The Book of Truths by Bob Mayer Page B

not really mind,” Wahid continued. “I watch him too. He is beautiful.”
    Johnston looked at Upton. The truth was good, but perhaps too much was too much? Everyone fears unadulterated truth, the cutting edge of it ripping into a man’s soul, his darkness and his despair, and worse, his longings.
    Wahid slipped back into Arabic, his voice rattling to a rough whisper.
    Johnston definitely knew enough was enough. He turned to the glass, stepping between the muttering prisoner and the observers. Upton stood by his side.
    “Gentlemen, do you have any questions for Doctor Upton?”
    A disembodied voice came out of the speaker. “How long does the effect last?”
    “Four hours,” Upton said. “Give or take a deviance of two percent, which is very precise overall.”
    “Aftereffects?” a different voice asked.
    Upton shrugged. “None that we’ve seen but we’ll be monitoring the subject at a max security facility.”
    “Outstanding,” a third voice echoed out of the speaker, startling even Johnston with its easily recognizable Boston accent.General George “Lightning Bolt” Riggs, vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was the number-two ranking military officer in the country and the man who did the dirty work for the chairman. He had not been noted on the attendance list in the memorandum for the experiment.
    That’s the way Riggs worked. Be where no one expected him to be, keep his finger on the pulse of the darkest of secrets, looking for opportunity and also for danger.
    The door next to the glass opened and Riggs stepped into the room with a man in civilian clothes next to him—the Joint Chiefs of Staff scientific adviser, Brennan. No one else who’d been behind the glass mattered now.
    Colonel Johnston took an involuntary step back, perhaps some genetic memory of his ancestors facing Riggs’s “damn Yankee” ancestors on battlefields during the War of Northern Aggression. Perhaps just a normal reaction to Riggs’s imposing presence. Angry with himself, Johnston reclaimed the lost step.
    “Good morning, General.”
    Riggs walked over to Wahid, who was muttering in Arabic. “Broke the son of a bitch and didn’t have to touch a hair on his head. Outstanding,” he repeated. “The bleeding-heart cowards who wail about rights won’t have dick to say about this. A little prick of the skin to get the prick talking.” His coarse language betrayed his Beacon Hill accent, a strange combination. The result was something Riggs had practiced since his upper-class years at West Point upon realizing it kept others off balance, not sure who or what they were dealing with.
    Riggs snapped his attention from Wahid to Upton. “I assume you have more of this… what did you call it?”
    “Cherry Tree, sir.”
    Riggs smiled. “Cute, very cute. We have more trees to chop down. Do you have to inject it?”
    Upton blinked. “Well, we’ve, uh, always injected, but it could probably pass through the stomach lining and have an effect. Perhaps even be absorbed through the skin. It doesn’t take much in the bloodstream, as long as it gets to the mind.”
    “Can you put it in a drink?” Riggs asked. “Drop some in a glass of water?”
    Upton’s eyes shifted to Rhodes and Riggs didn’t miss it, turning his imperious gaze to the younger scientist. “You were the grunt on this, weren’t you, son? You did all the dirty work?” He didn’t wait for an answer, indicating he believed his suspicion was correct, and whether it was or not in reality, it now was in this room.
    “I did the lab work, sir,” Rhodes managed to get out.
    “So can we?” Riggs pressed.
    “I don’t know, sir.”
    Riggs frowned. “Okay, listen to me.” He glared at Upton and then Rhodes. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. You’ve used this on a human before. You had to, because as you pointed out with your dipshit, not-funny joke, rats can’t tell the truth. All you could tell by injecting them was whether they’d fucking die or grow