Shatter Point

by Jeff Altabef

  A pit grew in her stomach and all she could do was nod.

  “Good. It’s always been that way for us, but this time is different. Your... dalliance with Doctor Beck must end. He’s a subversive. Yes, he’s brilliant, and I understand that many women find him attractive, but he’s dangerous and you will never see him again.”

  Her throat tightened. “You know about my relationship with Darian?”

  He interlaced his fingers on his lap. “Nessa, these are highly secretive and important research projects. We have Doctor Beck under surveillance. Don’t be so naïve. Homeland can spy on anyone they suspect might be dangerous. You would be surprised what they know about all of us.”

  “Why did you say that I’ll never see him again?” She turned angry as she narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

  He shrugged. “I would never do anything. I respect Doctor Beck. He’s brilliant, but others who are interested in these research projects might think otherwise. I’m sure he’ll be reassigned to another, less sensitive project.”

  “You’re wrong about Darian.” She considered arguing with him, but paused as she remembered the anxious look on Darian’s face as he darted into the elevator in a hurry, and felt her blood turn to ice water.

  “There are things concerning Doctor Beck’s past that would shock you, dangerous personality traits. He’s unstable. I will not debate you about this!”

  He must have noticed the angry expression on Vanessa’s face because he softened his voice. “Tonight’s presentation is a big deal for your career. You’re going to meet some very important people. The vice president and his chief of staff will be at the meeting. Forget about Doctor Beck. He can fend for himself. He was never good enough for you, anyway.”

  She wiped her true feelings from her face, put her mask back on and smiled blandly. She recalled a similar discussion she had with him when she was twelve. After she’d caught her father in an intimate relationship with a neighbor, he bought her a pony for her silence.

  Ponies wouldn’t work this time.

  Vanessa marched into the restricted Project Qing area and sought out Doctor Sanders, who sat in his office and studied his computer monitor while biting his lower lip. A half-formed plan swirled in her head like a gathering storm. She knocked softly on his open door.

  In his late forties, he wore a thin gray mustache and a crew cut. His eyes scurried up to see her and then flickered back to his screen. He reminded her of a rat with quick darting movements.

  “What can I do for you?”

  There’s no way he wants me at that meeting, Vanessa thought. This is my father’s doing. A handful of more senior researchers deserved to be at the meeting before me.

  She leaned against his desk and spoke with a tired, raspy voice. “I think I’m coming down with... something. Would you mind if I take the rest of the day off?” She coughed into her hand.

  He glanced from the monitor to measure her for a moment, frowned, and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, you look a little under the weather. By all means go home, but make sure you come back by 7:45. This meeting is a great opportunity for you to understand the big picture.” He pulled an antibiotic wipe from an industrial-sized box next to his keyboard, and started rubbing his hands energetically.

  “Thank you, Doctor. I wouldn’t miss the meeting for anything.” She smiled weakly and left him in his office to review the latest draft of his presentation and bite his lower lip.

  She strode from the Project Qing area clutching her cell phone in her hand, and started to speed dial Darian’s phone, but hesitated.

  If they monitor Darian, why wouldn’t they monitor me?

  She found an empty office, slipped inside, shut the door behind her, dialed him from an unused phone, and got his voice mail. She hung up without leaving a message.

  Her head spun. What do I do next? Darian wanted to reach out to Charles Sheppard. She reviewed the history function on her phone. Last month, he had called Jack from her phone because his battery went dead.

  Yes, here it is.

  Darian had mentioned Jack knew Sheppard somehow. She dialed the number on the facility phone and waited anxiously.

  Jack answered. “Hello?”

  “Jack, my name is Vanessa. I’m a friend of Darian’s. You’ve met me once. I’m worried that he’s in trouble. Do you have a way of reaching Charles Sheppard?

  “What type of trouble?”

  “Serious trouble, Jack. I know he wanted to reach Sheppard, but I don’t think he had the chance.” Her eyes fluttered to the office door, as she half expected her father to barge in.

  “Hold on a second.”

  She counted off the time and wondered if she had gone crazy. She could get in real trouble, but Darian was a good man, even if he was born poor. She couldn’t stand idly by because her career would benefit. He needed help.

  He’d help me.

  “Hello, this is Charles Sheppard.”

  She spoke in one quick desperate breath. “Mr. Sheppard, I’m a friend of Doctor Darian Beck. He wanted to reach you and tell you about a secret research project here at the hospital. I think something terrible has happened to him.”

  “I will send a black sedan for you in twenty minutes. The car will wait for you in the parking lot. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. I don’t know who you can trust.”

  ***

  Vanessa nervously drummed her fingers against a wooden table in a plain interrogation room with a heavy steel door. She had no idea where she was.

  The door opened and Charles Sheppard, accompanied by a medium-built man with an athletic gain and dangerous eyes, strolled into the room. Charles held his hand out toward her and greeted her warmly. “I’m Charles Sheppard and this is Steven. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Wickersham. I’m sorry about all the secrecy. The government has certain secret locations only authorized personnel are aware of.”

  She shook his hand. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Sheppard. I didn’t know where else to turn.” She glanced toward Steven, her eyes lingering over the handgun at his side.

