Chapter 8: Doubting the Future

The lights turned on in the cell at half past six, every morning since Tim got back from his trip to the past. About a week after returning from the past, his nanites confirmed his hypothesis that no one he had met, yet, had any nanites of their own. Tim theorized to himself the interrogators did not have any nanite improvements since they constantly made mistakes in their questioning and also in their answers to his questions. Oh, they answered the questions as he believed they would but their secondary responses to his questions were not easily controlled.

Responses that normal people would not be able to control go from facial micro-expressions to breathing patterns and even perspiration. Nanites, even with the government-approved restrictors placed in the nanites running through this Tim’s body, could easily control those autonomic responses.

Tim theorized his interrogators did not have any nano-improvements to their bodies as their automated responses to stimuli were easily seen and catalogued. Since nanites would have been able to conceal these tell tale signs, Tim felt none of these people had access to anything like his nanite advantages.

The theory was enhanced when his nanites informed him later nanites use certain frequency carrier waves to communicate with each other and they have not yet picked up any other similar waves except for their own since their return to the embarkation room. Not a definitive answer to the question, but another check mark for no enhanced people in this time line other than himself.

Now a few months after returning and if the schedule was to be kept then Tim was expecting a breakfast to be slid into his room. “Monday means sausage and powdered eggs with fruit medley and choice of juices,” Tim thought to himself.

“Good morning Mr. Murphy, please assume the position and we can get you your breakfast,” Tim recognized his mentor George immediately.

“Good morning. Of course, one moment please.” Tim stood up from the cot and stepped to the far side of the cell and placed his hands high on the wall and leaned forward putting the majority of his weight on his arms for a few moments while the newly created food slot opened and the easy to recognize sound of a metal tray on concrete slid into the room and the tray door closed behind it.

“Okay, I thought you might like a change so I figured maybe something a little different for breakfast this morning.” It was easy to picture George’s half smile in his voice this morning.

Tim pushed off the wall and turned to the tray on the floor intrigued by George’s demeanor this morning. Instead of the industrial sausage and powdered eggs in their respective slots, there was a brown paper bag sitting on top of the tray. Opening the bag, Tim saw and recognized three breakfast tacos from their favorite Mexican restaurant a few miles from the lab. The smell was like heaven and the growing spread of grease on the bottom of the bag promised a great, greasy and delicious adventure featuring manna from heaven in the form of those three large breakfast tacos each haphazardly wrapped in an individual sheet of aluminum foil. Tim smiled when he thought of how hard his nanites were without a doubt having to work attempting to keep his emotional responses under control. In reality, the smell of the tacos from his favorite restaurant while welcomed actually reminded Tim of another time when he wasn’t under arrest and he wasn’t trying to figure out what went wrong with his plan. At that moment without the nanites, Tim might have broken down and began to cry.

The nanites, sensing the emotional changes in Tim’s brain chemistry, decided to break with protocol. Rather than trying to convince Tim he could and would persevere, they upped the dopamine levels in his body to the equivalent of a very satisfying orgasm.

At the same time, the nanites manipulated Tim’s beliefs the wonderful feelings he was experiencing were directly produced by the tacos he was getting ready to eat. All the work the nanites did in those few hundredths of a second convinced Tim he was going to enjoy the tacos to the point that he actually forgot about his brief dance with failure. All Tim knew was those tacos were going to taste great and he was going to enjoy them while he could. And he did.

Now the smile on Tim’s face was genuine, “Thanks a lot man. This is a wonderful surprise. Truly, thanks.” Tim opened a taco and nearly inhaled it. It was just as good as he remembered.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t allowed to let you have any hot sauce or salsa packets since the bosses were worried you might try to use something like that for some crazy escape attempt,” George announced through the door.

“Oh, no problem. I normally don’t use any salsa or hot sauce, I figure if the food needed more heat or salsa than the cook would have put some on there,” Tim then took a bite enjoying the tastes and spices and swallowed. “Nope they don’t need anything extra like that.”

