by J W Brazier
Dean sensed his question had touched a tender area. “Miss Holland—I mean, Miss Taylor. Please help me out here. This is confusing.”
Ann smiled, then gave a little nod.
“You said you’d explain why your mother changed her name,” Dean said.
“Mom said it was necessary because of her work at GEM-Tech, for our safety. She chose the name of a dear friend, a Mr. Ian Taylor. I’ve never met him. She said my biological father died before I was born and before they could marry.”
Dean sat up. Now she had his attention. “Please continue, Miss Taylor.”
“Mr. Cohen, my mother was a medical doctor, and an acclaimed genetic research scientist. That’s why I’m here. She knew I’d be able to explain her work with GEM-Tech in layman’s terms because of my medical training. I’m a research biochemist, and she—”
“Pardon the interruption, Miss Taylor, but since your mother is unavailable, is she ill or out of town?”
Dean couldn’t believe Ann’s response. Tears filled her eyes. She reached for her purse and found a tissue. At the same time, Dean fumbled for and finally retrieved his handkerchief and handed it to her.
“It’s clean, by the way,” he said.
Ugh, what a dumb remark, Cohen .You’re so dense, he thought.
Ann smiled and took his handkerchief. “Thank you, Mr. Cohen.”
She wiped her eyes and cheeks, clearly holding a tight grip on her composure. Dean knew it wasn’t time to push, so he gave her a few moments.
“Mr. Cohen,” she finally said, “my mother is dead—murdered.”
Dean’s breath caught. “What!” he whispered. “I …”
She shook her head. “Mr. Cohen. May we speak informally? May I call you ‘Dean’?”
He nodded. “Yes. Yes, informal is good. I prefer it, and I don’t mind at all, Miss Taylor.”
“It’s ‘Ann.’”
“Okay, Ann, please … continue.”
She wiped at her eyes one last time. “Early spring into late summer of this year, Mom and I spent some quality time together on several occasions. We stayed up late at night, talking and laughing, watching chick flicks, sipping wine, dancing, and going on long walks. We had a blast.”
She paused and Dean gave her space to take all the time she needed.
“One day,” Ann said, “I guess she felt the time was right, so she asked if I would read her private journals. I agreed … but what I read left me breathless. She said she’d prepared a plan to expose GEM-Tech, and was ready to fight back.”
The tears came again, and Ann wiped at them.
Dean waited a moment, then said, “Ann, you said your mother had a plan to expose GEM-Tech and fight them, but … why?”
Ann nodded. “Guilt, I imagine, over what she’d done. She wanted to tell the truth about GEM-Tech and her experiments. She was afraid, though, because of a threatening phone call months earlier. She said GEM-Tech’s security goons were following her everywhere.”
Dean could only shake his head. It wasn’t adding up yet.
“Mom must’ve known your boss—Mr. Boyd—and trusted him, Dean. The way she carried on about him, they were great friends. She told me that if anything ever happened to her, to contact him. He’d know what to do, she said—and to send him her journals.”
While listening, Dean underlined Investigate GEM-Tech Security on his notepad. Even with his digital recorder going, he still wanted to take notes, just in case the recorder went haywire.
“The highway patrol … found Mom …” Ann paused to wipe away fresh tears again. “They found her … in her car, the motor still running—dead. No signs of violence.” Ann took a deep breath. “Per her instructions, after her funeral and burial, I sent all her information to your boss.”
Dean pursed his lips and gave a small nod, beginning to really feel Ann’s pain—mostly because of the pain that still lingered in his heart from recent losses in his own life. He swallowed down a lump, then scribbled a short note in caps: Reread Dr. Holland’s journals. When he looked back up, Ann continued to dab away tears. Dean wanted to reach out, to touch her and comfort her, but …
“I apologize for being so emotional,” she said, “but … I …”
“Ann, no apology needed. I can … relate to your loss. I lost both my parents last year.”
Now Ann gave him a little smile, and then the two of them looked down at the tabletop before they looked out the window. Pearlette appeared with Dean’s breakfast in hand, breaking the awkward silence.
