Shadow Game (GhostWalkers) Page 14

  The large room was dominated by the enormous round table. Every chair was filled and all heads swung to look at her. Most of the men half rose when she entered, but she waved them to their seats.

  “Gentlemen.” She spoke softly, her voice filled with her usual confidence. She knew her expression was absolutely serene, she’d practiced it often enough.

  It was a measure of his upset that Phillip Thornton performed the introductions himself. He nearly always left what he considered menial tasks to his assistant. “Dr. Whitney has just agreed to take over where her father left off. She’s been siphoning through his data, trying to make sense of it for us.”

  Barely acknowledging the introduction, the general glared at Lily. “Dr. Whitney, fill me in on this experiment.” It was an order, sharp and clear, the general’s eyes betraying his anger.

  “How much do you know?” Lily was cautious. She wanted to be careful, feel her way with him. To stall. To give the men time to find their escape routes and use them. Surreptitiously she glanced at Colonel Higgens, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

  His nod was slight, almost imperceptible, giving approval.

  “Let’s say I know nothing.”

  Matherson pulled out a chair for Lily close to the general and across from Phillip Thornton. With a grateful smile to the aide, she took her time seating herself. “I trust that everyone in this room has the proper security clearance?”

  “Of course,” snapped the general. “Fill me in on these men.”

  Lily’s gaze settled on his face. “The men were drawn from all branches of the service. Dr. Whitney, my father, was looking for a particular type of man. Green Berets, Navy SEALs, Special Forces, Rangers, men highly skilled and able to endure in difficult circumstances. I believe he pulled men from the ranks of law enforcement also. He wanted men of superior intelligence and officers who had come up through the ranks. He wanted men who could think for themselves if the situation demanded it. Each of the men had to test high for a predisposition for psychic ability.”

  The general’s eyebrow shot up. He glared at Colonel Higgens. “You knew about this nonsense and you approved it? You and General Ranier?”

  Higgens nodded. “The entire experiment was approved from the beginning and it had merit.”

  There was a small silence while the general seemed to take it in. He turned back to Lily. “And how would they test them for psychic ability?”

  Lily looked at Higgens as if for help. When none was forthcoming she shrugged. “The screening part was easy enough. Dr. Whitney, my father, that is, developed a questionnaire that highlighted the tendencies toward the clairvoyant.”

  “Such as…,” General McEntire prompted.

  “The ability to remember and interpret dreams, frequent déjà vu, the sudden urge to call a friend, just when he’s in trouble, even the tendency to accept the idea of clairvoyance because ‘it feels right’ is positively associated with the talent.”

  The general snorted. “Utter nonsense. We dropped those programs years ago. There’s no such thing. You took good men and brainwashed them into thinking they were superior to the rest of us.”

  Lily tried to be patient, wanting the general to understand the enormity of what had been done to his men. “Of course, there’s a lot more we don’t understand about the neurobiochemistry of clairvoyance than we actually know, but recent advances in neurobehavioral psychology have strengthened some hypotheses. We know, for instance, that the capacity for clairvoyance is genetically determined. We all have heard of a few individuals doing remarkable feats in the paranormal sphere. These are psychic geniuses.” Lily groped for a way to make him understand. “Like an Einstein in physics or a Beethoven in music. Do you understand?”

  “I’m following you,” the general said grimly.

  “We know that most master physicists are not geniuses, nor are most concert-level musicians child prodigies. My father put together a program to screen potential candidates for an aptitude for clairvoyance, then he developed a program to train and enhance their potential. Think of a bodybuilder. He is a result of genetic potential, strict training, and…” She trailed off, hastily censoring the “probably designer drugs.” The less they got into that part the better.

  She had no intention of being specific with any of these men, least of all Philip Thornton and Colonel Higgens. Her father had been meticulous about not allowing his formula to fall into anyone’s hands; she wasn’t going to give it away to the very crowd she suspected of his murder.

  The general heaved a soft sigh and sank into the chair behind the desk. Rubbing his temples, he looked at her. “This is beginning to sound too plausible. How did he get it to actually work? They’ve tried this type of thing in every country for years and had nothing but failures.”

  “Dr. Whitney used more than one route.” She tapped her foot, trying to think of a way to explain in layman’s terms. “Every object above 273 degrees Celsius or zero degrees Kelvin emits energy. Biological organisms tend to focus on certain frequencies, while screening other frequencies out. That requires energy.” When the general frowned, Lily leaned toward him. “Think of a refrigerator. One often doesn’t even notice the motor is running until it shuts off, then suddenly it’s a relief. These ‘filters’ are guided by the autonomic nervous system and commonly thought to be out of conscious control. Am I making sense to you?” When he nodded, she continued. “However, there are several examples of stunning control of the autonomic nervous system. Biofeedback techniques can lower heart rate, blood pressure, and body temperature. Zen masters and yogis are legendary. Even prolonged sexual performance by males is an example of somatic intervention over the autonomic nervous system.”

  The general had a scowl back on his face.

  “The point is that the energy that is important to paranormals is usually filtered to pathetic levels in adult humans and these filters are under autonomic control. Dr. Whitney found a way to decrease the filtering system, using mind-body control techniques taught by the Zen masters.”

