BigBug

Moon woke up naked on a bed inside a plastic isolation tent. He was manacled hand foot and body to the bed by restraints used to hold down violent loonies or the unfortunates on the executioner’s table. What was really weird and scary was someone had pulled a gas mask over Moons head. It was very tight and the buckles on the canvas straps bit into Moons neck and head. His tongue was swollen from where he had mangled it during the epileptic fit and he was having difficulty breathing. He needed water. He needed water. He saw through the misty glass of the gas mask the curtain unzip and five or six people crowded around his bed. This was crazy. They looked like aliens just got off the last flying saucer from the Pentagon but Moon knew they were not wearing space suits. He had worn the same equipment during his time with the Foreign Legion in the first Gulf War. These people were wearing bacteriological warfare isolation suits. Germ warfare. The gas mask was wrenched off Moon’s face.

“I want to know what this bio agent is.”

Moon was prodded with a 220-volt cattle prod in the testicles. He screamed in agony. Unbelievable pain. Unbearable. He didn’t have time to give an answer. He could only scream.

“Who are you working for?” yelled another torturer and prodded him.

“Where have you hidden the germs?” Prod.

“When is the next attack?” Prod.

“Why have you attacked Hungary?” Prod.

“Your comrades. Their names - I want their names.” Prod.

“Where are they hiding out?” Prod.

“What is the name of your organization?” Prod.

The smell of burning flesh and above that the smell of fear.

“Who are you?” Prod.

Moon was given no time to answer any of the rapid fire frenzied questions.

The leader of the pack of baying torturers stopped the attack. He leaned forward. “You will answer and you will tell me everything I want to know you filthy terrorist bastard.” He stuck his cattle prod into Moon’s forehead and held it there until Moon passed out with the pain. Even passing out in the terrible terror Moon knew he was having another epileptic fit and he had a horrifying thought he might bite his tongue off and be unable to answer their questions, to explain. This was one fit he hoped he would not wake up from.

There was an argument going on between a woman and the leader of the torturers beside Moon’s bed. Moon kept his eyes closed tight.

“This man has had not one but two epileptic fits the second of which you brought on by cattle prodding him in the head.” The woman had an unmistakable Boston accent.

“He is a victim of his own biological weapon. A weapon that has incapacitated several hundred people at an international fair. I want to know what it is. You will hand over this prisoner to us for further interrogation. The questions have been put to him. All he has to do is answer them when he awakes.”

“He has suffered an epileptic fit. There is no evidence a bio attack has taken place. There are no fatalities.”

“Not yet, doctor. What has attacked these people?”

“We don’t know yet. It seems to be some sort of stomach bug. Food poisoning maybe.”

“If you don’t know let me find out. I need to interrogate the prisoner. Get out of here doctor. Hungary is under attack. There are hundreds of people down on their hands and knees violently ill. A helicopter has been brought down by a ground to air missile. In the centre of Budapest! We must stop this virus from spreading. He will tell me.” The crazy zealot zapped Moon with his cattle prod.

“Stop, stop,” roared the doctor.

“I have decreased the voltage. It doesn’t burn so much anymore.”

The doctor was holding onto the barrel of the cattle prod. The crazy man let go the cattle pod jumped up on the bed and tried to strangle Moon. “What is this virus? Where is it? Where are the missiles? Where have you hidden the virus? What is it?”

Some nurses came into the ward and pulled the crazy person off Moon.

“Get him out of here. This is my hospital colonel and you will not treat my patients like this. Get out.”

“Very well but I will be back soon very soon with authorization from the government giving me total control of this facility and complete power over every individual in the place. Our motherland is under attack. We have no time for these niceties.”

“Be careful how you process this, Colonel.”

“You be careful, doctor, or you will find yourself lying in the next bed to your terrorist friend.” This crazy person, a demented torturer, left slamming the door behind him. The doctor picked up the crazy person’s cattle prod and handed it to one of her nurses. “Get rid of that damned thing. Be careful.” She turned to Moon. “I am going to give you something for the pain, Jude. That is your first name? Jude?” Moon tried to speak but he couldn’t. He managed a nod. He felt a prick in his arm. Whatever it was she injected him with acted instantaneously. A roller coaster wave of peace and euphoria rolled through Moon. He was riding a love crest of pure joy and by whatever means, all the terrible pain and stress had gone. The terror had vanished. Merciful magic. Moon was silently weeping. The doctor undid Moon's restraints. “Let me do something about those burns.” She called in a nurse and she and the nurse rubbed salve into the nasty burns. Music. Moon could hear music. The Beatles singing Strawberry Fields. The nurse raised the bed and brought Moon into a sitting position. The doctor shook out a clean sheet and draped it over Moon. The sheet was cool linen and it smelt of lavender. The nurse took Moon's temperature then left him and the doctor alone. The doctor placed a straw into Moon’s lips. Moon sipped. The taste of pure cold water.

