They’d dated for four amazing years and their wedding day was one of the best of his life, second only to when he heard the words “You can send the probe on the next launch, Dr. Covington.”
He sighed, because it was on that day that he lost her. Not many people could pinpoint the exact second their marriage went to hell, but he could. And he wasn’t proud of it. He searched through pages and pages of gift ideas and settled on a large bouquet of flowers. He didn’t think her new husband would appreciate her receiving jewellery from her ex.
With that done, he sat back and enjoyed life for the first time in years. He had money, funding from a respected corporation, and in a couple of years, he would define the cutting edge of science.
Arthur picked up a few stacks of cash and put them in his drawer. The rest, he bundled in an envelope and addressed it to his wife. A scrawled note in his familiar chicken scratch told her to use it for the kid’s college fund.
Finally, he was able to do things for his family, and soon he would get some much deserved respect from the scientific community.
Frank Monroe swirled the clear liquid in the glass he held. The world’s best vodka, his contact told him. Perhaps, but he’d rather be drinking a 100 year old scotch and enjoying a cigar in his study than freezing his ass off in this barren tundra. His phone chirped and he answered it.
“He agreed,” Frank said, knowing who was on the other end.
“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter if he does or not. We can always arrange an accident and hand over his research to someone else. It’s the rocks that matter.” Frank swallowed his drink and made a face.
The line went dead. Frank stared at the phone for a second before punching in a number.
“It’s Monroe, how are things coming along?”
Papers being shuffled and power tools echoed in the background.
Frank poured more vodka into his glass and downed it. “No excuses, just get it done.”
He hit end and tossed the phone on the worn dresser. He glanced around the room and wondered how much the company was paying for this dump. The bed was dirty and unmade, water stains riddled the wall in eerie interpretations of Rorschach inkblots, and the carpet seemed to unravel and disintegrate as he watched it.
Only a few more days and he would be able to go home where it was warm and sunny. First, he needed to put a few security measures in place to ensure Dr. Covington kept his mouth shut. He pulled his FNP-9 out of its holster, checked the safety and placed it on the nightstand. Sitting, he tried not to think about the two additional years he had left on this assignment.
Part of him knew he should be happy they trusted him enough to head up one of their most important projects, but he’d rather be working in the weapons division. Making sure some geek got all his lab equipment to examine rocks was not his idea of fun. With a sigh, he leaned back on the bed, vodka bottle in hand, glass forgotten.
Chapter 1 –
“Watch what you’re doing, that vial is priceless,” Dr. James Smith cursed at the intern.
James watched as the young man cradled the item in his hand and crossed the room to place it on the counter next to Dr. Marsha Watkins. For years, they’d been muddling their way through funding nightmares to develop a cure for Alzheimers. Then out of the blue, a man in a nice suit, but lacking in personality, made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.
Now they were in a top-notch facility with technology they didn’t even know existed at their fingertips. So desperate to make a name for themselves, all in the name of helping their fellow man, they’d both checked their morals at the door when it came to human experimentation. As long as some progress was being made, the test subjects didn’t seem to mind the side effects. At first, they were minor.
When the head of the company brought them the unknown element and asked them to see if it might aid in their research, they played along. Expecting it not to work, or be of any benefit, they were shocked when after only two small doses people improved significantly.
Now James and Marsha were taking their work in a whole new direction. The brain activity was like nothing they’d ever seen before – at first.
Then something happened. He chalked it up to whiny patients and the typical “adverse reactions” people complain about when on a new medication. As the list grew, rashes, memory loss, decreased appetite, muscle aches, vision problems, and mood swings, James stopped the treatments.
The subjects got better after a couple of days, but there was something useful in the mysterious element he’d been given. He created a large dose, thinking a series of small doses were the problem, and he pocketed the syringe. He punched in the code for Level 15 and entered one of the special rooms, where what he was about to do, wouldn’t be seen or heard by others.
On the table, a man in his seventies rambled about spiders in the corner, their worst patient symptom-wise. James checked his straps to make sure he was secure, pulled out a cotton swab and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He cleaned a small area on the man’s forearm, and then injected the amped up serum.
A moment later, James jumped back as the old man’s body arced off the table. He babbled rapidly as his eyes rolled around, then lay flat – dead. With a sigh, James hit the button and watched as a small door opened on the side and the table slipped inside. It shut with a clang, and as he walked out, James felt the warmth of the incinerator as it destroyed the evidence of his experiment.
He refused to give up. Marsha tried to warn him away from it, but she didn’t see the potential the way he did. In secret, he wrote out formulas and other possible uses, as well as other methods of delivery. He wondered if there was a way to make it into a gas. It would be less taxing on the system, and therefore, more likely not to throw people into shock. He’d watched eleven people die so far, but new subjects were more than willing to sign up for treatment. Then you had people who couldn’t wait to unload family members who were more trouble than they were worth.
On the counter next to his co-worker, sat the only inhalable version of the serum. They were scheduled to test it in less than a week and his anticipation grew every day they prepared. He knew it would work. This time, he would find the cure.
Lyle Willis set the bricks of Semtex in strategic locations, forty in total. Some of them were on the current level, others in the ventilation system and elevator shafts. His boss was particular about how he wanted things done, and since Lyle was making a lot of money to do an easy job, he didn’t ask questions.
When he’d first been contacted about the job, he thought it was a joke. How do you demolish a retro fitted silo? Add in the security measures that Sunset Inc. put into place and he shook his head. A suicide mission.
The person was persistent. Contacting him via e-mail with vital information and a sum of money no one would say no to. After much thought, and a pass guaranteed to get him inside, as well as half the cash sitting in his account, Lyle relented.
As he drove up the road to the address given, he noted the discreetly hidden security cameras. When he reached the edge of the driveway, two security guards greeted him.
“Who are you?”
“Keller, Jack Keller,” Lyle said as he handed over the ID card.
The taller of the two guards looked him over. “Open the trunk.”
