Free (Wrath-09)-Spiders From The Shadows (2013) by Chris Stewart Page B

identify who or what situation needed attention first, the PCASS had proven to be an extremely accurate, easy to administer, highly portable polygraph device. It was this simple: Pull the subject aside. Slip on the sensors. Give the subject instructions: Look at me. Answer all my questions. Is it raining right now? Do you have shoes on your feet? What color is my name tag? Look at your watch and tell me what time it is. OK. Good. Now, what is your name? Where do you live? Did you admire Osama bin Laden? Who are your friends? Are you associated with any militia? Do you support your government leaders? Do you have any weapons? Are you a member of the Taliban? Do you know how to work with explosives or any other dangerous material? Have you ever contemplated or plotted to harm Americans?
    It was like talking to a prophet. The controller of the PCASS could discover anything.
    Because the PCASS had proven extremely effective, over time its uses had been expanded into other areas of interrogation, most of which were legal, but some of which were not.
    * * * * * * *
    Even though deception measures had proven completely ineffective against the PCASS, the group had still ordered sodium pentothal to be administered to James to bring him completely under their control. The professional interrogators had argued against the drug, knowing it was unnecessary, but the group had a proven zealousness that amounted to overkill. It simply wasn’t in their nature to take chances, their operating philosophy falling more in line with “Why drop a single bomb when a dozen bombs will do?”
    James was propped up in a chair, the drugs flowing heavily through his veins, dilating his eyes and lowering his pulse and blood pressure until his head bobbed atop his neck as if suspended on a string. His eyes were unfocused, his lips pulled back in a grimace of a smile. The PCASS electrodes were slipped around his fingers and under his arm, and the questions began. They started out very simple, then became more probing, more dangerous, more telling and instructive as the interrogation wore on. Inside the functioning part of his mind, deep inside his ventromedial prefrontal cortex where his moral compass and ethical judgment resided, James struggled with all his might to keep from answering, but the mental resistance he tried to exercise never quite made it to the surface of his brain. As hard as he tried, the answers were impossible to avoid. He tried to lie. The interrogator caught him. James tried remaining silent. The sodium pentothal made him talk. And some of the questions didn’t need a truthful answer; knowing when he was lying was enough.
    “Is Brucius Marino alive now?”
    A long hesitation.. Which was fine with tw
    “Is Brucius Marino alive?”
    Finally a struggled answer. “I don’t know.”
    Red light. With one option eliminated from a yes-or-no question, they didn’t need to ask again.
    “Does Brucius Marino realize he’s next in line of succession to be the president of the United States?”
    A very long pause. A very pained face. Eyes rolling. Dry lips smacking.
    “Answer the question for us. Does Brucius Marino believe he has a claim upon the presidency of the United States?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Another red light. Another lie. Again, no reason to follow this line of questioning any further.
    “Is he planning at this time to make a claim upon the presidency?”
    Another long moment of hesitation. “No, I don’t think so.”
    A couple of seconds for the computer and monitors to evaluate, then another red light.
    Even as he answered their questions, stabs of fear cut through James’ mind. He knew what he was saying but he couldn’t stop himself. Deep in his brain, he focused his determination, willing himself to say the right thing, willing himself not to tell them everything, willing himself to shut his mouth and not say anything at all. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP, YOU FOOL!” he screamed from deep inside himself. But the heavy