Sleeper's Run

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I grab the stunned doctor by the arm, shift the knife to his side, and make sure he feels the blade against his ribs while we walk to his office. Libschitz's hands are shaking so violently that he has a hard time unlocking the door. I push him inside, sit him in his chair, turn the desk lamp on, and lock the door.

"Who are you? What is this all about?" Libschitz says.

"You'll find out soon enough," I say, checking my watch. "In five minutes I want you to call your lab and send your assistants home for the night. If you give me away, I'll slice your throat from ear to ear, do you understand me?"

"Yes." Libschitz's looks at the blade in my hand with utter terror.

We wait in silence for five minutes. Libschitz's voice is shaky as he makes the call, but he explains to the assistant on the phone that it's because he's upset about his car. It's incredible how good of an actor a person can be when he has someone standing behind him with a knife to his neck.

The doctor hangs up and I sit across the desk hiding in the shadows. "Does the name Eric Caine mean anything to you?"

"No."

The answer is simple, yet the implication profound. I take a second to calm down before speaking again. "How ironic. So you have no memory of people whose minds you've screwed up?" I uncover my face and lean towards the light.

Libschitz looks at me for a long moment; then his eyes show signs of recognition. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The doctor leans back in his chair slowly, as if confronted by a ghost.

"That's right," I say. "I want to know everything about your little private practice in Cuba." I put the recorder on top of the desk. "I want to know what you did to me, who's involved; everything." I place the multi-tool next to the recorder. "I have over a dozen tools in this thing and I'm a highly-trained paramedic, so don't fuck with me."

"There is no need for that," Libschitz says trying to pull himself together. "I am a man of science, not a spy. I will tell you everything you want to know, but I must warn you, the people I worked for will not take kindly to this. They are very dangerous men."

"I know. I already killed a number of them," I say as I press the record button. "Let's start with your name."

"My name is Doctor Hershel Libschitz. I conducted experiments a few months ago for the CIA at a secret location at a military base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. It is part of a program called Damocles' Sword. The focus of this program is to create sleeper assassins."

"Continue."

"Subjects are put through a conditioning process in which their minds are programmed to perform a single task; in this case, assassination of a specific person."

"And how do you do that?"

"We use a combination of methods," the doctor says. "Psychic driving, subliminal messages, psychedelic drug treatment, shock therapy, and sleep, food and sensory deprivation. All of these were carefully guided using functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging to observe how the brain was processing the information."

"And wouldn't the subject be aware of this experiment?" I say.

"Not at all. The subjects' minds are erased using an experimental derivative of a drug called Propranolol, which is essentially a beta blocker used mainly to treat hypertension. Research has shown its potential in helping PTSD patients by hampering a neurotransmitter called norepinephrine."

"In English, doc."

"Norepinephrine helps memory consolidation. By using fMRI to single out an experience, we can erase conscious memory."