by J. M. Lanham
Just then, Cline had a thought. He turned to his computer to pull up a security file folder labeled CAM4SKYLINE. A few clicks in and he had found the security camera video he was looking for. He clicked play.
On the screen, an overhead shot from the corner of the front porch at the Skyline entrance showed Colin Kovic, just a week earlier, sweating and mumbling and pacing the rough-cut floorboards. Cline leaned in and studied the film frame by frame. Then he enhanced the audio, and between the creaks of aging wood and the rustling of the August leaves Cline could barely make out what Kovic was saying to himself just before Claire approached the porch:
“What’s happening to me?”
Cline closed the file and propped his chin on his hand, shaking his head in disappointment. Kovic’s insubordination had only gotten worse in the last week, and none of it had made any sense until now.
The R.E.M. Effect. The outliers. They got to him.
Chapter 13:
The Meeting
The café Sturgis agreed to meet at was on the corner of Peachtree and North Avenue, at one of downtown Atlanta’s busiest lunch-hour intersections. Dishes rattled and customers chattered as Paul squeezed past the line leading out the door and scanned the interior of the café before spotting Sturgis in a small booth in the back. He slid into the empty seat across from him as Sturgis stirred his coffee. “Took you long enough,” Sturgis said, turning his wrist to check his watch. “Five more minutes and I would’ve been out of here. This isn’t exactly my scene.”
“Then why’d you pick it?”
He gestured to the other booths packed full of chatty millennials huddled around tables, in their own little worlds talking politics and pop culture and social injustices, oblivious to anyone around them. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Paul shrugged.
Sturgis said, “Look. I’m taking a big risk meeting you here. So before you waste anymore of my time, let’s cut right to the chase. We both know there’s no reason for us to trust one another. There’s also no reason for you to risk coming out of the shadows unless you desperately needed my help. So, let’s hear it.”
“I wouldn’t call it desperately—”
“No?” Sturgis asked indignantly. “So you’ve requested a meeting with a man you believe is willing to have clinical trial patients murdered to protect his company’s latest product?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
Sturgis said, “Your allegations are as absurd as they are frivolous.” He leaned back to adjust his belt as the corner of his mouth curled up. “But I have to admit: they are quite colorful.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Paul said, sliding over a thick manila envelope. “Because from this side of the table, it looks like everything there is in black and white.”
Concerned, Sturgis peeked inside the envelope. He pulled a single page off the top of an impressive stack of documents and read:
From the Office of Stephen Cline
Station Chief
Atlanta Regional Office
Atlanta, GA 30301
Att: Colin Kovic
Mr. Kovic,
At the request of the Director, you are hereby assigned to close out the Asteria file. Responsibilities are to include notifying Mr. Sturgis of the agency’s intention to sever ties with Asteria Pharmaceuticals effective immediately, as well as notifying Mr. Sturgis of the agency’s intention to have the drug Ocula blacklisted from the government formulary. You will be given a capped severance package approved by the agency to present to Mr. Sturgis in exchange for any files in his possession related to the joint project, as well as gratitude for his continued cooperation with the federal government moving forward.
Daily check-ins are required. Feel free to contact me with any questions prior to departure.
– Stephen Cline
“Doesn’t prove a thing,” Sturgis said, “other than the fact that I’ve taken a buck or two from Uncle Sam in exchange for a little private-sector cooperation. Name me one firm that hasn’t!”
“Don’t stop there,” Paul said, gesturing. “Keep reading. That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
Sturgis dug a little deeper. Just a few pages in and his heart sank to depths he would’ve never imagined a week earlier. The evidence was beyond incriminating. Receipts of transactions between offshore accounts and Asteria; accounts Sturgis knew could be traced back to intelligence officials at CIA. Blueprints of the facility layout in Costa Rica, approved and signed off on by Ryan Tanner. And the cables … there were enough transcripts of conversations between the Asteria-CIA consortium to put a handful of heavy hitters in prison for life.
These weren’t documents dug out of Asteria’s dumpster, and Sturgis knew it. The gears were turning now, but with all of the stress he’d been under in the last week, he was still having trouble making sense of it. He stuffed the pages back into the envelope as he asked, “Just where in the hell did you get all of this, Freeman?”
“If you think I’m really going to tell you—”
“It was Kovic, wasn’t it? That duplicitous bastard has been trying to sabotage everything I’ve worked for the moment they got what they wanted.”
“Ocula 2.0.”
“Exactly!” Sturgis yelled. A few surrounding coffee-shop patrons turned his way, and he mimed an apology. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and continued in hushed tones. “Anyone familiar with Asteria Pharmaceuticals today would probably tell you there’s no way the company was ever at risk of bankruptcy, especially after the commercial success of Ocula. Truth is, it wasn’t that long ago that we were exploring options for a Chapter 11 reorganization just to get our creditors off our backs.”
“Let me guess: Ocula was about to sink the entire ship.”
“It’s one thing for a pharmaceutical company to take an R&D risk based on long-established science. But putting all of our chips into the gene-modification line was a risk our company coffers weren’t exactly braced for. In retrospect, perhaps I should have played that one a little more cautiously.” Sturgis looked up and away as if he were reliving the moment he convinced a wary board of directors to see things his way. “But, as I’ve always said, mankind’s greatest accomplishments come from taking the biggest risks.”
