“I am. I’ve had three years of peace and quiet.”
He scoffs. “Right, like you and he could ever be peaceful.”
The fact I don’t know him or his name is driving me insane. I should have looked when we were in his office. A real spy would have looked. I am such a shopgirl.
He stops us at a giant room with frosted glass. “Do you have your key?”
I hesitate, almost not showing it to him, but the reality of the situation is that I must. So I lift it from my bra where I’ve been keeping it. He rolls his eyes. “Same Sam.” He pulls a key from his pocket, and as he walks toward the room with the frosted glass, the doors swing open. In the dim light of the chandeliers and sconces and rich colors, a technology such as automatic doors seems off. We walk to a machine in the middle of the room. He holds his key at the opening on the right and nods at me, staring at the one on the left. I hold my key out as he counts down, “One, two, three.” We push in at the same moment.
The machine sucks the keys in, keeping mine and then almost instantly pushing his back out. He takes it and nods at the door. “I will wait in the hallway.” He leaves, and as he does, the doors lock with thick steel bolts.
I am trapped in a glass cage, and I have a feeling it’s not the first time.
He stands with his back to the doors as the machine comes alive, clicking and grinding. It sounds medieval until a slot opens in the back wall and a large black metal box is placed on the single wooden desk.
I walk to it as the entire system sounds like it’s doing everything it has just done in reverse.
My hands tremble. My heart races. My mouth dries completely as a threat of vomit attacks me. But I lift the lid, stepping back. I expect it is the Holy Grail inside. I expect light and fireworks. I expect to be wowed just by the sight of the greatness within this box. It is something to die for, after all.
But inside is a thick folder, something of a disappointment, I have to admit. It’s huge, actually. I lift open the cover, scowling. “TOP SECRET” is stamped in red on the top of every page. Names are blacked out of some of it. JFK is mentioned on the second page, along with a man known as the Ruse. His name isn’t mentioned but his deeds are. They call it an assignment—JFK was his assignment.
Oh shit. What do I have here?
I flip through, not understanding what all of this is until I reach the last couple of pages and find Derek. On these pages he is Dr. Benjamin Dash. My interest piques when I see his name repeatedly. The first couple of pages are what appears to be a doctor’s report on “the incident,” as they call it. A man was found dead, killed by venom from a snake not indigenous to the area they are in. Area Seven is what it is called. The person writing the report does not disclose what has transpired, but it appears Dr. Benjamin Dash’s test subjects have been caught doing something unspeakable to fellow military personnel. The dead man’s name was Dr. Andrew Holt, and an explanation is discussed, but it seems to be invented for the benefit of the deceased man’s wife.
The next page is a summary by the doctor for the council. It doesn’t explain the council or who they are.
Dr. Benjamin Dash has approved our test subjects. All seven have gone anywhere from twenty-five to thirty years without their disorders being discovered or diagnosed. They have never stood out as a problem and have managed their disabilities well enough to blend into regular society. For this reason we feel they will excel at the training. None are seriously disabled, the best to worst ranging from slight OCD to ADHD. In the beginning they were all forthcoming and up-front about all points of their prior lives. After only one week of training with Dr. Dash, the answers to the very same questions about the subjects’ childhoods are suggestive and yet deliberately unhelpful. They are already showing signs of manipulation and overconfidence in areas where they have absolutely no expertise. Dr. Dash’s theories on memory stimulation and the induction of psychosis in a person through false-memory stimulation are pioneering our ability to weaponize a person after they’ve moved to a country or become a useful asset through their career or ranking in society. The test results are the only reason we are continuing Dr. Dash’s research. His ability to create the perfect agent through disassembling the brain and re-creating a weapon is unmatched in his field.
I feel the incident with Dr. Holt is not something that will repeat. Dr. Dash’s control over the subjects has proven itself through exercises in which he is able to command them even as they are under the influence of the memory stimulation. We have approved seven of our own personnel to work with him in this study. All documentation will be Top Security Clearance, Level S. This shall further be known as Area Seven. Our hopes for the area are growth in the use of memory stimulation in sedated or deceased patients. We wish to unlock the secrets many try to take to the grave with them. The tests we are running are giving us the results we need to be hopeful that this is indeed a possible outcome for the project.