and bared his teeth.
“Ortoo must have been the dominant troop leader prior to his capture.” Jones continued the lesson. “He never went submissive. In the end I think that’s what cost him. Bastian was never able to make Ortoo grovel.”
“Bastian has a gorilla?” The Fixer asked. “Does he conduct research at a zoo?”
A soft sigh came through the speakers. “No one knows how Bastian got him. He kept him in a secret facility. The few assistants who held Bastian in god-like esteem were the only ones who knew Ortoo existed.”
“How did you get this tape?”
“I can’t answer that, Ms Carr. Please allow me one last story. Like I said, Bastian was incensed by the gorilla’s insistence on dominance. He could get near Ortoo only when the animal was fully sedated. He implanted electrodes but all he got from Ortoo was rage. No fear. No submission. Ortoo never gave him the subtle emotional distinctions Bastian was looking for in his research. I even think Bastian began to fear him. At least that’s my hope.”
The Fixer wasn’t watching the clock any more.
“After nearly a year Bastian realized Ortoo was a liability. He was of no research benefit. Bastian couldn’t give him to a zoo. He’d have to explain how he came into possession of a Silverback. He couldn’t return him to the wild. It must have been difficult enough to smuggle Ortoo in. He couldn’t risk detection by returning him to the jungle.” A resigned breath came across the speakers. “One night a casual conversation gave Bastian his out. And his revenge.”
“What happened?”
“Bastian was holding court with his inner circle of research assistants. Wine and cheese while Bastian pontificated and soaked up the unquestioning worship he demanded of his graduate students.” The speakers shifted to a woman’s tender voice. “One particular night the topic centered on proving that a severed head could, indeed, continue to function once it was separated from its body. Neuroscientists are often intrigued by ghoulish topics. Bastian suggested an experiment.”
“Ortoo?” The Fixer whispered her question.
“I imagine some of the lab assistants were emboldened by the wine. Maybe others were terrified of Bastian’s power to ruin a career with one phone call.” The woman’s voice turned sad. “For whatever reason the entire meeting headed out to Ortoo’s hidden prison.”
The overhead television came back on. The Fixer saw again the spartan room. She heard various voices, male and female, chattering behind whoever carried the video camera. She watched Ortoo pacing his cage. Saw him look up when the research entourage approached the mighty behemoth. Ortoo shifted into a violent rage several seconds later and The Fixer assumed Bastian had entered the room.
“He recorded this? Why?”
“Ego, Ms Carr. Bastian believed every move he made was of profound importance. He was convinced future generations of scientists would benefit from his archiving every step of his work. No matter how mundane or cruel.”
The Fixer watched a dart fly into the raging beast’s chest and tried hard to swallow the bile rising in the back of her throat. Less than a minute later Ortoo was slumped in his cell, his breathing rapid and shallow. The screen went black for a second, then resumed to show Ortoo chained spread-eagle in his cage. Wires had been connected to the dozens of permanently implanted electrodes in his giant skull. Lingering effects of the tranquilizing agent were evident as Ortoo struggled to lift his head off his gargantuan chest.
No people were seen, but the television speaker blared the audio of a scolding man.
“Damn it, give me the blasted tool.” Bastian’s angry face came into view. The camera captured him as he approached Ortoo’s cell and opened the door. The gorilla tried to react to his captor but a roll of his titanic head and a small grimace was all he could muster.
Bastian looked off to the right before turning back to the camera with a nod. “One fifteen a.m. Subject is approached.” He toggled the switch on a long-bladed reciprocating saw and entered the cell. Stepping past the chains that held Ortoo, Bastian circled behind the once-proud Alpha and climbed onto a stool. He grabbed a handful of the gorilla’s hair and jerked back, exposing the mighty primate’s thick throat. The throbbing veins in his own telegraphed Bastian’s rage.
“One sixteen a.m.” Bastian called out to the camera. “Subject is sacrificed.”
Bastian placed the blade against Ortoo’s windpipe and sawed. A geyser of red erupted. The Fixer added her own gasp to those heard on the television. Bastian maintained his vice-grip on Ortoo’s hair as he manipulated the whirring saw through muscle and bone. Ten long seconds passed as the scientist struggled to free Ortoo’s massive head without disturbing any electrode lead.
Bastian was covered in blood, muscle bits, and bone fragments as he cut through the last slippery sinew connecting Ortoo’s head to his body. He threw the saw to the concrete floor.
He yelled to no one in particular. “Are we recording?”
Bastian scurried around Ortoo’s body, still suspended in chains. The camera captured him taking two quick steps outside the cell before he turned the bloody head toward the carcass in the cage.
“How’s that, you bastard ape?” He screamed as he held the severed head high in two hands. “You see that? You know who I am now, monkey?”
The gruesome image on the screen disappeared. The Fixer didn’t move.
“Bastian got what he was looking for.” The speaker this time was a female child. “The EEG signals proved beyond any doubt that Ortoo’s brain was registering the sight of his own headless body. For the first time Bastian got an emotion other than rage from Ortoo.” The child’s voice caught. “The readings on the EEG were identical to human terror.”
The Fixer stood silent. Her body weary from the weight of the depravity she’d just witnessed.
“I’m going to need that tape,” she said.
A few seconds later a CD case was tossed from the darkness above. The Fixer walked a step, bent over, and retrieved it.
“Five hundred thousand dollars goes to PETA before I fix this.” She tucked the CD into a jacket pocket.
“That’s a lot of money, Ms Carr.” The Boston-accented man again.
“And I’ll need to see you. Now.” The Fixer stood in the center of the spotlight and waited.
“I’m here, Ms Carr.”
The Fixer whirled around. No electronic emission. No distortion. A male voice from behind her. She squinted into the dark and shifted her feet into a combat stance. “Step closer, Jones.”
A tall thin man stepped into the circle of light. The Fixer estimated his age somewhere south of thirty. Sandy hair. Jeans. Radiohead t-shirt. Indistinguishable from the thousands of grad students who filled the U-district coffee shops. He shrugged skinny shoulders and put out a pale arm. “Do we shake on this, or what?” His real voice was a nasal whistle.
“Give me your driver’s license.” The Fixer held out her hand.
“What? No. I mean, you can’t know…”
“I can’t know who you are, Mr. Jones?” she interrupted. “Give it to me or I walk.”
The lean young man hesitated before he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Struggling with shaking hands, he managed to pull out his license and hand it to the terrifying Goth.
“Are you going to turn me in?” he asked. “Oh, God. Please tell me you’re not a cop.”
“Mr. Jones.” She scanned the license. “I should say Mr. Buchner.” She looked at the license again before tucking it into her jacket pocket. “Your name is Walter? Wally, it is my purest intention that we never see each other again. This license puts me next to you if you break any of our rules. Am I clear?”
His jaw quivered as he nodded his head.
“I’m leaving now, Walter.” The Fixer glanced up to the rafters. “I imagine you have some cleaning up to do.”
Chapter Eleven
“Why am I getting these numbers now, Carl?” Meredith Thornton threw the data printout onto her desk. She
