by Ryan King
Chief Bolton looked at the map closer and saw a small smear south of Avery Island. "What's this?"
"I saw that too," Tooms answered. "I asked the Avery PD about it. They say it’s a nature reserve. A few people live on it, but it's mostly just a bunch of protected birds and turtles."
"Bog Island," Bolton read out loud. "Ask the Avery PD to check out the island for us."
Tooms nodded and made a call.
Chapter 24
Eric St Keel was sometimes shocked by the fact that he was an actual state governor. He'd grown up in a small middle-class home and his parents hadn't aspired to anything greater than annual vacations to the beach. Eric felt as if he were an imposter, playing a role that could end at any time. But he didn't want it to end. Eric enjoyed the position and the power. He was good at it.
His mother told him before she died that his father would have been proud. Eric had wanted to believe her, but was too much of a realist to fool himself. Tyler St Keel was a morose man, who probably would have been diagnosed with severe depression or bipolar disorder had he been born a generation or two later.
"All men seek the approval of their fathers," Jeremiah Winters had told him during one of their talks. "It's hardwired into us, and a man has a tough time seeing himself as a man until his father validates that fact."
Jeremiah had been more of a father to him than Tyler St Keel and had treated him not just as a friend. In the end, Eric had detested his father but still craved his approval even knowing it was worthless and would never come.
How pathetic, he told himself as the introduction speaker droned on.
What would Jeremiah Winter think of him? That was a much more important question. The man had been proud of Eric's accomplishments and told him as much, but Judge Winters hadn't known everything. Hadn't known the compromises and moral sacrifices that were necessary to achieve so much.
Thoughts like this made him uncomfortable. He smiled purposefully while focusing on the man at the podium.
"Eric St Keel is a new breed of leader, but also a throwback," said the Chairman of the National Health Society. "While working together with all parties towards a vision, he is also tough and can see any task through. He is a man who believes in America and what we can all do together. Most of all, he is a man of integrity and selflessness." The speaker paused and smiled at Eric. "There hasn't been a public official like Governor St Keel in a very long time, and that is a shame."
The speaker looked back out over the large crowd. "It gives me great pleasure to introduce my friend, Governor Eric St Keel."
Eric pushed that annoying feeling of shame away, put on his winning smile, and walked forward at the applause. He shook the speaker's hand and then turned to the audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you," he said to the applause. "Thank you, thank you very much. It is wonderful to be here."
He made a point of picking out a few familiar influential faces in the crowd and making eye contact and waving at a few. They would remember this gesture and likely donate more money to his future campaigns because of it. Eric gripped the side of the podium and let the applause die down completely before speaking. He had learned that patience in public speaking was often as powerful as the spoken word.
"As you all know, the National Health Society holds a special place in my heart. My wife Brenda has long worked in the medical field and understands the important work of the NHS." Eric purposefully put on a look of slight embarrassment. "In fact, Brenda couldn't be here tonight because she had to work. As she so often tells me, she works so that I can engage in my hobbies."
Eric hung his head and nodded with a wry smile as the laughter rolled through the banquet hall.
"But seriously, the NHS has been at the forefront of medical research for a decade. Much of that is due to the innovative work of Dr. Christian Zimmerman who, as you know, died just last year. He was a brilliant mind and a true healer."
The governor paused respectfully in memory of the Nobel Prize Laureate, who had been the genesis of the Chiron Project. The man's death had been sudden and carried an air of oddness that made Eric uncomfortable if he thought about the details too much.
He inwardly shook himself and continued, "The NHS has been crucial to sharing ideas, innovations, and life-saving techniques and medicines in a cut-throat business world. In many ways, the NHS has put the focus of medicine back where it should be: off of money and onto the sick and dying."
He stopped talking and waited until the room was still and expectant. Tilting his head and looking up, he made a show as if something had just occurred to him. He reached back and pulled out his wallet and retrieved a worn and faded photograph of a grim man.
"Many of you can't see this, but the picture I hold is of my father," Eric said, allowing emotion to seep into his voice. "He died far too young from cancer. A highly treatable form of cancer today, but back then, all cancer was deadly."
He looked at the photo pointedly before laying it down and gathering himself and continuing on.
"The most precious resource in the world is people," he said. "How sad is a barrel of oil compared to a symphony? How droll a bar of gold compared to a miraculous innovation? When someone dies because medicine just isn't there yet, it is a tragedy. The world will never know what that person might have done. How many Einstein's, or Newton's, or Beethoven's, or even Christian Zimmerman's have we lost without knowing it? How many parents, spouses, brothers, sisters, friends…and even children have we lost?"
Eric could sense he had them in the palm of his hand. He felt a wave of power wash through him.
"Medical research is one of the most critical endeavors and responsibilities we have. Will our next generation be no further along than we are? We owe it to them. I owe it to them."
He looked in the back of the room and identified the five men who had gotten him elected. They sat at separate tables, but anyone with an eye for power could pick them out. They owned the five largest pharmaceutical and medical research companies in America. These men had squabbled and fought for years until Eric was able to bring them together. Until the Chiron Project.
