Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four

by John Hindmarsh

  “I suspect Schmidt was cleaning house. Removing obstacles to his takeover of Cerberus,” Mark said.

  “The President saw value in maintaining the organization. It’s not surprising he agreed to Schmidt’s controlling it.”

  “Okay, we know the risks. Schmidt is capable of forcing us to help—or join—Cerberus US. Let’s see what his reaction is first.”

  It didn’t take long for Mark to connect to Schmidt’s computer using encrypted VoIP via ISP cut-outs and false IP addresses. His link included a cryptographic key-agreement protocol that he’d used previously to communicate with Schmidt and MayAnn. Schmidt answered within seconds.

  “There aren’t many people who know this address, but it’d be helpful if you showed caller details, at least more than a dummy IP address. What can I do for you?”

  “Good afternoon, Schmidt.”

  “Ah. You’ve been quiet over the last, what, five months?”

  “I’d still be on your no Christmas cards list except someone from Child Protection Services wants to visit and is threatening a court order. The accompanying police officer said he’d arrange a SWAT team to help gain entrance. If they raid us, there’s a high probability of wider Cerberus exposure and publicity.”

  “I understand. You checked them?”

  “The vehicles were legit. I’ve a video, of course. The only odd thing was that both officials had foreign accents. I suspect Eastern European, although otherwise they seemed American.”

  “Interesting. Options—you move house, allow them entry with or without the children present, or I could do something. What are you thinking?”

  “The vote here is to stay—this is our home. Hiding the children and their presence would be a temporary solution. If we expose them to these people, we’ll all have more to deal with than we need.”

  “What type of property do you have?”

  “I’ll send you a Google Map link. It’s a solid stone farmhouse with a small cottage and some work sheds located on fifty acres. Wooded except in front. Hilly. High stone fence along the road, topped with razor wire. Video and motion detectors. The house is about a quarter of a mile from the gated entrance. The buildings were strengthened and reinforced last year, before we moved in. The SWAT team might have difficulties cutting through the gate but the stone fence can be easily circumvented. There’s a hidden back road out and we’d be gone before they got to the house. Anna and the children would still lack ID documents, though.”

  “I agree we don’t want any publicity for the children. I’ll help you. I’d prefer to stop the process before the SWAT team tries to break in. Do you have contact details for this Child Protection Services person?”

  Mark provided information from the woman’s business card, which he had captured by video. He added, “This might be a trawl by the Russians, or even by the Chinese.” He knew Dr. White, who’d disappeared from the Cerberus labs, was now leading a Chinese genetic engineering research team and would delight in obtaining three Cerberus children to support her activities.

  Schmidt said, “I’ll talk with some of my legal people here and get back to you tomorrow. What method should I use to contact you?”

  Mark gave Schmidt his VoIP address.

  “We’ll have a long discussion once we resolve this. I’d like to know your plans and how the children are faring. New documents for you all won’t be a problem. We can discuss details for those, as well.”

  “When this is out of the way,” Mark said and ended the call.

  He turned to his three eager listeners. “Schmidt can be creative, so let’s see what he comes up with.” He was about to say more when he was interrupted by a loud banging on the front door accompanied by what sounded like rifle shots.

  “Go! Go!” Mark commanded.

  Anna and the two children ran, their reactions well rehearsed. They would hide at the entrance of the underground exit, waiting for Mark to announce either a stand-down or instructions to leave the farmhouse.

  ***

  Chapter 3

  Mark sought the source of the shots while trying to identify who was at the door. He maneuvered drones, cameras, and video displays. Somehow, someone had reached the house without triggering alarms. Another someone, he surmised, was attempting to shoot the intruder.

  The camera at the front showed someone huddled down against the stone wall that protected the door. Mark moved the camera position to obtain a more detailed image, but the angle was too sharp and he was unable to see details of the person at the door. He didn’t even know whether the intruder was male or female. The color image showed pools of red that seemed to be blood on the stone tiles. Mark activated a steel shield, which dropped down in front of the entryway to provide protection if there were any more gunshots, while he assessed what was happening and the risks posed by the intruder.

