The Hidden Reality (Alex Pella, #2)

by Stephen Martino

  “Well I do now,” Alex said, folding his arms in front of him.

  Along the opposite sides of the shield were four evenly spaced silver circles. Instinctively, Jules placed one hand on top and the other under the shield and squeezed these circles with his two thumbs and pointer fingers. The top of the shield flipped open revealing a New Reality emblem necklace inside of it.

  Far from rejoicing, Alex simply stated, “If we are to work together, I need to trust you.”

  “We,” William griped. “I don’t like that word we.”

  Despite William’s protests, Alex knew this complaining was nothing more than a charade. William trusted Alex and would be there for him no matter what the risk. Plus, he almost expected to be involved in another one of Alex’s adventures. Over the past six months Alex had subtly forewarned his friend that he was about to embark on something very dangerous that could change the course of humanity.

  Jules begrudgingly went on to explain the scenario surrounding the real Achilles shield and how it initiated his current predicament. Though he felt keeping as much information to himself was the most prudent course of action, he now understood that being honest with Alex would be much more fruitful—at least for the moment.

  Before Alex had the opportunity to chastise him, Jules commented, “And as I have stated previously, in order to use this key we must have a lock to open.”

  Alex did remember Jules’ previous comment of how he was the lock, but still failed to understand its significance. Reiterating Jules’ previous statement, he said, “And I somehow am that lock.”

  “Metaphorically,” Jules answered. He then turned to William. “Could you set course for these precise coordinates: 40.8000° North, by 22.5167° East.”

  William looked over to Alex, making sure that it was acceptable to make the course change.

  Alex nodded. He then asked Jules, “And how am I supposed to metaphorically be the lock?”

  Jules smiled. “My boy. I think I’ll need to prepare you a drink before you hear the truth. It’s the most highly guarded secret within The New Reality.”

  With Jules’ enigmatic comment, Alex was reminded once more what his mother told him as a child.

  You are genetically special.

  Could the two somehow be connected?

  Chapter_16

  Myra walked briskly behind Neurono-Tek’s bulldog-faced guard, Phil. Hearing that the president of The New Reality was coming to make a personal visit to Neurono-Tek, he insisted that he and his identical twin brother, Gil, personally accompany her at all times on the premises.

  Myra felt safe walking between these two Goliath-sized men. Never one to depart from her Georgian headquarters without a personal small army accompanying her, she had the entire Neurono-Tek complex surrounded and closely monitored to ensure her personal safety.

  She attempted to convey a concerned demeanor in order to act appropriately. Because the world and presumably Samantha still believed Alex to be missing, she needed to present herself in this manner in order to not draw suspicion. Inside, she burned with anger and terror. Just before landing at Neurono-Tek, Kevin informed her that a stratoskimmer was discovered leaving the Masjid project before it went nuclear.

  The ISA was able to decipher faint quantum fluctuations and obtain a brief visual of the ship before its departure. She shuddered imagining that Jules and Alex might be in possession of the key and actively plotting the overthrow of The New Reality, but Myra had had enough practice through the years to hide her fears and hold her composure—this meeting was too important to miss.

  “Madam President,” Phil said. “We have arrived at Dr. Samantha Mancini’s office.”

  The door with ornate floral designs around it dematerialized in front of them. Both Phil and Gil turned without speaking and stood guard outside the office while Myra entered the room.

  “How lovely and unexpected to have the honor of receiving you, Madam President,” Samantha said with a contrived sense of sincerity. She then stood from behind her desk and walked with right arm extended to greet her guest.

  Filled with plants and other greenery, the entire office looked more like a garden than a place of work. She negotiated around red-edged dracaena and shook Myra’s hand as if they were the best of friends.

  “Have a seat,” Samantha offered as the two then sat on opposing plush, Victorian-style chairs in the center of the office.

  “I must first provide you my deepest condolences,” Myra said, reaching out her hand and taking Samantha’s. “We are doing everything in our power to find Alex Pella. The worry must be awful.”

