As I move swiftly and silently down the hallway, my keenly tuned senses are on high alert. The first phase of my plan is to snoop through Gwen’s and Joe’s offices, garnering as much information as I can about the compound they’ve been working on. From there I plan to scour their lab. I’d really love to visit the lower level and the custodian’s break room again, take a second look for Mr. Johnson’s personal effects, check the personnel files in Mike’s office, just give the entire floor a more thorough inspection, but I can’t since it’s the one area guaranteed to be teaming with people tonight; the custodial crew comprising the bulk of the nightshift workforce.
I shake my head and refocus on the task at hand. It’s highly unlikely I’ll run into anyone while still here on the office floor, but being overly confident is a rookie mistake. This isn’t my first intel mission; I keep my wits about me, my movements slow and fluid as I stealthily traverse the corridors to Joe’s office. Pausing outside the door I listen before thinking the lock to open and stepping inside. Being careful not to make a sound, I close the door behind me and make for the file cabinet.
The cluttered drawers and atrocious filing system take me several minutes to navigate. In the end, my efforts are rewarded with a small file on compound 253B. Thumbing through the pages no helpful information surfaces—the report is nothing more than a bare bones bio about the compound, chemistry analysis, and structural diagram. As I look more closely at the picture of the chemical structure, I’m sure it’s been fabricated. That would fit with an earlier comment made by Gwen. She’d indicated when her team first started this project compound 253B appeared similar to the last few agents they’d worked with, but as things progressed she’d discovered compound 253B was like nothing they’d ever seen before.
Returning the file to its place, I scrounge through Joe’s desk. As I thumb my way through several spiral-bound notebooks, I find some chicken scratch notes about the project and a heavily revised procedural plan for attempting to stabilize the compound.
Odd, I think to myself. How would freezing a Sylph’s essence be of any benefit?
Pulling a pen and paper from my back pocket I quickly copy down the procedure, and recall Gwen telling me that Joe and Charlie had made the most progress thus far. Sitting down at the desk, I power up Joe’s laptop and perform a cursory search, looking for more information.
Ten minutes later I’m out the door with a little more information than I started with and headed for Gwen’s office. Letting myself in I take a mental picture of the place before touching anything. Gwen is OCD and far more likely than Joe to notice if something is out of place, and by something I mean a pen lying the wrong direction. Ridiculous I know, but thankfully, because she is OCD, her filing cabinet is efficiently arranged and each item is clearly labeled.
Easily locating her file on compound 253B I find it’s much more substantial than Joe’s was. Sitting down at her desk I see the notebook she’s always carrying around. Flipping open the manila folder and the notebook simultaneously, I quickly become immersed. I had no idea about the scope of this project. Gwen’s team has put a huge amount of energy and resources into it. Each of their failed attempts and procedural revisions has been painstakingly documented in Gwen’s spiral-bound notebook. Flipping back through the stack of paperwork, an odd piece of stationary catches my attention and I pause: It’s a one-page letter essentially asking about the project’s status and how everything is going. The content of the letter appears harmless enough but it’s written on the CEO’s personal stationary.
Now why would Mr. Taylor be keeping tabs on a run of the mill chemical screening project? At such an early phase no one has any idea if a compound will show enough potential to move on into drug development.
Unless he already knew the compound in question had considerable potential, I think to myself. Thumbing through the file from the beginning again, I find two additional letters on the same stationary. Bile rises in my throat. Scouring Lab 4B will have to wait; it’s high time I pay Mr. Taylor a visit.
* * *
I hesitate at the top of the stairwell, not knowing what to expect through the next door. It’s probably safe to assume the executive office floor is on the same cleaning schedule as the general office floors, but one can never be too careful. I have very little first-hand knowledge of what transpires on this floor, never having needed to penetrate this deeply into the management side of Preston-Ward before.
