The picture they had seen of him did not do him justice. Dressed in a gray corduroy sport jacket and baggy brown slacks, he appeared even more nebbishy and troll-like than expected.
“What do you know about The Disease?” Alex asked while maintaining eye contact with the man.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a nasal voice.
William stood behind the couch and placed his hand upon Guri’s shoulder. “You heard Dr. Pella.”
Alex looked over to his friend as if to say: Thanks for the anonymity. Maybe you’d like to give him my home address, too?
Marissa sat on the couch next to Guri and offered him a sweet smile. Somewhat disapproving of Alex and William’s gruffness, she thought politeness might prove the most effective path for an answer.
“You do know millions, if not billions, of lives are at stake,” she said very pleasantly. “We just want to know what your connection is with the experiment on Astipalea.”
Her method certainly eased his tension. Feeling a little more relaxed, he squinted and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. Although at first wanting to remain quiet, the burden of his knowledge had been weighing on him like a bag of bricks for some time. The mental anguish it eventually caused felt overwhelming. Instead of facing his problems, he sequestered himself from the rest of the world, hoping the problem he had helped create would resolve on its own. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
“The thing is,” Guri answered, relieved to finally tell someone, anyone, what he knew, “I was there for such a short time, and I never suspected anything like this was going to happen.”
He looked at Alex and said, “You have to believe me. This whole thing is just crazy. People dying, the island exploding, it’s like a bad dream. No one was supposed to get hurt—let alone lose their lives.”
Alex became instantly distracted. In his videre lens a flurry of infrared figures jumped out of two manholes outside their building. Zooming in, he could see they were all dressed in military attire and carrying automatic weapons.
“Alex?” William asked, noting his apparent lack of concentration.
“Do you have any metal pots or pans?” Alex blurted.
Didn’t see that question coming, Marissa thought.
“Yea,” Guri said, now even more perplexed. “Over there in the kitchen. If you’re hungry, I can get—”
Alex grabbed Guri and turned to the rest of them. “Come with me. It seems we have a little unexpected company.”
“Company!” William stuttered. “I hope you mean like a pizza delivery man.”
“I don’t think pizza men carry automatic weapons,” Alex said as they ran into the kitchen.
The small kitchen had only one folding chair and a TV-dinner table. It was the type of room that even an ardent bachelor would be ashamed of.
“There’s only one pot here,” Jonathan said, taking it out and handing it to Alex.
“I hope it will do.”
The armed men began to storm the building. Alex could see their infrared images ascending the steps and pouring out onto the third floor. A few muffled voices could be heard down the hallway along with the shouting of commands by a loud voice.
“This doesn’t look good,” Alex said.
Supertramp again began to play. Dreamer, you know you are a dreamer. Well, can you put your hands on your head…
Chapter 12
It was late at night, but Samantha Mancini still worked diligently in her office. With Alex unavailable, the brunt of Neurono-Tek’s managerial responsibilities became hers. In addition to these extra duties, she still had long hours of research to perform on the body Marissa had delivered.
The lights in the three-story building outside her office began to flicker and slowly turn off one by one until it went completely dark.
That’s odd.
Samantha stood up from behind her desk and went to the window. The building was completely dark except for a few red emergency lights scattered along the different levels. She looked up and down the street. The rest of Neurono-Tek did not appear to be experiencing any electrical problems.
I guess it’s up to me to see what happened.
She went back to her desk and asked, with a long sigh, for security. She waited a few seconds and when no answer came, she requested their presence a few more times.
Nothing. No response.
She tried to contact anyone, but it appeared all communications at this time were completely nonfunctional.
First the building and now I can’t talk to anyone? What’d they make this place out of? Paper mache!
Samantha felt disgusted and needed to leave the office.
Filled with multiple and flowering plants, the room was reminiscent of the ancient Hanging Garden of Babylon. Each year she had added more vegetation until the whole place became a veritable rain forest.
Samantha cautiously walked through the foliage to the office door.
It did not dematerialize. Frustrated, she slapped it a few times in a futile attempt to activate it. The door remained solid, blocking her exit.
What’s next! If the coffee machines goes, I’m outta here!
She then grabbed the manual disengage handle and turned it. The door snapped open, and Samantha stormed out of her office. Inconveniences and long hours of work did not mix with her.
Samantha marched down the stairs in her high-heeled boots and out of the building. She dared not attempt the elevator or Silidome. If she encountered another mechanical failure, she may end up in a padded room restrained in a straight jacket.
Outside people began to congregate beside the darkened building. Most were janitorial staff but a few other hospital employees working the night shift came out to see what had happened.
“I hope this isn’t another gas leak,” Samantha overhead someone say. “I hope Neurono-Tek isn’t going broke like the country and couldn’t pay the electric bill,” another joked.
Before she could talk to any one of them, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Dr. Mancini,” a booming voice declared from behind her.
