F.I.A.T.

By Terry Sargent

Drugs remain the number one domestic concern in North America. Organized crime and city gangs have turned our streets into battlefields, littered with the dead bodies and dreams of our youths. Mothers and fathers nationwide demand that someone take drastic measures to bring this plague under control, before it's too late. In F.I.A.T., someone does.

Upon witnessing the cold-blooded shooting of a Nicole Chandler, an innocent young bystander, the President of the United States takes actions that will forever change the lives of certain people. First, he makes a desperate attempt to save Nicole’s life by directing surgeons to implant experimental electronic devices in her severed brain, allowing her to link telepathically with computers. His second action is to create FIAT, a covert team consisting of seven hand-picked, highly motivated specialists with personal vendettas to settle against pushers. Led by Commander Rafe Denner, U.S. Naval Intelligence, Retired, their mission is to conduct open warfare on pushers, using any methods necessary. Operating from an island base in the Gulf and armed with the latest weapons technology, FIAT conducts its own brand of deadly warfare against King Reynolds, head of a ruthless drug operation in Miami. In the process, they uncover a Russian submarine commander’s plot to ruin the U.S. economy. Blending passionate love, cold blooded revenge, the Drug War, and current events, FIAT is an engrossing tale of well timed action and political intrigue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terry Sargent
• Release date: Aug 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476314181

Terry Sargent

Not only a retired naval officer, Terry Sargent is an award-winning freelance writer of professional articles, newspaper writings, and works of fiction. He has written several pieces for North American conferences as well as international ones with his papers and practices in use world-wide. Available is his book regarding management behaviors entitled American Management Styles. His fiction works include short stories and, at present, two novels; Spellbound, A Mystical Mystery and F.I.A.T.

Book preview

Chapter 1

As Nicole Chandler approached the drug store, she immediately recognized the genre of the establishment and knew what to expect. It was one of those large franchised drugstores that sells everything from animal toys to zinc tablets, with the standard three people working the store; one at the cash register in the front of the store, the pharmacist in the rear in case anyone actually came in for medicine, and one person stocking shelves and straightening dog eared magazines.

The front register would have a monitor for the closed circuit television cameras placed strategically throughout the store. Nicole entered the store, confident that she would find relief for her headache and sticky discomfort on this sweltering day in Washington, D.C.

As she glided through the automatic doors she was immediately and painfully grabbed from behind by her long, dark brown hair. She felt a second sharp pain as something hard poked her in the small of the back.

Don't move or make a sound, Bitch!

Brutally, she was shoved forward and bent over the counter, her head forced down close to the register. Her purse was violently yanked from her shoulder, wrenching her arm in the process. Her brilliant mind was totally stunned, leaving her unable to cry out in fear or pain. With eyes closed, she felt her heart pounding and knees shaking, but she dared not move in protest.

The assailant dumped the contents of her purse on the counter, snatching at the wallet before it could tumble to the floor. He tore the money from her wallet, leaving the traveler's checks and the airplane ticket untouched. Nicole slowly opened her eyes, dared to crane her neck, and stared at her attacker. He was barely out of his teens if he was out of them at all. She could see the tension in his face, the anxiousness in his eyes. He held a small handgun in his right hand and was stuffing her money into his dirty blue jeans with his left.

Don't move Lady. I don't want any crap from you. Just money and speed, that's all I'm here for, so just be cool. He turned his head towards the back of the store, keeping the gun pointed at her, and shouted. Come on, man. Get the shit and let's blow.

This asshole is trying to be a hero, came the voice from the back. Sez' the cops are comin', and he locked up the good shit.

As if answering a queue the sound of approaching sirens cut off any further comments from the rear of the store. Nicole's assailant jumped over the counter to get a better view of the street, instantly realizing the truth in what the pharmacist claimed.

Instantly he whirled around, shouting, Okay, everybody up! Move to the back! Move! I ain't got all day. For the first time, Nicole became aware of two people lying on the floor near her. As they stood to do as ordered she caught a quick glimpse of her fellow captives. She could see that the one nearest her was a young boy, most likely working in the store for the summer, earning money for college. Beside him was a woman of about forty. Could that be his mother or possibly the wife of pharmacist she wondered briefly. Even in that brief glimpse she could see that they were both every bit as scared as she was. Together, they hurried to the back of the store as the intruder commanded.

As the older woman ran to the arms of the pharmacist, Nicole saw the second gunman. He was also young but appeared to be much more terrified. The wild look in his eyes showed the strain of the moment and a body hungry for drugs.

