by L. T. Ryan
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Haeli asked. “There’s nothing there.”
Haeli was right. The circle indicated some importance of the location, but it was drawn on what appeared to be an empty section of the Nevada desert. A homogenous brown patch between two darker colored strips, their crinkly textures indicative of mountain ridges.
Griff zoomed in. The resolution of the image was high, but there was still no sign of any man-made structures. “Maybe this was the planned site.”
“Then the thing hasn’t been built yet,” Blake said. “Look at the date.”
The time stamp printed on the bottom of the image was from a week prior.
“I assure you they have built the new facility,” Haeli said. “It was almost completed before I left. And my father told me in his message he transferred months ago.”
“We’re assuming this map relates to the blueprints,” Griff said. “Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s marking something else.”
“Possible,” Haeli said. “But it’d be a huge coincidence that Wentz asked to meet me here, in Las Vegas, the only major city within hundreds of miles of this desert valley. If he had fled from Techyon, as he claimed, wouldn’t it make sense?”
“There are other possibilities,” Blake said. “They could camouflage the structure to appear to be the desert floor. Or it could be underground. It wouldn’t be the only underground facility in Nevada. Hell, I could name off a half dozen belonging to the U.S. government.”
“Let’s not get hung up on conjecture, there are a couple more files here,” Griff said. “There’s bound to be more clues.” He clicked the X to close the map and double clicked the next file. A window prompted Griff to choose which application to use to view the .raw file. Griff chose the plain text editor. “Raw is right.” Deep wrinkles sprawled out from the corner of his eyes toward his temples. “It’s a data file, just a bunch of random letters. Encoded.”
“Those aren’t random letters,” Haeli said. “It’s genetic data. Trust me. Just don’t ask me what it means.”
Griff scrolled through what seemed to be thousands of pages full of letters. Even though the letters represented data and not human-readable text, Blake’s brain picked out words on each page. Act, Cat, Tag, Tact.
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do with that,” Blake said. “Check out the next one.”
Griff brought up the last document in the folder. There was no ambiguity to the contents of this file. The heading read Project Eclipse Lab Journal and the subtitle Dr. Benjamin Becher.
Griff read out loud. “Week 1. Fertilization was successful. The host is in exemplary health.”
“How long is this journal?” Haeli asked.
“Long.” Griff flicked his finger on the track pad. Pages scrolled by. Week 50, Week 100, Week 300. “We’re only a fraction of the way into this thing. There has to be twenty- or thirty-years’ worth of entries in here.” Week 400, Week 500.
“Stop!” Haeli grabbed his wrist. “Go back. A little more.”
They all saw it. Week 539. Haeli’s name flew off the page. She grabbed the laptop and slid it onto her own lap.
“Haeli continues to progress. Reflex times, fast twitch muscle density and relative strength continue to progress at 0.2 percent week over week. While overall readings are lower than the models predicted, it is still possible for her to meet all goals should she continue to progress at the same rate or higher through puberty. Blood tests suggest signs of elevated hormone levels. It is likely that the onset of puberty is imminent.”
Haeli sat still, hunched over the laptop, mouth agape. Blake wished he had the words. He was at a loss, but he couldn’t imagine how this affected Haeli. A simple passage with such horrible weight. He wished she would stop reading there.
Blake had always tried to be cognizant of the events that defined him. To weed out the insignificance of everyday life and break the sum of himself down into individual parts. He believed it a worthwhile pursuit to identify those instances that deflected him from his original trajectory. Whether it was something as heavy as taking someone’s life or overhearing a piece of advice that resonated, Blake thought he had been successful in mentally cataloguing such instances.
Until one event, a nuclear detonation that made all other experiences mere firecrackers erased all others. Blake discovered that the real deal didn’t need to be contemplated or cataloged, and it couldn’t be missed or forgotten. He became it, and it him. This was Haeli’s nuclear moment. She would never be the same.
Haeli scrolled, coming to rest on a random page. She read aloud again.
“Week 786. Test results confirmed the ailment to be the common cold. With every sign that Haeli fully recovered and is operating at full capacity, I administered the yearly proficiency test. The two-week delay should not be significant enough to offset next year’s scheduled testing. The full report was forwarded to Mr. Farr and Dr. Roberts at the start of the week. Yearly progress has technically increased but has significantly slowed to a rate of 0.045 percent. I stand by my previous assessment, as always, that there is no other conclusion to be drawn other than complete confidence that the genetic manipulation has demonstrably increased Haeli’s aptitude, speed, and strength. It is my opinion that Haeli should transition to real-world training and evaluation when deemed appropriate.”
“Haeli,” Blake said. He wanted to plead with her to stop. To close the laptop and never open it again, but it would have been an unfair demand. She needed to know. Besides, she didn’t appear interested in any attempts at persuasion. She lifted her hand and continued scrolling.
She continued. “Anecdotally, proof of the experiment’s effectiveness was apparent in the so-called combat tournament. Haeli faced several of Mr. Farr’s most experienced and highly trained men and, in my assessment, held her own. Because of the weight and muscle mass differential, I can conservatively estimate that, pound for pound, Haeli’s effectiveness exceeded that of her opponents. Let me digress. At the risk of sounding overly sentimental for posterity’s sake, I was proud of her. Also note: Dr. Ursel reported that Haeli regained consciousness during overnight phlebotomy and EEG analysis. They increased the dosage of methohexital 120mg with positive results.”
