Blue's Code

by James Abel

  Jordan smiled and said, “Deal!”

  Kylie said, “Good.”

  Jordan stood up and said, “I better get out of here so you can clean up.”

  As Kylie stood up, Jordan paused on his way out the door and said, “Don’t tell Bennings, okay?”

  Kylie smiled and said, “Wouldn’t think of it!”

  Jordan walked out into the night air.

  CHAPTER 19

  Bennings and Jordan were little more than shadows against the wall as they moved down the hallway and toward the steps of Star’s Bed and Breakfast. The creaking floorboards of the 100-year-old house were their only concern in terms of drawing the attention of another guest.

  Jordan followed on Bennings’s heels as they went down the steps and slipped out the front door and into the night. Once outside, they didn’t talk. They kept a fast pace through the side streets of Milledgeville for seven blocks until pausing in front of an old, one-story brick building with the Bell’s Bakery, Food, and Catering Service logo painted on it. It was only 5 a.m., but the sweet smell of fresh bread already filled the air.

  Bennings motioned his partner to follow as he moved along the side of the building toward the back. When Bennings turned the corner, he saw what he’d seen on his surveillance run: a row of four delivery trucks facing out from their bays on a loading dock. Bennings, cutting between the trucks and the loading dock, soon found truck number 2884. It was a box truck with a roll-up rear door. Bennings pointed to the latch and gave Jordan a quick thumbs up. It wasn’t locked.

  Here goes.

  Clang! Bennings pulled on the latch and slowly lifted the truck’s door just high enough to squeeze underneath. Jordan went first. He laid flat on the truck bed and slid under the opening. Then Bennings slid the backpack they brought with them underneath the door and followed suit.

  As soon as Bennings cleared the door, he stepped on the inside handle, closing the door. Bennings stood up, grabbed his backpack, and scanned the truck. Wide shelves ran down each side, designed to hold food bins that could be locked into place. The cab was open, allowing the driver to access the rear of the truck through a center walkway between the driver’s and passenger’s seats.

  “What do we do about the latch?” Jordan asked. “We left it open.”

  Bennings nodded and said, “Wait here. I’ll take care of it.”

  Bennings walked toward the front of the truck, through the walkway to the cab, and slid into the driver’s seat. Then he checked out the door locks.

  Good. Old school. He pulled up the driver’s side door lock, opened the door, and went around back to re-latch the roll-up door. When he returned, he found Jordan curled up between the back of the passenger’s seat and the shelves. Bennings sat down across from him, behind the driver’s seat, and said, “Okay. All systems go.”

  “Now what? Did you know this was an open cab? We’re sitting ducks in here.”

  Bennings smiled and said, ‘There you go with that duck thing again.” He opened his backpack and pulled out two small black tarps. He tossed one at Jordan and said, “That’s why I brought these. Put it over your head and settle in. At six in the morning, no one is very observant—especially after a late Saturday night.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Just do it, and stop complaining.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  Thirty minutes later, Jordan was startled by the sound of a ramp being pulled out of a slot under the truck and getting slammed into place between the loading dock and the truck. A minute later, the trucks roll-up door latch clanged open, and a strong yank sent the door clattering its way to the top of the truck.

  Bennings and Jordan stayed motionless under their tarps as a young man rolled a stainless-steel food transport cart into the truck and down the center aisle. The man removed sealed food containers from the cart and latched them into place on the shelves. He repeated the process three more times, each time moving closer to the back of the truck. Finally, Bennings and Jordan heard the driver’s side door get yanked down and the ramp being shoved back into the slot underneath the truck bed.

  A few minutes later, someone yelled, “We ready to roll?”

  Another voice replied, “Yup. She’s all loaded for you, Benny. See you tomorrow.”

  The door of the cab opened. A man jumped into the driver’s seat, started the truck, and pulled out of the lot.

  *******

  An hour later, the truck was within 15 miles of Warring Pharmaceuticals. The driver, a middle-aged man with thinning black hair, was singing along with an old Dean Martin song when Jordan slipped out from under the tarp, pulled out his 9mm Glock from a side holster, and used it to softly tap him on his shoulder.

