Chapter 8: Overleaf

The weather ruled the day. It had begun with hot steamy sunshine, but by noon the rain came down in sheets. Just as Diane had resolved herself to becoming soaked, the storm abated. Puffy clouds were soon all that was left in the sky.

Diane was a reporter. She was a good reporter. She believed in the fourth estate as a branch of government. She was one of those true believers who thought everyone had a right to know everything, anywhere.

Her beliefs caused her some problems.

The worst problem was working as an employee for any real News outfit. The papers almost always had editorial policies she didn't like. She'd gone from print to broadcast because she figured it would be different. The reality of much harsher controls in the broadcast media hit her hard.

So she worked pretty much freelance, kinda. Her job with the 11 O'clock News for the KUTE network was fairly nebulous. When she got stories they liked, she got paid. Otherwise she was shit outa luck.

She got paid fairly regularly.

The story she was working on came from a strange tip. Some guy called and said the Biltmor Rehabilitation Institute was committing experiments on the inmates. Some kind of brain research. He chatted with her long enough for her to find out he worked for the Institute.

She tried a few phone calls this morning. Every time she got through to someone important enough to know anything, she was told the Institute didn't grant interviews. After further research, she found no record of the Institute in the state registries. No charter, no license, no known clients, no credentials to support the lofty title.

Her sometimes boss, Mr. Magnum, managing editor, told her to go get the dirt on them; he'd buy it. She smiled weakly at this, since there was no way to get the dirt without sneaking in.

So here she was, soaking wet, hot, and uncomfortable. The damn place was like an old style fortress. Two sides of the property were bounded by river, a third side had a sizable swamp. The remaining side of the property had a 20 foot wall along it, with superfluous closed circuit TV atop.

She'd moored the boat in the swamp. Scratching her left leg, she regretted not wearing jeans for this outing. She could feel every inch of her exposed skin screaming for just a few moments of scratching.

Nothing deterred Diane. Her camera man was trailing behind her. Jorge had never yet managed to keep up with her on a story. He'd make it right beside her when it was time to shoot, but she always broke the ground. This time in a more physical sense than usual.

Jorge was a pretty nice guy. She'd worked with him now for five years. He'd never made a pass at her either. For camera men, that had to be a world's record. She was pretty good looking, or she'd have a tougher time in front of the camera. And all camera men tend, she believed, to be on the make all the time. Except Jorge. Sometimes she wished he was.

Jorge was a true blessing for her career too. He had to read her mind sometimes to catch the angles he got on film. She rarely had to edit out enormous quantities of footage he'd taken. He almost always ran the camera perfectly for her face shots, and never let her profile look bad. Always, he managed to stop filming just as or before any flubs she made. Nice to have a psychic camera man. She smiled at the thought.

Jorge was immensely interested in this story too. For the first time he'd volunteered to do some of the research leg work on a story she was working. Odd for him, demanding every word the informant uttered verbatim, hanging over her shoulder to hear what she'd learn.

A bird leapt into the air before her. She managed to avoid jumping or screaming with surprise. Startled for Diane meant 'drop for cover'. She remembered covering riots downtown in her first year as a professional. The constant hazard taught her caution rather than fear. It helped over the years.

The wood she was trying to sneak through silently was making every effort to shout out her location. If it wasn't the damn birds, it was twigs, if not twigs, it was scratchy underbrush. The moist earth beneath her feet would sink away, leaving her 4-5 inches in the dirt, almost sucking her sneakers off. The branches she chose to hold for support gave way violently, shaking volumes of leaves above.

When she finally got to the open fields of the Institute, she was relieved to escape the jungle like swamp. Jorge said nothing, just waited her directions.

There were statues standing about on a manicured lawn. The water in the fountains sparkling in the intermittent sunlight. Wait, those weren't statues. They were all wearing white coats, white jump suits, or white whatever.

Jorge pointed to a few rows of coniferous bushes in a line towards the house. House?, mansion more like. The thing was four stories tall. The triangular shapes above the top windows made the place look like the setting for a gothic horror, except for the lack of gargoyles. Maybe the frightful statuary would be there when she got closer.

They moved towards the bush line.

Bob and Miki lay hidden in the storage room all night. The frantic sounds of search activity had force them to send the remaining captive guards out to join in the hunt.

The room was only searched once, by a single guard, who was easily convinced of its secure condition. Bob smiled, it hadn't been as difficult as the first time to get through the thought shield.

Amazingly Bob felt very horny. Odd reaction to being so severely in danger.

