Author's Note: I apologize to my readers for the very long wait for an update! I hope to pick up the pace now that the characters are talking to me again! Thank you to all who have followed, favorited, and/or reviewed! I love hearing from you! Special thanks go to my dear beta reader, katbybee, though Danny is not particularly pleased with her at the moment — after all, she's the one who requested "Danny whump" for her birthday back when this whole story got started! Love you, Kat!
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"It's too soon, Seamus!" Moira watched through the control room window as Michael unfastened the straps that secured the subject in his chair. "We haven't had a successful Level 1 test yet! He's not ready for Level 2!"
"Make it work!" Seamus snapped.
Her husband didn't usually raise his voice with her, but when he did, Moira knew not to argue. "Fine," she said flatly, and she returned to her keyboard. A full Level 2 test required her to restore the subject to full consciousness, but she would not go that far this time regardless of what Sullivan wanted. She would keep him in a bit of a fog unless absolutely necessary to get the results she needed.
As soon as Michael had disconnected the cranial device, he backed out of the room to find a hiding place. "A'right," Seamus ordered. "Wake 'im up, now!"
Moira shrugged. At least this lower deck was secure. There was no way the subject could get out of the lab complex or into the control room. But even with the control she could exert over him, she knew he was unpredictable, and she might not be able to shut him down before he could do some real damage. "As you wish. It's Michael's funeral."
"Not if ye've programmed 'im the way ye were told," Seamus growled. "Now do it, Woman!"
Moira rolled her eyes, but she started the process of waking the subject. The small neuroseed she had planted in his brain stem a couple weeks before had by now stretched out roots into each lobe of his brain, enabling her to control most of his functions through her computer. At this point, she had not yet managed to wipe out any of his actual memories, but she could blur them a bit, and she could introduce false memories, manipulate how he saw and interpreted things, give instructions, and provide physical motivation for obedience. As more roots continued to burst from the seed, they would entwine themselves inextricably with the organism and her control would be complete and irreversible, but Sullivan was not willing to wait for that to happen. At this point, her biggest struggle rested in her inability to tap into and manipulate the subject's moral code. She had not anticipated so much difficulty, but something in his subconscious was fighting hard against this change.
She stared at the screen, watching as the image of his waking brain began to light up with activity. She switched on the seed's voice control, then picked up the headset beside the computer and put it on. "Stand up, Detective, and turn to your right." He remained reclined in the chair, his stubborn gaze fastened on the ceiling, so she initiated a high-pitched buzz in his ears. "Stand up," she repeated, her tone smooth as silk. "It is a simple task and harms no one. The noise will diminish when you obey."
At last he sat upright, and the movement of his body caused the leg rest to retract so that he could easily stand. Moira smiled and, in her most dulcet tones, she crooned into the microphone, "Well done, Detective. Your obedience has earned you a reward." With the punch of a button, she removed the buzz and sent a burst of pleasure through him. She watched as relief spread across his face, then faded, and then she gave him a moment to observe his surroundings before setting the test in motion.
When she felt he was ready, she continued. "Your weapon is lying on the counter to your right. It is loaded. Take it. Then you will kill this man." She pulled up a photo of Michael and uploaded the image to his mind. "Blink twice if you understand." Of course, the weapon was not actually a working model, but he would see his own Heckler and Koch P30 with rounds in the chamber.
One blink… a brief pause… then a second. He heard and understood the instructions. Now it only remained to see what he would do with them. Moira switched the display on the computer screen to show the subject's perspective, then settled into her seat to see whether he would pass the test.
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Danny shivered and pushed a hand through his hair as he analyzed his situation. For the first time in — well… he wasn't sure how long — he knew he was really awake. His memories were foggy, though, and the act of thinking made him feel like he was slogging through thick mud in a pair of flip flops. He had no clue where he was or how he had gotten here. And he sure as hell didn't know who that voice he kept hearing belonged to. It seemed like the words spoken weren't so much heard as they were forming inside his brain, even though he knew they didn't come from him. A hand to each ear confirmed he wasn't wearing any sort of receiver, and nothing he saw in this room explained it. He was in a brightly lit, enclosed space that looked like a laboratory, standing next to a reclining chair that resembled the sort of thing you'd see in a dentist's office, but with the addition of heavy-duty leather straps and a space-age helmet sort of device. Had he just been sitting in that chair, wearing that thing?
Yeah… he guessed he had, because the voice had told him to stand up, and when he had resisted the instruction, his head started buzzing like a whole nest of hornets was loose inside it. But when he obeyed, that had eased off and, for just an instant, he had felt a rush of pleasure.
The voice spoke again, directing him to his pistol and instructing him to kill a man whose distinct image then filled his mind — a scruffy fellow with jet black curls, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. He glanced to his right, where he saw his familiar H&K P30 on the counter. He reached to pick it up, savoring the feel of it in his hand. But he couldn't do what the voice demanded, could he? Certainly not without understanding why. Even when going after the worst criminals, he preferred to avoid killing whenever possible. He turned in a circle, looking for someone who could clarify the matter, but again he saw no one.
The hornets started buzzing again, and he tried clearing his mind with a fierce shake of his head, but it did no good. Curling his hands into fists, he dug his knuckles into his forehead. "I won't!" he forced out between clenched teeth. "Not… gonna… kill him. Don't care… what you —" His voice failed him mid-sentence. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get another sound out.
