A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!
"Sure, is it something we can talk about on the phone?"
"No, I need to see you in person. When can you come?"
"Do I need to come today?" Ben had asked.
"Not really. In fact, why don't you come on Friday. We're holding the National Security Seminar this week and I've got someone I want you to talk to."
Ben groaned inwardly. Not another misguided friend trying to fix him up with a hairy-faced woman. Why is it that friends seem to have no conception of the kind of person you'd like to meet? And I'm not ready to meet anyone! Ben thought to himself. It's too damn soon after the divorce. He remembered, almost without thinking of it, that it had been two years now since Angela had left.
"I hope it's not some eligible woman," Ben thought he might as well be blunt with Frank. "'Cause I've met about all the so-called eligible women you can shake a stick at--and believe me, most of them would certainly make a stick shake all right."
Frank chuckled. "I won't tell you now. Just wait until you get here. She's someone you've already met. I don't think you'll be disappointed. But I must share this information with you. And we need to discuss it. That's the important thing."
"I'll drive up Friday morning, get to the War College about noon. Is that okay?"
"Fine. See you Friday Ben."
*****
Ben decided to get an early start Friday morning so he could take a quick tour around the Gettysburg memorial enroute. He woke about 5 AM, showered, threw everything into a garment bag and a small case, and started up highway 270. At Frederick, Maryland, he switched to highway 15 and arrived in Gettysburg around 7 AM. There was almost no one at the memorial park. Well, that was why he'd come so early, before the tourists made it impossible to be alone with the hills and trees and stones.
He always enjoyed reviewing the three-day battle. He started at the Chambersburg Pike, imagining Buford's cavalry regiments holding off the confederate forces for part of the first day. As he gazed up at Cemetery Hill then down the railroad cut, he wondered to himself why people felt it necessary to kill each other. Ben followed the course of the Gettysburg battle, as the confederates failed to take advantage of the retreating union forces to gain the high ground, Cemetery Ridge and Little and Big Round-Top.
He drove around the back of Big Round-Top and up to Little Round-Top. He gazed down at Devil's Den, thinking of the sharp-shooters who had been able to target the enemy at three hundred yards.
Suddenly a bullet grazed the base of the statue next to where he was standing, the sound of a rifle echoing in the valley below. By instinct, Ben dove behind the statue just as another bullet hit within a foot of him.
My god, someone's shooting at me! Son of a bitch!
Ben quickly slipped down the rear of Little Big-Top and to his car. He raced out of Gettysburg by a back road. He decided he'd go to Carlisle by route 34. Maybe they wouldn't follow him.
He composed himself as he drove. He'd been so intent on escape that he hardly realized how frightened he was. Damn! Someone was actually shooting at me. It was like I was re-living the Gettysburg battle all over again.
He decided not to report the rifle shots. What could the local Gettysburg police do, anyway? And who could he suggest it might have been. Oh, yes, officer, I think it might be an agent of the sinister Dr. Gorgon . . ."
He arrived at Carlisle by 10 AM and had breakfast at Little John's Cafe on York Road. He reflected on what had happened. That son of a bitch is trying to scare me off. He knows I'm investigating him, from what I said at the debate.
After filling his car with gas at the Hess station on highway 11, Ben arrived at the Army War College about 11:15 AM. It was a dark, overcast day. He handed his driver's license to the guard captain serving at the entrance to the War College. He drove past the Military History Institute, past Root Hall, and parked in front of Collins Hall where Frank's office was located. Frank was a part of the adversary leadership information system division within the Center for Strategic Leadership.
He waited in the foyer of Collins Hall as the security guard called Frank. Within a few minutes, Frank appeared and greeted him warmly.
"How was the trip?" he asked.
"I'll tell you in a moment," Ben said.
Frank suggested they take a walk outside so they could get some fresh air. They walked in the park between Collins Hall and Root Hall. As they were walking, Frank stopped . Ben explained what had occurred at Gettysburg, omitting no detail.
"I'm dumbfounded," Frank said, "but it fits the pattern I'm beginning to piece together. Wait till I tell you what happened this morning." Frank looked around the park to see if anyone was nearby. The park was empty except for them.
"I told you on the phone that I'd come up with some new information about Gorgon, right?"
Ben nodded his head.
