“I know there are thirteen. I know they escaped after killing the rest of the personnel at that installation in the Amazon. I also know you went into hiding because you knew sooner or later someone would realize they missed you. Probably sooner.”
“On my Christ…”
“What made you so lucky, Mr. Parker? Why did you survive?”
“I was project liaison with General Hardesty. My job was to perpetuate the illusion that the project was government funded. It was called Omicron.”
“I know.”
“How much do you know?”
“Not who was above Hardesty.”
“I don’t, either.”
“Bullshit.”
“No! My involvement began and ended with the general. When he died and the shred order came down, I made myself vanish.”
“What shred order?”
“The general’s staff was following S.O.P. With Hardesty dead, his files had to be closed.”
“Ben Norseman…”
“I heard he was coming, and I knew why. They wouldn’t have been his only targets. I knew that, so I ran.”
“But Norseman got down there to find he didn’t have any targets at all. Base personnel had already been slaughtered, and the Wakinyan were gone.”
“The what?”
“Indian word for Thunder Being. Close enough.”
Parker swallowed hard.
“Somehow they got wind of what was going down. Something tipped them off; they took matters into their own hands before Norseman showed up. Then Norseman went after them and got himself butchered. I found the bodies. It wasn’t pretty.”
“But how? How could they know?”
“Tell me what I’m dealing with and maybe I can give you an answer.”
Parker looked puzzled. “You must know. You just said—”
“I don’t know shit, really. I know you were in the warrior business, transforming man into superman. I’ve got a rough idea that it has something to do with biochemical brain alteration and conditioning.”
“The Wakinyan, as you call them, are…disciples.”
“As in the Bible?”
A nod. “There were twelve in the initial stage, and they were given the names of the disciples. But names didn’t matter much to them — not the names they used to have, and not the ones we gave them.” His eyes glinted in the darkness. “You called them supermen before. Well, you’re not far off. The basis of Omicron was the creation of the perfect human fighting machine, men conditioned to behave and respond like machines.”
“More than conditioned,” Blaine said.
“Yes. Processed, reordered, remade. Choose any word you like. We broke down most of what they were and made them into what we wanted them to be. The selection process was as long as any of the phases. Certain predispositions and qualities were required from the outset.”
“A shell from which to build…”
“In a sense, you’re right. Omicron never could have succeeded if the proper preconditions weren’t met. We searched for subjects who fit the profile: soldiers who had already displayed the proper levels of brutality, who, in short, thrived on violence. The project was centered around the chemical stimulation and alteration of existing brain patterns. Back in the States, this theory is being put to use in the treatment of epilepsy. Today the technology exists to implant a computer chip the size of a rice grain into the cerebral cortex to maintain proper chemical balance and prevent seizures.”
“That explains the microcircuitry experts at the base.”
Parker nodded. “The theory was that if such an implant could maintain a balance, it could also change a balance. We were dealing with the very core of the central nervous system, refining and remaking subjects with the proper propensities instead of wiping the slate clean and starting from scratch. Someday maybe, but not yet.”
“You sound proud of it, Parker.”
Resolve replaced fear in his eyes. “Because we succeeded, McCracken. Years of research and testing, of failure and frustration, for once paid off. We had a hundred subjects at the outset. A number died during the early stage of the procedure, their brains short-circuited. Still more were not sufficiently affected by the process. Others, in spite of apparent success, proved untrainable in the mode envisioned for disciples. We ended up with eighteen, of which six were gradually weeded out, bringing our total to twelve.”
“Thirteen,” Blaine said. “Thirteen are known to have walked out of your installation.”
“Abraham.”
“What?”
“Number thirteen was called Abraham. He was the first success of the second phase of Omicron and the prototype for all future disciples. Infinitely more skilled and…changed by the implant and subsequent procedures.”
“The leader?”
“On the contrary. He was the ultimate loner. All the disciples are loners unless instructed to be otherwise. The nature of their tasks demands it.”
Blaine thought back to his final night in the jungle. “They seemed to be getting along just fine when the Indian and me almost ran into them in the jungle.”
“Because it suited their purpose.”
“Which was escape. Because somebody needed them for something somewhere else. They were created for a purpose, Parker, which brings us once again to the people above Hardesty. They knew his death would place the project in jeopardy. So maybe you weren’t the only plant at the base, and the other one learned of the shred order, too.”
“And let them out? Helped them?”
“Only to be killed with the others for his efforts.” Blaine gritted his teeth. “I saw the handiwork of these disciples, Parker. I saw what they did to the Tupis and to Norseman’s team. Next time you want to play God, do it by His rules.”
“That was just the point!” Parker exclaimed excitedly. “Eliminate conscience, inhibitions, all traces of guilt. Replace them with a need to kill, a self-perpetuating love for the act equaled only by the capacity to carry it out. No hesitation. No remorse. Physical abilities tapped and developed to a new degree. Think, McCracken! You of all people…”
“Me, what?”
“I just thought…”
“Thought what, Parker? Go ahead. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
“The way you function, the way you think and operate. The causes you fight for. Tell me you’re not ruthless. Tell me you let anything get in your way.” He lowered his voice. “Tell me you haven’t killed.”
“Only when I have to, and I never enjoy it.”
“A slim distinction.”
“Between me and your disciples?”
“We made them what you made yourself.”
“Bullshit! You let them out into the jungle to kill helpless Indians. I saw a pair of boys with their intestines piled on the ground. Is that what you made?”
“No skill can be trusted until it is practiced.”
“You think all their victims will be unarmed kids?”
Parker hesitated ever so slightly. “Norseman and his men weren’t unarmed.”
“You’re defending these monsters, goddammit!”
“Not defending, just explaining. You wouldn’t be talking like this if you’d seen them work.”
McCracken bounced to his feet, needing to separate himself from Parker. “You’re as crazy as the things you helped create.”
Parker jumped up after him. “And what about you? Look at yourself…who you are, the way you live. Day to day. Always alone. Defining yourself in terms of the task before you. When there is no task, there is no definition.”
“What makes you such an expert on me?”
“You really don’t get it, do you? The profile that was developed for the Omicron legion wasn’t arrived at by accident. Studies were made, features identified and ranked in order of necessary development. Examples were studied, scrutinized.” Parker stopped and looked at him. “You, McCracken.”