  While he worked, he spoke with Anna using the intercom. “It seems we have someone at the front door, bleeding all over the place. I’m checking for the source of the gunshots. Stay protected, just in case.”

  Mark checked the drones. To his consternation, someone had stopped them from sending files to the server running his monitoring software. He re-booted the drone processors, video images re-commenced their flow to his computer system, and he soon identified the source of the gunshots. A white SUV was parked just outside the property perimeter, a hundred yards away from the chained gate. The vehicle remained in position and Mark suspected the shooter was planning further attacks.

  Just over a year ago, a paramilitary group attacked the laboratory complex where Mark lived with his adoptive parents, Drs. Weinek and Shutov. The attackers killed everyone at the complex, including lab workers, a security guard, and the two doctors. They destroyed the lab contents, including the genetically engineered embryos. Mark had been on the attackers’ capture-or-kill list and he had retaliated, killing seven of the eight attackers and severely wounding the survivor. At that time, Mark, who was in the early days of his relationship with Archimedes Schmidt, had been testing an experimental projectile weapon for Schmidt. It was a computer controlled, servo-mounted, heavy-caliber rifle. The system was code-named Cutter, and he had used the weapon to destroy the paramilitary group’s three SUVs and an experimental CIA drone flying above the complex.

  This current winter he had worked with the Cutter manufacturer, RDEz, to improve the software controls of the weapon system and as a result, he had acquired and installed two of the weapons on the rooftops of his barns, where they covered most of the property. He switched on both Cutter systems and waited for the software to boot up, a process that consumed less than twenty seconds.

  He used the command software and keyed in the location coordinates of the SUV. The servomechanisms adjusted both barrels until they were aligned approximately with the vehicle. Mark fine-tuned the focus of each weapon’s camera on the rear window of the SUV and the Cutter software directed the servos to match his movement. The cameras provided exceptionally clear pictures, displayed side by side on a large monitor. He keyed in weather conditions including wind speed and direction, and temperature. The targeting system made small adjusting movements.

  He counted three occupants. One of his drones was circling behind the vehicle, sending details of the vehicle’s make, model, and license plate—information he planned to forward to Schmidt. He zoomed the camera until he identified a rifle barrel protruding from a rear side window. As he watched, someone fired the weapon. Their target seemed to be the farmhouse doorway, the shot intended to engender movement from their victim, or perhaps to set up a subsequent, more effective shot. Mark used the Cutter system positioned closer to the gate, and fired at the SUV.

  He monitored the images, both Cutter and drone. Shattering glass announced the arrival of the Cutter’s .50-caliber bullet. It pierced the vehicle’s rear window and traveled through the driver’s seat, the driver, and the dashboard, continuing on to bury itself somewhere in the engine compartment. His shot was followed by a flurry of activity as the
vehicle’s passengers hurriedly exited and dragged the driver to the back seat. One of the passengers climbed into the driver’s seat while the other sat with the wounded man. Within seconds the vehicle roared away, skidding in overfast acceleration as the new driver tried to adapt to the snow conditions.

  Mark hit the intercom button. “Anna, you can come on out. The shooters have left, in a hurry. I’m going to see who our visitor is.”

  “Wait, I’ll help you,” she said.

  While he waited for Anna, Mark checked the image data from the drones. He enlarged the vehicle’s license plate. “I may have started an international incident,” Mark said to Anna as she and the two younger children joined him in the workroom. Anna leaned against him as she looked at the camera view of their front door.

  “Why do you think that?” Anna asked.

  “I shot out the back window of a foreign embassy vehicle and I think I hit an embassy employee.” He indicated the still frames from the video files. “See, it reads DIPLOMAT across the top of the license plate and I think CY stands for China. That’s worrying, if the Chinese have found us.”