  The driver said, “What the!?” His eyes popped when he saw the gun pointed at him and he said, “Mary, mother of Jesus!”

  “Just stay calm, mister,” Jordan said. “We’re not gonna hurt you. We just need your help.”

  “We? What’s going on here?”

  Bennings popped up from behind the driver’s seat. Looking at the driver in the rearview mirror, he said, “It’s Benny, right?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “Look, Benny. Just follow instructions, and you won’t get hurt, you’ll get your truck back, and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

  “Hey. Just take the damn truck. I won’t even look at you. Please, I got a wife and kid at home.”

  Jordan pointed out the passenger’s side window to a wide shoulder on the road ahead and said, “There. Just pull the truck off the road up there, and we’ll explain what we need you to do.”

  Benny glanced back at Jordan who still had his gun trained on him said, “You’re gonna kill me; aren’t you?”

  Jordan pulled down his Glock and said, “Will you relax! No, we are not gonna kill you. You have our word. We just need your help to get us into Warring Pharmaceuticals. After that, you’ll be free to go. Truck and all.”

  As Benny pulled the truck off the side of the road, he asked, “So, you guys wanna break in there?”

  Jordan said, “Yeah.”

  “Well, if it helps, I don’t like the lady that owns it. She’s trying to take our guns away, and us Italians don’t like that anymore than the rednecks.”

  Jordan laughed and said, “Yeah, I know. I got some Italian in me as well. You don’t have a gun in here. Do you?”

  “No. No way. We’re not allowed.”

  “Good. Now here’s what we need you to do. . .”

  *******

  Twenty minutes later, when Warring Pharmaceuticals came into sight, Benny asked, “What the hell is goin’ on up there?”

  Bennings, peeking over the seat smiled and said, “How about that! They really came through!”

  They were looking at a group of about 40 protestors, marching around in front of Warring Pharmaceuticals’ fence, pumped signs in the air that read, “Warring stomps on the Second Amendment,” “If at First You Don’t Secede, Try Try Again,” and “You Will Never Take Our Guns.” As the food truck got closer, they heard the protestors chanting “Warring’s gotta go!” over and over. When the truck pulled into the entranceway, the protestors quickly blocked it. From behind the driver’s seat, Bennings said into a walkie-talkie, “Good job, Riggs. Let us past now, and in five minutes, go to phase two.”

  “Roger that” crackled back through the walkie-talkie.

  The crowd parted, allowing the truck to pull up to the guardhouse by the gate. Jordan ducked back behind the passenger’s seat while Bennings took the risk of peeking out the front window again. Local press is here. Perfect!

  After the truck was cleared, Benny passed through the gate, proceeded around the building, and backed into the loading dock. Before Benny could hop out, Jordan whispered, “The keys, Benny?”

  “What! You don’t trust me?”

  “Well, I did just hold a gun to your head.”

  Benny handed Jordan the keys as he said, “You got a point.”

  Bennings
said, “Like we told you, you drop us off in the kitchen on your first run, and then, after you’re done with all your deliveries, just wait for us there. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  Five minutes later, Benny rolled the food transport cart, covered by a tarp, through an empty hallway and into the kitchen. He stopped and said, “Okay. It’s all clear. Now get out! You guys weigh a freakin’ ton.”

  Nichols rolled out from under the tarp and onto the floor with Bennings right behind. Jordan stood up and said, “For Christ’s sake, Bennings, you didn’t have to shove your feet into my face.”

  “You wanna know where yours were?” Bennings asked.

  Benny chuckled and said, “You sure you two know what you’re doing?”

  “No. But thanks for the help anyway.” Bennings replied.

  “Yeah, whatever. For what it’s worth, the hallways are still empty, but the kitchen help gets here in about 45 minutes, so don’t be late.”

  Benny took the food cart and left as Bennings and Jordan scanned the room. They found themselves on the service side of a cafeteria, standing where Benny would soon be sliding his sandwiches, fruit cups, and desserts into angled stainless steel bins so that employees on the other side could move their food trays along rails and pick out what they wanted.