He remembered a car accident years ago. During the incident he'd only thought about how it would ruin his afternoon. The time he'd been mugged, well some guy tried anyway, all Bob had thought of then was how he'd be getting home.

The amazing thing was, he could probably take Miki. She'd probably never be able to stop him. He figured Bambi had the stronger will power, or talent, or whatever. He stopped himself. There was a time and place for screwing around. This wasn't one of them.

The search had moved on, they had probably concluded Bob and Miki reached the outer grounds by now.

It was time to try again.

"uh, uh, uh, uh" sounds of carnal pleasure came from behind one of the bushes.

Although amused, Diane wasn't the least bit interested in a humping couple on the other side of the bush. She might've been, if she knew one of the inmates was boffing away madly with one of the sex slaves he was captured with. Although how she would know is anyone's guess.

Curiosity overcame Jorge. He was also very amused, but kept it to himself. He snuck a peek to see what the couple looked like.

While he was snooping, Diane got a bit ahead. She lost track of the camera man. When she turned to ask his opinion on approaching the building, he simply wasn't there.

Damn, she thought, first time he's ever done that. Maybe the couple in the bushes was worth looking into for a minute or two. Jorge might finally be showing some sexual interest. Naw, Jorge would catch up.

As she mused, a crackle of twigs directly behind her drew her attention.

"My, my, my." A man with a pistol stood about four feet away. "Where the hell did you come from lady?"

She realized she was a wreck. Her hair was matted from the drenching rain, and mud of the swamp. The dress she wore was tattered and torn from the underbrush. The guy couldn't help but know she was out of place. Oh well, she had to try to baffle him.

"I took a walk and got lost."

"Not without an escort you wouldn't. You were in the swamp. Trying to sneak in for something? A boyfriend maybe? You one of the sluts who follow their men into this place, eh? Perhaps you..." THUNK!

The gunman dropped to the ground. Behind him stood Jorge, his almost white blonde hair standing over her assailant with a stick. The camera was missing, which made him look naked to Diane.

"God, I'm glad you caught up."

"Wouldn't want you to get hurt." he said.

Bending over Jorge picked up the nasty looking weapon. He turned it over a few times. Then he handed it to her.

"Dart gun. Probably tranquilizers."

"Makes sense," she answered, "they wouldn't want to injure the inmates, after all."

Jorge pointed to the camera propped up in one of the bushes. He walked over and popped the small red button keeping it running.

"Great Jorge. You always manage to catch the angles for me." She blew him a kiss. He ignored it. He never even flirted with her. It was just as well, she guessed, but it might be nice once in a while.

Diane moved to the next opening in the bushes, peering ahead. Jorge was turning over the gunman.

Diane missed the motion as Jorge pulled what looked like a hearing aid from the man's right ear. Turning it in his hand, it popped open and a small battery dropped out. He grinned and put the device, without battery, back behind the man's ear. If anyone had been watching, Jorge would have seemed to be examining the man's skull for permanent injury.

For an additional moment Jorge intently examined the guard. Diane thought he was terribly decent, being concerned that he'd hurt the man.

He hoisted the man to his shoulders and carried him closer to a pair of closely grown bushes. With a little pushing and shoving the man disappeared from the casual observer, for now.

Diane looked approvingly at Jorge's work, flagging him to hurry up.

Jones was uncomfortable. He all about Tyler. He figured the same treatment could soon be his. He made a conscious decision to try not to sweat. It wasn't working very well.

"Astounding, Mr. Jones. Simply astounding."

"Yes sir."

"There must have been a problem with the drug. Who was last to see him?"

"One of five lab techs sir. We don't know which one. The log sheet for moving the subject from the tie down room to the sampling lab is missing."

"I see."

The pause dragged for a few minutes. The man in the large leather chair turned away. Jones stood perfectly still, hoping for salvation by being overlooked.

"This was a bad day for this Jones. We have guests coming, you know."

"I know sir."

"Important guests."

"Yes sir."

Another pause left Jones worrying about this compounding aspect. How would it affect him?

"Jones, I want all the lab techs who could've been there locked up."

"Sir?"

"Any one of them could be a time bomb. If the spark is free, he may have done something to their minds. Ah, his mind, the tech who let him loose. You said he was smart. That makes him dangerous, in ways beyond what we usually see. He's not just another lunatic with ESP."

"I will see to it, sir."

"Go. Report back when they find him. Oh, and the new girl, I want her brought up to the lab to see what affect he's had."

"On my way."

He turned and started towards the door.

"And Jones, don't screw this up. Tyler really didn't please Jezabel."

