Unleashed

Book 4: Nick Hall

by Douglas E. Richards

Genres: Hard Science Fiction; High-tech & Sci-fi Thrillers

Synopsis

Return to the breathtaking series that has earned over 15,000 five-star ratings.

Nick Hall is the ultimate operative, having brought tyrants, warlords, and terrorists to their knees. His unique brain implants allow him to wield the Internet with his mind and pry into the thoughts, secrets, and memories of the most despicable people alive.

After a near-fatal clash with Troy Browning, a cunning psychopath and one of only three mind readers on earth, Hall faces the most daunting threat of all. Because Browning has found an ally as ruthless as he is. A genetically-engineered titan whose physical and mental abilities dwarf those of ordinary men. Together, the pair plan to create an unbeatable army. Their target? Humanity itself, starting with Nick Hall and those he holds dear.

Hall is soon thrust into a relentless battle for the future, one that will test the limits of his ability. As the surprises mount and the stakes skyrocket, Hall is forced to confront a chilling reality. If he takes one wrong step, he won’t save humanity—he’ll hasten its extinction.

Based on actual research on neural implants and controlling the Internet with thoughts, the Nick Hall novels are pulse-pounding thrillers packed with deep insights, nonstop action, stunning revelations, and roller-coaster twists and turns.

"Richards is an extraordinary writer," (Dean Koontz) who can "keep you turning the pages all night long." (Douglas Preston)

"Richards is a worthy successor to Michael Crichton." (SF Book dot com)

FOR A LISTING OF ALL DOUGLAS E. RICHARDS BOOKS, SEE "ABOUT THE AUTHOR" BELOW.

You can write to "Doug" at [email protected], and he will always respond.

 

