Flint followed the brick walkway winding through the campus, his head pounding, his stomach queasy and churning as he pondered his situation. The Doc had helped a lot, there was no doubt about it. He’d saved Flint's butt countless times and somehow managed to keep his record mostly clean in spite of his many “opportunities” for a less than stellar police record. Not to mention the testing he’d done on Flint in an attempt to help him discover the cause of his abilities (if you could call them that). Flint just thought maybe it was intuition combined with above-average reflexes, surely nothing more than that. But Doc seemed to think there was more to it. Well, more power to him, I guess.
As he turned the corner on the path headed toward the final stretch to Doctor Malloy’s house, Flint looked up and saw Professor Huxley’s graduate assistant, Estebe Sebastian, hurrying toward him. Sebastian’s eyes seemed to narrow when he saw Flint, but he continued walking his way. Nodding at Sebastian, Flint mumbled, “Morning, Estebe.”
Sebastian slowed only slightly, remarking derisively, “Good morning, Stryker. You look like shit. Been studying all night for your urine test? That’s what you’ll be taking when you start your new career at Walmart.”
Flint looked directly at Sebastian and replied, “Good to see you, too, Sebastian. Your nose is a lovely shade of brown this morning. How’s Professor Huxley’s hemorrhoids?”
Sebastian sneered. “Blow me, Stryker. I hope you enjoy your trailer park life after graduation.” With that, Sebastian gave Stryker the finger and continued on his way. Flint made an overly loud smooching sound as Sebastian passed, and then a loud raspberry, punctuating their conversation with just the right amount of middle school emphasis.
What’s with all the trailer park references this morning? Stryker thought. “Am I that much of a loser? Who pissed in that guy’s corn flakes this morning, and why is he in such a hurry? Stryker glanced over his shoulder to see Esteban striding rapidly on his way.
As he drew closer to Dr. Malloy’s residence, he was overcome by a sudden wave of nausea and vertigo. Wobbling up the path to the doctor’s house, he could feel sweat pouring down his face and back, even in the cool morning air. As he took the first steps on the doctor’s stoop, he could feel the acrid rush of his stomach’s contents charging up his esophagus. Just as he was about to ring the doorbell, the hot discharge triggered his gag reflex. His head pivoting as if on a swivel, he tried to locate the best place to deposit the remaining contents of his stomach.
Azalea bushes? They would have to do. With that, Flint leaned hard into the bushes and spewed the odious remnants of the previous night’s debauchery. His first blast was followed by a less voluminous, but no less fervent projection of vomit, leaving stringy chains of spittle trailing from his lips.
The door was then yanked open, and Flint stood, eyes streaming, face to face with… well, he had no idea. It was a man and a woman, he knew that much, but they were complete strangers.
The upper middle-aged man regarded Flint much as one would stepping barefooted into a pile of dog droppings. The woman, somewhat younger, was wearing an eyepatch, and a form-fitting professional suit. She was very sexy in a cougar-ish sort of way. She looked on with amusement at his plight.
The man’s left eyebrow arched slightly as he regarded Flint and smirked. “Good morning, Mr. Stryker. Been up all night studying for your urine test?”
Sixteen
“What is it with the urine test remark? You’re the second person to ask me that this morning.” Flint groaned as he stumbled through the doorway.
The man produced a handkerchief from his inside suit pocket and held it out to Stryker. Flint gratefully accepted the monogrammed kerchief and began wiping the dross from his lips. “Thanks. I’m sorry it won’t be as clean when I return it as when you offered it,” Flint mumbled.
“It’s all right, boy,” the man replied. Flint wasn’t sure it was all right, but he took it anyway.
The woman stepped forward and introduced herself, extending Stryker her right hand. “Hello, dear boy, my name is Serafina Ferrari. I don’t believe we’ve met, but I have heard many fascinating things about you. I’m so glad to finally meet you.” She scrutinized him appraisingly, much like a hungry dog eyes a pork chop left too close to the table edge.