“Wow,” Griff said. Blake couldn’t blame him for his sudden loss of vocabulary. And he was glad someone broke the ice.
“Is this real?” She sounded stuck between laughing and crying. “What the hell am I reading? What am I, an experiment? This thing makes it sound like I’m a mutant, one of the X-Men. Like I’m not even human.”
“You’re human, Haeli.” Blake placed his hand on her shoulder. “Think about it, though. What you did in the conference center, you decimated those guys. Did you ever wonder how you could do that?” Blake winced at his own statement. He had meant well, but the words had come out more condescending than consoling.
“Wait, what did you do at the conference?” Griff said. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”
Haeli ignored the question. “If this is true, it would explain a lot. Why these people took any interest in me. Why they devoted hours everyday training me, teaching me. It was their job. And I…I was a fucking experiment.”
There it was. The anger Blake was expecting. The sense of betrayal. The tip of the iceberg.
“It’s incredible,” Griff said with tone-deaf excitement. “They were building a super soldier. It’s downright diabolical. Who the hell are these people?”
“You’re not helping, Griff.” Blake’s face flushed.
“I’ve gotta google it.” Griff tapped at his phone.
Griff’s lack of empathy for the girl astonished Blake. He had to consider his own reaction, too. Was he being too coddling? And why was he so concerned about protecting her feelings? She was a killing machine. If her list contained his name, she’d erase him from existence without care or concern.
“I thought I knew who I worked for, but now…” Haeli rested her hands on the top corners of the la
ptop screen. She tilted the screen toward the keyboard about an inch, and the glow lifted from her face. Then, losing her internal battle, tilted the screen open again. Its light reflected in her dark eyes.
“Here’s Wikipedia.” Griff skimmed. “It says ‘Techyon is a military contractor, science and technology company found by Levi Farr.’ Let’s see, ‘Farr was born in San Francisco.’ Oh, check this out, ‘Farr’s father, an American physicist at Stanford, and his mother, a biologist from Israel, died in a boating accident when Farr was seventeen years old. Farr put aside his plans to pursue a Doctorate at Stanford to join the military. He served eight years in the special forces before starting his own company, which he named Techyon as an homage to his father, who had been working on detecting the existence of the hypothetical Tachyon particle.’”
Haeli rolled her eyes and grunted. “I’ve heard that story a thousand times.”
Griff continued skimming and paraphrasing the article. “’Farr invested a sizable sum, left to him by his parents and enlisted the help of former team members to get the company off the ground.’ Oh, listen to this, it reads ‘Charismatic and sharp, Farr later secured several investors who allowed him to hire the top scientific minds available. In ten years, Farr transformed Techyon from a small diplomatic security, support missions and cyber security firm into a tech giant. In its current form, Techyon has its divisions advancing in the fields of smart weapons, biological weapons, genetics, and cyber warfare. The company holds hundreds of contracts with the United States Department of Defense and Israel Ministry of Defense and has a net worth of approximately one-hundred billion dollars.’ Who wrote this wiki, Levi Farr? Charismatic and sharp?”
“I would agree,” Blake said. “Let’s just say it’s undeservedly flattering.”
Haeli closed the laptop, slid it onto the couch, and shifted her body toward Blake and Griff. Her face was pale and her eyes bloodshot. “I don’t want to talk about Levi Farr anymore. I want to find my father and rid myself of all of them.”
“We’ll find him,” Griff said.
Blake didn’t like how much the statement sounded like a promise. He did not make promises he didn’t know if he could keep.
“Haeli,” Blake said. “Why don’t you get a few hours of sleep. It’s late. We’ll make a couple of calls in the morning and see what we can do. Okay?” He stepped around the couch and offered his hand. “I’ll walk you down to the room.”
Haeli reached up and allowed Blake to pull her to her feet. She walked toward the door.
“I’ll be right back,” Blake said.
“Uh huh.” Griff didn’t appear convinced.
Blake entered the hotel hallway and found Haeli waiting for him. They strolled the five hundred feet to Blake’s room and stopped in front of the door.
“I know it’s a lot,” Blake said, “but you’ll be able to think more clearly after some sleep.” Blake handed her the key card. “You may have to swipe this a few times to get it to go. It’s temperamental.”
“Got it.” Haeli said.
Blake paused. “Goodnight, then.”
Haeli’s shoulder twitched and before Blake realized it, her hand was in his.
“You don’t have to go,” Haeli said. “I mean, it’s your room. You can stay. I wouldn’t mind the company.”
“Yes, I do. Have to go. Goodnight.” Blake turned and walked away and fought his urge to glance back at her. It wasn’t until he reached Griff’s door that he heard the door to his room open and close. He glanced back at the empty hallway.
What have you gotten yourself into?
17
Levi dropped his bag on the brown leather sofa and inhaled the sweet fragrance of wood and varnish. Stained mahogany covered every inch of the eight-hundred-square-foot office. The bookshelves, ornate wall and ceiling paneling, and over-varnished floors would have been more typical in an Ivy League library than this modern facility.