One of the five men smiled and nodded slightly at Eric. It was enough. He knew he had done his part. That he continued to do his part. His support was safe. Powerful allies were what made Eric powerful in his own right.
"A life. That is what we are talking about," he said. "A cure for a disease or new treatment is too big. We must remember and think about the one life we are trying to save. Just look around you and find someone who is important to you, possibly even precious to you. What would you do without them?"
He let them look around and waited until the movement subsided.
"Most of you know me, some too well." He smiled, cueing those in the crowd to laugh. "I've made medical research a priority. Today I reassert myself to doing more. To strive for extraordinary results and breakthrough. Not for myself or the recognition, but for that one life."
Eric held up that hated photo of his father to the crowd and saw tears in many eyes. Lucas had made sure there were a few reporters in the audience who would carry his speech. It would have an incredible impact since they knew from sources in the White House that President Wilkens was about to cut funding to medical research.
"Thank you all for having me here tonight and thank you for what you do," Eric said, carefully putting the photograph in his shirt pocket. "We are all in a battle, one we must win. I am honored to fight it with you. Thank you all, and have a great night."
Applause and a standing ovation. Eric walked off-stage and shook several hands. Things were falling into place nicely.
The only cause for concern was Bog Island. It was the key to everything. Eric pushed these thoughts from his head. Lucas said he had it under control.
And when had Lucas ever lied to him?
Chapter 25
The heat was the worst part. There was a small air vent, but unless it caught a breeze, the tight concrete cell was as stale and oppress
ive as a crypt.
Jack lay on his back, his eyes closed. The concrete floor at least was cool. He was concentrating on the sounds of the frogs and the night birds. If he concentrated enough, he could forget where he was. He could even forget what had happened.
He shivered despite the heat and waited for the stomach cramps, but there weren't any this time. Xavier gave him some antibiotics that morning to help his severe diarrhea during a checkup for his bullet wound.
Xavier had also given him something else. He'd palmed a small piece of paper into Jack's hand while taking his pulse.
Jack wanted to go pull it from the hiding place in his mattress, to look at it again and know he wasn't alone. He resisted the temptation. Besides, he knew the contents of the letter by heart.
Jack,
I'm glad you are alive, but sorry you are here. I've seen Heather and Amanda for only brief moments. They look okay, although I'm sure Amanda is still traumatized.
I want you to know that none of this is your fault. I know how you are, and you're probably beating yourself up. We stumbled into a spider's web, that's all. Now it's our job to find a way out before we get eaten.
Xavier can be trusted, I believe. If he wanted to betray us, he would have already done so. Besides, he knows I'll kill him if he does...isn't that right, my little Haitian friend? Choke the life right out of you, I will.
Stay strong, Jack. I don't know yet what these bastards are up to, but something big is going on. You don't go to all this trouble to keep people locked up unless it's for a good reason.
I'll make sure I do something to end up in the infirmary every three to five days for us to pass messages through the good doctor. Take care,
Your friend, Charles Haywood
Jack sighed. Charles' words almost made him cry. Despite the reassurance, he did feel responsible. He would need to harness that feeling to find a way out and to save his friends. And he was worried about Charles.
Xavier told Jack that they hadn't been able to save the guard Charles had attacked. The man's windpipe had been crushed, and by the time, they'd gotten a chest tube into him, he'd slipped into a coma and died. The guards had taken turns beating Charles, but he had only laughed and jeered at them, mocked their sadness at the loss of their dead comrade. The other guard would eventually recover, but had a broken nose and mangled face.
"They'll make your friend disappear," Xavier had told him in a hushed whisper.
"What do you mean disappear?" asked Jack.
The Haitian had simply shrugged. "I don't know. They are here in the evening and then in the morning their cells are empty. No one is concerned. Sometimes the person comes back, but never the same. Most of the time, they are broken."
"Broken? You mean like hurt?"
Xavier struggled for words. "No. More like something important has been taken from them. Sometimes they are just sick, but not everyone comes back."
"Where do they take them?"
He shook his head. "Not sure. I don't hear trucks, so it must be close."
Jack had started to ask another question, but Lyles had walked in, and both men knew the guard sometimes looked for any opportunity to inflict pain.
As an attorney, Jack had a habit of tapping as he thought. Normally, it was the end of a pencil. He'd even discovered it was hard to think as clearly without this physical act. Jack had picked up a small stone from the yard and was using this to tap rhythmically on the metal floor drain.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Continuously, for long minutes at a time.
Thumpthumpthump, came a faint response.
Jack froze. His first thought was that maybe another prisoner in an adjacent cell was making the noise, but he'd long since given up hope of being able to communicate. Although the cells were next to each other, the guards never put prisoners in neighboring cells. They always left empty kennels between them.
Jack tapped slowly again and waited for the response, but nothing came. He put his ear against each wall and the floor, but heard nothing.
