Crooked River

58

“I am familiar with Project MK-Ultra,” Pendergast said. “In fact, I’d begun to wonder if this wasn’t a continuation of it, in some form or other. But if we’re going to converse, could you kindly ask the doctor to remove that needle?”

The general turned. “Dr. Smith, please remove the needle for the time being.”

With a faint look of disappointment, the doctor extracted the needle from the IV injection port and stepped back. Gladstone felt a flood of relief. Her senses were heightened in the extreme; she could hear the storm faintly, still raging outside, along with the whisper of the HVAC and the ticking of a clock somewhere. The IV in her arm throbbed. There were no windows in the lab, only a long, horizontal mirror high along one wall.

“The idea behind MK-Ultra,” the general continued, “was to seek ways to manipulate an individual’s mental state — mind control, if you will — using drugs and behavior modification techniques. It was primarily meant as a battlefield weapon, employed to confuse or disable an enemy, or as a tool for interrogation. It was launched in 1953 and officially shut down in 1973, after some lily-livered government bureaucrats got cold feet.” He shook his head with a mixture of dismay and disgust.

Alves-Vettoretto spoke up. “General, I’m stating for the record that you should not be engaging with this man, in particular by providing him information.”

“Oh, come now. He made a reasonable request. Perhaps he will cooperate.”

“He’ll never cooperate.”

“We shall see. Now, where was I? Most of MK-Ultra involved the testing of various psychoactive drugs. We were seeking compounds that would cause mental confusion, lower a person’s efficiency, make them sick or drunk, induce amnesia, paralysis, and so forth. In short, to incapacitate them. One branch of the division also focused on potentially positive drugs, ones that would enhance thinking, clarity, or physical strength, or reduce the need for sleep without negative side effects.”

He stood up and walked slowly around the lab.

“Some of us devoted our lives to this project. It was run by the CIA, but it had a military component as well. I was part of that latter section. We provided the manpower and facilities necessary to do the testing, as well as the subjects. When the CIA shut it down, several of us from the military component were devastated. We knew other countries had similar and very active programs of their own. It was insane for the United States to unilaterally disarm — especially since we were chasing a potential breakthrough. I was a young officer then, and a group of us resolved to keep it going. We resigned our commissions. But we had friends, many friends, who felt as we did, so we were able to secure black funding channeled to us through military purchasing. That funding allowed us to acquire, transform, and disguise the nature of this facility.”

He turned toward the doctor. “Dr. Smith was instrumental in the development of the breakthrough drug. Doctor, would you care to take over?”

“Delighted,” said the doctor, stepping forward with a grin. He removed his glasses and gave them a careful polishing with a white handkerchief tugged from his pocket. His bright, greenish-amber eyes flickered about the room, passing over Gladstone as if she didn’t exist.

“By 1973, the group had identified a class of powerful psychoactive drugs derived from a genus of parasites called Toxoplasma. These compounds were already known to have peculiar effects on the brain. Extremely peculiar effects. Of course, this was before my time.” He poked the handkerchief back into his pocket and perched the glasses on his nose once again, adjusting the frames behind each ear with a finicky gesture. “The pharmaceutical biologists on the team struggled to understand the mechanism. They had almost given up when I joined, back in ’89.”

He gave a little chuckle. “The parasite in question is not uncommon: Toxoplasma gondii, which causes a disease in humans known as toxoplasmosis. The illness is usually mild, with flulike symptoms, and it’s common in households that have cats, which are widespread carriers. We were interested in this parasite because it appeared to have the power to alter mammal behavior. Mice infected with toxoplasmosis not only lose their fear of cats, but actually seek out cats — and subsequently get killed and eaten. This is how the parasite reproduces and spreads among cats — by altering the mouse’s behavior. In addition, studies showed that people infected with toxoplasmosis also experience altered behavior. It causes, for example, ‘crazy cat-lady syndrome.’ It can also trigger bizarre risk-taking and even schizophrenia.”

He chuckled again and inhaled with a long noisy sniff. “Consider that. A single-celled parasite with no mind of its own, no brain or nervous system, is able to take over the mind of a mouse — or a human — and control its behavior. Truly remarkable!”

