Kill on Command (27 page)

“Someone loves bowling,” he said, pointing at the water.

“Looks that way,” she replied, looking around the room to make sure he had everything.

Sean got out of the chair slowly.  The nurse noticed he was still wobbly

“Do you need help getting into bed?” she asked, as she pulled down the sheets on the bed.

Sean smiled.  He was feeling better.

Sandy watched and listened from her monitors in the next room.  She was eating an apple but stopped chewing and leaned towards the screen to see what he would say.

“That might take a while.  I thought you said you had to get right back?”  Sean said with a sly smile.

“Well, I see you are feeling better,” she said, walking past and completely ignoring him.

“A little.”

Sandy chuckled and kept watching.

“I am leaving Dr. Baum’s number here on the desk.  Call her if you need us.  The prescription will be delivered shortly.”

‘Ok.”

“I hope you feel better,” she said and pushed the wheelchair out of the room.

“Thank you.”

The door closed behind her.  Sean walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth.   He had a nasty taste in his mouth.   He grabbed a bottle of water and drank it until it was gone.  He tossed the bottle in the trash and opened another bottle.  He finished half of it.  Approximately twenty people were watching his every move via monitors.

“Wow!  I must have been dehydrated,” he said aloud.   He turned on the TV and was flipping through the channels when there was a heavy knock at the door.  He opened the door to find a man wearing a blue jacket and navy pants with some sort of delivery company patch on the jacket.

“Sean Garrison?”

“Yes.”

“Package.”  He handed Sean a bag, which held the prescription.  Sean signed the form and went back into the room.  He opened the bag.  Inside was a smaller bag with instructions stapled to it.  He opened the smaller bag and took out the pill bottle.  He did not recognize the drug.  The label said:  “for mild pain and headaches.”  He took one of the pills and tossed the bag with the bottle onto the desk.   Still a bit worn out from the recent ordeal, he pulled off his shirt, tossed it towards the chair but missed.  It landed on the floor.  He took off shoes and jeans and just left them on the floor.  He turned out the lights and climbed into bed. 

The first thirty-six hours would be critical and he was monitored very closely.

Over the next thirteen days, fifteen men would go though the same procedure.  McFarland and Waters juggled hotels throughout the downtown Boston area to ensure that none of the men ran into one another.

McFarland would lose three of the candidates before they even left the lab.

The men who survived were no longer candidates; they had become Waters’ “Disposable Patriots.”

XIII

What a great day for a run!

Boston – Monday – May 16, 2011

Sean slept nearly eighteen hours.  It was 2 P.M. on Monday when he awoke.  Sandy was concerned that he was dead or close to it.  She discovered it was very boring watching a guy sleep for eighteen hours.

Sean felt much better.  The foggy feeling in his head was gone.   He took the bottle of water off the nightstand, walked over to the window and finished drinking it.  It was a sunny day in Boston. 

“I think I will go for a run,” he said to himself.  He thought it was a little weird since he normally hated running.  He took out his lacrosse shorts, running shoes and a t-shirt, got dressed and was about to leave when his cell rang. 

“This is Sean.”

“Sean! Walter Mathis.  Are you doing OK?  I received a note about an hour ago when I got back in town,” Hass said, with genuine concern in his voice.  He liked Sean.

Sean walked him through the last thirty-six hours or at least what he could remember.

“That sounds awful.  I tell you what.   Let’s start around 1 P.M. on Tuesday.  Will that work?”

“No problem,” Sean replied.

“Oh, I have something for you.  We have a great relationship with a tailor here in town.  I have set you up for a fitting.  I feel bad for everything that happened and I know you will need a couple of suits once you start travelling.  I hope you don’t mind,” Hass offered. 

They needed Sean’s measurements.  As part of his assignments, the team would need to supply him with the right attire or equipment.  It was the one element they missed with Sean.  All of the other men were measured while they were in recovery.

“No.  Not at all.  Thank you!  Thank you very much.”

“Great.  The tailor will meet you downstairs on Tuesday at noon.  I will email you the meeting room location.  It will be the same room that we will use for training and the orientation.  Take it easy today.

“I will,” Sean said and hung up.  Of course, he was going to do the opposite.

