Blindspot Read online

  BLINDSPOT

  A Novella

  Michael McBride

  Blindspot copyright © 2012 by Michael McBride

  First print edition copyright © 2011 by Michael McBride, from Dark Regions Press

  Cover image “Confined” copyright © 2011 by Brian J. Abela

  Excerpt from Vector Borne copyright © 2011 by Michael McBride

  Excerpt from Bloodletting copyright © 2010 by Michael McBride

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Michael McBride.

  For more information about the author, please visit his website: www.michaelmcbride.net

  Also by Michael McBride

  NOVELS

  Bloodletting

  Burial Ground

  Innocents Lost

  Predatory Instinct

  Vector Borne

  NOVELLAS

  Blindspot

  Brood XIX

  Remains (from The Mad & the Macabre, with Jeff Strand)

  The Calm Before the Swarm

  Xibalba

  ZERØ

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  BLINDSPOT

  Bonus Material

  Excerpt from VECTOR BORNE

  Excerpt from BLOODLETTING

  For Trenton, who marches to his own beat

  Special Thanks to Joe and Chris Morey, Gene O’Neill, Gord Rollo, Jeff Strand, my amazing family, and all of my loyal readers, without whom none of this would be possible.

  BLINDSPOT

  The Blind Spot Test

  A blind spot, or scotoma, is an obscuration of the visual field. The blind spot in the human eye, known in medical literature as the physiological blindspot or punctum caecum, is the small circular area in the retina where the optic nerve enters the eye. This optic disc is devoid of rods and cones and is insensitive to light. The lack of photoreceptor cells forces the brain to reconcile this gap in visual perception by essentially “making up” what the eye should be seeing based on information gathered from the other eye. Thus, we are entirely unaware of the presence of the blindspot…as long as visual stimulation is seamless.

  X O

  Above, you’ll notice a large X on the left and an O on the right. Cover your left eye and focus on the X using your right eye. With your left eye closed, slowly move closer to your screen. At a certain point, the O on the right will disappear. That’s your blindspot. (Try the same thing with your right eye closed while focusing on the O.)

  Why does it vanish?

  Because as far as your brain is concerned, if your eye can’t see it, then it doesn’t exist.

  Prologue

  On September 10th, 1996, the United Nations General Assembly adopted the Comprehensive Nuclear Test-Ban Treaty, which expressly prohibits all nuclear detonations in all environments, whether for military or civilian research purposes. While more than eighty countries—including five of the eight superpowers with nuclear capabilities—signed the treaty, the number that actually ratified it fell short of the minimum required for it to enter into force. However, the treaty did pave the way for the creation of the International Monitoring System, a worldwide network of 337 observation stations designed to detect nuclear detonations, under the oversight of the International Data Centre in Vienna, Austria. These stations are equipped to record and interpret sound waves traveling through the ground, the seas, and the sky, while simultaneously sampling the air for trace amounts of radioactive gasses and particles. Analysis of the seismic data allows for the rapid triangulation of the location of the detonation, as well as for the determination of its depth and magnitude.

  Three days ago, on May 8th, seismic monitoring stations at Mudanjiang in northeast China and Teajon in the Republic of Korea—South Korea—detected a magnitude-4 event at precisely 2:31 a.m. Korea Standard Time (KST). Within minutes, the IDC triangulated the location of the detonation to a point in the southeastern corner of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea—North Korea—within the Korean Demilitarized Zone, which forms a buffer along the border between the two nations. The event occurred far from the known launch sites in Musudan-ri and Tongchang-dong and the uranium enrichment facility in Yongbyon, corroborating the U.N. Security Council’s fears that Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un had indeed commissioned the construction of a series of secret nuclear manufacturing and testing sites, despite vehement protestations from North Korean officials, who insisted they produced only low-yield uranium for peaceful purposes. Satellite surveillance confirmed the appearance of what was described as a “golden flash” at that precise location and sporadic eyewitness accounts detailed a diffuse yellow-orange glow against the horizon, leading to speculation that after three unsuccessful attempts, the Taepodong-2 long-range missile was not only viable, but had been modified to deliver a nuclear payload.

  At 8:00 a.m. KST, Kim Jong-un, dressed in full military uniform and in his capacity as Supreme Commander of the Korean People’s Army, held a televised press conference during which he denied any foreknowledge of or responsibility for the detonation and shifted the blame onto his nemesis, Lee Myung-bak, President of the Republic of Korea, whom he accused of launching a strike against his country in delayed retaliation for the sinking of the South Korean warship Cheonan and the bombardment of Yeonpyeong Island. Lee Myung-bak’s only public response was a highly visible scrambling of troops—which included the dispatch of a dozen Pohang- and Donghae-class naval vessels and a submarine flotilla into the Yellow Sea to the east and the Sea of Japan to the west—and a call for support from the United Nations, whose foreign emissaries were already in the process of evacuating embassies throughout Pyongyang. With tensions flaring, North Korean refugees flooded the borders and erected impromptu camps along both the southern border, where they sought asylum within the Republic, and the Chinese border to the north, where a nervous Hu Jintao, whose country would be potentially decimated by the nuclear fallout should outright war erupt, stood prepared to launch a preemptive offensive that pundits believed could signal the beginning of a global offensive by one of the most powerful empires in the history of mankind.

