What others are saying about
DREAMWEAVE
"A fast pace thriller that makes you think twice about going to sleep again. "
-TBR - topbookreviewers.com
"Debut unveils nightmare scenario. An exciting storyline…that turns the unreal into the real. "
- Terry Peters, North Shore News
DREAMWEAVE
by
ERIK
GRAHAM
Smashwords Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents ether are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This ebook contains mature adult content and violence, and should not be read by children under the age of 17 without adult supervision.
DREAMWEAVE
Copyright © 2008 by Erik Graham. All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition - Copyright © 2010 by Erik Graham. All rights reserved.
PUBLISHED BY:
Erik Graham on Smashwords
Smashwords Edition
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/dreamweave
This book is also available in print at MillCity Press
Cover Design by Brent Meyers
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing a novel is quite the undertaking. I would like to acknowledge the following, in no particular order, for their help and support while I acted like a nutcase getting this done:
To Brian Bradshaw, my old friend who when I explained about a bizarre dream I had that night about throwing a grenade out my window said, “No shit, I had a dream last night that I had a huge explosion out of my window!” I immediately made the comment, “Wow, imagine if they were interconnected? What a great idea for a novel!” Twelve years later here it is.
To Lisa Fox, my crazy partner in crime, who egged and egged me on to get it finished, and for all the support through thick and thin. Then, with many bottles of wine, helped me do the first serious edit and revisions of the first draft, and then the next....and the next....
To Scott Redden, my super tall friend that took on the task of typing out the first draft from all the various note pads and scribbles that made up the novel.
To Michele McMullen, my friend that sat with me for hours typing as I spewed out character and plot outlines.
To Pandora Siganakis, who did the first real professional edit of the novel.
To the Staff and Management of Joe Fortes Restaurant in Vancouver, BC, my local hangout where I spent many, many lunches writing and editing.
To Michele Shields, who did a fabulous final edit of this novel. What a difference.
To the ‘Girls at the Cabin’ who literally tore my manuscript apart so they could all read it one final time before publishing.
And to all the other people that I have talked to about this novel and the ideas, proof reading, encouragement and support they gave along the way.
Thank you all.
to my Mother Michele and Grandpapa Ti-lou
who gave me the writing gene
Chapter One
Looking out of the window of the New York City checker cab, Peter Sutherland couldn’t help but notice the emerald colored sky above, but it did not register in his analytical mind. His gaze panned toward the driver who was behind a scuffed plastic barrier. Strange, Peter thought, the driver seemed familiar somehow, but he had never been to the Big Apple before. He settled back into the frayed leather seat and pulled out the dissertation he was to present at tonight's annual symposium. He had received the frantic call only two hours earlier back in Chicago. Two hours had not given him much time to research, theorize and write a dissertation on the comparative causes of quantum physics, all the while getting to New York by plane.
Peter looked back to the driver who was a large black male. With his curly hair coming out haphazardly from a beret too small for his head he said, “We’re coming up on the hotel in ten minutes mister,” with what sounded like a southern drawl.
“Thanks. What's a southern boy doing up in this stink hole?”
“Been here all my life, and don't knock my town unless you want to walk!” The driver shook his head and spit a large hocker out the window to emphasize his disgust.
Peter knew better to shut up, but that voice still came back and haunted him from his memories. Tokyo perhaps? No, he thought, but one hell of a coincidence.
Looking out again, he saw that the sky was now crimson red, but this still did not register up to his brain. His eyes drifted to the passing neighborhood, endless skyscrapers flew by. Ultra modern buildings mixed in with art deco smaller towers were fronted with countless sidewalks of teenage hookers and street people all trying to live another day. The city was a mess; litter and burnt cars were the norm, as it would be portrayed in a post-apocalyptic film. Peter felt a large, uncontrollable chill down his spine as the cab went further into the decaying borough, the blur of its inhabitants flying past the mesmerized gaze of the young scientist.
The cab slowed and pulled into a circular drive in front of a posh Six Star Hotel. A dignified and thorough uniformed doorman opened and greeted Peter with the efficiency acquired after many years of service.
“Please make your way to the entrance quickly sir,” he said firmly. “We will take care of your luggage. Keep close to the guards please.”
“Guards?” he said as he looked back toward the street. The surroundings had become more dangerous quickly, as a tactically outfitted squad of armed guards surrounded the entrance to the street and the hotel doorway. The same disheveled street people and now angry youth gangs taunted the guards. The guards stood at the their post motionless, seemingly oblivious of the masses. The strength of numbers and heavy weapons were deterrent enough. Peter briskly pushed the heavy revolving door into the hotel lobby and entered only to find an unreal calm.
Several groups of well-dressed patrons lounged on the authentic French Revolution furniture. The lobby was immense. As he looked toward the ceiling, he noticed a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the recessed circular focal point above. Craftsmen had spent months working on this room, he thought. His head turned back toward the street, but now all he could see was the expanse of black frosted glass. The huge lobby instantly appeared to shrink around him. He gave his head a shake and began walking toward the front desk.
“Peter Sutherland, checking in,” he said, still in disbelief as he stepped up to the solid oak counter.
“Welcome to the Grand Manhattan Hotel, Mr. Sutherland. You have been pre-registered. Here are your key cards.” The front desk clerk slid a small gold embossed envelope toward him. “Your bags will follow you to your room shortly. Please take time to familiarize yourself with the hotel security procedures posted in your room. Enjoy your stay,” said the cute brunette, flashing that professional hospitality smile.
“What in God's name is happening out there?”
“It's been like this all over Manhattan for years, Mr. Sutherland. No need to worry, we have the best security money can buy,” she said.