  Anna said, “We’d better see to the intruder. Then you should update Schmidt. He’s going to be very interested in all of this.”

  Mark headed to the front door, with the others following closely. Anna was carrying a Glock—she had adopted Mark’s favorite handgun—in case their visitor was unfriendly. He gestured for them to stand back as he unlocked and opened the heavy door. The newcomer was curled up in the far corner of the entrance lobby. Mark reached down and pulled back the their visitor’s parka hood. His movement released a fall of long wavy hair that hid most of the visitor’s face. Their visitor was a young woman. Her eyes were closed and blood was seeping through her parka from her shoulder. He wondered why the Chinese Embassy would send a killer after her. As he knelt to check, she stirred, moaning softly. Mark cleared the woman’s hair from her face.

  He froze. Except for her long hair, it was like seeing his reflection in a mirror. The woman opened her eyes and looked into his. She began a smile.

  “What—who the hell are you?” Mark asked.

  The intruder managed to complete her smile. She attempted to sit up and flinched with pain. “That’s not a friendly welcome to give your sister.”

  ***

  Chapter 4

  Mark didn’t reply to his visitor’s comment. As far as he was aware he didn’t have any sisters. On reflection, it would be an odd coincidence for someone to look so similar to him—same eye color, hair color, facial shape. Any observer would think they were siblings, perhaps even twins. He maintained a calm expression, while inside, his mind clamored for certainty.

  He carefully lifted the young woman and carried her to their living room, where he settled her on a long settee.

  “What’s your name?” asked Anna as she attempted to remove the blood-stained parka.

  “Reb,” the visitor replied, grimacing as she fought a wave of pain. “Just cut it off.”

  Anna carried out quick introductions. “This is Niland, Gabrielle, I’m Anna, and obviously you know Mark. Niland, get me the first-aid box, quickly, and hand me the scissors. Gabrielle, get me a towel and some hot water in a bowl.” When Niland returned, Anna said, “Thanks. Now I want a warm blanket.”

  Mark helped Anna cut through the heavy parka, exposing a bloodstained blouse.

  Anna said, “Mark, turn your head while I cut this blouse off and dress Reb’s wound.”

  Anna’s efficient ministrations soon had their visitor wrapped in a large, warm blanket and her wound cleaned and bandaged. The two children stood beside Anna and the stranger, anxious to carry out whatever task was required of them. Reb’s face was pale. Mark sat on a chair next to the settee and restrained his reactions and questions. He would wait until their visitor could cope with them.

  Reb looked up at him and smiled.

  “You look like twins,” Anna said, looking from Mark to the newcomer. She was sitting on the edge of the settee, ensuring her patient was comfortable. “Now, you must tell us everything, otherwise no one will be able to relax or sleep tonight. Of course, unless you have too much pain?”

  “No,” replied Reb, “I’m alright. It’s good to be here at last, even if I did get shot. It’s a long story.” She flinched as she adjusted her position.

  “We can wait,” Mark said, “if you’re not ready?”

  “No, I’m alright.” She struggled to sit up and Anna helped. She looked around at the four faces. “My, what an avid audience. Mark, we’re from the same parents. I’m not sure whether we’re twins or simply from embryos developed at the same time. I was…sold, I suppose, when I was only a year old, to a small, private genetic research lab near Pwllheli in Wales.”

  “Wales? Where’s that?” Niland asked.

  “It’s part of the United Kingdom, next to England. The researchers raised me. They monitored my development, my mental and physical growth, educated me, acted in loco parentis. This was all done in secret, of course.”

  “Do you know who sold you? Who the donors were?” Mark asked.

  “No. I have some suspicions but I haven’t been able to obtain enough supportive information.” She tried to re-position herself and this time ignored the pain.

  “What happened? How did you get away from them? How did you know about Mark? How did you get here?” Gabrielle rushed out her questions.

