by Steve Alten
“That’s amazing.”
“No, Dr. Marulli, amazing is what happened after we used stem cells to crack the bioelectric code and applied the regeneration recipe in a zero-point-energy field.”
Dr. Lara walked over to the man whose three limbs were grounded to the rubber-insulated surgical table. “Our patient this evening is Mr. David Griggs. Mr. Griggs worked for MAJI as a … well, let’s just call him a bounty hunter. Unbeknownst to Mr. Griggs was the fact that he had diabetes, which was left untreated for eighteen years, resulting in gangrene and the eventual amputation of his left leg.
“These six electrodes are powered by zero-point-energy. When I activate them, it will surround the patient in a transdimensional field similar to the bubble generated by the extraterrestrial vehicles. At that exact instant, the bioelectric code to regenerate Mr. Griggs’ left leg will be juiced.”
Returning to his console, Dr. Lara typed in a few commands on his keyboard, causing a neon-blue aura to surround the surgical table.
Jessica watched in amazement as the patient’s left leg began growing from out of his stump, forming a new limb from the inside out within sixty seconds.
“Oh my God …”
“You got the ‘God’ part right. The new limb is fully functional, the neurons channeling directly to Mr. Griggs’ brain.”
Joyce smiled. “Tell Dr. Marulli what else we can do.”
“In a word … everything. There’s not a disease we haven’t cured or an injury we can’t heal within minutes of the application.”
Jessica could barely contain her excitement. “This is incredible. Is this still in the trial phase? When will it be announced to the rest of the world?”
“It won’t be announced,” Dr. Lara said. “The cabal will keep it black-shelved forever, along with zero-point-energy.”
Jessica felt numb. “But why?”
“I think you already know that answer. There’s far more money to be made in treating the symptoms of a disease with prescription medicines that have to be reordered every month than by actually curing something. Eradicate a disease, and you’ve eliminated a trillion dollars from the economy. Big Pharma and the Bankocrats don’t want cures—except for themselves, of course.
“As for the amputees and the paralyzed … the diseased and the dying—MAJI could care less. This is all about money and controlling the masses—the less of them to deal with, the better.”
* * *
Jessica’s feeling of utter helplessness had quickly evolved into anger by the time Joyce had dragged her out of the debate and down the hall.
“I wasn’t through!”
“You were preaching to the choir, Jess. Dr. Lara and his colleagues would love to bring these discoveries out, only they’re scared. Physicians and biochemists who claim to have found holistic cancer remedies get shut down … or worse.”
Jessica adjusted the tension on her headset which was squeezing her temples and giving her a headache. “Watching that man’s limb grow out of his stump … all I could think of was Adam—”
She stopped walking, forcing Joyce to turn back. “What?”
“That’s why you wanted me to see that procedure … you even found a left leg amputee, just like Adam.”
“That was a coincidence.”
“Bullshit. You’re lobbying me against Council. Admit it, Joyce.”
“Okay, I admit it, only it’s not what you think.”
“What I think is that I’ve had enough. I’m going home.”
Jessica spun around on her heels, causing her headphones to slide off her head. As she reached out to catch them, her brain was accosted by a symphony of clicks and whispers, screeches and grunts.
Disoriented, she lost her balance, her legs folding beneath her.
Joyce grabbed her as she fell, minimizing the impact. She quickly returned the headphones to Jessica’s ears, tightening the tension. “You okay?”
“No. What the hell was that?”
“That is why I brought you here … to show you MAJI’s real secret.”
Joyce helped her to her feet then led her down the hall to another corridor guarded by two members of DELTA Force. She glanced at a sign posted above a set of double doors.
Genetics Lab
Dr. Joyce LaCombe: Director of Operations
Cassopolis, Michigan
The garage was situated between the farmhouse and the barn and was the newest structure on the property. An assortment of tools and farming equipment hung from the back wall. Open cardboard boxes held plastic containers of engine oil, a gasoline pump fed diesel fuel from and an underground storage tank housed beneath the concrete slab.
There were two vehicles parked inside. The silver Audi A4 had been leased under a phony name and provided to Kelly Kishel for her use. The candy-apple-red 2013 Case IH Steiger 550S 4x4 tractor belonged to the agents working undercover as farmers.
Adam Shariak opened his eyes to the scent of diesel fumes. He was arched backward over one of the tractor’s enormous pair of rear tires, his arms outstretched painfully over his head, his wrists and ankles duct taped to the vehicle’s undercarriage. The tape had been hastily secured around his left sock, indicating the biker hadn’t noticed the artificial limb.
Barely able to turn his head, he looked to his left and saw the dark-haired female Devil’s Diciple rummaging through a tool chest.
“Baby, do you want a molar or a front tooth?”
“Sasha, I’m on the phone.” The big man with the shaved head and thickly-muscled tattooed arms gave the edge of his hunting knife several slow passes against the silicon carbide stone sharpener while he waited for the secured line to process the call.
“It’s Snowman. The job is done but we’ll need a clean-up crew.”
“How many?”
“Two in the house, one in the garage.”