"Well, this morning I got a call from the State Department. Some under-secretary goes straight to it. Says the Secretary has heard that I'm doing an investigation on Lyman Gorgon. So this little bureaucrat says would I kindly, to make the Secretary happy, not go ahead with my investigation because Dr. Gorgon is above reproach and it doesn't look good for anyone in the military to be poking around in his goddamned business. And oh yes, if I don't stop this chicken-shit inquisition the Secretary will be pleased to see me royally tossed out on my ass, stripped of all former service comps, and basically turned into a non-person."
"Shit!," Ben exclaimed. "Heavy artillery. The State Department. Do you suppose the Secretary of State is a sharp-shooter?" They laughed.
They began to walk slowly again along the Letort Spring Run, a small creek meandering through the War College grounds.
"Ben, I told you about Gorgon being part of the Phoenix Program in Vietnam. He plays hardball. What I discovered this week is that he's doing atrocious mind-control experiments through his corporate research lab at the Parallax Corporation. Some top secret research on how to control the behavior of military personnel in the Indian Army, including how to make them impervious to battlefield danger."
"Along with Gorgon's basic mind-control techniques, they used some of your research on boot camp training, added a dash of Pavlov, and they've come up with a completely robotized fighting machine. It's way beyond what they were dong with Tim Keller. To test the mind programming they put selected members of the Indian Army into a real combat scenario at a top secret site outside Lahore. To make sure all the conditioning works, they're willing to use up some real Indian soldiers. And Gorgon's mind-control system works to perfection. The soldiers march to their death without one piece of their mind-programming failing." Frank looked at Ben and exhaled through his mouth. It was clear that Frank was still shaken by the information.
"The only reason I got hold of this, I just happened to be talking to an ex-buddy of mine at Fort Bragg this week. He said he'd heard about Gorgon's Indian experiments through a PsyOps friend. It's all very hush hush, and he made me promise, on my life, not to tell anyone. But the secret is evidently out."
"Lethal mind-control experiments on human subjects!" Ben exclaimed.
"It breaks about a hundred international laws and military codes. And now the Secretary wants me to back off from looking into kindly Dr. Gorgon's harmless research activities it seems." He glanced at Ben.
"There's not much I can do here at the War College, now that I've essentially been ordered by the Secretary to desist. But you might be able to pursue it further." Frank looked seriously at Ben and shook his head. "This is way beyond anything I expected. Gorgon evidently has connections all the way up to the State Department and into foreign governments." He stopped. "Have you seen this morning's papers?"
"No. I just ruminated about Little Big-Top over my coffee."
"Gorgon's been appointed the election campaign manager for Senator Craig Binkley, the top Republican contender for the presidential nomination."
"Holy shit!" Ben exclaimed. "The beginning of their coup d'etat!"
*****
Frank had arranged for Ben to stay at the Knight's Inn on the north edge of Carlisle. Frank had said he wanted Ben to have dinner with him and his wife--and a special mystery guest. Frank had sponsored this guest during the Army War College National Security Seminar, an occasion when well-known civilians are invited to Carlisle Barracks to learn more about the Army.
Ben had told Frank that he might drive back late afternoon, so he could sleep in his own bed. He joked that he didn't like this part of the country where people shot at him. But Frank had insisted that he stay for dinner and talk to this special person.
Damn, Ben thought, as he drove out of the War College and north on highway 11. How many times do I have to sit through a dinner making polite conversation with someone whose idea of small talk is boring you to death with details of their latest illness or their mother's early childhood in rural Kentucky? Real sparkling conversationalists. And usually about as charming and sexy as an armless manikin in a department store warehouse.
He checked into his room at Knight's Inn and took a short nap before dinner. He fell asleep thinking about Gorgon's inhuman experiments on live soldiers.
****
Frank had told Ben to meet them at Rillo's Cafe at 7 PM.
That will probably be the high spot of the evening, eating at Rillo's. Frank knows it's one of my all-time favorites, Ben thought as he drove to the restaurant. I guess for a dinner at Rillo's I can put up with about anyone.
He arrived a few minutes early and waited in his car. He saw Frank and Louise and their guest pull up and park at the other end of the lot. They didn't see him. He watched as they got out and went into the cafe. Yes, it was a woman. And, contrary to past experience, she wasn't bad looking. In fact, she's quite a knockout, Ben thought. Then he recognized her; it was Joan Kendall.
Oh great, the talk show hostess who'll want to rake me over the coals for my great public humiliation.
As they exchanged greetings in the foyer of Rillo's, Ben noticed that Joan Kendall shook his hand with surprising affability.
After they'd been seated Joan said to Ben, "I want to apologize for my behavior after the debate. I made Frank promise not to tell you I was going to be here. I was afraid you wouldn't show up."