  “Wow, Gabrielle, I’ll try to answer all your questions. I wasn’t their only, ah, lab specimen. When I was almost four chrono years old, about eight in maturity years, the lab either developed or acquired—I was too young to know which—four more embryos. Three survived the birthing process. Some time later the owner of the laboratory—it was a large corporation—well, its senior managers discovered their genetic engineering experiments were illegal, given the laws in the United Kingdom and the fact they were buying embryos or, in my case, a live person. I don’t think they had ethical issues; they were simply worried about their reputation. They abandoned their research and reduced the lab staff to three employees, barely enough to tutor and care for us. When I was seven and the other children were about three or four in chrono years, they moved us to London.”

  “Why did they do that?” Mark asked.

  “The lab was located in a small town, a bit more than a village, I suppose. It’s on the coast and has a marina with lots of boats. That’s where I got my love of the sea. And the three younger children—two boys and a girl—were identical. They have blond hair, blue eyes, same build, same mannerisms, which is why I don’t think their parentage is the same as ours.” She looked at Mark. “Anyway, the four of us were being raised in this lab environment and being home-schooled by the remaining employees, and the locals started calling us the Cuckoos.”

  Niland said, “I don’t understand. Why did they do that?”

  “An author, John Wyndham, in the 1950s wrote a book called The Midwich Cuckoos, which later was made into a movie, The Village of the Damned. The story was about these children, all alike, who were born at the same time and who, as they grew up, started taking control of the people in the village. The children were a collective intelligence, an alien master race. Anyway, the people in the town where we were living thought we were some kind of aliens. They realized we were developing very fast and were very different, and they started objecting to our presence. Their protests were just noisy at first but soon became nasty. One of the laboratory buildings was burnt down. I was attacked and beaten even though I was young. When the adverse publicity gathered weight, the corporation decided to relocate us.”

  “Were you hurt?” asked Gabrielle, her face showing concern.

  “I thought so at the time, but I was barely bruised. Some of the teenage boys who attacked me were far more battered. They didn’t realize how strong I was, or how focused I get if someone tries to harm me. At seven chrono years, I was about fourteen or fifteen in maturity years. One boy ended up with a broken arm and another suffered a c
oncussion. The lab people scolded me for kicking; I still don’t know why. I was fighting for my survival, I thought.”

  “Another similarity,” Anna said. No one commented.

  Reb continued, “They moved us to a house in London. It was serviceable, I suppose. But the people in London, who were employed to be our tutors and caretakers, lacked any empathy. Their cruelty was casual, unintended, I suppose. Oh, we were fed, clothed, home-schooled, although the standard was mediocre, but they didn’t fully comprehend our rapid development or even the level of our intelligence. I was given a small allowance that I saved. I wanted to get out, far away from that institutionalized environment.

  “Somehow—it may not have been entirely coincidental—I met a member of Cerberus. She supplied me with Cerberus-developed medication that stopped those horrendous growing pains. Mark, you had those, too?”

  He nodded. “Yes, and oddly, the medication was also provided by Cerberus. I’m not sure of their motivation and now, with the old management team either dead or helping the Chinese, I don’t think there’s any way we can find out. I suppose the Chairman is still around, somewhere. He might know if it was an intended strategy.”

  Reb looked startled. “You don’t know? He was on his yacht when it was attacked, by the Chinese, I think. As far as I know, they killed everyone on board and blew up the yacht. It was three months ago, a week or so after New Year.”

  “How do you know? No, continue with your story,” Mark said.

  “I managed to save my money and persuaded the corporation people to pay for a series of sailing courses. I qualified as a Yachtmaster Ocean. I’m a top navigator. I can calculate courses, waypoints, distances, and fuel consumption before most people can key numbers into a computer. I talked my way into a job, first on a small sailboat that was being used for charter. Next I worked on a small motor yacht, and eventually—” Reb stopped, fighting a flash of pain.