The Orlando File Omnibus : (Omnibus Version-Book 1 & Book 2)

by Irvine, Ian C. P.

  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, haunted 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 passed 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'd had nightmares about 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 th
e 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 make out 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 old 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 any 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 />
  Sam Cohen was the last on Kerrin's list of those who had 'committed suicide'. According to Kerrin's sister Elizabeth, Sam was not married, and he lived with his elderly sister on the outskirts of Burlington, a little seaside town, about fifty miles north of Orlando. Apart from the address, and the telephone number, that was about all Elizabeth could say about him, except that Sam was the quietest of the group, and didn't socialise as much as the others.

  First thing in the morning Kerrin drove to the nearest mall, and bought himself a new battery and a cell phone charger. Keeping the receipts so that he could claim it all back on expenses from The Post later, he drove out of town and headed towards Burlington.

  En route he stopped at a deli to pick up some breakfast, and made a call to Cohen's sister. Luckily she was at home, and after explaining about Martin and what he was trying to do she agreed to see him.

  Once again the weather in Florida was perfect. "Wake up to Another day in Paradise, Welcome to Florida!" he remembered reading somewhere on a car sticker. They weren't far wrong. The place was beautiful.

  He missed living in Florida. Deciding that he wasn't in such a rush after all, he took the next exit off the freeway, and found his way back down to the coastal highway. It would only take an extra thirty minutes if he went the scenic route.

  The coast road wove in and out of towns clustered around their own little patch of sandy coastline, full of happy people stretched out on the silver sands, playing volleyball and already supping beers. It reminded Kerrin of his times spent on Spring Break down in the Keys, before he had joined the force.

  Although not too busy, the route Kerrin had chosen was taking longer than expected, the numerous traffic lights along the way forcing him to continuously stop and start while switching his attention back and forward from the beach to the road ahead.

  Just after passing through a little town called Crighton Heights, Kerrin realised almost too late that the light in front had changed colour.