“Pleased to meet you,” Flint replied, taking her hand. The moment her fingertips touched his palm, he felt something weird, as if some low-level electric current passed through him. Quickly, he jerked his hand away, not expecting the sensation. “S-sorry,” he stumbled. “Static electricity, I guess.”
Ferrari’s eye widened, her pupil dilated, and her breath quickened, her cheeks flushing. “Not a problem,” she purred. “It’s the most excitement I’ve had this morning.”
The man looked warily at Ferrari and then turned his gaze toward Flint. “Good to meet you, Stryker. Call me Seven. I’m sure Doctor Malloy told you we were coming?”
Flint took the man’s hand, mindful that he had one of the firmest grips he’d ever felt. Seven didn’t squeeze his hand trying to show off his strength or intimidate Flint, it was just a firm, no-nonsense, businesslike handshake. “Nice to meet you too, sir. Er… no, I’m sorry. Dr. Malloy didn’t mention you were coming. He said he wanted to meet with me today to explain some things. And uh… that’s it? Seven? No name or anything?”
Just then, Dr. Malloy bustled into the room, “Oh! There you are, Mr. Stryker! I see you’ve already met my esteemed colleagues Seven and Ms. Ferrari. I trust they’ve made you welcome.” Dr. Malloy made a discreet movement on his left upper lip, indicating Stryker needed to attend to some wayward upchuck debris. Stryker made a swipe at his upper lip, then raised his eyebrows to the doctor, seeking affirmation that he’d cleared the offending residue.
Dr. Malloy smiled and nodded. “Yes, my boy, come on in. I’ve prepared a hearty breakfast for you and my other guests. Hopefully, this will restore some of the vigors that you’ve ah… misplaced in my azaleas a bit ago.”
“Sorry, sir. I guess my stomach was a little upset this morning.” Stryker belched, sending a bitter plume of skank breath wafting in the air among them.
The braintrust of Linchpin’s nostrils all widened, taking in the stench. Ferrari coughed politely, and Seven turned his face away, putting some distance between his face and Stryker’s expiration. “Good God,” he muttered under his breath.
Stryker’s face turned a bright crimson, as Dr. Malloy hurriedly said, “Mr. Stryker, why don’t you wash up before breakfast? And in the guest bath, you’ll find extra toothbrushes and some toothpaste. Help yourself.”
Flint turned to head down the hallway. “And, Mr. Stryker?” Doctor Malloy added.
“Yes, sir?” Flint replied.
“Be sure and check out the mouthwash under the basin. Use as much as you like.”
The four of them were now seated at the table in Doctor Malloy’s dining room. “Your face has much better color now, Mr. Stryker,” Doctor Malloy noted. “I trust you’re feeling better?”
Flint looked from the doctor’s face to Seven’s, then to Ferrari’s. He noticed something funny about the way she looked at him. If there was truly something to the phrase “undressing with one’s eyes,” then he was now experiencing it – even if she only had one eye. Seven looked at him the way you would a village idiot – or a circus freak act.
“Yes, sir. It hit the spot. I feel much better.” Flint had spent the better part of ten minutes gargling and repeatedly rinsing his mouth with the doctor’s mouthwash. He felt certain that if he had to throw up again, it would at least smell minty fresh.
“Good, glad to hear it, Mr. Stryker. Let’s all dig in, shall we?”
Quiet reigned for the next few minutes as they each helped themselves to the platters of scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, grits and biscuits that the doctor had prepared. The bacon and sausage looked a bit greasy for Stryker’s delicate condition, so he contented himself with the eggs, biscuits, and grits, trying to soothe his still-rumbling intestinal reg
ions.
Ferrari kept her eye discreetly on him as Malloy plated their food. She could hardly control herself as she took a small bite of her eggs. She had never felt a sensation like when Stryker touched her palm. She was lightheaded now, just recalling it, her heart racing. It was exhilarating, yet draining. She had felt weak-kneed and like a schoolgirl getting her first kiss on the playground. Truth be told, it was a sensual rush as well – her cheeks flushed as she thought about it.
“Serafina?” Seven interrupted her thoughts. “Are you all right? You look a little feverish.”
