Wayne interrupted. “A breakthrough in what?”
“Good question,” Whittenfield continued. “The project was first called ‘The Development of Substitute Materials’ because that’s exactly what it was — my father and two other scientists on that first team accidentally created a synthetic material that reacted with other elemental materials in strange ways. Not strongly — the material they created was only microscopic and couldn’t be produced on a larger scale — but they saw miraculous results nonetheless.”
“What kind of results?” Reed blurted. The others all turned, looking at him with uniform disapproval. “What?” Reed protested. “So I’m curious — it’s a good story.”
Whittenfield paused long enough for the silence to make Reed uncomfortable, then continued. “In one experiment, the scientists mixed the material with water — hydrogen and oxygen, as you know — and the solution solidified immediately. Not like ice, or epoxy, but different. It was still fully water, yet something entirely different.
“My father began experimenting with different pure substances — helium, potassium, eventually uranium. A year or so after the project commenced, he ended the research abruptly and stopped the project. He withdrew from the team and launched Whittenfield Research Laboratory the next year. He worked in isolation here outside of Washington, D.C. The government was never aware that he’d stumbled onto something big, and they assumed he’d just gone off the deep end.
“However, we’ve been able to piece together his research over the years. He kept diligent notebooks and diaries, and I believe that he found something so spectacularly powerful in his combination of the synthetic and uranium that he had to keep it under wraps until he could make sense of it and stabilize it.”
Bryce was having trouble keeping up. “Tell me more about this ‘synthetic material’ you mentioned. How’d they create it? Or where did it come from?”
“Well, there’s no explanation in his notebooks — his diaries begin in the middle of the first experiments. However, he does mention in one early entry that ‘
since we were able to successfully duplicate the properties, initial tests are underway.’
We think it means that his team had some sort of material in their possession already, something they were trying to
copy
. Maybe a pure form of this ‘synthetic.’”
Suddenly, Cole snapped to attention. “That’s it! That’s what they were looking for!” The others glared at Cole again, but he ignored them, addressing Whittenfield directly. “You said your father kept
diligent journals
, but he didn’t mention anything about
how
he came across this synthetic material.”
“Correct,” Whittenfield replied, still suspicious, but growing curious.
“Well, while I was… with those guys who abducted me, they did tests on me. Not like anything weird, just IQ tests, physical fitness exams, stuff like that. They kept referencing some ‘crystal substance’ that I think they were trying to learn about. This rock or whatever was something they apparently
already had
there at their place — they mentioned ‘keeping it safe’ and stuff like that. Actually, their main guy kept it on his possession at all times I think.
“Anyway, I asked one of those guards — I think his name was Karn or something — about it, and he actually told me a little. Apparently their leader had acquired it somehow, but Karn thought it was something that had been passed down through some society or organization that he had ties to. I think he sent those guys here to see if your team had any more information about it. If your father
did
have a journal that explained
where
he got that material, it might also explain
how
it was originally made!”
Whittenfield’s face darkened as Cole finished. “Who was their leader? Did you hear his name?”
“Tanning, something. Tanning Vilo — “
“Tanning Vilocek! Dr. Tanning Vilocek, the founder and owner of Vilocorp!” Whittenfield said, his fury and exasperation building.
“Who the hell is Tanning Vilocek?” Bryce asked.
“Dr. Vilocek,” Whittenfield said, exhaling as though he’d just run a mile, “is a genius entrepreneur, owner of one of the most successful private pharmaceutical research firms in the world. That firm, Vilocorp, has made strides toward defeating well-known viral killers as well as other major diseases — bird flu, cancer, those sorts of things. He’s also quite insane — bent on transforming the human body into a science project; striving toward physical and mental perfection in the human race.
“His ultimate goal, I’m afraid, is to become — himself — a perfect form of the human specimen, and then create a world around his superiority.”
“Seems like a pretty humble guy,” Cole muttered.