The first gunman ordered her and the boy against the back wall with the other two. The two gunmen then faced the four innocents menacingly, holding their guns high so the police outside would see that they were armed and holding hostages.

Nicole's disciplined mind fought to regain control of her senses. She became aware of the smell of urine and realized the young boy had lost control of himself. Her mind raced with hundreds of thoughts combined with wishes that she had foregone the Mensa Conference and stayed home. But it was too late to wish that now. It may be too late to wish for anything, she thought. I may die within moments.

Outside the store, the police began their rhetoric.

In the drugstore, this is Sergeant Ericson of the District Police. All doors and exits are covered. Throw out your weapons and come out with your hands on top of your heads.

What do we do, man? asked the second gunman, pleading with the first for an answer. His confusion and fright were painfully obvious to Nicole, and his lack of composure quickly took its toll on his partner.

Just shut up! Okay? Lem'me think without you comin' undone. Just be cool. He rushed towards the front of the store to get another look at the street. He spied three police cruisers in front of the store, each with rifles and handguns pointed his way. He bent down to get a view of the roof across the street, noting the marksmen waiting there. There was no doubt in his tortured mind that the back of the store was equally deadly. He felt sick to his stomach. They had hoped to walk in, grab some drugs and money, then split. Their .22 caliber pistols were meant to make the job easier by scaring the druggist into cooperating. A shootout wasn't in their plans and now they were no match for the high powered weapons of the police.

His nausea was replaced by the feeling of stomach muscles cramping, reminding him that he was overdue for a fix. Waving his pistol menacingly he shouted at the police. You cops just take it easy. We got people in here with guns pointed at their heads. Just back off and let us go or we'll kill'em!

We're not here to bargain, the officer responded. Let the hostages go peacefully and surrender.

The gunman ran back to the hostages. The coldness of the bullhorn voice had sent a shiver down his spine. He looked at the captives, then at his partner. In each person's eyes all he saw was terror, including the ones in the mirror on the sunglasses display.

_______________________________

The President's small motorcade was returning from nearby Andrews Air Force Base. His mind was heavy with the scenes he had witnessed during his California visit, particularly the tour of the drug rehabilitation center. The pleas from both the staff and the patients for more federal money were expected, but the intensity of the real life experience was something he had not been prepared for. Mental images of youths that lay wasting in beds with no hope of ever kicking their habit were fresh in his mind. The addicts were alive only because of life saving drugs that countered the killer drugs that they played with so recklessly. Addiction had become shockingly common as drugs became more powerful and plentiful via pushers who were all too ready to supply anyone able to pay the price, including teenagers and children. The latter two groups troubled the President most of all for personal reasons. His own grandson, barely fifteen, was the same age as many of those who lay unconscious in the wards. Even with all the medical and military power of the United States at his disposal, he still felt helpless. Helpless to provide protection against the pressures that could drive his grandson to a similar fate.

_______________________________

Let's use the hostages as a shield and grab a car and split, suggested the first gunman. The cops won't shoot with hostages around.

No, they'll just be a bunch of baggage to lug around. They'll slow us down. We've got to make a fast break, shoot it out if we have to.

Nicole listened as the two gunmen continued to argue about what they should do, gaining control of her own thoughts as they steadily lost theirs. Her high level of intelligence had finally dealt with her incapacitating sense of dread, enabling her to grasp the harsh reality of her situation. She quickly deduced that the arrival of the police would hasten the deterioration of sanity in her captors and that she was in more danger now then when she had first entered the store.

The argument came to an abrupt halt when the second gunman stepped stiffly towards the front of the store. His eyes were glazed and his body taunt. The first gunman called after him.

Where you going? Huh? Jack? Jack, you listening?

But Jack was lost in his own drug induced hysteria. Suddenly he bolted for the door, screaming at the top of his lungs and waving his discharging pistol before him. His first shot hit the glass display window beside the exit door. The second hit the glass door itself. As he burst outside and into the President's view, the third shot hit a police cruiser, shattering its blue lens.

Before he could fire a fourth time, ten sharpshooter's bullets tore through him, lifting him up and back. He never felt his lifeless body slam against the concrete.

_______________________________

As the motorcade turned the corner towards the drugstore, unaware of the danger ahead, the sound of gunshots made the President look up. The street ahead was barricaded. His police escort frantically tried to get the motorcade backed out, but were impeded by the President ordering his driver to stay. His blood chilled as he witnessed a young man being riddled with bullets on the streets of the Nation's capital. A feeling of nausea swept over him as he stared at the body that lay in a heap near the front of the drugstore, blood seeping from a number of holes.