I take a deep breath and exit the stairwell as quietly as possibly. Faint sounds of human activity assail my oversensitive ears and I duck back against the wall, silently thankful for my good fortune that the unattractive stairwell is masked from the reception area by a half wall. Clinging to the wall I venture a peek around the corner—the room appears empty save for a custodial cart sitting smack dab in the center of the floor. Just when I'm about to duck back around my corner, I catch sight of Mike, chief custodian, pulling the doors to Mr. Taylor's office closed and locking them with one of the many keys attached to his belt. I fall back out of sight before he turns around. Under my cloak of concealment I know he can’t see me, but being overly cautious never hurts.
Working to keep my breathing slow and regular I wait. Moments later the audible noise of a large cart lumbering toward me catches my attention. The elevator is just to my left, in the center of the room, and, as long as Mike doesn’t decide to come around the partial wall, my position is secure. The grinding of gears is followed by the soft chime of the elevator’s arrival a minute later. The lumbering sound starts up again as Mike maneuvers the large cart onto the lift. When the doors slide shut I let out a sigh of relief.
Slipping from my hiding place I cross the floor, think the doors unlocked, and enter Mr. Taylor’s office. “Okay, Taylor, what’re you up to?”
As I stride toward the desk I watch out for any sensors or other booby traps that might trigger an alarm. I may be immune to the video surveillance but motion detectors and the like still pose a threat. Not finding anything out of the ordinary I sit down at the desk and turn on the computer. After a few minutes of fishing around it becomes apparent data encryption and hidden files are Mr. Taylor’s forte. Luckily I’ve been around for ages and there are very few things I can’t hack my way into. This time my biggest problem is that I don’t really know what I’m looking for.
Here’s where a file name would really come in handy, I silently chuckle. Luckily for me time is on my side and after some careful scouting around I hit the jackpot. Shock turns to horror, though, as I peruse document after document. The scope of what this man is trying to do will have world-shattering consequences should he succeed.
Running a hand through my hair I realize that he is in fact succeeding: Joe and Charlie have nearly accomplished the first step—stability of a singular unit of Sylph essence at room temperature. My brothers need to see this.
Risking exposure I quickly begin printing off the contents of the file using Mr. Taylor’s personal printer. Emailing them would be faster but traceable through the company’s computer security software. Printing here in his own office implicates no one. Halfway through the process I shoot Z another text: We have a serious problem. My place, one hour.
I jam the phone into my back pocket and wander the room looking for a hidden safe, loose floorboard, false drawer, hidden door, anywhere a Sylph’s sphere could be concealed. During my second lap around the room, I pause in front of a lovely painted landscape. Just below the picture frame, etched into the chair rail along the wall, is an intricate floral pattern ... and one of the circles looks a lot like a button.
“Ah ha.”
Pressing firmly on the spot I wait. There is a soft snick of a mechanism being activated, followed by ... nothing. Absolutely nothing happens.
Angry I rip the picture off of the wall and see that a hidden panel has indeed slid open to reveal a wall safe. Using a little more power I think the thing open. Sitting on a black velvet bag inside the safe is a sphere. Lifting my arm to reach in I stop short,
realizing I cannot collect it tonight. Removing the Sylph would alert Mr. Taylor someone had caught wind of his scheme. I can’t risk anyone knowing I was here until I figure out exactly how many people are involved, which, unfortunately, is not something I’ll be able to accomplish tonight. The seriousness of the information I’ve gathered needs to be shared with the others immediately.
I close the safe door and press the wall button, watching the panel slide closed, once more hiding the danger within from view. After carefully re-hanging the painting, I collect my papers from the printer tray and shut down the computer. Leaving without the sphere is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done; it goes against everything I am to leave it in unwitting human hands. I clench my jaw and remind myself it won’t be for long. Tomorrow night the Wanderers will return and collect the sphere.
* * *
I find Zafir crouched with his back against the wall outside my apartment door when I get home, his eyes bright, like he’s on alert, ready for anything. It’s obvious the guy hasn’t slept despite the late hour.