Peter thanked her and crossed over to the waiting elevator, pressing his floor number. As he waited, not even noticing the subtle music in the background he began thinking to himself. He knew that watching the news had not been a priority for the past few years, but had the country gone to hell without his knowledge? Plus, the damn cab driver was still familiar to him!
As he entered his room, the large suite pleasantly surprised him. “Glad I am not paying for this”, he chuckled to himself. After taking a quick look around and grabbing an apple from the fruit basket adorning the central coffee table, he walked over to look at the view. Smog was everywhere, the city blanketed with what looked like an impenetrable fog that he had only seen worse in Mexico City. He could hardly see the tower across the street and he finally noticed the blasted frosted glass on the lower half of the window which made it impossible to see the street below. He started thinking about the street people but his eyelids started to sag, weary from the long trip. He went into the master bedroom not bothering to undress and lay down on the comforter, crashing as soon as his head hit the super plush pillow.
Opening his bloodshot eyes, he stared straight into the LCD of the alarm clock. It read 5:45 PM.
“Holy shit!” Peter said, and rolled out onto the floor. The presentation was scheduled for six o’clock, but luckily in the grand ballroom downstairs. Instinct took over as he ran into the washroom. He looked up to the hideous sight of creases in his face and messed up brown hair in the mirror. Splashing water on his face and running a comb through his hair, he started to try to get his mind on the lecture that he would have to present. Precious seconds passed, but he took the time to look again into the wall-sized mirror, pursing his lips as he noticed his wrinkled suit. He then gave himself the ‘ol’ Sutherland smirk and grabbed his briefcase and ran for the elevator.
“Peter, I thought you wouldn't make it,” said a dapper looking executive. “Jesus, you look like shit buddy!”
“Sorry Frank, I overslept. When am I up?” Peter said excitedly, still combing his hair.
“You're up in one minute, now go stand over by the sound table,” Frank said, pointing toward the front of the huge ballroom. It was filled to capacity, the air filled with excitement and a buzz of well-educated snippets of conversation. The brightest, and most recognized scientists in the northern hemisphere were there that evening only for one purpose, and that purpose all of a sudden had a huge lump in his throat. Peter made his way up to the front along the side of the ballroom, taking his notes out of his briefcase as he walked. The noise died down quickly as the sound of a well-practiced host took over the microphone. He nervously looked over the crowd, at the country's best, his peers.
“And now my fellow colleagues, it is my pleasure to welcome our keynote speaker of the evening, a young bright mind to the stage. One that everyone knows needs no introduction, Dr. Peter Sutherland!” a deep voice bellowed from the speakers. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause that snapped Peter back into reality. His shoulders back, he left the sound table and walked toward the stage steps. As he climbed the steps, the crowd’s applause began to fade, first slowly, then to a deafening last clap. Walking along the front of the stage, Peter looked into the first rows of the elite, as everything else was blacked out by the stage lighting. Everyone was staring with mouths agape, looking like time had frozen.
“First of all, I would like to thank,” were the only words Peter said before the entire room erupted into hysterical laughter. The distinguished delegates in the front seats were doubled over holding themselves, laughing so hard. The sound of laughter grew and grew to a high-pitched crescendo. The room began to spin as Peter’s mind was whirling. What had he said? Did he really look that bad, he thought. The laughter only intensified, delegates now almost running out of the room to stop the pain from laughing so hard.
“OK, enough is enough,” Peter yelled into the mike. “I can see that I will have to step off the stage!”
“You’re,” said a stunningly beautiful woman sitting in the front row, now almost hyperventilating. “NAKED!”
“What the Fuck!” Peter exclaimed as he looked down to his limp penis. The room started to spin uncontrollably. He staggered toward the steps to escape this madness. Tripping, Peter fell off the stage. The lights and sound dimmed as he headed into blackness.
Peter’s arms flayed about, his hands tangled in wires, blinding light pierced into his brain when he opened his eyes.
“Hold on there, Pete-ol-buddy,” a voice said coming from the surrounding brightness. A pair of hands was now working on the wires that Peter realized were attached to various parts of his body. He tried opening his eyes just a slit again. This time, trying to focus around the room. The room looked like your standard, antiseptic hospital room, the same as thousands across the country. A bank of monitors of various sizes and shapes took up the far left wall, dot matrix printers chattering off in the distance, and LED lights going on and off.
“Pete, will you PLEASE hold still while I take the rest of the sensors off. I swear to God, Peter Sutherland, I am going to put you into restraints the next time we do this. This is worse than untangling Christmas tree lights.”
Peter stopped flailing around, and looked up at the voice. “Nice to see you too, Nancy,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. He relaxed against the bedding, and studied her face. Still damn cute, he thought. It was good, no great, he thought again, that he had taken this young, twenty-five year old under his wing. The ironic thing was that Nancy Anderson was thinking the same thought as she kept untangling the wires; it was a good thing she had taken the job to save Peter’s ass. Nancy was one of those girl next-door types: slim, slightly athletic with brown shoulder-length wavy hair. She was about 5’6”, 115 pounds, had grown up in New York City and had the advantage of innocent looks, but with a street savvy about her. She was extremely intelligent, but didn’t let on. She had worked her way through tech school to become a lab assistant and had had enough of New York near the end and decided on moving in with a cousin in Boston. She had found the job with Peter by answering a job posting on the University job board. Nancy found out later that Peter had a very small budget for his research facility and that this was not going to be a high paying job. However, she was intrigued by Peter’s ideas on dreaming and his enthusiasm. She also thought it was really cute that he was nervous around her in the interview, so she decided to take the job and remain in Boston. However, her cousin had moved in with her boyfriend last month so Nancy now had the full weight of the rent. Luckily, she had some trust money her parents had left her, so the low salary was not an issue. She still had some breathing room.
