Lewis Perdue - Perfect killer

"General Braxton was one of these?"

LaHaye nodded. "One of Frank's biggest successes."

"Thank God."

"Absolutely. Anyway, Harper's biggest successes came after he abandoned the surgical route and began experimenting with psychoactive drugs. Harper structured joint development ventures with private pharmaceutical companies-with some success, I might add.

"At any rate, Harper's public-private partnership evolved into the operation I now head. Harper's people and a core of researchers who founded Defense Therapeutics looked at the mechanisms of treating ‘Bad Gage' injuries, and as they developed new formulas, they realized it might be possible to produce a nondepleting neurotrop which temporarily produces useful combat behavior modifications in warfighters to increase battle efficiency and performance. In addition to the focus and stamina, the ideal nondepleting neurotrop induces the warfighter to surrender a large portion of their free will to the command structure, allowing them to better function in a cohesive fighting unit rather than as an individual."

Gabriel frowned.

"Imagine the huge time and cost savings," LaHaye offered. "Instead of weeks and months to create units out of individuals, we can accomplish the same thing pharmaceutically almost overnight and at a tiny fraction of the cost. As long as they're in the zone, they're perfect killers."

Perfect killers. In the zone. Gabriel saw killing zombies in his mind and struggled to keep his horror from showing on his face.

"You talk about the ideal nondepleting neurotrop," Gabriel said. "That makes it sound like there are a lot of them."

LaHaye nodded. "There are. We thought we had the perfect one back during the first Gulf War."

"You mean you actually tested one?"

"Not officially. But just in a few units. We deployed buspirone II in a few units and it worked brilliantly for combat effectiveness." She hesitated.

"But?"

"Gulf War syndrome. I would think you'd know about that given the writings of your cousin."

"Rick Gabriel's a fairly distant cousin," Gabriel said. "I've not read much of his work. Should I?"

"He does strike a lot closer to the truth than I'd prefer." She paused, then changed the subject. "Anyway, we've built on the buspirone work and hit pay dirt."

"How do you know?"

"We've done tests with perfectly adjusted doses and formulations," she said vaguely. "We've had none of the long-term side effects from Iraq, unlike the Gulf War syndrome, which continues to plague us, or the rash of murders and assaults by special ops after returning from Afghanistan."

Gabriel worked to control the unease squirming in his belly and sensed this was not the time to ask further probing questions because he guessed she had already told him more than she should have.

"Have you been reading about that old murder case down in Mississippi? Talmadge, I believe."

"Who hasn't? It's been a running sore on the national news for months now."

"Does it have anything to do with your work? Or Harper's?"

"Not that I know."

"Right. That's good enough for me." Gabriel paused. "But, you know, it's truly amazing that we as a people and our justice system can look at two men who committed identically horrible crimes and send one to execution and spare the other because there is a physical scar we can see."

LaHaye frowned. "Maybe, but I fail to see how it matters."

"Well, it does raise some interesting philosophical implications about right and wrong and free will. The religious views of 'good' versus 'evil' take on new meanings if good or bad behaviors are controlled not by some sort of extrahuman spiritual realm, but by the physical world of neurons, brain physiology, and neurotransmitter molecules," Gabriel said. "Perhaps of relevance to your research?"

Her frown deepened as the lines in her face branched into a mask of annoyance.

"Really," Gabriel persisted. "Seeing the scar, knowing about the wound which turned a 'good' person into a 'bad' one, motivates us to treat that person differently than another person without the wound. Presumably we do that because we recognize the person with the visible wound has a physical impairment to their free will. So, for one we have treatment, and for the other we have punishment.

"But suppose the punished person actually has a physical wound in the brain we can't detect-perhaps genetic or from some sort of development problem in the brain," he continued. How can we tell? Suppose there are physical wounds resulting from DNA damage? Shouldn't society treat them the same as one who has a scar that can be touched? Do we have to touch the scars to believe? Don't you see? Your research has great philosophical implications for the military, and society as a whole."

She shook her head aggressively "It's not my table." LaHaye waved her right hand dismissively. "It has no operational significance."

"Of course you are right." He nodded sagely. "But that's precisely the sort of speculation obviously a book author would be interested in." He smiled as engagingly as he could muster.

Her face brightened. "Of course! It will make for some fascinating reading."

Gabriel stood up. "Thank you for your time and patience with me dropping in unannounced. I definitely see the beginning of a new book here."

LaHaye's face beamed. She stood up and walked him through the reception area to the door. They shook hands. Gabriel opened the door to the corridor, then suddenly stopped and turned back to LaHaye.

"Do you have Frank Harper's contact information? I think he would be a good place to begin the history."

"Of course." LaHaye said pleasantly. Gabriel let the door close as she turned to the chief warrant officer behind the reception desk.

"Jenna, please make General Gabriel a copy of all my contact information for Dr Frank Harper."

I stood away from the crowd in the Jackson airport's baggage claim area and dialed Vince Sloane's cell number. He picked up on the fourth ring.

"Where the hell are you, Doc? All hell's breaking loose here."

There were times when I longed for the old, anonymous pre-caller-ID days.

"Mississippi. Jackson." I tried to shake the fatigue from my head.

"Figures."

"What kind of hell?"

"Jeez, it's hard to know where to start."

"How about with Chris? How is he?"

"Dead."

All during the flight I had hoped the cop at the roadblock had been wrong.

"It's all over the media and they're connecting it to the crap with your boat."

"Wonderful."

"That's not all The Army spooks did a walk-through of your house and got LAPD looking for angles."

"Angles?"

"You know how cops think. All this stuff coming down one thing after another doesn't just happen to innocent people"

Dread sifted down into my gut like lead shot.

"You're the only link they can find connecting all the dots. And you've fled the scene."

"Fled!"

"Whoa! Whoa! It's not me saying that; it's them. Take off your victim hat and look at it from the viewpoint of a detective."

Luggage thudded into the pickup area. I realized he was right.

"You have now become a person of interest," Vince continued.

"A person of-"

"They're taking your place apart with tweezers. I imagine they'll have people over to UCLA pretty soon."

"Oh, hell." I slumped against the wall.

"I also imagine that pretty soon they'll be contacting the local cops in Mississippi about the death of your young lady's mother."

"But that was my mother's funeral. I had no idea Vanessa was even coming."

"I know that, and you do. But their theory is that the slug which killed Vanessa Thompson was meant for you."

"For me? Why do they think someone wanted to kill me?"

"They don't know, but they're fabricating a theory about some sort of drug operation-you know, your boat, the attack-"