Killer of Killers (20 page)

“Different? You mean murderous.”

“Potentially, as we’ve seen, but not
necessarily, and again, only in mixed company. It’s more accurate
to say Eternity cancels pheromone effects under those conditions,
but with some people it can reverse normal attraction to the point
of violence.

“Take Robinson’s case for instance. He, his
wife, and sister-in-law were among the very first Eternals. After
all, he was an established senator in the state where we needed
legislation passed to ensure Eternity’s research and production
remained consistent with the law. And everything seemed to go
smoothly at first, but appearances were not the reality. The serum
neutralized the couple’s mutual attraction, even as they became
increasingly promiscuous. Then the tragic incident occurred.
Robinson’s violent past was divulged with some investigation, and
Dr. Bernstein uncovered the connection to the serum. Shortly
thereafter, we were compelled to exclude women from treatment until
the problem could be solved.”

“And Stiles?” Trent wanted to hear
Manoukian’s version.

“Benjamin Stiles was a violent man his entire
life. He became an Eternal the same time Josh did. When he made
contact with the Bernstein family, their twin daughters were
already users. They resisted him, and in the resulting scuffle,
Stiles lost control and killed the entire family.”

“And Flint?”

“Yes, Flint was a violent man, as well. When
he became an Eternal, we didn’t know that his wife was a user, too,
like the others, and the same thing happened to them.”

Trent lowered his gaze. He never liked drugs,
and apparently, this Eternity was the
epitome
of drugs. But
there was something about it that Manoukian and even Josh didn’t
want Samantha to know. Trent wasn’t even sure
he
wanted to
know. He wasn’t a scientist. He was a killer of
killers
, and
as far as he knew, Abraham Soriah was not—and had never been—a
killer. The room was silent until Josh said to Samantha, “I’m sure
glad you aren’t using this stuff.”

Samantha said nothing, but she peeked at
Trent. He rolled his eyes, knowing it wasn’t just the FBI who got a
sample from Stiles’ leather bag.

To Josh’s comment, Manoukian responded, “Not
to worry, Josh. Since the days of cavemen, siblings have been
immune to each other’s pheromones.”

“Besides,” Samantha added, “Josh isn’t a
violent man.”

Trent focused on the issue. “You said that
Soriah won’t permit women to be Eternals until they solve this
problem. What if they never solve it?”

“Make no mistake, they will solve it,”
Manoukian replied. “After all, what good would Soriah’s paradise be
without the company of the fairer sex, eh, Mr. Smith?” He smiled
and then looked at Samantha.

Josh commented, “I would think that would be
his next priority after he achieves the reversal of the aging
process.”

Trent knew it was no secret that Soriah’s
current objective was to reverse aging, but to give it priority
over the pheromone murders? He didn’t like the sound of that. “You
were the one who
started
this whole thing,” he said to
Manoukian. “If it took so many years to get steroids to
stop
aging, how much longer do you suppose it will take to
reverse
it?”

“No one knows,” Manoukian said. “I am really
only a distributor at this point. But I would like very much to
regain
control
of what I started. If I do, I assure you
Eternity will be marketed to the masses. Everyone will have the
opportunity to improve their lives. No one will be denied, like
Soriah has been doing and most certainly will continue to do. I
hope you have come to see it the way we do. Soriah has a vision
that isn’t unlike Adolph Hitler’s. He must be stopped. Will you
help us?”

Again, the room fell silent. All eyes focused
on Trent. He sat unmoving with his elbows on the armrests. What
seemed like a long time was only a matter of seconds when he spoke.
“You want me to kill a man who has never killed anyone
himself?”

“Soriah may not have killed anyone,”
Manoukian conceded, “but he is responsible for several murderers
walking the streets, as you know.”

“He hasn’t
killed
anyone,” Trent said
again. “I am a killer of killers only. It is justice that I seek.
Justice is my only solace. Without justice, I do no honor to myself
or to the art I serve.”

Manoukian’s eyes narrowed. “You talk about
justice,” he sneered. “What about justice in the future? It is
undeniable that future generations will suffer at the hands of
Soriah’s super race. Don’t you realize the scope of those numbers?
We’re talking about billions of people, Mr. Smith. Billions of
people.”

