The Eyes of Others Page 9

  “Brain waves are generated by neurons communicating with each other by electrical changes. We can actually see these changes in the form of brain waves as shown in an electroencephalogram. They are measured in cycles per second, called hertz. The lower the number of hertz there are, the slower the brain activity, or the slower the frequency of the activity.”

  “You’re killing us here, Tara,” Boston observes, interested but eager for her to get to the point.

  “Stay with me. Traditionally, these fall into five types: Delta, theta, alpha, beta, and the newest one, gamma.”

  “I guess epsilon got screwed,” Gina remarks in a failed attempt to be funny. Who cares if it got skipped. Let’s move this along.

  “Theta and delta are your deep sleep waves,” Tara continues, completely ignoring Gina now. “Alpha dominates when you first fall asleep, and beta is usually when you’re conscious and awake.”

  “What about gamma?” Boston asks, still riveted.

  “I’m getting there. Now, these aren’t really separate brain waves but are categorized just for convenience. They help describe the changes we see in the brain during different kinds of activities. So we don’t ever produce only one brain wave type. Our overall brain activity is a mix of all the frequencies at the same time, some in greater quantities and strength than others.

  “Now, we have markers for all this. For example, in REM sleep, we know what waves the brain produces. One thing it doesn’t produce during sleep in large quantities is gamma brain waves. They are involved in higher mental activity and consolidation of information and are widely seen in advanced levels of mediation.”

  “Tara, what does any of this have to do with Boston?” Gina asks. She’s really annoyed now that she knows Tara is as smart as she is attractive.

  “The sleep cycle I mentioned repeats itself around four times a night. Boston, you were in the delta wave portion of your second cycle for seven minutes when this … dream of yours began. That in and of itself is highly unusual, but then something happened nobody has ever seen before. You pegged your beta and gamma waves while never leaving delta wave sleep.”

  “Speak English, Doc,” I tell her, completely lost.

  “What happened to Boston simply doesn’t happen. Delta is deep sleep. When those waves are prevalent, it is impossible for the others to take charge until the sleeper transitions into REM sleep. Only they did, and in a big way.”

  “So what?” I prod.

  “Beta waves are strongest when a subject is conscious and are produced in very stressful situations or at times of strong mental focus. Gamma waves are produced when you reach a higher level of mental activity and concentration. These were produced at the same time he was in his deepest sleep.”

  “That was the conclusion of this doctor you met?” Gina needles.

  “It was the conclusion we both reached. Boston wasn’t dreaming last night. His mind was viewing something remotely.”

  “Viewing what?” I ask, wondering if she is going to confirm what Boston told us when we first got here.

  “The only thing that makes all the pieces fit. The visions Boston is seeing are not dreams at all. Essentially, for almost a minute last night, his mind was living out someone else’s memory of that moment.”

  .

  ~ chapter 17 ~

  GINA attison

  “That’s your professional opinion?” I ask, wondering why I encouraged Boston to see this quack. I’m beginning to wonder how this perky little blonde ever graduated medical school, or wherever she got her degree from.

  “I think what my fiancée is trying to say is it sounds crazier to hear you say it than when I did,” Boston interjects, earning him another look from me.

  “I agree completely.”

  “How is that even possible, doctor? I mean, accessing someone’s memories?” Maryland asks, suddenly interested in the conversation instead of looking bored.

  “I have no idea. I need to spend some time trying to work that out with another colleague I know. In fact,” she says, looking at her cell phone, “I have to run an errand before I meet him and should get going. It was nice meeting the both of you.”

  “You, too,” Maryland responds. The comment was directed more at him than me, so I’m not compelled to say anything.

  “Talk to you later?” she asks Boston, a little too sweetly and flirtatious for my tastes.

  “Absolutely.”

  I stare at my fiancé. I’m not the jealous type under normal circumstances. Maybe it’s because most women are not brazen enough to flirt with him right in front of me. Or maybe something about this woman is bringing out the territorial side of me. All I know is I don’t like her, or the fact that Boston is placing so much faith in her. Recognizing my irritation, he turns his body in his chair to face me.

  “Honey, I’m―”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” I say, stopping him. I must be wearing my thoughts on my face.

  “Do you think she has any idea what she’s talking about?” Maryland asks. I want to say “no” but choose to keep my mouth shut.

  “It’s as plausible a theory as any, I suppose. Hopefully she’s right and I can put this behind me and get back to work.”

  “Work,” Maryland scoffs. “What work? Your real job helping to defend the country or this side job you do instead of it?”

  “Both.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Work on hunting for answers about Iraq behind the backs of your bosses. Answers you’ll never find because you’re probably never going to be an employee of the DIA again when they catch you.”

  “Do you have a problem, Maryland? Because if you have something to say, just say it.”

  “Yeah, I have a big problem. You see, your actions don’t just reflect on yourself. I’m affected and even Gina is affected. Now, you may not give a damn about your job, but we do. Have you ever stopped to think about that? Even once?”