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Release date: May 9, 2024

Sample

1

Colonel Joseph Lazear stood on the tarmac of the main airfield at Fort Liberty, North Carolina, a sprawling military installation covering more than two hundred square miles.
He blew out a heavy sigh. This was sheer lunacy.
Lazear turned away from the large hangar he was facing and glanced behind him. His dark blue eyes, blazing with the light of a keen intelligence, took in a sea of reinforced concrete. The pavement was extensive enough to comfortably hold dozens of aircraft off in the distance, and closer in, a thousand soldiers forming orderly rows like kids lining up for a roller-coaster ride.
Talk about your exercises in futility. Or mass insanity, more like it.
The military, like any group of human beings, often made epically stupid decisions that defied all reason. But none so epically stupid—so utterly pointless—as this one.
While the exercise had begun at bases with a substantial special forces presence, it would ultimately infect every base in America, and include every one of the 1.5 million active military personnel comprising the third largest military on the planet.
Fort Liberty would be only the fourth such base to be put through these paces, the fourth to catch the stupidity virus and undergo this pointless waste of time.
The exercises should have become the biggest story in America. In Lazear’s estimation, you couldn’t order tens of thousands of soldiers, with more than a million yet to come, to submit to a mysterious cattle call, one with no apparent rationale, and not attract attention. Or a prolonged media inquiry. Especially since the White House and Pentagon had been steadfast in refusing to comment, other than to say that this drill was a way to get an accurate personnel headcount, which was patently ridiculous.
On the other hand, the media’s curiosity had been nearly nonexistent for many decades, as had its willingness to press the military-industrial complex for answers. So while there had been brief stories about the drill for a day or two, and a number of active users on social media had put forth conspiracy theories to explain this incomprehensible folly, that was the extent of it.
The colonel had been an active field member of the elite Delta Force for nine years. For the past ten, as he continued climbing the ranks, he coordinated intelligence and field work from his offices at Fort Liberty, while still occasionally deploying to war zones to keep his field skills sharp.
He was clean-cut and athletically built, and while he had two failed marriages behind him, he had never had children. He filled his need for companionship by forging short-lived relationships with human females and long-lived relationships with the canine variety. Just three months earlier, his latest white-and-brown English setter had passed away, the second of this breed he had raised from puppyhood, and he hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to get another.
The tarmac’s loudspeaker system came to life with a jarring screech and proceeded to transmit the booming, echoing voice of the base’s female commander.
“Attention all personnel now on the tarmac,” she began. “This is General April McGowan. You all know why you’re lining up—to the extent that anyone does—along with what’s expected of you. For a week now, you’ve heard tales of this same drill at sister bases, and you all have questions. Alas, it will come as no surprise that I don’t have any answers. I can only tell you the specifics of the exercise, not the why of it.
“You were ordered to line up by rank. This has been done so higher-ranking personnel can finish sooner and get on with their business. The good news is that all of you will be done within the hour, leaving room for the next group of a thousand to form up.
“As soon as this announcement is complete, the thousand of you will be separated into groups of twenty. Fifty such groups. The members of each group will be assigned a number, one through twenty, provided by one of a dozen civilian facilitators well in advance of your entrance. These facilitators will also record your names and assigned numbers on a tablet computer.
“You’ll be notified when it’s your group’s turn to enter the hangar. When it is your turn, you’ll be expected to do this quickly and efficiently. After you’ve double-timed it inside, you’ll find a line of numbers painted on the floor, one through twenty. Find your number and stand on it as quickly as you can. You’ll note the hangar will be completely empty, save for a room facing you, hidden by a two-way mirror.”
General McGowan paused. “I’m told mystery personnel will be watching you behind the mirror to be sure you follow the instructions I’ve just given you. This, despite the fact that these instructions are simple enough for a child to follow,” she added, unable to hide her contempt for the entire proceeding.
“After finding your mark,” continued the general, “look to the large exit doors. Above them you’ll see four LED lights. When these lights flash on and off three times in quick succession, which they should do within seconds of you finding your mark, exit as quickly as possible in an orderly fashion so the next group of twenty can enter. The goal is to get each group of twenty in and out within sixty seconds, preferably faster, so a thousand soldiers can be cycled through in fifty minutes or less.”
There was a short pause. “I’m counting on all of you to make this as quick and painless as possible,” she added. “That is all.”
Lazear blew out a heavy sigh. Given that his rank placed him in the first group of twenty, he’d get this elaborate nonsense behind him in just a few minutes and be back performing his regular duties.
Still, he vowed that if he ever met whoever had issued these orders, he would give him or her a piece of his mind. He would tell this person that they surely had their head shoved so far up their own ass they could see their tonsils. He wouldn’t hold back. Stupidity on such an epic scale had to be called out.

