Free Project Northwoods by Jonathan Charles Bruce Page B

government our research and inventions for whatever purposes it desires.”
    Arthur rolled his eyes impatiently. This wasn’t new information, but that wasn’t going to stop the old codger from talking. “Fine. But the military could totally…”
    “Let me ask you something…” Cleese interrupted. “Is there a… self-destruct mechanism?”
    Arthur scoffed. Who’d be so stupid? “No.” The word came out flatly.
    “A remote control? Perhaps one with a big red ‘STOP’ on it?”
    Arthur crossed his arms. What is he getting at? “No.”
    “Is there a hard-wired glitch in the countdown, giving a dashing hero the extra moments he needs to stop the death ray?” Jack took this moment to look Arthur in the eyes. There was no real effect other than making Arthur more aware that Mr. Cleese was toying with him.
    “No.”
    “But I am safe in assuming,” he turned away dramatically, continuing to gesture with the cigar, “that there are numerous safeguards and redundant systems which would stymie your nemesis should an attempt to stop the device be made.” It wasn’t a question this time.
    Arthur smiled. “Yes, sir. It’s been rigged so that every attempt to tamper with it makes it harder for even me to stop. A hero touches this baby,” he gestured to the device sitting innocently on the table, “and he might as well level a city himself. And the final design triangulates targeting data from third party satellites as well as utilizing a ‘death sentence trigger’.” He motioned to himself with his thumbs. “I tell the machine to go, and it doesn’t stop just because I’m getting a cup of coffee.” He looked into Cleese’s eyes, a desperate smile on his face. “Tell me the idea of having a hard-wired target doesn’t make you think of the good ol’ days.”
    “Yes, indeed,” Jack muttered with a verbal roll of the eyes. “Simply put, Mr. Lovelass, you are an anachronism.” He turned and approached Arthur, who appeared to not comprehend the word. “A throwback, the derelict soul of a Golden Age villain stuck in your Bronze Age frame.” He motioned with his cigar hand at Arthur, close enough that the stream of smoke made the younger man’s eyes water.
    “I don’t understand.”
    Mr. Cleese stared at him as though he were an exceptionally stupid puppy. “If we were to institute you as a villain, you would be too good.” He gestured at the prototype without looking. “This death ray of yours could not be stopped.”
    Arthur looked at him. “That’s the point.”
    “You’ll never understand.” He brushed past Arthur. “From your Impenetrable Fortress of Darkness, which was actually impenetrable, to the artificial intelligence that was dangerously adept at learning, your designs are too good.” Mr. Cleese sighed audibly, the sound of which made Arthur turn around. “Remember what we had to do to your A.I.?”
    Arthur nodded. “You had to destroy it. As well as my working notes. And my computer.”
    “And do you remember why?” There was a pause as thick as the haze of smoke. “Well?”
    “You felt that something like that would be a threat to national security if it had been allowed to exist.”
    “Precisely, Mr. Lovelass.” Cleese turned and winked at Arthur. The villain strode past him, clamping his hand on the younger man’s shoulder as he did.
    The blow jostled Arthur and seemed to push down his mood even further. It was here, the final slap back to reality. He buoyed himself up momentarily to give a snide, “Well, maybe someday I’ll be appreciated,” before the doldrums in his gut pulled him back down. He couldn’t believe it. Rejected again? Another six months to even make another attempt? “I worked so hard for this…” he muttered as he moved toward his things. “I cannot believe this…”
    The mumbling about lunch resumed. The interlude of convincing Arthur of his inferiority had apparently held back a tidal wave of hunger. Above the others, Mr. Cleese’s voice