She smirked as she took off the final sensor with more force than she had to. “You almost electrocuted yourself this time Peter,” giving Peter a look that reminded him of his mother. He shook his head, as he had to get that thought out of his mind quickly.
“I’m just soaked! This is the third time for this. When did it start this time?” Peter wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“At three minutes into REM.” REM stands for Random Eye Movement. Basically it’s when your mind drifts off into a dream. Typically during a night of sleep a person will have several REM sleep periods where the most vivid dreams occur. “Your body temperature started rising to level off at 101 degrees at the six-minute mark. Peter, I am starting to get scared of this. How are we going to control this?”
“First, I want the computer printout of the body and brain sensors correlated to get the exact moment of the heat buildup,” he said, swinging his legs out over the makeshift examination table. He was only in his boxers and was a bit self-conscious about it around Nancy. Hence the reason for the Bugs Bunny prints on the shorts to make him feel more comfortable. Secretly, Nancy thought Bugs was sexy for a rabbit as she looked at the shorts.
“Why now? What brought this on? Do you think we have gone into uncharted territory here?” Nancy asked handing him a plush towel.
Peter stood shivering, much to the amusement of Nancy. “Always the questions, hey Nance. If you weren't so damn smart and cute.”
“Ya, ya, o.k. Let's get you into a shower and I'll start the analysis,” she said and quickly turned around walking out of the room thinking of Bugs and blushing.
While Peter stood in the shower with the hot spray washing off the sweat from the experiment, he went through the latest dreams he had experienced the previous ten times at his small research facility. Peter had the ability to recall any of his previous dreams. Dreams were like movies to him. He had been like this since as long as he could remember. Others had photographic memory of anything they read. For Peter it was a visual record of his most bizarre alternate life - his dreaming life. He could recall any dream that he had had since childhood. Never two the same. Sometimes similar, but with differences that changed the outcome of his dreams. He had trained himself to make decisions in his own dreams. He actually could stop, think and deduct what was happening and sometimes alter the course of his dreams. Some would call that lucid dreaming but to Peter, it was just what he would do in the non-dreaming state of life so he didn’t think of the process much anymore. He just lived out his dreams.
He was a bit concerned. His last three dreams, monitored at his facility with his own dream-tracking software, had been disturbing. He had not told Nancy that there had been more. He shrugged involuntarily in the shower as he finished lathering up. Nightmares. That is what he was calling them to himself, nightmares. They had been present also at night when he was at home in his own bed. Rarely did he get them, but now it seemed that they were prevalent in his psyche at this point in time. The most disturbing thing was that he, for the first time in years, was not able to control these dreams at the same level that he could his other dreams.
He stepped out of the shower and dried off with a worn out towel, slipped into his jeans and his favorite ‘I Don’t Work, I Just Dream’ t-shirt that some colleagues had given him a couple of birthdays ago. He walked into his office off the lab room where he had just been strapped into and saw Nancy working at her work station with polysomnographic print outs all over her desk. These printouts, that Nancy called dream prints, were the graphic representation of REM sleep. They measured EEG, or electroencephalography, which measures the electrical activity of the brain or brainwaves. The dream prints also measured the time of rapid eye movement. With these two measurements, including the regular body monitoring, temperature, breathing rate and body movements that were being videotaped, they could try to pinpoint various points of the dream from Peter’s recollection.
“This is the strongest of the three sessions according to the reading,” she said not even looking up at Peter.
“Each session has become stronger,” he said.
“Correct. What I’m concerned about is that, each time, your core temperature is getting higher. I don’t know how much further we can go with this Peter. Your body can only take so much.”
Peter did not say anything. He just nodded and thought, if only you knew, Nancy, these are not the only nightmares that I have been getting. He didn’t want to worry Nancy too much as he knew that she’d try to get him to stop this course of the experiments.
“Nancy, I am still in control of my dreams,” only partially he thought quickly. “So until that point, we can continue. I almost made a connection this time,” he said positively, “it was at the start of the dream, while I was in a cab, but couldn’t get a hold of it. There was too much going on outside of the cab I was riding in, street people and hookers everywhere.”
“Keep your wet dreams to yourself please,” she said smirking as she kept looking at the data.
Peter blushed and cleared his throat, “I have a feeling that I am being drawn to these, well, I guess you could call them nightmares.”
Nancy stopped and looked straight into his eyes. “Being drawn into? Do you get these at home?” she said with a look that he had seen before.
He gulped and his face flushed and said, “Yes, it has been happening for the last week.” He looked away sheepishly.
She pursed her lips sternly, frowning while looking a bit to the side and confronted Peter as she said, “I knew it! Peter, do you not know that women can sense when men are holding something back? We are a team you and I. You have to tell me all your dreams, bad, good or even very good.”
“Very good?” He now started blushing thinking of the last erotic dream he had had of Nancy.
“Yes, Peter. I want to hear about them.”
Peter didn’t answer again. He was trying to figure out how he was going to conceal that dream from her while he slowly buttoned his white lab coat to hide his now not so limp penis.
Chapter Two
Situated on the top floor of the forty-story Zicon Corporation building in Manhattan, a meeting of the top three senior executives was in progress in the lavish office of the Chief Executive Officer.
