Halon-Seven

by Xander Weaver

  He hopped down from the desk and returned to the empty corkboard. At the far right corner of it, he slid his fingertips between the edge of the board and the wall. That must’ve triggered a switch because a four-foot-wide section of the board popped forward. He grabbed the section and swung it to the side on a hinge.

  Behind the floor-to-ceiling corkboard was a hidden compartment. A slightly reclined rack held a selection of rifles and shotguns. A tall section of pegboard held a dozen or so handguns of various makes, models, and calibers. And shelves recessed into the compartment were stacked high with ammunition.

  Reese’s eyes bugged at the sight of the arsenal. This was unprecedented. Every time she turned around, she was seeing a new side of Cyrus. “Well,” she said, finally finding her voice. “You had a hell of a story for the books. The one behind these guns must put that one to shame. Care to share?”

  Cyrus’s eyes met hers. It was clear this needed some sort of explanation. “Yeah. There’s a reason for all of it. I’m not a nut job. Let’s just grab what we need and get out of here. We’ve been too long already. I promise I’ll explain this, once we get everything secured.”

  Alright. That was fair. He went about selecting the weapons he wanted to take and loading them into the last remaining duffle bag along with all the ammo he could carry.

  Reese turned back to the bookshelves. She shook her head thinking about the Alastair Rose conspiracy. There were endless theories that Alastair was someone in witness protection hiding from the mob, or some kind of reclusive eccentric who never left his home. All sorts of crazy theories were thrown about. But the truth was something far more mundane. That struck her as very amusing.

  When she reached the end of the shelf, something different caught her eye. She was just about to ask Cyrus about it, but thought that now might not be the best time. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him zipping the last duffle bag and closing the wall’s hidden panel. They were about to leave. She thought for a second, then took advantage of his distraction. Grabbing three of the sixteen paperback books from the end of the bottom shelf, she stuffed them into the backpack at her feet.

  “Ready to go?” Cyrus asked.

  “All set,” she confirmed.

  They headed for the door. She had the backpack slung over one shoulder and Cyrus had a massive duffle bag in each hand.

  —————

  As they reached the front door, Cyrus got a funny feeling. A strange sensation tickled at the based of his skull and sent his eyes in the direction of the doorknob. He’d heard a floor board squeak in the hallway outside the apartment. He’d always liked that particular floorboard because it gave him a heads up when someone was standing at his doorstep. The squeak was always followed a second or two later by a knock or the electronic chime of the bell. But this time there was no knock.

  Cyrus stopped dead in his tracks. Reese, caught off guard, walked right into him. He lowered both bags to the floor, turned quickly, and signaled Reese for silence. He was relieved to see that she was already on alert.

  In one smooth motion, he pulled the gun from the holster behind his back. He could see a shadow move across the small gap at the bottom of the door. Someone was standing directly outside. He stepped to the side of the doorframe. Should the person in the hall start shooting through the wooden door, the thick wooden frame would dramatically reduce his chances of taking a round. He signaled Reese into the office a few feet away.

  He was deciding how to best deal with the person at the door when the floorboard squeaked again and the shadow was gone. He was confused. A nosey neighbor? Someone trying to find the right apartment? Or, it could be—

  Oh shit!

  Chapter 18

  Oak Park, Chicago Illinois

  Wednesday, 4:42 pm (3:52 pm Colorado Time)

  Cyrus turned and bolted down the hall. He made it six strides before the front door detonated in an shower of splinters. The concussive force of the blast smashed him to the floor and jolted the gun from his hand.

  His ears ringing and eyes blurry, Cyrus rolled over in time to see a large figure dressed in black lunging at him with a large hypodermic needle in hand. At the last moment, he squared his body to the man and raised his feet, catching the man in the abdomen and arresting his approach. With a flex of his back and knees, Cyrus launched his assailant over his head, in the direction of the living room at the far end of the hall.