"Well, there's not much you can do for a man who's just made an ass of himself on national television. I didn't blame you for turning tail."
"I should have said something." She looked at Frank. "I didn't realize till recently what a depraved fiend Gorgon really is. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Okay?"
"Sure," Ben said.
The waitress brought the bottle of Fetzer Chardonnay and they raised their glasses for a toast. "Here's to old friends," Ben said cheerily, tapping his glass against the others'.
The waitress brought their Italian wedding soup and garlic bread and the four of them pitched in.
Joan sensed Ben's air of reserve. Frank and Phyllis had told her about Ben's unfortunate divorce. They were eager to see him back in the swim of things.
"Two weeks ago," Joan continued, "I witnessed Gorgon in action again. And this time his tactics really backfired. I'm a member of President Randolph's Re-election Strategy Council. Gorgon was a candidate for the President's re-election campaign manager post. He was supposed to talk to us about his campaigning capabilities. But he put on a performance that turned everybody--especially the President--against him. Somehow he managed to scare Neil Obermann, the President's chief of staff, into thinking that there was something dangerous in an envelope Gorgon was handing the President."
Ben stopped her. "Wait. Gorgon is handing the President an envelope and Obermann thinks there's something threatening in the envelope?"
"Yes. So Obermann frantically tries to grab the envelope from Gorgon, but Gorgon trips him. Then there are Secret Service guys and gals coming out of the woodwork. It was a fiasco. But fortunately, the President now wouldn't touch Gorgon with a ten foot pole."
"That's why I wanted you to hear this," Frank said to Ben. "Interesting, huh?"
"Very."
Joan continued. "And after that performance I realized that I had really put you into grave danger, debating a killer like that."
They laughed at Joan's choice of words. But it did seem apt.
"We've told Joan about Angela," Louise said.
"I'm really concerned for Angela's well-being," Joan said.
"So are we," Ben replied. He hoped Frank and Louise hadn't mentioned anything to Joan about his mother or the American Geopolitical Council.
As they left Rillo's, Ben and Frank stayed behind to talk alone while the two ladies ambled to the car.
"Thanks for the dinner, Frank. And thanks for including Joan. Perhaps she'll turn out to be an ally."
"Yes, she could be a big help. With her television and political connections."
"I've been thinking about what happened today at Gettysburg, what you told me about Gorgon's human guinea pigs. I'm going to pursue this for all it's worth, Frank." He looked at him. "You understand why. But you'd better stop your involvement in this, hadn't you?"
"Ben, I'm not giving up on this either. It's too damn important. I think this is the biggest war I could possibly fight, and I'm trained as a soldier. Even though I've been told officially to back off investigating Gorgon, I'll continue on the sly. I won't try to contact you through regular channels for a while. But I want you to know I'm definitely going to continue my search--only now under very deep cover. If I find out anything you'll hear about it immediately. And I want you to keep me informed about your investigation. We'll bring this bastard down!"
"How can I get in touch with you? It's certainly bad juju to call you at your office," Ben said.
"Here's the number of my private Internet line at home. We'll use this PGP encryption code." Frank gave Ben the code an a small slip of paper.
"Okay. But don't get yourself into trouble. I appreciate all you've done. I really do."
They shook hands and Ben said goodbye to Joan. It turned out that she was staying at the Knight's Inn as well.
Ben thought about it on the way back to the motel, maybe he'd knock on her room door. No, she didn't seem even the least bit interested in me personally. And I'll be damned if I knock myself out for any woman ever again.
From its perch at 37th and O streets, the Gothic spires of Georgetown University's Healy Building dominated the Georgetown area. Ben mused for a moment as he passed the bronze statue of the Catholic bishop seated in statuesque perpetuity in front of the Healy building. As he walked on to Copley Hall, where Gorgon's lecture was to be, he mused. Religions have always been experts in behavior control. Governments too. Frank had told him about this lecture by Gorgon and Ben thought he might watch the fiend in action--from a distance.
Gorgon has taken behavioral control to new depths. Mind control techniques can be deadly in the wrong hands. But nobody in the government or the military seems to be aware. What's it going to take to wake them up? Look how long it took me to realize what a monster he is.
Over the last several days, Ben and Frank and Keller had found a good deal of information about Gorgon's corporation, but not much on Gorgon's current private life. Gorgon's private files seemed to have been completely expunged. Ben held a top secret security clearance, giving him access to highly classified material.
