charlie just knew enough to know that the blinking was probably a bad thing. Snaking out of the box was a thick black cored that ended in what looked like an oversized earphone made of tin, nearly a foot in circumference.
"It's blinking, and vibrating," Charlie said, far more afraid of the device in front of him than he had been of Olivia with her gun. "I think she got it working."
"Then you've got to stop it," Peter said urgently. "We don't know how long it takes for one of Parmas's devices to destroy things, or kill people, you have to stop it right now."
"How?" Charlie asked, bewildered. "This thing's a mess of wires . . . There's not an off switch."
"Do you see the power source?" Peter asked.
"I . . . not that I recognize. But, I think I can feel the floor vibrating . . ."
"You have to break it," Peter said urgently.
"How?"
"Rip out the wires, Crack the motherboard, just break it!"
"OK," Charlie said nervously, reaching into the box with both hands and praying he didn't get electrocuted. He wrapped one large hand around a group of wires and braced the other against the largest circuit board and pulled. There were sparks, and he felt a jolt of electricity run through his body, but the lights went out and the floor stopped vibrating. "I think I got it."
"Dig through the wires and look for a power source," Peter said, though it was hard for Charlie to hear him over the pounding of his own heart. "It'll probably be a lithium battery, like the kind in you cell phone. I think it must be what Olivia connected to start the thing working, so it's probably close to the top."
Charlie looked and, without much trouble, found a battery like one used in cell phones hooked up to a series of wires. "Ok, should I take it out?"
"Yeah," Peter said. "You know how to do that?"
"That, at least, is in my repertoire," Charlie said, sliding the battery out and, after a moment of consideration, putting it on the floor far away from the box. "Now what?"
"Now I think it's safe to bring them in," Peter said.
"By them you mean . . ."
"The bomb and Olivia. Walter will pick it apart and put her back together."
~B~R~E~A~K~
Four hours later, Olivia – escorted by Charlie and Agent Robinson – came into the lab. She looked thoroughly spooked, almost in shock. The only other time Peter had seen her like that was when Ella had almost had her brain melted by the computer download. The situations were not dissimilar, he reasoned. They were both personal attacks using a subversive, practically undetectable, and seemingly unstoppable form of violence too close to home.
Her eyes quickly found his as she walked across the room and he held her gaze. She knew he understood how she felt – consciously or not, she was looking for empathy. He hoped that she could also look at him and see that everything would be OK.
"Ah, Agent Dunham!" Walter said delightedly. "It's so good to see you!"
"Hi Walter," Olivia replied. She was obviously not nearly as delighted.
"Any word on those extradition orders?" Charlie asked.
"Bryoles just sent out an e-mail," Astrid said. "The Iquitos police have Hass and Hollingbrook in custody. They're still looking for Tamba, both in Iquitos and in Lima."
"Somehow, I doubt they'll track him down," Peter grumbled.
"It'll depend," Olivia said. "Can he disappear into the rainforest and the native culture he wanted to protect, or is he as dependent on modern conveniences and technologies as we are?"
"Ah, a classic question that had plagued us since the Ancient Egyptians," Walter said. "Once we have experienced the benefits and indulgences of the modern world, can we turn back the clock? Can we, as individuals, as communities, return to an earlier state – a simpler time?"
"I'm gonna go with no," Charlie said as he and Olivia walked down the steps and into the lab proper, where Walter's deprograming machine was set up and waiting.
"So it seems," Walter agreed. "But there is precedent. Just look at the Amish, a community that lives beside, exposes their children too, and even utilizes in a public setting some of the advancements of the modern world. But, by and large, they set them aside and maintain a home life that, by comparison, is downright primitive."
"Because an HDTV is the mark of civilization," Peter commented. Turning to Olivia, he asked, "How you feeling?"
"Unsettled," she told him honestly. "I remember going off to search for Parmas's accomplice, then two hours later I wake up handcuffed in the back of Charlie's car. He's saying I almost killed an auditorium full of people."
"I think I know the feeling," Peter said with a soft smile. "But, no worries, Walter will have you remembering all your fun homicidal attempts in no time."
"Oh goody," Olivia replied. "What do I have to do?"
"Just get on the chair," Peter said, indicating the lab's operating chair, complete with wrist, chest, and leg restraints. "And try to relax."
"Because nothing says 'relax' like being strapped in a chair," Charlie noted. Olivia managed to throw him a weak smile as Astrid secured her right wrists to the chair's arms with thick Velcro straps. "But look, Liv," he continued. "I've got to go downtown and file my report. You gonna be OK here?"
"Yeah, I think so," she said, sounding uncertain.
"And you guys?" he asked, turning to Walter, who was setting up the computer and Peter, was preparing the neurotransmitter. "If she goes crazy, you'll be able to handle it."