  The general rubbed his hand over his face, shaking his head. “Why am I beginning to believe you?”

  Lily stayed silent, willing him to understand, wanting him on the side of the men. She thought of Ryland and the others out there in the storm. She sent up a silent prayer that they were all safe.

  “Please continue, Dr. Whitney.” The general began to tap a pencil on the desk in agitation.

  “Using PET scans of working clairvoyants, my father found that the areas in the brain most important for clairvoyance were the same areas responsible for autism: the hippocampus, the amygdala, and the neocerebellum. He found other links as well. There is a higher level of psychic ability in autistics in comparison to the general population. Moreover autistics are on sensory overload; they probably have a filtering defect. Reducing the filters, then, just gives you noise, like an untuned radio. You don’t produce psychics, just autistics.”

  “So there were problems I take it.”

  Lily sighed with regret. “Yes, he encountered problems. At first the men were housed in regular barracks together to promote unity. The idea was to form an elite unit that could use their combined skills for certain high-risk jobs. The unit was given field training as well as lab training. They went far beyond anyone’s expectations. Most of them proved capable of telepathy on some level.”

  “Elaborate for me.”

  “They had the capability of speaking together without speaking aloud—sending thoughts to one another, for lack of a better way to explain. Dr. Whitney hooked them up to the scans and the actual brain activity was unbelievable. Some of them had to be in the same room to communicate that way while others could be completely across the compound.” Lily glanced again at Colonel Higgens. “You can see how such a talent would be useful on a mission. Others were also able to ‘hear’ thoughts of people in the room with them.

  “The variety of skills is documented, sir, videotaped and recorded if you care to see for yourself. Some of the
men were able to hold objects and ‘read’ them. The talents were varied. Psychometry. Levitation. Telekinesis. Telepathy. Some only had one, others tested strengths in several to varying degrees.”

  Lily took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “The problems that were encountered were not foreseen and Dr. Whitney couldn’t solve them.” There was real regret in her voice. Lily cupped her hands around the warmth of the teacup that Matherson had placed in front of her. “There’s a reaction called tachyphalaxas. The body senses too much action at the receptor and down-regulates them. Suddenly the radio is nothing but static again. There were some who experienced unrelenting seizures from hyperstimulation. One went insane—autistic, really. One other died of cerebral hypoxia, or intracranial bleed, from head injuries.” That wasn’t exactly the truth; she felt there was another explanation for the intracranial bleed but wasn’t going to venture a hypothesis.

  “My God.” The general shook his head.

  Higgens cleared his throat. “There were psychotic breaks, sir. Two became violent. Uncontrollable. Even the others couldn’t help them.”

  Guilt ate at Lily’s insides, churning her stomach. “As soon as Dr. Whitney realized what the problem was, he attempted to create a calming atmosphere that was soundproof, a place that could insulate the men from the constant torment of people around them. He regulated the atmosphere, used lighting and soothing natural sounds to relieve the continual assault on the brain.”

  “Can these men really give suggestions to others and force obedience?” General McEntire demanded. “Could these men have given your father some kind of posthypnotic suggestion? His car was found down by the docks and there’s been some speculation that he’s at the bottom of the sea.”

  Lily gasped. “Are you implying these men had something to do with my father’s disappearance? He was the only one capable of helping them.”

  “Maybe not, Dr. Whitney. Maybe you are,” Colonel Higgens pointed out. “It could be that Ryland Miller figured that out. He heard your answer when I made the mistake of asking you in front of him if you could read your father’s code.”

  A shiver shook her frame as certain knowledge blossomed. The moment she had answered in the affirmative, she had sentenced her father to death. She remembered how Higgens had suddenly changed, how he had ceased arguing with her father and looked at her with speculation instead of hostility.

  “I’m sorry this is necessary, Lily,” Phillip Thornton said. “I know you’re grieving and you’ve been up long hours trying to figure this out for us.”

  Lily forced a smile and waved his concern aside. “I don’t mind doing what I can to help, Phillip. This is, after all, my company too.” She owned a large block of shares and wanted to remind him of the fact. “Have you any idea how this could have happened? I spoke with Captain Miller at great length this morning. He appeared quite cooperative and even was considering the possibility that one of the side effects of the experiment might be paranoia. He spoke so highly of Colonel Higgens, then would suddenly become hostile toward him. I pointed that out to him and he definitely was considering the possibility. He has a quick, logical mind.”

  “He did ask to see me,” Colonel Higgens admitted. “I went to speak with him and he did say something along those lines.” He rubbed his forehead. “The cage was securely locked when I left that room. The cameras will bear me out on that.”

  “The cameras were on the blitz again,” Thornton said.

  There was a sudden hush in the room. All eyes were on Colonel Higgens. He sat back in his chair, glaring at them. “I’m telling you the cage was locked. I wouldn’t have unlocked it with or without an armed guard present. In my opinion Captain Miller is a dangerous man. With his team, he is nearly invincible. We’re going to have to send everyone we have against him.”

  “I hope you’re not implying that we should terminate these men.” The general stared hard at Higgens.