2

For two weeks after the pointless exercise at Fort Liberty, Joe Lazear’s life took a sharp turn toward the bizarre. Beginning the very next day, it seemed that all the metaphorical proctologists in the world converged on him at once, probing him with all the subtlety of a rubber glove greased with Vaseline. He was put through a series of interviews, tests, and polygraphs that seemed never-ending—told only that he was being considered for a unique position.
He heard through the grapevine that dozens of men and women he had fought with, reported to, or commanded had also been interrogated relentlessly. Often they had been hooked up to lie-detection equipment, and asked hour after hour of questions about him. Questions that probed every last detail of his past and character.
And then, just that morning, he had been summoned to the White House to be briefed on a new role he would be asked to play. He had been met at the White House gate by a granite general with salt-and-pepper hair named Justin Girdler, who introduced himself as the commander of all Black Ops in the country—information far above Lazear’s paygrade—and was escorted into the bowels of the White House and into a subterranean version of the fabled Situation Room.
Lazear had been in brutal, savage battles many times before, with bullets and grenades exploding all around him. He had viewed the world through night-vision goggles as he and his team breached tight quarters filled with hostile zealots intent on slaughtering hostages.
But never in his life had he felt as stunned, as disoriented, as he did now.
He entered the spacious conference room and took it all in at a glance, shaking off the shock of being there and allowing adrenaline to sharpen his wits to full capacity. The room contained the longest lacquered oak table he had ever seen, eighteen cushioned chairs around it, wall-to-wall monitors, phones, electronics, and 3D conference equipment, along with numerous other electronics he couldn’t place.
Girdler motioned for him to take a seat at the foot of the table. Four others sat on his left, four on his right, and at the head of the table sat Timothy Cochran, President of the United States.
Lazear’s jaw dropped to the ground. The White House was an odd setting to be receiving new orders, but he never dreamed he’d be taken to a secret underground lair, or that the president, himself, would be involved. This just kept getting more and more surreal.
“Welcome, Colonel,” began the familiar baritone of Timothy Cochran as the general took a seat beside the president. Lazear listened while stealthily studying the men and women around the table. “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”
The newcomer couldn’t help but smile. “I believe that might even be an understatement, sir.”
Several around the room chuckled at this reply.
“I’ll have everyone introduce themselves shortly,” continued Cochran. “But before I do, let me get right to the point. You are now in the presence of the most secret and consequential black ops group ever assembled. We call ourselves the Trojan Horse Taskforce, or THT. Not that this group, or this name, appears anywhere in the datasphere. To say we’re off the grid is an understatement. We’re led by General Justin Girdler, whom you’ve met.”
The president paused. “We’ll be providing a short summary of the history of this group, its goals, and so on, momentarily. And you’ll be receiving far more comprehensive briefings in the days and weeks ahead. The reason you’re with us today, Colonel, is because we’d like you to join us as a member. At the same time, we’d like you to command a small military contingent comprised of an eclectic mixture of personnel. One that we’ve dubbed The Unreadables.”
Lazear raised his eyebrows but remained silent.
“You’ll have one foot in both camps, making you the connective tissue between THT and The Unreadables. So far there are seventeen of you, but there will be many more before too long. The other sixteen will get this same briefing, in this same room, in three hours, and all have been vetted just as thoroughly as you have.”
The colonel nodded thoughtfully.
“Any idea why we’re giving this same introductory briefing twice?” asked General Girdler.
Lazear realized he was still being tested, and like all the previous tests, this was one he intended to pass. “I believe so, yes. You’re doing it for my benefit, sir. Since I’m tasked with commanding this group, you’re giving me the courtesy of being brought up to speed first. So I come across as an insider rather than a deer in headlights. Helps form a better first impression. And it helps that I’ll be introduced as their commander the moment they walk into the room.”