"Oh, no worries Agent Francis," Walter said merrily. "Now that Agent Dunham is entirely restrained, I'm sure we'll be able to integrate her memories without a violent incident."
Charlie must not have put much stock in what Walter said, because he turned to Peter, obviously expecting an answer to that question.
"We've got it," Peter assured him.
"All right," Charlie said, then he turned to Olivia. "Liv, I'm going to give your sidearm to Broyles."
"Yeah," Olivia nodded, though it was clear her mind was focused on the procedure before her. "Sounds good."
"Ok, then," Charlie said. It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable leaving her in the lab under the circumstances, but he could not stay. "See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow," Olivia replied, once again offering him a reassuring smile. Charlie did not appear reassured, but he and Agent Robinson left.
"So, tell me," Olivia said to Peter as he rubbed iodine on her temple, preparing the spot of a neurotransmitter. "How bad is it?"
"This procedure?" Peter asked.
She nodded.
"Pretty damn bad," Peter admitted as he swabbed some iodine on her forehead in preparation for another neurotransmitter. "But it's worth it to know you're not a ticking time bomb."
"Or going to activate one," Olivia said soberly as she watched him put more iodine on the cotton cloth, and start preparing another sterile spot for another transmitter.
"You got the sweet job," Peter replied with a smile. "There's a good chance you would have lived through the attack, maybe even gotten away with it."
"You wouldn't have?"
"I was programed to shoot anyone who tried to escape that auditorium," Peter said. "Even if I wasn't frozen by the bomb, there's no way the NYPD would have let me out of that building alive. So, even though I still have a headache five hours later, I have to say it beats the alternative."
He smiled at her encouragingly, and she smiled back. Astrid walked over and arranged Walter's memory reintegration machine around Olivia's head, placing the various electrodes at the correct positions on her forehead, at her temples, and behind her ears. Peter stepped back and let her do the work.
A few minutes later, everything was ready. "Now, Agent Dunham, let me assure you that, though this is quite painful, it will not take very long."
"Walter, you didn't have to tell her that it was going to be painful," Peter scolded as he walked up the stairs to join his father.
The old scientist ignored his son. "Peter's reintegration took about twenty seconds, and he had been brainwashed twice."
"Does the reintegration really take longer if you've been brainwashed more than once?" Peter asked quietly as Water turned towards the computer and started entering the activation code for his reintegration program.
"Yes," Walter said calmly. "It only stands to reason that the more damage was done to the neural pathways, the longer it takes to fix it."
"So, say someone's been brainwashed pretty regularly for the past five years or so . . ." Peter started.
"Oh dear lord," Walter chuckled, assuming Peter was discussing an absurd and hypothetical situation. "That man's brain would be a slice of Swiss cheese. I doubt he could ever have the memories properly reintegrated – the attempt would probably kill him."
"Poor Hollingbrook," Peter said softly, though his pity for the Massive Dynamic suit was quickly supplanted by his deep empathy for Olivia.
"Are you ready, Astroid?"
"Yes," Astrid said.
"Then here we go."
Walter flipped the switch and Olivia screamed. It was a gut-twisting scream, the kind that made Peter's blood hot as his protective instincts urged him to jump over the railing, knock aside the equipment, and save the girl. But he held himself back, gritting his teeth and gripping the iron guard on the upper level of the lab until his knuckles were white.
"There!" Walter said sharply. His voice sounded urgent, as if Olivia's screams were unnerving him as well. "Neural patterns have stabilized. I'm ending the treatment."
Walter flipped his switch again, and, almost as suddenly as they'd started, Olivia's screams stopped.
"Airstream," Walter called. "How are Agent Dunham's vital signs?"
"Stressed," Astrid replied. "But returning to normal."
"Why isn't she waking up?" Peter asked anxiously.
"She is processing the reintegrated information," Walter said. "It may take a while."
"You were unconscious for almost a half hour," Astrid informed him.
"Was I, now?" Peter asked rhetorically as he headed towards the lab's refrigerator. "Why don't you untie her? I'll go get her soup ready."
"What if she's violent when she wakes up?" Walter asked, sounding anxious. "Agent Dunham is a skilled fighter and . . ."
"And I'm pretty sure you have nothing to worry about," Peter said from the back of the lab, where he was pouring a chilled can of condensed chicken noodle soup into a cappuccino mug. "Astrid's gone through combat training too, and I've won my share of fights."
"Peter wasn't violent when he woke up," Astrid pointed out as she started undoing the strap holding down Olivia's right leg. "Why do you think Olivia would be?"
"As a scientist, I feel we should keep the subject controlled until we learn the results of our experiment."
"She's not a subject," Peter told his father testily. "She's our friend, and we need to treat her with respect."