“Soriah hasn’t killed anyone,” Trent said yet
again.

“Then let me ask you this, Mr. Smith. If you
could kill Adolph Hitler, Chairman Mao, Pol Pot, or Joseph Stalin
before they murdered the millions that they did, would you?”

Trent answered, “No, Mr. Manoukian, because
if I did that, I would have murdered innocent men. I cannot take
the life of another on the presumption of future guilt. There is no
honor in a killing such as that. I would have nothing but a
bloodlust that isn’t one step above that of a mad dog.”

Frowning, Manoukian jumped to his feet. “I’m
very sorry to hear that, Mr. Smith. I’m very sorry.”

Trent rose to his feet, also. He looked at
Samantha and then Josh. With no more words, he turned to leave, but
as he did, Manoukian said, “The future is at stake, Mr. Smith. If
you change your mind, I’ll be here. Please don’t hesitate to call
me.”

“Don’t count on it,” Trent snapped. “I work
for no one, and that’s the way I like it.” He strutted to the
double doors and, unwilling to wait for an automatic activation,
shoved them aside.

* * * *

Karl Manoukian watched the doors sweep shut.
He was speechless and noticed that neither Josh nor Samantha had
anything further to say. After several moments, he broke the
silence. “That’s all for tonight, my friends. Josh, we’ll meet
tomorrow, bright and early.”

The siblings stood to leave, but when they
stepped toward the door, Karl spoke again. “Samantha, would you
stay, please.” He used his most pleasant voice. “No need to wait,
Josh. I’ll have her driven home safely.”

Josh looked to Samantha, who said, “It’s
okay, Josh, go ahead.”

After Josh departed, Karl gestured to the
sofa. “Please, sit down, my dear. I would like to talk for a few
moments.”

Samantha sat, as did Karl beside her.

“Have I proven myself to you yet,
Samantha?”

“Proven yourself? What do you mean?”

“Please,” Karl continued. “I have offered my
love to you, but you won’t accept it. All these years I have been
waiting for you. Haven’t I proven myself to you? What will it take
to win your heart?”

“Karl, I can’t promise my heart to anyone.
But if you could promise me you’re not in this just for the
money... If you could convince me you really want to help people, I
would think more highly of you.”

“I have sunk my entire fortune into Eternity.
You can’t blame me for trying to earn some of it back.”

“No, I don’t, but if Trent is right, and you
only sell to the rich people of the world, then that makes you
almost as bad as Abraham Soriah.”

Karl furrowed his brow. “So it’s all about
Trent and what
he
wants,” he said. “You’ve been influenced
by
his
sentiment, I see.”

“No, not at all. I want Eternity to help
everyone. Not just those very few who can afford inflated prices.
Surely, you knew that. Didn’t you?”

“Of course, my dear,” Karl replied. “And if I
were to tell you that I would work with the government to establish
an equitable distribution program, so the benefits of Eternity
could be made available to all? I would like to know... What would
you think of me then?”

Samantha’s eyes softened. “I would think that
you are a very decent man, Karl. I would think that you would be
worthy of the Nobel Prize.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but Karl
smiled anyway. “The Nobel Prize,” he echoed, despondently. “And I
would be honored to receive it. Yet there is another prize I seek.
One I value far more. She has blond hair, incredible eyes, and she
sits before me even now.”

Samantha turned away, as if she didn’t like
hearing the words. Then she turned to Karl again, her eyes
searching and hopeful. “If you were in charge, you would submit
Eternity to the World Health Organization?”

“Well, let’s not get carried away, my love. I
have accounts to settle and payrolls to administer. People depend
on me. I do need to make a profit, you understand. Surely, you
do
understand.”

“I understand profit,” Samantha said, “but if
only the elite can afford this, then everything Trent said is
true.” Her face saddened, and she rose to her feet. “Now, please,
you said you’d have me driven home.”

“Yes, of course.”