  “You can talk freely in front of Steven,” Charles said with a smile. “I wouldn’t trouble yourself about the pistol. He could kill both of us in a few seconds without any weapons. But not to worry. He’s normally a pussycat.”

  “Wonderful,” she muttered.

  “I understand you’re worried about Doctor Beck’s safety. Why?”

  “Darian and I overheard a conversation at the hospital between my father and the vice president’s chief of staff late last night. They mentioned a Project Qing. Are you familiar with it?”

  He shook his head.

  “One research team has secretly used Darian’s research on EBF-202 to create a new drug that can brainwash people living in the ghettos. The drug makes them susceptible to subliminal messages and increases their work drive.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m on the project. The research is kept scattered with discrete assignments, but now that I know the objective of the project, everything fits. I’m sure we heard correctly.”

  “Are you positive the vice president’s chief of staff was part of this conversation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting.” He flattened his hands together and brought the tips of his fingers up to his lips. “Why do you think Doctor Beck is in trouble?”

  “I overheard him calling someone in your office named Xavier Daniel this morning. Darian was anxious to talk to you about the ramifications of the research projects.” She brushed lose strands of hair from her eyes. “He left the hospital in a hurry earlier today, and then my father called me into a meeting.

  “A presentation is set up for tonight that I’m supposed to attend. The project leader for Qing will give a presentation, and there will also be a discussion of EBF-202, but Darian won’t be giving the presentation. His assistant, George, will present on EBF-202. When I asked my father about it, he was vague, but he said that I won’t be seeing Doctor Beck again—
that important people are interested in his research, and he suspects Darian will be reassigned elsewhere.”

  Charles glanced at his Rolex. “Do you know who is supposed to be at this meeting?”

  “I don’t know everyone, but I’m sure the vice president and his chief of staff will be attending.”

  Someone knocked on the door and Charles inched it open.

  A middle-aged woman appeared worried. “Mary has a name.”

  “Good.” He smiled mischievously.

  After the sedan pulled to a stop, two men dragged Darian from the car, pushed him into a building, and shoved him down a staircase. He tripped on slippery metal steps and stumbled down a flight of stairs into a basement with stone walls, concrete floors, and fluorescent lights.

  “Sorry about that, Doc. I should have warned you about those steps,” the shorter of the two men said, skipping down the steps. “You won’t be needing the hood anymore.” He yanked it from Darian’s head.

  Darian groaned. He’d ripped his jeans and cut his shin on a sharp edge.

  The taller one pulled out a revolver and pressed it to his forehead. “I wouldn’t worry about your jeans.” He chuckled. “Get up and walk toward that table.” He nodded at a metal table with one stainless steel stool.

  When Darian reached the table, the shorter man shackled metal chains to his wrists and tied them to a bar suspended from the ceiling, stretching Darian’s hands wide, his arms fully extended. The height of the bar required him to balance precariously on the tips of his toes. Miserable, he could do nothing but hang.

  “Relax, Doc, you’re going to hang out for a while.” The short man laughed. “You get that, Saul? I said hang out.”

  “Come on. Let’s go, you maroon. How many times have I told you not to use my name? How many times?”

  They left Darian alone.

  Time ticked past slowly, and his shoulders and calves ached from the strain. To keep from going insane, he thought about Jack and his condition and made a mental list of every ailment that impacted brain function. When he finished, he started again.

  By the time he had started the same list for the sixth time, a door opened and boots clattered down the staircase. He peered over his shoulder at an aged man, who wore a simple gray long-sleeved shirt and black pants, limping toward him.

  The man breathed heavily as he walked. He smiled when he placed a small velvet pouch on the table and turned to face Darian. His short white hair and matching white beard contrasted with his dark outfit and narrow black eyes.

  “Good afternoon, Doctor Beck.” The interrogator dragged the stool toward him and removed a box cutter from his pocket.

  Darian’s eyes shot wide.

  “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m not going to cut you. Just stay as still as possible.” The interrogator sliced off his clothes. “That’s better. You won’t be needing those.”

  He circled Darian, his bad leg causing his foot to swoosh lightly against the concrete floor. “You’ve done a good job staying in shape. I’m impressed a researcher who spends so much time indoors maintains such excellent muscle tone.”

  A light sheen of sweat blanketed Darian’s body even though the cool air chilled his skin.

  “I have a hard time keeping the weight off.” The interrogator patted his ample stomach. “But I’m pleased you’re so fit. Good muscle tone makes my job much easier.”

  “You should try biking. I’d be happy to show you some great trails.”

  The interrogator chuckled. “That’s very good, Doctor Beck. You should keep your sense of humor. It won’t really matter in the end, but it might make the process more pleasant for both of us. I certainly enjoy a nice laugh now and again.”

  He untied the velvet pouch and removed a six-inch stainless steel needle, and held the instrument up for Darian to inspect. “It’s just a simple needle. Beautiful, really.”

  He twisted the shiny implement in his hand, and the stark fluorescent light reflected off the thin spike.

  Fear jolted through Darian as he strained against the chains. Sweat rolled down his face as his body swayed.