"Detective," came the sultry tones, and he could hear the speaker's disappointment. He struggled to block her out, but her voice overwhelmed everything else. "You do not understand. This is not a request. Obedience is rewarded. Disobedience is punished."
The buzzing intensified, and then those hornets in his brain started stinging him. Overwhelmed by excruciating pain, he grabbed his head and dropped to his knees. Please, he begged, though the words remained only in his thoughts. Make it stop!
"Only you can make it stop, Detective. But perhaps you need a little motivation."
What? She can hear my thoughts? That isn't possible... is it?
"Yes, I know everything you are thinking. Now, pay close attention."
The buzzing and pain eased off again and a series of images began running through Danny's mind, as if he were watching them on a movie screen. In those images, he saw Rachel walking Charlie home from school. The man with the dark curls was stalking them. Gradually, his surroundings faded, and Danny felt as if he were there with them. A sense of urgency filled him because he knew this jerk was up to no good. He needed to save his family!
And so, when he finally went after the scumbag, his laboratory prison was forgotten. He was striding through the park behind Rachel's house, past the playground where Charlie loved to dangle from the monkey bars. A bunch of kids were playing there, but Rachel and Charlie walked on past. Danny could smell the saltwater on the breeze… could feel the heat of the sun on his neck… hear the kids shouting. But he kept his whole focus on his target. He rested a hand on his pistol, which was ready in its holster. The words echoed in his mind. You must kill him before he harms them. Up ahead, he saw Rachel turning suddenly as if she noticed something. He tried calling to her but for some reason he couldn't get any words out. He waved and started running toward her, but she didn't acknowledge him. Her face contorted in terror. Scumbag was lurching toward her. He had Charlie by the arm! Danny pulled out his gun, but he didn't fire — he couldn't risk hitting Rachel or Charlie! Instead, he lunged forward just as Scumbag pulled out a knife. Danny tackled the guy and managed to knock the blade to the ground just before everything went dark.
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Once again, Lou Grover stood watching the computer screen over Jerry's shoulder. "So tell me what I'm seeing here. It's a map, I know that much." The Hawaiian Islands were stretched out smack dab in the middle of the screen, with the west coast of the United States to the upper right and just a smidgeon of Papua New Guinea visible to the lower left. About halfway between Hawaii and Papua New Guinea was a blinking red triangle, surrounded by the blue that represented the Pacific Ocean.
"I managed to isolate the signal from Danny's last call," Jerry explained. "That would be one week ago. It was bounced off several satellites to make it seem as if it originated in Colorado, but it actually came from somewhere around here." He traced a circle with his fingers around the red triangle. "Could have been anywhere within… oh… about a fifty-mile radius."
Lou's forehead wrinkled as he considered the information. "But we talked to him! Steve put the call on speaker phone and Danny told us all about the skiing. And he wasn't talkin' about water skiing!"
Jerry pressed a few keys and peered at the screen. "I can't explain that, but there's no question — when he last used his phone, he was somewhere in this part of the Pacific." He pointed to several new triangles that had appeared in a line on the screen, clearly heading southwest. "These are the locations of his calls to Charlie and his other call to Steve. Makes me think he must have been on a ship of some sort."
Lou gave a slow nod and clapped Jerry on the back. "Makes sense. So, we could narrow it down by looking at the trading routes within the fifty-mile radius of those points." He pulled out his phone. "Any luck with that satellite out —" Before he could finish, the device began to chime as several texts from Steve arrived all at once. "OK, I guess that answers that question. I'll call Steve now."
A moment later, his call went through. "You need to get your butt home ASAP, Steve. You're looking in the wrong place — Danny never made it to Colorado!"
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Steve glowered as he stared out the window of the Humvee at a thick curtain of falling snow. They'd been stopped on the side of the road for about forty-five minutes, grounded until visibility improved, and it didn't matter how much of a hurry Steve was now in to get back down to Denver and on a flight home, they weren't going anywhere for a while.
"Unless weather conditions are much improved in Denver, DIA is shut down tight today, Squid," Barlow observed, as if that might be a comfort to him. It wasn't. "Nothing going in or out on a day like this."
"Then I'll rent a car," Steve said, refusing to give up. "The highway wasn't closed going south. There's an airport in Colorado Springs, isn't there? Maybe they have better weather. If not, I'll drive south and west till I get out of this storm system and can get on a flight."
"Hell no!" Barlow exclaimed.
Steve glared at him. "Colonel, my friend is missing. It could be a matter of life and death. I don't have a choice."
"Of course you do. But I don't. No way I'm lettin' a squid who's used to basking in the sunshine go driving in these conditions! Besides, you probably won't be able to get a rental car before this lets up. But I'm on leave starting tomorrow morning and my trusty old Jeep and I are at your disposal." His eyes flashed in the dim light of the Humvee. "I can't think of a better way to spend my leave than on a trip to Hawaii and a chance to bail you out again!"
"But what about Kate?" Steve had never met Barlow's wife, but he was well aware that she thought her husband worked too much and that she'd been pestering him to go on vacation with her.
"What about her?" Barlow grunted. "She moved out four months ago… living down in Dallas with her sister last I heard." He shrugged up a shoulder and rolled his eyes as if he were trying to make light of it, but Steve hadn't missed the slight hitch in his voice.
"Sorry to hear that, Colonel," he said, and he clapped a hand on Barlow's shoulder. "Thanks, man. I'd sure be grateful to have you along."