“Familiar? One thing you should remember from your time at this counter, sir, is that everyone looks familiar.”
Mendenhall smiled at the memory of the boring days on gate duty. He slapped the sergeant on the back. “Yeah I do remember.” He turned as one of the marines in the back room looked out from behind the curtain. He made sure no customers were in the shop and then faced Will.
“The director called and said they’re ready for your deposition to our newly arrived CDC people.”
Mendenhall perked up as he realized he would get to see the young Dr. Bannister again. Then his smile faded as he remembered she would be with her father, Colonel Bannister.
Mendenhall turned and left as he was starting to realize he didn’t stand a chance with someone like Gloria Bannister.
* * *
The reactivated Event Group personnel from the CDC were sitting around the large conference table on the seventh level. Niles Compton was at his accustomed place at the head of the table and next to him was Virginia. The doctors from the Group and now the CDC were all facing the large-screen monitor as they took in the information compiled by Pete, who was busy using his pointer on the large 3-D screen while explaining about Perdition’s Gate and its ownership through the years.
“We have thus far met a block wall as far as getting the history of Professor Lawrence Ambrose. His academic credentials, his research grants, his employment history seem to have been misplaced by everyone in government. Where he received the millions upon millions of dollars to conduct research has not been discovered—yet,” Pete added. “We hope to have that question answered very soon as we are just now starting to pore through the old data compiled by the Group back in 1916. The material is volumes in length and extremely detailed so it may take a while. We have decided that at least one of you should assist in the archival research. You may see something we don’t.”
“So, until two days ago you had never heard of this Lawrence Ambrose before?” Colonel Bannister asked.
“No,” Niles answered for Pete Golding. “We discovered the results of his work and the sample we brought back after our security detachment’s raid into Perdition Hacienda south of Nuevo Laredo one day ago.”
“And the subject of this raid had no knowledge of the hacienda’s ownership at the turn of the century?” Dr. Emily Samuels, one of Virginia’s old nuclear science students, asked.
“Thus far our search has turned up no relationship between Professor Ambrose and Juan Guzman,” Pete answered as he pointed at the picture of the Anaconda in the right-hand corner of the screen. “As far as we can see, it was just a fluke, a coincidence that they ended up owning the same hacienda, one hundred years apart.”
“In the earlier portion of your brief you said that the area of concern at the hacienda was two levels below the main floor of the house, and that level had been sealed earlier in the century in an attack by the American military searching for the bandit known as Pancho Villa, am I correct?” Colonel Bannister asked as he checked off the question from his list of about a hundred.
Niles nodded his head.
“Then it seems the answer may lie in the auspices of the Department of the Army. Wouldn’t that be the next logical step in your search?”
“Dead end. There were no such orders, at least officially, issued for the 8th United States Cavalry to cross into Mexico on that day and date. It is well known that on that particular night, Pancho Villa was raiding a Mexican federal pay shipment from Juarez. He was a far distance from Perdition on the night of the raid.” Pete looked at his notes and pushed his horn-rimmed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.
“Then how do you know the raid on the hacienda actually took place?” Gloria Bannister asked.
“A journal—little known and kept in a family trunk for many, many years,” Virginia Pollock added.
“And whose journal are we speaking of?” Gloria asked.
“A first lieutenant who actually commanded the raid that night—George S. Patton,” Virginia answered, stealing Pete’s thunder. “We not only know he led the raid that night, but also that the Event Group was there right along with him. That’s how we came into possession of the artifacts from 1916.”
“The George Patton—General George Patton?” the colonel asked, raising his brows.
“The family of the general always thought the raids into Mexico did nothing to enhance the general’s reputation after the war years, so that was one piece of information they kept pretty close to the vest, only stating that the general was in on the pursuit of Pancho Villa. They never once uttered the words Perdition’s Gate or Professor Lawrence Ambrose,” Pete said as he lowered his pointer and then looked at his notes. He then nodded at Virginia who stood up and walked to the large screen where the navy signalman replaced the scene from the spot where Perdition used to sit to a large picture of Lawrence Ambrose himself as he was just after he finished his studies.
