Fire Of Heaven Book I Blood of Heaven

by Bill Myers

“Okay, then.”

  No response.

  “I hope everything works out.”

  More of the same.

  With a shrug, he turned and started to leave.

  Then, almost by reflex, Katherine called out, “Thanks again.”

  He turned back, obviously grateful for the contact.

  Realizing she’d have to say more, she continued. “I promise I’ll explain all this to you sometime soon. Honest.”

  “Oh,” he said, smiling an idiotic smile, “no need.”

  She smiled back.

  “Well, bye.”

  “Bye.”

  He remained standing.

  Katherine forced one last smile before returning to the screen. He took the cue and left.

  It was 7:30. She had ninety minutes before reconnecting with Eric. Ninety minutes to scour the Internet, to search databases, and maybe squeeze some priority information from old friends.

  The first ten minutes were spent finding the street address assigned to the owner of the e-mail account Eric was writing from. It belonged to a Ms. Tisha Youngren of Baltimore, Maryland. A few more clicks of the mouse revealed that Youngren was a biochem grad student who’d recently moved west. Katherine couldn’t find the forwarding address.

  She tried another route. Any and all information on Genodyne. She’d been at it quite awhile when the boat rocked and she looked up to see Coleman standing on board.

  There was the briefest flutter deep inside that she immediately suppressed and berated herself for feeling. Some ridiculous part of her still wanted to race to him, to throw her arms around him. But there was the other part, the part that wanted to tear out his eyes, to beat him, to rip him limb from limb.

  “Hi.” He tried to smile.

  She knew better than to trust her voice and remained silent.

  “You find anything?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Dead ends. Whoever’s running the show is being very, very careful.”

  He nodded, then with some effort he moved to sit across the table from her. She could tell that he was in pain, probably from the viral leash, but she forced herself to remain matter-of-fact. “I’ve got all the nonessentials. Everything you’d ever want to know about Genodyne: start-up investments, P and L figures, FDA applications, the works. Even the board members’ birth dates and home addresses, but —”

  “You got an O’Brien there?” he interrupted.

  She glanced up, a little surprised at his abruptness. She looked back at the screen and nodded. “Dr. Philip O’Brien, the CEO?”

  “Yeah.” Coleman was rubbing his neck. “I met him in November. Pretty decent guy. Maybe we can go straight to the top and call —”

  She cut him off. “I hardly think calling their CEO is going to —”

  “If you’ve got another plan, I’m open. But I’m in no mood to sit around here and do nothing.”

  “You’re in no mood?” Her voice grew louder. “My son has just been kidnapped, and you’re in no mood?”

  “All right, all right,” he said, bringing the conversation back down. “You’re right.” He closed his eyes, then opened them. “They told you they’d bring him back in twenty-four hours, is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why? Why’d they say that?”

  “I don’t know — they said if I stayed quiet for twenty-four hours, if I didn’t go to the police, he’d be safe and they’d bring him —”

  “You can’t possibly believe that.”

  “I don’t know! But twenty-four hours isn’t that long —”

  “I don’t have twenty-four hours!”

  She looked at him.

  He rose and began pacing. “Don’t you get it? If they have an antidote or something, I need it now. Now! Not in twenty-four hours. Now!”

  “What about Eric?”

  “I’m not talking about Eric, I’m talking about me!”

  “But they said he’d be —”

  “I need it now!” He hit the paneled wall with his fist. The entire boat shuddered. Katherine stared. Coleman looked at his hand as if it were a foreign object. He turned, not daring to look back at her.

  When she finally spoke, it was without anger. “It really is happening, isn’t it?”

  Without turning, he answered softly, “Yeah.” After a moment he crossed back to the table and sat, still careful not to look her in the eyes. He noticed her half-spilled knapsack and poked at it. “What’s this?”

  “What?”

  He reached in and pulled out the Bible she had given him. He gave her a dubious look.

  She shrugged. “You’re the one who said you were praying. Not that it will do you any good.”