But there seemed to be no Lyman Gorgon as far as Ben's usual sources were concerned.
It had been a week since he'd spoken to Frank. Tonight, Ben had decided he'd observe Gorgon on his own turf.
Outside Copley Hall, Ben read a large glass-enclosed poster:
|
I am Controlling Your Mind!Lecture on the Control of Human Behaviorby Dr. Lyman S. Gorgon Adjunct Professor of Copley Hall, 8 PM
|
Ben entered an auditorium that was already nearly packed. The boisterous audience seemed keyed up. Precisely at 8 PM, a short, rotund man stepped out on the aisle just below the dais. He cleared his throat and began to speak with a weak, high-pitched voice that carried only to the second row of the vast auditorium. People began shushing each other. They strained to hear what this strange man was saying.
As soon as the audience was somewhat quiet, Gorgon stepped quickly from the back to the front the stage. "I use him--", he pointed to the small man now leaving the room, "to produce quiet in an auditorium such as this. In other words, behavior control." Dr. Gorgon's shock of salt-and-pepper hair glinted under the spotlight. His dark sports coat and blue turtle-necked sweater gave off no reflection, so that for a moment he almost looked like a floating head. Ben noticed that Gorgon had shaved off his goatee.
He waved his hand and the lights in the auditorium dimmed. On the huge screen center stage the Wicked Witch of the East from The Wizard of Oz zoomed across the screen on her broomstick. In a freeze frame, the audience viewed a close up of the malicious, hideous face.
"I want to introduce a special friend of mine," Gorgon said.
The audience snickered. A few catcalls were heard.
"Oh, I'm sorry. That's not my friend. Here she is."
The witch dissolved and the screen displayed the image of a trim, graceful figure in blue jeans and a purple blouse shopping for vegetables.
Wolf whistles shrilled throughout the auditorium.
My god, it's Angela! Ben realized.
Gorgon continued, "My friend is a very attractive woman--especially to me." He blew a kiss to a woman in the front row of the balcony who was immediately spotlighted as she stood up. Yes, it was Angela. The audience applauded.
Dr. Gorgon continued, "But your appreciation of her attractiveness has been enhanced by your first having seen the repulsive Witch of the East. It's human nature to appreciate something when you've first seen its opposite."
All lights in the auditorium were extinguished. On the huge overhead screen was displayed the face of Big Brother from the film, 1984.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to use a specific phrase at various times throughout my presentation this evening. The phrase is actually the title for this evening's performance, uh, presentation." He laughed as though correcting himself.
"I am now controlling you." He spoke the words harshly, challenging his audience.
The auditorium lights were extinguished again. Across the screen flitted silent video pictures of men and women who had been secretly interviewed and videotaped as they had entered the auditorium that evening. The screen then went dark and a spotlight outlined a stocky, professional-looking man standing on the stage. He held a small envelope in one hand and sheltered his thick spectacles from the glare with his other hand.
"Mr. Watkins," Gorgon's voice boomed through the small wireless microphone penned to his lapel. "Did I give you the paper inside the envelope in your hand precisely two months ago?"
The man nodded. "Yes sir."
"Are you, Mr. Watkins, of the accountancy firm of Watkins and Prufrock? And do you attest that the paper in the envelope has been seen by no one else since that time."
Mr. Watkins cleared his throat. "Yes, that is correct."
"Mr Watkins, would you be so kind as to place the paper inside the envelope on top of the overhead projector in front of you."
Mr. Watkins tore open the envelope, took out the sheet of paper, smoothed it out, and put it on top of the projector.
"Thank you Mr. Watkins, that concludes your services for the evening."
Now the screen lit up again, with a replay of the audience pre-show interviews, this time with sound.
"He's not controlling me. No one can!" A young student waved his finger at the video camera and laughed.
A girl with unkempt hair and huge earrings appeared on the screen. "I don't know from one moment to the next what I'm going to do. How could anyone control me?" She smiled nervously and moved away.
"Humans have free will." A stern-faced older man was speaking into the camera. "No one but God can control our behavior."
More silent footage of interviews appeared on screen. Then darkness. Another screen suddenly appeared to the left of the original large screen. On it was immediately shown the contents of the paper Mr. Watkins had placed on the overhead projector:
|
I, Dr. Lyman S. Gorgon, predict that these will be some of the reactions to my lecture concept: "No one can control me." "I don't control myself, so how could anyone else?" "Only God can control humans with free will." |
As the audience suddenly realized that Gorgon had precisely predicted the specific behavior of the audience, they erupted into ear-splitting cheering and applause and the lights went up to reveal Dr. Gorgon standing center stage.
