Turner watched the stately woman walk down the short hallway to the kitchen with a satisfied feeling. They had chosen this woman well; she would portray the mother with effect and capability. If she were a few years younger, he would have thought of giving her husband a run for the money, but no longer.
He shrugged it off and climbed the carpeted stairs to the second floor, dragging his hand along the banister, searching for dust. Everything had to look correct; the house had to have the feel of habitation, not the reality of a dwelling waiting for sale.
The white plaster walls of the first floor gave way to wood paneling in the second-floor hallway, extending the length of the house to the rear wall of the building. In a rear room, large plate windows overlooked the backyard with a steep drop to the stream sixty feet below the level of the yard. It was as if Turner had climbed into a separate reality lit by dim overhead lights. Perhaps the original owner of the home had wanted to split his version of the ideal house from colonial in the interior of the first floor to western on the second floor. The result was an eerie sense of duality, of a split personality.
He hurried to the midpoint of the hallway, hiding his unease behind a sense of purpose. There was much to do before they could begin the charade.
The nerve center of the operation was behind a sturdy door that had once led to a bedroom. Turner opened the door with a special triangular key designed unobtrusively to fit the doorknob and entered a world of monitors, blinking lights, and computer terminals.
His feet made no sound on the special matting that covered the floor to reduce the likelihood of electrical damage to the equipment. The technician, ever alert, turned at the sound of the door opening. Had he not checked the identity of the person opening the door, Turner would have replaced him.
“Sir,” the man turned his attention to the video displays on his computer screen.
“Status,” Turner requested as he checked the key computers.
“Up and running. Everything checks out.”
“Did anyone try to get in here, Cooper?”
“A couple people rattled the knob, no real enthusiasm.” Cooper reported as he pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and absentmindedly wiped the base of his nose on the sleeve of his L.L. Bean shirt.
So far, so good. Turner smiled as he looked at the second man in the room. “Do you think these people will work well together?”
The psychologist took his time answering the question, gazing into the video feed on his computer console, watching the people on the first floor of the house as they chatted amiably.
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“We have two causes for concern. First, you must remember these people are actors and, by definition, people who work professionally with lies. They immerse themselves in a false personality until they can portray the lie convincingly to us. Regarding what they will do for us tonight, that is considered a positive until you remember they can depart from the lie at unpredictable moments, such as when the stress of the situation becomes too great for their stability as an actor.”
“We talked about this a week ago,” Turner sat in the only vacant chair, turning his full attention to the doctor. “I thought you agreed that if we prepared these people correctly, they would follow the sequence despite any external stimuli.”
“I did.” The doctor agreed, remaining relaxed as he talked with Turner. “Which brings me to the second point. Sometime tonight you can expect these people to wonder what is or is not in the sequence. They will become suspicious and likely decide you have lied to them however much information you give them.”
“If we tell them too much, their reactions will not seem genuine. Again, this is a conversation we had a week ago. Are you telling me you want out of the project?”
“No. This event represents a unique look into the mechanics of group hysteria, but I want you to know you will use those planned breaks a little more often than you initially projected.”
Turner propped his elbow on the console and held his chin on his hand as he thought.
The man’s ability to focus his mind on problems had impressed the doctor within a few minutes of their first meeting, intrigued by how Turner reacted to the stimulus. It was as if the man closed his mind off and calculated the parameters of a situation, then chose the course with the greatest probability of success.
“Do you have any other concerns?” Turner did not look at the doctor.
“I hope you removed all the live ammunition from the house.” The doctor replied in grim jest.
Turner looked at the doctor in surprise, rewarded by disguised concern. The doctor was reminding the leader of the danger in intense situations.
“You know the plan; two loaded guns for shock value.” Turner studied the computer display, wondering who among the actors would be strong enough to resist what was to come and who would pick up the guns?
“What are you worried about, Doc?” Cooper worked some commands on the computer. “We are in a steel box. No way a shotgun can reach in here.”
“I am worried about our men in the woods.” The doctor snapped, as if addressing a stupid child.
“They are professionals. They will be fine.” Turner stopped the argument before it could brew. “Is the electromagnetic pulse ready?”
“Yeah. We can screw with their camera and the rest of the house as much as we want.” Cooper patted a small control console next to his chair.
“Good,” Turner stood. “As for your concerns Doc; we chose our team for their ability to react under fire. We, not those actors, are the professionals. If anything goes wrong outside our contingency planning, we will adapt and regain control.”
“I merely want you to know these people will react in ways we cannot predict.” The Doctor tried to explain in an even voice.
“I know what you are trying to do,” Turner’s voice contained a hint of steel and impatience. “We will not hold you responsible if the mission fails.”
Leaving the small room, Turner closed the heavy door quietly.
Cooper looked at the other man, who still watched the door as if he expected Turner to walk back in the room and pull out a gun. “Way to go, Doc. Next time you want to cut your dick off, let me know in advance so I can get the hell out of the room.”