The Prometheus Effect

by Jonathan Davison

  Approaching the toll, he strained his eyes, slowing the car so that in the event of a check point he could still turn without being seen. Fortune was smiling on Coffey as it appeared his worst fears had not played out. The booth was dark and unoccupied, the flimsy black and yellow gate raised and static. Coffey powered through and breathed more easily as he traversed the Merritt Island Causeway.

  Coffey took a long deep breath as he rolled quietly to a standstill on Harbor Pines. He had ensured that he parked a hundred metres or so past the opulent property with its stucco exterior. Janus had certainly done well for himself, he had spent his salary wisely. The home was lavish indeed although seemingly darkened and possibly unoccupied. It was nearly 3am, Coffey did not presume anything including the presence of his target as he carefully climbed out of the vehicle remembering to pull the piece and a torch from the glove box. Scanning the surrounding properties, he could not help but look shifty as the darkly clothed man skipped down the road hugging a nearby privet hedge to blend in to the dark foliage. Creeping to the rear of the large building, he realised quickly that this was not going to be an easy building to gain entry to. Coffey understood that buildings of this magnitude and value were often alarmed. At this point he hoped that Janus was at home and in bed and not on some poorly timed vacation. After several minutes of cautiously attempting to turn exterior door and window handles, he realised that a more blunt approach was in order. Risks had to be taken in order for him to restore his 'normal' life again and with the butt of his side-arm and a gloved hand, he carefully thumped a small window in a patio door whilst shielding his face from any flying shards. In the silence of the night in a sleepy suburb, the glass breaking sounded like a 50 kiloton explosion and a dog barking in the distance alerted him to the fact that it was clear that his intrusion could not possibly have gone unnoticed.

  Knowing that haste was required now to gain the tactical advantage, Coffey thrust his hand through the window and found the inner lock. His fumbling caused more glass to break and fall to the floor. He had come this far, it was a move of desperation that could not now be undone. Briskly moving through the ground floor of the house and past the indoor pool, he engaged his torch to aid his vision. Almost at a canter, Coffey headed towards the master bedroom. Finding the base of the staircase in the magnificent hallway his torch light flashing from side to side nervously, he jogged his ascent until two steps from the top he halted in his tracks. A shadowy figure stood before him as still as the intruder himself who was momentarily petrified in motion.

  “Who's that?” The figure choked, the stress evident in his voice.

  Coffey immediately aimed both the weapon and the torch at the figures face, causing the dark figure to flinch. The astronauts finger hovered over the cocked trigger eagerly as it was clear that Janus was indeed at home, disturbed from his sleep by his employee's clumsy entry.

  “Put your hands on your head.” Coffey demanded with a cool quiet voice. His identity not immediately evident to Janus who quickly complied.

  “Who else is in the house?” He continued. Janus was nothing but complicit in his actions, the sight of a gun aimed at his chest enough to bring a speedy response.

  “Just my wife.”

  Coffey nodded.

  “Take me to her.”

  “What do you want?” Janus muttered as he turned and walked slowly towards the bedroom, the house still darkened.

  “Move.” Coffey was succinct in his suggestions. Janus entered his large bedroom which was dimly lit by a bedside lamp. Janus' grey haired and svelte wife sat in bed, alert and distinctly anxious. As Janus and Coffey entered, she held her palm up to her mouth and whinnied a small vocal sound of distress.

  “Sit down.” Coffey demanded to Janus who looked distinctly less impressive in his boxers and a bare flabby torso. As he did so he turned to see his captor and a look of realisation and horror took hold of his pale features.

  “Roger!” He exclaimed, not quite knowing how to address his colleague who looked quite dishevelled now.

  “Both of you, don't move and I won't feel the need to do anything stupid.”

  Janus' wife shook her head vigorously, obviously terrified where as Janus looked more thoughtful, perhaps already planning his next move.

  “Pleased to meet you Mrs Janus. As your husband might be able to testify to, I am not a man who holds a gun with little intent to use so sit tight and keep your hands where I can see them.” Coffey ensured that his voice remained calm but authoritative.