“Professor Lawrence Jackson Ambrose was born in the third year of the American Civil War in 1863. His father was a greenhouse keeper and gardener in Indianapolis, Indiana, and was killed the same year his son was born at the battle of Gettysburg. After that Ambrose was raised by a doting mother, Isabel, and eventually went off to college. He graduated from the University of Indiana with the highest honors of his academic class.”
“What were the main courses of study?” another doctor, Pierce, asked from the end of the group.
“Botany,” Virginia answered. “The man, according to graduation reports from his professors, was a genius, as was his father in the breeding, cross-breeding, and pollination of plant life. He was the foremost authority on splicing and was one of the first to conduct such experiments on wild flowers and plants from exotic areas of the world. It was these experiments that led to the disappearance of Ambrose in 1885. At the time, the professor was only twenty-two years of age and the most brilliant man in his field. We suspect he was hired into private practice, for what reason we do not know. He literally vanished from the face of the earth and didn’t show up again until the raid by the United States cavalry into Mexico in 1916.”
“Now, I have three people that were at Perdition Hacienda the night of the Guzman raid. They will fill you in on the effects of this sample that was recovered from the sublevel of that building. They are witness to the change that occurred on more than one man and its subsequent effect on their minds and bodies,” Niles said as he nodded for the blue-clad marine to allow the three people into the conference room.
Captain Carl Everett, Sarah McIntire, and Will Mendenhall stepped into the conference room, each clad in their military-designated coveralls of blue and gold trim. All had their military designation on their sleeve and collars. Carl waited for Mendenhall and Sarah, who still had most of her face hidden behind a large pair of glasses. She looked at Director Compton and he lightly tapped his own glasses. She took the meaning and removed her glasses. She saw the look on the lead doctor’s face as he took in Sarah’s large black eyes and broken nose.
“I don’t know what function your people perform for our government Dr. Compton, but I hope you get hazardous-duty pay,” Colonel Bannister said as he looked back at Sarah who actually smiled back at him.
“They do get hazardous-duty pay, and believe me, Colonel, they earn it here,” Compton said as he removed his glasses and then nodded at Virginia to offer up the questions for Everett and the other two witnesses to the amazing transformation of Juan Guzman the night of the raid.
Virginia smiled and then looked at Captain Everett who looked as if he really didn’t want to be in the conference room at all.
“Doctors, this is Captain Everett, the head of our security staff. He…,” she hesitated a moment, choosing the only words that came to mind. “He led the assault on Perdition Hacienda two nights ago. Captain, can you explain to our guests from the CDC what happened in the brief firefight between your forces and those of Juan Guzman?” Virginia smiled and nodded her head at Carl.
&nbs
p; “First, to be accurate, we discovered approximately fifteen barrels of dried flowers. We assume these flowers were grown somewhere other than Mexico. After a brief and not very knowledgeable examination of the contents of these stored flowers, it was suggested that they were poppies of some variety. The barrels were marked 2370. Lined up next to these barrels were several hundred jars of a substance consisting of an amber fluid. These jars were sealed with not only rubber stoppers, but also had been waxed over to secure the contents.”
“Excuse me, Captain; my name is Dr. Gloria Bannister. Were these jars marked with any form of identification?”
Mendenhall allowed his eyes to move across the table for the first time and was shocked when Dr. Bannister met eye contact with him after asking Carl the question. Everett saw the exchange and wondered what Will was up to.
“Yes, they were all marked with what I assumed was a batch number as they were all different, with one exception. They all had a number in bold print—batch number 2370.”
“Please continue, Captain,” Colonel Bannister said as he looked from Will and then slightly turned to see his daughter lower her eyes.