The indifferent philosophy coming from a man who had done everything in his power to eliminate every threat to his product line for the last six months was infuriating to Paul. Still, he knew he had to keep his cool. He took a deep breath and focused on the plan.
“That’s why we’re here,” he said. “We took a huge risk coming out of hiding, and now we’re ready to shine a light on this entire conspiracy.”
“We?” Sturgis asked as he looked around. “Who exactly are we?”
“The remaining outliers. You know, the clinical trial patients you and your associates have tried to wipe off the map for the last six months? I think you know exactly who we are,” Paul said, sipping his coffee. “You honestly didn’t think we were all going to show up in one place for this meeting, did you?”
“So what’s to stop me from turning you in? Calling Kovic right now, or better yet, tipping off the feds? You and your band of cohorts are on everyone’s radar, Freeman. One call and I could have you behind bars by suppertime. Would only be a matter of time before you gave up the rest of ’em.”
“You know as well as I do that the CIA has no interest in our apprehension. If they did, they would have pooled all of their resources to have me picked up in northern California after that traffic stop last week.”
Shock arose on Sturgis’ weathered face as he wondered how Freeman could’ve been privy to the one-on-one conversation he’d had with Colin Kovic a week earlier.
Rhetorically, “You don’t remember?” Paul asked. “I already know Kovic told you all about my run-in with Hiouchi Police before breaking the news that the CIA was cutting ties with Asteria.” He casually pointed to the envelope on the table. “Like I said, Sturgis. It’s all right there in black and white.”
“Well then, sounds l
ike you’re holding all the cards,” Sturgis said. “So if you’ve got everything you need in your precious little package here”—he tapped the manila envelope with the agitative force of an index finger banging on an unresponsive keyboard—“then why in the hell are we even talking?”
“No one ever said anything about bringing you down, Sturgis.”
Rarely was the veteran businessman ever puzzled. This was one of those uncommon occasions. He cocked his head and replied curiously, “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Regardless of your personal feelings on the Asteria situation, the place is finished. Even if they’re able to appease creditors and write off the failures of their genetic modification line, they’ll still be on life support for the next decade, maybe longer. The bottom line is that soon the original Ocula formulation will be off the streets—”
“Leaving the only other Ocula formulation in the hands of the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Precisely,” Paul said. “And that’s where you come in. The files we have in our possession are incriminating on the surface, but without an authoritative backup, they’re little more than hearsay; potentially forged documents created by attention seekers and anarchists; the stuff of conspiracy theories. We need you to help make our case against the CIA a credible one.”
“By doing what?”
“Judging by the files we’ve obtained, we’re willing to bet you’ve got access to the same documents,” Paul said. “So, turn them over to the FBI. Then go public with them.”
“You want me to implicate myself in an illegal genetics program?” The notion of such a plan elicited a laugh loud enough to drown out the surrounding lunch-hour chatter. “Jesus, Freeman. I think the last six months on the lam has cost you a few brain cells. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize I’ve got more good years behind me than ahead of me. I’ve also got one hell of a severance package. So, why would I want to go and muck up a thing like that? For what, to spend the few remaining years of my life behind bars?”
“Now you’re just kidding yourself. It’s not about the money with you, and you know it. You were forced out of the company you built because you were betrayed by your own government. You had something they wanted, and they did everything they had to do to get it. And now that you’ve put in all the legwork, it’s time to cut ties. Tell me, George, do you really think they’re just going to let you ride off into the sunset? That they’ll trust you to keep your mouth shut about the most powerful psychological weapons program ever developed?” Paul leaned back, crossed his arms, and huffed. “Please. You’re smarter than that. And if you’d quit playing defense for one second and really think about your options you’d see that exposing the ongoing Ocula program is the only option that doesn’t end in some mysterious demise for you.”
For once, Sturgis was silent, turning to look blankly out of the nearest window, oblivious to the midday hustle and bustle of the coffee shop. Fatigue was starting to show where piercing eyes used to be. Paul could see the gears in his head slowing to a halt as it became more and more apparent that the ex-CEO had little choice but to cooperate.
“Tanner,” Sturgis grumbled. “I never should have listened to him. We had a good thing going before he came along. Sure, the genetic line was in the red, but we could’ve pulled out of it without a government handout. Hell, we’d faced bigger crises before …”
A stack of plates crashed into a tile floor back in the kitchen, startling Paul. He jerked his head back to check behind him, then exhaled with relief before returning to the conversation. “Listen,” he said, “there’s no way you’re not being tailed, and I think we’ve already overstayed our welcome.” He slid a flip phone along with a small rectangular device over to Sturgis. “I need to know right now, are you going to cooperate with us or not?”
Silence.
“I need an answer, George.”
Reluctantly, Sturgis shook his head yes.
“Okay, good. There’s a theater two blocks up on the right, The Plaza Theater. You heard of it?”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it.”