“Ted, I can't believe what I’m reading in this report,” Jack Montgomery, CEO for the last ten years exclaimed, throwing the thick report across his immense spotless desk. “Who came up with this garbage?” he said forcefully. This told Ted that Jack was not in the mood for smoke and mirrors. Jack had an energy about him that radiated authority. Standing 6’3” at the age of fifty-two with closely cut white hair, Jack had been the cover boy for many business-related magazines. He looked the part of the successful CEO billionaire. Zicon had been a small operation ten years prior, primarily surviving on existing patents from its Research and Development section. That is when Jack had stepped in and, smelling a bargain, bought the controlling share of Zicon. With his astute business sense and insider help, Zicon quickly became a very large player in the lucrative pharmaceutical and medical instruments industries.
What was not broadcast to the media was that Zicon was now a large multi-national conglomerate that had their hands into pretty much everything, including arms dealing, biological weapons and their antidotes, all hidden by shell companies multi-layered throughout the world. Zicon had just broken a sales barrier of one billion dollars in one year, making Jack a very wealthy man. Ninety percent of Zicon’s pharmaceutical sales took place in South and Central America where regulations for testing and market placement were very relaxed. Silent board members were appointed from political officials’ families in those businesses. Jack didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. His thoughts were that money could fix any problem presented.
Jack shifted in his high backed leather chair. Subconsciously, he pushed up the sleeves of his Italian handmade engraved shirt revealing his excessive diamond clustered watch and stared right at Ted.
“Believe me Jack, I thought it was all crap myself until I had research take a look into it. Here's their report,” Ted said handing it to him. Ted Jacobson, President of Zicon International, hoped that the report was accurate for his sake. Ted was Jack’s right hand man, if there could ever be one. Jack’s trust level was very low, but Ted maintained his subservient relationship with Jack, trying to find ideas to impress him and taking care of all the dirty work Jack cooked up. Ted was from Atlanta, Georgia, and had started at Zicon from the bottom as a telemarketer over twelve years ago, just before Jack took over. He basically bootlicked his way to the top, but was not happy with the result. He still had to grovel under Jack’s constant onslaught. Now thirty-nine, and some would say bone thin for 5’11”, Ted still had the weasel-looking demeanor that all the staff smirked about among themselves. Ted knew about the snide remarks and kept it to himself, cataloguing them in his head. He also headed Zicon’s Corporate Security force, so he had ears everywhere. More like an industrial espionage and Delta force team, he controlled a small but very mobile and efficient army of agents trained to take on whatever tasks the CEO needed cleaned up.
“Christ, it’s fifty pages long. Have you read this, Klaus?” Jack said as he looked over at Klaus Rowheidier, Vice President of Research and Development, European division. Klaus, now fifty and a bit over weight at 200 pounds and only 5’9”, looked like an ageing professor with his full gray goatee. However, he was extremely bright, with an IQ in the genius range. He lived in Düsseldorf and tried to keep his work away from his circle of friends. Klaus, knowing how Jack was, kept his sarcastic humour in check for this meeting.
“I read my department’s report on the flights from Düsseldorf this morning. I am amazed at the potential. Shall I summarize it for you?” he said in a thick German accent, which always reminded Jack of all the old WWII movies.
“I’m all ears,” was the reply.
“First let me tell you that this is still in the research stage. They started testing six months ago,” Klaus stated.
“Who are they?” Jack questioned sarcastically.
“A small research team at the University of Boston. A young professor named Peter Sutherland heads it up. Dr. Sutherland started the project three years ago after being awarded his doctorate in Oneirology, the scientific study of dreams. He began his research as an assistant professor, intending to expand his thesis. Here is a copy that we obtained,” Klaus slid across the desk another thick manila folder. Jack made a disgusted expression and waved in the air.
“I'll read this with the other one. Let's get to the reason for all of this. Something doctor, ah, what was his name?” he said trailing off at the end.
“Sutherland.”
“Right, Sutherland. Where did he get this idea, or did he steal it from someone?” Jack stared across the table with a questioning look.
“According to his thesis, it came in a dream.”
A look of disbelief came over Jack’s face.
“It has been verified sir. Dr. Sutherland had been dreaming of driving through the countryside and stopped by a roadside cafe. The only other person in the cafe was another doctor. A Dr. William Olsen. They sat and talked for a few minutes and as Dr. Olsen got up to leave he scribbled a phone number on a napkin. Dr. Sutherland memorized it and after waking up, wrote it down. He then called that morning and reached... Yes, Dr. Olsen, who is a PhD in Communication Sciences at the University of Copenhagen.”
“Well, holy shit. Our people have talked to Dr. Olsen?” Jack said now laying both his palms on the perfectly pristine desk.
“I had CSU find him and interview him yesterday,” said Ted. CSU stood for Corporate Surveillance Unit, better known by insiders as the Zicon army. Zicon had recruited the top disgruntled and underpaid tactical elite from North America and abroad. Large corporations were run like smaller governments and Jack’s reasoning was that, as a small government, it better be armed, and so it was to the teeth.
“Any problems with his keeping quiet?” Jack said, raising an eyebrow.
“None. Dr. Olsen is quite happy,” Ted answered quickly. Dr. Olsen had a propensity, Ted had found out, for flying to Asian countries to sample some of the young flesh for sale. CSU had merely obtained some very flattering pictures and video from sources that made a habit of filming all ‘encounters’ by foreigners to sell on the open market. Dr. Olsen was now happy about keeping very quiet.
“Good. Good work Ted. Go on, Klaus.”
Ted smiled inwardly.
“Based on that dream, Dr. Sutherland,” Klaus went on.
“Let’s just call him Peter, OK?” Jack said now leaned back in his chair and looked out the window half listening to Klaus.
“Peter built the hypothesis that dreams by certain individuals are intertwined with each other. For example, if I am dreaming that I am driving down a road in a car and someone passes me on a bike in that same dream, well then, somewhere in the world there is someone dreaming of biking and going past my car.”