In the next room, Sandy was tying her shoelaces.  She would be going for a run too.  She had on black capri length tights and a white tank.  She fastened a small pack to her waist and placed her Walther PPQ and phone inside.  She preferred a Glock 19, but the PPQ was a better fit.  Lastly, she fitted a communication device inside her left ear, sat back down and watched the monitor. 

Sean pulled his hotel door closed, trotted down the hall and hit the down button on the elevator.  Without thinking about it, he dropped down and started doing push-ups.  The door opened and he hopped up and got inside.  He pressed the button for the lobby.  The doors closed and he hit the ground again and started cranking out push-ups.  His arms were shaking. 

Sandy left her room as soon as the elevator doors closed.  She alerted her back up team that Sean was on his way.

“Damn!  I am out of shape,” he said to himself.  The doors opened and he walked across the lobby and out the revolving door.

“Hey Fred!”  Sean yelled to the bellman.  Fred tipped his cap in Sean’s direction.

Sean headed north on Arlington towards Boston Common.  He hit a nice stride and took off.  Sandy ran out of the hotel and started running as well.  She stayed a hundred feet or so behind him.  He was really running hard and she had to increase her pace to keep up. 

Sean took Arlington all the way up to Boylston Street and took a left.  He kept running until he hit Hereford Street.  He stopped at the corner, sweat pouring off his head.  He jogged in place waiting for the light.   Sandy saw what he was doing and sprinted across Boylston seventy-five feet from the corner.  The light changed and he ran across the street and up Hereford.  He kept going until he hit Beacon Street. 

He suddenly stopped.  Vomit flew out of his mouth, hands on his knees, he was spitting out what was left in his stomach.  Sandy stopped, watched and then reported in.

“He’s throwing up,” she announced.

“Sandy, this is Dr. McFarland.  What’s happening?”

“He’s running.”

“Hard?”

“Yes.  I’d say a sub-six minute pace.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Stay with him.  He should be fine.  If he starts acting erratic, you know what to do.”

“Copy.”  Sandy said, ending the conversation.  Sean started running again and turned right on Beacon Street.  Sandy kept pace with him. 

“Bill!  Where are you?” 

“Trying to make it up Boylston.”  Her back up was hopelessly behind them.  The traffic made it impossible to keep up with Sean in the city.

Sean kept up a strong pace all the way past Boston Common.  He followed Beacon around until it intersected with Washington Street where he turned right.  He ran down Washington to Stuart Street and then followed it until it hit Arlington and the hotel.

Then unexpectedly, he did the whole route again.

He stopped when he came to the edge of the hotel property the second time. His shirt was soaked.  He leaned against the wall of the hotel and slid down, until he was sitting.  He was breathing hard.  Fred rushed over to him.

“Mr. Garrison!  Are you OK?”  Fred leaned over and offered a hand to Sean and hauled him to his feet.

Sandy rounded the corner and lingered there.  She put her hand to her neck and looked at her watch, pretending to check her pulse.

“Thanks Fred.  I think I over did it,” Sean said, walking slowly to the revolving doors.  Fred had his hand on Sean’s back.

“You need to take it easy,” Fred said, as Sean entered the hotel.

Sandy noted how quickly people gravitated to Sean.  It was interesting.  She walked past the bellman towards the hotel.  Fred tipped his cap when she went by. 

“Damn, I hate running.”  Fred said when he saw Sandy walk by in her workout attire. 

Sandy watched Sean get on the elevator and then followed him up in the next elevator.  Sean headed right for his room.  Entering, he snatched a bottle of water from the desk, took off the cap and chugged it.  He then stripped off the t-shirt and walked into the bathroom to start the water.  He went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed.  He pulled off his shoes.  As he feared, he had some nasty blisters starting.

Sandy watched him from her room.  She was looking at her feet as well.  Her feet were a little better – no blisters, but she knew she was going to be sore. 

Sean hobbled to the shower.  The room was filled with steam.  The water felt good.  He stayed in there for a while, shampooed his hair and noticed his head was sore.

“Must have been the fall,” he said to himself. 