  “What the hell is this all about Roger? You better have a damn good reason for being here and breaking in to my house like this.” Janus attempted to assert his seniority with a gruff statement, Coffey was unlikely to be overawed.

  “Oh I have Bill and you know God-damn well why. I have a few questions that I think you could answer and I’d appreciate it if you took the time to help me out with those.”

  “You'll get nothing from me you traitorous bastard.” Janus turned to his wife.

  “I'll not be forced to bow down to alien scum.”

  Coffey almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of his claim. Janus' wife looked even more horrified at her husband's claims.

  “My God. That's a new one on me. Well Bill, I hate to disappoint but I have a feeling that it's far simpler than that and I'm afraid that you're in no position to dictate terms. I have no qualms about blowing you're fucking head off if I have to. I want answers and you'd better start talking.” Coffey was ruthless in his approach, he did not have time to be arguing. For all he knew, the authorities may have already been alerted and on their way.

  “I'm telling you boy, you're not going to get anything from me, I’d rather die than betray my race to murdering butchers like you.”

  Janus was persistent in his assessment of Coffey although maybe his stance was more for his wife's benefit or so Coffey thought through his cynical eyes.

  “Let's get this straight, this isn’t about some intergalactic war, this is about Niemechek and his wife and kids, this is about murder, abduction and conspiracy. You had Niemechek killed for a reason, he knew too much about the Prometheus mission. You pushed for the mission to go ahead despite losing a crew member and drafted me in short notice. You figured I'd make up the numbers and then you'd off me when I got back to keep everything neat. It must have been your influence that set this up, there's no way that mission would have taken place with a makeshift navigator under normal circumstances. You've got some dirty laundry and now it's time it got aired.”

  Janus sat on the bed in silence and in pensive thought as his wife breathed hard and fast as the stress looked to be taking its toll.

  “OK, so you're playing the silent game. That's alright, I can play games too. I've kind of worked out already that you're a murderous son of a bitch with an agenda, I accept that you wanted to kill me, I can live with that, but what I want to know is why? What was so special about the Prometheus mission? You know I’ve kind of figured out that it ties in with this whole alien invasion story, so why don't you enlighten me?”

  Janus knew that he could not speak, to do so would serve to give too much away and Coffey knew far too much already. Either way, Janus was a dead man. It only remained to be seen whether his killer would be the desperate fugitive who longed to clear his good name, or the all powerful masters with whom he served. Coffey could see beads of sweat proliferating on Janus' brow, his boss appeared to be distant and increasingly disinterested in Coffey's aggressive stance. Janus reached over to his bedside table draw.

  “Just what do you think you're doing?” Coffey asked but Janus was undeterred by his captors increasingly agitated state. He simply ignored his subordinate and began to open the draw.

  “I'm telling you man, if you don't get your hands away from there I’m going to have to...” Coffey never finished his sentence as the realisation set in that Janus was beyond his control. Bill Janus reached into the small draw and pulled out a small revolver. Despite the sight of the deadly weapon, i
t occurred to Coffey that he was not the intended target of its fiery wrath. In a fleeting moment as Coffey stood helplessly watching, Janus turned to his wife who offered only a quizzical expression, pressed the gun to her forehead and pulled the trigger. In amazement and shock at the brutal and callous action, Coffey hesitated allowing enough time for Janus to join his wife in an eternal oblivion. Bill Janus' limp and lifeless body fell backwards and lay across his wife’s chest, her wide open eyes still retaining a look of utter astonishment.

  “Jesus!” Coffey uttered at the profound statement Janus had made and the carnage he had left behind. Knowing full well that the gunshots would have been heard by neighbouring inhabitants, Coffey felt the surge of panic and bolted down the stairs leaving by the same way he had entered. Running to the car, he fired up the motor and pulled away quickly trying not to spin the wheels up and cause even more attention to be brought his way.