  Climbing to his feet before the next attacker could reach him, Cyrus’s hand slid up under his jacket and pulled free the short handle of a telescoping baton. With a snap of his wrist, the baton extended to its full two-and-a-half-foot length. It would be difficult to swing within the confines of a hallway, but not impossible. With a snap of his wrist, Cyrus flicked the tip of the baton down on the extended hand of the oncoming second attacker. He was instantly rewarded by the sound of snapping bone. The man shrieked in pain. Cyrus followed up with a devastating right cross, square to the man’s nose. This time he heard the sound of splintering cartilage. A solid front kick to the man’s chest sent him hurtling backward down the hall, where he collided with a third oncoming attacker. The two men landed in a tangled pile that blocked the hallway.

  Spinning a hundred and eighty degrees, Cyrus turned in time to find that the first attacker had recovered and was advancing on him. The man had the large hypodermic needle at the ready and was looking to drive it home. Cyrus had no idea what was in the syringe and no desire to sample it first hand. The fact that no one had pulled a trigger yet made it a safe bet they wanted to bring him—or Reese, or both of them—back alive. That gave him the advantage, because the way this week was going, his reluctance to take another person’s life was proving a luxury he couldn’t afford.

  The attacker feigned a lunge with the needle only to backpedal a half step before attacking with full force. Cyrus grabbed the wrist supporting the oncoming needle with his left and put all his power and weight into another right cross. He dropped forward to one knee as he followed through with all available momentum. The punch caught the oncoming man in the abdomen, right above the belt buckle. Between the attacker’s oncoming inertia and the force of the punch, Cyrus had certainly knocked the wind out of him. Hell, there was a good chance the man had just involuntarily pissed himself from the force of the blow. Cyrus ducked and more or less threw the man over his shoulder. Flailing, he landed on top of his two unconscious comrades.

  No sooner had the man impacted on the other two, than Reese stepped up and placed a Taser to the back of his neck. She clicked the trigger and a blast of light flashed in the dim hallway. The crackle of electricity was unmistakable. Cyrus suddenly realized why the other two men hadn’t gotten up after he dropped them. Reese had zapped them into unconsciousness with a blast to the brainstem.

  “Outstanding!” Cyrus said, flashing her a wide smile. She never failed to impress him. Grabbing the Taser out his duffle, she’d disabled each man as soon as he had put them on the floor.

  Cyrus grabbed the hypodermic from the carpet and looked at it more closely.

  “What is it?” Reese asked.

  The needle was enormous. The sort of freakishly long thing doctors used on patients not because it was necessary, but because they could. Cyrus shook his head. “I truly have no idea.”

  He knelt beside the man on the top of the pile in the hallway and plunged the needle fully into his neck. He depressed the plunger. “Lets see if he likes his own medicine.” Stopping the injection short, he left a small sample of the fluid in the chamber of the syringe.

  Holding the needle up to the light, he confirmed that a small amount remained in the chamber. It would be enough to analyze. Next he broke the thick needle off at the base of the device, making it easier to transport. Finally, he took the big metal body of the syringe and one by one, pressed each of the three men’s right thumbs against a different section of its chrome finish. That done, he dropped the syringe into a plastic sandwich bag and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

 
“We better get the hell out of here,” he said to Reese. “The Chicago cops aren’t high on my list of admirers right now, and that breaching charge is going to have a lot of people dialing 911.” Cyrus grabbed the two largest duffle bags and led her into the hallway.

  They took the staircase down one flight and ducked into Meade’s spare apartment. This time they had a lot of gear to transport back to Colorado. Reese went first, taking the backpack and one of the duffles. Twenty seconds after she teleported out, Cyrus stepped onto the platform and tapped the activation code on Reese’s phone. A five second delay, a flash of light, a popping in his ears, and he was standing in the closet of the spare bedroom in Colorado.

