Free Project StrikeForce by Kevin Lee Swaim

off,” Dr. Barnwell
said, “just enough for him to form new memories. He’s still in a highly
suggestive state. You need to get ready. The next memory will be the
interrogation room.”
    Eric quickly dressed in camos, his breeching tools
hanging from his chest harness, then checked the MP5 for ammo.
    “Remember the script,” Dr. Barnwell said. “They’re
placing him in the interrogation room now.”
    “Got it, Doc.”
    He glanced through the peephole to the
interrogation room and watched as several dark-skinned men bent Frist back,
placed a cloth over his face, and poured water over the cloth. Frist struggled
weakly, but the men did not relent.
    Eric felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to
find Deion watching the performance.
    “They sure make it look real,” Deion said with a
grin.
    Eric smiled. “Well look at you. I’d almost think
you were an Operator.”
    Deion grinned. “Look man, I attended jump school.
It’s standard training for a CIA NOC. I just never actually graduated.”
    “You lucky spook bastards with your cushy desk
jobs.”
    Deion laughed. “I don’t remember it being all that
cushy in Afghanistan.”
    “Well, you weren’t out in the field. You got to
kick it easy back in Kandahar.”
    Deion glanced again through the peephole. “How
much longer? They really look like they’re giving it to him.”
    “They are. I told them to act just like
insurgents. I even made them stop bathing a week ago. Here,” he said, handing
his MP5 to Deion. “Weapon check.”
    Deion popped the magazine and counted out the
blanks, refilled it, and checked the chamber. “Clear.” He handed his MP5 to
Eric who did the same.
    Another dozen men dressed as Rangers approached.
Eric nodded to them. “Ready?”
    “Yes sir,” the lead Ranger said. “On your mark.”
    “Ready. Mark!” He kicked the door open and they
entered the room as one, rushing through the fake warehouse. The first
pseudo-insurgent turned and Eric fired directly at him. A blood squib popped
and blood stained the man’s front and back. He fell to the ground, twitching,
then went still. Freeman did the same to the man waterboarding Frist.
    “Sergeant John Frist,” Eric shouted. “Are you
Sergeant John Frist?”
    Frist coughed, a wet racking sound. “I’m John
Frist,” he managed.
    Eric used his knife to slice through the rope
holding Frist’s hands to the chair. “We’re here to rescue you. Freeman, help
him up.”
    Deion grabbed Frist around the waist. “Can you walk?”
Deion asked.
    “Maybe,” Frist mumbled.
    “You’ll be fine,” Deion assured him.
    They put their arms around Frist’s waist and
dragged him to the door.
    As they approached, Eric signaled to Barnwell, who
activated the Implant. Frist went limp. The Rangers lifted him, carried him
through the door, and dumped him on a gurney.
    Barnwell patted Eric on the back. “Very good. Go
get changed. Sergeant Moswell will help you with hair and makeup.”
    The ‘dead’ insurgents stood and exited. Other men
filled the room and tore the walls out. Eric and Deion went through to the
dressing room where Sergeant Moswell handed them their dress uniforms and
quickly trimmed their hair. They shrugged off their camos and slid on their
dress uniforms.
    Deion glanced at Eric. “Hah. Makeup.”
    Eric grinned. “I’ve done a lot of things since I
joined the Army. I’ve gone to strange and foreign destinations, met lots of
interesting people. Killed some of them. But I’ve never fired blanks and wore
makeup.”
    When they were done, they entered another room,
this one dressed like a green army tent. They took seats at the folding table
and waited. Fifteen minutes later, the Rangers brought Frist to the room and
sat him at the table.
    Frist stared, drooling, eyes glassy. Eric watched
as Frist’s head lolled right to left, his eyes slowly focusing on his
surroundings.
    “What? Where am I?” he asked.                          
    “Still having