"My friends, please, no more." Dr. Gorgon called for quiet. "Let me assure you that what you have just witnessed is mere child's play. But it is in line with what I am presenting this evening. I am controlling your minds, even as we speak, so it is natural that I can predict what you will do. But let me hasten to add, everyone who speaks to you controls your mind and your behavior, whether you know it or not. What I have done, as you will see this evening, is merely to take that fact--the fact of the perpetual influence humans have over each other--and develop it into a science. Instead of unstructured, unknown influence and control of human behavior we have," he continued with emphasis, "the science of controlling human behavior."
The auditorium suddenly darkened and on the first big screen could be seen the image of a hypnotist and the voiceover of a woman recorded immediately before the lecture, "What's he going to do, hypnotize me? That's the only way he could control anyone."
Again the lights went up. Dr. Gorgon spoke from the center of the stage. "No, madam, I have no interest in hypnosis. It is a mere toy, a pseudo-science at best. There are still no solid principles having to do with Mesmerism or hypnotism. Some people like to poke fun at me and say that my middle name is Svengali." Dr. Gorgon smiled. His voice took on an edge, "Absolutely not true!" He cleared his throat. "I have nothing to do with hypnosis. I have nothing to do with drugs, either. You can control a few hysterical, abnormal people with hypnosis, and you can certainly produce specific states with drugs--mostly s-l-e-e-p."
As Gorgon intoned "sleeeeep," the auditorium darkened. A carnival flashed on the screen. A carousel in the background revolved to tinny music. A sleazy barker was pitching the carnival crowd to come see a hypnosis act. The vulgar hypnotist waved his hands before a beautiful, entranced woman's staring eyes. The camera cut to a high-rise apartment, where rich, bored musicians smoked dope and snorted cocaine. Now scenes from the 1931 movie, Svengali, appeared. John Barrymore, as Svengali, hypnotizing Trilby, a beautiful young woman, turning her from a hungry artist's model into a renowned opera diva.
"None of that!." Dr. Gorgon almost shouted over the speakers. "The science of personality control has nothing in common with such quackery."
An amplified quacking noise dinned from the speakers, and the image of an imprinting experiment, with a duckling following a moving wooden decoy around in circles appeared on the screen. The audience burst into laughter.
"Now for my next demonstration of the evening." he smiled, moving to the front edge of the stage. "I need two volunteers." People all over the auditorium raised their hands.
"All right," Gorgon said, summoning a female student in the front row and a young man in the back center. "You two please come up on stage." He moved to the lectern and picked up a small wooden box.
As the gal came on stage, he took her by the hand and led her to the right side of the stage. He then motioned for the young man to stand on the opposite side of the stage.
"What is your name, sir," Gorgon asked.
"Ted."
"And your name?"
"Phyllis."
"Okay, Ted and Phyllis, you are going to participate in a little experiment."
He removed a pistol from the box and proffered it to the young woman. She hesitated, then finally took the gun reluctantly, handling it as though it were a distasteful object.
"I assure you," Dr. Gorgon said, "it is not loaded; it is just a stage pistol used in experiments of this kind. Perfectly harmless. This is just a little skit we're going to put on. I've done this experiment dozens of times in my psychology laboratory. There's nothing to it. You have Dr. Lyman Gorgon's word for it."
Gorgon moved quickly to the back center of the stage as the auditorium darkened and a single spotlight focused on him. "Now, Phyllis," he said--a second spotlight suddenly shone on the young woman with the gun--"I want you to aim the unloaded stage pistol at our friend Ted and pull the trigger." A third spotlight now focused on Ted standing stage left.
The young woman looked quizzically at Dr. Gorgon. Visibly shaken, she asked him, "I'm supposed to aim at him and pull the trigger?" Her voice quivered.
"Yes!" Gorgon said harshly, "aim the pistol at Ted and pull the trigger. Now!"
The audience looked at Phyllis who was trembling noticeably. She slowly raised the pistol and aimed it across the room at the young man.
Again Gorgon's voice boomed out, "Now! Ready, aim, fire!"
An ear shattering explosion and a scream of pain rang out over the auditorium speakers. Ted clutched his chest and cried out in pain. The audience could see a large bloodstain spread across his white shirt. Ted fell to the floor of the stage. The spotlights on Ted and Phyllis suddenly disappeared. Only Gorgon was visible in his spotlight.
