4 Rainy Days and Monday (2 page)

He simply did not have it in him.

He did not want vengeance.

He wanted peace.

Jake wanted the life stolen from him. The life taken by family political aspirations. A life robbed by the infidelities of a powerful father. A life robbed by the death of his mother. A life robbed because of a hole of two years when he had been forced to forget all of this.

He wanted to be a husband to Hallie.

He wanted to be a father to Macy.

He wanted to be there when his child was born.

This would mean he would continue to be robbed of the life he wanted.

The alternative would mean he might be robbed anyway.

“I understand your reticence, Jake.” Robert Swane stared at him, a warmth in his icy glare. “I certainly can empathize with your sentiments. You want your life back. You have already given so much. I know this feeling, Jake. You owe us nothing. This is fundamentally true. You may even argue that you owe Gabriel nothing. I would submit that if you want your life back, you will need to
take
it back. The fastest and surest way to get what you have missed is to take control of your own destiny. This is why I had assumed you would jump at this opportunity. I can say I am not totally surprised, but I am disappointed.”

Jake swallowed his anger.

He stared out at the rain dropping from the umbrella, the drops reflecting the yellow light from the gas lamps.

“If I accept this position, what assurances do I have that Hallie and Macy will be protected?” Jake asked. He could not look the senator in the eyes. He could not look Hallie in the eyes. He felt their pity. He sighed and waited. He rubbed the rough beard of his chin with his free hand.

“We can only offer protection. We cannot offer guarantees. The world is a dangerous place right now. The hunters and the hunted. We all have to make our sacrifices, Jake. Or we tuck our tails between our legs and let someone else do the hard work.”

Jake did not appreciate the insult. He understood it was a generational inclination. Duty. Work. Responsibility. The Senator was a Renaissance Man. His kind was a dying breed. It was a shame.

“I’ll do it,” Jake announced.

Hallie squeezed his arm and snuggled in close to him.

“We’ll be fine, Jake.”

He knew she had decided to make this sacrifice as well. She would rather be where the action would be. With a child to watch over and another to carry to term, the risk would be too great. Jake would have to stand on his own. Perhaps Hallie was satisfied that he would be part of a team. Safety in numbers. Jake was not as confident.

The Senator held out his hand, rain dripping from his matted hair.

“We leave Friday at dawn. Get your house in order. We will introduce you to your new gigs tomorrow.”

Jake nodded and took the old man’s hand. Stared into those steely eyes and wished he had a thimble full of that man’s courage and conviction.

Ashes to Ashes

E
ilif picked his head off the desk. He had been alone here for more than four hours. His stomach rumbled. He was sleepy, but did not want to show them that he was weak.

Something had happened yesterday.

Something huge.

He worried that he missed an opportunity to get his revenge. He wanted to kick himself for being so foolish. He had played his cards on the table, hoping for a better deal. His only bargaining chip was his knowledge.

He no longer had Clarence. No longer could count on Gary or Giselle. He had given up on Jake. His only goal now was survival. He knew that if all things moved in the direction that the Consortium had envisioned them, he would not be part of their plans going forward.

He was expendable.

His position here in the vortex of the enemy camp was even more tenuous. He was exposed. Vulnerable. He had hoped that his honesty and willingness to help would be received with more interest.

He had been largely ignored after his initial confessions.

They were certainly listening to his confession with the assistance of experts in reading body language, voice patterns, and eye movements. He had been strapped into several machines while he had spilled his guts in a most ignoble manner.

This morning they had brought him a change of clothes. Something off the rack at a local department store, no less. He breathed in the unworn smell of the garments: a pair of gabardine slacks and a golf shirt.

His patience was thin. He wanted his watch back if only to participate in the futile effort of checking the time.

The room was almost completely unadorned. A desk. A small leather sofa against the wall. He had taken a nap there. Three office chairs. A small speaker. Some books on a shelf. He had ignored these. He hated to read books in English. They made him feel stupid. He was far from it.

