And the bad timing award goes to…
“Oh, I see you had some friends join you, mister.” What the hell, I may as well order a drink.
“I’ll have a glass of Johnny Walker on the rocks.”
Agent Munroe shakes her head. “Just water for me, thanks.”
The sister shakes her head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
David gestures to his glass. “Jim Beam.” The waitress writes down our orders and leaves.
“Continue, David.”
“Right. As I was about to say, the program I was part of was called Red Rain. It’s a program where they take devoted soldiers like myself and train us to be assassins. The only difference there is what they called Combat Reeducation.”
“Fancy word for brainwashing?”
“Yes. The instructors trained us to be serial killers. Only the most devoted get through the program.”
“How does that work?” Munroe asks.
“They would expose us to clips of terrorists stoning women to death in the street, and terrorists gunning down and beheading non-Muslims. They also showed us images of Muslim terrorists killing puppies. Lashing women for learning to read, burning homosexuals alive. Then we would study the different methods of well-known Serial killers such as Jack the Ripper, Zodiac Killer, and Richard Ramirez the Nightstalker.
“So, there was no programming to kill kids?” I ask.
“We had to be different than your average agents. We had to show the terrorist we are willing to stoop to their level to win the war. However, children are supposed to be off-limits.” He glances out the window, trying to hide the tears. “That is what they told us anyway. What they drilled into our heads.”
I sip my drink and lean back in the booth. “So you would adopt methods of serial killers to take out your assigned targets? How would they pull that off?”
“First of all, they gave me mind-altering drugs, and they got me dependent on them without them. I got really sick. Second, they would call us up and speak a sequence of words to trigger the indoctrination. However, like I said, I never got the order to kill children. When you’re on these drugs, they tell you to kill someone in whatever manner they wished.”
“So, if someone were to call you and speak a set of words to you and gave you an order, you would carry out to the letter?”
“Yes.”
“So why haven’t they called you and gave you a sequence of words to kill me and turn yourself into them? Furthermore, do you have any hard evidence I can give to the DA to corroborate this?”
“Because I smashed my phone and got a burner. And before I killed Conroy, I got him to tell me everything.” He slides his phone across the table to me. “I recorded everything he said. Keep the phone. I don’t want to see another phone again. Detective, you should know the information on that tape is a death warrant. Watch yourself.”
I slip the phone in my coat pocket. “Won’t be the first time I signed my death warrant.”
“So what kind of drugs were these mind-altering drugs?” Agent Munroe asks.
He turns to her. “Conroy told me the drug is called Scopolamine, also known as burundanga. It derives from nightshade plants that grow wild in Colombia. You can control a subject up to 24 hours or more. Criminals in Latin America have used it to get people to give up their money. It’s also used as a date rape drug, but in my case, it’s used to get people to kill sadistically in the name of the war on terrorism.”
“How’d they get you to take this drug?”
“They told me it was a combat drug that would enhance my performance.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I took one before every assignment they sent me on.”
I would hear rumors from time to time that soldiers were dosing on combat drugs back in Iraq, but there was never proof. Just idle stories.
I take a sip of my drink. “How do I know this, not another one of your cons to throw us off again?”
“Heh. I guess I deserved that one. Look, listen to the recording if you think I am coning you again.”
“Did you really have to kill Agent Conroy? He could’ve helped us out with this case.”
He turns to Munroe and smirks. “Yeah, sorry I got a bit riled up. Two years of being a slave and seeing those little girls’ dead will do it to you.”
I light up a smoke. “Do you remember even killing the victims? Scopolamine tends to leave the victim with no memory.” He lowers his head wincing. “I get fragments, flashes of a hand pulling a trigger or a knife carving up someone’s throat or the sounds of someone choking to death as I wrap the wire around them. I felt warm blood spray over my face as the woman tried to scream through my hand. I wanted to stop, but it was like someone else was at the bloody wheel. I was a prisoner in my own body.” Anger boils in my gut as I try to resist the urge to shoot him.
I push my tongue against the inside of my cheek. “As much as I hate to admit it, you and the kids were the only victims here.”
His sister’s eyes widen, and she hugs him. “Shit! They really fucked you up. But it’s going to be okay, bruv. We’re gonna sort this shit out.”
He lifts his head from his sister’s shoulder. “Detective, I’m not expecting forgiveness for what I’ve done. I just want to help you stop the bastards who stole my fucking life, hijacked my mind. Stop them from doing it to some other poor sod.”
It dawns on me that he’s close to detoxing by the sweat forming on his forehead. “Drake, how long has it been since they dosed you?”
“Forty-eight