_______________________________

Inside the drugstore, the boy fainted, the Pharmacist and his wife wept, and Nicole stared out the window in horror.

The first gunman yelled his dead friend's name, Jack! Jack!, nearly loud enough to raise the dead. Then all was silent again.

The would be thief stood in the aisle, quivering with rage. He could see the boots of his dead buddy, motionless except for the widening pool of blood. He could also see the police cars beyond. What he couldn't see was the folly of his own thoughts.

Nicole continued to stare at the body, wondering what would happen next. After what seemed an eternity the remaining assailant revealed his plan for escape.

Slowly he turned to face the hostages, looking at each of them carefully. Pointing his gun at Nicole, he barked, You! You're taking me outta' here.

Nicole's heart raced madly, and her mind ran wild with visions of her impending death. She opened her mouth to protest, to plead with him, but was cut short when he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her close to him, shouting, Get over here, damn it! She felt him place the pistol at the base of her skull as he swung her around to protect him from the front. Still holding her hair, he jerked her head back and whispered through clenched teeth to her, Okay lady, you're dead. Things were going all right until you came in. You brought the police, right? Right?

Nicole recognized immediately that the killing of his partner had pushed this drug addict over the edge also.

It's your fault they killed my brother! You brought them here! You brought them!

No! No! she argued. I didn't! I just came...

Shut up you lying bitch! he screamed as he jammed the pistol against her skull and pushed her forward. Now we're going out to see the cops. I've got something to show them before I die.

Nicole was pushed hurriedly toward the front door with her head pulled back against the gun barrel. As they neared the front doors her eyes fixed first on the bullet hole in the glass, then down to Jack's boots just outside the door.

Together, they burst onto the street and stopped near the body. The remaining gunman looked around slowly at the scene before him, from left to right, noting the various sizes and shapes of weapons pointed at him. As his gaze came around to his right he lowered his head to gaze upon his dead brother. What was left of his own mind remembered the games they used to play and the loyalty they shared. The neighborhood fights in which they had stuck up for each other, especially since he felt he had to look out for his little brother, protecting him from their father's beatings, even at the risk of being beaten himself. Now, when his little brother needed him more than ever, he had let him down.

He looked directly ahead at the authority figures huddled behind the cruiser. A tear ran down his cheek and his body began to shake as he tried to control his sobbing while his mind silently snapped. Jack didn't mean to break the window, Dad. We were only playing. With the pistol firmly against Nicole's skull and looking sightlessly through his tears, he coldly pulled the trigger.

His bullet riddled and blood splattered body fell alongside his brother's and Nicole's.

Chapter 2

The raw brutality of the punk's act had stunned the police for two or three seconds. When they recovered, each and every one of them vented their fury on Jack's brother with a barrage of lead.

_______________________________

The President couldn't find it within himself to turn away until, after mentally replaying the scene of a woman being murdered and then the murderer being riddled with bullets from all angles, he vomited.

The President's motorcade began to move on, clearing the way for the police and paramedics to work freely. The President slowly regained his comportment. Robotically, he opened the brief case beside him. In the lid was a mirror, and the face he saw in that mirror was that of a changed man. He reached for the folder that was lying on top of several papers in his brief case, the one that outlined his grandson's history of drug abuse; a history that was currently short but would only worsen if someone didn't do something soon. It was this report that had prompted the President to visit the rehabilitation clinic, and what he had witnessed there convinced him that he must act, and act swiftly before it was too late for his grandson and others like him.

During his return flight he had already promised himself he would do something about the growing drug problem in the States. He would implore Congress to provide more funds for police departments and for tougher laws against the offenders. But the drama that had just taken place before him signaled a drastic change in his plan of attack, one that moved away from imploring words to resounding actions. He looked in the mirror again and saw the face of a man determined to make a difference.

Speaking aloud, he swore a vow to that reflection, I will make the pushers bleed. As God is my witness, I will not stand by and let this happen. Not while I'm President I won't.

_______________________________

We've got a heartbeat, but it's irregular. Arrival time in two minutes. The paramedic had seen dozens of injuries, including shootings, in his short time on the job in the nation's murder capital, but none as senseless as this. He and the other members of the emergency crew had arrived with the first police cruisers and witnessed the whole episode. Working as a finely trained unit, they leapt into action as soon as Nicole's attacker hit the ground in a heap. Discovering that she was still alive, but fading rapidly, the moments thereafter were spent in frantic efforts to do whatever they could for the young woman laying face down in the street. The paramedics had done their best in front of the store and now, as they neared the hospital, they hoped their best was good enough.

