Hazardous Materials
Page 7
The ocean? This guy was seconds away from putting him to bed under a concrete blanket, and now he was waxing poetic about the ocean? What is this? Some sick game? It wasn’t enough that that machine got into my head, now this guy has to, too? Jarrod nodded slightly. “Sure. As a kid. My great-uncle lives in Maine. Casco Bay.”
“Believe me when I tell you this, Jarrod. You can stare at the ocean until you go blind. And as much as you think you see, as vast a view as you think you have, you see nothing but the surface.” Ross turned to him. “That’s what the world is like for most people. They see the pretty waves and not the monsters lurking in the deep.”
Jarrod wished Ross would just get it over with. Send him to the black. “What’s your point?”
“My point is this. There are two ways of dealing with hazardous material. It can be disposed of.” Ross nodded to the pit. “Or it can be neutralized.”
Jarrod looked down. In Ross’s outstretched hand, he saw an envelope. “What’s that?”
“It’s five thousand dollars in cash and a bus ticket that will take you to any destination in the lower forty-eight that you care to go to.” Ross pushed the envelope closer to Jarrod. “Provided you disappear. No contact with friends, family, anyone from your old life.”
“No one?”
“No one. As far as the world knows, you died tonight, Jarrod. It’s up to you to decide if that’s true or not. We need to be certain that you are neutralized.”
Neutralized or disposed of. “My parents . . .”
“As far as they’ll know, you took your own life. In your jail cell, just as Shaw did. It will be the same cover story either way.”
Jarrod took one last thought about that and snatched Ross’s envelope. “Good,” he said. Let his parents think that. “I’m already gone.”
“Outstanding.” Ross offered Jarrod a warm but firm handshake to seal the deal. “You’ll have to walk to the bus station. It’s a little over a mile. Make sure you’re on the road by sunrise. In the trunk of the car, you’ll find a duffel bag. Don’t worry. I’ll radio Agent Diamond and tell him not to shoot you. Inside the bag, you’ll find new identity papers—birth certificate, diploma, social security card, and so on. There’s also a prepaid cell phone filled up for the next year and a few changes of clothes. No cigarettes, though.”
Jarrod could have laughed. He could have cried. What he did do was say, “Thank you, Agent Ross.”
“Don’t thank me, Jarrod. Just do the job, and do it well.” And with that, Ross turned his back to stare once again into the open pit.
Jarrod left, taking the first steps into his new life. He didn’t know where the journey would take him, but he knew one thing. Wherever his feet touched down, this time, he would not settle.
Division Internal Memo
TO: Sector Leader Morgan Bishop
FROM: Agent-in-Charge Basil Ross
RE: Polybius Project/Jarrod Foster
DATE: Dec. 1
Subject (Jarrod Hanlon Foster) has been fully reconditioned using mobile optical interface running Polybius software (V. 12.4). Reconditioning was administered by AIC and has been deemed optimally successful. Initial conditioning by the original unit (Polybius V. 1) appears to have been thorough, if admittedly flawed.
In addition, subject has been issued a new identity and fitted with a tracking chip while sedated. Along with his personal effects, we have included a touch-screen cell phone running subliminal Polybius mobile adjustment software (V. 3.4), remotely updatable.
It is the opinion of the AIC that under proper supervision and with occasional Division intervention, Foster will prove an ideal test candidate as the Polybius Project moves into its final phase of operation and that he offers the best hope for developing actionable defenses until the fugitive Jackson is apprehended.
Recommend periodic observation over the next year, culminating with a thorough examination to be administered by project supervisor Dr. Kander in conjunction with his work on the specimen recently acquired in New Harbor.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MATTHEW QUINN MARTIN was born in Allentown, Pennsylvania and raised in New Haven, Connecticut. However, it wasn’t until he moved to Manhattan that he realized he was a writer. These days, he lives on a small island off the North Atlantic coast of the United States where it gets quiet in the winter…perhaps too quiet.
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ISBN 978-1-5011-0886-0