“Here you are, young man. Enjoy your breakfast.”
Dean suddenly didn’t feel as hungry as he’d first thought. He looked up at Pearlette.
“You’re going to hate me for asking, but can I get this to go?” he asked. “Unless …” He looked at Ann. “Unless you’re ordering? I don’t want to sit here and eat in front of you while we’re talking.”
Ann shook her head. “No, I’ve eaten, but please go ahead and eat.”
“No,” Dean said. “Let’s focus on our discussion.” He looked up at Pearlette again. “To go, it is, please.”
“Uh-huh,” Pearlette said. “I figured as much.”
Pearlette glanced at Ann and grinned. She reached down, took Dean’s plate, and headed off to the kitchen humming yet another tune. Ann’s eyes followed Pearlette, and she smiled at her friend’s antics, then she looked out the window, scanning the parking lot. Her smile faded and her lips tightened together. Dean wondered about the cause for such anxiety, but said nothing.
“Ann, your mother worked with a team of scientists. What was her specific job at GEM-Tech?”
She took a breath and said, “There were five specialized teams—five scientists to a team. The collective group worked on a secret project code-named ‘Phoenix.’ Mom’s team worked under a Dr. Charles Wagner. He passed away years ago.”
Dean began to write a note about Project Phoenix, but Ann waved a hand.
“Don’t waste your time researching Project Phoenix,” she said. “You won’t find a scrap of evidence anywhere to verify the project ever existed. My mother’s journals, her GEM-Tech data, and personal taped account, is all that exist. Although, there is one other person—Mr. Ian Taylor, her friend I spoke about, if he hasn’t passed away.”
Dean scribbled a few more notes. Ian Taylor was at the top of his to-find-and-visit list.
“Okay. So, after your mother left GEM-Tech, where’d she go?”
“She returned to New York City. She said the day after she’d left, there was a horrific explosion and fire that destroyed everything. Call it luck, fate, but she and Dr. Bruner were the lone survivors.”
He gave a small nod, his mind already putting seemingly disjointed pieces together. An explosion … and a consuming fire … Way too convenient. More like a cover-up.
“Okay, this fire,” Dean said, “are you certain it destroyed all evidence?”
Ann gave another glance out the window. “Yes, absolute destruction … including the deaths of all the other scientists. The lab facilities, documents, equipment, everything … all reduced to unrecognizable ashes and debris, then entombed under three stories of solid concrete. The foundation of the present-day GEM-Tech facility sits atop the original.”
Dean pursed his lips. Definitely a cover-up, especially if …
“Ann, are you saying no one ever reported the deaths of the other scientists?”
“Mom said not one person. She checked. Oh, and this will blow your mind. I was kind when I said ‘absolute destruction.’ I should have said ‘utter annihilation.’ Seems the scientists’ families and friends all died mysterious deaths.”
“What!” Dean whispered.
My God … All that? Dean rubbed his temples. What have you gotten me into, Glenn?
“Okay, let’s take a step back,” Dean said. “When did your mother say her involvement with GEM-Tech first began?”
“Not long after she got out of med school in the ’70s. They recruited her while she was living in N
ew York City. She mentioned meeting an adventurous young man at a convention there, and she fell in love. The way she describe him, I’d say those were the happiest days of her life. She said they came close to marrying before GEM-Tech offered her a position, but fate—or their love of careers—pulled them in opposite directions.”
Dean laid his pencil down and leaned back. “Wow, your mother’s exploits sound daring, yet mysterious, like her life, I suppose. GEM-Tech seems a whole epic story in and of itself.”
Ann smiled, obviously enjoying the chance to just talk about her mother. “Bold and daring, I’m sure. Her torrid romance always sounded Cinderella like to me, but as I said, her dedicated scientist nature won out over marriage.”
“You said she was a genetic research scientist. What was her particular field of expertise?”
“Molecular biology, but the core of her research focused on embryonic reproduction. She believed that genetic cures for diseases could come from within our own DNA—as did her colleague, Dr. Wagner.”
