"Darling, are you okay?" Kerrin asked his wife, genuinely missing her and wishing he was at home. He could do with a hug and a little bit of TLC. The past few days were beginning to get him down. All this talk of death was not his idea of fun.
"Don't worry about me. I'm okay. By the way, Elizabeth called. She said she's been trying to reach you on your cell phone all day. She can't get through. Can you call her when you get a chance?"
"Yes, thanks, I will. My battery is dead, and I forgot to bring my charger with me. I'll stop by a store tomorrow and pick up another one. Listen, are you sure you're fine?"
"Absolutely. I'm not saying it's good when you're away, but I'm getting a lot done. It's fantastic!"
"Nice to know I'm missed. Maybe I should go away more often?"
"Don't be silly darling, you know what I mean. So when are you coming home then? Soon, I hope?"
"Well, I still need to talk to a few more people, then I was wondering if I should fly to Arizona to see Elizabeth again. I might need to ask her some more questions."
"Can't you do it over the phone?"
"Maybe. I'll see. Anyway, after her, I've got to track down some person who seems to have disappeared."
"Why don't you call me tomorrow? It would be nice if you could get home for the weekend."
"I'll try. I'll speak to you tomorrow."
"I love you darling. Look after yourself!"
She hung up and Kerrin felt a tightness at the base of his stomach. He missed her. He would definitely try to be home for the weekend.
It was a hot night. Oppressive and close. Kerrin could feel the static in the air, and could hear the thunderstorm brewing in the background. Infuriatingly, the air conditioning unit in the room had developed an annoying clicking sound. And now he had become aware of it, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the tortuous clicking just seemed to get louder and louder.
Swearing aloud, Kerrin jumped out of bed and reached out to the control panel on the wall, sliding the little white button along from "Low" to "Off".
It took him a good forty minutes to fall asleep. Without the air conditioning, the heat on the third floor of the hotel slowly built up in the room, and it wasn't long before he started to toss and turn in his bed, cold sweat drenching his body and the sheets on which he lay.
Restless and uncomfortable, he quickly slipped into the same old repetitive nightmare that he always dreamt when his mind was troubled.
The car he was driving was his labour of love. The fact that it looked almost brand new was the result of all the years he had spent dutifully restoring it back to its former glory. It had been in a terrible state when he inherited it from an uncle, but after five years of hard graft it was once again in pristine condition. Kerrin was immensely proud of his efforts, and he loved to take the Morgan out for a drive in the long tree lined country lanes in the countryside around Dana's parents' farm in Pennsylvania.
The dream was always the same. Every second of it identical.
That afternoon there had been a storm, but now the skies were all clear and the air was clean and fresh.
He would be driving down the country road enjoying the scenery and the sunshine, the warm air coursing over their bodies as they swept around the bends and accelerated along the long, empty roads ahead. The storm had been over quickly. The ozone in the air mixed with the autumn smells from the farmland around, spicing it with the smell of the earth, and the sweet flavours of the wild flowers that grew so abundantly in the hedgerows on either side of the road. Kerrin breathed it deeply into his lungs.
He turned to look at Dana, sitting on the seat beside him, her luxurious long black hair blowing freely in the wind over the back of her shoulders. She smiled back, the late sun sparking in her blue eyes and twinkling back at him. She reached out her hand to Kerrin, and he took his right hand from the steering wheel to hold it.
Her hand was warm. He squeezed it lightly, and she smiled. Dana shuffled over in her seat towards him, pulling the seat belt slack so she could rest her head on Kerrin's shoulder.
He kissed her lightly on the forehead, and wrapped his arm around her before returning his attention to the road ahead.
The tractor was pulling out slowly from a blind entrance to a field. Before he passed through the gates, there was no way the tractor driver could have known whether or not there were any cars on the country road, and if there were, whether or not the car drivers would be paying attention to the road ahead instead of making love to their passengers. It wasn't the tractor driver's fault. This was the countryside, after all.
The brakes on the Morgan were brand new, the tread on the new tyres deep and unworn.
Kerrin saw the tractor ahead, his body reacting instantly and his finely trained police driving skills throwing the Morgan into a swerve around the tractor on the opposite side of the road.
Dana screamed.
Kerrin gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes meeting briefly with the eyes of the tractor driver as they passed him by, easily clearing the tractor with a foot to spare.
Once past the tractor Kerrin looked on in disbelief as a car rounded the bend ahead, heading straight towards them. He braked hard, spinning the steering wheel quickly to bring the Morgan back onto the right side of the road.