“Now wait a second,” he paused, “You just said that certain individuals have this ability?” Jack said leaning across the desk, more interested in this conversation now.
“Peter has now expanded his theory that the whole world is interconnected, a sort of dream weave if you may.”
“Dream weave? How does this work?”
“That is what Peter and his team are trying to find out. I have though, before coming here, done some extensive research and called in a few favors. It seems that this is not new thinking. Actually, it is over sixty years old and has been thoroughly tested. The basic theory is that all the dreams reside in a different dimension than our conscious bodies, outside of our bodies. Each dream would be independent of others, except when they collide. Kind of like two ships riding slightly different parallel paths that at some point would meet. When the two dreams converge, part of their dream would be in yours. Case in point, I had a dream last night of being in a large house and proceeded to open the front door. I was presented with a large ocean right at my doorstep. Why would that happen? According to the experiments of a very young brilliant German scientist during WWII, very disturbing experiments I might add, he concluded that the stronger dream could take over another’s dream. He was able to become the stronger dream. In essence he could control the dreams of his subjects,” Klaus said matter of fact.
Jack began tapping the fingers of his right hand on the table. Ted knew that tell very well. Jack’s mind was plotting something, and it was not going to be pleasant.
“If we can get the key to this ‘dreamweave’, we could start influencing certain key players in our industries through dreams. Imagine being able to add thoughts and fears into the hearts of men who have no fear. Nobody could touch us,” Jack said in a frightening tone.
“Exactly, Jack. Why do you think we brought this up to you?” Ted said supporting Jack’s idea immediately while greasing the notion of his worth to the corporation.
“OK, Ted, you head CSU. Give me a status report and recommendations on how to proceed,” Jack spun around and picked up his phone, completely indifferent that he now was totally ignoring the other two. Ted quickly looked at Klaus and nodded his head toward the door.
As they left his office, Jack did a turnaround and looked out toward the expanse of Central Park and smiled to himself. This was going to be a very good year, he thought.
As Ted closed Jack’s door he walked side by side with Klaus down the quiet hallway to the area where Jack’s executive assistants, all five of them, were located. Ted stopped halfway and turned to face Klaus.
“Where did you get that information on the German scientist?” Ted asked almost in a threatening tone.
Klaus took a step backward to get out of Ted’s space and replied sarcastically, “I am the head of Research and Development you know. We do know how to find out information the old fashion way by asking around, not by using the Gestapo tactics that your so called CSU agents seem to relish.”
“Listen, you son of a bitch,” Ted was now using a very low but forceful voice as he poked Klaus with one finger in his chest, “I want to know where you got that information and from whom. I also want a full dossier on what you know about this German and his present whereabouts.”
Klaus was now fuming inside. His thoughts ranged from little piss ant ass-licker to wanting to wipe that smug look right off Ted’s face with a good punch. He hated working for Zicon since Jack had taken over, as he was also one of the old guard like Ted, but he had seen Ted rise through the ranks and knew he would be trouble. For five years he had put up with these two egomaniacs and their illegal practices! He had seen and heard many disturbing things and although he wanted to leave so many times, he was always pressured. No, he thought, let’s call it what it really was - threatened to stay as he knew too much of what was going on. What Jack and Ted did not know about was the expanding file of information that Klaus had on the ‘dirty’ enterprises that Zicon conducted in the Third World unregulated and unsupervised countries. He could bring down Zicon with one phone call and that gave him the strength right then to place a sly smirk on his face that infuriated Ted even more.
“Well of course, Herr Jacobson,” he said smartly as he did a bit of a movement upward on his toes and clicked his heels together just like a German officer.
This enraged Ted even more. His face went red, and just as he was about to let loose, Klaus spun around on his heels and walked over to the executive assistants leaving Ted with his mouth open just ready to speak. As he passed one of the assistants in plain view of Ted, he stopped, took out a thin manila envelope and handed it to the now confused assistant.
“Could you please have this delivered to Ted Jacobson as I am catching a plane back to Germany right now,” he said with an air of joyfulness. He didn’t even wait for a reply and turned and walked out the door without another word. The assistant looked down the hallway to Ted with the folder in her hand and an embarrassed look on her face. Ted just stomped over and snatched it from her. The assistant looked away immediately and went back to work. The rest of the assistants stopped talking and all made themselves busy. Ted walked over to a side conference room while trying to open the manila folder. His breathing was labored as he was still fuming. Almost getting a paper cut from his shaking hands, he finally got it open and took out three sheets of paper.
The first paper was a brief bio on the German scientist, a Dr. Fritz Rhinefalt. Ted read onto the next page and his flushed appearance suddenly turned deathly pale.
Chapter Three
Many miles south of the town of Jaco on the southwestern Pacific Coast of Costa Rica, a weathered-faced, white-haired, very spry German man shuffled along. The well traveled path went from a secluded small house surrounded by palm trees on a hill overlooking the ocean. The small path, once chocked with ferns, lead down a smaller cliff to the private beach and pier with a twenty-foot open motor boat. The early morning trek was routine after twenty-five years. He enjoyed the solitude of walking on the volcanic black beach with no one in sight. He was completely secluded here since his beach ended in huge rocks on each end. This had become his sanctuary. Sanctuary from his sins. Rounding the last bend on the path back to his little cabaña, he heard voices. His sanctuary was over. They had found him. He walked with the same gait, no fear in his posture. What was there to fear for a demon like himself?
