He nodded and took over. “The CIA wanted to find ways to create the perfect
sleeper soldier, someone they could plant behind enemy lines, then use when the
time was right. They collaborated with leading psychologists and scientists, all under the cover of research. They tried it all, drugs, electroshock therapy, hypnosis. You name it they did it.”
“At the time there wasn’t as much oversight from the government, so
boundaries were nonexistent. Because their subjects were either convicted
criminals, mental patients, or enemies of the state, no one cared about human rights. When they created MKULTRA, only then, did they turn their attention to
U.S. soldiers, turning them into unwitting subjects.”
His history lesson rang a few bells. “Didn’t a guy named John Marks do an
exposé on this?”
“Yeah, wrote a whole book about it. He culled information from unnamed
sources and redacted documents. He focused on the CIA drug experiments and
how the government tried to cover its ass. What he missed, and what the government kept deep under wraps, was that they had found some individuals who were the real deal.”
I grimaced. “And the government, being who they are, aren’t going to sit by
and let an advantage slip through their fingers.”
“Nope,” he agreed. “Since you can’t force the general public to disclose
private information without just cause, the powers-that-be focused on military
recruits. One of the personality exams administered to prospective recruits tested for actual psychic ability. From there, it became a matter of tracking those individuals and combining them into cohesive groups. Over time, they managed
to create specialized units in each branch.”
Something began to scratch at the back of my brain, but, caught up in the conversation, I ignored it. “If you have a unit comprised of untried psychics, something is bound to happen,” I said, starting to see where he was headed. “So,
there were accidents?”
“Right. With the creation of the teams, the military found a way to explain away the unexplainable.”
I watched his profile. “You said they don’t officially exist.”
He slid a glance to me and dipped his chin. “The government needs distance
if the public catches wind of its existence. It’s funded by a sub-committee of a
sub-committee of a special interest group that works with the Department of Defense.”
“Buried under layers for deniability.” Years in the military and dusty hells of
foreign battlefields rubbed all the shiny off a soldier and revealed the seamier side of politics. “So, who’s currently in charge?”
“Charlene Delacourt.”
His answer set off my alarm bells. I swallowed hard. “Colonel Delacourt?”
“The one and only.”
During my years in service, Delacourt’s name had been uttered with
terrifying respect. A powerful female in a male-dominated environment, she was
the stuff of legends. Unfortunately, she also served on the inquiry board that raked me over the coals. Unease settled over me, making my voice tight.
“Sounds like you’re still working for the marines.”
“Delacourt has been the official head of the teams for the last four years.”
I fell silent, processing the information Kayden had dumped in my lap.
Four years ago, I joined MCIA and was assigned to Captain Eric “Flash”
Fowler’s team. At the time, I was ecstatic. Not only was Flash a close friend of
my adoptive father, but he’d helped me through my first enlistment when I questioned signing the dotted line. He’d shared some of the stories surrounding
Delacourt, providing examples of what a determined woman could do in the Corps.