The storm had not been hard, but the dead autumn leaves had thirstily soaked up the rain. As the car turned around the far side of the tractor, the back wheels of the Morgan fought in vain to find traction on the leaf mulch, and started to skid uncontrollably.
The Morgan spun across the road, Kerrin fighting hard to regain control. Then suddenly the tyres found resistance on the tarmac, and propelled the car forward. Having over compensated too much, the car now spun around wildly in the opposite direction, its momentum carrying it broadside into the car ahead.
The front of the oncoming car smashed into their passenger side, propelling the Morgan backwards and into the hedge at the side of the road.
Kerrin was thrown violently against the door, away from the oncoming car, and the world went black around him.
Dimly Kerrin began to become aware of steam pouring from the bonnet of the Morgan. He turned his head and saw Dana unconscious in the seat beside him, her twisted body hanging awkwardly over the edge of her seat. The impact had thrown her body sideways, whipping her around violently in her seat, the seatbelt of the Morgan powerless to protect her from the spinning, sideways crash. Blood covered her legs, a shard of bent metal protruding through her thigh and poking out through her torn dress.
That's when he woke up. Screaming, and crying.
Kerrin splashed cold water onto the back of his neck and washed his face. Picking up one of the blue hand-towels from the handrail beside the sink, he wiped his face dry.
He walked back to the bed, switched on the cable T.V. and flicked impatiently through the channels without really paying them any attention.
The dream was always the same, and the nauseating feeling in his stomach when he awoke left him cold and drained. For the first few months after the crash, the guilt had been so bad that he had actually vomited when he awoke from the nightmare, but now, years later, he was able to lie back and ride it out.
He knew the pattern the guilt took. He knew he would never be able to put the accident properly behind him. He knew it wasn't entirely his fault. He even knew that Dana had never blamed him for it.
But it seemed so unfair. Kerrin had been driving. If anyone had been guilty for the crash, it was him. Yet Kerrin walked free with only a few scratches, and Dana had been crippled, the impact forces of the two cars jostling Dana so violently that a few vital nerves in her spinal column had been damaged beyond repair.
Sometimes Kerrin would wake up and lie for hours looking across at Dana. Before the accident he had loved her more than he thought it was physically possible to love any other human being. She was his life.
But now she relied upon him so much, he loved her even more.
Yes, sometimes
he felt angry at the world. Anger at himself, and maybe even a little self-hate. But more than anything he felt sad. Sad at the life that had now been denied them. The adventures they had planned so meticulously together, the mountain hikes, and cycling trips and the walks along the beach at sunset. All gone. Dreams they had made, that now belonged to another life, for another couple.
Kerrin would do anything for Dana. There wasn't a thing in the world he wouldn't give if he could just undo those few seconds in Pennsylvania which had stolen so much from them both.
Anything.
Including his own life.
--------------------
The Gen8tyx Company
Day Ten
Purlington Bay
California
David Sonderheim's office overlooked a scenic bay about ten miles outside of Carmel. His office was massive, a large window sweeping round in a giant curve, affording him an incredible view of the sea and their small harbour below. From here he could watch their guests arriving by boat, or just look at the seals bathing on the rocks beside the quay. In the background he could see the large ships heading in and out of San Francisco.
Light flooded into his office, but whenever he wanted, he could regulate the amount of daylight entering the room by electronically changing the polarisation of the glass on the windows. Alternatively, at the flick of a switch, metal shutters could automatically rise and cover the windows, making the room both secure and pitch black.
A small panel on his desk allowed him to control everything about his office. The humidity, the lights, the business facilities, the electronic doors. With the flick of one switch, the far wall would open up, and a large back-lit projection screen would glide into place. From the comfort of his desk he could hold secure encrypted video conference sessions with people all around the globe. In an instant he could view any satellite channel in the world, show company presentations to guests in his office, or divide the screen up into smaller screenlets, so that he could simultaneously monitor the news on CNN, Bloomberg, and Yahoo-Finance.
David Sonderheim loved his new office.
He loved the feeling of power that it gave him. It was obvious to anyone that visited, that the owner of the office was an important man. Successful. Influential.
He crossed the room to the large model of the plant and the clinic, encased within glass and taking pride of place on a raised plinth against one of the walls. He looked down admiringly at the model, and studied the buildings which he had personally helped design and plan. A dream come true.
A dream which had taken a lifetime to realise. It had started long ago in a lower-income family living on the outskirts of Chicago. A young boy with asthma, who had grown up beaten by his father, and taunted and bullied by the other kids at school for his flaming bright red hair, a legacy of his Scottish ancestry.
He had hated his childhood, spending all his spare time in the library, hiding amidst the books and dreading the moment the library would close and he would have to go home. To escape his life, he liked to read stories about other people, people with perfect lives and fantastic families, and he would dream of being someone else.