He hadn’t started out as a demon, but had been transformed into one from childhood. Born into a long line of medical professionals in 1921, he was influenced by his father who was an expert in pharmaceuticals and chemicals. From an early age, his father recognized that the family gene for genius ran strong in his boy Fritz. So, from the young age of seven, his father had him not only watch but also participate in his experiments. Experiments of a hideous nature testing new drugs and chemicals being funded by the old regime of Germany, waiting for the next war to come. Fritz was fascinated by the results of his father’s concoctions. He was oblivious to the sounds of suffering and agony from the caged animals at his father’s lab in the small town of Zistorsdorf, near Vienna. By the age of ten, Fritz was conducting his own experiments, much to the pleasure of his father. By twelve, he was already well on his way to becoming a master chemist, but he needed a more stringent education in medicine. So on his thirteenth birthday, his father enrolled Fritz into the medical school at the University of Vienna. Small for his age and also being extremely young, it was not easy for Fritz. However, he focused on his studies and became enamored with one of the professors who lectured about the emerging trend in neural-networks of the brain. He became fascinated with learning how chemicals could and would be able to fix any and all brain-related ailments. During his third year at the age of sixteen, Fritz, while listening to another lecture half-heartedly, heard the words ‘mind control’ from the speaker. Immediately his mind went into a frenzy of new ways to use his knowledge, completely ignoring the rest of the lecture or the blonde fraulein that was trying to get his attention. The next two years passed quickly for the now brilliant man, no longer a boy. He had obtained his degree in medicine at seventeen and joined his father for a brief time mixing inhumane concoctions for the building Nazi war machine under the new Führer Adolf Hitler. Every spare moment was spent on his new theories and experiments. Controlling the minds of others was all that he thought and talked about. He had prepared, over a few months, certain drugs that needed testing and verification - verification with live human subjects. His new Nazi friends were happy to accommodate him.
“Dr. Rhinefalt?” A well-dressed CSU agent asked, standing at the entrance of the pathway to the beach.
“Herr Rhinefalt,” the old man said, without emotion.
“Herr Rhinefalt, we wish to have some words with you.”
“I think the arrangement will be that you will talk, I will listen. Am I correct?”
“Herr Rhinefalt, we have not come to harm or seek atonement for your actions. On the contrary, we are here to protect you and ask for your cooperation,” the agent smiled, the sun glinting off his mirrored sunglasses.
“I am still listening,” he said as he had no other choice. The pathway was filled with the bulk of this man.
“I represent a powerful group of men that have taken a keen interest in your field of study.”
“My field of study has been ostracized.”
“On the contrary, Herr Rhinefalt, your field of study is well and alive, although not to the degree of your esteemed self,” said the CSU officer looking at the doctor with an admiring look.
“I did not detach myself from the scientific community for the last thirty years to be patronized Herr…?”
“Cantaloga. No disrespect intended; quite the opposite. My superiors have read your journals and assumptions. They wish for you to continue your work.” The agent shifted his feet.
“Continue my work and be labeled worse than the Barber of Seville?” he said still standing motionless.
“Continue your work and be heralded as the father of a new awareness,” the agent raised his hands to the sky.
“Ahh…so you are familiar with my projects?” Dr. Rhinefalt said inquisitively.
“Only in the most general terms. I am to be your liaison. Your gopher, if you may. You ask, I get,” he said taking off the glasses and looking directly into the doctor’s gaze.
“Research facilities? Staff?”
“Only the best money can obtain. Anywhere you want it located,” the officer smiled to himself knowing that the doctor was now on board.
“I have become accustomed here. It is very quiet and the local officials are deaf mutes for a price.” The doctor took a look over the shoulder of the agent toward his property.
“We can start by you giving me a list of facilities and equipment within 24 hours. All will be arranged. Your property here actually will be easy to setup and secure. Time is of the essence.”
“You mentioned my research being alive and well?” the doctor now shuffled past the agent, wanting information. His body might have been old, not as old as many at that age, but his mind was still a steel trap. He was already formulating his requirements and making lists of procedures that had been left undone or would be tried again, this time with modern equipment.
“Yes Herr Rhinefalt, a small team headed by a Dr. Peter Sutherland is currently conducting dreaming experiments in Boston. I have brought you the latest information and reports that we could obtain.” The agent was now following the 5’6” wiry frame toward the house at the edge of a two-acre grassed area surrounded by thick palm trees and tropical foliage. Yes, very secluded, he thought.
As Dr. Fritz Rhinefalt opened the door for the agent, he stated, “So, it is a race. Who will cross over first? Let us make some coffee and start this list.”
Chapter Four
“Tony? Tony? It's Peter in Boston,” the words were muffled and digitalized since the call was traveling a long distance.
Tony replied, “I've been waiting for your call old buddy.”
“What do you mean waiting?”
Tony smiled to himself and thought of the first time they had met. It had not been quite three years ago in Tokyo. Something had compelled Tony to go to one of his favorite restaurants called Bakaratei that night. It was a warm and cozy local place that served traditional Japanese food. He had enjoyed his meal, talking once in awhile with the owner. While he sipped his after-dinner drink, he noticed a Caucasian man enter the restaurant. Must be lost, Tony thought, looking around the room toward the all Asian clientele except for himself. The owners sat the lost sheep at a table nearby. Tony looked at the man. The man looked average. Average height, not overweight. Looked American, not European but there was something there. Tony could sense a connection with this man. Part of his being told him to speak.
“You look like you speak English,” the American man spoke. Startled, and embarrassed Tony realized he was staring at the man.
“Ah yes, yes I do,” Tony replied in a deep voice, clearing his throat midway through his answer.
“Great, you wouldn't happen to know what Shika Penisu is?” Peter said looking up from the confusing menu.
“Yes, I do and I know you don't want that,” Tony instinctively lifted his glass and rose out of his seat, crossing the floor to the man's table. “Tony Blake,” he stated, extending his hand.