“You’re going to leave the way you came in, take a right on Peachtree, and head toward the theater. They’re showing classics all week, and today’s feature is a movie based on the work of C.S. Lewis. You know the type?”
He did.
“When you get there, buy two tickets to the matinee showing.” Paul glanced up at the clock on the far wall. “It’s at 1 p.m., so you’ll have to hustle. Once inside, you’ll need to head straight for the exit door. Use this”—he pointed to the gray plastic rectangle on the table—“to disable the emergency alarm. It’s magnetized, so you’ll have to find its match on the door. The door leads directly to a side street where you’ll find a white four-door sedan parked and unlocked. Keys are in it.”
“Now wait just a minute, you can’t expect me to just up and take off like a madman—”
“That’s exactly what we expect, Sturgis. Because right now we’re the only friends you’ve got, and we’re not going to risk meeting up again when all eyes at Langley are on you.”
“If the agency’s watching me, that means they’re watching you.”
“Let me worry about that.”
Sturgis shook his head. “This is insanity.”
Paul nodded. “Maybe. But it’s a plan that’s going to save your life.” He stood up to leave. “There’s a single number saved to that flip phone. Hit the interstate and drive south for fifteen minutes. Don’t call us until you’re near the airport. The RF radiation should add an extra layer of protection to the call. Once we’re connected, I’ll give you directions to a safe house. There we can go over the plan in detail.” He threw a couple of bucks on the table and said, “Good luck, Sturgis. Hope to see you soon.” Then he left.
The lunchtime crowd in the coffee shop was starting to subside, and things were relatively quiet now. But as George Sturgis watched Paul Freeman swing open the glass front door of the coffee shop and disappear onto the busy city sidewalk, he couldn’t hear a thing.
Chapter 14:
Wayward Son
Colin Kovic leaned back on the hood of the sedan sitting in the Creekside Inn’s parking lot, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky while impatiently waiting for his superior to show up. Earlier that day, Stephen Cline had arrived from DC with orders to follow up on a lead that placed the clinical-trial outliers at the Red Oaks Rental Cabin complex just outside of Spring Hill, Georgia. If the emergency 911 calls about a pack of mountain lions swooping into the area were to be believed, then there was a good chance Paul Freeman and crew were in the area, too. And if that were the case, it also meant there was a chance that Cline’s murderous plan had worked.
The thought of more dead bodies connected to Project THEIA caused Kovic to spit what was left of his midday snack onto the sweltering asphalt. Cline had already demonstrated the questionable steps the CIA was willing to take to silence any civilians who could expose the project for what it was—an illegal operation with the primary object of weaponizing genetically viable civilians against their will. But why would the station chief stop there? Kovic already knew more than he wanted to, and had already revealed to Cline that he wasn’t on board. The real question, Kovic pondered, was whether Lancaster would have his back once Cline’s extracurricular activities came to light.
No time to worry about that now, Kovic thought as a blacked-out sedan wheeled into the parking lot and came to an abrupt stop just a few feet from him. The driver’s door swung open and out stepped Cline, taking off his sunglasses and stuffing them into his shirt pocket as he approached his subordinate.
“We feeling better this afternoon, Colin?”
“Define better, sir.”
Cline ignored the snark and gestured to the motel. A single agent in plainclothes stood by the door to Room 6. “Looks like Mercer has your room covered. He and Sanders get here on time?”
“Yes, sir. Just a few hours ago.”
“I take it Freeman’s in there?�
� he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“He still awake?”
“Since this morning, 10:30.”
“And he’s alone?”
“He’s not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re asking, sir.”
“That makes one of you,” Cline said as he put his hand on Kovic’s shoulder and walked him toward the motel. “We’re going to need to split the teams here in two; Mercer will stay here and watch Mr. Freeman while Sanders follows us to Red Oaks as soon as he gets back from his perimeter check.”
Kovic stopped halfway between the car and the motel and turned to face Cline. “If you think I’m leaving Alex alone after everything that’s happened today—”
“You’re not leaving him alone, Colin. I just told you, Mercer can handle babysitting duties for a couple of hours. With any luck we’ll be back before dark.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But with all due respect, Alex Freeman is my asset. There’s simply no way I’m leaving him behind.”
One look at Kovic’s face and Cline knew everything he needed to know about the mindset of his subordinate, and compliance wasn’t in the cards. Sensing the tension, Agent Mercer moved toward the two, but Cline waved him off.
“Listen, Colin,” Cline said. “You’re coming with me to Red Oaks. Plain and simple. Now”—he parted his jacket and flashed the pistol on his hip—“we can keep things simple here, or things can get a lot more complicated. Your call.”
Incredulously, “What are you going to do, Cline? Shoot me in the middle of a motel parking lot?” He looked around as if to reference the handful of people in the near distance walking from rooms to cars, taking out the trash, indulging in smoke breaks on the second-floor breezeway. “Gonna be hard pulling that one off sight unseen, don’t ya think?”
“I warned you about playing the sanctimonious foot soldier, Colin. You should know as well as anybody what we all signed up for when we chose this career. You can’t just opt out of a mission when things get uncomfortable. We’ve got to see this through to the end, understand?”