Whittenfield ignored him. “He’s convinced that something my father discovered — something I’ve been slowly re-discovering myself — can alter the human psyche; change the physical makeup of the brain altogether. I’m guessing he’s stumbled onto this ‘material’ as well, and now he’s hell-bent on figuring out how to use it to his advantage.”
The Thompson brothers took in the information silently, thoughtfully, as if chewing on each piece and swallowing it slowly; letting it sink in. Cole Reed stood, fascinated, yet confused. Bryce was the only one — except for the sleeping Behar — who seemed unfazed by the conversation. Yet internally, his mind was flying through the scenarios, trying to fit all together; the events of that night, and the possible implications.
He thought back to his first encounters with Whittenfield; their talks in Iraq and his briefing on the plane. He also thought about the strange notebook; blank, but still addressed to someone named
M.J.
Whittenfield had hired Bryce and the Thompsons not just for their experience on the battlefield, but because of their intelligence and sense of honor — their intense drive toward doing what was right.
Bryce realized then that Whittenfield had
anticipated
this; had even prepared for it by hiring a military-trained security detail.
And Bryce had failed him.
The realization of that failure came on him like a brick to the head. He was upset with himself for letting Whittenfield down; for getting Behar shot and Bensen killed and the Thompsons beat up; but one piece of the puzzle nagged at him, keeping his mind in the game.
“If Vilocek wanted something from you, your father’s journal, how did he know about your research? hell, how did he even know about you and this place?”
Whittenfield sighed heavily, the events finally coming full circle and weighing on his heart with a heaviness he hadn’t experienced in a long time. “Bryce, all of you — I need your help. Tanning Vilocek
must not
achieve his goal. This pure substance — whatever it is —
must not
end up in his hands. Vilocek will do whatever it takes to acquire that substance, and he will destroy anyone or anything in his way to do it.”
“You see, Vilocek is a man I feel I know intimately. I have never met him, but my father knew his father well. They were close friends and colleagues.
“I remember their long talks in my father’s study when I was a boy — I understood little about what they talked about, but they would stay in there for hours together, arguing, talking, laughing.”
Bryce had a feeling he knew where Whittenfield was heading.
“Tanning Vilocek’s father was also a member of that original research team that made up the ‘Development of Substitute Materials Project.’ Enko Vilocek wanted to push forward and help create the bomb, and he went on to work at the Los Alamos laboratory during World War II. My father and Enko Vilocek had differing opinions of what to do with their research, and when my father resigned from the project and took his research with him, Enko never forgave him. He tried stealing the research a few times over the years until his death in the sixties, but he never got far.
“However, I suspect he did take one thing from my father: the original piece of the material that my father was able to duplicate. We’ve been working with the duplicate ever since, knowing that it was a copy, a synthetic replica of a pure substance, but I never imagined that it might already be in Vilocek’s possession,” Whittenfield shook his head.
“So,” Cole said, “they’ve figured out that you’re close to a breakthrough, and wanted to see if your father’s old notebooks had any insight into where this object came from. Mr. Whittenfield, do you have any of these journals we could take a look at?”
“Of course — but I’ve scoured the notebooks numerous times, looking for some sort of earlier reference to the substance, and I’ve not found anything. But if you’d like to try, I’ve got one right here.“
He walked to a far corner of the room, where an overhead projector sat unharmed on a rolling cart. There was a stack of files on the projector, with a brownish, faded leather journal wedged in between.
“We had a public presentation this afternoon,” Whittenfield explained to Cole. “It was a small gathering of members of the scientific community in the area. I’m part of a philanthropic outreach team that meets once a quarter to discuss the impact of our research, and I used one of the journals as an exhibit.” He handed the journal to Bryce. “It had nothing to do with the material Vilocek was after…” His voice trailed off.
Bryce flipped through the small notebook, scanning sections of text every few pages. Shrugging, he held it out to Cole.
Cole reached for the notebook, but his hand stopped in midair.
“What the… ?” Cole breathed. Bryce, holding out the journal, looked down. The journal was inches away from Cole’s hand, which was emitting a faint bluish glow from the tips of the fingers to a few inches below the wrist.