“Feeling better, Jude?”

“Yes,” croaked Jude. He was surprised he could speak but he liked the sound of his own voice. He liked everything. The paint on the walls, the institutional green lino on the floor, the fly buzzing about the bars on the windows, the doctor, her white coat, the music, the sunshine coming in the window, the dark tinted bullet proof glass. Moon loved everything and he loved this wonderful little woman who had saved him and who liked and understood him. He looked at the nasty one-inch blisters on his arms. Why he even liked the wounds. They were little familiar friends. Little toasty marshmallow welt buddies. Every aspect of life was interesting and fascinating and he wanted so much to share it. Moon understood the secrets of all and he so much wanted to share them.

“How on earth did you end up here, Jude?”

“It’s a wee bit hard to explain.”

“Don’t you want to tell me? That’s OK. If that’s how you feel that’s OK.”

“No, no. I want to tell you everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything.”

“Would you like a smoke?” She sat her notepad to one side. She threw Moon his crutch pouch. “Roll your own. Just like my youngest brother Harry.”

It was all in there. Weed tobacco, roaches, and papers. Moon rolled a fat one and lit up. The Monkees were singing I’m A Believer.

“Thank you, doctor. Thank you.”

“Call me Betty just like your Aunt Betty.”

Moon began to laugh. “I really do have an Aunt Betty.”

“Ya don’t say. Well, ain’t that the cutest thing. Jude, exactly when did you and Seamus leave Amsterdam to come to Budapest?” Betty smiled at Jude and Jude smiled back at Betty. They had a great time. An unforgettable couple of hours. Moon had never been happier in his life. Moon poured his soul out to Betty and Betty told Jude everything. Everything. There was nothing Jude did not know about Betty. Moon told Betty all about his great pal Seamus. Everything. Why golly gosh there wasn’t a thing Betty didn’t know about Seamus. Moon explained to Betty his plan to save the world. The EWAB’s secret agenda was to stop humans eating meat and ban the automobile. He told her all about the Magic Mushroom and his dream to drive out the nuclear submarines from the Earth’s oceans. When the interrogation was complete and Moon empty Betty gave Moon a pat on the back and strapped him back onto the bed. He didn’t mind this. He knew this was for his own good. He was happy. As happy as a human could possibly be. She went out of the ward and went to the colonel’s office.

“Well?”

“He is no terrorist. He came here with some rock, a meteorite, he and his friend Seamus found in Amsterdam. In a potato patch. They came to try and get the rock examined by the NASA scientists. They did not release any toxic agent at the fair. He got some Russian administrator, Tanya, to print them bogus I.D. so they wouldn’t have to pay to get in and so they could get into the NASA lectures. He is harmless and so is his friend Seamus.”

The colonel handed the doctor the orders they had received. Orders sent by a computer whose security settings and capabilities were the equal of those computers used to set and activate the nuclear launch codes. Infallible Ivan they called it. The orders were headed with the activation code TRIPOD. This meant that a national emergency had been declared. The armed forces had been mobilized and Hungary was on a war footing though who they were at war with TRIPOD did not disclose. The document read Moon and Seamus are an imminent threat to national security and are to be detained and interrogated using harshest and most severe procedures. Speed was imperative to prevent a biological attack on Budapest. They must be made to talk. Whatever information gleaned from the terrorists was ultra-secret to be forwarded to Security HQ and no copy files. Finally, Moon and Seamus were to be executed their bodies cremated and their ashes disposed of secretly. No traces were to be left behind.

The doctor read the document again. She was speaking in her native Hungarian. “Did you speak to anyone from head office about this?”

“No. We are explicitly ordered only to act on TRIPOD orders.”

“That’s handy. Is there any way of verifying these orders?”