  “We may have no choice,” Colonel Higgens replied.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Lily interrupted. “There is always a choice. You can’t abandon these men because they did something in desperation. They were under tremendous strain. I think we need to step back from this situation and try to figure out how we can help them.”

  “Dr. Whitney, do you have any idea how long they will be able to survive without insulation from the noise and emotions of people around them?” Phillip Thornton asked. “Are we sitting on a time bomb?”

  Lily shook her head. “I don’t honestly know.”

  “What will happen if these men turn violent?” the general asked. He was twisting a pencil in his fingers. He tapped the lead on the table, the pad of his thumb striking the eraser, as if that would somehow stop what he was hearing. “Is that a possibility?” He looked around the faces at the table. “Is that a viable possibility?”

  Lily twisted her fingers together tightly. “Unfortunately these men are highly skilled in combat conditions. They have had every advantage the military could give them through special training. There was an incident the first year of field training involving one of the men. I viewed the training tape.” She took a cautious sip of tea.

  “I don’t think I’m going to like what I’m going to hear,” General McEntire said.

  “One of the trainees became disoriented during a mission in Colombia and along with the targets, he went after some of the innocent populace. When Captain Miller attempted to restrain him, the trainee turned on Miller. The captain was given no choice but to defend his own life and protect the other members of his team. They were friends, close friends, and he was forced to kill.” She had watched the attack on the film and it had been gory and grim.

  Even worse had been the tapes of Ryland Miller afterward. Although she was watching film she could almost absorb his emotions. The guilt, the frustration, the anger. He had been despondent, hopeless. “You have to understand, sir, paranormals are subject to and respond to different stimuli than we can sense. They live in the same world, but in a different dimension, really. So, the line we draw between clairvoyant and insane is very thin and sometimes nonexistent. These men are unlike any soldiers you’ve ever trained. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

  Lily took another sip of tea, savored the warmth as it settled in her stomach. The general couldn’t conceive of the power the men wielded. But she knew.

  “Why would they want to leave if they knew the risks in leaving?” The general scowled at them all, his eyes raking the room. “What conditions were they living in?” The implication of abuse was there and Lily fought down the urge to blurt out the entire story to him. How the men were isolated, even from one another, cut off from their command, studied like animals in cages. Subjected to continual tests.

  The pencil between the general’s fingers snapped in his fingers, one end sailing toward Lily, the other still in his hand.

  Lily caught the end of the pencil before it rolled off the table, her thumb sliding over the eraser, automatically absorbing the textures, absorbing the heavy emotions. She stiffened, her gaze sliding to touch the general, then away. She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. He was tamping down his fury that Ryland Miller and his team had escaped. There was money to be had. Ryland stood in the way.

  The emotions swirled together, a mixture of violence and impatience over a thwarted plan. General McEntire was up to his bushy eyebrows in deceit and treachery. Lily folded her hands carefully on the table, looking as serene and confident as she could when she wanted to leap at McEntire and brand him a traitor to his country and demand what he knew of her father’s death.

  “The living conditions, Colonel Higgens: Why would these men feel they needed to escape?”

  “They were isolated from one another.” Lily forced her voice to work.

  “For their own good,” Higgens snapped. “They were growing too powerful together, they could do things we didn’t expect. Not even your father expected their combined powers to be what they were.”

 
“That was no excuse for forgetting dignity, Colonel. They are human beings, men who were giving service to their country, not lab rats,” Lily objected coolly.

  “Your father was solely in charge of this experiment,” Colonel Higgens shot back. “He’s responsible for the results.”

  “As far as I can ascertain,” Lily said calmly, “my father, Dr. Peter Whitney, conducted the experiment in good faith. When it had become apparent it was harming the men, he immediately called a halt to enhancing the rare talents, immediately trying to find ways to help them cope with the repercussions. He sought ways to make the men more comfortable. Unfortunately, no one listened to him. I read your direct orders, Colonel Higgens, and Phillip Thornton signed those orders, insisting the men continue. On your say-so, Colonel, Captain Miller ordered his men to follow your command and he and his men did so. Your orders, sir, were to continue training under a variety of conditions and the men, being who and what they are, followed orders despite knowing they were deteriorating rapidly, their control unraveling even as they grew in power and ability. It is well documented that my father objected, that he laid out the repercussions, and that when you ordered the men to be isolated from one another he told you they would have a much more difficult time. You ignored everything he said and you have the results of your own foolish decisions.”

  “Your father refused to provide me with the data I needed.” Colonel Higgens turned bright red he was so angry. “He wanted to reverse the process and throw out everything because of one or two acceptable losses.”

  “My father tried to find a way to restore filters and deactivate the part of the brain he had stimulated. He could not. And there were no acceptable losses, Colonel; we’re talking about human life.”

  Phillip Thornton held up his hand. “This is a discussion best left for later when we all have cooler heads and more sleep. Right now we have to find a way to contain this situation. Dr. Whitney, you’ve given us quite a bit of information, but we really need to know exactly what was done to these men. We have access to some of the greatest minds in the world to help us, if we knew exactly what your father did, and how he did it,” Thornton pointed out. “Can you explain it, step by step, to us?”