  Myra was certainly impressed with her own display of emotion and concern.

  Samantha steadily nodded her hand, and with the greatest restraint she could muster responded, “Yes, it has been difficult. Alex is not only the CEO of our thriving company but is also like a brother to me.”

  Samantha’s body tensed in anger. She hated Myra with every bit of her soul. She detested The New Reality’s draconian political policies and the worldwide police state that the woman had created.

  “We’re planning to hold a candlelight vigil tonight outside his office building,” Samantha said, “hoping somehow our moral support might by some means bring him home alive.”

  I’d like to bring him home, too—in a body bag, Myra mused.

  “I bet you’re wondering why I paid you a visit,” she then said.

  “The thought did cross my mind,” Samantha responded cordially, all the while surmising the reason for her arrival.

  Before William’s departure, he briefly informed her and Marissa of Alex’s feigned death and plan to infiltrate The New Reality. Using quantum disruptors to disguise the conversation and their thoughts from the ISA, he went on to explain what had been transpiring.

  “Well,” Myra said with an inappropriate cackle, “it has come to my attention that Alex might have received a certain package the day before he went missing.”

  Samantha hated when someone attempted to play coy with her, no matter their intellect or status. The mere tone of the question insulted her. Through almost clenched teeth, she responded as lightheartedly as possible, “You mean the shipment of medical supplies for the children?” She feigned a smile. “Thank God that finally came. The fifth floor of the hospital was desperately awaiting their arrival.”

  Myra knew Samantha’s response was not sincere, and even held a hint of mockery for her latest New Reality initiative for the children. The President then sat back in the chair, realizing that she now faced another formidable alpha female. “Wonderful,” she stated like a teenager overacting in a school play. “Though that is not the package I meant, it certainly warms my heart to hear such outstanding news.”

  “I assume everything went well with the delivery,” Myra then added. Knowing that she personally overhauled the entire medical system and made the shipment of all health-related goods extremely time consuming and difficult in order to decrease expenses, Myra felt good returning the jab.

  “Fortunately,” Samantha added, fluttering her eyes. “Only a few children were lost waiting. Don’t worry, they were too young and fragile to know what hit them anyway.”

  Before Myra could add her rebuttal, Samantha quickly sat up in her chair. “Might I offer you a cup of tea? Where are my manners?”

  Myra did not flinch. She wore her concrete smile and began again, “The package I was talking about I believe originated from Albert Rosenberg.”

  “Ah yes,” Samantha said. “What a true loss to humanity with his passing. If I recall, Alex might have received a package from him, but I’m not aware of what it was.”

  Samantha feigned thinking while tapping her chin. “He mentioned something,” she went on to say, pretending to contemplate.

  Myra began to feel rage build up inside her. She had no doubt Samantha knew both the exact contents and whereabouts of the package. If it wouldn’t prove detrimental to her plan, she would have thrown Samantha in a NewREMA camp for reeducation
.

  “Ah, yes,” Samantha finally concluded. “There was this gold crown that came in the mail the other day.”

  Myra immediately recognized the validity of Samantha’s answer. Besides the shield, Albert prized one particular gold crown more than any of his other pieces. Showcasing it next to the shield, the two were inseparable. “That sounds lovely,” she answered pleasantly. “As you may know, Albert Rosenberg was an avid collector of ancient antiquities.”

  “Is that so?” Samantha said, acting interested. “I would’ve loved to see his collection.”

  “Well,” Myra chimed in, feigning enthusiasm, “I must insist that you accompany me and my husband personally to the grand opening of Albert’s Greco-Roman antiquity museum next year.”

  “I could think of nowhere else I’d rather be,” Samantha said with a smile. She knew this answer was even more contrived than the rest of them. There were few things in life she found less exciting than Greek or Roman history, especially when Alex droned on about the subject. In fact, being locked away in a NewREMA camp seemed more appealing than meandering through dusty artifacts with the likes of Myra.

  “I’ll consider it a date,” Myra said, slapping her hands. “However, there’s just one problem.”

