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Every detail of the deception was carefully planned and executed.
A sound technician operated a stereo recorder whose tape played the muted sounds of street traffic at a precise volume. The lighting outside the bedroom windows matched the sky exactly, with an occasional shadowed effect to simulate a passing cloud.
The filters over the lamps were set to emit changing yellow-orange rays to duplicate the day's movement of the sun. Even the plumbing in the adjacent bathroom worked with the familiar sounds of the original, but emptying its contents into a septic tank rather than the Washington city sewer system. The huge concrete floor was heavily populated with Marine guards and Secret Service agents, while overhead, amin great wooden rafters, men stood on catwalks manning the overhead lighting system.
Metcalf stepped across a network of electrical cables and entered a large mobile trailer parked against the far wall. Oates and Brogan were waiting and invited him into a walnut-paneled office.
"Coffee?" Brogan asked, holding up a glass urn.
Metcalf nodded gratefully, reached for a steaming cup and sank into a chair. "My God, for a minute there I could have sworn I was in the White House."
"Martin's people did an amazing job," said Oates.
"He flew in a crew from a Hollywood studio and constructed the entire set in nine hours."
"did you have a problem moving the President?"
"The easy part," replied Brogan. "We transferred him in the same moving van as the furniture. Strange as it might sound, the toughest hurdle was the paint."
"How so?"
"We had to cover the walls with a material that didn't have the smell of new paint. Fortunately, our chemists at the agency lab came up with a chalky substance they could tint that left no aroma.
"The news program was an ingenious touch," commented Metcalf.
"it cost us," Oates explained. "We had to make a deal with Curtis Mayo to give him the exclusive story in return for his cooperation in broadcasting the phony news report. He also agreed to hold off a network investigation until the situation cools."
"How long can you continue to deceive the President?"
"For as long as it takes," answered Brogan.
"For what purpose?"
"To study the President's brain patterns."
Metcalf threw Brogan a very dubious look indeed. "You haven't convinced me. Stealing back the President's mind from the Russians who stole it in the first place is stretching my gullibility past the breaking point."
Brogan and Oates exchanged looks and smiled. "Would you like to see for yourself?" Oates asked.
Metcalf put down the coffee. "I wouldn't miss it for a fifth star."
"Through here," Oates said, opening a door and gesturing for Metcalf to enter.
The entire midsection and one end of the mobile trailer was filled with exotic electronic and computer hardware. The monitoring data center was a generation ahead of Lugovoy's equipment onboard the Bougainville laboratory.
Dr. Raymond Edgely noticed their appearance and came over.
Oates introduced him to General Metcalf.
"So you're the mysterious genius who heads up Fathom," Metcalf said. "I'm honored to meet you."
"Thank you, General," Edgely said. "Secretary Oates tells me you have some suspicions about the project."
Metcalf looked around the busy complex, studying the scientists who were engrossed in the digital readings on the monitors. "I admit I'm puzzled by all this."
"Basically, it's quite simple," Edgely said. "My staff and I are intercepting and accumulating data on the President's brain rhythms in preparation for switching control from his cerebral implant to our own unit, which you see before you."
Metcalf's skepticism melted away. "Then this is all true. The Russians really are dominating his thoughts."
