Gauthier's List

Table of Contents

A Note from the Author

Prologue – The Escape

Chapter 1 – Introduction to Mindgate

Chapter 2 – The Demonstration

Chapter 3 – Gauthier Returns

Chapter 4 – Trail of Havoc

Chapter 5 – Closing In

Chapter 6 – Lost the Toy

Chapter 7 – Good Morning Vietnam

Chapter 8 – Gauthier’s List

Chapter 9 – The Search

Chapter 10 – The Grab

Chapter 11 – Seek and Destroy

Epilogue

Gauthier’s List

Third Edition

A Bruce Highland Novel by Alex Ryan

©2017 by Alex Ryan

Smashwords Edition

Edited by Catherine Stone

Other works by the author:

The Bruce Highland Series

The Gatekeepers

The Man with Three Selves

The Vine Fraternity

The Back Door Key

The Lambda Tribe

Leon’s Fire

The Rex Muse Series:

Rain unto Death

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between real persons and fictional characters is entirely coincidental. Certain historical facts have been modified and altered to suit fictional purposes. This material is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in part or entirety without permission.

It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity. - Albert Einstein

A Note from the Author

Bruce Highland is a private investigator with a background in military intelligence, who uses his unique set of skills and means to track and find Leonard Gauthier, a former CIA research scientist turned serial killer who managed to develop a functional electronic mind control device that was prototyped in a secret CIA research project decades earlier. The story is fictional, but not incredible. Although Mindgate was not a real program, the other cited parallel program, Stargate, which is popularly known as the CIA’s psychic ‘Remote Viewing’ project was very real, and by all accounts successful, even if not practical. Some of the various anecdotal related side stories are loosely based on real events.

This story isn’t about the development and use of a mind control machine, rather it’s about the corrupting influence which that level of control and manipulation can bring, regardless of whose hands it is in. Imagine the technology that we have today in comparison to one hundred, fifty, twenty, or even five years ago, and think about what it might be like five, twenty, fifty, and even a hundred years out. When will someone will figure out how to program a mind with a portable electronic device? Maybe not five years out, but not a hundred years in the future either; it will come well before then.

Regarding my style and audience, consider the following fictional excerpt from a generic paperback dime store action/thriller novel:

The tension in the air was palpable. Agent Clive Bond felt his overcoat tug at his skin as he acquired his target, the evil Matt Dervish. The entire fate of the free world hinged on Bond's ability to stop Dervish from initiating a nuclear world war. There was no room for failure. Millions upon millions of innocent lives were at stake. Slowly and carefully Bond withdrew the silenced automatic pistol from his shoulder holster, took aim, and carefully drew a bead on Dervish's head as Dervish reached for the big red button on his console of death....

And then Bond was interrupted by the sound of a popular musical jingle emanating from his inside jacket pocket. It was his cell phone. Somewhat taken aback, he lowered the pistol and answered. Hello?

Clive honey, it's Marsha. We need to talk. It's about our relationship....

"Hey, uh, babe, can I call you back in a few? I’m kind of busy right now…."

Look, this is an action novel, not a romance novel. There is no gratuitous sex or romance. Violence? I wouldn’t call it gratuitous but again it is an action novel. I realized, after the last couple of books, that you have to write what you want to read, not what you think everyone else wants to read. I had this one conversation with a female friend of mine regarding a previous book. It was just getting good when the clothes started to come off, and then... you ended it! And the rest of the book, well, it was methodical...

Yeah, no kidding baby, let’s leave something to the imagination. The people that like this stuff like process and method, and of course, suspense and character development. But, ultimately, you're the reader. You be the judge of that. If you like spy, mystery, and crime novels with a fast pace and lots of action, with factual history interlaced within, this was written just for you.

Prologue – The Escape

1945

The throbbing rumble of the two five-hundred horsepower diesel engines propelled the Camano class Army transport ship at eight knots through the pitching seas. The crew would take turns occasionally tweaking the speed of an engine, in order to stop the warbling noise of the imperfectly synchronized engine pair. The ship was on a special ops mission, sent from the Southwest Pacific command to a location somewhere in the North Pacific Ocean. The details of the mission were secret, and wouldn’t even be known by the ship’s captain until the ship reached its location; the captain of the ship was Coast Guard Lieutenant Robert Nye.

In response to a cold draft that blew through the bridge, Nye pulled his windbreaker tight. Even inside the bridge, he was unprepared for the change in weather off the North Pacific Ocean, having spent the last six months straight shuttling cargo and troops in warm water between various South Pacific islands. The rest of the officers and men were in the same boat. For that matter, most of the men didn’t even carry warm clothes. It even made the engine crew, who spends most of their time in a noisy, smelly, oily, hot environment appreciate the warmth of the engine room.