  Coleman looked at her.

  “If it really is wearing off,” she said, “I doubt there’s anything you can do to stop it. Like Murkoski said, it’s all in the genes.”

  “I’m more than just some kid’s chemistry set, Katherine. I’ve got to be.”

  “That’s right, you’re also the murderer of my husband.”

  It was meant to hurt him, and it did. But he held her gaze. And when he spoke, his voice was quiet and deliberate. “Maybe. Or maybe old things really have passed away.”

  It took a moment for the phrase to register. When it did, Katherine felt a surge of revulsion. “Please.” She rose and crossed to the sink for some water.

  He persisted. “You said it yourself, ‘If any man is in Christ he is a new creature.’ You’re the one who taught me that.”

  “I’m a preacher’s kid, what did you expect?”

  “Maybe people can change, maybe I really can —”

  “Save it. I know the routine.” She filled a glass and drank the water. It was bitter and brackish.

  But Coleman wouldn’t let up. “You said it worked for you. Back when you were in AA, you said it was your faith that stopped you from drinking. Isn’t that what you said?”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “But it worked, didn’t it?”

  “I suppose. When I let it.”

  “It changed you.” His voice was growing urgent. “Didn’t you say it changed you?”

  She nodded. “It was no cakewalk. But yeah, it broke my dependency.”

  “So why can’t it do the same for me? I’ve asked for his help. I’ve given him my life. If I can’t get an antidote, why can’t that same faith help me?”

  She turned and looked at him. His face was full of anything but faith. Desperation, yes. Fear, definitely. But she did not see faith.

  “I’m not just chemicals, Katherine. There’s got to be a way to beat this.”

  It was 9:57. For nearly an hour, Katherine had been parked in the lobby of the Computer Forum, staring at the screen, waiting for her son to log on. But so far Eric hadn’t shown.

  Coleman sat across from her at the table, wearing one of Paris’s jackets to fight off a chill, the obvious beginnings of a fever — courtesy of the viral leash. Yet, despite his pain, Katherine sensed a peace settling over him, a peace that grew as he continued staring at the Bible and silently turning its pages.

  Peace was the furthest thing from her mind as she sat across from this beast who had destroyed her life — and the saint who had started to revive it. Maybe he was right; maybe they really were two separate creatures. Maybe that old man, the man who’d pulled the trigger that took Gary, really was dead. And maybe he was right on another count. Maybe, with enough faith, that old man would never return.

  Katherine glanced back at the screen. Faith. It had been a long time since she’d even thought about the word. But right now, with her baby’s life on the line, she would be willing to try just about anything. She had her doubts, but she was no fool. To cover all the bases, Katherine found herself saying a quiet prayer, just in case there was a God out there, just in case he really did care.

  Slowly a tiny spark of something began to glow in her. Maybe it was faith, maybe hope, maybe just wishful thinking. Whatever it was, it gave her t
he strength to leave the lobby and quickly click over to e-mail just in case Eric had written another message.

  Nothing.

  She reentered the lobby and continued to wait. For the next ninety minutes she waited, refusing the sandwich Coleman had made, the Diet Pepsi he had found, refusing even to speculate on another plan. It wasn’t until 11:36 that Katherine Lyon reached up and, with any flicker of faith that might have returned now extinguished, turned off the computer.

  She could feel Coleman staring at her. It was obvious that he sensed her hopelessness and wanted to help. But, when he rose to his feet and started to walk around the table to her, she put up her hand. “No,” was all she said. As much as she wanted him — needed him — she knew now, more than ever, that some things can never be changed.

  CHAPTER 14

  DR. PHILIP O’BRIEN WAS in the middle of another packing dilemma. This time it had to do with socks. He had none. Well, none that were clean. Ever since Beth had left for Mazatlán, his housekeeping skills, including but not limited to laundry, had steadily gone downhill.