He lay back tired and frustrated. Jack closed his eyes and concentrated on the frogs and the birds. He could almost imagine he was camping out with his father.
Opening his eyes, he found himself looking at the drain.
The drain.
Jack crawled over and carefully laid out flat on the floor. He pressed his ear against the cool metal floor drain.
Nothing...except maybe...humming.
Why would there be humming down in a drain? Jack sensed it was machinery, more due to the feel of the noise than the noise itself.
He put his finger over his other ear and concentrated. Definitely a humming...and something else. Something out of place. Something lovely.
Jack sat up and shook his head. He must be imagining things. Been in a concrete box for a long time. Jack had been shot, betrayed, sick, and feverish. He'd witnessed some of his best friends being murdered. Was it too much to think that maybe he was a little delusional?
Laying his ear back against the drain, Jack took a deep breath and then cleared his mind.
There it was. Very faint. Music.
Not just any music. It was his father's favorite classical composer.
The hauntingly beautiful sounds of Vivaldi floated up from the earth.
Chapter 26
Dr. Edward Massengill prided himself on his professional detachment and rarely even noticed the test subjects, but he had to admit the woman on the table before him was especially beautiful. He'd always been more of a brunette guy himself, but the woman's deep red hair and high cheekbones were striking. Especially now, when she looked so peaceful.
He glanced up at his assistant, Helga. She had been with him from the beginning of the project and never shown a trace of moral consciousness, something that Dr. Massengill associated in his mind as synonymous with weakness. The middle-aged woman looked back at him calmly and with no hint of nervousness. Very good, he told himself.
"I saw the previous subject still on the table," said Massengill, nodding towards the storage room. "Why haven't we disposed of her yet?"
"There was a passing oil tanker to the west," Helga answered. "I was told it wasn't safe to dispose of the subject until later tonight."
"Did we get all the samples we needed from her?" he asked.
She consulted a chart. "Yes, doctor. We have blood, tissue, and spinal fluid. Initial tests show her white blood count off the charts."
Massengill nodded. "The subject's immune system sees the medicine as a virus. Something to be attacked. This current batch will hopefully rectify that issue."
"Doctor," said Helga tentatively. "If you don't mind me asking, how does the medicine work exactly?"
He looked at her and then nodded. "This is the first time you have ever asked me such a question. Why the sudden interest?"
"I apologize," she said, turning away to prepare the instruments. "I have overstepped my place."
Massengill frowned and sought for words. "That's not what I meant. I'm just been surprised you've never asked before. I presumed you simply had no interest. Do you understand what we are doing here?"
"Curing cancer," she said almost in a whisper.
"In a sense, yes," he answered, "but it is more than that. Eventually, we will prevent it from existing at all. It will be an evolutionary blip that is here for a short time and then gone forever."
"But how?" she asked.
"We have finally reached a point where our technology is advanced enough to treat the disease from the inside. It is as simple as that, yet far more complex."
"I've heard the lab techs use the term nanotechnology," Helga said.
Massengill felt a quiver of excitement run through him. As a biochemist, nanos were the Holy Grail. They could fight and cure any disease, or even perform internal surgery. The technology was still experimental, but showed great promise.
"How does it work?" she repeated.
"We have developed nanoparticles that are fifty nanometers in diameter," he said, g
rowing animated and using his hands to describe the creation. "The particles are composed of a careful combination of polyactic, copolylactic, and glycolic acids, which hold cancer-fighting drugs within their molecular meshes. A peptide coats the nanoparticle causing it to bind to cancer cells and ignore healthy cells. These nanoparticles roam the bloodstream until they attach to cancer cells, which they treat with cancer medicine."
Her face showed she understood the implications. "No more chemo or radiation," she said.
"That's correct." Massengill smiled, pleased. He had always suspected Helga had a sharp mind. "In a few years time, those practices will be considered barbaric. Cancer will be an obsolete disease since even healthy people will be vaccinated with the nanoparticles against cancer."
"And the nanos will destroy the cancer cells as they first form, before they can grow or spread," she said.
He nodded. "Now you are beginning to see the potential implications of what we can accomplish."
She smiled. A sight so rare that it made Massengill hesitate.
"What is it?" he asked.
"The Chiron Project," she said. "I finally get it. Chiron was a centaur skilled in medicine. We are in a sense making a creature that is not completely human by combining other parts. To heal them like Chiron did in the stories."
"I see you know your Greek mythology," said Massengill. "Never cared for it myself, but my mentor Dr. Christian Zimmerman was crazy about it. Site Iaso is even named after a Greek goddess of healing and cures."
"You actually worked with Dr. Zimmerman?" she asked in awe.
Massengill nodded curtly. Growing bored, he looked at the clock, Massengill wanted to proceed so they could complete the full cycle of treatment that night. "Has the subject been prepared?"
"Yes, doctor," Helga responded businesslike. "The subject was injected with fully developed ovarian cancer cells a little over twelve hours ago. Blood transfusions have aggressively fed the cancer cells and the lymph nodes are already beginning to enlarge."