In a hidden room under a large office building that had escaped the attacks.
“What’s wrong with Rick?” a woman angrily demanded of a trembling doctor.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out right now,” the doctor said against the backdrop of humming and beeping medical equipment. The room they were in had been set up as an emergency treatment and operating room, and the doctor himself was one that normally used it for treating high-class criminals. “Every time we come up with a possible diagnosis, he exhibits a new symptom that rules it out.”
“What exactly was he doing when he lost consciousness?” the doctor added. Perhaps he just needed to attack the problem from a different angle. Obviously, relying on Rick’s symptoms to diagnose his illness wasn’t working, so the doctor would consider environmental factors next.
The woman, Rick’s assistant, paused to gather her thoughts as she recalled the moments leading up to the cult leader’s collapse.
……
Ten people were seated around a conference table in an office building. Rick Ashley was at the head of the table with his assistant seated to his left. The other eight people were seated across from each other along the long side of the table.
On the wall opposite Rick’s seat was a digital whiteboard with a countdown timer displayed on it. It read fifteen minutes and, as Rick watched, it continued ticking down. 14:59... 14:58... 14:57....
They were already past the point of no return. Due to the need to avoid all forms of digital communication, there was no time to contact any of the soon-to-be martyrs. The arrow wasn’t even on the string anymore, but had been released and was headed toward its inevitable destination.
Everyone in the room was silently staring at the countdown timer as if their lives depended on it. The same tense, nervous expression was on all of their faces, save for Rick and his assistant, who were calm.
“Don’t worry, everyone. The plan is sound, and even though it was conceived in a hurry, the arrangements are solid. We had cutouts at every step, so there’s no risk of discovery for us,” Rick said in an even tone of voice. He’d had an entire month to work out the kinks in his plan and was positive that it hadn’t been discovered. Everyone was just feeling last-minute jitters. It was completely understandable, so what he needed to do now was reassure everyone in the room.
“You’re right,” the man seated to Rick’s immediate right sighed. “I personally assigned the suicide squad to handle the cutouts and they all reported that their tasks were successful.” He was the one in the advisory council that was responsible for implanting post-hypnotic suggestions into people and turning them into puppets. Although it would only last a short time, he could easily turn a normal person into a cold-blooded, emotionless killer that would self-destruct after their task was completed.
(Ed note: I saw a documentary about this some fifteen or sixteen years ago, but I couldn’t find it again. Instead, I found a more recent example by Derren Brown, a British hypnotist, who hypnotized a normal person into “assassinating” Stephen Fry from about six years ago. Here’s the YouTube link for that one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owootTAuxic )
He was also Rick’s second in command of the entire cult, a testament to both the importance of his work and his ability. Without him, the cult wouldn’t have grown nearly as fast as it had, as he was the one that was mostly responsible for the task of turning reasonably well-adjusted, normal people into fanatical followers of Rick’s professed beliefs. That was a much easier task than convincing someone to become a killer, after all, so the cult could be indoctrinated en masse simply by having them listen to some music in the background while waiting for Rick to show up for meetings.
The plan Rick had come up with was also reasonably airtight. Taking advantage of the organizational style of a terrorist network, where each “cell” would be responsible for its own attacks, and adding in some seasoning in the form of Cold War-era spycraft, all the erstwhile cult leader had to do was come up with a target list and distribute it to his followers.
Many of those that had joined the cult were former, or even current members of the intelligence community, and three of them—the former heads of the CIA, MSS, and MI6—were seated at the table watching the time tick down with Rick and the others. When Rick had brought his plan to them and explained it, they had even greatly contributed by coming up with targets that he would never have thought of himself. The Svalbard Global Seed Vault, for example, and UNESCO World Heritage sites. Those were entirely too small and nowhere near flashy enough for the flamboyant cult leader to have considered on his own, but they would have an impact on people that was wildly beyond the actual damage they dealt.
Thus, the smaller attacks had been incorporated into his plan, making it even more perfect.
“The material was surprisingly easy to move,” an old Russian arms dealer seated to the left of Rick’s assistant scoffed. “It’s almost like the empire didn’t even care about such ‘weak’ weapons and explosives. I guess when you have a laser gun, a slingshot doesn’t seem all that dangerous anymore. But what they failed to think of is that even a slingshot can put an eye out.”
The people at the table idly chatted back and forth as the timer continued its inexorable march to the end, and before anyone realized, it had run completely out and ticked over to 00:00.
An outside observer could be forgiven for thinking that the atmosphere in the room would change once the timer ticked down, but the only thing that happened was that the conversation died out as the ten people seated at the conference table turned their attention to the digital whiteboard, which was now showing a 24-hour news channel broadcast.
However, what nobody else in the room noticed was that Rick’s expression was growing worse. He looked as if he was suffering great pain, like he was passing a sudden kidney stone or something.
The look of pain on his face grew more and more noticeable and he couldn’t hold back a grunt of agony. His assistant, seated next to him, tore her attention away from the news report, which was showing a replay of the Burj Khalifa’s fall, and looked at her boss. She saw sweat beading up on his forehead and dripping down his face, which was frozen in a rictus of pain, and she became the second person in the room to have an unsmiling expression on her face as she grew more and more worried about Rick.
As the seconds passed, the pain Rick was feeling increased exponentially until it finally reached an unbearable level. He screamed in agony and fell from his chair, then convulsed on the floor and screamed himself hoarse from the unbearable torment.
“Rick!”
“Boss!”
“Shepherd!”
Everyone in the room heard the screams and looked at the cult leader, who was laying on the floor in what looked like the throes of an epileptic fit. They all leapt to their feet and rushed over to his side to see what the hell was going on.
“Call the doctor, now!” the assistant shouted, pointing at the second in command. She thought Rick was having an epileptic fit, so, having received her first aid certification and recalling what to do in case someone suddenly had a seizure, she reached into her purse and pulled out the only thing she had that she thought would help in this situation: a wrapped tampon.
She shoved it between his teeth so he wouldn’t bite his tongue off and put her jacket and purse beneath his head so he didn’t break his skull by beating it against the hard floor. All she could do after that was wait for the fit to pass... or so she thought.
……
“And that’s where you came in,” she said. “Everything after that is exactly as you’ve seen.”
“Do you think it might be his conscience acting up? After all, he’s directly responsible for the deaths of millions, so it’s distinctly possible that his symptoms are psychosomatic,” the doctor asked. That was the only thing he could think of that could explain what was happening to Rick.
“Impossible!” the secretary sneered without hesitation. “He would never let the deaths of devil worshippers affect—”
She was interrupted by the sharp cracking sound of Rick’s bones beginning to break themselves and the hoarse, muffled screams coming from the unconscious man’s mouth.