  It pains me to be on his side with this. I’m not one of Maryland’s biggest fans because I think he’s a whiner, and from what Boston has told me, always has been. But he has a good point, not that I expect my love to listen to him. When it comes to finding out the truth about the ambush in Iraq, nothing will deter him, no matter the cost. That’s the problem.

  “Honey, he’s right. I want you to get your answers. I really do. But I want you to let the people best suited to find them do it for you. Otherwise, you are going to get in enough trouble that it could drag you down, and us with you,” I warn.

  “Boston, the fibbies are on this now. You might want to let it go while they are conducting their investigation. Things are already tense enough at work with them snooping around. Everyone is so on edge they can’t focus on their jobs.”

  Fibbie is a slang term, used predominantly throughout law enforcement and the government to describe the FBI. As a huge federal agency with egos to match, they’re quick to take control of cases and then deflect the blame back when they make mistakes. The derisive term is also used by people who have watched too many true crime movies. I think Maryland falls somewhere in between those two groups.

  “Do you really think I trust them to have the will to see this through? They’re bureaucrats who just want the whole thing to go away, and in the end, I don’t even know if we’re looking for the same person,” Boston attempts to defend.

  “And you don’t know you aren’t,” I almost whisper. I don’t want to be too confrontational with him. When Boston gets backed into a corner, he comes out fighting. To get him to listen to anything, you have to ease him into it. Knowing these kinds of things comes with dating the man for over a year now.

  “So, did the two of you plan this ambush?” Boston demands, taking turns staring at Maryland and me.

  “We’re not ambushing you,” Maryland protests.

  “Like hell you aren’t! Last Friday, you were telling me how you supported me, now you’ve teamed up with my fiancée to get me to back off?”

  “Honey, listen to me,” I tell him, tak
ing his hand in mine. “I want you to get all the answers you need, but you can’t do it if you lose your job or worse. I could end up losing you.”

  “You’re not going to lose me. I promise.”

  “You can’t make that promise,” I correct, not able to mask the wounded look on my face over a pledge we both know can’t be met. “I had a talk with my boss last night. This problem with the leak is about to get very political. When the politicians get involved, they will start applying a lot of pressure on your bosses.”

  “They already are.”

  “Oh, really? And how do you know that, Maryland?” Boston inquires, the disgust and annoyance at his friend still evident in his voice.

  “I just do. Look, I’m trying to protect you. I don’t want you to end up as the scapegoat for all this.”

  “Are you protecting me or yourself? You know as well as I do that it’s always about you in the end, isn’t it?”

  “One to talk, Boston.”

  “Boys,” I interrupt, having noticed the alert from one of news apps flash up on my cell phone. It is followed quickly by two more.

  I open the application and see the breaking news alert scrolling across the top of the screen. Clicking on it, the brief but poignant article opens with an unmistakable picture. I turn my phone and show it to Maryland and Boston, who lean in across the table to study it.

  “Were they taken during that ambush?” Boston asks, looking at his friend and at me.

  I turn my screen back and take one last look at the image of two men, dressed in orange jumpsuits, kneeling in the desert sand as a masked man in black stands over them with a knife. It’s the typical ISIS threat to the western world when they announce an imminent execution. They have used the same modus operandi for years now.

  “You guys have clearances, you can read about it yourselves,” I say, as I put my cell phone back in my purse and look up to notice their inquisitive stares. I was wondering when that news would break.

  “You knew. That’s why you weren’t surprised,” Maryland observes correctly. He forgets who my boss is.

  “Remember how I warned you that things were about to get very political? Well, this is the starting gun.”

  .

  ~ chapter 18 ~

  Director colby washington

  The only thing I hate more than working Saturdays is working on a Sunday. Unfortunately, that’s going to be the new reality until this investigation runs its course. I feel fortunate that I don’t have a family to return home to. The men and women with spouses and children to take care of aren’t so lucky. I only hope, for their sake, that the time this investigation takes is measured in weeks and not months.

  Coming back from another ugly meeting, I pass my secretary’s vacant desk and head to my office. Swinging the door open I find Garrett sitting in my oversized executive chair behind the sturdy oak desk.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m waiting for you.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable in my chair, Garrett. I am not planning on relinquishing it for a long time.”

  “If things had gone a little differently for me, it would be my chair, and you know it.” Yeah, and if things had gone a little different for Hitler, we’d all be speaking German. Thank God things work out the way they do.

  Garrett rises out of the chair as I move around the desk. I notice the smirk on his face as we pass and have to repress the urge to smack it off. I’ve had a very long day and don’t have the energy to joust with him over his ambitions.

  “What do you want?” I ask, sitting in my chair and thankful that he’s still standing. It means he isn’t staying long.

  “I wanted to let you know that I suspended Hollinger’s security clearance.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Damn it, Garrett! On whose authority did you do that?”

  “Mine, because I knew you wouldn’t.”