Another strange inhaling sound as he gathered more air to continue speaking. His voice was high, loud, and pedantic; the voice of the lecture hall.

“How does it do this? That was the question!” He raised a tiny finger. “When I arrived, I redirected the research program and we were soon able to discover a suite of complex neurotropic compounds released by the parasite. These compounds attached to certain lipoproteins in the brain and altered the firing of specific neurons. This in turn caused a range of bizarre human behaviors, mostly in the obsessive-compulsive realm. Endless handwashing, for example, or hoarding, or the sudden appearance of phobias. It even triggered, in some subjects, a compulsive nibbling or eating of the body, or violent sexual behaviors. Heady days indeed!”

His voice had climbed in pitch and excitement until it was almost squeaking. He halted and took another long, snuffling breath.

“One exploration of these compounds produced an especially strange reaction. It triggered a bizarre psychiatric condition known as body integrity identity disorder, or BIID. We called this drug H12K, after the batch number of its production.”

The general spoke. “Mr. Pendergast, are you familiar with BIID?”

“No.”

“I’m not surprised, since it has yet to receive diagnostic criteria in psychiatric circles. It’s an extremely rare and perplexing psychological condition — so strange as to be scarcely believable. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a test subject in the grips of it. At first we didn’t know what was happening to him. He claimed that his left leg, from the knee down, was foreign. An alien thing, is what he called it. He loudly exclaimed to all within hearing that it was evil and had to be removed. This despite the fact that the limb was normal and apparently healthy. For days he was tormented by this hideous attachment, literally begging for help. We didn’t understand at first how this was going to work out — until we found him later in his cell, bleeding copiously. He had sharpened a piece of metal he’d unscrewed from his bedframe and had tried to hack off his own leg.”

A long sniff of triumph and another chuckle from the doctor. “And that was when I understood this drug was special — truly special!”

The chuckle, Gladstone realized, was a nervous tic, not an actual laugh. The sound of it made her blood run cold.

“Here is the most amazing part,” the doctor continued. “Amputation is, in fact, the only cure for BIID. Nothing else works. There are doctors out there who quietly perform these amputations — and psychiatrists who sanction them. The feeling of bodily alienation is so strong, the individuals who get the amputations are relieved, even ecstatic, that the limb is gone. They are cured completely.”

“How interesting,” said Pendergast. The agent’s voice was so calm, so neutral, that Gladstone wondered what he was thinking.

“Interesting indeed!” the doctor said excitedly, his voice high and piercing. “We refined H12K to make it faster acting and more powerful. Best of all — it can be aerosolized!”

He grasped his hands together and made that same wet chuckling sound.

The general took over. “One can only imagine the effects of dispersing H12K over an enemy’s battlefield or city. Within an hour it would produce a scene of chaos, with hospitals and medical workers overwhelmed, inhabitants bleeding to death, utter bedlam. This is far better than a nuclear weapon, because it leaves infrastructure intact. It’s far more reliable than nerve gas, which remains in the region for a long time and can drift in the wrong direction when the wind shifts. H12K degrades within two hours in the environment. You simply administer it, wait half a day, and enter the area unopposed. Admittedly, our own refinement, the drug that brings on the dysphoria, does not replicate a subject’s long-term need to be rid of a hated, alien limb — the need is relatively brief, but more than sufficient to do the trick. Nor have we progressed to a point where we can specify which limb is considered alien: for now, all subjects present with the same symptoms. In a war situation, of course, these aren’t concerns. Just think of how we might have deployed this in Vietnam or the Middle East! It is truly the ideal weapon.”

“Ideal,” echoed Pendergast.

“I’m glad you see it our way.”

“I understand you’ve been collecting your test subjects from among undocumented people arriving at the southern border.”

“Undocumented people.” The general frowned. “You mean illegal aliens? They suit our purposes very well. No one is likely to come looking for them. They’re a self-selected group, if you think about it — deserving of no consideration.”

“You’re a sick fuck,” said Gladstone, straining at her bonds.

“Another unsolicited outburst. Please gag her.”

Gladstone did her best to resist, but the waiting soldiers stepped forward and, holding her head immobile, stuffed a cloth in her mouth and wrapped duct tape around it.