  Samantha nodded her head with concern.

  Myra went on to say, “I do believe that the late Albert Rosenberg may have sent Alex the crown accidentally. You must understand, the man was all but senile before his passing.”

  “That’s a bit odd,” Samantha replied, calling Myra’s bluff. “Albert would’ve never struck me as being absent minded. In fact, Alex commented several times to me that he was as sharp as a tack even up to the last moment of his life.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe he just decided to bestow Alex with a gift. You know, he was like an uncle to him.”

  Myra cleared her throat. She’d certainly had enough of Samantha’s glib answers and condescending statements. Instead, she produced another cackling laugh and said, “But wouldn’t it look lovely in the center of the museum for all to see and enjoy? It would be such a sin not to let the world enjoy its splendor instead of having this magnificent artifact sequestered for only a few to appreciate.”

  Honestly, Samantha could care less what happened to the crown and would be more than happy to hand it over to her. She thought it looked gaudy anyway and wanted to melt it down for its gold if she had a chance. However, the posterior cingulate cortex accelerators were still attached to it, and she certainly did not want Myra to realize the significance of this gift.

  “You know what I’ll do,” Samantha said, wanting to stall. “I will personally look for the crown, and when I find it, I’ll have Neurono-Tek’s head security guard deliver it to you himself.”

  Myra stood and straightened her pantsuit. “Then I’ll be anxiously awaiting the delivery.” She realized that insisting on the crown now would be as futile as continuing their current conversation. Though completely annoyed by the discussion, she drew solace knowing that soon, she would make Samantha regret her disrespect.

  Not one to leave without making an impression, Myra shook Samantha’s hand and said, “Not to alarm you but I understand how scared you must be right now, knowing your dear friend may not have survived the crash.”

  “Well,” Samantha quipped, no longer able to hold her tongue. “If Alex has survived, I hope that doesn’t alarm you because you are the one who should be scared.” She sadistically smiled. “Very scared.”

  Myra grabbed her hand with the other, attempting to quell the shiver of fright that ran down her back. The thought of Alex and Jules collaborating together was terrifying, and no matter how many WOGS or ISA agents currently searched for them, she felt none the safer. As fear crept though her body, she had no rebuttal. Instead, she turned and simply left the room without another word.

  Chapter_17

  Alex walked over to the bar standing in the back of the ship’s hull. Taking two wineglasses from the cabinet behind him, he asked, “White or red?”

  “Red,” Jules responded as he as he sat on a barstool across from him.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Alex reached under the bar and pulled out a wine bottle showing an angelic young female picking grapes on the label. “I’ve been saving this one for just the right time.” Admiring the label, he read aloud, “Nineteen ninety-seven. Harlan Estates Proprietary Red. Cryoprotected to ensure freshness.”

  Alex grabbed an old-fashioned corkscrew bottle opener. “I bought this at a vintage wine shop. Although a beer drinker myself, I thought this wine might pique your interest.”

  “Good show,” Jules responded.

  Handing the cork to Jules, he asked, “Care to do the honors?”

  Jules leaned over the bar and took the cork in one hand. With the other he wafted some air up to his nose. “Licorice with a hint of coffee?” he asked after taking another sniff.

  Alex nodded in agreement while pouring them each a glass of the deep-hued liquid. Though he acted as if he had not a care in the world, he eagerly awaited to hear The New Reality’s greatest secret and how it might influence their current predicament.

  “Let me begin with a story,” Jules said after taking a sip of the wine, “Do you know anything about a man by the name of Mark Houston?”

  “He was the original founder of The New Reality,” Alex answered, also taking a seat at the bar. “My parents used to show me old pictures of him with my grandfather.”

  “Well. Not only was Mark Houston a brilliant visionary, but he was also a man in search of great relics. Though the ones he sought were certainly not what you would expect.”

  “Really?” Alex said. “Maybe that’s what sparked Albert’s interest in the subject.”

