Frank Klus - Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

“How are we going to do that with all the security?” Cassandra asked.

“Hon, he means a bug or camera,” Ray said. Cassandra made a face.

“It’s our eyes and ears,” Chad said, smiling.

“But we won’t be able to get a camera in there,” Wrenn said.

“Going to be a bitch just getting a bug in there,” Foote said.

Then Armstrong had an idea. “We can’t just waltz in there and plant a microphone. We can’t get them to accept a package with a built in listening device. They’re clearly not going to accept unknown packages. That leaves only one other option—plant a bug in a back window. My guess is that’s where the action is going to be.”

“You’re going to need a high amplification device with very large signal to noise,” the Fox said.

“What do you have in mind?” Ray asked.

“Old NSA super tiny mic; looks like a small insect; great gain; superb s/n; Model AN FQR1361. I can get it for around two grand.”

“That’s a lot of money, Ray,” Armstrong said.

“We have the money,” Cassandra said.

Ray looked at her askance.

“Please, Ray. We have the money, and it’s Gene in there. If I didn’t….” Her voice trailed off and she looked down.

Ray looked over to Armstrong. “We have the money.”

“Okay, let’s say we have the bug. Now, how do we get it on the window?”

They all studied the map. Some ideas were workable, but carried risks too great for Chad Armstrong. Other ideas wouldn’t work at all. They studied all night and into the wee hours of the morning, when Foote seemed to have the best idea.

“Look, here,” he said. “This is their weakest point. There!” pointing to the side of the house. “The two guys in the back can’t see there. The guy in the tree on the other side of the house is blocked from view. The guys on the other side of the street can only see the back end of the yard. That leaves only the guy in the other tree. We could shoot him with a high-powered rifle far enough away so as to not be heard; hop the fence to the back side window; plant the bug, and high-tail it out of there.”

“What if there is another guard on the ground?” Cassandra asked. “We need to know.”

“That’s a problem,” Armstrong said. “We can only do this once. If we’re found out, that’ll be the end of us; and for your friend.” Armstrong was staring at Ray and Cassandra. “I think the risk is too great. If we’re discovered putting the bug on the window, and assuming we can still get out, they’ll take off the bug, put extra security around the back; or worse, move Eugene—assuming he’s in there—somewhere else.”

“We have another problem too,” Wrenn said. “If we plant the bug without them seeing us, but they discover it later—”

“Which they will,” Ray said.

“Then they’ll redouble the security anyway,” answered Wrenn.

“You’re both right,” Armstrong admitted. “Furthermore, when they discover the dead guy in the tree, they’ll know something is up. I believe we’re going to have to force our way in; take out all the guards, and break in. Yet we still have to do it quickly or the whole goddamn brigade of ‘em will be down on us.”

“Wait a minute!” Jimmy the Fox said. “I just thought of something. Holy Christ, it just might work.”

The others just looked at him, waiting to hear the Fox’s big idea.

“When I put the tracker on Dennis’s truck the other night I noticed the cap he wears sitting in the passenger seat. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but when you guys talked about having to put a bug on the window because—”

“Just tell us your idea,” Armstrong said.

“Oh, sorry. What if we put a bug in his cap? He must go in there because he’s got all that info that Daniel found.”

“It would be a good idea, except that he only went there once,” Ray said. “We’ve been tracking him since you put the tracker on, and apparently he gets information relayed to him by phone to his office.” The men groaned.

“Furthermore, how soon would it be before the bug was discovered?” Foote repeated .

They discussed the original idea of forced entry. Armstrong said it was the only viable way in. The others nodded in agreement.

“Let’s get some sleep and develop a plan in the morning,” Chad said.

The next morning the only discussion that took place was that any operation was likely to produce casualties, and with so many unknowns Armstrong was ready to cancel everything.

The team was feeling down when Ray came rushing into the room, grinning. “I just heard from Daniel. He found all the details about Hell House: security configurations, a clinic, and confirmation that Eugene is in there. They set up the operations in the basement. That’s where they’re working on Eugene. They call it Operation Breakdown. The plans and maps are printing out now.”

“Well,” Armstrong said, “that certainly changes things. Let’s get some chow and tackle this bad boy. We’ll call it ‘Operation Rescue’.”

Eugene was in the terrible closet. Sleep would come in waves, and the ephedrine, still in his system, made sleep difficult. He reeked of urine and feces, and ached all over as he contemplated his dilemma. I’m in Fernando’s camp . They won’t break me. I won’t let them. Maybe I could fool them into thinking they had so they’d let me go. Could it work?

The door opened and Hurd dragged him out. The light was bright, and Eugene had to cover his eyes before coming out. Eugene was escorted by Hurd and the upstairs guard to the gurney.

They carried him onto it, and he helplessly watched the guards strap him down. Dr. Frankenstein (Eugene’s name for Sistrunk) came over to him, talking in that saccharine way; so eerie, yet cruel.

“You’ve done very well, Eugene; so well that we can now proceed to the next step in your cure.” He gave Eugene an injection that made him feel really queer. He was sort of woozy, but he didn’t feel like he’d lose consciousness.

Then Dr. Sistrunk disappeared and came from the back room a few minutes later with a helmet that had electrodes on it.

“What is this for?” Eugene asked; not sure if he expected an answer or a swat.

“It is to help you, young man.”

An assistant he hadn’t seen before placed the helmet securely on Eugene’s head, and then plugged it into a control panel. Then he flipped a switch, and some lights came on. Eugene felt a jolt of electricity in his head, and for a second, thought they were giving him some sort of shock therapy. He made a face and grunted, and then realized this electrical feeling was too mild to be shock therapy.

“Oh, you make such a fuss, Eugene. I’ll turn down the voltage a little if you are too uncomfortable.” Dr. Sistrunk did so, and Eugene felt a little better, but he could hear an irritating hum, and he felt a muffled feeling like he just swallowed a whole bottle of aspirin.

Then the lab assistant went into to the back room and came back with goggles in his hand. He put them on Eugene, fully covering his eyes. At first, he saw nothing; just blackness. Then, there was a kaleidoscope of color swirling around. The colors were constantly changing.

“Describe the colors you see to me,” Sistrunk said.

“I see a lot of blues, and browns, and reds, and greens.”

“Do the colors appear dark or light?”

“Slightly on the dark side, I think.” The doctor flipped another switch and adjusted a dial.

“Now, Eugene, I’m going to ask you a few questions that you should have no trouble answering. It is important that you give me a truthful answer, and not the answer you may think I want to hear. So long as you do this, Eugene, you will not be punished. Do you understand?”