Someone who could run for miles without running out of breath and struggling for air, and someone who could sleep without worrying about the bedroom door creaking open in the middle of the night and the sound of his father's footsteps coming towards him, drunk and angry.
A weak child, hunted and scared, he dreamt of a day when he would be strong and fit and no one would dare to bully him.
Seeking attention from his teachers, and then later his professors at college, he had studied hard and excelled at everything. He left home as soon as he could and chose a college as far from his father as possible. He soon grew out of being the weak, pathetic child that he was, and turned into a strong, tall and broad shouldered adolescent. His freckled face and flaming red hair helped him stand out from the crowd, and people noticed him wherever he went. And as his confidence grew, he even came to like the attention he received.
As the years past he became fascinated by biology, and then genetics, and slowly his dreams changed.
No longer the scared rabbit, Sonderheim dreamt of power. He saw the promise that genetics offered, the potential to control life, to create life, to change people. He recognised the power that lay behind mastery of the science. The power to take the weak and make them strong. To help the crippled walk, and the ill become well.
And, almost as a side-effect, he saw the opportunity to make money. Vast amounts of money.
Genetics would give him the power he wanted. The power to become a god amongst men.
To do what he wanted, and when he wanted.
And to be able to settle old scores.
Like the one he had settled six years ago, fulfilling one of his childhood dreams.
Since the day he ran away from home to live in dorms at college, he had had nightmares of his father's nocturnal visits. There had been no real reason for the weekly beatings. David had just been an easy target for a weak and pathetic man, who had become embittered with the lot life had given him, and who had not had the courage to do anything about it.
At the time, he had not seen his father for over ten years but his father was a man of habit and he guessed correctly that he probably still drank at the same old watering holes.
So one night they had driven down to the workman's bar, and waited until just after closing time. It was a cold, dark night, it had just rained and steam was rising from the gutters on the edges of the sidewalks. Their large, black limousine looked like an object from another planet, sitting at the end of the road, surrounded by buildings that had long been in need of repair, and with windows broken and boarded up.
Sonderheim sat patiently in the back of the limo, sipping champagne and watching each person as they staggered out of the bar, fifty yards down the road. He had waited a long time for this evening, and now he was in no rush, savouring each moment of anticipation. He was looking forward to the next fifteen minutes very much indeed.
The door of the bar opened, a shaft of light falling onto the sidewalk, and a man staggering forwards into the street. David recognised the figure of the man, stopping momentarily in front of the bar to adjust the cap on his head with both his hands, and reaching into his pockets to take out his cigarettes.
"That's him," David said softly.
The black limo inched slowly forwards, drawing up alongside the man who was walking away from them down the street. Two large men sprang out of the car, and grabbed the drunk man from behind, securing their grip on each of his arms and dragging him into the back of the limo.
Sonderheim’s father tried struggling, but as he was pushed down onto the seat in front of David, he stopped resisting and looked up, trying to recognise the face of his son through his drunken haze.
The car drove for a few minutes before turning down a side street and coming to a stop in a dark alleyway surrounded by empty warehouses.
Grabbing the old man, Sonderheim's two henchmen pulled his father out of the car and flung him against the wall, pinning him with both arms and preventing him from moving.
David stepped out of the back door, brushing down his long black woollen coat, and adjusting the black leather gloves on his hands.
He stepped up to his father, who stared at him incredulously without speaking.
The taller of the two henchmen, a black man with a gold filling that sparkled in the orange neon light that dimly illuminated the alley, knocked off the old man's hat and forcibly lifted his face to stare at his son.
"So, father, it's a pleasure to see you again. I won't say that I've missed you, because I believe it's wrong to tell lies, but I will say that I have looked forward to tonight for a long time. A very long time."
"Son, I…" his father tried to speak.
The other henchman, a white man who had spent too long building muscle in the gym, lashed out with his fist. The blow knocked out a tooth and burst the ol
d man's nose, and blood started to pour down his face. Unable to wipe away the blood with both his hands pinned against the wall, his father coughed and spluttered and struggled to breathe.
"No, don't talk when I'm talking to you. That's very rude too." David replied. "You know, it's quite sad really. The number of nights I've spent planning what to say to you tonight, preparing the long speech I was going to give you. But now I'm here, I don’t think I'll waste my time. I think I'd rather just get straight to the fun part. Words won't really be necessary. I think you'll get the point…but first, if you don’t mind, I'll get myself another glass of champagne. I'm rather thirsty."