Someone knocked on the door. He sat bolt upright, startled.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

It was Special Agent in Charge, Calvin Royster. He deemed himself important. Certainly, from his title and bearing, it would seem a fair assumption.

Royster had taken much and given nothing. Eilif wanted just one nugget of information. Something to encourage him. Something to let him know he had done the right thing.

“I see they brought you a change of clothes.”

“Yes. Thank you. I would also request an opportunity to shower if that would not be too much trouble.”

“I will see what I can do,” Royster said. He did not look at Eilif. This was probably a lie. He could count on a shower in the next few hours as much as he could expect any other form of leniency. He could not shake the feeling that perhaps he had chosen poorly.

“Tell me, Mr. Royster: what are your plans for my release? I have given you all the information I have regarding The ViVeri Consortium.”

Royster turned toward him, his eyes unblinking.

“Have you?” He asked.

Eilif blinked in confusion. He panicked for a moment.

“Of course I have. I volunteered it. I gave you times and locations to the best of my memory...”

“That is just it, Mr. Nicholaison. Your memory has proven faulty. We have decided to use other forms of gathering information. I trust you will be just as helpful.”

“I don’t know what you mean? What faulty information?”

“It does not matter,” Royster continued. He appeared disappointed. “The point, Mr. Nicholaison, is that we have scheduled an appointment with a memory specialist for the morning. She tells me that we will need to ensure that you are well rested and have had plenty of fluids.” He glanced at the couch against the wall.

“Has your arrangements been comfortable? Have you been able to get some sleep?” Royster asked. His tone was almost mocking.

Eilif knew the room contained hidden cameras. Why would they not?

“I have not slept much. I am too concerned about my daughter.”

Royster appeared not to hear him.

“If you would like, I can have someone bring you a cot. Would that help, Mr. Nicholaisen?”

Eilif bit his tongue.

Royster was getting under his skin.

“Am I a prisoner?”

Royster raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“I suppose that would be an accurate description. You did turn yourself in, did you not? That was how I interpreted it. That would mean that you are under scrutiny as a criminal.”

“Under what charges?”

“I suppose we can start with threatening national security. Or perhaps we can pin the President’s assassination on you?”

“The what?”

Royster blinked rapidly and smiled.

“Have you not heard? President Vine was shot by his wife.”

The air completely went from Eilif’s lungs. He slumped in the chair, his hands on his head.

“You cannot be serious,” he mumbled.

His emotions were scattered. He was happy the man, his nemesis, was dead. He was sad that he had not been able to do it himself, directly. He was disappointed that he had not witnessed it. He was scared of anyone powerful enough to pull it off.

His wife?

“I can see that you are surprised. I assure you I would not joke about the death of our President, Mr. Nicholaisen. We are in a transition period in our country. We are very vulnerable. All threats must be eliminated with malice.”

Eilif was not sure, but he did not detect anger from Royster. He did not seem to be emotional at all about President Vine’s assassination. He seemed cold. Untroubled. Calculating.

He did not trust Royster at all. He was cold-blooded. He was a snake.

“What does that have to do with me?” Eilif asked.

Calvin Royster sighed.

“I suppose it will not be harmful to give you notice,” Royster said.

“Of course not. Please, share.” He could feel a knot in his stomach. He had a sudden premonition that something monumental was going to be foretold.

“Your daughter, Giselle, is missing.”

“Missing? What do you mean?” He had already considered her lost. The Mystery Man wanted her. He could tell. He had assumed that she was his toy by now.

“I mean that someone has abducted her,” he replied.

“How is this important?”

“You must know that she is valuable to national security.”

“How?” Eilif could not mask his surprise.

Royster’s thin smile got under his skin. He turned his back to Eilif. Paced the room like he was beginning a story.

“Giselle was an experiment. She is property of the Department of Defense.”

Eilif held back for a moment. Submitting Giselle to the Sychol treatments and subsequent programming was
his
idea.