"Oh my God!" he cried out. The spotlight disappeared, leaving the stage in darkness.
The audience remained silent for a second, then shouts began to erupt. "What the hell's going on?" "I"m gettin' outa here!"
Suddenly the booming voice of Dr. Gorgon transfixed the audience. "Do not be alarmed!" The lights came up on stage, where only Gorgon was to be seen. Ted and Phyllis had vanished.
"What you have just witnessed, is called Captainitis, the inability of ordinary people to act contrary to an authority's commands. Phyllis was not part of our little charade." The young woman suddenly appeared at the back of the stage, clearly calmed but still somewhat shaken by the entire experience. There was muted applause.
"Phyllis, like most people, did what an authority told her to do. You remember that I explained to her that I was a doctor, an experimenter who had extensive experience. I assured her that nothing could go wrong. Then, as an authority figure, I ordered her to fire the pistol at Ted. She did as she was told--as many people would have done. And the result is the unfortunate demise of our friend Ted."
Ted now walked forward from the back of the stage, shook hands with Phyllis, and joined his upraised hands as the audience warmly applauded their performance.
Again the voice of Dr. Gorgon boomed through the auditorium speakers. "Ted, as you now understand, was my accomplice. His skills include falling down without breaking any bones, and creating special effects like gun-shot wounds on white shirts."
Ted and Phyllis now waved to the audience and left at the rear of the stage.
The audience burst into waves of applause.
The auditorium blackened and only the screen on the stage was visible. On it was a scene in slow motion from the movie, Die Hard II.
"Those of you who saw the movie, Die Hard II,"
Gorgon's voice boomed over the speakers, "remember this scene where a jet plane is about to crash into a runway because the pilot mistakenly thinks his plane is flying higher than it actually is.
Several year ago a major airline company had flight crews go through simulations of flights under conditions of harsh weather and poor visibility. The captains of those crews were unknown accomplices in an experiment.
The pilots deliberately took the simulated planes into such crashes as you are witnessing on the screen at this moment. What did the crews do, when their simulated plane was about to crash? Only seventy-five percent of the training crews raised any question about the captains' behavior or tried to stop them from what would have been fatal courses of action. The other twenty-five percent merely acquiesced in their captains' lethal behavior! One out of four people would have let themselves be killed rather than protest against an authority!"
Gorgon stopped speaking and the sound of the movie scene increased in volume as the plane dove toward the airfield in slow motion.
Suddenly the auditorium was quiet. Dr. Gorgon continued. "This phenomenon is called "captainitis", because people in all areas of life allow themselves to be led by captains, presidents, chairmen, group leaders of all kinds, to unpleasant, destructive, or deadly circumstances--without challenging that kind of insane leadership!"
On the screen the scene continued, this time in full motion. The plane plummeted, its engines screaming. It crashed on the runway, bursting into flames amidst a terrible roar. The explosion echoed throughout the auditorium.
The audience applauded once again, as Dr. Gorgon bowed.
"And now, to complete my presentation this evening, I hope you will indulge me in an impulse, a spur-of-the-moment, completely spontaneous and unrehearsed demonstration. I've been informed by my associates that there is an expert on mind control in the audience tonight. He is here to spy on me. However, I know this man's mind so well that I can predict precisely what he will do when he has been identified as being a spy in the audience."
Gorgon moved over to the lectern and turned it around so the audience could see that a computer was stored inside a compartment in the back. He typed a short message on the computer, then said to the audience, "The expert I'm speaking of is Dr. Benjamin Emerson. Some of you no doubt saw our recent television battle, ending in Dr. Emerson threatening me in a most ungentlemanly manner.
"Because of Dr. Emerson's personality characteristics he will not dare to rise and identify himself. He hates publicity; he stays away from any affair where he might become the center of attention. He has his own personal and family reasons for not wanting to be in the public eye."
Gorgon's announcement struck Ben with the force of a blow. How does he know I'm here? What can I do? he asked himself. That son of a bitch!
Provoked by Gorgon's unexpected affront, embarrassed beyond tolerance, Ben stood up and waved his hand so the audience could see him as the spotlight focused on him.
I will not let this monster beat me!
Gorgon then pressed a key on the computer keyboard, so the message he had typed just a moment ago suddenly displayed on the huge screen on the stage.
Dr. Emerson, will -- BECAUSE OF MY CHALLENGE -- stand up and identify himself. |