The mammoth desk weighed a literal ton and had to be built in place by old-world artisans. What money could accomplish never ceased to amaze Levi. Not just the quality of the work, but the willingness of the men to place themselves in such a compromising position for triple the amount they would gain from typical projects. No one would ever be able to torture them into revealing the location of the facility.
Few people would ever see the office, making the cost more absurd. But to Levi, it was a punctuation mark. A testament to his success.
Levi wrapped his hands around the paws of the two lions carved into the mahogany wall panels behind the desk. He pulled the heavy doors, sliding them apart to reveal the living quarters beyond.
The four-thousand-square-foot luxury flat made the stodgy office seem an anachronism. Modern art hung on the stark, glossy walls. Brightly colored furniture spotted the floor for a minimalist effect.
Levi touched the screen embedded in the wall just past the entrance. He called up a preset code to shift the color of the lighting and start a rendition of Lionel Hampton’s ‘It Don’t Mean a Thing’ which was subsequently piped into every room.
Levi had spared no expense in automation. Every appliance, big or small, connected to the central brain. In addition to the automation, Levi relied on two staff members to maintain the residence.
With their own connected quarters, Greta and her sister Sofia could easily access the residence to cook, clean, stock and otherwise look after Levi’s comfort. The only direction he gave, the only non-negotiable job requirement, was that he never see them. Ever.
Levi opened the Sub Zero refrigerator and found it fully stocked with pre-made meals, snacks, juices, and a variety of India Pale Ale, sourced from New England. It seemed Greta and Sofia excelled in their new roles.
Levi pulled a pint-sized can of beer free of its plastic ring. He checked his watch and returned it to the top shelf of the fridge.
Too early.
He walked to the office, moved his bag beyond the sliding doors, and closed himself inside the shrine of mahogany.
Levi sat in the high-backed leather chair for ten seconds before checking his watch again and springing to his feet. He walked to the glass-topped bar, flipped one of the crystal glasses over, and poured himself a scotch.
A knock came at the door as he took a sip. “Come in. Oh, it’s you.” He hadn’t intended it to come out with such disappointment, but Sebastian Roberts was not who he was expecting.
Roberts stepped in and stood in a submissive posture. “Do you have a second?”
“Depends. Where the hell is Loftus?”
“I don’t know,” Roberts said. “I wanted to talk to you about Becher.”
“That’s why I need Loftus. He should have been here four minutes ago to update me on his team’s progress.”
“I don’t mean Haeli, I mean, yes, I do mean Haeli, but also Ben.”
“What about Ben? Did you talk to him? Did he give Loftus what he needed?”
“Not exactly,” Roberts said.
Loftus appeared in the doorway. He stood at attention.
“Get in here.”
One thing Levi missed about the military was the clear hierarchy. The stars or bars or chevrons told everyone what they needed to know about their place in the pecking order. Loftus would have been the equivalent of the Colonel, Levi figured. He had contemplated implementing military style titles at one time but realized it would cause unnecessary harm to morale. Guys who served in the military and achieved rank could have felt as though Levi had demoted them. There couldn’t be more chiefs than warriors, and where they came from, they were all chiefs.
“Tell me it’s done,” Levi said.
“I’m sorry, sir. There was a problem. My team had her pinned down, but she escaped. The good news is Wentz will no longer be an issue.”
“I don’t give a crap about Wentz.” Levi’s blood pressure skyrocketed so he felt lightheaded. “Explain to me how your entire team could have her and then let her escape.”
“She had help.” Loftus paused but, after not
receiving a response, took the hint that his answer was insufficient. He elaborated. “She met with Wentz in a hotel room. We tracked her there, covered the room, sent Sullivan up on an adjacent roof to get a clear shot. Rest of the team covered the room, elevators, and lobby. Turned out she had a disguise. Someone helped her by giving it to her.”
“A disguise. That’s your excuse? She had a disguise?”
“It’s worse.” Loftus’s legs swayed as if they would buckle. “We tracked her down to this conference. A computer hacker thing. She killed two of my men, disabled the other two, and escaped again. And—”
“And?” It took everything Levi had to calm himself. To act the part of someone who did not want to kill the man with his bare hands.
“We think she had more help. Benson was staking out her room. There was a guy. A redheaded guy with a beard that came by to clean the room. He disappeared, leaving his cart, the bed unmade. Benson found someone removed a piece of the molding and we think she sent him in to get something. Probably what Wentz gave her.”
“Tell me something,” Levi said, his voice soft and measured. “Was Sullivan killed?”
“No sir, it was—”
“Good,” Levi said. “You’re relieved of your command, effective immediately. Sullivan will head your team. What’s left of them. You will depart for Tel Aviv this afternoon and take up your new position.”
“Sir? But—”
“That will be all.” Levi dismissed him.
“Sir, but what position?”
“Diplomatic security, something that you could once do without screwing up. I suggest you leave now before you’re scrubbing toilets or out on your ass. Copy?”
“Copy.” Loftus did an about face and scurried out of the room.