  He glanced at the VCR clock in the bedroom. In just a few hours he’d be on the flight to Mazatlán. He doubted that there would be enough time to wash and dry any socks. Of course, he could dig through the dirty clothes hamper and pull out a few of the freshest pairs, but he had been performing that ritual for the last several days and somehow suspected that the socks in there wouldn’t survive a third or fourth go-round.

  Everything else was ready. The pets were in the kennel, the newspaper had been stopped, the home security folks had been alerted. If he wanted, he could stay down there with his family for months. Or they could head to Asia, or do a photo safari in Africa, or buy a villa in Europe. When it came to time and money, the possibilities were almost limitless.

  The phone rang, and he absentmindedly scooped it up. “Hello?”

  “Is this Dr. Philip O’Brien?”

  The voice seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Yes.”

  “Head of Genodyne?”

  “Who’s calling, please?”

  “A friend from Nebraska.”

  O’Brien went cold. “Where are you? Why are you calling me?”

  “Do you know where the boy is?”

  “What boy?”

  “We need your help.”

  O’Brien’s mind raced. Between the preparations for the trip and disengaging from Genodyne, he’d almost been able to put Coleman out of his mind. Almost. “You must understand, I no longer work for Genodyne. I’ve — retired.”

  The pause on the other end seemed interminable. Finally the voice answered. “We need to talk to you.”

  O’Brien shifted his weight. “There’s nothing I can do. If you have a problem, you’ll have to take it up with Dr. Murkoski. He’s in charge of the program, and I’m sure he’s more than willing —”

  “Murkoski is killing people. I might be next.”

  O’Brien felt his face grow warm. “Look, I’m no longer a part of any of this. If you have a problem, I suggest you take it up with —”

  “I need to talk to you. I need some answers.”

  The desperation in the man’s voice tugged at O’Brien, but he refused to give in. He had a plane to catch. A new life to begin. “I’m sorry.”

  “Is there a way to stop this thing? Can I get back to the way I used to be?”

  “Even if I knew, there’s nothing I can do about it. Genodyne is the only place you can go for help. I recommend that you head up there at once.” His palms were damp; he wiped them on his pants. “And if you’re worried about safety, you need to know that there’s a good chance this call is being monitored.”

  “I need your help!” The voice suddenly exploded. “Don’t you understand? You got me into this, you’ve got to —”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Coleman.”

  “Listen to me! Listen, you little —”

  O’Brien pressed the off button and slowly placed the phone back into its cradle. He stood for a long moment before turning to the suitcases on the bed. He knew this wouldn’t be the last time he’d have to turn a deaf ear. The next months, maybe years, wouldn’t be easy. But this was the path he had chosen, and he would hold to it.

  Looking again at the clothes hamper, he realized that socks were no longer a problem. He didn’t have to wash them. He’d throw them away and buy new ones. Come to think of it, he and Beth could now dispose of their wardrobes and buy new clothes every day of the year if they wanted. He smiled grimly at the prospect and returned to his packing.

  Coleman lowered the receiver. The combination of rage and helplessness left him shaking. He could feel Katherine staring at him, and he fought to regain control before turning to her.

  “So what’s next?” she asked. “Genodyne?”

  Coleman thought a moment, then shook his head.

  “What other choice is there?”

  “Do you have O’Brien’s home address on that computer?”

  “Right here. But it didn’t exactly sound like he was anxious to —”

  “There was something in his voice.”

  “There was what?”

  “In his voice,” Coleman looked up, trying to explain. “I heard something… in his voice.”

  “What’s with that dog?” Murkoski complained as he threw open his office door and stormed into the hallway.

  Tisha Youngren looked up from her work. “He’s been barking like that all morning.”

  Murkoski saw Eric sitting frozen on a nearby chair and motioned toward him. “You feed him lunch?”

  “I tried. He wouldn’t eat.”

  Murkoski pivoted and crossed the room to Eric. He stuck his face directly into the boy’s. “Listen, brat. You hear that dog?”

