Killer of Killers (22 page)

Again, Soriah’s men came to fetch him, and
again, Jason followed them to the executive suite. There sat
Soriah, no longer pricked and poked, but fully dressed in a royal
blue suit behind his elegant desk. He was focused on the computer
screen, apparently reading a string of reports written by his slew
of researchers. Charles Morgan worked the computer nearby.

Within the doorframe, Jason waited to be
recognized.

Soriah turned his head. “Yes, yes, Dr.
Benson, do come in. Have a seat, and be comfortable. I’ll be only a
moment.”

Jason lowered himself into the closest chair
while Soriah returned his attention to his computer screen. Again,
Jason wasted precious minutes on the whims of the man who employed
him. It was near intolerable. Jason was a world-famous biochemist,
but at the moment he felt more like a troubled teen awaiting the
dean of men.

With his eyes fixed on his monitor, Soriah
said, “According to your latest entry, we have reason for
optimism.”

“That’s correct, sir,” Jason replied.
“Calculations indicate the current run may be the first series to
remain potent beyond the established norm of six months. And
theoretical returns show a significant decrease in pheromone
malfunction. We believe the twenty-eight hundred series holds the
key to solving the crisis.”

Looking only slightly pleased, Soriah
responded, “Very well, our first real progress over the last three
years. You know what to do then. All extractions of Eternity must
be a variant of those formulas.”

“We’re on it,” Jason said.

“Very good, Dr. Benson, you may proceed.”

Jason stood up to exit, but after a single
step, Soriah called out, “Oh, and Dr. Benson...”

Jason halted.

“There is still the matter of East Coast
distribution.” Soriah’s voice turned cold. “I told you how
important that was.”

Jason frowned. “I haven’t had time yet to
account for the New York disbursement. I’ve been preoccupied here
in the lab.”

“Then it’s out of your hands,” Soriah
snapped. “Beginning tomorrow, my Specials will take the
assignment.”

Jason wanted to respond, but he had nothing
more to say.

Finally, Soriah uttered, “Very well, then.
Charles and I are leaving now, but next week, I’ll be looking
forward to your report. Until then.”

After nodding in compliance, Jason watched
Soriah and Charles abandon the suite for their return to New York.
But with the top man gone, he felt no less ill at ease. Soriah
resorted to using his ‘Specials’ when he wanted immediate
results—and by any means necessary.

Regardless, Jason was eager to get back to
work, and he pondered which of his orders to follow first. He
wandered back to the master lab and saw Dr. Lee typing and reading,
typing and reading, as if the man was an automated extension to his
computer. On the other side of the room sat Dr. Wong. He was a
mirror image of Dr. Lee.

In between them, Jason studied his own
computer. The monitor showed only his desktop, which featured a
peaceful country scene of green grass and blue sky. “What’s the
current status of Eternity’s twenty-eight hundred run?” he asked
without specifying either of his associates.

“We have submitted the latest figures to the
master computers,” Dr. Lee answered. “We’re waiting on the returns
now.”

“Make sure you verify the preliminary
feedback on our in-house subjects,” Jason advised. “I don’t want to
wait for Eternals. Most of them never care to report, anyway.”

“We can send reminders,” Dr. Wong
suggested.

Jason shook his head. “Forget it.” He stepped
to the window and peered at the wilderness beyond the electrified
fence. With his hands clasped behind his back, he explained, “No
need interrupting their prodigal lifestyles for a trip to
Nowheresville. Why should they bother? Cuts and scratches heal in
front of their eyes. Annual viral afflictions have ceased. Their
allergies have gone away. STDs are no longer a concern. They look
bigger, stronger, and feel better than ever before in their charmed
and carefree lives.” He turned to face his colleagues. “No, these
people are used to instant gratification, and Eternity provides it.
If anything goes wrong, they know we’ll contact them and rectify
the problem, as always.” He returned to his computer and studied
the monitor while handling the mouse. “If the returns are
consistent, submit the formula to production upon
confirmation.”

“What about the outgoing shipments?” Dr. Wong
inquired.