“Understood.”
Adam tested his bonds—the duct tape around his wrists was cutting off his circulation, but there was some play on his right ankle. As for the prosthetic, the sock was loose; he knew he could slip the bare metal hinged foot out of his shoe at anytime.
He looked up as the woman filled his vision, her human tooth necklace an ugly foreshadowing of what was about to happen. Gripping his lower jaw, the female biker jammed a pair of needle-nose pliers into his mouth. In a well-practiced motion, she forcibly yanked one of his upper right molars out of his gums.
Adam’s groan was choked off by a wad of blood gushing down the back of his throat. Turning his head as far as he could, he spit, only his head was too far back and he ended up dribbling it across his chin and sweatshirt.
The big man approached, the blade of the hunting knife gleaming beneath the bare fluorescent lights anchored beneath the garage roof’s crossbeams. “Sasha … she don’t mess around. Me? I like to take my time. But I’ll make you a deal. You tell me where the drop point is and I’ll end things quick and easy with a bullet to the brain.”
“Detroit … the drop-off is in Detroit.”
“Where in Detroit?”
“A warehouse near the football stadium. I don’t know the address, but I can take you there.”
“He’s lying,” said Sasha, who was busy at a work table, fitting a drill with a narrow bit.
Brent Snowden leaned over Adam. “Are you lying?”
The former Apache pilot and prisoner of war spit again, this time managing to hit the biker in his face. “Maybe that ugly bitch is the one who’s lying?”
The biker wiped his right cheek with his skeleton bandana. “Babe, bring that drill over here.”
Sasha finished drilling a hole in Adam’s pulled tooth, then walked over to the tractor and handed the tool to her boyfriend.
Adam’s eyes went wide in terror. “No, no … please God, not in the knee!”
With a maniacal leer, the biker squeezed the trigger, his muscular right arm jamming the spinning drill bit straight into the fabric of Adam’s left pant leg and down through the metal appendage—
The sudden movement powered on both of the King Cobra tasers that Jared Betz had rigged to a briar patch of stripped copper wiring around the prosthetic leg, sending a combined six million volts of electricity through the metal and into the biker’s body, instantly stopping his heart.
For a surreal moment the Devil’s Diciple’s two-hundred-and-eighty pound torso continued to convulse in place. And then the dead man toppled forward onto Adam’s lower legs—
—the impact snapping the duct tape around his right ankle and freeing both legs!
Sasha laughed. “Snowman? Baby, get up.”
It took her a moment to realize her motionless boyfriend was dead.
Adam flipped his legs up and over his head so that he was now facing the tire. He gnawed at the twisted mess of duct tape around his left wrist with his blood-drenched teeth like a deer caught in a bear trap.
The biker chick screamed at him, venom in her eyes. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Prying the hunting knife loose from her dead boyfriend’s hand, she wheeled upon Adam—
—who had freed his left hand and was now brandishing a second 9mm that he had removed from a holster hidden inside the struts and springs of his artificial limb, the gun’s barrel aimed at Sasha’s right eye.
Without hesitation he pulled the trigger, the slug tearing through the woman’s cornea and brain before exploding out the back of her skull.
He spit out a wad of blood. “That’s for making me have to go to the dentist.”
Adam quickly chewed through the tape around his right wrist that was still pinning him to the tractor. He slid down the back of the double tires as the last piece of silver tape gave way. Locating Snowden’s knife, he cut loose the remains of his bonds.
He managed two steps—only to realize the damaged prosthetic was wobbling badly.
Fix it … then get out of here before the clean-up crew arrives.
Slicing off the pant leg, he inspected the damage to the hydraulic knee, which was bent beyond his ability to repair it.
Maybe Kishel left her keys in the car?
He attempted to limp over, only the prosthetic leg buckled. Searching the garage, he found a push broom. Inverting it, he tucked the broom’s head under his left arm and used the stick like a crutch in order to make his way over to the silver Audi.
A quick inspection turned up nothing.
And then the garage window panes startled to rattle …
38
Cassopolis, Michigan
ADAM STOOD BY THE GARAGE WINDOW, staring at the roof of the three-story barn. The A-frame of the dilapidated structure had split open like a giant pair of praying hands, its weathered shingles and struts concealing a pair of aluminum doors anchored on hydraulic rollers.
Exiting the garage, he hid behind the rusted jalopy and gazed up at a starry night sky and a bizarre amber-red light.
The disc-shaped UFO was fifty feet in diameter, with a band of multi-colored lights that circled randomly around its circumference. Descending rapidly, the ship stopped to momentarily hover above the barn’s still opening gullet—revealing tell-tale seams along its hull in the process—confirming to Adam its identification as a man-made Alien Reproduction Vehicle.
The craft disappeared inside the barn, the A-frame roof closing to seal the vessel inside its secret port.
Leaning on the broom, Adam made his way across the gravel driveway to the barn door and pressed his ear to the heavy reinforced barrier to hear two men yelling inside—
—the argument ending with a shot of gunfire.