  “Good. I see from your reaction you understand the excruciating pain I can cause with this simple needle. Most people don’t understand at first. They expect all types of sophisticated devices.” He took another step closer and looked up into Darian’s eyes.

  Darian smelled something sour, as if the interrogator had drunk milk that had gone bad a short time ago.

  “They probably didn’t teach you much about acupuncture in the fancy universities you attended. It dates back to ancient China, as far back as the second century B.C. during the Han Dynasty, when they first developed metal needles.”

  The interrogator frowned. “I know what you’re thinking. Isn’t acupuncture a way to alleviate pain? It can be used to cure a long list of ailments. I have studied them all. You would be surprised at the good I can do with this needle.” He twirled the implement in his hand. “But as in all things, the good is shadowed by the bad. I like to focus on the flip side. Acupuncture was also first used as an effective means of torture. I think you’ll discover the old ways are still effective.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong. There’s no reason for this. Why don’t you let me down? We’ll knock down some drinks and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  He studied Darian’s body. “I don’t care what you’ve done or didn’t do, whether it was right or wrong. The difference between the two is simply a matter of perception. That is none of my concern.”

  He moved swiftly and jabbed the needle into a nerve in Darian’s stomach.

  Pain shot through his left side. His leg felt as if it had burst into flames and he screamed. Visions of his mother under the overpass ran through his mind, and he screamed again.

  The interrogator smiled and stepped back. “You’re going to be fun to work on.”

  Charles and Steven left Vanessa in the interrogation room and joined the rest of the group in the main basement chamber.

  Mary started her presentation. “Based on our collective research, we uncovered two possible suspects.” She clicked a button on a remote control and a picture of a round-faced man appeared on the brick wall behind her. “One possibility is Cooper Johnson. The Johnson family is listed on the guest registry. They made a fortune in energy seventy years ago. He’s in his early forties, but he graduated from a southern university and grew up in Texas, which doesn’t fit The Professor’s profile.”

  She pressed another button and a series of press clippings flashed on the wall. “Thanks to Gabriel and Moses, we know when Izzy was taken. Johnson visited London negotiating an energy contract with a Saudi prince at the time. The British tabloids chronicled his activities while there. Apparently, he enjoys late night clubbing, getting sloppy drunk, and spending time with exotic models. It’s not entirely impossible he had someone else take Izzy and kept her while he was out of the country, but from what The Professor told us, that would seem unlikely.”

  “That’s not him,” Jack said. “I’m certain he had nothing to do with Mom’s kidnapping.”

  “I tend to agree.” Mary pressed another button and Cooper Simmens’s face appeared on the wall. “This is Cooper Simmens. Cooper is an old Simmens family name going back one hundred years. Many of the Simmens men are named Cooper, but he’s the only one who uses it as a first name and fits the age parameters. He obviously has blue eyes.”

  When Mary finished her report on Cooper Simmens, Aunt Jackie asked, “How do we take him?”

  “It’s going to be tough,” she answered. “We need to locate him first, and he uses a lot of security. The Secret Service protects him, along with private security hired by the Simmens family. When he’s in New York, he lives in a penthouse apartment not far from here, but the apartment is virtually impenetrable.”

  “If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that anyone can be taken out,” Aunt Jackie grunted.

  “Yes, but we need to take him alive,” Tom explained. �
�Killing him will do us no good. He can’t die before we find out where he took Mom.”

  Charles stroked the face of his lucky Rolex. “I think we might be in luck. I have reliable information that Cooper Simmens and the vice president have a highly secretive meeting planned for tonight. They’re attending a presentation about covert scientific research projects. Security should be light. They won’t want the Secret Service at the discussion, and they probably don’t trust many in their private security detail to attend, either. They will primarily rely upon the secret location of the meeting for their safety.”

  “Sounds perfect, but we’ll need the time and location of the meeting,” Gabriel said.

  “I’m working on a plan.” Charles smiled.

  ***

  Charles and Steven returned to the interrogation room with Steven carrying the thin Cooper File. “I’m sorry we kept you so long. I think we can help.”

  Vanessa sighed. “Great, because I don’t know where else to turn.”

  Steven placed the Cooper File on the table. “The people who took Darian are probably the ones behind Project Qing.”

  “Do you think the vice president is involved?”

  Charles shrugged. “I doubt he’s involved directly, but I’d guess his chief of staff, Cooper Simmens, is behind the abduction.”

  He slid the Cooper File to her. “Take a look at these photographs. I think he’s responsible for what happened to these women.”

  Vanessa began reviewing the photographs in the file, but stopped halfway through and closed the folder tight. “How many women did he tortured like that and kill?”

  “At least twenty-four, but probably many more.”

  Her hands turned sweaty. “If he is capable of torturing those women, then Darian is in real trouble.”

  “I’m not going to sugar coat this for you, Vanessa. The situation is grim. Once he finishes questioning Doctor Beck, he will kill him. He also kidnapped Jack’s mother, Maggie, two days ago. We think she’s still alive, but as time slips by, our chance to rescue her diminishes. We need to capture Cooper Simmens and find out where he’s holding Maggie and Darian, and we need to do it tonight.”