  Chapter 19

  Berton Springs, Colorado

  Wednesday, 9:05 pm

  Cyrus and Reese sat on the floor of the basement vault. Each had stacks of files and folders scattered around them. It was slow going, but they were piecing together a more complete history of Meridian. What they had learned was nothing short of shocking. Even for Reese, who’d been a member of Walter Meade’s team since the project started, almost seven years prior. To her surprise, that was only the start of the project’s most recent iteration, only recently codenamed Meridian. Other projects directly related to it, had come before. In fact, Walter Meade had worked on the technology behind the teleportation platforms since 1955.

  Cyrus attempted a sip from his beer bottle and found it empty. “I’m grabbing another,” he said. “You want one?”

  She looked up from the sheet of paper she was reading. The distracted look on her face indicated that she hadn’t heard him. A moment later his words sank in and she smiled. “Please! But a couple more folders and I think I’ll switch to the hard stuff. This is incredible. How could Walter keep this to himself all these years?”

  Cyrus couldn’t argue the point. What they had read so far was mind-blowing. But keeping it secret did seem the best course of action. They had already uncovered documents proving that several accepted facts of American history were at best half-truths, while others were complete fabrications. And they all tied back to Meridian, a project of the upmost secrecy that had spawned some of the most revolutionary scientific advances in recorded history.

  “You know what,” she said, as she climbed up from the floor. “I’ll get the refills. I need to stretch my legs anyway.” She collected Cyrus’s empty bottle on her way to the staircase.

  Cyrus pulled himself to his feet and stretched. They’d been at this for hours. He’d been jotting notes on a pad of paper as they went, in an effort to assemble an accurate timeline. It was hard to believe, but the technology behind Meridian had been in the works since the very turn of the century.

  Reese returned carrying four bottles of beer. She passed one to Cyrus, kept one for herself, and set the other two aside. “Miss Knoland, I get the distinct impression you are trying to get me drunk!” Cyrus said with an exaggerated slurring of his speech.

  The corner of her mouth turned up in a mischievous smile and she raised one eyebrow suggestively. She tipped her bottle to him. He clicked his against it. “To taking advantage, and being taken advantage of!” Her grin only increased.

  She was something, Cyrus had to admit. This week had been a roller coaster ride, and not only had she maintained her wits but she had managed to keep a sense of humor as well. And with what they had learned tonight, that was no easy task.

  Cyrus took a long pull from the beer bottle and tried to clear the impure thoughts from his mind. It wasn’t his fault. She was causing them… And she was clearly enjoying it.

  Reese looked at him for several long moments. There was a slight flushing of her cheeks he was growing to enjoy. The pink color appeared when she flirted. Finally, Reese took a sip from her bottle and returned to her pile of papers on the floor. Cyrus stretched again, invoking several audible pops throughout his back and neck. He reclaimed his position on the hard concrete floor.

  “Should we go over the updated timeline one more time?” Cyrus asked, holding up the notepad.

  “Good idea. I’m still having trouble with it. I thought I knew everything there was about Meridian—but I didn’t know any of this!”

  “Okay,” Cyrus said, flipping back several pages. “As far as I can tell, everything started in 1902. It began with a series of meteor showers that drew a lot of attention from the scientific community. By that time in history, scientists were already aware of several fairly large meteor impact sites dating back thousands of years. Somewhat disappointingly, most of the new meteors burned up entering the atmosphere. But there were several surface impacts, a couple even within U.S. borders. Those samples were tracked down and collected, but other than some unusual ratios of elements, there was nothing terribly special about them.

  “But in the spring of 1902, a single anomalous sample was discovered. It had unusual magnetic properties. There was some kind of lab accident and the sample—J-189D, they called it—was damaged. The sample was pretty much broken in half. Skipping through the geek-speak, the meteorite turned out to be a virtual study guide for early physics. Scientists didn’t know it yet, but they had just discovered quantum entanglement. The two pieces of ore were linked on a quantum level.”