“Peter Sutherland,” as he applied a firm gripped pump of the hand. “Sit down, please. Texas?” he asked nonchalantly and shifted some of the items on the table to make room for his new friend.
“How did you guess?” Tony chuckled.
“Well, sometimes it is the luck of the Irish,” said Peter in an over pronounced southern US drawl.
A hearty laugh erupted from Tony. His deep sounding southern accent in Tokyo was well known, as was his 6’5”, 250 pound frame that hovered over the population daily. The tables around them began to return to their meals, gossiping between themselves over the brash Americans nearby.
“This is not the usual dining fare for a fair-skinned American,” Tony surmised, taking a sip of his drink.
“I flew in this afternoon and started wandering around. I passed by this place twice. Each time I had a chill sensation. I live in Boston. I like chills,” he said placing his menu back down on the table.
“So Peter from Boston, are you really hungry?” Tony said with a smirk.
“Not at all. Still five in the morning for me right now,” he said and by habit looked at his father’s old watch he treasured.
“How about a drink then? I know of a spot down the street,” Tony said, getting up from the table.
Ordering their drinks from the Oriental cowboy attired waitress, Peter flinched as a high note was cracked by the karaoke singing Japanese businessman. Peter looked around the vivid colored room almost in shock mostly from being thrown into a completely strange environment. The place was busy. The purple velvet benches and stools were all full with well-dressed businessman smoking like it was the last day on earth.
“Have a couple of scotch, and you will be singing along,” Tony quipped.
“You seem to know this place… I mean Tokyo, well,” Peter questioned.
“Have been here for twelve years or so. It grows on you,” Tony smiled.
“My first time. I decided I needed something different to see. Used to the same old in America. Tokyo kind of stuck out there for some reason. You play ball in the States?” Peter said looking at the huge man, changing the subject to find out more about Tony.
“UCLA. I got a football scholarship, but never got into the jock mentality. Guess riding my loud motorcycle around campus was not the in thing,” Tony chuckled.
“Scholarship huh? An educated biker then. Nuclear engineering?” Peter said sarcastically.
“Actually, medical engineering - brain stem stimulus recognition,” Tony said speaking matter of fact.
“Wow, that's a mouthful. Funny thing is that I just read up on that a couple months ago after having a dream,” Peter said enthusiastically.
The cowgirl was back with the drinks. Nice six-shooter's, Peter thought as she sauntered away.
“Tell me about this dream,” Tony asked sipping his scotch and looking over the crowd but keeping Peter in the corner of his eye.
“Ok…. strange though. I am sitting in a university classroom in the dream. I look up at the clock and it’s 3:30. I look around and the class is listening to the professor. I look down toward the professor who has a fresh brain in his hands. He is talking about stimulus impulses into the brain stem. I seem to know what he is talking about,” Peter took a second sip of his ten-dollar beer.
Tony smirked as he finished Peter’s sentence. “Then a girl from the class asks the professor about a diagram on the chalkboard behind him. The professor turns around to face the board. Then I notice the hole in the professor’s head where his brain should be,”
“Whoa, how in the hell did you know that?” Peter shouted, his voice not noticeable by others because it was drowned out by the music.
“ I was there also my friend,” Tony said, shaking his head. “I was sitting in that class too.”
It had only taken a millisecond to remember those thoughts of the past, but Tony felt as if it was yesterday.
“I am flying out to Boston tonight Peter, we have to talk… talk in person.”
Chapter Five
Such a nice morning, Manuel thought as he peddled his bike. The morning trip was a daily ritual for the fifty seven year old Costa Rican farmer. Dressed in slacks and a button-down short-sleeved shirt and a wrap-around brimmed hat, Manuel looked like he was heading to church. Actually, he was headed for his weekend game of chess with his old friend Luis. Manuel had been playing chess with Luis since he was a kid. Growing up in rural Costa Rica near the town of Parritta, he had not ventured further than two hundred miles in his whole life. Well maybe only once, going to San Jose, the capital, for a wedding. His parents, both history buffs and teachers, had entertained their children with stories of legends of the past. Stories of ancient times, where powers extended beyond the physical boundaries of earth. Luis enjoyed these recalled stories while playing many rounds of the masters’ game with Manuel. After, they would tend the teak tree plantation they had both built over the last fifteen years. Life was good and relaxed as he bicycled along the path to his next chess match.
He took a right after the town of Parritta and headed toward the Pacific Ocean. Luis lived in a modest house along the single road on the Isle of Palo Seco, a mere half a mile away over a very short one-lane bridge. They were actually going to play at the local bar called Mari Sol on the island, with its open-air thatched roof patio overlooking the ocean.
What a beautiful day for a game, he thought. The road narrowed before the small bridge as the dense brush tried to reclaim it. He moved over to the right as he heard a vehicle coming up behind him. Luis was bound to lose his luck today, he thought, three games he had won in a row. It was his weekend. He could taste it as he saw the bar down the road while coming up to the bridge.
The vehicle slowed as it pulled up beside him. “Hey, you speak English?” asked a pretty blond from the car. Manuel stopped his bike at the passenger window.
“Si, a little,” he replied.
“Which way to Jaco?” she asked him with big bright eyes.
He looked passed the woman and glanced at the driver, a preoccupied looking man. Manuel turned his head, looked back and pointed, “You all have gone the wrong way. You will have to…” Manuel fell to the ground convulsing as 50,000 volts from a stun gun pulsed through his body. Manuel's streak of bad luck had carried on.
“Hey Boy!” Luis yelled in Spanish from his seat in the Mari Sol bar cornered on the main island road. Everybody went by this bar. The boy slowed to a stop and answered back, “What do you want?”