David stepped back into the car, and returned a moment later with a fresh flute of sparkling Moet & Chandon. He stood with his back to the car, raised his glass towards his father, and sipped the bubbling, clear liquid. Then he nodded at his men, and watched silently as they began to beat his father to a pulp.
He stood passively, his face expressionless but his eyes alive and full of repressed emotion. He watched each blow and each kick as they rained down on his father, and as the blood flowed and the bones cracked, the memories of those nights in his bedroom came flooding back, a scared child being beaten black and blue for no reason he could understand. He remembered the tears, could once again taste the fear, and worst of all, could clearly smell the mess in his trousers that he often had to clear up quietly in the bathroom afterwards.
It was through a dim haze that David saw his father slide down the wall, bleeding heavily, crumpled and unconscious. David was lost in a world from long ago, erasing the memories of his past. Only slowly did he come back to the present and respond to the question he was being asked.
"Boss…Do you want us to kill him? I don't think he can take anymore."
"No…No, thank you. I think that will be enough."
David drank the rest of the champagne, looked briefly at the glass, then threw it down at the feet of his father before turning and getting back into the warmth of the limousine.
That was the last time David had seen him, but since that night the nightmares had never returned.
The clinic and the building displayed in the glass case had taken just over a year to build. It was set far back from the road, at the end of a small valley and natural inlet from the sea. From the highway, only those with the correct security clearance were allowed to drive down the winding, freshly tarmacked road leading to the bay, and would get to see just how large the new building actually was.
It was a marvel of modern engineering. The design complemented its natural surroundings and simultaneously captured the essence of modernity and ultra style. If it were not for the fact that officially the new Gen8tyx plant did not really exist, David felt sure the architect and the building would definitely win awards for modern architecture. Built from local stone, and the latest in office glass, the building blended in brilliantly to the local fauna and landscape, and although the large and extensive plate glass windows allowed everyone inside to see out, all the windows were one way only: people at Gen8tyx would be able to see clearly what happened in the world outside, but no one outside would ever be able to see inside Gen8tyx.
All the walls and the glass at Gen8tyx were embedded with the latest micromesh technology which prevented stray electromagnetic rays from escaping the building. It also prevented anyone outside scanning the building inside with laser beams, or high frequency radio probes. Even more, should anyone try to penetrate Gen8tyx security, sensors around the outside of the building continually monitored incoming radiation for anything that would indicate that they were being scanned.
Security at Gen8tyx was tight. The best it could get.
However, before they had completed the move to the new building there had been one small problem. There had been a serious breach of security in the weeks leading up to the move, which they had only just discovered. He should have anticipated it, and taken precautions. It was his fault, and he knew it.
The phone rang on his desk, and David walked back to it from the glass encased model.
"David, have you managed to locate the person who downloaded the data yet?"
The man on the other end of the phone was Nigel Small, from the Seattle operation.
"No, not yet. But I have taken precautions. And we'll get the information back soon. I promise you."
"I am sure you will. Please call me as soon as you have it. This is embarrassing me David. You know that in three weeks I'm going to New York, to make my report. I'm sure you will understand me when I say that it would not look good for either of us if I have to report that your security was breached."
"I understand. But please be assured that I have taken precautions. Even if we can’t find the files, I can already assure you that no one will be in a position to make them public." David reached up, and wiped his forehead with a fresh handkerchief. In spite of the latest and greatest in air conditioning that money could buy, he had begun to sweat profusely.
"I shall hold you to that, David. Just don't let me find out that I was wrong to welcome you to the table of plenty."
The line went dead. David was surprised to notice that his hand was trembling. For the first time since the move to California he began to wonder if he was perhaps a little out of his depth.
He didn’t need anyone in Seattle to remind him about the missing files. He knew the score, and the danger they represented. He was doing everything he could, and they had already recovered all of the copies, bar two. But it wasn't only the files.
Six of the core team had refused to come to California. Six of the best geneticists in the world. Each one of them had become an example of what the Orlando Treatment could achieve.
As long as anyone of them remained alive, the risk of exposure was too high. The progress that had been made through his new found contacts had been brilliant, but one person was still evading their grasp. The Alpha team had been successful in tracking him down to South Africa, but as of yet, Alex Swinton was still free.
David couldn't afford to fail his superiors. He knew only too well that things hadn’t gone as smoothly as planned over the past couple of months, but he was determined to rectify that. Nothing would come between him and his dream. Nothing. And no one.
He dialled a number in Miami. It would be about five o'clock there now.
"It's Sonderheim. I want to know exactly what progress you've made. We only have a week left before the shit hits the fan…"
Chapter 12
Day Ten
Sam Cohen's House
Orlando