“Very good,” said Girdler. “Exactly right. This briefing should only take about eighty minutes. After that we’ll have more than an hour together before your fellow Unreadables arrive. We can use this time to get to know each other better on a personal level, and you can ask any additional questions that come to mind.”
Girdler paused. “Based on everything we’ve learned about you in the past two weeks, Colonel, it appears we’ve hit the jackpot. You’re brave, seasoned, and most important, you have an impeccable moral and ethical code. We’ve also learned that your ability to connect the dots is almost legendary.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So I’m curious if you’ve managed to connect any dots since you’ve arrived. Not an easy ask, as I’m not even sure you have any dots to connect. Still, I’m curious if you’ve come up with any guesses as to why you’re here.”
Lazear nodded. “Thank you, General. Actually, I have formed some pretty wild ideas. I could be wrong, of course, but I have confidence in my deductions.”
“Deduct away, then,” said Girdler, intrigued.
Lazear took a deep breath. “Okay then, here goes,” he began. “While I haven’t yet been introduced to this assemblage, I recognize Admiral Siegel, our current Director of National Intelligence.”
The DNI nodded at the newcomer. “I look forward to getting to know you,” he said.
“Thank you, Admiral. But more to the point of this deductive exercise, there are two other men here who look familiar to me. Their appearance has been altered, so if I only saw one of them I wouldn’t suspect their identities. But both together is a different story. Also, I found it odd that introductions have been delayed. So I wondered if this was done on purpose. To test their disguises. And my attention to detail.
“The first is Alex Altschuler,” continued Lazear, “deceased CEO of Theia Labs. The most famous CEO in the world while he was alive.”
He grinned. “He’d be even more famous if the public ever got wind of how great he looks as a corpse.”
The colonel was struck by just how different Altschuler looked now compared to his days in the spotlight as Theia’s CEO. He was still as scrawny as he ever was, but his hair color and style had changed. The bulky, geeky glasses he was always polishing up during interviews were gone, even though he had publicly stated on a number of occasions that he couldn’t wear contacts, and was too fearful to ever undergo laser surgery.
But even more than the physical changes, what struck Lazear was the difference in Altschuler’s demeanor. Where he had been fidgety and self-conscious before, he now seemed calm, confident, and centered, and keenly aware of his own value and competence.
The colonel gestured toward the other side of the table, at a man with a handsome, rugged face, who looked to be about six feet tall, but who had blond hair when it had previously been jet-black.
“The second man I recognize is Nick Hall,” continued the colonel, “who was even more famous than Alex. You know, when he was alive. I find it suspicious that two men who were linked in life, and who are both deceased, are here in this room. And while I’m not a doctor,” he added with an impish smile, “they appear a lot less dead than I’d expect.”
A delighted grin spread across Altschuler’s face. “Nice catch,” he said. “This is the first time Nick and I have been recognized since we faked our deaths. Actually, I think our deceased status has helped us more than our change in appearance. Even if someone spots a resemblance to our former selves, they dismiss it out of hand.”
Hall nodded. “And Alex has spent considerable effort to ensure that computers around the world are convinced that we’re really dead and that no data will ever say otherwise. How he’s doing it is beyond me, but even an artificial superintelligence, if one were ever to come into being, would never discover our ruse.”
“That’s right,” said Altschuler. “Even if one were sitting where you’re sitting, I’ve seen to it that our voices and faces won’t register as Alex and Nick. So score one for humanity. You’re proof that there are still a few things that human beings can do that even a super-evolved AI can not.”
Timothy Cochran nodded slowly at the newcomer. “Yes. Quite well done, Colonel. Anything more to add?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, Mr. President,” replied Lazear. “Nick Hall’s story is well known. Ex-marine biology PhD and Theia Labs brain implant recipient. Kidnapped by Kelvin Gray along with many others and used as a guinea pig to perfect implant placement. Known for certain to be able to use his implants to surf the web with thoughts alone, and to record whatever he sees and hears and save it in the cloud.
