“An epileptic seizure?” the general asked.
Salsbury said, “No.”
At 2:59, the left-hand screen began a new line print from the top of the tube:
TEST NORMAL FOR THIS SUBJECT VALUE
TEMPERATURE 98.6 98.8
RESPIRATION 18 PER MIN 48 PER MIN
PULSE 70 PER MIN 190 PER MIN
BLOOD PRESSURE
SYSTOLIC CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL
CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL
On the black-and-white screen, Kingman convulsed and was almost perfectly still. His feet twitched, and his right hand opened and closed, opened and closed; but otherwise he was motionless. Even his eyes had stopped rolling; they were squeezed tightly shut.
The read-out screen went blank, then an instant later flashed an emergency message.
0200 59 12
MASSIVE MYOCARDIAL INFARCTION
MASSIVE MYOCARDIAL INFARCTION
“Heart attack,” Salsbury said.
Kingman’s left arm was bent in a V across his chest and seemed to be paralyzed. His left hand was fisted and unmoving against his neck.
0300 00 00
PULSE IRREGULAR
RESPIRATION IRREGULAR
Kingman’s eyes were open now. He was staring at the ceiling.
“He’s screaming again,” Klinger said.
“Trying to scream,” Salsbury said. “I doubt if he could manage more than a croak in his present state.”
0300 01 00
PULSE ERRATIC
RESPIRATION ERRATIC
EEC WAVES DETERIORATING TO DELTA
Kingman’s feet stopped kicking. His right hand stopped opening and closing. He stopped trying to scream.
“It’s over,” Salsbury said. Simultaneously, the two screens went blank. Brian Kingman had died again.
“But what killed him?” Dawson’s handsome face was the Color of dusting powder. “The drug?”
“Not the drug,” Salsbury said. “Fear.”
Klinger returned to the autopsy table to have a look at the body. “Fear. I thought that’s what you were going to say.”
“Sudden, powerful fear can kill,” Salsbury said. “And in this case, that’s where all the evidence points. Of course, I’ll do a thorough autopsy. But I don’t believe I’ll find any physiological cause for the heart attack.”
Squeezing Saisbury’s shoulder, Dawson said, “Do you mean Brian realized, in his sleep, that we were on the verge of taking control of him? And that he was so terrified of being controlled that the thought killed him?”
“Something like that.”
“Then even if the drug works-the subliminals don’t.”
“Oh, they’ll work,” Salsbury said. “I’ve just got to refine the program.”
“Refine?”
“I’ll put it in lay terms as best I can. You see, to implant the key-lock subliminals, I’ve got to-to bore a hole through the id and the ego. Apparently, the first program was too crude. It didn’t just bore a hole. It shattered the id and ego altogether, or very nearly did. I’ve got to be more subtle the next time, preface the commands with some careful persuasion.” He pushed a wheeled instrument cart to the side of the autopsy table.
Not wholly satisfied with Salsbury’s explanation, Dawson said, “But what if you don’t refine it quite enough? ‘What if the next test subject dies? It’s conceivable that one member of my personal staff might walk off his job, vanish without a trace. But two? Or three? Impossible!”
Salsbury opened a drawer in the cart. He took out a thick white linen towel and spread it across the top of the cart. “We won’t use anyone from your staff for the second test.”
“Where else are we going to get a test subject?”
Salsbury took surgical instruments, one at a time, from the drawer and lined them up on the linen. “I think the time has come to put together that corporation in Liechtenstein. Hire three mercenaries, give them sets of forged papers, and bring them here from Europe under their new names.”
“To this house?” Dawson asked.
“That’s right. We won’t need the walled estate in Germany or France for some time yet. ‘We’ll give the drug to all three of them the first day they’re here. The second day, I’ll start the new key-lock program with one of them. If it works with him, if it doesn’t kill him, then I’ll use it on the other two. Eventually, we’ll be running the field test in this country. ‘When the time comes for that, we’ll be happy to have two or three well-trained, submissive men so close at hand.”