Mr. Clear

by Stewart, Graham

  “The men we’re tracking, Officer Haye, are what you might call escape artists. The experience you had pursuing those suspects is typical,” said Powell. “So when we got wind of the circumstances surrounding this case, it made us curious.

  “Could you tell us what happened on the bus?” Powell continued, waggling a finger at his own nose in reference to the bandage on Haye’s.

  “Suspect got the jump on me, that’s all. I didn’t even see it coming. I was going through the passengers, one by one, trying to figure out who was who. They must have been hiding down behind the seats. When they ran out of options they bolted for the fire exit. One of them nailed me on the way out.”

  “They left through the fire exit?” said Powell, sitting forward.

  “Yeah, we had to close the thing to stop the damned alarm going off.”

  “Of course you did,” said Powell. He gave Dyson the nod and the tech left the room to go to make some calls.

  “Thank you Officer Haye,” said Powell. “You may not think it, but you’ve been a big help.”

  “That’s it?” said Haye.

  “That’s it,” said Powell.

  “Well look, if you need anything else-“

  “We’ll know exactly who to ask,” Powell smiled. “Thank you, Officer Haye.”

  ***

  By the time Powell and Morgan got back to the truck, Dyson was already in full flow.

  “Well?” said Powell. Every wall in the back was plastered with some kind of electronic measuring instrument, each with a corresponding monitor giving a detailed, broken down read-out and interpretation of the information being gathered.

  “Bingo,” replied Dyson.

  “What have we got?” said Powell.

  “A print. Nice and clear. And best of all: recent.”

  “Excellent.”

  The team had been monitoring the police bandwidths and had gotten wind of the pursuit and subsequent aftermath at Miami International.

  By the time they had arrived it was all over. The main police officer involved, Haye, had been taken to the hospital for treatment on a suspected broken nose. But they had spoken to his partner at the scene and examined the Aston Martin abandoned by the suspects.

  The CSIs had already been over it. The interior was clean. The suspects left no trace of themselves behind. Not so much as a hair was visible.

  But then there wouldn’t have been, would there?

  Powell’s team went over the car interior again for good measure. There was a chance they might have found a print on the steering wheel, but there was nothing. It had been wiped down with a stupidly expensive silk scarf left in the car belonging to the owner.

  Powell had entertained the thought that it could simply have been some very well organized, highly disciplined carjackers. But the footage from the police department’s onboard cameras and the subsequent statement from Haye said otherwise.

  In their hurry to escape the police officer and get off the bus, they had used the emergency exit, which required the use of a lever to open. Without gloves or the necessary time it would have taken to clean, Powell believed there was every chance they would have left prints in the grease and grime on the exit lever mechanism.

  He had been right.

  The CSI unit still on the scene had sent them over.

  Powell couldn’t believe it.

  Finally. In all these years there had not been so much as a peep from one of them. And now two of them had popped up.

  “Sir?” It was Dyson.

  “I’ve run the prints. Repeatedly. They don’t belong to any of our guys.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.” Powell was not impressed.

  “I’m putting them through IAFIS to see if that turns anything up,” said Dyson.

  Powell shook his head. “Don’t bother. There’s no one else the prints could belong to.” Then something struck him. He reached inside his collar and took hold of the chain he wore around his neck. He passed it through his hand and regarded the tiny flash drive on the end.

  “What are the odds?” he thought aloud.

  Powell joined Dyson as the tech looked again at the infrared footage from the police helicopter, of Haye pursuing the two suspects toward the shuttle bus. Dyson froze it on a close-up of the figures.

  “Here,” said Powell, detaching the flash drive from the chain. “See if the fingerprint matches any of the records on this.”

  Dyson looked at him, puzzled, but didn’t question him. The tech was prompted for a series of passwords when he tried to access the data, which Powell supplied.

  IAFIS drew from a database of more than ninety million people and their fingerprints. The flash drive contained those of just a highly classified handful, found on no database on the planet.

  The search was complete in less than five seconds.

  Two matches.

  “Show me,” said Powell, angling the screen to face him. This record corresponded with the first match.

  “Well, well,” said Powell with a chuckle. “Hello, stranger.”

  “Lucas Cole,” Dyson read. “Doctor Lucas Cole.”

  “He’s put himself under,” said Powell.

  “Using himself as a guinea pig?” said Dyson. “That’s a bit of a risk.”

  Powell considered this. “Not if testing has been successful,” he said.

  “If that’s the case, our job is about to get a whole lot more difficult,” said Dyson.

  “Try impossible. Who’s the other guy if he’s not a ghost?” said Powell.

  “Deceased, it says here,” said Dyson.

  “Obviously not,” Powell replied. “Our up and about dead man got a name?”

  Dyson expanded the record. “There’s no photo ID.”

  “Why not?” said Powell. He leaned in to read the name beneath the empty space where the photo should have been displayed.

  Then he had to read it again.

  “Our mystery man might not be a ghost,” said Morgan. “But judging by the look on your face, you’ve just seen one.”