“Where did you get that bike?” Luis knew Manuel’s old piece of shit bike anywhere.
The boy became defensive, “It is mine.”
Luis calmed himself, as he didn’t want the boy to ride away, “It is ok, I know this bike. It is the bike of my friend Manuel. I’ve seen this bike for longer than you have been born.”
The boy was scared but stayed put, “I found it. It is now mine,” still trying to show some backbone.
“Where? Where did you find this bike?” Now Luis was really curious and getting worried.
The boy gulped and pointed behind him, “On the other side of the bridge in the bushes.”
“How long ago?” Luis looked at his watch; Manuel should have just been arriving.
“About ten minutes ago, there was no one around the bike. It was thrown away,” the boy said still trying to justify himself.
“You saw no one on the road?” Luis now got up and looked down toward the bridge.
“No one,” he paused, “except the car that almost hit me. It was driving very fast.”
“Which way was it headed?” Luis’s alarm bells went off in his head.
“Back toward the main road to Parritta.”
Luis knew that something was wrong. Manuel never missed a game. Never. Also, no one local drove fast on that road. It was too narrow. “Boy, you can keep the bike,” Luis said as he approached the boy, “but I want to know everything you can remember about that car and who was in it.”
Manuel woke up groggily. The silence was complete. He opened his eyes slowly, the lids still very heavy. Utter blackness. His heart raced, where was he? Or was he dead. He tried to cry out, but only a muffled effort reached his ears. It reached his ears, he thought. Well, at least that was something. He started concentrating on feeling anything, pain, touch, anything. His fingertips touched something cold, probably metal he surmised.
White heat blazed in his head before he closed his eyes.
“He is awake then,” Fritz commented to one of his new assistants. He had just turned on the lights. For the first time in years, Fritz felt alive again, his research reborn. Over half a century had passed since his first experiments.
Chapter Six
The summer of 1943 saw the German war machine in full swing. Fear, with names like Auschwitz, brought horror to millions. At one of the lesser-known concentration camps, Janowska in Poland, a young twenty-two year old German scientist who was also a SS Hauptsturmführer was experimenting in advanced forms of mind control and manipulation with the use of drugs and pain.
The subject before him was strapped down to a table, stripped naked. The subject was in extreme agony, writhing, straining to be free from the bonds. His eyes were wild. No recognition of the present, only pain. This went on for another twenty minutes. Fritz just stared at him, observing, occasionally writing down a note. The subject stopped writhing, shuddered and died.
“We are getting closer!” Fritz exclaimed. “Another four or five tests and we should have the right dosage ratio.”
“What time frame are you looking at?” asked the lower ranked SS Untersturmführer.
“One week. One week and I will be able to start stage two of the project,” was his reply.
“This is good. The High Command is looking for a favorable report this time,” smirked the officer.
“I will require another five subjects - strong ones. And I need to get the ratio right before starting on the POWs.”
“I will send them over immediately,” he saluted and left the office.
The new subjects arrived that afternoon. The look of defiance was still in their eyes. They have not been to the main camps, Fritz thought to himself. Perfect, still a fight in them.
Jacob stood with the others, his face and scalp freshly shaven. Dressed in camp clothing, he wondered how he had escaped the madness of the camps. Was this place any better? He was taken to a small sterile room and told to undress. Then he was placed in restraints in a large wooden chair. He looked around the pristine room with white ceramic walls. The same ceramic floors graded slightly to a drain in the center. Easily washed, he thought for some reason. He was left there until midnight with the lights fully on.
“We shall start administrating the drug now, since they have all been prepared,” Fritz commanded his assistants. “We shall use a lower dosage first and increase it hourly,” he carried on, “I want them all alive this time.”
The experimental drug had been developed over the last two years. Its final purpose was to manipulate a subject’s mind and let the manipulator add memories, suggestions or a command that later could be activated. In a sense, a walking time bomb.
Jacob realized that he had been awake now for over seventy-two hours. After they had injected him, the hallucinations began. More from the lack of sleep, the mind wandered from reality to the subconscious. His eyes could not stay open. Waves flowed through his body. Waves of comforting sleep signals. His mind and body near the breaking point of exhaustion. They had kept him awake all this time, moving him, taunting him and examining him.
First, his mind shut down completely. All but the basic functions became inert. His body relaxed, the muscles finally released from their tension. An assistant came in fifteen minutes later to check on his reaction to the drug. Alarmed to see the subject slumped over in the chair, he rushed over checking for a pulse. Many had died at this stage. Allergic reactions had been the cause of most deaths.
“A pulse,” stated the assistant happily. Fear filled his mind as Dr. Rhinefalt had demanded, no, had threatened, that all the subjects must be kept awake so that the controlling suggestions could be tested and evaluated. The assistant in fear of his job or life, tried to wake Jacob up. He shook, slapped and doused him with water. Nothing made Jacob stir.
“Why is this subject not awake?” Fritz screamed from the doorway. The assistant turned around to see Fritz’s red-faced and crazed looking expression.
The assistant stammered out an answer, “He was like this when I did the fifteen-minute check up. I can't wake him up,” he took a deep breath. “He is not responding at all.”
Fritz, still red-faced crossed the room. He also checked for a pulse and then checked the leads attached to Jacob that were wired to the monitoring device, a machine designed by Fritz to read the neural electrical activity of a subject.
“Get some smelling salts,” he demanded. The assistant ran down the hall frantically searching. Fritz started mumbling to himself, “This is not good, what am I going to do with these subjects. They are not reacting properly.” He shook his head and anger built up within him. “God damn them,” he burst out loudly; he knocked over a tray of implements that crashed to the floor. “I will send them all to the camps!”