Project Maigo(71)

“I’m impressed,” Endo says, motioning to Beck. “What have you been putting in his head?”

“I kept it simple,” I say. “‘Be brave and do the right thing.’”

And while that sounds simple, Beck didn’t act on those character traits until I really wanted him to. So he’s not just going to go all George Washington on us without a little more mental prodding. That Endo and I can talk about the man, right in front of him, is proof enough. At some point, I’m going to have to free him from this neural implant and hope the reprogramming sticks. Then, maybe in a few weeks, I’ll consider the moral implications of what I’ve done to the man. Professor X would not approve. Of course, the man did drop a MOAB on my position in Boston. He’s lucky I don’t mentally suggest he get tattoos of ‘Dick’ and ‘Face’ across his knuckles.

The sound of a distant explosion rattles the windows. I look for the orange glow, but see nothing. “Won’t be long now.”

Endo nods. “We should go.”

I dig a piece of paper from my pocket and hand it to Agent Dunne. “Time to go shopping.” He takes the list without a word and heads for the door, under Endo’s control. If only everyone listened to me like that, my job would be so much easier. Dunne leaves and closes the door behind him.

“Well, Mr. President.” I slap his shoulder like we’re chums. “How would you like to go for a stroll in the Rose Garden? Maybe get attacked by a madman that wants us both dead?”

Beck looks momentarily confused, but I push my will on him. He slaps the table with both hands, rattling silverware, and stands up. “We’ll do what needs to be done. No matter the sacrifice.”

I’d feel better about it if the words were his own. But they’re not. While I haven’t exactly put the words in his mouth, I know they’re what I need to hear, because we’ve just created a big-ass neon target with an arrow that says, ‘Kill these guys,’ and I want to run the frig away. But I can’t. And won’t.

The end might be nigh, but I basically invited it, so it’s time to see if my plan, which feels more ridiculous now that I’m not in a hospital bed hopped up on morphine, will get the job done. I feel like I should say something inspiring too, but I’m just not feeling it. I stand and head for the side door that leads to the small office and then the Oval Office, which has an exit to the outside. I pause, hand on the knob. “In case I die tonight,” I say to Endo. “Go fuck yourself.”

Endo grins. He’s grown accustomed to my potty mouth and my sense of humor.

“In case I die,” he says. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“I don’t,” I tell him. I exit the room, believing I’m walking toward my demise and wanting nothing more than to be watching a B-movie with Collins. Hell, this will probably be made into a B-movie someday.

“I wonder who will play Collins,” Beck says, plucking the thought from my mind. He steps up beside me, waiting to be led to his office.

And that’s how you make them speak.

As I enter the small office, I smile as Beck says, “Hey Endo, go fuck yourself.” Ahh, the guilty pleasures of a dead man.





37



The two women, dressed head-to-toe in black, moved through the newly fallen night like living shadows. Approaching the end of their half mile sprint, the pair breathed heavily as they paused beside a chain-link fence topped with razor wire.

“Is it electrified?” Collin asked.

Alessi shook her head. “There are liability issues with an electrified fence.”

“But not razor wire?”

“Not everyone can read warning signs.” Alessi motioned to the razor wire. “But anyone, illiterate or not, can see that’s a bad idea.” She took a pair of wire cutters from her black jacket and went to work on the chain-link fence, slowly clipping a hole large enough to crawl through.

Collins waited impatiently. The warehouse was located in Harwood, Maryland, just eight miles from the coast and twenty-two from downtown D.C. The area wasn’t densely populated—mostly spread-out neighborhoods, fancy golf courses and trees. No one passing by would give the warehouse’s drab gray exterior a second look or guess that some of the world’s most high tech discoveries were made, and kept, within. That’s the way Zoomb, and the government they sold their tech to, preferred it. Congressmen, senators and a bevy of generals from the Pentagon often made the short drive, or flight, from D.C. to watch demonstrations. Even President Beck had visited the facility.

The chain-link fence rattled and fell open.