"She's a highly trained warrior who's been programed to kill people," Walter countered. "I don't think a little caution is undue."
"But didn't you just un-program her?" Peter asked as he carried the mug of chilled soup and a bottle of Advil across the lab.
"We did, yes . . ." Walter started.
"And aren't you brilliant?" Peter asked, flashing his father a smile and he passed.
"Well, I don't like to brag," Walter chuckled, "But I am on the higher scale of the . . ."
"Then we have nothing to worry about," Peter said definitively as he set the soup and Advil down on the cart next to the chair where Olivia was lying.
"But, Peter," Walter started.
"Walter," Astrid interjected in a perky but authoritative voice, "Didn't you want to run diagnostics to compare Peter and Olivia's reintegration results?"
"Yes, I think if we can analyze the similarities and the difference, we may be able to distinguish a pattern of scaring that would, in the future, allow us to determine if a person has been programed using a simple MRI scan."
"You anticipate encountering this type of brain programing again?" Astrid asked as they walked to the front of the lab, where the lab's computer system was still analyzing the data they'd collected.
"Well, you never know," Walter reasoned.
Peter stayed where he was, waiting for Olivia to wake up. He listed to Walter exclaim his excitement at seeing strong patterns in the primary motor cortex. And he found it interesting that Olivia, apparently, had far more activity in her Broca's Area, while his Wernicke's Area was more active. But, if there were any implications of that discrepancy, he didn't have long to think about them. Olivia was starting to stir.
"Hey," Peter said softly, putting his hand on her arm: either to hold her down if she appeared panicked and violent, or help her up if she seemed calm but disoriented. "Welcome back to the land of the only-slightly-insane."
Olivia took a deep breath and her eyes snapped open. "Peter," she said very seriously, looking into his eyes with fixed determinations. "The bomb."
"Charlie stopped you, remember?" Peter asked.
"Yeah," she said, nodding slightly and straining to get up. Peter helped her. "It's just all so surreal," Olivia admitted as she swung her legs off the chair so she was sitting on the side.
"I know the feeling," Peter assured her. "I also know had bad your headache is. Here," he said handing her a Dixie cup with two Advil in it. "It didn't take away the pain," Peter told her as she popped the pills in her mouth. "But they did dull it enough so I could function. And you can wash it down with this."
"Cold chicken soup?" Olivia asked, looking up at him skeptically as she took the mug.
"I know," Peter told her with a chuckle. "But it actually helps. Walter says the salt balances the electrolytes, which were, apparently, unbalanced by the electric shocks. And the noodles will settle your stomach."
Olivia devoured the cup of soup, just as Peter had, and when she was done her eyes looked a little brighter and her skin appeared a little less pale.
"Feelin' better?" Peter asked.
"I suppose," she said. "You weren't kidding about the headache. How long does it last?"
"If mine starts to fade, I'll let you know."
"Oh joy," she replied with a sardonic smile.
"Count your blessings," Peter told her. "Rachel is on her way over to pick you up and, as I understand it, she made you dinner."
"I hope you mean she's ordered dinner," Olivia said. "Rachel and cooking are not a good combo."
"This coming from the woman who told me she usually has cereal for dinner," Peter commented.
"I know my limitations," Olivia said. "And, unfortunately, I know my sister's as well."
Peter smiled. "It's good to be back, huh?"
"Yeah," Olivia said, almost hesitantly. "There's just niggling little thing I'd like to clear up."
"Really?" Peter asked. "It all looks pretty tidy to me. We know why Parmas planted the bomb, we know why I attacked Walter. We know they're not going to pull off another attack – at least, not the same kind of attack."
"But I don't know why you went down there in the first place," Olivia said. "When this whole thing started to unravel, there were bigger questions. But like you said, it's all tidy now and so that one little, nagging question looks huge."
"I told you why I went down," Peter said. "Nina Sharp—"
"Is a person you loath," Olivia interjected. "You wouldn't do a favor for her out of the goodness of your heart. So why say yes? Did you need the money?"
"No," Peter said with a sigh. "Money wasn't involved. I owed her, that's all."
"So, she did you a favor before? Mind if I ask what it was?"
"Yeah, I do, actually," Peter said assertively, though not angrily.
"Really?" Olivia asked, surprised.
"It's the kind of thing an FBI Agent shouldn't think to much about."
"I see," Olivia said. She was clearly thinking a lot about it, so he wasn't surprised when, a moment later, she said. "Clair Williams. You traded the trip to Pure for the location of the secret INtREPUS lab where Clair Williams was being healed."
Peter smiled softly, "If that answer will let you sleep at night, take it."
"Some day, Peter Bishop, you will tell me all your secrets," she told him playfully.
His smile expanded. "And won't that be fun."
The End