“I’m fine, Seven,” she insisted. “It’s just a little warm in here, I think”
“Really?” Doctor Malloy said, puzzled. “I’ve got the thermostat set on 68 – it’s these blasted Southern summers. I can turn it down if you like.”
“No, I’m fine!” She shifted in her seat, glowering at Doctor Malloy. “Let’s just get on with the purpose of this meeting, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s do,” Seven added. “I’ve got an important meeting in an hour, so let’s get this show on the road.”
Flint paused, fork in mid-air, his cheeks stuffed with eggs and biscuit. “Gount meef in,” he slurred through a mouthful.
Doctor Malloy cleared his throat and put down his fork. “Well, if everyone agrees then, I’ll proceed.” He turned to face Flint.
“Mr. Stryker.” He paused, giving Flint time to swallow his mouthful of food. “Have you ever considered becoming an accomplished professional in the art of domestic and international espionage and an elite trained killer?”
Seventeen
Flint almost choked on his mouthful of eggs. Spluttering, he reached for the coffee and scalded his tongue on the steaming brew. “OW! W-what are you talking about? Did you say accomplished professional in the art of domestic and international espionage and an elite trained killer?”
The three others looked at him as if he had said dogcatcher. “Why, yes, Mr. Stryker. I’m sorry. Did I alarm you?” Doctor Malloy asked.
Flint looked at each face, sure they were putting him on. “This is a joke, right? I mean you can’t be serious? Domestic and international espionage? Trained killer?”
The three looked at each other across the table. Ms. Ferrari was the first to speak. “Perhaps Dr. Malloy was a little blunt, Flint. Let us explain exactly what we are talking about here.” Seven huffed and crossed his arms in an emphatic display of negative body language.
Dr. Malloy soothed him. “Yes, Mr. Stryker, let me give you a bit more detail so you can make an informed decision.”
Gawking at the three, each in turn, Flint said, “Yes, please. Would you do that? Give me a bit more detail. Yeah, that’d be great.”
Dr. Malloy produced a file folder that he’d put on the sideboard earlier. “Mr. Stryker, let me talk you through these reports here, which I think you’ll find very interesting.” Flint was stupefied, unable to speak. Malloy opened the folder and riffled through the pages until he found the set he’d been looking for. “Ah! Here it is. ‘Lab Sequence Report 2001a’.” He spread the pages in front of Flint, pointing to the first column of the report.
“Mr. Stryker, do you recall the very first time I asked you to assist me with one of my field trials?”
“Yeah. If I remember right, you were doing some research on something you called ‘genetic predisposition.’”
“Correct! Excellent memory, Mr. Stryker. It was just the first shot across the bow in a long series of an experimental study that I wanted to get underway utilizing many willing students to form a test group.” His eyes shone as he looked at Flint. “After that first test, Mr. Stryker, I concentrated all of my energies on you.”
Puzzled, Flint looked at the doctor. “Why me? I thought you said many times that I was ‘extraordinarily ordinary.’”
Dr. Malloy chuckled. “That’s true, Flint, I did say that. But that was before I did a critical analysis of my initial results and did extensive further testing over the next few years. I had to be careful not to divulge my real intent with all the testing because I didn’t want you to have any idea of what was going on. We only tested at what appeared to be random times, right?”
Flint nodded slowly. “Yeah, sometimes we’d go a week or two without testing, and other times you’d see me once or twice a week. I didn’t mind. I was earning walking around and beer money from the trials.”
“Exactly, Mr. Stryker. And all the while you were playing out more and more of my theorem precisely as I’d hoped. All of the data was leading me to draw one inescapable conclusion.”
The silence hung in the air like another of his toxic belches.
“Go on, Malloy, get on with it!” Seven interjected. “You’re taking longer than a senior moment!”
Malloy cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “All right, Mr. Stryker, let me put it into layman’s terms in a way that I hope will be clear to you.”
Flint gulped hard, not knowing what to expect.