  Jordan looked at Bennings and asked, “You really think we can trust him?”

  “Nothing we can do about it now. Let’s split up and try to find a way to the second floor. If you find something, call me on the walkie-talkie. Otherwise, let’s meet back here in five minutes.”

  Jordan nodded and said, “I hope phase two works.”

  “Roger that. And remember, no guns. If we get caught, we surrender.”

  “How the hell did I ever let you talk me into this?”

  Outside, phase two went into effect. Under Riggs’s direction, Eddie pulled a life-size effigy of Heather Warring out of the back of his trunk, tied it to a stake, poured gasoline on it, and set it on fire as the news cameras rolled.

  Inside the complex, the chief of security was on the phone listening to instructions from Heather Warring as she screamed, “I don’t give a damn. You get your entire team out there, and shut down that camera crew. Then you do whatever else needs to be done to end this thing. Bust heads if that’s what it takes. Now go!”

  As five guards scrambled outside to get the protest under control, Bennings and Nichols moved quickly through the halls, searching for a stairway or an elevator to the second floor. Five minutes later, they met up outside the cafeteria.

  Jordan asked, “No luck?”

  “Nope.”

  Jordan said, “Son of a bitch. This is a complete…”

  Ding! A chime rang out from around the corner. The men exchanged glances and took off running toward the sound. As they rounded the corner, they saw what appeared to be a five-foot section of solid wall slowly swinging out at a 90-degree angle.

  Seconds later, a thin, 70-year-old man with wiry white hair, wearing a lab coat walked out from behind the wall. He was lost in thought and staring down at notes on a clipboard, so he didn’t see Bennings or Jordan at first. When he was no more than 10 feet away, Bennings stepped in front of Jordan and announced, “Good morning. You’re Dr. Shulman; aren’t you? Governor Warring sent us out here to meet with you.”

  Shulman stopped in his tracks, looked up from his clipboard, and asked, “Oh? And who are you?”

  Bennings said, “My name is Dr. Russell, and this here is Daryl, my assistant. We were asked by Miss Warring to check on your progress. She’s very upset about the recent setback.”

  Shulman started to fidget, took a step back, and said, “No one told me that you were coming. Can I see some credentials please?”

  Jordan, impatiently watching, reached behind his back, pulled out his Glock and asked, “Will this do? Now, if you don’t mind, just take us to the second floor.” Shooting a look at Bennings, he added, “By the way, my name is not Daryl.”

  Shulman said, “Uh. Well, okay, since you put it that way. You’re not gonna get away with this. We have guards everywhere.”

  “They’re busy right now, so move it,” Jordan said.

  Shulman nervously walked toward the wall, which had closed, moved up to an eye scanner that was mounted on it, and the wall reopened. When it did, it revealed an elevator.

  The elevator door opened, and all three of them got in. Bennings scanned the hall as the door closed. With the elevator moving up, Shulman said, “You know this won’t do either of you any good. There’s another security system up where we’re headed that even I can’t circumvent.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” Bennings said. “Just cooperate, and you’ll be unharmed.”

  When the elevator doors opened, Bennings and Jordan found themselves walking into a spotless, sterile room of white walls, white cabinets with stainless steel countertops, white ceilings, and white floors. The only natural light filtered in from a long row of windows placed high along the outside wall to the rear of the building. Temperature monitors everywhere all read precisely 70 degrees. Dozens of high-tech microscopes and specialized machines sat on the stainless-steel countertops. Some were circular in shape, some looked like microwaves. On the wall opposite the windows, seven doors were spaced out across the room.

  “I told you; there’s nothing here!” Shulman said.

  Nichols pointed to one of the machines sitting on a counter and asked, “What’s that thing?”

  “That thing, as you call it, is a centrifugal concentrator.”

  “What’s it used for?”

  “To remove unwanted solvents, so we can concentrate—or isolate—certain cells.”