  10

  Cole returned to the living room showered, shaven and most notably, visible. Ben had spent the entire day with him and forgotten the unique ability the man possessed.

  “I got to say, Ben. That Kung Fu shit in the tunnel you pulled on those scumbags. You have got some moves.”

  “Just some bits and pieces I picked up along the way.”

  “That so?” said Cole. “I forgot how good it feels to run free like that. To mess with their heads. Show them we can do whatever we want.”

  He turned around to look at Ben. “We’re the ones in control, Ben. Not them.”

  He looked at the clothes Cole was wearing. He didn’t particularly like them. But he was picturing himself in the outfit all the same. It was just the idea of having the option.

  “I guess some of us are more in control than others,” he said. “You said you’d tell me how. How you switch it on and off. You told me all in good time.”

  “I should have said after a good time,” laughed Cole, “which is exactly what I had tearing up Miami with you today. So I guess I can explain it to you. Or at least my take on it anyway.”

  Cole took an iced tea from the garage-sized refrigerator and offered one to Ben. He waved it away.

  “When I got away from the facility at first,” said Cole, “I was very much like you. Staying out of people’s way as much as I could, doing my best not to attract attention. Difference was I hadn’t as much of a grip on reality as you have.

  “Maybe it was because I was much older than you are now. The lack of company and the self-enforced solitude affected me more. I became very lonely. After a few months, I couldn’t take it anymore. Turning myself in wasn’t an option. Another round of men in white coats prodding and probing me. So-”

  Cole shrugged as if the gesture was enough to complete the sentence for him.

  “You tried to kill yourself,” said Ben.

  “Direct and to the point again. The thought n
ever occurred to you?”

  “To do myself in?” Ben shook his head. “No.”

  “That’s special,” said Cole. “Really.” He sipped his iced tea.

  “What stopped you from going through with it?” Ben asked.

  “Nothing. I did go through with it. Thankfully, I failed. Because, in the process,” said Cole, gesturing at himself and his visible form, “this happened.”

  Cole took a sip of the iced tea and put it down.

  “I picked out a nice, high flyover on the Expressway. Then I waited until I saw something big, heavy and fast coming to finish me, in case the fall didn’t.”

  “And the fall didn’t,” Ben said.

  “On the way down. After I jumped. I… appeared. In mid-air,” said Cole with a chuckle. It was as if the event still managed to surprise him.

  “Jesus,” Ben laughed.

  “That’s what the truck driver must have thought. Before I hit the tarmac, he was already on the brakes. The trailer swung around the cab, skidding right over my head. By the time anyone came to take a look, I was gone.”

  “You became invisible again.”

  “Right. I guess the cops put the driver’s ‘vision’ down to driver fatigue or something. But the transition, from invisible to visible, I put down to a chemical reaction within our bodies. One which we can induce under the right conditions.”

  “You know what those conditions are,” said Ben, leaning forward eagerly.

  Cole nodded. “For me, I do, yes. But it took me some time to discover them and bring on the transition again. A lot of time. And a lot of trial and error.

  “I can find yours. Of course I can. I know the process now. But you have to remember it’s not a one-size-fits-all solution. We have to find the right combination for you. One that fits your body chemistry.”

  “How soon can we start? It’s not like I have any other pressing engagements.”

  “We can start right now if you like.”

  Ben stood. “After you.”

  “Okay,” said Cole. He led Ben down the stairs and through the garage, past the taxicab and two or three other vehicles to a worn, tired and rusted blue door. Inside there was a lot of pipe work and rubber tubes that Ben guessed served as plumbing and housing to the electrical wiring of the building. What he didn’t see was the panel that Cole flipped back to reveal a keypad. A four-digit code was quickly entered and the wall itself slid open with a soft hiss of air.

  Ben stepped into a room the very opposite of the one he had just left. There was no rust or exposed wiring here. The interior was an impressive marriage of brushed steel and glass. Clinically clean work surfaces were situated next to computer workstations and all kinds of electronic instruments. The place looked for all the world like-

  “Yes. I know. A laboratory,” said Cole. “And after me telling you about the one I vowed never to be returned to.”

  “Well you did say ‘body chemistry’. How you going to practice chemistry if you don’t have a lab?” Ben looked around the place. It was very impressive. “How did you manage to put this all together?”

  “I have help. Someone with a mutual interest in our work here. Someone likeminded,” said Cole.

  “Our work? You have other people working with you?”

  “There’s too much for one man to do alone,” said Cole. “See, Ben, here we can create the conditions I spoke about to help stimulate the transition. But, as I said, there is always the chance that what worked for me will not necessarily work for you. There will be a certain amount of trial and error.”

  “Hit and miss,” said Ben.

  “Quite.”

  “What exactly would I be getting into here, Mr. Cole?”

  “Well first things first, as with any medical procedure, which, in essence, it’s going to be, I’d need to put you through the closest thing to a physical-” Cole stopped. “Have you ever had a medical before? Ever been seen by a doctor?”

  Ben thought back to the scientists he lived with, in The Nest, how a couple of them were doctors who catered to he and his mother’s every cough or scrape.