“Well, Juan Guzman and his men assaulted our team before we could get clear of the laboratory spaces below the hacienda. They had us cornered and we were taking fire from a covered position. Lieutenant Mendenhall here held them at bay until heavier ordnance was introduced into the fight from the Guzman faction. A grenade exploded in their covered position, breaking open several of the barrels containing the dried vegetation, and unfortunately this brought down the shelving where the liquid material was stored. Our young lieutenant here was the first to notice something was wrong. Will, what happened after the smoke cleared?”
Mendenhall wasn’t expecting to speak to the group of doctors. He shifted in his chair and then with a great deal of concentration tried to recall and account for what happened that night without everyone thinking him an idiot.
“Several of Guzman’s men were killed in the initial detonation of the grenade.” His eyes moved from the tabletop and locked with Gloria’s. He felt a little better when she lightly smiled. “Several others were just injured. As one of these men rose to continue his assault, he was hit by several rounds, from not only me but another part of our team. The man took hits from at least ten different bullets. He went down.”
“Perhaps we can write that off to injuries, causing shock to the system, and also a rush of adrenalin?” asked Dr. Lewis, a balding man from the CDC who was looking at Mendenhall with the slightest bit of skepticism written in his face and laced into his words.
“Perhaps,” Will said, not liking the condescending tone in the doctor’s words. “But I quickly eliminated any speculation as to the man’s condition when he once more rose up and continued his attack.”
Several eyes of the visiting CDC doctors rose and they started paying far better attention to the young army officer’s account.
“Perhaps your defense did not hit any vital organs. Maybe his being alive was just a fluke?” Gloria said, hoping to point out something Mendenhall had maybe missed in his eyewitness account.
“Well, yes ma’am, while my initial thoughts may have leaned that way, my second thoughts included the sight of half the man’s head missing. After at least fifteen more rounds to the body and finally the front of the man’s head, he went down. This attack was repeated by others who had been inundated with the material stored in the jars.”
“Sounds like the effects produced by the PCP studies of 1975,” Gloria said softly to her father.
“Can you tell us of any odors you may have caught during this time?” Colonel Bannister asked.
Mendenhall looked over at Carl who only shrugged his shoulders. “Uh, no, sir. The vapors from the liquid seemed to be confined to the floor area near the impact zone where the men had taken cover.”
“Confined to the floor you say?” another of the doctors asked.
“Yes, sir. It was like a shroud of fog.”
Gloria leaned forward so her statement could be heard by the rest of the CDC team from Atlanta. “Obviously heavier than air and a possible chemical breakdown that produces a gas when exposed to the air?”
“Possibly,” Colonel Bannister said. “Lieutenant, can we have your description of the major changes that occurred in this Juan Guzman as you witnessed that night?”
Mendenhall slightly shook his head and then looked into the colonel’s eyes. “I don’t think you could describe it as a change. It was more of a transformation. As far as I could see, Guzman took the brunt of the spill. He had been right under the fall of specimen jars from their shelves. But as I said, it was more of a transformation right before our eyes. His body resembled that of Guzman, but that’s where it all ended. His height even changed. I could venture a guess, but I would have to say by at least a good foot. His musculature had tripled, enough so that his clothing couldn’t contain his body any longer. The teeth were different, larger somehow. But all of that wasn’t the strangest part.”
“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” Bannister said when he saw Will hesitate.
“The material he ingested, breathed in, seemed not to have affected his higher brain functions at all. He was able to articulate his words, and … and…” Mendenhall looked into the eyes of Gloria Bannister. The return look told him to go ahead, that he was doing fine. “I could actually see intelligence behind those larger-than-normal eyes.”
The visiting team of viral, germ warfare, and toxicology specialists looked at one another. They were clearly stumped for the time being.
“And each one of these affected men was hard to kill in the extreme?” Gloria asked.
“Ma’am, I have been in more than just a few firefights. Been though what a lot of people would call harrowing situations, but after seeing what happened in Mexico, I can honestly say I have never been that scared. I guess it was the fear of the unknown. What we saw there wasn’t natural. And one last thing doctors…”
“Go on Will,” Virginia encouraged from the head of the table.