Adam hid behind the barn door as it swung open, releasing a Caucasian man in his forties, his brown hair receding in front but long in the back, ending in a tight ponytail. He was dressed in a black Delta Force jumpsuit, a Beretta handgun in his right hand, the pilot’s helmet in his left.
“Drop the gun or I’ll drop you where you stand.”
The commando stopped; his back to Adam. “Sounds like a bad western. How am I supposed to know if you’re really armed?”
Adam fired a shot between the man’s feet.
“I guess that settles the matter.” He lowered his gun, allowing it to fall to the gravel-covered driveway by his right boot. “Your move, cowboy.”
“Who did you shoot inside the barn?”
“The guy MAJI sent to kill you. You are Adam Shariak, yes?”
“And you are?”
“Chris Mull. I work with your fiancée. May I turn around just to confirm who you are?”
Without waiting for a reply the commando turned to face Adam. “Ah, it is you … fantastic. About a week ago we learned a TWEP order had been placed on you. Jessica begged me to save your sorry ass. I managed to change the duty roster in order to accompany the hit man. His name was Captain Joshua LaCombe. The body’s inside the barn.”
“What about the girl?”
“Girl? What girl?”
“Kelly Kishel. MAJI sent her to kill me.”
“Never heard of her. Where is she?”
“Dead.”
For a brief second the commando’s eyes went vacant like a predator’s, devoid of a soul. “You killed her?”
“No, the bikers handled that. But I thought you said this guy, LaCombe was sent to kill me?”
“Apparently MAJI brought in back-up.”
“Where’s the zero-point-energy device?”
“What zero-point-energy device is that?”
The bullet splintered the gravel between Chris Mull’s feet.
“Take it easy, Shariak. I’m on your side.”
“That remains to be seen. Now show me the device.”
“No problem, it’s inside the ARV.” Mull walked back toward the barn, slipping the helmet on his head as he approached Adam. “Jessica told me you flew Apaches in Iraq. You’d love flying one of these ET ships. The helmet links your thought commands to the—”
“Stop.”
“Stop … start … get the ZPE unit … make up your mind.”
“I said stop!” Adam fired again, causing the man to halt a few paces away. “The headpiece … take it off and hand it to me.”
“It won’t work for you.”
“As long as it doesn’t work for you.”
Chris Mull’s smile cracked a second before he whipped the headpiece at Adam, the helmet knocking the broomstick out from under him.
Balancing on his only leg, Adam attempted to shoot his assailant, only Mull had circled behind him. As he turned, the MAJI agent launched a front thrust kick, catching him flush in the solar plexus and driving him backward through the open barn door.
Adam flopped on the hay-covered concrete slab like a fish out of water. He wheezed but could not draw a breath, the air driven from his lungs, the bundle of nerves below his ribcage momentarily paralyzed. He tried to raise the gun—
—only to have the Delta Force commando kick it out of his hand.
“You killed Kelly, didn’t you?”
The instep of the man’s boot struck him on the right side of his chest, bruising two ribs.
“You’re in a world of hurt, my friend. After I take care of you I’m heading back to Dulce to deal with your fiancée. Me and Jessica … we’re going to have a lot of fun as I—”
Chris Mull leaned over to retrieve Adam’s gun—and vaporized.
Adam looked up in disbelief. One moment he was there, the next … poof. All that remained was a dispersing trail of humidity.
Unable to breathe, Adam rolled over onto his back, each wheezed breath managing to push a little more air into his starving lungs. Thoughts raced at him, demanding answers but breathing was his first priority, pain a close second.
Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at the underside of the man-made space craft. There was no landing gear; the vessel was simply floating ten feet above the barn’s concrete floor.
And then he heard a voice.
“… to your right. Shari
ak, pick up the headpiece.”
He glanced to his right and saw it lying six feet away.
Forcing himself onto his belly, he crawled to the device and placed it on his head, registering a zzzzzztt of current in his brain.
“Shariak, can you hear me?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“Far side of the barn … by the bales of hay.”
Adam diverted to a metal rake and used it to lean on as he circled the floating vessel.
He saw the trail of blood … then he saw the man.
Captain Joshua LaCombe was leaning back against a bale of hay, his blood-soaked hands pressing weakly against an entrance wound in his abdomen and an exit wound in his left lung. He was pale and bleeding out very fast.
“How did you vaporize Mull?”
“Head-piece. ARVs are fully weaponized … just don’t use them in space. Listen carefully. Inside the lower level are three gravity amplifiers. Omicron configuration …”
He ceased talking, the blood gurgling in his windpipe.
Adam reached for him, only the commander’s telepathic voice interceded.
Shariak, focus! Omicron configuration flies sublight speed using one gravity amplifier. Delta configuration uses all three as a bow-wave to go transdimensional. I rigged the ZPE unit to eject from your console when you go Delta.
“You expect me to fly this thing?”
No choice. MAJI will terminate my wife and son, along with Jessica and your unborn kid. Get to Dulce and shut them down.
“But how am I—”
An ARV is like an Apache … just think and it moves. Beware of Zeus SATS … they’re armed.
“Okay. Anything else?