Broken Toys | Chapter Thirty-Seven
I’m not surprised the boss lady asked for the Viking. I knew they had grown close while she was exiled to the wilds of northern California. I am surprised she mentioned him training her. That… that could be an excellent thing. Her reaction to her sister-in-laws name being dropped, that too, unexpected. She wasn’t as shocked as I assumed she’d be.
She followed up with her promise to me and Alistair; she’d see a therapist. When they saw each other at the funeral, she walked to him and kept him at arm’s length. Wasn’t close enough to overhear, but Fergus was: give him enough whiskey and he’d spill the beans. And he did.
Boss lady told Alistair she needed to tend to herself. And when she was done, she had his number. She promised to call him, but only after she got through therapy because ‘issues.’ Alistair nodded, put his hand over her forehead and kissed it before walking off. I escorted Nyssa back home and now nearly a week later, the case is getting some momentum.
Only reason Gaia didn’t pull me from my position with the Mezler's was due to Leda’s name being found in Margot’s black book of connections. That, in conjunction with the Fallard’s and their charity, well, the FBI still wants someone on the inside.
So much news, not sure how to break it to Nyssa without it making her head implode. What she found out— mere tip of the large-enough-to-take-down-the-entirety-of-our-government iceberg.
How would Nyssa react if she found out that her husband is one in a long line of CIA human experimentation victims? That his drug addict mother was only a drug addict acting out because she escaped the program and had no one to deprogram, and allow her to integrate fully into society. Her pimp? The one that helped her overdose? Worked for the CIA and was ordered to retrieve an asset.
Theo Mezler was not just the son of a woman on hard luck, but the bastard offspring of a former president of these United States. Of course, I discovered this way after the fact, when Gaia sent me an email. A classified email, breaking down what we knew regarding the case. And as I scanned that email, my heart stopped because of the situation’s gravity.
Back in World War II, some Nazi scientists were given fake identities and smuggled overseas. Some ended up in South America. Some were hired into the US government. Based off Nazi Evil As Shit Mengele’s work, the precursor to the CIA, the Office of Strategic Services, began a program that ended up being an umbrella to shit loads of other programs stemming from Nazi research now prevalent in our modern CIA.
This particular program dealt with mind control; the use of drugs, torture, sensory deprivation, and other trauma-inducing actions to hurt a person (preferably a small child, as their brain is still developing and takes more readily); when a person has gone through sufficient trauma, they will ‘fragment’ their psyche. Put up mental walls to isolate that trauma so the core psyche is distanced from the abuse. That the horrible things didn’t happen to them, but to someone else as they watched and couldn’t help. With a fragmented psyche, those running the show could, like a computer, “program” commands into the fragment. That fragment becomes an Alter. By use of visual and verbal triggers, the Alter could be brought forth to “run the program,” whatever that meant. For some, it was to trigger a sex slave where pain was no issue. For others, to trigger a message with the traumatized acting as a courier. Whomever is meant to receive the message would use a passcode to gain the information from the Alter.
Every Alter has both a programmer, who they are not to socialize with, and a handler, who helps enforce the program for each Alter. Theo Mezler had three main Alters with countless sub-Alter programs instilled in him by Margot Ivanov: willing slave, messenger, sex slave. Dr. Glenberry, in conjunction with Eva Mezler, handled Theo. Glenberry was there to help calm any psychiatric issues that arose from the programming, and Eva dealt with the day-to-day aspect of wrangling a youth with severe trauma— giving him medication surreptitiously; meds to help invoke, meds to help calm, meds to help control.
The report revealed that not even Elliot and Leda were spared experimentation. All this, generously covered financially by the United States Government.
Those images of a teenage Theo Mezler found on an Amsterdam server? Child pornography made by Margot Ivanov; the sale of which benefited CIA operations overseas. Myra Fallard ties in via the Fallard Council: the money laundering front for this whole operation. It made sense, once the scope of betrayal of humanity got processed. A huge, world-wide web of trafficking in people, especially children, to fund illegal activities of the elite.