“Guzman actually killed several of his men for simply being in his way when he started to come after us. He went through them with his bare hands and tore them to pieces. He was enraged but still able to function. He not only escaped, but stalked us all the way back across the border. He hit us at differing ambush points in the underground culvert. Yes, he was a monster, but a calculating one that was relentless.”
At that moment one of Compton’s four assistants came through the conference room doors and then nodded at Niles. He then went to where Sarah was sitting and handed her a folded piece of paper. She thanked the assistant and then read the note as the CDC personnel talked amongst themselves. She refolded the note and then looked at Niles.
“Dr. Compton, our other guest is causing a little problem down in the clinic, uh, may I—”
“Do you need Captain Everett to accompany you?” Niles asked as his worries about keeping Henri Farbeaux a prisoner inside of his complex came to the surface with his stern look.
“No sir, I think I can handle our friend.”
Carl leaned over and whispered. “If you think it necessary, shoot the bastard in the head and call it a day.”
Sarah looked down at Carl as she stood. “We need to talk later about that very subject, Captain,” Sarah said, causing Carl to raise his eyebrows when the venom in her words hit him like a slap in the face. She placed her sunglasses back on and then nodded at the doctors across the table before she left the conference room.
Mendenhall chanced a look at Gloria across from him, but she was deep into conversation with her colleagues and didn’t pay him any mind.
“Thank you Lieutenant Mendenhall and Captain Everett, I think we have a picture of the change this possible pathogen may have caused. Now I think it’s time we get to work.” Bannister looked over at Niles Compton. “I assume you have a clean room we can work in?”
“Dr. Pollock will take you to your new labs; quite a bit has changed si
nce you were here last. There you’ll be set up with anything you may need. One thing I want to make clear ladies and gentlemen is that I want that crap out of my complex as soon as you deem it safe to either destroy or move.”
“That’s why we’re here Niles old friend.”
Gloria Bannister gathered her notes and stood along with her father and other members of the CDC. She happened to look up one last time and smiled at Will. It almost looked as if she wanted to say something, but she shook her head and then followed her father and the others out of the conference room.
Both Niles and Carl looked from Gloria’s back over to the lieutenant. Will tilted his head and then caught himself. He tried to smile as he looked from Everett to Compton, but failed miserably.
“Smart girl,” he said.
“Not bad looking either,” Everett said as he looked over at Compton.
“Cute,” was all Mendenhall could say as he quickly stood and hurried from the conference table with worried eyes following him all the way.
“Are you sure our young second lieutenant didn’t get a dose of that stuff along with Guzman?” Niles asked.
“Whatever Will’s got in his system, although I do suspect it’s chemical in nature, has nothing to do with Perdition, Lawrence Ambrose, or Juan Guzman. Our friend has been overwhelmed by someone he doesn’t understand and he realizes that because of that, he’s attracted to her.”
Niles smiled as he stacked his file folders. “Sounds like you’ve been there before, Captain.”
Everett smiled and stood from the conference table. “I have, and I don’t recommend it.”
With that said, the investigation into Perdition’s Fire began in earnest.
* * *
Sarah stood in the open doorway of the clinic’s ten-bed area and watched Farbeaux as he slept. She took a moment and leaned against the doorframe to study the man. With his blonde hair tousled and the way he turned his head from time to time, it was as if Henri were but a small boy lost in a world he couldn’t control. Of course Sarah knew she was only speculating, but she knew the Frenchman wasn’t what he appeared to be. And now that the famous thorn in the side of the Event Group had been caught, she supposed it was true—he was nothing but a lost man who had done a kindness and now was a prisoner. That kindness had been done for her, and it only confused things in her head to the point that she had to know more about him. As she touched the overly large sunglasses and took a tentative step inside, she reminded herself that Henri had killed people—their people—all for the sake of more money and priceless objects. She set her mind to a course and entered the semidark room.
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