“Mr. Stryker, as a geneticist and DNA specialist, I have discovered many important truths about the way humans’ brains are designed for everyday function. In the course of my research, I have confirmed many long-revered precepts and determined that many others are simply not true. Let me say it simply: The human brain is hard-wired, pre-conditioned if you will, toward certain survival functions and has been for millennia. Combined with key psychological parameters, our brains cause us to respond as necessary to dangerous situations.”
By this point, Flint’s eyes had glazed over and Ferrari kicked him sharply under the table. “Ugh! Oh! Sorry, Doctor, you were saying?” He rubbed his shin under the table, looking at her crossly and silently mouthing, “What did I do?”
Malloy looked passively at Flint and continued. “Simply put, Mr. Stryker, your genetic predisposition would best be described as ‘Advanced Survival Mode…”
The three members of Linchpin looked expectantly at Flint. He returned their stares with equal intensity.
Then his face split open with an explosion of uncontrollable laughter, his open hand pounding the table.
Eighteen
Gasping for breath, it was all Flint could do to keep from producing another stream of raucous laughter as the doctor attempted to rein him in. Seven exploded, “Dammit, Stryker, you control yourself right now, or I swear to God I’ll shoot you right here at the doctor’s table!” He clapped a Glock 26 on the table in front of him, as if daring Flint to continue laughing.
Trying to control himself and suppress another outburst, Stryker nodded at the doctor, signaling him to continue, giggling all the while. Ferrari kicked him again under the table, but Flint ignored the kick this time. He was too tickled to care.
“Mr. Stryker, I know this is a lot to take in, but if you’ll bear with me a few more moments, I’m sure this will all become very clear to you.”
Flint snorted and cleared his throat, attempting a serious, focused look, and failing miserably.
Dr. Malloy continued, “Throughout history, humans – men especially – have responded to times of crisis and extreme danger in extraordinary ways. Societal constructs have placed men in certain roles within their people groups, or aligned populations, which required them to respond as befitted circumstances. The human brain, through years of constant evolving and refinement through exposure to existence-threatening factors, became a finely-tuned control system for the defense and protection of the human body. What’s more, this same system, when properly conditioned, became an early warning system and instinctive reactive network. Chemical and glandular secretions, combined with highly reactive muscle activity attuned to all neural centers, create an offensive and defensive powerhouse.”
Flint stared blankly at the doctor, comprehension no closer than when he first began his explanation.
Patiently, the doctor resumed his presentation. “However, as the civilized world, with its tightly regulated societal order, minimized the threats posed by most predators, these mechanisms became less import
ant. These ‘hardwired’ instinctual abilities dwindled in most humans, only manifesting themselves in cases of extreme danger for Linchpin as a whole - for example, World War II. Humanity, threatened by a global danger, responded, with millions of extraordinary humans doing extraordinary things. Today, in a generally peaceful period in humanity’s story, these attributes are often viewed negatively.” He added, “At least until the next big crisis.”
The little light was beginning to come on for Flint, but it was an energy-saving bulb and would take a while to warm up. He chewed the inside of his cheek, pondering what to say next.
Exasperated, Seven blurted, “Good Lord, Stryker! Don’t you get it? Dr. Malloy is telling you that you’ve been gifted with a very special set of skills. Apparently, the lightning strike you survived as a youngster released some… unique prescient ability.” Flint stared at him blankly. “It gave you some sort of precognitive ability to recognize danger and respond accordingly. Believe me, this is an incredibly valuable ability. With the proper training and development, you could become a very valuable asset for our organization in the fight against the more unusual cases of domestic and international terrorism.”
Flint absorbed this outburst and spoke slowly. “There’s that word again – asset… It seems the last time I heard somebody referred to by that term, it was describing an acquaintance at room temperature down at the morgue.”
Ferrari spoke up. “Listen, Flint, we know this comes as a big shock to you, but let us assure you, as an operative for Linchpin, you’ll be getting the best training available anywhere in the world. You’ll be trained well, you’ll live well, and you’ll be paid very well.” She paused and licked her lips. “Not many young men get the opportunity we’re talking about here today.”
Lessons Learned: The Flint Stryker Thriller Series - Book 1 Page 5