A series of chills went down Jones's back. He stepped up his speed to perform for his master.

The Fates didn't seem to like Bob any more.

Although the search moved outside, there were plenty of the guard type goons in the halls. It was annoying. Working around the mind shields was difficult, and took time. Enough time for someone to react and just shoot.

He didn't want a drugged dart stuck in his fanny. It didn't appeal to him. Not to mention all the other unpleasant possibilities afterwards.

Miki assumed the role of fairy tale princess. A quiet 'rescue me please' princess. He didn't mind. The arguments over who was in charge never occurred. She just tagged right behind him.

There were a small group of goons coming from around the corner. At least he assumed they were, there were seven or eight mind shields he could count.

Trying the door next to them, he led Miki into a dark room.

His ear to the door, it sounded as though the group was about to come in here. Looking about he saw there was a very large round wooden platform, and sections of room with hanging curtains partially concealing a dozen or more chairs.

He led Miki behind one of the curtains, hid himself behind another.

There were several guests. Some from as far away as China.

Today the Institute was showing product to potential clients. Each one had brought an unsuspecting secretary or party official for the demonstration.

A man with Italian leather shoes bade them enter the theater chamber. There were a few stragglers, yes, ten in all entered the room for the pitch. He turned on the light over the platform, and climbed up to stand stand dramatically above.

"Gentlemen, take seats, I beg of you. We will begin sooner if you are seated."

In the light it became clear this man carried himself with an aristocratic bearing. He was unconcerned with anyone else present, except in that they represented income. His suit, a perfectly cut, hand tailored charcoal gray pin stripe, accented his authority well. Hands behind his back, standing as though at parade rest for a soldier he began to speak.

"I am Mr. Thadeous. I am the Institute."

"What you are here for today is a look at a new method we've developed for brainwashing. We can use it to get information from anyone, no matter how well trained. We can use it to ensure loyalty to you, no matter how bad the subjects prior record. We can control anyone for you, for a fee.

"The price will depend on your needs. All we need is for the individual to be improved, yes improved, brought here for the improvement."

"Mr. Thadeous, we are willing to bid on the process itself. How much for the process?" came from an individual with a brown suit on.

"It's not for sale, Mr. Vinocelli. Not at any price. But, we can sell your organization the kind of protection you've only dreamed of. Croupiers and dealers with scrupulous attention to your profits. Girls who will not quake at any request, and charge accordingly. But the process is our property."

"I take it you will not make this product available exclusively?" Came from a woman with jet black hair, wearing an old style veiled bonnet.

"Mrs., um, Leclair, We are in this for the profit. We'd be at odds with too many organizations cut out of the loop, if they couldn't get the product we offer. At the same time, we expect our customers to respect our proprietary interests. Since it will serve you as well."

"If it works you mean."

"Which brings us to the purpose of this little demonstration. Mrs. Leclair, We've taken your, volunteer along with all the others, and performed the process. We asked you to bring the volunteers simply to show how quickly this process works."

He looked at his watch.

"Barely fifteen minutes have passed since they went to the labs. Since you questioned our veracity about the 'product', you may want to examine them yourself.

"This is not hypnosis, although it may resemble it. Nor are we using drugs. We directly altered their minds with a device we developed here for the purpose."

A lab tech led six people into the room. They each carried a folding chair onto the platform. The tech unfolded each chair and sat the 'volunteers' one at a time.

"Now, you should be aware the subjects can neither hear nor see us. Nor can they feel anything we do."

He slapped one subject. Happily, this time there was no physical reaction to his action. He'd worried about that since taking Heather.

Bob was amazed. There was a real conspiracy underway. Not something simple like his own, to enjoy his new found sex life, comfortable in his life style.

This was a power play of far more insidious proportions.

Bob reached out to sense the six placid individuals on the platform. All of them bore overwhelming changes from a machine. One like the one they tried to use on him.

It hit him like a bolt from the blue. Their machines produced none of the subtle manipulation that modified Bambi. Her changes and controls were subtle enough to be very difficult to remove completely.

Who adjusted Bambi when she'd been 'programmed' and set loose?

Thadeous was still speaking about the advantages of improved employees, agents, and even ex-enemies. Bob looked at the man, seeing no hearing aid like device. He could clearly see both ears, and neither bore any evidence of a mind shield.

And Bob had just probed the 'volunteers'!

The guest's volunteers were babbling continuously. All kinds of embarrassing details. Things the Institute would know nothing about. Yet legally questionable, and obviously secret. Including personal plans to assassinate their superiors, dealings with other agencies, and other common human schemings.