  On May 9th, in a last minute attempt to avert catastrophe, the U.N. Security Council dispatched an elite unit of peacekeepers into the Taebaek Mountains from Kansong, ROK, under a cloak of secrecy. Its mission was to cross the border, penetrate the shroud of dust that prevented satellite visualization of the detonation site, and determine exactly what happened before the first shots heralding the commencement of World War III were fired.

  Thirty-six hours later, Security Council President Anders Odegaard of Norway fielded a call on a secure satellite uplink. He, in turn, placed a call to a man at the Pentagon, who assured him that the U.S. Department of Defense would make all of the necessary arrangements.

  Within two hours, a biomedical engineer from the United States Army Medical Research and Materiel Command, USAMRMC, boarded a fully fueled transport carrier at Ft. Detrick in Maryland.

  The man’s name is Dr. Parker Ramsey.

  This is his story.

  I

  United States Army Bioengineering Research & Development Laboratory

  Ft. Detrick, Maryland

  May 11

  2:03 a.m. EST

  (3:03 p.m. KST)

  Dr. Parker Ramsey walked down the dark hallway toward his lab, careful not to slosh the scalding coffee from his mug onto the back of his hand. Light crept across the tiles from the cracks beneath the doors of a fe
w scattered offices. Otherwise, the building was deserted. The place wouldn’t come to life for nearly another five hours, but he’d been too excited to sleep. Rather than flop restlessly in his bed waiting for the first hint of the rising sun to slip through the blinds, he’d given up the battle and headed into his office to make sure that absolutely everything was in place and ready to go for the hundredth time. He’d been waiting for this day for so long that he should have known he didn’t have a prayer of sleeping. His whole career—his entire life, for that matter—had been building up to this one day. All of those years in school, all of the hours spent in his tiny lab, and all of the sacrifices he had made in his personal life were finally about to pay off. Assuming everything functioned like it was supposed to, of course. But there was no cause for uncertainty. His research and preparations were meticulous. There was no doubt in his mind…

  This was going to work.

  He flicked on the light in his office, rounded his gray utilitarian desk, and set down his mug beside the keyboard. The pink copy of the bill of lading was taped to the computer monitor, just as he had expected. The delivery had been received less than thirty minutes ago. He smiled at the itemized list and imagined the expressions on the faces of some poor staff sergeant and his men as they toted a dozen coolers containing the heads of freshly butchered sheep into the refrigeration unit and unloaded them into the waiting specimen cases. The thought made him chuckle out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” a voice asked from the doorway.

  Ramsey blushed and glanced up to see the very same staff sergeant—SSgt. Andrew Corvo—who was the source of his amusement. Judging by the expression on Corvo’s face, he didn’t find the situation nearly as comical. He held his rubber-gloved hands up and away from his body like a surgeon. They were positively dripping with blood. Ramsey tried not to stare at the vile crimson smudge on the man’s cheek.

  “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

  “Your decapitated heads are all in the fridge. I should probably thank you for helping me start my day in such a wonderful fashion, but I suppose it would be unfair to complain to you. At least the MG hasn’t been sitting in his office for the last fifteen minutes waiting for me to drag my weary ass in here.”

  Ramsey felt the blood drain from his head. The room tilted on an invisible fulcrum.

  Corvo smirked and disappeared back into the corridor.

  For the first time, Ramsey noticed the flashing red message light on his phone, which rang as he was staring at it. He physically couldn’t force himself to raise his arm to answer it. He just needed a moment to compose himself. What the hell was the major general doing here at all, let alone at two in the morning? As Commander of the United States Army Medical Research and Materiel Command, Major General Thomas Aldridge, MD’s role was largely administrative rather than supervisory. He rarely spent more than a few days a month at Ft. Detrick, and they were all given plenty of time to prepare themselves for his arrival. Ramsey couldn’t think of a single instance when the MG had shown up unannounced, and he’d certainly never seen him in his office this early. Christ, Ramsey didn’t even think the MG knew who he was.

  The phone stopped ringing as the call was forwarded to his voicemail.

  This was bad. This was very bad. He could only think of two reasons why Aldridge would want to talk to him on this of all days. Either the MG intended to make his presence felt at the formal testing of Ramsey’s project to justify the enormous expenditure or he was here to terminate the project on the eve of Ramsey’s greatest triumph. What if the testing didn’t go as planned? What if he never had the opportunity to try? What then?

  Ramsey’s stomach turned sour.

  The phone started to ring again. By now Aldridge undoubtedly knew he was here.

  He swallowed hard and attempted to steady his voice when he answered.