She turned and saw it was the director of night security, Gill. Phil’s identical twin brother, Gill had inherited the same set of Neanderthal-like characteristics. Though difficult to look at, he proved just as efficient a security guard as his brother.
“I was trying to reach you, but I got no response,” he said. “I ran right out to see if you were O.K.”
Though a feminist by nature, Samantha did enjoy a little chivalry.
“What’s going on around here?” she asked.
“The power grid has gone haywire for some reason. I’m no electrician, but I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Did our maintenance staff have a look at it yet?”
“They’ve been working on it for the last two hours.”
Samantha looked over at the darkened building next to her and said, “Well, I can tell you this. It doesn’t appear they’re making much headway at the moment.”
“No ma’am. It doesn’t.”
Samantha agreed with Gill. She, too, had never seen anything like this before. The power grid of Neurono-Tek had been assembled with so much redundancy that problems like this shouldn’t occur.
She might have simply ignored the issue a month ago, but with the recent attack on Neurono-Tek, she had a lingering sense of suspicion something was awry.
“Gill,” Samantha said, “I think we need to go have a little talk with the maintenance crew.”
“I’ll lead the way.”
The two walked down the street. Fortunately, the rest of the Neurono-Tek complex remained well lit. Beautiful lanterns on either sides of the street illuminated the area well.
Next to the main research building ahead of them stood the central power building. Maintenance vehicles still remained along the sides of the street as the final preparations were being completed for the reopening of the research building. Even into the night, people worked diligently inside finis
hing the job. Alex wanted no delays and had the crews staffed 24 hours a day.
The longer the building remained nonfunctional, the more money Neurono-Tek lost by the day—a certain economic conundrum Alex could not allow.
The central power building was an unassuming structure in this modern institution. Converted from an old factory, the red-brick construction boasted multi-paned glass windows and an old-fashioned ironclad front door.
Before Samantha entered, she noted that the lights in another building up the street began to flicker and fade away into darkness.
“You wouldn’t happen to have about an extra million candles handy?” Samantha asked, already becoming discouraged.
“No ma’am,” Gill answered matter-of-factly.
Samantha tried to joke, but this was no laughing matter. Because the 800-bed hospital at Neurono-Tek also had been integrated with the central power system, she understood many lives could be at risk if it lost its power.
Already thinking ahead, Gill added, “I already put our five neighboring hospitals on alert and have both air and land transport on stand-by, just in case of any further problem at Neurono-Tek.”
This was no easy task. Because only one other hospital in Pennsylvania remained, Gill needed to contact New York, New Jersey, and Delaware for support. The governmental-run health program had essentially placed all private hospitals out of business. Only a few hospitals throughout the country remained and just about all of them were government-run.
“I’m impressed,” Samantha said. “I guess you security guys aren’t just sleeping and drinking coffee all night.”
Gill grunted. Not one for humor, he rarely ever appreciated Samantha’s jokes.
Like a gentleman, however, he pushed open the door and let Samantha enter first. The ground floor was not nearly as spectacular as the one in the main research building. Mostly composed of office space, a small lobby stood before them with one elevator to their right and other to their left.
Samantha, again, did not trust any electrical equipment and chose the steps instead of any modern convenience. As they walked down, an acrid smell with an unusual metallic scent caught their attention.
Samantha stopped and took in a deep breath, hoping her senses were wrong. She knew the smell all too well and realized what lay ahead.
She grabbed Gill by the arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong for such a small woman.
“Ma’am?” he asked, surprised by her reaction.
“There’s been an accident down here,” she warned. “Be very cautious.”
The two slowly went down the last few steps and opened the door to the central power grid. Samantha gasped at the sight. Even Gill could not believe what he saw. Usually a strong man, his hand trembled while holding the door.
Like a modern crime scene, the floor was scattered with bodies. The five maintenance workers who had been sent to fix the grid had all been burned. Charred beyond recognition, their corpses simmered after an apparent electrical assault.
The power grids along the sides of the walls sparked and sizzled while metal from their wires dripped on the floor.
“I think we need to have the hospital evacuated,” Gill said with a quiver in his voice.
Even Samantha found herself at a momentary loss for words. After taking a big gulp she said, “Let’s not stop with the hospital. All of Neurono-Tek needs to be cleared out, and now.”
Gill immediately shut the door. Calling a doctor at this point seemed redundant. The two quickly made their way up the stairs and walked out of the building.
“Gill,” she said with her usual spunk. “Get the police here immediately. I think this whole thing’s tied in with that terrorist attack, but I don’t know how.”
She made a wide circle with her hands. “I want this place completely evacuated within the hour. No one is to stay. No excuses.”
“Yes ma’am,” he responded. “Me and my men will get on it at once.”
“He looked at Samantha and asked, “Will you need a personal escort?”
“Me?” she quickly responded. “I’m not going anywhere. There’s a company to look after and a corpse special delivered here that needs to be examined.”