“But rumored to also be able to read minds,” continued the colonel. “Perfectly. Which, according to still other rumors, enabled him to help thwart some truly heinous terrorist operations and save untold lives.”
Lazear paused. “After Nick ah . . . died,” he added, “it was widely reported that his mind reading was a myth. A conspiracy theory told by gullible fools. A scientific consensus quickly emerged that mind reading the way Hall was thought to do it defied the laws of physics and was basically impossible. I see now that this was all a comprehensive and artfully crafted misinformation campaign.”
He raised his eyebrows. “In fact, I’d still be believing the lie if I hadn’t been brought here to lead a team called The Unreadables. A name that clearly implies mind reading is real. And also that I, and those soon to be under my command, are somehow immune.”
Lazear nodded slowly. “Or, to put it another way,” he added, “while most people are readable by Nick Hall, we are not. We’re unreadable.”
“Impressive,” said Girdler, and everyone around the table seemed to mirror this sentiment.
Lazear’s eyes widened as the connection to a previously inscrutable dot became crystal clear. “I’ll be damned,” he added. “And here I thought the idea of parading every soldier in the US through an airplane hangar was purposeless. But now I get it.”
He gestured at Hall once again. “You were behind the two-way mirror, weren’t you? Trying to read the minds of every group of twenty? Given the vast numbers of us being screened, the unreadable trait must be rare. And this explains why my superiors rained down an army of investigators to vet me the very next day. Because I was a rare officer you couldn’t read. One with the expertise you were looking for. The timing was so coincidental, I felt sure there had to be a connection. But I couldn’t see it.”
A smile crept slowly across Hall’s face. “Looks like we chose the perfect man for this job,” he said. “Well-reasoned, Colonel. I’d bet only one in a hundred of our best analysts could have gleaned so much from so little. The unreadable trait is rare, indeed. Based on a lesser sample size, we were thinking one in seven hundred. After working our way through four military bases, it’s looking to be more like one in four hundred. Still precious few.”
“Any other deductions you’d like to share with us?” asked the general.
All eyes were on Lazear, fascinated to see if he could pull more logical rabbits from his hat. “Maybe,” he replied. “You’re on a country-wide fishing expedition to find soldiers Nick Hall can’t read. The question is why. Why would you be so desperate to identify people immune from his probing?
“I mean, I get why ESP would be a nightmare if you couldn’t control it. I realized that even before mind reading became the hottest topic on the planet. Endless articles have now been written debating its pros and cons. Reading minds the way Nick is said to do it would result in an endless barrage of thoughts and emotions battering your brain like you were standing at the bottom of Niagara Falls. A torrential, crushing cascade that you could never turn off.”
He faced Hall and raised his eyebrows. “Or am I wrong about that?”
“Not wrong,” said Hall with a sigh. “And well described. I’ve learned how to manage it. To avoid large gatherings whenever possible, and turn much of it into white noise. But I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
He paused. “But please continue.”
“As I said, I get why your ability would be a nightmare. But even if you found every last unreadable inside a haystack the size of America, I can’t see how that would help you avoid being assaulted by the thoughts of the rest of humanity.”
“So why do you think we’re taking such pains to do it, then?” asked Girdler.
“My guess is that this isn’t about Nick at all. He’s long been thought of as the ultimate hero. And even the president trusts him enough to be in the same room with him. So locating military unreadables and mobilizing them into some sort of team suggests that there are other mind readers out there. Mind readers you fear are dangerous. It’s the only reason I can imagine for going to the effort of parading 1.5 million military personnel in front of Nick Hall.”
There was a long silence in the room, while various members of the team traded knowing glances.
“Remarkable,” said the president finally, beaming with delight. “I’m beginning to think that maybe you should be briefing us.”
 