“You could have let yourself in, ya know.”
“Not my style,” he tells me standing up. I hand him the stack of paperwork and begin to rummage around for my keys to let us in.
“I assume this is the SOS you were referring to,” Z says eyeing the stack of papers like it has a stinger. I laugh.
“Just a couple of bedtime stories to help you sleep, my man.”
Grimacing, Z dumps the papers on the coffee table and flops his massive body down onto the sofa. “Just give me the short version.”
“The CEO of Preston-Ward is in possession of a Sylph.”
Snapping his neck around, Z sits up straighter and glares at me. “You’ve been there for, what? Three years? How could you miss that?”
“Hey, stand down. I don’t appreciate your tone.”
Z raises both hands out in front of him with a half apology, half fill-me-in gesture. I run a hand through my hair and sit down, claiming the chair next to him, before I continue.
“It’s worse than it seems, I’m afraid. We need to conference with Adil and whoever else is available immediately. I don’t want to have to explain this twice.”
I pull open my laptop and log in to make the call to Adil.
“I texted Adil on the drive over, so he’s expecting us,” I tell Zafir as we wait for our brother to pick up. Adil answers on the second ring, coffee cup in hand. I turn the computer screen toward Z and then push him to one side so I can join him on the couch.
“Good morning, boys,” Adil’s drowsy voice greets us. “Basal will be the only one joining us unfortunately.” With everyone on the move traveling right now this couldn’t have come at a worse time.
“I understand.”
Basal pulls up a chair beside Adil and nods hello. I sift through the papers in front of me nervously, afraid of the facts. I clear my throat and begin.
“As I was telling Z moments ago, the CEO of Preston-Ward pharmaceuticals is in possession of a Sylph. I don’t know where he obtained it or how long he’s had it.”
Adil and Basal whisper together for a minute and Z eyes my foot, which has begun to tap incessantly.
“Have you been able to locate the sphere?” Adil finally asks.
I nod. “I know what his plans for it are.”
Stopping short, Adil exchanges a look with Basal. “Beyond the usual wishes?” Basal asks, chuckling at what he thinks is obvious.
“Mr. Taylor has found a way to harvest the Sylph’s essence and is packaging it into small unit doses.”
Shock and disbelief war across the faces of my brothers and I swear Zafir has stopped breathing beside me.
“The samples have all been frozen, and I don’t know how many are out there. He fabricated a chemical bio for the frozen essence and has given it to a chemical screening team. If they can find a way to stabilize it at room temperature and synthetically replicate it, Taylor plans to develop it in pill form, marketing the powers of the Sylph to the wealthy.”
Every man is dead silent for a handful of heartbeats and then the bubble bursts and everyone begins shouting.
“Fucking humans!” Z snarls next to me, jumping up off the couch so he can pace.
“Ramifications ... can’t be possible ...” Basal babbles over the computer, most of the words lost over the cacophony of voices.
“Alright! Everybody shut up!” Adil finally shouts. “Kade, it’s not possible, is it? How many other people are involved?”
I run a hand through my hair and share a look with Z before answering. “After months of set backs, two members of the team managed to achieve stability at room temperature for about thirty minutes last week. They are succeeding.”
“Fuck, shit.”
“Put a cork it in it, Zafir!” Adil yells, annoyed.
“The file doesn’t mention anyone else, but I don’t know if we can assume he’s working independently,” I reply.
“Greed can’t be this guy’s sole motivation,” Basal adds. “He could have just wished for money if that was the case. What’s he really after here?”
“I don’t know, Basal, but this couldn’t have come at a worse time,” Adil replies. “Kade, Zafir, shut this down now. Collect the sphere immediately but a full-scale investigation will have to wait until after the resealing. Basal, how soon could you be there?”
“Eleven, maybe twelve hours. I’ll leave straight away.”