  “Dr. Parker Ramsey.” His heart trilled like a hummingbird’s. “Yes, sir. I’ll be right up.”

  He hung up the phone and rose on unsteady legs. The walls seemed to close in upon him as he headed down the hallway toward the elevator and his date with destiny.

  * * *

  Ramsey scrutinized his warped reflection in the stainless steel elevator doors. His chestnut hair was still damp from the shower and his blue eyes were rimmed with red. He buttoned his crisp white lab coat to hide his wrinkled button-down, adjusted his tie, and smoothed the uneven creases in his slacks. Not how he would have chosen to meet with the major general by any stretch of the imagination, but what were the chances that his ultimate fate would be determined by his appearance this early in the morning anyway?

  The bell signaling his arrival on the top floor chimed.

  Ramsey drew a deep breath and stared between the opening doors into the deserted corridor. Through sheer force of will, he exited the elevator and headed directly for the Commander’s Office, from which an industrial-white fluorescent glow emanated.

  His heart rate accelerated with every step. There were snakes squirming in his guts and he only prayed his nerves wouldn’t betray him. The last thing he wanted was to absolve himself of his breakfast in front of Aldridge.

  The reception area was vacant, the desk unattended, the flags, paintings and photographs, and unit and command insignia on the walls shadowed. The plush chairs were so immaculate that it didn’t look as though anyone had ever sat in them. He heard hushed voices from behind the partially closed door at the rear of the room, through which the sole light beckoned.

  Ramsey cleared his throat and the door swung open. He immediately recognized Colonel David Cobb, Commander of the subordinate Materiel Management subunit, his more-or-less direct supervisor. Dave nodded a formal greeting, stepped to the side to allow him to enter, and then slipped out of the office. Ramsey caught a glimpse of the nervous expression on Dave’s face through the gap in the closing door. When he turned again to face the room, Aldridge was staring holes through him from where he sat behind his antique desk. The computer monitor and keyboard had been shoved aside, along with the framed photographs of the MG shaking hands with two generations of presidents, to clear space for a stack of folders stamped with the words “Classified: Eyes Only” in red letters.

  Aldridge followed Ramsey’s gaze to the folders and gestured for him to sit in the chair opposite him with a sweep of his hand.

  Ramsey eased into the seat and raised his eyes to meet the MG’s. Aldridge was in his mid-sixties, but still looked like the man about whom stories of bare-knuckled fights in the back alleys of Saigon circulated. Maybe his face betrayed his age, and his hair was lighter and thinner than in the pictures before him, but he still struck a formidable presence. Add to that the fact that he was a brilliant surgeon who had pioneered the use of a sterile granulated composite initially manufactured from purified pork skins and sodium chloride to stop arterial bleeding in the field, and he was just about the most intimidating man that Ramsey had ever met.

  Aldridge steepled his fingers under his chin and rocked slowly back and forth in his black leather chair, marring the seemingly interminable silence with a metronomic creak…creak…creak.

  “I understand you served a tour of duty in Afghanistan, Dr. Ramsey,” he finally said.

  Ramsey could see the mechanisms grinding behind the MG’s eyes. He was building up to something big, but he needed to satisfy whatever doubts plagued him first.

  “249th Engineer Battalion, sir. Infrastructure. That was nearly a decade ago. Before I pursued my doctorate.”

  “In bioengineering. Stanford, correct? Not a cheap school, is it? God save the G.I. Bill. But you’re no longer active duty, correct?”

  “Civilian service, sir.”

  “Bigger check, same benefits. Smart man.”

  “Sir, that’s not necessarily why I—”

  “You’re still in good shape. Excellent. And no medical conditions you’ve been keeping from us?”

  “Sir?”

  “Can you still handle a firearm?”

  The quest
ion caught Ramsey off-guard. He opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out where this conversation was headed, but judging by the intensity of Aldridge’s stare, the answer to the question was of the utmost importance.

  “It’s been years since I was last on a firing range.”

  “We aren’t debating quantum theory here, Dr. Ramsey. Either you can or you can’t.”

  Ramsey tried to read Aldridge’s intent in his expression, but the man’s face remained studiously neutral.

  “Yes, sir. I believe I can still handle a firearm.”

  Aldridge plowed ahead as if he hadn’t heard. To what end, however, Ramsey didn’t have the slightest clue.

  “Your project—Code Name Hindsight—is fully functional, is it not?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  “According to Colonel Cobb, Project Hindsight is complete and ready for field testing.”

  “We still have a ways to go. We’re only now initiating the second phase of testing—”

  “Does the goddamn thing work or not, Dr. Ramsey?” Aldridge shouted, slamming his open palm onto the desk.

  Ramsey flinched and sank as far as he could into the chair to create distance between them. Aldridge’s dramatic change in demeanor had come out of nowhere. His face was hot and red, his eyes as cold and blue as ice. His nostrils flared and his shoulders heaved. It appeared as though whatever semblance of control he maintained over the situation was tenuous at best.