Dean could only raise an eyebrow at that. “Are you saying DNA experiments took place here … in White River, Arkansas? Hard to imagine advanced genetic reproduction of any caliber in the late ’70s and ’80s. Sounds like secret cloning experiments. Quite an ambitious science fiction project, wouldn’t you say?”
But Ann wasn’t smiling. Had he mischaracterized her statement?
“Dean, GEM-Tech is still involved with DNA research. They’re experimenting with a chip implant that modifies DNA structures, increasing one’s longevity by keeping them disease free.” Ann again turned her gaze out the window.
“Are you expecting someone, Ann?”
She shook her head. “We should leave soon, Dean. I’m certain I’m being followed. GEM-Tech security dogged my mother until the end.”
“Followed?” Dean said. “Why would GEM-Tech follow you?”
She reached into her purse, pulled out three old audiocassette tapes, and slid them across the table. Dean couldn’t keep his eyes from popping wide.
Finally … real evidence.
“Dean, are you a believer?”
Dean tore his eyes from the cassettes to look up at Ann. “Uhh … a believer? In what? You mean God, the Devil, the bogeyman, ghouls, ghosts, and goblins?”
Her stern expression told him that this attempt at humor had also fallen flat.
She sighed. “I’m talking about religion, the Bible, the end times, angels, and demons.”
Dean could only purse his lips and shrug.
“Before my mother died,” Ann said, “she’d ramble, at times to the point of hysteria, about ancient biblical prophecies. She feared GEM-Tech was coming for her, and that I’d be in harm’s way. Afraid that she couldn’t protect me, if something happened to her.
“Mother believed she’d helped bring an insidious evil upon the world. She wasn’t always a religious person. I’d say an agnostic most of her adult life, which, as a result, rubbed off on me, a little. Then one night, Mom’s conduct, her mental state, all exuded a dramatic change, as if she’d faced and reconciled with her past and had found an indescribable peace.
“I once considered that she’d lost her mind, until I listened to her recorded account. In part, I understand, but in all sincerity, I struggle with her religious predictions. It’s baffling what she said at the end of the third tape. She said: ‘He’s here.’”
*
Dean had lost track of time listening to Ann’s unfolding story. His gut instinct told him she wasn’t exaggerating or lying. And Glenn Boyd could smell a bogus story. He didn’t send his journalists out on sensationalistic tabloid stories.
Plus, Dean was fascinated by the three cassettes and her mother’s last words at the end of tape three: “He’s here.” What other sorted revelations will they disclose? he wondered. He turned a few pages of notes, looking for one notation on something Ann had mentioned.
“Ann, you said ‘Then one night,’ in reference to a noticeable change in your mother. What did you mean?”
“You may consider this simplistic, but Mom said what convinced her she was dealing with pure evil, was a dream. Her old boss, Abram Solomon, called her the next morning after her horrific dream. They hadn’t spoken in almost forty years.
“Mr. Solomon discovered she’d copied documents to prove the existence of Project Phoenix. He wanted the evidence back and threatened her if she didn’t return his documents. She said his threats didn’t bother her as much as the message he delivered. Abram said her dream was real, that a certain someone told him to tell her that, and that she would understand. She’d never mention her dream to Abram, but she said she knew who’d asked him to deliver the message.
“The dream and the call from Abram Solomon must have scared her into action. She knew her documents would be safe with your boss. As I said, her behavior up until then had been erratic—and then a total transformation.”
Ann paused and looked back out the window.
“Ann, don’t stop now. Tell me more about the dream.”
She looked at him and gave a little nod. “Mom said her dream was a horrible vision, or premonition of hell preparing for battle. She mentioned ‘Nephilim’ several times.” Ann looked down and dabbed at her eyes and nose. “Not long afterward, my mother was dead.”
