Daemon

scans the pattern of veins in my forearm.’
    ‘If there’s an anal probe ahead, I’m leaving now.’
    The second massive door clicked, then started moving inward. ‘Watch the door, please, sirs.’
    They entered a brightly lit, narrow room that was easily a couple of hundred feet long. Halfway down the room’s length was a cluster of workbenches and electronics equipment. Steel shelving several rows deep lined the approach to it.
    Ross motioned for Merritt to follow. They passed another set of armed guards inside the wide doorway, and then Ross set a brisk pace down the center aisle.
    They passed row after row of metal shelving piled high with shattered, twisted, burnt, melted, bullet-ridden, or bloodstained equipment of all types – belts, helmets, circuit boards, odd-looking multibarreled pistols and shotguns, bundles of wiring, parabolic satellite dishes, sensors, and on it went. All of them were tagged with bar codes. It looked like an evidence room.
    ‘Captured Daemon equipment?’
    Ross nodded. ‘You guys bring it in, and this is where the techs reverse-engineer it to find out how to defeat it. But you just brought us our greatest find yet, Roy.’
    They finally reached a scientists’ work area and stepped onto a raised dais of nonstatic tile. Several men in lab coats were gathered around something, making adjustments and holding small wrenches. Their bodies completely blocked what they were working on. Dr Natalie Philips stood, arms crossed, observing the scientists’ work. A burly man in a sports jacket stood next to her. Merritt didn’t recognize him.
    The ice chest and black case Merritt had flown in with stood open on the workbenches nearby.
    Philips and the man looked up as Ross and Merritt arrived. Philips nodded. ‘Agent Merritt, I’m glad things went well in Brazil.’
    ‘Anything to help this scavenger hunt of yours, Doctor.’ They shook hands.
    ‘Well, it might pay off big today.’ Philips gestured to the man. ‘Agent Merritt, this is our DOD liaison. For security reasons his identity is classified. We simply call him The Major.’
    Merritt raised an eyebrow, then extended his hand. ‘Major.’
    The Major shook Merritt’s hand in an iron grip. ‘You’re something of a celebrity among Daemon operatives, I hear.’
    Merritt shrugged. ‘That’s what they tell me.’
    ‘Good to see you’re fully recovered, Mr Merritt.’
    Merritt reflexively stroked the burn scars on his neck.
    Philips pointed to the nearby knot of scientists. ‘This is our research team on loan from DARPA. Identities also classified.’
    ‘These introductions aren’t very useful.’
    One of the scientists looked up from the huddle. He was an older Asian man. ‘The rig is ready, Dr Philips.’
    Philips nodded toward a nearby stool. ‘Have a seat, Agent Merritt. I think you’ll find this interesting.’
    The scientists scattered, revealing what they had beenworking on – and what Merritt had brought all this way: a pair of sports sunglasses with yellow-tinted lenses and thick, metallic frames had been bolted into an armature in the center of the lab area. Wires and cables ran from inside the frames over to the lab bench. Set between the posts of the glasses was a clear glass cylinder in which floated a disembodied human eye, like some macabre olive in a jar. The severed nerve endings were alligator-clipped in place to position the eye staring straight forward through the right lens of the sports glasses.
    Philips gestured to the rig. ‘That’s the right eye, Jon?’
    Ross nodded. ‘I double-checked.’
    She examined the rig closely. ‘The sniper’s bullet doesn’t appear to have damaged the blood vessels.’ She checked her watch. ‘Eighteen hours, sixteen minutes since his death. The clock is running. We need to get this test started.’
    Merritt was still staring back at the eye. ‘What sort of test?’
    She turned to him. ‘We believe these glasses serve as a heads-up display for Daemon operatives, Agent Merritt.’ She leaned in and pointed to a spot on the frame of the glasses. ‘A fiberoptic projector displays an image onto the inside of the glass lenses.’ She pointed to a dot elsewhere on the frame. ‘This is a retinal scanner. The Daemon knows who’s wearing these HUD glasses, and this is a heart pulse monitor – over which we have placed an artificial pulse generator. We intend to fool the Daemon into thinking its operative is still alive and calm. If it hasn’t already