  “Right,” she said, picking up the story where he left off. “So they did some crude tests, at least by today’s standards. And since the two parts of the meteorite were linked at an atomic level, the scientists found that they could do some extraordinary things. There are dozens of reports detailing the experiments, but there’s one I like more than the rest. It was so simple that it was elegant.

  “They took a common power cord and plugged it into a wall outlet. The wires on the other end had been stripped bare and were attached directly to J-189D, Sample A. Some 400 miles away in another lab, a second cord was attached to the reciprocal portion of J-189D, Sample B. Rather than attach the second cord to the wall, it was attached to a lamp. When current was applied to Sample A, it instantly lit the bulb of the lamp attached to Sample B—400 miles away! There was no dissipation of power due to distance, and there was no measurable delay in the lighting of the lamp. In fact, they concluded that the distance between the two portions of J-189D was completely irrelevant.

  “It wouldn’t be until 1921 that Albert Einstein actually developed a scientific principle to explain the phenomenon. Until then, they must’ve thought it was damn close to magic,” Reese concluded with a satisfied smile.

  Cyrus nodded in agreement. “It seems that Einstein’s theoretical work in physics may not’ve been so theoretical after all. He was working with J-189D in the early 1900s. At the same time, he was divining his now famous theories, it stands to reason. According to these reports, that meteorite was the foundation on which modern science built our current understanding of physics. It actually makes me wonder where we’d be without it.”

  “I’m confused,” Reese said with some trepidation. “What was it about the J-189D that was so special? I mean, what caused the entanglement?”

  “That’s the kicker,” Cyrus said rather quietly. “There wasn’t anything special about J-189D. Nothing to explain its entanglement, at least. It originally drew scientific attention because it had an unusual magnetic signature. But that was later explained by the disproportional concentration of iron that comprised the meteorite’s outer structure. But those magnetic properties had nothing to do with the entanglement. In fact, it was almost as if the ore had just enough of a unique magnetic signature to ensure additional attention. But in and of itself, the magnetic properties were insignificant.”

  Cyrus went back to his notes. This part was a little sketchy as far as the extract timeframe. “So sometime in 1903, while working with the ore samples, Albert Einstein and Rumsfeld Pellagrin met for the first time. Pellagrin was the scientist who originally discovered the unique properties of the meteorite. Sometime between 1903 and 1907, Pellagrin had the remarkable idea that, if energy can be transferred between the two stones, it might be possible to transfer ma
tter as well. He enlisted the support of then President of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt. Roosevelt must’ve virtually salivated over the idea of such a technology, because he pretty much gave Pellagrin a blank check and carte blanche to do research. And to his credit, Pellagrin built the original two platforms.”

  “But he couldn’t make them work,” Reese said picking up the story. This was the part where she felt she had a solid grasp. She had tread some of this very same ground, only a hundred years later. “It seemed Pellagrin’s theories concerning matter transport were sound. But no one anticipated the monumental levels of energy required to cause the mass entanglement necessary to teleport complex matter. At one point, Pellagrin blacked out the whole of New York and Washington, D.C. in an attempt to power the platforms for a single test. Even then, he couldn’t generate enough power to engage the platforms.”

  Cyrus picked up the story again. So far they were on the same page, which was an indication that they were interpreting the information correctly. “But Pellagrin had kept in touch with Roosevelt. So when intelligence crossed Roosevelt’s desk indicating the Russians had some sort of secret new power generating device, Roosevelt passed the information on to Pellagrin. U.S. intelligence quickly discovered that the Russians were out collecting samples of their own during the meteor showers from 1902. Something in the samples they gathered was being used to generate previously unimagined levels of electricity.

  “But international relations being what they were, and assuming that the teleportation platforms actually worked, the US had no intentions of sharing technology with Russia. Pellagrin had no diplomatic means with which to utilize their power source. So the crafty bastard did the next best thing. He tricked them into letting him use their power source!”