“Good. Kade, I’m sending Basal but this is your rodeo. Clean up then meet us in Utah.”
Signing off our video call, I turn to Z who has yet to stop pacing.
“Brother?” I say tentatively, more a question than a statement. Glancing up in acknowledgement he pauses in his pacing, hands on his hips.
“Holy shit!”
“Yeah, it certainly is.” I smile. “Take a seat, Z—you’re making me nervous.” Nodding he drops down into my recliner, rubbing the leather arms with his hands. “I didn’t want to say anything to the others, but Z, the team working on this project is Gwen’s.”
“Fuck,” he whispers, wiping his face with a hand.
“The day Joe and Charlie achieved stability, well, the thing lost stability less than a minute after Gwen touched it.” Z sucks in air and I glance up at him, realizing I’d been staring at the carpet.
“What does that mean?” He’s apprehensive.
“I don’t know, but I’m hoping it’s a good thing,” I tell him hesitantly. No condemnation ever comes from Z when I talk about Gwen, but I cringe all the same, a conditioned response since I’ve become so used to the lack of faith from the rest of the Wanderers. A half smile stretches my face and I change the subject. “Let’s get some sleep,” I say gesturing for him to take the guest room down the hall. “We have a long day ahead of us.”
Chapter 23
Gwen
I’m facedown in bed when the pounding begins. Clutching my head I cover my ears in a vain attempt to block out all sound. Head throbbing I continue to lay there. The noise in my head starts to take on a familiar rhythm that I can’t place this early in the morning.
Bang, bang, bang ... Bang, bang, bang.
About the time I figure out the racket is someone pounding on the front door and not my wine headache, my cell phone rings. Swinging an arm haphazardly, I try to snag the thing off the nightstand so I can turn it off, thus ending at least one of the barrages of sounds assaulting my senses this morning. Unfortunately I miss. In my second attempt I manage to reach it with the tips of my fingers and gently pull it over into bed with me. Rolling my eyes when I see who’s calling, I answer it before the call goes to voicemail.
“Hello.”
“Are you gonna let me in?” Melanie asks in a happy trill.
“No, I’m ignoring you.” Rolling over in bed I confirm it’s only 7:30.
“Oh no you don’t, I need retail therapy and you’re already committed.”
“Fine,” I capitulate. “Come back after ten.” Ending the call I lay bac
k down onto my pillow, knowing I have about two minutes before Melanie busts out her key and lets herself in. Rolling over again I wrap the covers tightly around my body and prepare to hold on with my Kung Fu grip.
The opening of a door, followed by footsteps, alerts me that the five-foot four-inch predator has breached the outer defenses.
“You know, I’ve had a key to your place since like the third grade,” she shouts from down the hall. “Gwen?”
The bedroom door squeaks slightly on its hinges as it’s slowly pushed open. This sound is closely followed by the muffled thump of a body hitting the floor.
“Mother fucker!” Melanie screams from where she landed face first on the floor. Struggling to disengage herself from the pile of clothing at her feet, she hollers at me, “You know, you really should do something about this mess. A girl could get seriously hurt walking around in here.”
Smiling to myself under the comforter I make a mental note to thank Ben when he gets home for so effectively booby trapping the house. Who would’ve guessed his mess is actually the second line of defense around here.
I grimace as the covers are pulled back from my head revealing Melanie’s radiant face.
“Come on, Gwenie! Let’s go shopping!”
“Ugh. Has anyone ever told you that your exuberance in the morning is beyond annoying?”
Still beaming, she answers, “Yup, you have. On multiple occasions, but luckily for me I rarely listen to you.”
“Fine.” I flop my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up, still clutching the blankets. “I’ll get ready,” I announce waddling to the bathroom, covers and all. Her shriek of delight is the last sound I hear before slamming the door closed between us and turning the shower on. Forty-five minutes later we are out the door and on our way.
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