The general kept his gaze on Pendergast. “Perhaps my explanation has persuaded you to cooperate?”

Pendergast said nothing.

“You seemed interested.”

“I am interested — interested in the profoundly psychotic pathology I see on display in both you and the doctor.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s remarkable you’ve managed to brainwash so many soldiers with this folie à deux. Or perhaps they don’t know the extent of the atrocities committed here?”

“I warned you,” said Alves-Vettoretto. “He’s a snake.”

“We didn’t need to brainwash anyone. When we first established this operation, we were careful to identify soldiers disaffected with the transformation of the U.S. Army — disgusted with the loosening of discipline, the admittance of homosexuals, the placing of women in combat roles, and the indiscriminate mixing of races.” His voice rose in volume. “We selected patriotic, tough, God-fearing boys who obey orders without question, not the sniveling, politically correct enlisted men you see in today’s—” He caught himself, took a deep breath, exhaled. “I’m getting off subject. Our soldiers are well aware of what we’re doing — and support it one hundred percent.”

“It seems you and your men were born seventy-five years too late, and in the wrong country,” said Pendergast.

The general ignored this. “We’re on a schedule here, and all this is wasting precious time. You will now answer my questions or the good doctor will inject your associate with the drug. Dr. Smith? Reinsert the needle, but hold off the injection until I give the command.”

Smith picked up the needle again, examined it, then stepped forward. He slid it into the IV port and looked up at the general with anticipation.

“I will ask again: who knows about this facility?”

Gladstone stared pleadingly at Pendergast. But he didn’t answer.

“You know what’s going to happen, of course. Surely you aren’t going to put her through this? It will be on your shoulders.”

Silence.

“We normally just let them bleed to death. And you will be watching.”

“I can only ask you: please, do not do this,” said Pendergast.

“Then answer my question.”

A long silence. Son of a bitch, answer him! Gladstone thought, moaning and squirming.

The general sighed, then nodded to the doctor. “Inject.”

“Wait,” said Pendergast sharply.

The general glanced back at him.

“Very well. I’ll answer your questions: you have my word.”

The general smiled and gestured to Smith to pause.

Pendergast went on. “Nobody knows of this facility but me, Dr. Gladstone, and the late Dr. Lam.”

The general arched his eyebrows. “Nobody?”

“That’s correct.”

“What about your partner? We know you’re not working alone.”

“He is en route from Mexico to the U.S. and I wasn’t able to contact him.”

“Why didn’t you tell the task force?”

“No time. More to the point: We’d become sure there was a mole in the investigation, someone very close to the center. I couldn’t trust anyone.”

The general smiled. “Now, how did you identify the source of the amputated feet?”

“It was a drift analysis program, developed by Drs. Lam and Gladstone.”

“In their lab?”

“Yes.”

“Does anyone else have it?”

“No.”

“An unfortunate fire will take care of that. Well, I’m relieved to know we’re safe — at least for now. Dr. Smith, you may remove the needle.”

Alves-Vettoretto spoke. “How do you know he’s telling us the truth?”

“An excellent question! You haven’t been around long enough to appreciate my methods. The fact is, we will know soon enough if Mr. Pendergast has lied or not.”

Gladstone, moaning and struggling, saw Alves-Vettoretto frown in confusion.

“You’re wondering how I can be so sure,” the general said. “Because he is about to witness, with his own eyes, the effects of the drug on a subject. You see — Dr. Smith already administered the H12K to Dr. Gladstone. He did that when he first inserted the IV. There’s nothing in that other needle but saline. Once Mr. Pendergast sees what happens... and knows the same will happen to him... then he will be totally forthcoming, if he has not been already.” He turned to Pendergast with a smile and checked his watch. “It takes about an hour for the drug to act on the brain. Almost forty minutes have gone by since Dr. Smith inserted the IV. That means we have another twenty until the show begins.” He gestured at the long mirror on the wall. “It can get rather messy, unfortunately, so let us retire to the observation room and watch from there.”

He turned. “Ms. Alves-Vettoretto. You haven’t seen the results of the drug in action yet, have you?”

She shook her head.

“Then, by all means, please join us.”