“You know the protocols. We act on TRIPOD. No communication until the job is done.”

“That is nonsense, Daniel. This stinks. Security must have known about this alleged bio attack before or as it happened. The security services were on their way to the convention before the incident took place. That man lying in there is no threat to anyone. No one. He is a harmless hippie and at worse a hopeless dreamer. And from what he told me so is the other one, his friend Seamus.”

“You are absolutely certain of that?”

“Completely certain. Moon is empty. I gave him GUSH.”

GUSH was a revolutionary development in the interrogation of prisoners. It was a truth serum developed by the doctor, Major Levat and it was the ultimate tool in interrogation. Once the GUSH was administered it induced total cooperation and the prisoner would, with great joy and happiness, tell everything they knew and had ever experienced. In theory, it also negated the use of torture. The formula was a closely guarded secret.

“You better be right.”

“I am certain. If I asked Moon, he would jump off the roof for me or cut his own throat. He is a harmless innocent hippie. And we are to execute him?”

“Yes. As soon as we wake them up.”

“Them?”

“Yes while you were having your heart to heart Seamus O’Mulgreavey arrived here inquiring about his friend. Wanted to know if he could visit Moon and what time were visiting hours? Left him with some clean clothes and toilet articles.”

“Where is Seamus O’Mulgreavey now?”

“He is restrained and sleeping now in the bed next to Moon.” He read to her another TRIPOD order. “Came through half an hour ago. Interrogation of Seamus O’Mulgreavey unnecessary. Do not proceed. Sedate the prisoners and execute them both at 0730am.”

The doctor Major Levat, the head psychiatrist who ran the torture clinic and brain washing centre, took the paper from the Colonel and read it an incredulous look on her hard bitten face.

“This is preposterous. Do not interrogate the prisoner? Don’t even talk to him? Just kill him? This stinks. This needs to be verified. Mr Mulgreavey came here to visit, to look after his friend. Is that the actions of a terrorist? We are being set up to carry out someone's dirty work. Are you going to go along with this?”

“Oh Yes. Take a look at this.” He handed her another TRIPOD communication. This one read – You are all ordered not to communicate outside this facility in any way regarding your orders. You are forbidden under any circumstances to communicate in anyway with any person or authority regarding your previous TRIPOD directives. Failure to comply with this final order will be regarded as an act of treason the penalty for which is summary execution. “They are talking about you and me, Major. Everyone has now been moved from the clinic.”

“Everyone? How so?”

“Orders came through. All staff, except you and I, moved to crises centres. Effective immediate.” He handed her the orders. “They vanished in minutes. The place has been locked down and we are forbidden to leave. Only you and I are left here. If we don’t carry out these orders they will shoo the prisoners and us both on the spot.”

“Security staff?”

“Gone.”

“We are here alone? We cannot leave? There is a communications blanket blackout?”

“Three out of three, Major.” The colonel took out a bottle of vodka from his desk and two tumblers. He poured out two shots. They drank the vodka and the colonel refilled the glasses. Both of them lapsed into silence and both thinking the unthinkable. Was it possible TRIPOD the most powerful secure and sophisticated tool in Hungary’s security apparatus was in the control of a madman?

“Twenty-seven years I have been in this business Major and I never before had a TRIPOD communication.”

“Same with me. Colonel this is not right. We cannot.”

“We carry out the orders, Major. It is going to be a long night and nothing but a double funeral in the morning.” He drank his vodka and refilled his glass. The Major left her vodka.

“I will be back. I am going to take a look at the prisoners.” The Colonel nodded.

The Major went into the ward. Moon and Seamus were lying side by side in two beds. Both were secured to the beds and both were sedated. When she was rubbing salve into Moon’s cattle prod burns she had noticed two of the marks were not burns but love bites. Fresh love bites. She wondered who the woman was? Lucky girl. Moon was a fine looking man. The other man was a fat over sixties with beer blob belly. Even in sedation, she could see he was stressed. He tossed and turned straining against his restraints. She lapsed into a brooding silence staring at the sleeping babes. She was troubled. This was all wrong. It must be some sort of psychological exercise. Surely TRIPOD would spring to life and orders would come cancelling the execution of the two Irishmen. She hoped so. She was the one who would have to give them the lethal injections. She was a doctor not a demon.