Cole jerked his hand back, wide-eyed. Everyone in the group leaned in to look, but his skin had returned to its normal hue.
“Woah,” Wayne muttered.
Bryce moved closer to Cole, who was visibly shaken. Bryce extended the journal toward Cole, whose skin — this time over his entire body — again turned a light blue, causing him to glow like a faint blue lightbulb.
Cole reluctantly took the leather-bound journal from Bryce, and opened it. As his finger touched the first page, a swirling text begin to appear,
superimposed
on top of the original entries from Whittenfield’s father. Whittenfield immediately recognizing his father’s handwriting, grabbed both the journal and Cole’s open hand, leaving it touching the page.
He read the newly revealed handwriting aloud from the top of the page: “
After countless efforts and countless days of trial, it seems as though there is no immediately substitutable elemental material that can warrant the same effects as the original. We are lucky to have the duplicate, though without the original source, our attempts at creating a suitable alternative have failed.
“We will continue to test the properties of this duplicate material, and our assumption and hypothesis shall be that the pure form of the material, now lost to us for some years, would have the same reactions with the elemental matter, though on a much more powerful scale.”
Whittenfield’s voice and hands started to shake. “They created the substance as a duplicate. Vilocek’s father must have stolen the original, leaving the much-weaker substance to my father. And you, Mr. Reed — they must have injected you with something that reacts with whatever this ink is made of — do you remember anything of that sort?”
Cole looked around at the group and shook his head. “No — I told you, all I remember were the physical exertion tests, fitness exams, IQ assessments, and — “
He stopped for moment. “Now that I think of it, I only remember about two days of my time there. On the third morning I woke up and felt like I’d been asleep for much longer. Maybe I was drugged…”
The group sat silently, trying to piece it all together.
The break-in by Vilocek’s men, and the attempt to steal one of the journals.
One of their own killed, and another seriously wounded.
The rescue of Cole Reed, who for some reason glowed like a blue firefly when close to the journal.
And finally, the fact that they were the only people besides Vilocek and his team who knew about the material and its potential. And Vilocek was obviously willing to kill to get the journals.
Whittenfield gathered himself. “Gentlemen, we have work to do. Reynolds, get your men ready to travel. I’m going to call in a few favors and see if I can’t get us some help. Mr. Reed, I hate to impose, but it seems that you have a unique… ability… If you’re interested — “
Cole cut him off. “I’m going. There was a girl there — next to where I was held. I’m not sure who she was, but I know she was there against her will. If there’s any way I can do something to help her, I’m all yours.”
Bryce took in Whittenfield’s reaction. He knew dragging a civilian along would only complicate things, and possibly threaten their mission. But he couldn’t deny that if there was something in that journal that might lead them to the substance, they needed Reed with them in order to read it. He gave Whittenfield an almost imperceptible nod.
“I hate to burst your bubble, guys,” Wayne said, “but where the hell are we supposed to go? We have no idea where this Vilocek is…”
Jeff broke out into a wide grin. “I might be able to help with that.”
The others all looked at him.
“When I tackled that gorilla earlier, I didn’t have anything to hit him with. I knew I couldn’t slow him down for long, so I stuck my cell phone into an empty pouch on his equipment belt.”
Wayne grinned, slugging his brother’s shoulder.
“We can use the GPS on the phone to pinpoint their movement, but let’s just hope you don’t get a call anytime soon!”
Whittenfield looked at Bryce. “Let’s get going. We’re already well behind, so we’ll be playing catch-up for a while. I’ll get you a laptop rig for tracking Vilocek’s team. Be ready to lift off in two hours.”
6:59 PM - ATLANTIC OCEAN
The main laboratory inside Whittenfield’s large personal jet had been rigged as a communications facility. Whittenfield couldn’t accompany Bryce and his team in person for the more physical portions of the mission, but he wasn’t about to be left out entirely. He would contribute from the airborne lab, where he now sat at a small desk, configuring the numerous modems, cables, and wires that would serve as his command post for the next few days.