  Bennings and Jordan exchanged looks, with Jordan saying, “Okay.” Pointing to another piece of lab equipment, he asked, “What about that thing?”

  “That is a hybridization incubator. It’s used to maintain precise temperature and humidity control over the samples we test.”

  Jordan smiled wryly, glanced at Bennings, and said, “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. What type of samples are you testing?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Jordan pulled out his Glock, waved it at Shulman, and said, “Try me.”

  “The work we are doing here is beyond your ability to understand. It has to do with stem cells, regeneration, and the ability to cure all diseases by reversing the sequence in which they occurred. Now if you’ll please put the gun down and go home, maybe someday you will be able to benefit from our research.”

  “I rather doubt it,” Jordan said as he tucked his gun back into his pants.

  Bennings wasn’t paying attention to any of this. He had walked over to one of the doors, opened it, and disappeared inside. He found himself in a dark room, about 12 feet deep. At the far end was a large, circular fish tank about 6 feet tall and 8 feet across. Inside, was a school of tiny jellyfish, emanating vibrant color from within their bodies as their long tentacles danced in the water.

  Bennings poked his head out from the closet and asked, “Hey, Doc, what’s this all about?”

  Shulman whipped around and ran toward Bennings as he said, “Let them alone. They’re a hobby of mine. I’ve always loved jellyfish.”

  “Is that so?” Bennings asked. “The label on the tank says Turritopsis dohrnii. Unlike my partner here, I happen to know a little something about science.”

  “Hey, Daryl,” Bennings said, turning to Jordan. “Wanna guess what these little guys are famous for?”

  “My name’s not Daryl, and no, I do not want to guess.”

  “They’re immortal jellyfish,” Bennings said. “They have the ability to reverse their own aging process. They can pretty much live forever.”

  Bennings’s tone changed, and he looked Shulman in the eye and asked, “You’re trying to play God here, aren’t you, doc? Screwing with the meaning of life ever after!”

  Schulman didn’t answer. He was focused on Jordan, who was walking toward another door, just to
the right of the first one. Jordan swung the door open and said, “Behind door number two, we have…Oh boy! They’re also playing around with the meaning of till death do us part. I might not know anything about immortal jellyfish, but I sure as hell know what an alkaline hydrolysis machine looks like. And I know what it’s used for as well.”

  Bennings walked over and looked at what Jordan was talking about. “What the hell? Looks like a souped-up tanning bed.”

  “Yeah. I call them pressure cookers. You put a dead body in there, and an hour later all you have left is a few ashes and a little bit of goo. Everything else has been melted down the drain, using a combination of chemicals and pressure. It’s the new green way to dispose of a human body.”

  Turning to Shulman, Jordan said, “Get over there. Stand by the pressure cooker and smile. I want a picture.”

  Shulman said, “I will not.”

  Bennings grabbed Schulman by the arm, pushing him into the room as he said, “Yes, you will.”

  Jordan took a picture with his iPhone as Bennings moved toward the remaining doors and asked, “Anything else hiding behind these?”

  Bennings quickly moved from left to right, opening the remaining doors. All were unlocked and all held nothing more than storage closets for medical gowns and miscellaneous equipment—until he got to the last door. It was locked, and unlike the others, it was made of solid steel. Bennings turned to Schulman and said, “Open it.”

  Shulman said, “I can’t.”

  Bennings said, “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  Bennings and Jordan exchanged glances. Bennings nodded, and Jordan pulled out his gun and said, “Stand back.”

  He took aim at the lock when Shulman yelled, “No! You might hurt someone. Here, I’ll open it for you.”

  Shulman fidgeted around in his pocket until he found a key card. He walked up and waved it over a scanner. The door clicked open. Then he stood aside and let Bennings and Jordan pass by him. They found themselves in an eight-foot-wide corridor that extended more than 100 feet. At 12-foot intervals down the right side were small metal doors, about two feet wide and a foot tall, all of them mounted about two thirds of the way up the wall. Each door was hinged at the top with a knob and a lock mechanism at the bottom.