Once finished with one taco, Tim thought maybe a show to George he was thankful for the treat and wanted to continue the good tidings by making a show of unwrapping each individual slice of foil and spreading each of the three out on the floor as he finished them. Once that was done, he opened his hands fully and in the air flipped his hands palm showing up then down like he was showing the cameras in Las Vegas he was not cheating and absconding with cards from the deck. He picked up one piece of aluminum foil by the corner and slid it into the brown paper bag. He repeated the process with the other two pieces of foil and quickly also finished the two orange juices they usually supplied placing the empty cartons also in the bag. He then announced he was finished with breakfast and assuming his position for them to retrieve the empty bag. Tim wanted to show he was not going to do anything to jeopardize the possibility of continuing getting him breakfast from his favorite restaurant. But he also understood he was possibly giving the interrogators something to use against him later.

With his hands on the wall and before they opened the door to get the tray he offered his thanks for a break in the monotony. “Thanks again George those were some great tacos.”

George was watching the drama with the reverence Tim placed on unfolding and sliding the used sheets of aluminum foil back into the empty paper bag after finishing each taco. George instantly understood what his prisoner was trying to do and let him know. “Hey Mr. Black Jack dealer, no need for the drama but you do have the right idea. Make sure you return everything to the bag you take out. I’m not sure if this will be a new common occurrence but us guards are very thankful that you are not forcing us to become assholes. We don’t want to have to hurt you and we don’t want you to be in a position where you might want to try to hurt us. You treat us with respect and we will do the same to you.” George paused to let the message sink through.

“Now I don’t mind bringing in some tacos every once in a while but the minute you force us to not want to bring them we have to change our dynamic and that includes bringing back the feet shackles for 24/7 chaining to the wall even when in the cell. You got me.”

“So Mr. Murphy, let’s just make a deal, we’ll go ahead and get you the tacos at least once a week as long as you don’t try escaping while I’m on duty. Deal?”

“Deal.”

After a couple of weeks of continued interrogation using the same monotonous schedule from the months since his arrival, the interrogators never mentioned taking away the new food as a punishment for not answering their questions.

What Tim wondered, was whether George doing this on his own. He went over the facts that he knew. After running through scenarios through his head, Tim concluded the bosses allowing to him bring an outside breakfast was a lie in the first place and George was doing it just as a way to form a human connection with the person he had been guarding for nearly four months now.

A fading smile crossed Tim’s face when he remembered having to always scold his mentor about not feeding the stray cats who ventured onto the lab property. George never adopted any strays, he just always left something for them to eat. It led to Tim affectionately calling George, Mr. Softee. Apparently, Mr. Softee was leaving some tacos for the lost cat in the cell across the hall from the main security office in one of the most secret facilities in the United States.

Normally, one of Tim’s best attributes was his patience. But that was beginning to wear thin.

He answered their questions the same way every time asked. He turned it into a private joke for himself. He understood there were only so many ways to ask the same question, so he answered each question the exact same way he had answered it previously. Same jargon, same explanation, same cadence and same physical traits. He wondered how long it would take the interrogators to realize he was doing this.

At night back in his cell, he wondered what his responses must have sounded like to the various psychologists and experts in interviewing and interrogations who were undoubtedly going over his responses to each question with a fine tooth comb. But you can only entertain yourself for so long without new stimulation. Even Tim’s patience was becoming strained but these interrogators were determined to get the information they wanted. Their problem was they were interrogating someone who had the training to evade the best interrogators and this someone also had a heightened intelligence and complete control over all physical impulses even the subconscious reactions used to detect lies.

George Johnson had finished his overnight shift where luckily once again nothing out of the ordinary occurred and was eating lunch on his sofa watching the noon news when his work phone rang. If that phone rang, something must have been wrong. He muted the TV and answered, “This is Johnson, go ahead.”

“Mr. Johnson this is Mr. McKittrich from security division in D.C., sorry we didn’t catch you before you left for the day but I was hoping you could return to the lab. We have some new security provisions we need to install and these new upgrades will affect you. Don’t worry, nothing bad but you might want to start getting yourself ready for day shift.” McKittrich emphasized “day shift” as if George was getting a promotion.

George enjoyed the night shift so changing to day shift was not a tempting offer even though this DC bureaucrat obviously thought he was giving George a gift. “Oh okay, sir. Give me about 45 minutes to get back. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine. I’m working out of the security office and we will go over everything then. See you soon.” The phone call ended and George found himself staring at his phone.

