Sigma Division

Chapter 24

This was completely surreal. Mind control?

“Thirty years ago they could read what you were thinking by pickin’ up the electromagnetic brain waves, similar to a polygraph. Imagine what they can do now. All they’d have to do is intercept brain waves and replace them with others.”

“I’m sure this research has been abandoned some time ago. We would’ve heard about that. I would’ve heard about that.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Weller conceded. “But it doesn’t mean it hasn’t taken on a new life.”

“Black project?”

“What do you know about your boss? That’s the real question.”

Esther sat on the edge of the couch. “So, let me see if I get this straight, some people want to turn this country upside down but they know they’d have a hell of a time getting away with it. So they’ll brainwash three hundred million people?”

“It ain’t as stupid as it sounds, ma’am. I think that the high frequency emission system that I been workin’ on, it could be used for that. They could hook it up to planes. In five or six years, I’m sure we’ll be able to incorporate it to a TV feed, cellular network, choose your delivery method. This thing could go down fast.”

“So that’s what you’re betting on,” Spicer said. “That’s what you’re risking your life for?”

“Yeah, but I got nothin’ solid. It’s all scraps of facts with some hypothesis. I go to the press with that and I’m just another looney out of his bin. I’ll never find work again, that’s for damn sure.”

He grabbed some files from his suitcase and put them in front of Spicer. “That’s all I got. I been tryin’ to make some sense of that stuff for a year and a half. I need more information.”

He and Esther turned toward Spicer. It occurred to him that they thought he was the solution.

Spicer walked down Calle Ocho with a new burner phone. People were milling about, tourists and locals alike, but no one paid him any attention. What he had to say to Ned made him feel cheap. He hated asking for help.

“Look man, as cheesy as it might sound, you’re my only hope.”

“You know,” Ned began, keeping his voice low as to not wake up his wife. “Princess Leia said that to Ben Kenobi and he winds up in another dimension. I’m not really tempted to go with you on that one”

“I’ve never begged much in my life, Ned. But I absolutely need to have Houseman’s file.”

“And I absolutely need to get blown more often. Everybody’s got their fantasy, man.”

Spicer nodded absentmindedly. It had been a long shot anyway. Still, he had to be more convincing.

“I thought you wanted to fly Hornets again.”

Ned stiffened. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m dead fucking serious. Once this thing is over, you’ll be back in the air. I guarantee you that.”

Ned remained silent at the other end of the line.

“Hell, aren’t you supposed to be this great big fearless warrior? Didn’t you single-handedly take down the entire Libyan Air Force?”

“Look, about that…” Ned exhaled softly. “I… I sorta only took one down. I was about to shoot down the second one when number three had me locked on. I panicked, I ejected. The two other guys got confused and ran into each other. I’m no hero, man.”

That actually made Spicer smile. “I’m giving you a chance to be one. I just need Houseman’s personnel file. You can e-mail it to me. You remember my address?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be checking my inbox every hour on the hour. I hope I find something. Be careful, buddy. Those guys get away with murder.”

After hanging up, Spicer didn’t go back to the apartment. He wanted to be by himself, he needed it. He loved strolling among the faceless crowd, the anonymity giving him power, making him feel like his old self again. He wasn’t good with people. In fact, he wondered why he was even jeopardizing his life trying to save others. What difference did it make to him if other people got killed?

Duty. Why was he still dedicated to that concept?

Ned remained at the kitchen table for almost an hour. He stared at the clock on the wall — he’d gotten it at a flea market because it had Cessna’s logo on it. He was perfectly aware that Spicer was laying on bullshit about him getting back in the air. He didn’t have that kind of clout, especially now that he was a wanted man.

However, he did recognize that the man needed help. His cause was a just one, that much was clear. They were each other’s wingmen and you had to stay together if you wanted to come out alive. Thinking about the situation in these terms made the decision easier.

He went to his bedroom and got some jeans and sweater from a drawer. Even though he tried his best not to make any noise, his wife stirred. She blinked and stared at him.

“What is it?”

“Shhh, go back to sleep. I’m going out for an hour or two.”

The drive to Reston took forever although it was most likely because he was nervous about what he was going to do. Talking about this on the phone was out of the question. It took just as long to drive around the winding suburban streets and find the house but finally he had it.

He parked, climbed onto the porch, and rang the doorbell. The light came on after almost two minutes. The man who answered was blacker than he was and he was wearing a light blue bowling shirt with boxer shorts. He wasn’t happy to see who the visitor was.

“Ned, is that you?”

He’d met Morty at an office party and they had bonded over the fact that they were both African-American men with white boy names. Once in a while Ned went bowling with him but he wasn’t as dedicated to the sport as he was.

“Jesus, you have any idea what time it is?”

“I could ballpark it,” Ned said, somewhat offended that he wasn’t being offered to go in. “Listen, I need a favor.”

“How much?”

“I need you to pull out a file for me, my boss, Gerald Houseman.”

“You gotta be outta fucking whack, man. I don’t know what your nine to five gig is but one thing I do know is that your whole outfit’s black. Everybody in your clan’s classified TS, probably Yankee White too.” Yankee White referred to the clearance required to work with the President. “I do this and I’m staring into a bucketful of problems, dawg.”

“Here’s the deal, being in Personnel you got easy access, I don’t. You copy me a file, nobody knows about it. Somebody ever finds out, Gene Spicer made you do it.”

Morty frowned. “Gene Spicer? Who the hell is that?”

“Never mind who it is. Just say he held you at gunpoint. It’ll take you a minute.”

“I don’t know.”

“Hey, how many times did I bowl the victory strike, uh? If it weren’t for me, you’d never have bought that Trans Am.” The Trans Am in question was a miniature model, collectors’ edition. “Come on Morty, I’m asking you for a favor.”

Morty stared out in the distance. Ned knew that look, he always took that stance before bowling a strike.