I tried to post this together with chapter 5, but somehow I couldn't. So this will be posted when I can post it.
I Remembered a Storm-tossed Night
Chapter 6
It was said that the eye of the storm was the calm. Yesterday was the eye. And today the storm cometh. It rained hard and furious, and webs of lightning flashed across the darkened skies. The sound of thunder harkened. The light of chaos beckoned. –Jolly
HBHBHB
In a room located far below the basement of the Schwarz Building was The Facility. And there Reginald Schwarz stood behind the one-way glass partition watching over the proceedings. This particular project was just too important to him to be left to his minions. His chosen heir deserved his undivided and personal attention. And this also pertained to the future of the Consortium.
The Consortium, old man Schwarz smiled as he recalled the stories his father told him. It arose from the ashes and was formed with the hidden wealth and resources of the Second World War. It was formed by men and women with visions of a better world and with the guts to do what must be done. They formed the Board and the core of the Consortium.
Schwarz watched the young man lying so still on the reclining chair. He had heard about the mental fight the boy had put up. It was not surprising, given he did graduate with a degree in psychology and would of course at a certain level of consciousness know what was being done to him.
But poor poor foolish boy. He had no idea just how much more advance The Consortium's technology were in comparison to what he studied at college. The Axis powers had the best scientists and the most brilliant mind back then. And this particular process had been refined since the days of medical research in the concentration camps.
No one had known how far ahead they had been back then, Schwarz recalled. Those foolish Americans and Russians had thought they had taken the best scientists after the fall of the Axis. It was from there that both the Americans and the Russians even had the capability to wage the space race. It was Axis technology that powered the rockets to the moon.
Ah he remembered the race to break the sound barrier. How naïve were the British, to have given away their research and expected their American counterparts to share information. While they tricked the secrets from the British, the Americans had stolen the secrets to reaching Mach 1 from the Axis. With that, they constructed the X-1, which unofficially breached Mach 1 October 14, 1947.
That should have been an Axis achievement.
But no matter. The most brilliant minds had already been moved from Berlin by the time the Allies stormed the city. And they and their prodigies had continued their research in numerous hidden locations around the world.
Schwarz was rouse from his reverie when the door opened.
"How is he doing?" he asked as soon as the Intellectual walked into the room.
"He is tough." The Intellectual responded.
Reginald chuckled, "that is to be expected of my chosen heir."
"Commitment to The Cause has been successfully implanted. However, loyalty to you is a much more complicated process."
The old man shrugged, "Human relationships are always more complex and unpredictable than functional rationale behind ideologies. The Cause is paramount. Do your best for the latter. You have all the time you need."
"I do not understand. Why don't you simply obliterate all links to his previous identity. That could be easily done."
"Given the fact I am currently based in New York City, there is a good chance the Hardys would run into him eventually. DNA evidence and fingerprints will easily prove his identity, regardless of whether he remembers. It would confuse him. I prefer him loyal despite knowing of his former identity… if it comes down to that."
The Intellectual removed his spectacles and cleaned his lens, his expression thoughtful.
"I see." He said.
Then, one of the medical assistants signaled from the other side of the window.
"Come," The Intellectual said to his boss. "It's time to calibrate his base perception of you."
Schwarz walked into the operating room. This was the first time he was seeing the boy up close since the process started. Again, he marveled at the advances in technology that had enabled this process.
The mass of fibre-optic cables many times finer than the human hair but harder and sharper than steel were inserted through the skull into the brain at varying depths. Those cables were so fine; they left no marks on the skin when withdrawn. They were positioned with razor sharp precision with the help of computing technologies into their respective locations in the brain itself. Once properly positioned, those cables had total control of the subject's sensory perception and motor functions.
In this case, most of the cables would be focused on the cerebral cortex, which was the region of the brain involved in sensory perception, memory, and emotions. This part of the process had involved the use of generated memories to simulate the required emotions.
Schwarz sat down on the chair the medical assistant had provided, and faced his chosen heir. The Intellectual fiddled with some keys and dials on the control panel located beside the subject.
He watched as Joseph/Paul opened his eyes and waited patiently for those vibrant blue orbs to focus on him.
"Hello grandson," he started.
"Hello grandpa," Joseph responded in a flat emotionless tone.
"I love you, grandson," Schwarz continued.
Joseph frowned, his mind clearly struggling to remember something and protesting. The Intellectual fiddled with a keys and dials again, and the boy relaxed, his eyes glazed over for an instant before responding dully, "I love you, grandpa."
"I love you, grandson," Schwarz repeated.
The boy again fought against the programming, but when he responded this time, the voice was firmer. "I love you, grandpa."
After many repetitions, Joseph finally responded in a voice rich with love, "I love you very much, grandpa…"
And the computer AI signaled a successful baseline calibration.
Then it started all over again.
"I trust you, grandson," Schwarz said.
"I trust you, grandpa."
And the process repeated itself over and over, until it depleted the list of key words that could be used to positively describe a loving and trusting relationship between a grandfather and his grandson.
HBHBHB
Detective James Conner was in a bad mood after doing a consecutive double shift. It had been a long day, and his superior had seen it fit to saddle him with another tedious hit and run case just 15 minutes before the end of his shift. That was just so crappy. He cursed the Blair government for cutting the police budget and for wasting valuable resources in Iraq.
He looked at the old gritty clock on his table. It showed 9:50pm at night. He downed cup of coffee and then dragged himself off to the crime scene. He sighed. There was nothing he could do; he was just a little minion at the bottom of the pecking order. Well, not exactly the bottom, but close enough, once you looked up and see the number of ranks above you.
His cell rang and he picked it up. He wondered who it was. There was no caller ID.
"Detective Conner," he said.
"Hello Conner, this is Fenton here. Fenton Hardy. Do you remember me? We worked on the case of the subway bombing two years back in 2005…"
Conner pitched the bridge of his nose, trying to recall that case. "Oh Fenton… what a surprise! How may I be of assistance?"
Conner was under no illusion that Fenton might be giving him a social call. One did not dial international for social calls. Nowadays, they used emails for that sort of crap. Whatever it was that detective wanted, it was personal.
"Conner, I was wondering if I could ask for information regarding a case you handled three months back."
"Which case, Fenton?"
"It concerns the death of Nigel Schwarz and his wife in a boating accident…"
"What's your interest in it, Fenton?"
"Sarah Schwarz was my wife's sister, Conner." Fenton replied in a serious tone.
Conner perked up. Now that was interesting. He recalled that case and how he was taken off it. Yes, that case definitely stinks…
"Ah… I see. Tell you what Fenton. I am currently on duty and am near the end of a double shift. My brain's all mashed up. Let me get some sleep… Give me a call say 10am tomorrow morning and we talk, okay?"