  Coffey shook his head as he took to the Causeway; how the hell had he let that happen? Did Janus' wife deserve to die in that manner and what would motivate a faithful husband to act in that despicable way? Coffey's quest for clarity had not progressed and he realised that Janus' knowledge had now passed with him. Coffey cursed at his cowardice as he realised he had lost an opportunity to search Janus' study and maybe gain important information. The adrenaline kick of the fatal gunshots was enough to drive any man to flee but Coffey did not have the opportunities to spurn. The drive back to Kissimmee was a long, cold one with the visions of what he had just witnessed vivid and enduring. More than ever, Coffey was convinced that Prometheus was significant not only to NASA and the United States but to the whole world and its fight against the alien invaders; perhaps he might just hold the key to the whole torrid affair.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Coffey peered through the frantic wind-shield wipers as they tried in vain to clear the rain which lashed down upon his vehicle. In an effort to disperse the feeling of great emptiness he had which had gradually worsened of late, Coffey punched the radio into life and was rewarded with a classic country song from the late seventies. He was at a loss, his brightest hope of reaching a state of awareness had been sharply snuffed out. The enormity of his task appeared ever greater by the minute and not even Vincent’s plucky optimism could rescue him from this funk.

  The roads on the way back to Kissimmee were all but deserted, the driving rain only increased the sense of hopelessness. Maybe Vincent could pluck another nugget of information from the ether, a gem which could decipher the puzzle. Even so, Coffey felt more than ever that the light at the end of the tunnel was dimming by the minute, all the avenues were being closed off, everyone with the knowledge that might ignite the flames of truth were being snuffed out. He was determined not to be the next but in all honesty, he was now almost resigned to his fate and understood that it may only be a matter of time before they got to him.

  Coffey left the asphalt road and carefully navigated the now muddy, sodden track which wound through the trees for a mile or so before ending at Vincent's clearing. Driving with the utmost caution, he could not afford to damage his new vehicle at this point, Coffey continued until about 400 metres along the track he brought the car to a sudden halt. Even with the car static, the wipers worked tirelessly to clear the screen, such was the ferocity of the rain fall. The tired and disappointed astronaut however was still alert enough to notice something up front, something on the path ahead. A dark, shadowy bulk lay across part of the track. Peering through the steamy glass of the wind-shield, Coffey could not identify the mass but it set his nerves on edge enough for him to brave the deluge to investigate.

  Without a formidable coat to fend off the rain, Coffey was instantly wet through as he skipped over large pot holes which had filled with murky water. It became more clear the nearer he got that the darkened bulk was that of a decent sized deer which had appeared to be struck by a vehicle. It was surely dead, a dark rich liquor had run from its head, a sign that it may not have died instantly but may have had time to bleed significantly before finally succumbing to its injuries. The deer did not block Coffey’s path but it begged the question, what had struck this animal? It was not there two hours earlier when Coffey had taken the same path out of Kissimmee.

  Taking the bold stance of leaving his vehicle he decided to continue his journey to Vincent's house by foot. Rolling the car off the track and down a short incline so that it was difficult to see from the track, he ensured he was equipped with both torch and gun which was still fully loaded and not yet to be discharged that evening. Coffey made haste down the perilously dark path, the overcast skies concealed the pink moon and although he carried a torch, he resisted the will to use it. Coffey feared for Vincent. He had feared this, he guessed it was only a matter of time before Vincent's activity was detected and traced despite the best efforts of his genial friend to cover his tracks.

  An approaching haze of light and a low frequency hum caused Coffey to duck behind a clump of trees. A vehicle was coming down the track from the direction of the cabin. This could not be Vincent, his vehicle was in use and as far as Coffey was aware, Vincent only owned the one. With indecision plaguing his thoughts, the car came into view. Should Coffey let the car pass by or should he tackle this issue head on? If this vehicle had found the cabin, perhaps Vincent was in the car as a captive and unloading his weapon in a poorly conceived but frantic shoot-out could serve only to make this far worse. Coffey bit his lip hard as the car passed serenely by, it was too dark to ascertain who the occupants were or indeed even the make and model of the vehicle and as it turned the corner out of sight, he engaged the torchlight and sprinted onward fearing only the worst.