Made my head hurt to think about it. And it did nothing to soften relations between the CIA and FBI. They don’t want to let go the cash cow/secret messenger/fuck toys. Too much time and resources invested into the program to quit; too many ethics and mores broken likely to incur an uprising from the masses if revealed. But how can we spread our version of democracy abroad, when our version is so tainted? Tainted with the torture and sexual exploitation of our nation’s children?
Needed to clear my brain of the ethical fog, so I called the Viking.
His booming voice answered a saucy, “Hello, hot stuff.”
“Oh, did I call the wrong number?”
“You tell me, man. Whatcha need?”
“Nyssa would like to extend an invitation to you and Alistair. She needs bodyguards and asked for you two. Interested?” I hoped they were interested— would take much pressure off me to know that Fergus could babysit her and make it feel fun so she doesn’t get bored and look for trouble.
“Oooh, how could I not be?” Heard him puffing away and exhaling before he completed his thought. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s seeing a therapist. It’s a start. But she’s got something planned. Not sure what it is, but she’s not doing too well with all the paparazzi and media bullshit. She needs a buffer from that reality.” Not sure if her plan involved getting plastic surgery, to look less like herself and thus deny that she’s Mezler’s widow. Hope she doesn’t go that route. Media would pick that notion up and run with it for days.
“How long? I don’t want to leave the longhouse empty— somebody has to tend the homestead.”
“Not sure. We can try six months, if you want. You and Alistair can take turns tending your homestead. I did mention to Nyssa that if you came up here, you’d want a spot for growing Admiral Three Sheets. She’s offering a greenhouse, approximately fifteen by twenty-five feet, rigged with halogens and fans. Plus a sword forge and still for your boozing needs. She’s willing to spare no expense at getting you up here. That includes continuing her training and the possible training of a canine guard.”
“Oh, if she’s wanting a guard dog, don’t let her pick it out yet. I know a guy who knows a guy that breeds the most kick ass personal guard pooches. Bred to be intelligent, loyal, and protective. Mossad trained.” Israeli special forces had some spectacularly trained dogs, world renowned. If Fergus recommended them, then that’s a statement of some significance.
“I’ll pass that on to her. So, what should I say, that you’re thinking about the offer?”
“That I’m down for the opportunity, but need to get my ducks in a row. When does she need us up there?”
“Eh, give yourselves a week or two. If something big happens and we need you guys, I’ll let you know.”
“Think something big will happen, or you just blowing smoke up my ass?”
“Not sure. The potential is there… but I could be seeing shadows where none lurk.”
“What’s the point of getting personal protection if there’s merely potential and not promise of action?”
“Because Nyssa needs protection. Not from herself, but from the situations around her. And if she’s planning shenanigans, maybe you can find out what they are. I know her husband’s death fucked with her, and she’s got some anger. But other than that, she doesn’t open up to me.”
“Well, I’ll be there in eight days. Alistair may or may not be with me. So, am I going to live in a mansion or something? How’s room and board going to work?”
“You can stay in the house. There’s an unoccupied wing you could take over. Or, maybe you can sweet talk the boss lady into giving you a yurt. There’s a place out behind the gardens where it could be raised. We’ll deal with details when you get here, if that’s okay with you.”
“Oh, a yurt. Swanky.”
“You don’t have to have it if you don’t want it.”
“Who said I don’t want it? Shit, weed is legal in Washington state, like hell I’m going to pass up the chance to grow it. Fuck, build a franchise of dank brainforests. Glorious, I tell you. Glorious.”
I wish I had as much optimism as the Viking did. But I knew better than most that dealing with the shadier aspects of the government mean nothing less than danger. If Mezler, his family, or Margot were tangled with the CIA, which they were, then there’s no doubt that things will get ugly, if not utterly destroyed.
Thank you for reading!
ALCHEMY OF WRITING series:
*So You Want to Write A Novel. Congrats. Get ready to mainline caffeine and shun people.
*Alchemy of Writing :: Character Creation
*Alchemy of Writing :: World Building and sensory seduction