  “Now you are catching on,” Jules said with a hint of excitement to his voice. “You see, most archeologists are in constant search of ancient historical ruins or buried artifacts. Mark Houston, on the other hand, wished to find the people themselves who made the history and had no interest in what they left behind.”

  “What are you trying to say? That he was a modern-day grave robber?”

  “Borrower would be more appropriate,” responded Jules. “He wasn’t interested in the actual remains. He just wanted to sample their DNA. No harm done. Nothing desecrated, nothing destroyed.”

  Alex made the connection, realizing its implications. “That’s where the New Reality found the so-called greatness gene.”

  “Spot on,” Jules applauded. “And then by analyzing these samples of DNA from people who were considered ‘great,’ your old acquaintance Guri Bergmann discovered the exact genetic sequence that made these people rise above the rest of the refuse we call humanity.”

  “Who did he dig up?” Alex asked.

  “Some were easier to obtain, such as Richard the Lionheart and Napoleon Bonaparte. While others… let’s just say they required a more concerted effort. People like Julius Caesar and Genghis Kahn.”

  “Was his goal always to find this greatness gene?” Alex asked, “Or did he have other ambitions for the DNA?”

  “That was only an afterthought presented by my dear old uncle,” Jules answered. “You must understand, the goal was initially not to just analyze the DNA, but instead, to reproduce and eventually clone the person from which it came.”

  Alex was taken back by the revelation. Never had he imaged The New Reality would take such a project to this extreme. “Where are the ethics behind all of this? Must I remind you about the worldwide pandemic that ensued after The New Reality accidentally released this greatness gene?”

  “Must I remind you that the greatest leaders and thinkers did not confine themselves to the rules and regulations of their day? They went beyond the accepted norms.”

  “So, was anyone actually cloned?” Alex asked. “I haven’t read any recent reports of Genghis Kahn ravaging the Asian continent nor seen any news flashes about Richard the Lionheart’s current holy crusade for Jerusalem.”

  Jules
took another sip of wine. “I think there is a parcel of blackberry in this spectacular mix.” He smacked his lips again. “By Jove, there is.”

  “Some,” Jules continued after enjoying another taste of the wine. “But it was never that simple. Back when Mark obtained this DNA in the earlier part of the 21st century, genetic cloning was more in its infancy and years away from creating an exact human replica.”

  “So,” Alex surmised, always staying a few steps ahead of the conversation, “he must have mixed the DNA.”

  Jules gave his colleague across the bar a smile, pleasantly surprised by the man’s intellectual acumen. “Yes. In order to clone the DNA, Mark had to mix it with someone else’s to stabilize the genetic structure prior to reproduction.”

  Alex responded, “So the first clones were hybrids.”

  “More of a chimera of sorts,” Jules agreed. “However, most of the original clones turned out to be miserable failures, dying even before delivery. Not stymied by his original failure, Mark Houston trudged on until he finally created the first successful hybrid clone.”

  “Who?”

  “Now this is where the story gets juicy,” Jules responded. “You see the DNA used for this original clone came from not only Julius Caesar but also from one other willing participant.”

  Alex sipped his wine with great expectation.

  “A Mr. Thomas Pella,” Jules said with a sadistic smile. He then watched Alex, hoping to elicit a gut-wrenching reaction.

  “My grandfather?” Alex responded poker-faced, not wanting to convey his sense of abject surprise.

  “Yes,” Jules responded eagerly. Knowing the greater shock was to come, he made a dramatic pause and then said, “And the first clone was a man by the name of Albert Rosenberg.”

  Alex attempted his best not to fall off his seat in pure astonishment with the recent revelation.

  “This is unbelievable,” Alex finally admitted, mildly flabbergasted. He felt the goosebumps rise across his back and couldn’t suppress a shiver.

  “Yes,” Jules explained, exhilarated by recounting the story. Knowing that that this revelation was only the tip of the iceberg, he continued, “Mark Houston’s first protégé was none other than Albert Rosenberg. Though other clones were created, Albert was the greatest among them.”