  Eric nodded, wide-eyed.

  “Well, he’s the size of a bear and he’s barking because he’s hungry. Unlike you, he doesn’t have anything to eat. But if you don’t finish that sandwich, we can change all that. I know for a fact that he just loves tender little boys. You catch my meaning, son?”

  Eric nodded.

  “Good.” Murkoski broke into a smile. “By this time tomorrow, we’ll have everything shipped and you’ll be back home safe and sound with Mommy.” Without waiting for a response, he rose and headed down the hall.

  Tisha called after him, “You done with the computer?”

  He turned. “For now, why?”

  “He likes playing the games.”

  Murkoski looked at the boy a moment, then shrugged. “If it keeps him occupied.” He turned and disappeared down the hall.

  “You hear that?” Tisha asked, trying too hard to sound cheery. “Just as soon as you finish your sandwich, you can go back in and play some more games. Won’t that be fun?”

  Eric could tell that this woman was underestimating his age and his intelligence. That was fine with him; maybe he could use it to his advantage. He pretended to nod eagerly, then tore into his cellophane-wrapped turkey sandwich.

  “What do you think you’re doing? You just can’t break into someone’s —”

  “Sit down.”

  O’Brien hesitated.

  “Sit down!” Coleman headed toward O’Brien, making it clear he meant business. O’Brien understood and immediately sank into the nearest chair — leather, like all the others in this expensive, high-tech family room at the back of his house.

  Coleman began to pace, a conflict of compassion, anger, and terror. The battle inside his head raged relentlessly. Still, he had been able to keep most of the anger in check, holding it back like an attack dog straining on a leash. He still had control, he still held the leash, but with each lurch and tug, his grip grew weaker. In a matter of time, the beast would break free — and Coleman knew when that happened it would never allow itself to be chained again.

  Katherine was settling down in front of the computer that sat on a large oak desk near the French doors overlooking the pool. “This thing have a modem?” she asked.

&n
bsp; O’Brien nodded.

  “What’s with the bags?” Coleman asked, nodding toward the three suitcases at the bottom of the stairs. “You going somewhere?”

  “Yes,” O’Brien said. His voice was husky with fear, and he coughed. “As I told you over the phone, I’ve retired. I’m going down to Mexico to join my family on vacation.”

  Coleman continued to pace, rubbing his shoulders, the back of his neck. The pain was worse, and he was damp with perspiration from the fever. “What do you know about the kidnapping? Where are they keeping him?”

  “Kidnapping?” O’Brien sounded legitimately confused.

  “My son,” Katherine said as she pulled off the computer’s dustcover and turned it on. “Your pals kidnapped my boy.”

  “They what? What pals?”

  The incredulity in O’Brien’s voice seemed real, but Coleman wasn’t sure. He pressed in. “They said they’re only keeping him twenty-four hours — for what, we don’t know. But they’ve already killed two, three other times, so you can see why we might have a little doubt about their credibility.”

  O’Brien grew pale. “What? Who’s killed — how many times?”

  Coleman’s instincts had been right. The man was honestly concerned. And, for the most part, O’Brien was decent. Frightened, but decent. It was obvious that he knew nothing about Eric, so Coleman moved to the next subject. “What about an antidote?”

  O’Brien looked up. There was no mistaking the sorrow filling his face.

  Again Coleman had his answer, but he wouldn’t accept it. “I’m slipping back. What can I do, how can I stop it?”

  “I’m sorry.” O’Brien shook his head, then continued. “According to Murkoski, once the process starts to reverse, there’s no stopping it.”

  The sentence hit Coleman hard.

  But O’Brien wasn’t finished. “I’m afraid …” Again he cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it will continue to reverse until it leaves you in worse shape than when you first started the treatment.”

  Katherine slowly stopped her typing.

  Coleman swallowed, barely finding his voice. “What?”

  O’Brien could no longer look at him. “The chances are high that it will remove any inhibitions you might have previously had toward violence.”