3

There was a short break in the proceedings while refreshments were brought in and formal introductions were made all around. The colonel already knew the identities of the president, Justin Girdler, Alex Altschuler, Nick Hall, and Bob Siegel. But the five others in the room also gave their names and backgrounds in turn.
First was Heather Zambrana, Alex’s wife and a former scientist at Theia Labs. Next came Dr. Catherine Ellen Guess, a neurosurgeon who had been working at a black lab before being recruited, Gabriele Safani, an MD/PhD neurobiologist from Yale, and Drew Russell, a computer expert and hacker extraordinaire who was also a next-level comic-book geek.
Finally, Lazear was introduced to Megan Emerson, Nick Hall’s wife of only a few days, and the first unreadable Hall had ever identified. She was a slip of a woman in her mid to late twenties with short, coal-black hair and a perfect complexion. She might have been petite, but she had an energy about her that shined like a torch, an exuberance and good nature that couldn’t be contained. The president made it clear that she had been heroic in ways that had made her an extraordinarily valuable asset, despite a background in graphic design rather than war or science.
“We work closely with other experts who are on peripheral teams,” explained Girdler when introductions had concluded. “Most of them scientists and intelligence analysts.
“Now that you have a better sense of who we are,” he continued, “I’ll proceed to the next part of the briefing. Remarkably, Colonel, given how little you had to go on, you hit the nail on the head in every particular. There are other mind readers out there, just as you surmised. Two of them—at least that we’re aware of. One tried to take out most of our team exactly a month ago. And nearly succeeded. It was a very close call. Too close.”
The general’s eyes fell, and his features reflected a searing pain. “We did lose one man during the battle,” he whispered. “An outstanding individual who bought us the time we needed to survive the unsurvivable. Colonel Mike Campbell. A man who was like a son to me, and one who is truly irreplaceable.”
“I’m so sorry, sir,” said Lazear.
The general nodded to acknowledge the sentiment but didn’t reply.
“Right after this attack on our team,” said Hall, “we began rolling out a program to search for unreadables at special forces heavy bases. As you’ve no doubt guessed, the timing was anything but coincidental.”
“How did these two others manage to become mind readers?” asked Lazear.
“One of them on my orders,” said the president. “The other without our knowledge. While Theia implants are required for mind reading, data on the precise movements they took through Nick’s brain and their final placement are required to recreate the effect. It’s the recipe for ESP, if you will.
“We locked this data inside a veritable black hole,” continued Cochran. “But I made the call to let it out without the rest of the team’s knowledge,” he added, looking disgusted with himself. “I thought I could control it. I was wrong.”
“Who was the man you gave this ability to on purpose?” asked the colonel. “And why?”
Cochran sighed. “Let me answer the why of it first. Our backs were against the wall. Long story, but there was about to be a regime change in Iran, and our intel made it clear that nothing could stop the madman about to take over from nuking both New York and Tel Aviv. There was no way to stop him from taking power, and no way to stop the nuclear devastation he’d unleash shortly thereafter. A mind reader was our only chance.
“And while Nick is truly remarkable, he has no military training, he doesn’t speak Farsi, and hasn’t operated in Iran. But an elite commando named Craig Bostic checked all of these boxes. So I had implants inserted into his brain in the correct way to turn him into a web-surfing mind reader. He was our only hope of stopping nuclear devastation and millions of casualties—for starters—and he performed flawlessly.”
“But just after his mission,” added Girdler, “he disappeared from the grid.”
The president winced. “This happened just over a month ago, and we haven’t heard from him since. We have no idea where he is, or what he intends to do with his abilities, if anything. We believe he’s living in isolation to stop all the voices in his head, but we don’t know.
“Unfortunately,” continued Cochran with a scowl, “the mind-reading recipe that I freed also found its way to a psychopath named Troy Browning. The one who nearly managed to take out most of our team. And he’s truly a nightmare.”
“How so?” asked Lazear.
“He’s ex-NSA,” replied Hall, “and a genius. Formidable and ruthless. I’ve been in his head.”
He shuddered. “It was like diving into a cesspool. He’s stark, raving mad. Talk about your delusions of grandeur, this guy is convinced he’s the next Jesus Christ.
“Actually, strike that,” added Hall. “He considers Jesus an abject failure, actually. He fancies himself the true savior of humanity. Saving our species by learning how to unleash widespread ESP in humanity—without the need for implants. He figures doing so will purge the earth of about ninety-five percent of its population as civilization almost instantly breaks down. As everyone becomes privy to each other’s ugliest secrets and the most savage among us vie for power and control. Tearing each other apart in the process. He believes this will ultimately leave the five percent meek to inherit the Earth and forge a better brand of humanity.”