Dean sat back in his seat, feeling bewildered. “This is … Wow …”
“You think I’m exaggerating. I’m not insane, Dean,” she said. “You’ll understand after you’ve listened to Mom’s tapes. The secrets she discusses are responsible for her death. She said her information would bring me to a place where I’d have to make my own choice.”
Dean held up a hand. “Ann, I’m just having a hard time connecting the dots. How does the death of your mother and her supposed involvement in an evil plan have anything to do with GEM-Tech and their secret Project Phoenix?”
“I have the original tapes. I copied a set for your editor and one for you. If you listen—”
“You sent a set to Glenn Boyd?”
She nodded.
Now it was starting to make some sense, at least in regard to why Glenn had been so hot for Dean to get down here.
“Go on,” Dean said.
“Just listen to the tapes, then you’ll understand. I have to warn you: your possession of these tapes makes you a potential target. GEM-Tech won’t stop until they’ve eradicated all loose ends, including anyone knowing Project Phoenix ever existed.”
Dean eyed her. “Ann, you’re telling me that having possession of your mother’s tapes will put my life in danger—and Glenn’s, too?”
“My mother had annual medical exams before her premature death. Her doctor said, for a woman of her age, she was in excellent health. The coroner listed her cause of death as Unknown.” She looked back out the window. “Dean, I’m scared. You should be too. I’m sure GEM-Tech has tapped my telephone and that they’re following me. That’s why I’m warning you.”
“Noted … and appreciated. What else can you tell me? Maybe more about these dreams of your mom’s?”
She shrugged. “As for her dreams and the religious prophecies, to be honest, I’m struggling with what she believed. I’m hoping they’re not true. If they are, the reality of the inevitable outcome sounds terrifying. I may sound cynical, but if what my mother said is true, whatever faith or belief a person adheres to … it will be tried and tested.”
Dean exhaled. All that Anne had shared felt to him like the proverbial curveball. No way could he have seen any of this coming. He leaned back in his seat and considered all that she’d said, then asked the one question at the forefront of his mind.
“Have you gone to the authorities with your GEM-Tech suspicions?”
Ann’s eyes narrowed; her jaw tightened. “Authorities? Mr. Cohen! Have you not paid attention to anything I’ve said?”
Ann grabbed her purse, slid out of the booth, and stood.
“Ann, wait! I—”
She shook her head. “I’ve done what Mother a
sked. She put her trust in your editor to tell her story. But you must think my mother and I are insane religious fanatics or … or some kind of conspiracy mongers. Well, if that’s the—” She swallowed and looked down at him. “Thank you for your time. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”
She turned away, took a few steps, then stopped short. Frozen where he sat, Dean watched as she reached into her purse and whirled around, holding an envelope.
“I almost forgot,” she said. “Give this to Mr. Boyd. It’s from Mom.”
Ann tossed the sealed envelope on the table, turned on her heels, and stormed off.
Dean stared down at the envelope. Just great, Cohen, great. I screwed up royal. Glenn’s gonna be pissed. Interview over. He shook his head. And she called me “Mr. Cohen.” Ahhhhh!
He scrambled out of the booth. “Ann, wait.”
She slowed near the front door, and Dean was thankful that Pearlette wasn’t in sight.
“Please, Miss Taylor,” Dean said.
Now Ann stopped and turned around as he approached her.
“I apologize,” Dean said. “Please, I never meant to sound condescending or like I am trivializing our discussion. I’ll listen to the tapes tonight, and we can talk again. Please.”
She let out a deep breath and gave a small nod.
“Hold on,” he said.
Dean scribbled down his hotel’s phone and room number on his notepad. Then he tore out the paper and offered it to her, along with his business card. She took it, but didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she kept her eyes on the floor.
“Ann, here, take my contact numbers. I’m staying at the White River Inn. You can call my cell, on my business card there. And … may I please have your telephone number to contact you again?”
He dipped his head a bit so he could meet her eyes. When she finally looked at him, her expression softened.
Ann gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded again. “I’m sorry. I’m under … just … a lot of stress. I apologize for my quick temper. You’ve come a long way, and yes, we can talk again.”