Nye spied a sailor on the outside walkway, trying futilely to light a cigarette in the wind and driving rain. Nye didn’t allow smoking inside the bridge, even though he smoked himself. He motioned through the window for the sailor to come inside.

Sir? The sailor asked, as he latched the steel oval door.

Tell you what. I’ll temporarily suspend my policy on smoking in the bridge, if you give me one of those smokes, Nye said.

No problem, skip! the delighted sailor pulled a pack of Camel cigarettes from under his raincoat, lit two, and handed one to Nye.

The Design 381 Army Transport Ship was no battleship or destroyer, just a small cargo hauler, displacing just 550 tons and it was armed only with two .50 caliber machine guns on each side of the fly bridge. It resembled an oversized fishing trawler more than a naval vessel. But still, it was a ship, and Nye was only a Lieutenant, so it was it was still a reasonably choice assignment for such a young officer, particularly a Coast Guard officer. Status wise, the command of a Design 381 isn’t nearly as good as an executive officer slot on a destroyer or a cutter, but it was still a command, and the Design 381 was technically a ship, so potentially, Nye had a path to becoming a flag officer later in his career. At least that would be the case as long as the war dragged on. When it stopped, all bets would be off.

The ship didn’t even have a name. Its registry and hull number was U.S. Army FS 257. It was simply referred to as ‘FS 257’ when a specific identifier is required. Or simply a ‘Design 381’, or more simply ‘the Camano class ship.’ Although the concept of an ‘Army Ship’ sounds illogical, the Army literally had thousands of pieces of floating equipment in the water during World War Two, most of which were crewed by Coast Guard officers and men. Their mission was logistical, providing supplies to Army troops and other ground forces to combat zones in both Pacific and European theaters. They even served as floating repair facilities for vehicles and aircraft. Armament was sparse; they were typically lightly armed with machine guns, and perhaps a small deck gun, but they weren't fighting ships.

With the recent bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, there were rumors that the war with Japan was nearly over. This run could possibly be the last wartime mission that this vessel or its crew performs. The only other commissioned officers on the boat for the run were the ship’s executive officer, a Lieutenant Junior Grade, and the ship’s engineer, an Ensign.

Position report? Nye barked to the executive officer.

We’re crossing 126 degrees West, just below the 38th parallel, the XO replied.

Have we crossed 126 yet?

"Yes. We just crossed it… about now," the XO replied. Nye clinched his teeth. Both officers were green for their positions. Nye learned to forgive nitpicking protocol, like not addressing the skipper as ‘sir.’ Nye understood that the Chief of the Boat didn’t call a Lieutenant ‘sir’, even if he happened to be the skipper. It was a longstanding, unwritten understanding that the Chief of the Boat gets a pass on formally respecting junior officers. But goddammit, Nye thought, my own XO can treat me like I’m a little bit more than a rowboat commander.

Nye put his issues aside for the moment. It was time to open the orders. His instructions were to receive orders after crossing the 126 degree longitude line. He opened a small locked metal box welded to the rear wall of the bridge and pulled out a sealed manila envelope with his orders. He broke the seal, withdrew the papers, and carefully studied them. A short while later he wrote a set of coordinates down on a piece of paper and then handed it to the XO. I need you to take the boat to these coordinates. I need to go below for a bit. At our speed, it should take us about four hours.

Aye aye, Skip.

Better, Nye thought.

So Skip, question…

Yes?

Why do they make you wait to cross a specific position before opening your orders?

Most likely because they are afraid of compromising the mission if some kind of action were taken or radio message was transmitted in reference to the orders. That’s my guess.

Make’s sense. Never had the urge to take a peek?

During a formal dinner function, the Admiral once told me that this kind of thing is a test. I’m not sure exactly how they would know, but apparently somehow they can figure it out. Who knows, maybe there's an implant on board? I don't really care. It doesn't matter now anyway, since it’s time.

So, what’s our mission? The XO asked.

You ready for this?

Yeah. The XO had a quizzical look on his face.

We are going to rendezvous with a Jap submarine and escort it to San Francisco.

The XO’s jaw dropped. Are you serious?

Yeah. Apparently, the crew is defecting.

Why send us? Why not send some Navy destroyer?

I hear the destroyers are kind of busy these days. Plus they don't seem to expect a fight.

Or they don't want to risk losing a destroyer.

Well. There is that.

The warbling drone of the once-again imperfectly synchronized engines disappeared to the sound of a single engine, and the ship noticeably slowed. What the hell is going on? Nye asked.