Wasn’t it?

“As such, her disappearance is as concerning as any other piece of classified weaponry that has fallen into the hands of our enemies,” Calvin continued. He turned and considered Eilif with eyes full of mirth. “I can see you are conflicted. Can I ask why?”

Eilif decided to choose his words carefully. He fought to control his voice, to keep the hate and the hurt from bubbling to the surface.

“It’s just that I cannot understand why my daughter would be working for the United States Department of Defense. I thought she worked for Sinegem? I am a major stake-holder in that company and I was assured she would have a position there.”

Royster nodded. Walked over to the empty desk and ran his finger across the top.

“Yes. You are correct. She was our spy inside Sinegem.”

“Your spy?” He could not help his reaction.

“You had a brilliant idea to subject your daughter to the Sychol treatments. However, it was the Department of Defense that perfected the Overmind chip.”

“You mean the programming insert? The chip in their back or their leg?”

Royster nodded.

“Yes. Now that technology is in the hands of the Consortium.”

“You are assuming this, or you know for certain?”

“Educated guess. They also happened to kidnap the only man left alive today that understands genetic coding. He, coincidently, happens to have worked directly under the inventor of the Overmind as well. We are afraid that perhaps his innovations will be even more beneficial given some time to tweak his device to our specific needs.”

“You mean Dr. Gary Forsythe?”

Royster shook his head. His look of distaste demonstrated his low opinion.

“No. Forsythe is our asset, sadly. No, the inventor of the Overmind died of natural causes. He was almost eighty. It was his life’s work. Doctor Forsythe was too engrossed with his research to finish what Dr. Bradley had started. The doctor that has been taken is Dr. Matt Spreckles.”

“Great grandson of the sugar baron?”

“Yes. German born, American bred. Until recently, he was an unknown asset. He assisted in the research with GIG that led to the coding for chromosome replication in 2014. He then worked alongside several genetic and genomic inventors to perfect a genetic programming replicator in Germany.”

“I heard about this. How does that relate to Giselle?”

“The chip she wears and the way it works is a miniature version of that machine Dr. Spreckles worked on in Germany. We can feed it code and the antibodies we create enhance certain aspects of memory and block others. It is the catalyst for the Sychol. The drugs and the memory therapy alone can be overwhelming for a subject. That is why you have noted so many failures.”

Eilif could feel himself sinking into the chair.

“What you are saying is that every subjective memory patient that succeeded were implanted with these chips?”

Something in Royster’s eyes betrayed his pleasure at Eilif’s discovery.

“That is correct.”

“But that would mean...”

“Yes. Monday was our asset all along.”

Eilif was stunned. The implications were astounding. Was it the US Government that had set him up? Was Galbraith that corrupted? Was Sinegem? What had they done? It was all a trap.

Eilif blinked and looked away. He had to think. He had to connect the dots.

“Let me help you, Mr. Nicholaisen. I can see your gears turning. In this battle, there is really only two players. Everyone else is being used. Sinegem. Galbraith. The US Secret Service, the NSA, and even the President of the United States. There is only ViVeri and us.”

Alarm spread across his limbs. He was in danger here. He had walked straight into the den of the wolf, thinking he was the wounded predator. Instead, he was the willing sacrifice.

“What kind of game are you playing, Royster?”

He tilted his head to the side, a slim smile plastered to his handsome face.

“Who’s playing? We are completely serious.”

“Who are you?”

“The new world order, Eilif. And you could have been on the wrong side this whole time. We have saved you. Honestly, I don’t know why. The only thing you have ever done right is father a daughter.”

“Then why am I here? Why am I still alive?”

Royster approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Because, Mr. Nicholaisen, you still have a role to play.”

Eilif felt more than heard the presence of the person behind him. Before he could turn, he felt the prick of a needle in his shoulder.

He whipped around and tried to stand. Royster held him down with one hand, as strong as steel.