“Well, I figured they would fire me or send me to some god awful place as punishment so I guess they finally believe I had nothing to do with him,” George said to an empty room. “Well, I could go now and be there in fifteen but since I have a few minutes, I’m gonna take my time and finish my lunch.”

He brought the sound back up on the TV and the news went to commercial and another ad for some politician promising change started. “Damn, another guy running for public office, well look at that his dick works.” The politician was surrounded by his wife and three adorable children.

George laughed at his own joke but even though there was no one else in the room, he apologized. He soon noticed he was in a bad mood. “Ah, what the hell maybe the guy is actually trying to change some things. Guess I’m getting too cynical in my old age but damn, I liked the night shift. No one questioned me and now I’ll have to deal with stupid problems from those scientists who think they are holy than thou.”

George took a moment and blew a held breath out trying to catch his anger before it got started. “Fuck it. Why should I get myself all worked up over the bosses finally deciding what to do with this guy in the holding cell. I’ll finish my lunch and see what the higher ups have planned for me now.”

“No trust me son, If I wanted to put that filing cabinet there, I would put that fucking filing cabinet right there! Let me try to explain it to you one more time, I will be using this particular filing cabinet in the morning so when the sunlight comes though the window in the morning it will blaze it’s lovely shade of yellow all over the files within and making them easier to read. If I let you put the filing cabinet over there, then when the wonderful morning sunshine makes its daily appearance in this office, I would need to shield my eyes in order to read a file. Put it where I said to put it.” The Colonel stood a good foot and a half taller than the young man working part time for the moving company contracted to help setup desks and other office furniture. After a tongue-lashing like that, it was safe to say that if the young man might have been toying with the idea of a career in the military, that idea was successfully squashed. No. There was one young man who would not be looking to make a future in the military.

Colonel Kevin Price, who looked liked he was sent from central casting to play the part of an up and coming Army officer, was excited about this new assignment given to him by the Pentagon. A regulation Army buzzcut topped the six-foot-four man with a perfect runner’s body, but his most amazing asset were his dark brown eyes. Many people, as had the young furniture mover, had experienced the fierce stare of Col. Price seared into their minds, forever ... especially after failing to live up to Col. Price’s exacting standards. His muscled, svelte body and razor sharp jawline made him popular with the ladies, until they got a sneak preview of his personality. If the Army wanted him to have a personality, they would have issued him one. So his personality is tightly wound, abrupt and did not handle not achieving a goal very well.

Secretly, Col. Price was worried he might not get another command after not completing his last mission within the allotted time. It was the first time in fifteen years of leading his own infiltration and undercover unit that Price failed to meet the objective. Price and his team were sent to Pakistan to track down a deserter who left his guard post at a forward observation post deep inside Afghanistan. The newly-converted Muslim began giving military secrets to the enemy as payment for a new life in Pakistan.

Communications intercepted by the NSA discovered he gave all the information he had to his new benefactors and transmitted their new intelligence up the chain of command. Price was supposed to stop the deserter before the enemy chain of command received their new information.

So instead of just returning to base, Price and his men decided to make sure the deserter and everyone he had contact with would not be available to elaborate on their newly disseminated information. And send another more immediate message to the enemy that the US was playing by a new set of rules. Since the deserter had given the information to the enemy and it was obviously given freely and not coerced, he was no longer an American POW, but rather he had switched sides.

The Pakistani news coverage showed nearly twenty dead Pakistani Intelligence Officers along with fifteen civilians, later identified as Al Qaeda agents, all killed and lain out in concentric orbits around a previously missing but now beheaded U.S. Soldier. The Pakistani news agencies are a lot like the US news companies and prefer to accentuate the more flamboyant aspects of the horrific scene. Thirty six assassinated military types was bad but the fact the dead bodies were all doused with several gallons of pigs blood was enough to keep the deaths front and center on news channels all over the world. The old jargon of television news, if it bleeds, it leads, was never more true.

Some officers wanted to lock up Price’s entire team and throw away the prison while other more influential members of the US Intelligence agencies decided to hold off getting rid of an operating group so highly qualified for covert, off-the-books actions that tend to pop up from time to time.