But in general, not really harmful to the guests either.

"Stop." Thadeous said.

The men and women on the stage instantly ceased speaking.

"You can count on business with us," one man muttered. He was carrying a large briefcase and fit no more than a non-descript image. His accent placed him from the deep south. Bob could imagine any of a number of incredibly fascist organizations he might represent.

"I'm sold too," the lady named Leclair chimed in. Bob figured there were at least three organized crime syndicates, one south american country, a major international corporation, and a terrorist group represented here. They would all be very unhappy if he escaped.

On the other hand, what could he do about them?

In only a few short moments the entire audience agreed to do business with the Institute. There were no dissenters, this wasn't a bidding session. Price would be discussed elsewhere, somewhere more comfortable.

Thadeous signalled the tech to remove the volunteers, and led the guests from the room.

Bob didn't know whether to panic or breath a sigh of relief.

Damn him, thought Diane. She'd been separated from Jorge again.

She managed to break a pane of glass, reaching through to open the window. She stepped through, looking for all the world like an inexperienced cat-burglar.

There was a red headed woman in the room. She was about 5'7" with a reasonably well shaped figure. Her green eyes turned in surprise on Diane. The woman was dressed in a hospital green gown, with no shoes, stockings, or other acouterment. She'd been brushing her hair.

She was very pretty, thought Diane. Her full red lips were incredibly moist and well shaped. Diane stepped forward, reaching for the woman's hands.

"Hello pretty," came a sweet cotton candy voice, melting in her ears. She could listen to that voice for hours, she was certain. Just looking at this woman made her realize how long she had gone without sex.

The red head was so voluptuous, so incredibly tasty to watch. Diane could never leave her new love, she was so perfect. She devoured the woman with her eyes for only a moment, though.

Then she plunged her tongue into the other woman's mouth, savoring the delectable flavor of sexual passion burning there.

She could feel a hand reaching around to undo her dress. She assisted, shrugging off the ragged clothe. Her body exposed, suddenly her matted hair worried her. Would the red head dislike her because of her poor appearance?

No, the white hands were gently rubbing her breasts, sending bolts of pleasure throughout her body.

She threw herself into the pleasant haze of sex, giving herself to this mysterious woman.

Bob and Miki, slipped into the hallway again. Almost right on the tail of the demonstration party.

But Bob simply took them across the hall and through the door there, which was ajar. He shoved her to the side of the door, looking about this new room quickly.

He saw no one in the new room, but he heard the sound of running feet. About a dozen men dashed into the room with the stage. Bob left the door as it was and looked about. He scanned about for a good hiding place.

He couldn't find one.

A guard opened the door that wasn't latched and looked around in the room. There was nothing unusual. The place looked just fine. No one in here.

"Not this room." the guard announced to his unseen buddies behind. He pulled the door closed and latched the outside deadbolt.

Bob breathed again. If any more than one guard had looked in here, they'd have found the fugitives. One he could get a control on, two he wasn't ready to try.

Miki nuzzled up against Bob.

It looked like they were stuck again for a while. Bob might not need to do anything to Miki to have some fun. They could kill an hour or two here until the search moved back outside again.

Jorge had lost Diane.

He was confused. He'd always been able to find her again if she zipped out of sight too fast before.

He set the camera down. He didn't want to hurt Diane's feelings, but there would be no News story from their little jaunt. He opened the casing where the film was and pulled out a metal foil packet of some sort.

Unwrapping the foil carefully, he removed a small red object, about the size of a coin. He refolded the foil and replaced it in the camera casing.

The coin sized object was a red, almost amber like substance. On one side was a man's profile with a superimposed triangle. On the other a stylized lightning bolt.

He removed his watch and slid the coin into a slot designed to hold the coin against his skin. The back of the coin seemed to fit the pattern of the watch, or was it the other way around. In any case, the coin appeared to be part of the watch now.

He strapped the watch back on, without looking at the time at all.

The camera was now tucked out of sight, behind a planter in the garden. He examined the leaves he'd covered it with and finally pronounced to himself the adequacy of his work.

He began to look for ways into the building.

Bob pulled Miki to him.

She came much more willingly than he'd expected. Well, here they were in the middle of a nest of vipers, or some kind of really bad guys, and they were hiding out, snuggling, getting fuzzy together.

He could understand himself. He needed an escape from the surrounding reality while they hid, but her?

He tried to probe her mind.

{Hi!}

{Hi yourself} whispered the voice in his head. {Do you think we can safely kill an hour or two rubbing our bodies together for warmth?}