“Let them go,” Jason said. “And proceed with
processing in E Wing. It will be several weeks before the new
version is ready, and the current supply will cover the lapse of
recalibration. It’s better for everyone if we all stay busy. I’m
sure Mr. Soriah will agree.”

Doctors Wong and Lee sent the orders through
their computers. Jason looked on and considered the lab’s
computers. They calculated theoretical formulas. They predicted
variant derivatives. They even managed processing in the production
wing. And the computers in the main lab controlled all of the other
computers. The facility would be crippled without them.

With several clicks of his mouse, Jason
accessed a personalized website he created for his eyes only. He
clicked on the icon
Solutions
and then linked to
Activate
. He clicked on
Standby
and started the
program. A new site emerged, and it was there he put the cursor on
an icon that read
Wipe Out
.

Several moments passed before Dr. Wong spoke
up. “Dr. Benson? We’re ready. Dr. Benson?”

Jason turned to his fellow scientists. He
straightened his back and grasped his lapels. “Gentlemen,” he said,
“let’s take our tour, shall we?”

Jason walked side by side with Doctors Wong
and Lee across the expansive hub and through the doors to A Wing.
Being the administrative section, most personnel were off duty for
the weekend, but the computer labs remained active with technicians
minding scores of elaborate hardware. As Jason and his two Chinese
assistants passed, skeleton crews corrected their postures. Among
them, the American workers nodded a salute while their Asian
counterparts stood up and bowed.

Next, they crossed into Wing B, which
contained the executive offices and temporary suites. Two huge
security guards remained posted outside Soriah’s office. Not once
had Jason seen it unguarded, whether Soriah was present or not.
Past the sectional divide, a stylish patient ward contained
volunteers—human guinea pigs—hooked up with wires and connected to
monitors. Pharmacists, nurses, and lab personnel swarmed the
corridors, passing each other like ants in underground hives.

C Wing featured men wearing outfits that
looked like spacesuits. They worked behind windows in airtight
vaults. This was the production quarter, and the enclosed operators
mixed sterilized solutions, guided by the computer network. Other
similarly suited workers, assisted by intricate machinery, prepared
syringes and filled them with serum.

As Jason and Doctors Wong and Lee toured
further, they viewed the packaging plants. It was there automatons
filled hundreds of thin black cases with double rows of their tiny
tubular product. The shipping department handled the final stages
of the process. Laborers stacked black leather bags and sorted them
for distribution.

Wing D focused on animal research. Scientists
and technicians examined animals confined in separate rooms sealed
with timed locks. Peering through successive windows, Jason
witnessed cats and dogs in small cages, and all with their craniums
removed. Glass domes secured the animal brains into which wires and
electrodes attached. Readings flashed on monitors, and technicians
in pairs recorded the relevant data.

Next were the Rhesus Monkeys, also in cages,
similarly treated with brains encased in glass and connected to
wires. Some were unrestrained, but sturdy straps confined most of
them to medical gurneys. Their simian faces displayed a
tranquilized acceptance to their fate.

A section with chimpanzees exhibited the
biting edge of the experiments. Some had their cranial skulls
removed like the prior animals, but others had their chest walls
replaced with surfaces of clear crystal. Wires and electrodes
conglomerated into a network of monitoring devices. All of the
chimps lay sprawled on their backs, and all of them were
unconscious.

In the lobby of E Wing, Jason hesitated. A
Chinese guard wearing the Lab Security uniform sat at a desk beside
a heavily fortified gateway. Jason asked, “Is that the new
guy?”

Dr. Wong answered, “This is Zao Lin. Mr.
Morgan hired him last week. We are so happy for him to join
us.”

The guard stood up and bowed.

“He’s no bigger than I am,” Jason noted.

“No worries,” Dr. Lee replied. “He comes
highly recommended by the ambassador at the Chinese embassy.”

“So what’s so
special
about him?”
Jason asked.

Dr. Wong answered, “Mr. Morgan chose him
because he is the highest ranking Kung Fu master in all of
China.”

Jason frowned with a shrug. “Let’s get on
with this, shall we?”