  “That’s because there is no cause to pull his clearance,” I argue, seriously pissed that Garrett did this.

  “There’s plenty of cause, and you know it. You think you’re protecting yourself from this FBI investigation by keeping him because it will make you look bad. I get it, but it’s the wrong call. In reality, you’re placing your job in peril.”

  “Since when do you give a damn about my job, Garrett?” Other than taking it from me, I don’t bother to point out.

  “I don’t care about yours, I care about mine. As much as I hate the idea, every poor decision you make reflects on me. So, I made the tough call and took care of his security clearance revocations before he takes us all down. I had personnel place him on leave of absence effective tomorrow for good measure.”

  “You do not get to make those decisions!”

  “As your deputy, you authorized me to handle personnel matters. This is me handling them,” the smug bastard replies. “The rest of it is up to you.”

  I’m furious, but as mad as I am at Garrett, I am angrier at myself. I should have known he’d pull something like this. Between mentioning Boston’s unsanctioned activities to the director and having side conversations with the FBI, he’s been setting me up to look incompetent. Suspending our best intelligence analyst is going to make me look bad in light of what is happening, but it’s not enough to get me removed from my position. No, he has something more planned, and I need to find out what before it’s too late and this is his chair.

  “And just what is that supposed to mean?” I ask him, making no effort to hide my anger.

  “Suspending Hollinger may not be enough. He’s up to something, and I don’t mean investigating a possible mole behind our backs. I think it’s something more nefarious, and it’s our responsibility to find out what.”

  I watch Garrett as he walks over to a wall adorned with various pictures and plaques earned through my decades of service. He studies the ones at eye level closely. Despite his rise through the ranks, his career is built on a foundation of politicking, not actual success.

  “What do you mean?” I ask him, using my voice to plead for a point to his comments.

  “I mean that I have reason to believe Hollinger is engaged in some behaviors that wouldn’t reflect well on either of us and that we need to keep a closer eye on him,” Garrett clarifies without looking back at me.

  “So what are you suggesting?”

  “I think we should place him under surveillance.”

  “Are you serious? That's way out of our area of responsibility and you know it. Spying on an American citizen, even one working for us, without cause and without a mandate is illegal and out of the question.”

  “Normally I would agree, but we’re not living in simple times. There’s a growing possibility that a mole in our ranks causing incredible damage in our efforts against the most dangerous terrorists the world has ever seen. Now those savages are about to execute two Americans who were ambushed and captured, presumably because of information passed to them by that mole. Do you really want to justify why you stood by and did nothing about it?”

  I’m guessing he already has him under some form of surveillance and has uncovered something. He’s not using Boston to embarrass me. He’s going to use him to destroy me. I have to be careful.

  “Boston is not the mole. You know it, and so do I. He was the one warning us about this from the beginning, remember?”

  “And you never asked yourself why he was conducting his own investigation? Maybe he was trying to figure out how close the feds were to catching him.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Look, I have no idea if Hollinger is a mole or not, but he’s going to come under a lot of scrutiny. The FBI is going to waste countless hours digging into his life, one way or another. We both know those resources are better utilized elsewhere. I want them focused on getting to the bottom of this. Are you sitting there and telling me you don’t?”

  I don’t believe for a second Garrett has an ounce of concern for FBI resources
. He’s all talk, but he’s good at it. This is the exact story he will tell anyone who questions him on it, and it’ll work. I have no good answer for his question that will play well. It’s time to let him think he’s won.

  “Set it up,” I tell him, eliciting a nod and a brisk exit from my office.

  .

  ~ chapter 19 ~

  eugene “BOSTON” hollinger

  You never realize how still a house is until you’re the only one in it. Ask anyone who has ever lived with someone, or even been single and owned a dog, and they will tell you. The absence of another person or pet when you are used to having one around is very unnerving … and very lonely.

  My house in Oxon Hill is a small one. The one-story ranch-style structure is about the size of a shoebox, but it was all I could afford coming out of the military. Real estate in the desirable sections of Washington is extremely pricey, and I wanted something reasonably close to work. When Gina moved in when she and I got engaged and, as is the situation when most couples begin living together, replaced most of my furniture and décor with her own. The things we sacrifice for love.

  I look at my watch for the hundredth time. In fact, the hands haven’t appeared to have moved since the last time I checked. If not for the second hand making its slow circular progression around the dial, I might have thought the battery on the timepiece had died.

  It’s already well after nine p.m. and Gina still isn’t here. I haven’t heard from her since she got the call from the senator summoning her back to work on Capitol Hill. I could look at it as a welcomed reprieve from the verbal abuse I’m going to get regarding Tara, but it’s nothing more than a stay of execution. I’d rather have her here to put me out of my misery.

  The annoying tone of the microwave shatters the thought as the frozen lasagna I slid into it seven minutes ago is now ready. I wasn’t going to risk the conventional oven method. I’m hungry and not at all confident enough in any of my dinner preparation skills outside of nuking something.