The sirens wound down as the ambulance came to a halt and the trauma team bolted out of the cab, rushed to the back doors of the ambulance, and swung them open. As Nicole's body was pulled out by two paramedics, two nurses from the hospital's emergency room staff took over the monitoring of vital signs and reporting them to the attending physician who now directed their efforts.

The gurney slammed through the doors of the operating room where surgeons stood ready to further examine the patient. An X ray machine was wheeled into place, photos taken, and the film hurried away for development. Various sized needles were jabbed into her arms, all with medicine or blood intended to save her life a little longer.

Shortly, a nurse returned with the X rays. The three surgeons crowded around her as she hung them on the light board. As the surgeons reviewed the pictures each of them was astonished by what they saw.

The small caliber of the weapon had kept the woman's head from being splattered across the city block. The bullet had broken through at the base of the skull but lacked the mass and speed that would otherwise enable it to penetrate again on the far side. Instead, it had ricocheted within the skull, severing the two halves of the brain. The EEG confirmed this analysis with a pattern of highly irregular brainwave activity. Nicole's brilliant mind still functioned, but as two separate entities, each of which was lost without the other, both trapped inside the body of one incapacitated young woman.

The patient is prepped Doctor, came one report. Heartbeat slow but stable. Respirator supported breathing.

Dr. Steingart listened to the reports as he looked out over his mask at the EEG display. Astonishing, he whispered, half to himself and half to his two colleagues. Come with me, Gentlemen. Nurse, keep the patient ready.

Dr. Huan and Dr. Talbot followed him into the scrub room, exchanging glances as they entered.

Doctors, we have here an opportunity to put our research to practical use. Medical history can be made right here and now, and it's her only chance to live. I know it's expensive and that we need permission to try it, but time is critical to her. We don't have the time to find a next of kin for permission to use our experimental techniques, and we must act now if we are to save her. Do you agree that we should try?

Without question, was Dr. Huan's response.

But whom do we contact? answered Dr. Talbot. We can't decide this by ourselves. It's unethical.

As we heard on the radio, the President was at the scene of the shooting. You two see to the patient; I'll make a phone call to the President's Chief Medical Advisor.

_______________________________

Minutes later the President had received information from his medical advisor, Dr. Hall, that the woman he saw executed was still alive and that he was needed at the hospital. He ordered that his motorcade be rerouted to the hospital and directed that Dr. Hall was to receive police escort from his home.

The President and several of his secret service agents strode out of the elevator towards the operating room. They were met by the three surgeons and Dr. Hall, who had just arrived.

Get right to the point gentlemen. What can we do for her? he asked. And why have you specifically asked for my presence?

Dr. Hall responded. Dr. Steingart and his associates have been working on a radically new technique that combines protein electronic circuitry with brain matter. To date their work has had very impressive results in the lab. They feel that the only way to save the life of this lady is to use their new technique to rejoin the brain. Without this, her brain will not be able to withstand the trauma she has suffered and will die.

What are the chances of success?

Dr. Hall turned to Dr. Steingart for the answer.

"The critical determinant of success is the intelligence level of the subject. The lab animals with higher levels of intelligence lived longer after the operation than did the ones with less intelligence because they were better able to deal with the trauma they endured. Many humans have had their brains surgically severed as a means of controlling certain mental illnesses, and were able to survive because of the intelligence factor and the controlled environment in the operating room. This woman has not had the benefit of forewarning nor the benefits of a surgical operation. Her brain has been completely disrupted without preparation and cannot be expected to react in the same fashion.

However, the belongings of the patient were examined to determine her name and residence. In doing so we came across a Mensa membership card, which tells us that she is at least a genius of some degree. The strength and the pattern of her brainwaves confirm that she is not of ordinary intelligence, which is what gives us reason to believe that she may benefit from our new procedure.

The bottom line, Mr. President, is this, Dr. Hall interrupted. "What is being proposed is that the patient be taken as a ward of the Federal Government and that you, as Chief Executive, authorize this operation. It involves the implanting of very sophisticated and highly advanced protein based micro electronic devices in the brain. The use of protein instead of silicon gives us a much more powerful chip and is less apt to be rejected by the body. The result will be an extremely intelligent human, who should experience no loss of her present mental faculties, but instead will demonstrate new capabilities never before possible. It's Cybernetics, Sir. At its finest!

For example, Dr. Steingart continued, "the device will allow her to transmit her thought patterns to an external receiving device, such