“Yes, sir,” the new guard answered. He
stepped forward to administer an iris identification check with a
hand-held, pistol-shaped device. Its front end emitted a thin red
light, and from the handle, a black cord connected to the security
computer’s hard drive.

After successive eye exams, the guard
admitted Jason and his assistants to the private wing. They
strolled through wide corridors and observed several workers, both
men and women, all Chinese nationals, scurrying to and fro. Garbed
in white, the male staff sported short-sleeved, V-necked shirts,
slacks, and shiny white, hard-soled shoes. The women wore white,
knee-length nursing dresses with white tights and matching white
shoes. Jason always thought it looked like a scene from a Chinese
General Hospital. Some of the workers acknowledged them, but most
went about their business as usual.

Minutes later, Jason grasped a shoulder on
each of his associates. “You go ahead,” he told them. “I’m going
back.”

Doctors Wong and Lee continued the inspection
while Jason returned to the gateway and rang its security bell. Zao
Lin responded by looking through the circular window and opening
the motorized gateway.

In the main lab, Jason sat in front of his
computer and brooded in solitude. He glanced over his shoulder and
then recalled his personal website. He clicked on the icon
Solutions
. Next, he scrolled to the link that read
Activate
. He clicked on that one, too. He scrolled past
Standby
and clicked
Engage
. He started the program.
Again, he placed the cursor over
Wipe Out
.

Chapter Twelve

Who’s a Nobody?

Unlike his first
appearance in the Big Apple, Trent stepped off the airline looking
forward to his New York visit. For him, however, it was business
before pleasure. The rapper Shalom DaBomb earned his interest in a
way unique from the rest. While the balance of celebrity killers
tried to live down the dark chapters of their past, this man used
his criminal episode to advance his career. The rap star murdered
two live-in girlfriends and, unlike the others, was convicted,
albeit to a lesser charge.

Based on what he learned recently, Trent
figured the performer shared Soriah’s potion with the women. How
ironic, he mused, they met untimely deaths as a result of a drug
they injected to lengthen their lives. If the serum had never been
invented, scores of the dead would still be alive, several hands
less bloodied, and American courts largely uncompromised.

As far as Trent was concerned, Eternity’s
involvement mattered in only one way. These celebrity elitists who
believed themselves superior because of lucky breaks, or even
marginal talent, now found themselves above the law. For that,
Trent was even more determined to render each of them his due.

It was Monday afternoon. Outside the
terminal, a jet-lagged Trent raised his hand toward a row of taxis
lined on the curb. A yellow cab pulled up, but when Trent opened
the door he saw a man seated on the far end. He knew who it was.
The tall messenger from Minnesota had caught up to him. Even though
Trent never got a good look at his face in that dim Minneapolis
parking lot, his presence was unmistakable. The stranger spoke.
“It’s all right, Mr. Smith, please come in. You won’t be
harmed.”

“No thanks,” Trent replied. He backed
away.

The stranger asked, “Are you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid, just cautious.”

“You don’t have to be cautious of me, I
assure you. Please, we can talk. You might like what I have to
say.”

“Why should I like anything you have to
say?”

“You won’t know for sure until you hear
it.”

Trent had enough banter. “Is this cab
supposed to be my next fighting ring, and are you supposed to be my
next opponent?”

“No, Mr. Smith, not at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no doubt, whatsoever, that
you would kill me, Mr. Smith. And I have no wish to die today.”

Trent decided the man was sincere. He entered
the vehicle.

* * * *

The taxi drove off, and as it did, a swarthy
man in a black suit stepped to the curb. This was Ali, a giant of a
man standing well over six feet and carrying the higher side of
three hundred pounds on his massive frame. He pushed his black hair
to the side of his head, and all the while he trained his eyes on
the taxi that had just pulled away.

His same-sized cousin Jamir joined him, and
he too watched the taxi as it shrank in the distance. Jamir’s muddy
complexion deepened around his dark eyes, which narrowed into
slits. Another taxi pulled up, and after they entered, it drove in
the path of the taxi before.