  “No,” he answered. “I’ve just been lucky, I guess. Got a good immune system.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” said Cole.

  “I’ve had colds and coughs. Small stuff really. Nothing I couldn’t fix with something over the counter, or from behind the counter, if you get my drift.”

  Cole chuckled.

  “Your team,” said Ben. “The people you work with. They invisibles too?”

  “No,” said Cole. “Not quite.”

  Two short bursts of electronic tone came from a speaker set in the ceiling.

  “Ah,” said Cole. “That’s them now.”

  11

  Ben stood with Cole back out in the basement garage. The large metal entrance shutter at the far end rattled and began to open. As the gate rose, it revealed the matte black grille of a similarly matte black SUV. Before the shutter had fully cleared the hood and windscreen, the driver was already edging inside.

  The SUV glided into the middle of the floor and stopped. The engine cut out and three of the four doors opened simultaneously. Three men with deadpan looks climbed out of the vehicle and stood in front of it like soldiers on parade.

  In fact, two of them looked like exactly that. Soldiers. They sure didn’t look like lab technicians.

  The third one could have been a dentist.

  “Allow me to introduce the rest of the team,” said Cole.

  The men stood with a look of bemusement on their faces, wondering who exactly Cole was speaking to.

  “Did you pick up the package?” he asked the driver, who had a vicious looking scar on his cheek. The man grunted in the affirmative. He gave the nod to the man next to him, a bleach-haired individual with an expressionless face hewn from granite, and he went around to the trunk, returning a moment later with an aluminum flight case that he laid down on the truck’s hood.

  Cole entered a code on the electronic locking mechanism and opened the case. He came out with three pairs of what looked like wraparound sunglasses. He pressed a small power button on each of the frames and handed them out to the men. The third man, a thin, balding guy in his forties, inspected his pair closely before putting them on.

  When Cole stood back, all three immediately looked at Ben, somewhat taken aback.

  The one with the scar smiled like a shark and laughed.

  “Let me introduce you all,” said Cole, grandly.

  The man with the scar’s name was Kane, while the bleach-haired one was Erikson. Cole explained that they covered logistics and security. Ben could read between the lines.

  The third man was Burke, who in addition to being a qualified doctor and field medic, was also responsible for electronics and IT support on the project.

  The casual introductions left Ben with more questions than answers. Everything had moved very fast in a very short space of time and he was still none the wiser as to what ‘the project’ was, or what he had just signed himself up for.

  The automated steel shutter closed to the ground with a deafening sound of finality. Cole turned around to Ben.

  “Shall we?”

  He held up his hand and ushered the four of them back inside to the laboratory area.

  Cole’s team went straight to work. Each of them had a clear responsibility and fell into mode immediately. They worked like a band tuning up their instruments before a gig, booting up computers and running diagnostics.

  “What about me?” Ben asked Cole. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Do? You’re our guest here, Ben. I don’t want you to do anything. Put your feet up. Rest. You’re going to need it. The tests will be… thorough. I’m going to sit down now and work out a course of pre-treatment for you here with Mr. Burke. Take a walk around if you like. Observe.”

  Ben could do that. Observing was one of his strong points. What he observed in Kane, he didn’t much care for. The man knew something he didn’t know. There w
as something of the predator about him, lurking patiently like a crocodile in shallow water. Every time Ben looked in his direction he saw Kane’s eyes, or his dark glasses anyway, looking straight back.

  Ben strolled about the lab and stopped behind Erikson, who was comparing a table on a computer screen with one in a handbook.

  “What do all those numbers mean?” Ben asked over his shoulder. Erikson wheeled around. “I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

  “Sorry. Force of habit. To be truly invisible, you need to be truly silent.”

  Erikson gave a small nod. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll bear it in mind.” He returned to the screen.

  Thanks for the tip?

  “You know what, Ben?” said Cole from across the room. “I think we can get one or two of the preliminaries out of the way now. Just some routine stuff. Like any patient would before a course of treatment.”

  “Sure,” said Ben. “Why not?’

  Over the next couple of hours, he was given several good reasons why not. Ben had so many needles stuck in him he felt like a cactus. Cole and Burk recorded his height and weight, his body temperature and blood pressure. They gave him a respiratory exam and recorded his pulse, both at rest and at work.

  They took blood sample after blood sample. So much that Ben wondered whether he was going to be left with anything in his veins once they were through.

  “You’re in tip-top shape,” said Cole. “Really. I don’t know how you’ve managed to do it.”

  “I can’t afford to be any other way,” he said.

  “I suppose so. Your heart is strong. All your vital signs are, well, vital. And you show no signs of ill health.”

  Ben’s eyes were drawn to what looked easily like two-dozen vials of his own blood. To the untrained eye, the glass containers would have appeared empty, but the fact Burke was carefully placing them in plastic racks said otherwise.

  “Why did you need to take so much blood?” said Ben.

  “The tests we’ve run so far on you are top-line. These samples will allow us to take a more detailed look into your physiology and spot any potential incompatibility issues with the procedure.”