“But I insist.”
“Gill!” she yelled. “I don’t care if this is the damn Titanic sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic. If it is, I’ll make sure I’m at the bridge whistling Dixie the whole time while it sinks. Now let’s get started.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Chapter 13
“You among all others, President Vasilios,” Albert Rosenberg said in a weak, raspy voice, “you have disappointed me the most. Your country was once the cradle of democracy, the source from which Western Society based its ideals.”
Despite his sickened and frail state, Albert appeared disgusted.
“Look at you now.”
This small burst of emotion caused Albert to have a fit of coughing. His two young, female attendants were at his side. One smacked his back to clear up any phlegm while the other placed a small, white plastic stick under his nose so that he could breathe better.
Albert took a large breath and exhaled with some authority. The coughing spell had quelled, but his disgust lingered.
Unable to make eye contact, President Vasilios said in a Greek accent, “Do not cast dispersion on the man who stands humbly before you now, for he has inherited all the follies of his predecessors.”
Albert laughed aloud. He was too amused at such a simple and nearsighted statement to even comment upon it. If this man was that naive, why bother wasting the few worldly breaths he had left with a response.
Albert took a handkerchief from one of his attendants and wiped the phlegm from his mouth.
Once a robust and strong man, he was now a skeletal image of his former greatness. Tiny threads of white hair chalked his otherwise bald and age-marked head. His thin skin had multiple purple bruises that dotted it like stars in the night sky. Temporal muscle wasting, sunken eyes, and a gray hue all added to the sickly appearance. The full set of teeth he boasted was the only semblance of health he retained. It was as if Albert died two weeks earlier, but no one had told him what happened.
He had certainly lived life to its fullest, and as the end drew near, he had no regrets.
There was, however, just one final bit of business he had to accomplish before his passing. Only then could he rest in peace knowing he had achieved all his goals.
“Your debts to The New Reality are insurmountable,” he went on to say, “and your interest payments have become greater than your country’s entire GNP.”
With the assistance of his attendant, Albert sat up straighter in his hand-carved mahogany chair. He needed a new position in order to say what he needed to without getting out of breath.
Though markedly ill, he still insisted on wearing a blue, double-breasted suit. As CEO and president of The New Reality, he considered any lesser attire to be unprofessional.
“Plus,” he said, “your constant failure to make the needed economic decisions in the face of imminent bankruptcy tells me that your government is too inadequate to run even a simple lemonade stand, let alone an entire country.”
President Vasilios was not alone. Both the presidents of Iceland and France were also present for Albert’s admonishment.
All three had been sent by their prospective countries to ask for forgiveness and for continued economic support from The New Reality. Without the quarterly blank checks sent to them with Albert Rosenberg’s name written upon the bottom, they would have gone bankrupt years ago.
“Yes,” President Vasilios said, “as leader of Greece I am personally here to apologize for our financial situation.”
He extended his arms and placed a big smile on his face as if they were best friends. “But I must also thank you for your continued financial assistance. Our people are indebted to your great generosity.”
President Vasilios thought his trip to America would be just a simple PR endeavor. His advisors
had instructed him to appease the old man from The New Reality and leave with another trillion-dollar loan. In fact, the president had only scheduled fifteen minutes for the meeting. The rest of the time had been blocked out for a tour of New York City. Fine dining, a Broadway play, and some high-end nightcaps were his main agenda.
Albert slowly stood up from his chair, revealing its gold-embroidered, red cushions. His aged joints cracked while his legs shook under the stress. His attendants attempted to help him, but he waved them off as if shooing away a fly.
Aided only by adrenaline, he slowly regained his composure. No one takes him for a fool.
“When I was young,” Albert said with a little more baritone in his voice, “I learned many good lessons. One was how to balance a checkbook and another was to never underestimate your opponent.”
Albert looked at the three world leaders and scoffed, “You obviously have failed to learn either lesson.”
President Fornier interrupted with a thick French accent. “We are not foes but friends, Mr. Rosenberg. I am offended that you think of the French people as your opponent.”
The French president stood indignantly and stared at Albert from the tip of his nose. He acted as if his country were doing The New Reality a favor by taking their loan checks.
“I know why all of you are here today,” Albert said. “This trip was meant only as a mere social calling. No one here has made any concerted plans to balance your budget or orchestrate some financial means to pay off your debts.”
The three leaders feigned a look of surprise and laughed at the accusations. They were all good actors but unfortunately for them, Albert did not like to be patronized.
He turned to President Bjarnason and asked, “So how has Iceland decided to erase their debts? A balanced budget act? Maybe a plan to curtail their spending?”
“I can assure you,” the president authoritatively said, “Iceland has full intentions of paying off their entire debt. Financial independence is our government’s utmost priority.”
Albert shook his head. He had heard these promises before. It was like a broken record played whimsically to him each time these world leaders arrived.
The New Reality Page 8