“In that scenario,” said the colonel, “what would be in it for him?”
“He’s convinced he’ll be hailed as the new savior by those who remain,” replied Megan in disgust.
“At least that’s how it plays out in his diseased mind,” added Girdler.
“I tried to talk him out of it when we were in each other’s heads,” said Hall. “I tried to convince him that the end result will be the opposite of what he intends. If he makes all the wolves rabid, it’s ridiculous to believe the sheep will inherit the Earth. The sheep will be the first to be devoured.”
He shook his head. “But he’s highly delusional. He’s also ruthless and talented enough to be extremely dangerous even without the ability to read minds. With ESP, he’s the ultimate threat.”
“What made him so dangerous when he couldn’t read minds?”
“He designed our most secure communications systems,” said Bob Siegel, “and left backdoor access for himself. We’ve since discontinued using these systems and put in new security measures designed from scratch, thanks to the superhuman computer skills of Alex and Drew. So we’re no longer vulnerable.” The admiral shook his head. “But up until three weeks ago, he was intercepting whatever he wanted.”
“And now he can read minds,” said the colonel grimly.
“And now he can read minds,” echoed Hall. “But as bad as that is, it could have been worse. First, Troy Browning was planning to park himself near the White House and pick the president’s brain clean. But those plans were interrupted when he saw a chance to kill us.
“Then, the battle he waged against us left him badly injured and psychically scarred. He won’t come after us again, or risk coming near the White House, until he’s become stronger. I was in his head as he fled the battle, so I know. He plans to recover from his injuries and bide his time. Lick his wounds, become ever more powerful, and look for a new chink in our armor. Which at least has bought us time to prepare. Including forming the group you’ll be leading.”
“Did you happen to catch how he plans to build up his strength?” asked Lazear.
“I did,” said Hall. “First, he’ll become a billionaire. He was well on his way when he came after us, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a multi-billionaire by now. If you can probe minds, you can pluck passwords from billionaires’ heads, steal their bank account information, steal from massive government slush funds, and so on. You can read insider information from tech CEOs, and play the stock market. The possibilities are endless.”
He paused. “Once Browning has built up his war chest, he’ll expand his mercenary army a hundred fold and construct an impenetrable fortress. If he can learn how to confer ESP to the entire population, he plans to hunker down there and weather the storm of his own making. Then he plans to emerge as the savior, unscathed, when it’s all over.”
“How likely is it that he’ll be able to trigger ESP without implants?” asked the newcomer.
“Unknown,” said Dr. Gabriele Safani, who had remained silent until now. “He has access to a mountain of data that even we refused to use until recently. It might be impossible. Or it might be much easier than we’d care to think about. THT focused all of our resources on blocking ESP,” added the Yale neurologist. “Not finding a way to trigger it organically.”
Lazear nodded. “I see.”
“Regardless of the success of his grand plan,” said Hall, “he won’t wait too long to go on the offense. And when he does, most of the world will be at his mercy.”
“But you and your fellow Unreadables can play a critical role,” said Girdler. “For starters, you’ll basically become the new presidential detail of the Secret Service. You’ll work and live at the White House and accompany the president when he travels. Nick’s been killing himself to identify as many of you as possible, so we can station one or more Unreadables at other key sites as well.”
“I get that Nick can’t read me,” said Lazear, “or those like me. But are we certain the same is true for Browning?”
Megan Emerson nodded. “We are. He couldn’t read me any more than Nick can. If he could have done so a month ago in Utah, we’d all be dead. So confidence is high that whatever prevents Nick from reading certain people also prevents him.”
“Even if Browning won’t be able to read us,” said Lazear, “his ability to read the thoughts and memories of all others near the president will still give him the upper hand.”
“Good point,” said the president. “Which is why I’ve asked Nick and Megan to live at the White House and travel with me until Browning is . . . neutralized. I have nuclear codes and other information we can’t risk getting into his hands. So Nick will have to be my canary in the coal mine until this psychopath is no longer a threat.”
“Browning and I stick out to each other like neon flares,” explained Hall. “Meaning he can’t be within mind-reading range of the White House without me knowing it—and knowing exactly where he is. Even if he reads most people here and comes at us with an army, we’ll have the advantage. Because I’ll be able to read the minds of his team and send your unit their exact locations and plans.”
Lazear nodded. “But he won’t be able to do the same.”
“That’s right,” said Hall. “Your team won’t register as being present. If an attack happens, you’ll have to be sure no readable can see you—or knows your plans. Including me. Whatever a readable knows, Browning will know. So you’ll all carry tranquilizer guns. If you need to knock out readables so they can’t give you away, you’ll be authorized to do so.”