with her except for . . . her boyfriend.” He says the word boyfriend like it’s puff pastry.
“Correct.”
“And that’s why you’re in Kansas and she’s in Dallas?”
“Yes. We’re close to the geographic center of the continental United States, less than three hours from the farthest coast by plane. But she wanted significant geographical separation between our response forces and the op field.”
“And you thought this was a good idea?” Noah asks.
“Oh, no. Not at all,” Cole answers.
“And you agreed because?”
“Because our target started escalating before I could think of a better option.”
“I’m not following.”
“Zypraxon only unleashes paradrenaline into her bloodstream when she’s absolutely terrified. Not anxious, not afraid. Terrified. If I’ve got ground teams all around her and snipers on rooftops, there’s nothing in her environment that can frighten her badly enough for the drug to start working. And when it comes to her overall security, if one of her targets is capable of inflicting a fatal blow in a split second, what good is a sniper anyway?”
“Surely there were other—”
“There were not. On her last op, she had to injure herself to trigger. Badly. I don’t want her resorting to acts of self-mutilation to try to create the panic and shock she needs to feel before your drug kicks into gear. What if she cuts a nerve to her heart or her lungs before the trigger event heals her? Worse, what if she starts to desensitize to self-inflicted wounds, and then the only way for her to traumatize herself effectively the next time is to hack off one of her limbs? Her fear is the engine that drives this thing . . . for now . . . and that means letting her feel like she’s truly alone with these monsters. She has to become the victim; those were her words. And if she tells me there’s something that shuts down that process, I’ve got no choice but to remove it from the field of play.”
“You’ve removed your resources from the field of play. That’s dangerous.”
“No, their deployment is just delayed. There’s a difference.”
“It’s still dangerous.”
“I know.”
“Lie to her. Put a team in place and don’t tell her it’s there.”
“How many times do I get away with that? If I lie to her and she realizes a ground team was ready to swoop in and save her the whole time, on the next operation she’ll assume I lied again and she won’t trigger because her brain’s telling her help’s just around the corner. If she’s not afraid, your drug never triggers in her system, and if she doesn’t trigger, she can’t overpower these guys, and then we can’t swoop in and fake their deaths so that you can have more brains to play with in your labs.”
He’s getting a lot more than just their brains, and they both know it. But Cole’s hoping Noah gets that point here. Giving in to Charley’s wishes maintains the pipeline of test subjects for Noah’s experiments that Charley doesn’t even know about.
Thanks to Cole, two of Charlotte’s previous targets are now housed in Noah’s island lab. One, a serial killer who skinned his victims, and the other, an aspiring terrorist bomber, live in a state of suspended animation except for when they’re awakened within virtual reality environments designed to trigger their homicidal impulses. After six solid months of exhaustive and meticulous work, Noah has managed to generate what may well be the first neuroimage of a psychopath’s brain in the midst of a calculated murderous act. With a virtual victim, of course. Some people might consider the two men they’ve imprisoned against their will and forced to live inside an endless tape loop of their crimes “victims.” Cole’s not one of those people. If that’s the cost of illuminating the biological underpinnings of the sadistic violence that motivates some of humanity’s worst crimes, then so be it. The cost that keeps Cole up at night is the financial one. Noah, on the other hand, is more afraid they won’t be able to obtain the additional test subjects he needs to confirm his initial results.
“Christ,” Noah whispers. “I’m hoping you’ve given Luke some training in how to deal with at least some of the things that could go terribly wrong.”
“Beyond. He’s practically special ops certified.”
“Speaking as someone who is, it’s not that easy.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Cole says, “and the men training him had more deployments than you did, so step off. I’m not running an adventure camp here.”
“Fine. Luke is a SEAL who’s never