A minute later, another sharp wind draft blew through the bridge as a Chief Petty Officer entered. Sir, we’re having a problem with the starboard engine. the Chief responded.

What’s the problem?

One of the high pressure fuel lines blew. We have a big mess down there.

A big mess? Mess of what?

Fuel sir.

Crap! Is Ensign Collins aware of this?

Yes sir, he’s working on it.

How about the Chief of the Boat?

He’s on it.

How long is it going to take to fix it?

I don’t know sir, we’re going to have to rig something up. We don’t have spare fuel tubing.

Okay. All right well, priority is to get that fuel spill contained and cleaned up. The one thing we cannot afford right now is a fire.

Aye sir.

Great Nye mumbled as he fumbled for a pack of non-existent cigarettes. We’re in limp mode. It’s a good thing we have time to fart around.

Commander Ichi Takemura gave the order to dive the Sentaka class submarine as it approached the line of destroyers and cruisers of the Imperial Japanese Navy battle group. The executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Mora, barked out a series of orders as the crew prepared for a dive. Takemura motioned Mora over to the command console.

Can our radioman be trusted? Takemura asked.

Yes. But as a precaution, I told him to turn off all radios until further notice.

Okay, it is time to inform the crew. Commander Takemura grabbed a microphone, and set the ship’s intercom to broadcast mode. "This is the Captain speaking. I have been informed by the Imperial High Command that we are to go on a special operations mission. We will be passing under a line of allied destroyers. It is critically important that we maintain silence as we pass under the blockade. Silence protocol will begin immediately. No unnecessary walking. No operation of electronics or machinery that are not essential to the operation of the submarine until further notice. That is all."

Which was a complete, bold faced lie. They would pass under a blockade true enough, but it was a Japanese Navy blockade. Japanese intelligence had intercepted diplomatic communications between Takemura and Mora and the United States diplomatic consulate, who accepted their respective defections. The blockade was there for one specific purpose – intercept and destroy the fleeing Sentaka class submarine.

The agreement with the Allies was that the submarine would evade the Imperial fleet across the Pacific Ocean, and rendezvous with an American naval ship, who would escort the submarine to the San Francisco bay, and ultimately to the submarine paddock at the Mare Island Naval Shipyard in Vallejo, California. The captain and crew would be given asylum. At least, asylum for those crew members who chose to participate in the program.

But as much as Naval Intelligence would love to get their hands on a Japanese submarine, the sub itself was not the real prize. Waiting inside an officer’s stateroom was a German national named Otto Langmeier, a neuroscientist that worked on one of Hitler’s secret research projects to develop a device that could be used to directly control a person’s mind. He fled the Third Reich when Hitler went crazy, and took his research and technology with him to Japan. The Minister of Doctrine quickly realized the potential of Langmeier’s research. On one hand, it could have positive uses, maybe even medical uses, but on the other hand, it could be misused as a terrible weapon. It certainly didn’t belong in the hands of the Nazis. But, it did not belong in the hands of the Imperial High Command either. It belonged in Allied hands, if any.

The Minister of Doctrine was executed by a sword for high treason almost at the exact moment that the Sentaka class submarine submerged below periscope depth. He did not refute his role in the organization of the plan to have two senior submarine commanders defect to America, along with Langmeier and his research papers.

Takemura stared at the chart with a plotter and a circular computer. It was about now that the submarine would pass under the line of ships. He held his breath and tensed up.

Bakuri! The sonar operator screamed as he tore his headset off his head and switched off the sensitive noise monitoring electronics.

Brace for depth charges, The Captain said over the broadcast intercom.

The first one exploded, shaking the hull slightly, followed by two more.

They are setting them too shallow, the Captain said to Mora.

Thank god. Mora replied.

Japanese depth charges have proved to be fairly unsuccessful thus far against American submarines unless they were caught in shallow water as they were generally fused at an insufficient depth for effectiveness. Takemura was banking on this characteristic to protect the submarine as he passed under the line of ships. It appeared that the tactic of passing the armada directly underneath at the maximum test depth of 360 feet was working, at least, at the moment. The creaking sounds were ominous, but the engineers said that they weren’t necessarily abnormal at such a depth.

And, of course, there was the danger of other submarines, but the remaining submarine groups were on other patrols. The only nearby group was composed of Kaidai class boats, which could not come close to the Sentaka’s submerged speed of nineteen knots, even though it had a faster surface speed, so it was a fairly useless opponent. Takemura guessed that they wouldn’t bother to attempt pursuit with the nearby Kaidai submarines, and his guess turned out to be correct.