Sean turned off the water and got out, wrapping a towel around his waist.  He walked over to the sink and turned on the hot water.  He scooped up some of the water and splashed it on the mirror.  A spot on the mirror just big enough for him to see himself and shave appeared.  He finished shaving and walked back into the bedroom.  He tossed the towel onto the floor, giving the twenty plus people watching a nice show. 

Sean went to his bag and pulled out a pair of boxers and put them on.  Then, without warning he dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups.  He did them until failure, collapsed on the floor and did not get up for a moment. 

From his lab, McFarland was observing Sean’s behavior.  Number Two has a case of OCD, he noted in his file.  “It could be worse,” he said, to himself.  Some of his subjects had clawed themselves to death after the procedure.  Others slipped into a spiral of depression from which they never recovered.  As McFarland thought about it, Number Two’s disorder might make him more effective.

Finally, Sean rose to his feet put on a t-shirt followed by a blue button down and a pair of khaki pants.  He decided to wear his white “no-show” socks with his brown shoes.  Not the best fashion choice, but his feet didn’t look good. 

He picked up the phone and called hotel guest services.
 

“Good evening, M
r. Garrison.”

“Good evening.  What time does the restaurant open?”

“Which one, sir?”

“The seafood restaurant.”

“It is open now, sir.”

“Thank you,” Sean said and hung up.  He had really lost track of time. He looked at his watch and shook his head.  “I need to get it together.”

As Sandy monitored the conversation, she was frantically tying to get dressed and dry her hair.  She looked in the mirror.  She needed to get rid of the red hair and go back to her natural blonde hair color.  Surely, the CIA had a decent wig maker.

In his room, Sean was grabbing his blazer and heading out the door.  Sandy did what she could and slipped on a loose skirt, blouse and jacket.  She placed her PPQ in her waistband.  Her shoulder length hair was still wet, when she left the room.  Bill was already in the restaurant, sitting at the bar.  He was dressed in a black suit and a French blue shirt.  He and Sandy would pose as a couple having an early dinner together. 

Sean entered the restaurant and was immediately seated.  The hostess handed him the menu and the wine list.  A waiter came to take his drink order.  Sean ordered a bottle of sparkling water.  The waiter returned with the water, poured Sean a glass and left a basket of bread on the table.  Sean practically inhaled the bread.

Sandy joined Bill pretending to be excited.  The hostess showed them to a table across the restaurant. 

“Hungry bastard,” Bill remarked. 

“He has not eaten in more than twenty-four hours,” Sandy replied.

“That was some run he took you on.”

“It has got to be OCD.  He is doing push-ups like a mad man in his room.”

“What?”

“A reaction to what he just went through.  It’s a side effect.” 

“You had better get some new shoes then,” Bill said, with a laugh.

Sandy took a look at him and his outfit.

“You look like some sort of pimp in that suit,” she said.

“What’s that make you?” he said, quickly. He was very proud of himself for being so witty.  He would have to remember to tell Bob.

Sandy did not respond.  She was watching Sean.  He was ordering his dinner and laughing with the waiter.  She already hated Robert Waters for what he had forced her into.  Now, she was starting to hate him for what he had done to this guy. 

She filed away Bill’s comment.

Sean ordered a salad, a healthy portion of Chilean Sea Bass and a huge dessert.  The bill was also huge.  He charged it to the room and got up to leave, but stopped to chat up the hostess on the way out.

Sandy and Bill threw $100 in cash down on the table and got up as well.  They faked an embrace outside of the restaurant.  Sandy went back towards the elevator and up to her room.  Bill left the hotel.

Up in his room, Sean had taken off his clothes and put on a pair of lacrosse shorts.  He flipped through the channels until he found a baseball game.  He placed the remote down on the dresser and hit the floor again.  He did push-ups until failure and then rolled over and started doing crunches until he felt vomit moving up his esophagus.  He stopped and sat up.  His entire body was tight from the push-ups, the running and the crunches. 

McFarland was watching.  He needed Sean to take the pills that were prescribed.  They would help.  He looked around the floor and spotted the person he needed, the nurse that helped get Sean settled in the room.  He called her into his office.  She saw Sean doing crunches.  She was startled and at the same time sickened.