Mahoganys Dream | Page 8

hair, and then
rammed the shaft of the device into Tsang's ear. Tsang yelped like a
wounded dog. But that was nothing compared to the deafening shriek
he let off when Dunleavy toggled a switch on the device. Tsang's whole
body convulsed violently. The chair vibrated and bounced as Tsang
found the energy to flee the pain. Brian had trouble holding on.
Dunleavy cut the switch and everything was calm again.
Brian breathed quickly, relaxing his grip on Tsang. Then, without
warning, Dunleavy toggled the switch again. More screaming and
convulsing. Tsang clawed at Brian's hands, tearing the skin. Brian did
not let go, though he turned his head and closed his eyes in an effort to
blunt his revulsion.

The lights in the ceiling began to flicker. Suddenly the bulbs became
unnaturally, blindingly bright. Dunleavy's device began visibly
vibrating.
Brian thought he heard a muffled pop.
Then everything went black and Tsang's body went limp.
"Shit," Brian said into the darkness. "The pulse test."
One of the AFRL labs at the Base had been working on an early
prototype of the JDAM warhead, a weapon designed to neutralize an
enemy's electrical systems by emitting a powerful electromagnetic
burst over a wide radius. Because of the havoc the low-power test
bursts wreaked on the Base's own systems, they were always preceded
by a warning memo. Brian had seen such a memo taped to the door of
the Data Room earlier that morning. In his rush to call Bruce and avoid
becoming Dr. Frankenstein's assistant for another day of debriefing, the
memo had completely slipped his mind.
"Pulse test?" Dunleavy said. "Are you saying there was a JDAM test
scheduled for today?" That's why everybody was standing around.
Before Brian could answer, the back-up generators kicked in and
everything went back to normal. Everything except for Tsang. When
Dunleavy saw the stream of blood suppurating from Tsang's ear, he
temporarily lost interest in Brian's negligence. "Dammit," he said. "The
tympanic membrane must have ruptured from the spike." Brian wasn't
sure if he were referring to his device or Tsang's ear. Dunleavy pulled a
white hotel hand towel from his case, which he used to wipe Tsang's
blood off the tip of his device. He abruptly paused and looked over his
shoulder at Brian. "You can let him go now."
Brian realized he was still holding Tsang's body to the chair. A glob of
Tsang's blood dripped down into his sleeve. He yanked his arms away
as if it were acid. Tsang's body immediately crumpled to the floor.
For a terrifying moment, Brian thought Tsang was dead. He felt

prickles of sweat forming in pores all over his body. Dunleavy kept
cleaning his device. Brian bent down and pressed two fingers under
Tsang's jowl. He felt a weak pulse, which caused a wave of relief to
spread over him. Tsang was merely unconscious.
Brian whipped out his cell phone and flipped it open.
"What do you think you're doing?" Dunleavy asked, still not looking up
from his device. The shaft of the device was now spit-shine clean,
which made Brian wonder if his colleague was simply working away
nervous energy.
"I'm getting help," Brian said testily. "Traitor or not, this guy needs
medical attention."
"He'll get all the attention he needs when we're done. He'll make it until
then. Besides, this is an Umbra class debriefing, so we can't call anyone
without the appropriate clearance. Not unless you want us to get
indicted just so Jackie Chan here can get a band-aid."
Brian couldn't believe his ears. Us? All of a sudden, Dunleavy was
speaking as if the two of them were coconspirators. He was familiar
with the technique. One of the first lessons he'd learned in station
officer training was how to recognize loyalty traps. He remembered
case studies about terrorist training camps in Sudan, where all new
recruits were given a blank sheet of paper and instructed to write down
the names of everyone in their home villages whom they suspected of
being a traitor or an informant. Of course, the moment the recruits
started writing, they become traitors and informants themselves. Only
the recruits don't realize it until they run into problems at the camp and
try to leave. At that point they're informed that because of what they
wrote on the first day, the people at home will view them as infidels.
And everyone knows what fate awaits an infidel. The terrorists then
take that opportunity to remind the disgruntled recruits that there is
only one sure way for an infidel to ever experience the shade of
Paradise's trees: Jihad. Brian recalled his instructors noting that it was a
remarkably effective way to get someone under pressure to do what

you want them to do. He surely agreed now, having belatedly