Then it hit. Whether it was intentional, or perhaps a depth sensor malfunctioned and the charge sank deeper than it was set for, was unknown, but the explosion violently jarred the submarine and caused an internal water line to shear, flooding one of the compartments.

We have to surface! Mora shouted to the Captain.

We can’t! We will be picked off by surface torpedoes as soon as we hit the surface!

Our main ballast tank is damaged and we lost a rear trim tank. I can’t hold her steady! We are either going up, or we are going down!

Okay. Stop the motors. Keep the ascent as slow as possible. Set the planes to give us the most forward travel. Maybe if they don’t hear anything more they will assume they have sunk us.

After thirty minutes, the conning tower of the Sentaka class submarine emerged from the waves. Commander Takemura scanned the horizon with the periscope. It was night time. He could make out the silhouettes of the ships – he was maybe two miles ahead of the line. Could they see him? They would only be able to view the narrow edge of the conning tower as the rest of the sub was flat with the sea. But the ships had better optics and a more advantageous viewing angle.

Okay, Takemura said. Slowly and gradually and advance the motors to achieve a three knot speed. Electrics only please. How are my batteries?

Let me consult engineering. Mora left the control room and returned several minutes later. We have about three hours at our present current drain.

That puts us about ten miles from the fleet when we run out. We had better hope that they have given up by then.

Engineering reports that the flooding has been contained and that they will have the trim tank repaired within two hours.

Will we be functional to dive?

Yes.

Good. Once we have reached the range of our batteries, we will shut down and observe. If the fleet is advancing towards us, we will start the diesels and run at maximum surface speed until they are almost within torpedo range of us. Their fastest ship has about a five knot advantage on the surface. Hopefully by then we will have sufficiently charged the batteries so that we can dive and outrun them underwater.

Three hours later, the batteries were drained sufficiently that the Captain ordered the electric motors to stop, conserving power for other vital resources including a diesel engine restart. The fleet appeared to neither advance nor retreat so far. But there was a new problem. The submarine was hidden well enough in the distance and darkness, but it would be daylight in two hours, and the sub would stick out like a sore thumb when it would be silhouetted by the rising sun, and surely search aircraft would be sent out. Distance was the sub’s ally. Takemura decided to start the diesel engines and slowly advance the power, ramping up the speed, and subsequently the noise level, as they gained distance. They would not be able to outrun an aircraft, however, they did have a submerged range of 135 miles should they have to dive to avoid one, if they were able to fully charge the batteries.

Fortunately, by daybreak, they appeared to have escaped detection, and they had put enough distance between the Imperial fleet that interception would become impossible before the fleet would encounter Allied resistance. They had to trust that their instructed route would take them clear of uninformed Allied ships.

Takemura calculated that the 4,560 mile journey should take twelve days to complete, running full out. The full trip was slightly over 5,000 miles. But the problem was they had a maximum range of 5,800 miles at a speed of 14 knots, and no tabulated range data at a full speed of 16 knots, so he elected to go at a reduced speed in order to ensure that the submarine would be able to reach the coast.

The trip was fairly uneventful, with a two short dives to avoid heavy seas caused by passing cyclones. Regardless, the submarine reached the rendezvous location in fourteen days. Captain, we have a problem. Mora noted as they drew close to the location.

What is that?

The crack in the hull from the damage is growing, and the rough seas have made it worse. Engineering can no longer keep it sealed. We are taking on water and it cannot be stopped.

Although the loss of the right side, 500 horsepower, V6 diesel aboard FS 257 was a setback, it did not present a major immediate problem, as the ship had to loiter in the area for two more days. Repairing it, however, turned into a major engineering challenge. The stock brass and steel tubing they had was unsuitable for use as a high pressure injection line. The ship’s engineer made a special challenge to the young machinist mate tasked with repairing the engine. ‘Fix this motor and when we get back to port, and I’ll buy you all the beer you can drink for an entire day.’ That was no small commitment. MM1 Fletcher reportedly drank a whole case after finishing technical school.

To that end, Fletcher spent half a day going through the entire boat, starting from the stern, to the bow. Then he found it; a couple of the winches contained the right type and length of hydraulic tubing, which should prove to work perfectly. It so happened that one of them was out of service anyway, not that it was needed that badly to begin with. It was almost perfect but not quite, as it was slightly oversize, but Fletcher was able to reverse swage the ends enough to make it fit through the clamp nuts. The ship’s engineer awoke from his nap from the vibration of the starting diesel engine. As soon as it fired to life, he knew he was going to be out of some beer money when they reached port.

Skipper! the Chief of the Boat yelled to Nye as he puffed on another cigarette up top on the fly bridge. I see light signals!

"Okay, I see them. It’s about time. They’re two days late.