Samantha departed, and Karl felt scorned yet
again. Despite his lofty achievements, everything he built had
collapsed all around him. With the successful development of his
wonder drug, he should be the most powerful man in the world. But
another powerful man had usurped his destiny. And now, a new man
with a different kind of power had become a player. This man had
the power to usurp the heart of the woman he loved, and Karl
realized
that
was the power he envied the most.

* * * *

It was only midmorning, but the heat in
Oakland’s industrial district already sweltered in the dirt and
billowing dust. Factories spewed their pollutants through sky-high
smoke stacks, and large trucks barreled down smog-filled freeways.
Just off the docks and inside an empty warehouse, Trent Smith, on
his knees, faced three metal buckets—each filled with a collection
of different sized stones.

At the moment, he was thrusting rigid fingers
into the center bucket of pebble-sized stones. The force of each
strike alternately penetrated the stones to mid-forearm, again and
again. He clenched his teeth and grimaced but made no sound. As in
a trance, he dismissed the concept of time. Perspiration flowed
over his brows and flooded his eyes. He welcomed the resulting
sting. The salty fluid invaded his mouth and compounded a rabid
thirst. He didn’t submit.

To anyone else, Trent realized this wouldn’t
be training. The self-imposed ordeal tested the fringes of human
endurance. He knew that it was the difference in winning or losing
every hand-to-hand conflict. Whether in a ring back in Japan or in
a death struggle stateside, the excruciating preparation forged his
winning edge.

Hours passed, and Trent switched to a larger
set of stones. Into the bucket he hurled his fists. One after the
other, he maintained the movement as in a ritual. He increased the
force of each delivery, resulting in his arms buried to the elbows.
Again, hours passed. A drenched T-shirt clung to his aching back,
while his knees were centered in a pool of sweat on the concrete
floor.

The motion became torturous—each strike an
enormous effort. Both arms seemed to carry the weight of trucks as
they ruptured the fragmented granite. Trent’s rational mind begged
him to stop. He paid no heed. Twenty years of like training
hardened bones of steel. It was the way he conditioned in Japan,
and crossing the Pacific afforded no change of habit.

Trent moved to the last of the pails. It
contained an even larger set of stones. Into it he flung his
elbows, one after the other. Each impact buried an arm to
mid-bicep, and again the hours passed. His body throbbed, but a
seething hatred for those who preyed on innocents fueled him on.
Every strike bore witness the contempt he harbored for years
beneath a superficial sheen of contrived civility.

Eventually, Trent noticed long shadows cast
by declining light sifting through glassless windows, and he
stepped to his feet. Stretching his hands into the air, he let out
a scream pulled from his very soul. It echoed throughout the vacant
building and into the streets, but only feral cats heard the cry.
Feline heads whirled around, and pointed ears twisted. With arched
backs and quilled hair, they hissed and ran away.

For the session finale, Trent stood between
two beams of wood, which supported the empty upper rooms. Reaching
the extreme limits of his stamina, he sustained the workout by
swinging his forearms against them. Soon, he switched to kicks, and
again the hours passed. Lastly, he alternated forearms and calves.
Having started at sunrise, the training only finished when the
moon’s full face granted her approval through the gaping window.
Trent absorbed the lunar tranquility and cherished the stellar
reunion.

Only then he snatched a plastic bottle from a
nearby shelf and guzzled the soothing liquid. With a towel on his
neck, he hiked along the bay where boaters returned from their day
in the sun.

Shortly, Trent passed the vast green acres of
a golf course. He appreciated honed skills, but such things were
not for him. For Trent, it was all about improving his existence.
The many hours he spent today increased both his physical and
mental conditioning. For that, his body became a better fighting
machine than it was the day before. He would have it no other
way.

* * * *

It was late evening, and Trent sat in his
living room chair in front of his flickering television. A glass of
water dripped an icy sweat over his fingers, and as was his habit,
he channel-surfed with indifference while multiple thoughts
overflowed in his brain. Sporadic images of Samantha, Susie, Josh,
and the two executives flashed one to the other.

The sounds and sensations of his recent
experiences blended indiscernibly until he found himself in the
middle of a ring. It was Japan of last year. He stood alone, facing
a Chinese Kung Fu master. The fight lasted longer than previous
bouts, but he paced it well and knew the match was his.