  Ahead, the lights of the cabin shone and it aided Coffey’s navigation to the point where a torch was no longer required. There were no vehicles there now but that did not mean there were no protagonists present. Perhaps they had left him a nasty surprise? Coffey proceeded with great caution but his heart sank a little as he realised the front door was wide open, the light from inside beaming out across the clearing. With gun cocked and ready for action, he peered around the corner of the building and inched his way closer to the door. There was a feint noise from within that sounded like voices. Coffey immediately felt that there was someone present inside but when music could be heard, it became clear that the radio or television had been left on. Carefully cocking his head through the door, it was quickly apparent that the cabin was empty however, Coffey remained vigilant as he entered thrusting his gun outwards, scanning the scene down the length of its muzzle.

  Coffey's worst fears had played out. It was clear that his enemies had been here. The computer equipment so beloved by his quirky companion had been torn apart. Internal hard drives had been removed and the rest of the components strewn about the place. Vincent was nowhere to be seen. Coffey had hoped that he had ran into the reserve and taken refuge in the thick foliage only to return at a later time but that was purely wishful thinking. A small pool of blood soaked into the rug upon the floor was a tell tale sign that someone had been gravely injured here. Coffey pummelled a computer tower in rage with the butt of his gun as he realised that Vincent was almost certainly lost. If he was fortunate, perhaps he had already died. Coffey however was not so optimistic and envisaged interrogation and torture. Despite Vincent's best intentions, he could not resist the agonies inflicted by these ruthless individuals and it was only a matter of time before Coffey was traced through Vincent's reluctant confessions.

  Coffey wandered around the cabin, silent and forlorn. Vincent was the last vestige of hope, the last bastion of promise. Without his shelter, wisdom and intrigue, where could he go now? Who could he turn to? One thing was for certain, it was not safe to be here now. It could only be a matter of time before Vincent told them of his presence or surveillance would do the same job. It was not even safe to take Vincent's car as it would easily be traced by ANPR camera's set up along every major highway. Coffey needed to disappear into the night, he needed to be
a shadow, a fleeting spectre if he were to remain intact.

  Packing a holdall hurriedly, Coffey left the cabin. He did not even shut the door on leaving; he disappeared into the darkness leaving only a trail of footprints behind which quickly filled up with muddy water. His only hope now was to vanish into the wilderness for some time, to leave the trail cold and leave little hope for his detection. Maybe then, when the time was right he could once again take a brave and decisive step towards clarity. There were very few avenues left open to him and it might take a giant leap of faith to move forward at this point. In the days spent dining at the table of Mother Nature, perhaps the solitude and peace would help him think and compose his thoughts a little.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  December 17th 2020

  Headington, Oxford

  Joshua stood in his empty lounge and surveyed the desolate room picking up a small piece of dark fluff from the beige carpet. A stack of packing boxes were piled high in the corner and the room reverberated as Joshua pulled a ream of parcel tape from its spindle. He had finally found a suitable place to live in the heart of London, a small flat not so far from work and for the first time in a number of long weeks, some kind of normality was returning to his everyday life. The country had recovered well from the chaos, perhaps even better than expected. The mobile phone networks were once again back on line although the internet had not returned as promised. There was much debate about the risk to public safety on its restoration, the government continued to demonstrate its rigid stance concerning ongoing security and limiting every possible avenue of alien plotting. Even the mobile networks seemed unresponsive and patchy. Word on the street seemed to suggest that calls were being filtered, monitored. There often appeared to be long satellite delays which sometimes ran to seconds making conversations stunted at best. Television updates seemed to suggest that new chip technologies were being looked at to allow valid chip holders access to network services, meaning only those who had passed the Censure could gain access to the Internet and other important tools such as banking and the like.