by Greg Cox
Danny’s body?
We’ll have to check that out, she thought, after we’ve cleared the scene.
Holding their firearms in the high-ready position, they spread out and methodically swept the premises. Just beyond the back rooms, they entered a large area equipped with brown vinyl couches and IV poles. A variety of smaller work spaces surrounded the open floor. “Clear!” Tom shouted out from the reception area up front. Diana poked her head into a series of offices and an employee locker room. A long Plexiglas window divided the donation area from an attached laboratory. Faded posters touted the lifesaving benefits of plasma donation. A flyer on a bulletin board extolled a Thanksgiving Turkey raffle that had probably never happened. Apparently every pint of plasma you donated had earned you another chance at the turkey.
“Clear!” Diana called back from an empty office. They appeared to have the place to themselves.
Bernard Grayson was nowhere to be seen.
The agents converged in the center of the donation area. They holstered their guns. Tom walked across the room and peered through the window at the lab beyond. “You’re the scientist,” he said to Diana. “This tell you anything?”
“Well, I don’t see any plasmapheresis machines on the floor here,” she observed, “which suggests that the Global Outreach Committee is not in the business of harvesting plasma from winos.” A fully equipped crash cart, complete with shock paddles, implied more serious medical procedures. She took a closer look at the equipment on the other side of the Plexiglas divider. “CAT scans. Centrifuges. A DNA sequencer. At a glance, I’ve got to say that this looks suspiciously similar to the setup we found at Grayson and Son.”
Tom nodded. “That’s what I thought, too.”
“Which means we’re on the right track,” she said. The temperature was nicely toasty compared to outside, which meant that somebody had turned the heat back on after the center was shut down. She unzipped her jacket. “We just haven’t found our man yet.”
“Yeah.” He looked back toward the storeroom. “Guess we’d better check out that freezer unit.”
Diana could tell that he wasn’t looking forward to finding more clones of Danny’s body.
“You want me to handle that?” she volunteered.
“Thanks, but that’s not necessary.” He braced himself for whatever they might discover next. “Let’s just get this over with, together.”
“Don’t bother,” a third voice interrupted. “You’re not going anywhere.”
At first the voice seemed to come from nowhere. Then the air shimmered around them and the agents found themselves surrounded by a trio of gun-wielding newcomers. Bernard Grayson was accompanied by two strangers: a ginger-haired youth wearing a University of Washington sweater and a plump, middle-aged Filipino woman in a white nurse’s uniform. The two men pointed semiautomatics at the ambushed agents. The older woman leaned heavily on a cane. She was breathing hard. Perspiration gleamed upon her cherubic features. Diana thought she looked vaguely familiar.
An original recipe 4400, or one of the new “extracrispies”?
Diana reached instinctively for her sidearm, only to hear Grayson rack his gun slide. “Don’t even think about it,” he advised her. A blue lab coat had replaced his somber undertaker’s suit. He nodded at the buff young man. “Carl, relieve them of their weapons.”
The agents reluctantly surrendered their weapons. The college boy deposited them on an empty couch near the back of the room.
“Hello again, Agent Skouris, Agent Baldwin,” Grayson said. “We’ve been expecting you.”
The SSST, short for Silent Supersonic Transport, was an experimental prototype hijacked from Boeing’s Phantom Works division by a disgruntled engineer who had joined Collier’s Movement after surviving fifty/fifty. The sleek private aircraft was large enough to carry roughly a dozen passengers and fast enough to get them to the East Coast in a matter of hours. State-of-the-art engines muffled the sonic booms associated with the earlier Concorde, allowing them to fly cross-country without rattling crockery across the continent. The stolen plane had launched from a hidden airfield somewhere on the Olympic Peninsula. Meghan and the others had been smuggled out of Seattle blindfolded in order to preserve the security of Collier’s illicit air operations.
Seated aboard the SSST, Meghan had a sneaking suspicion she knew how Richard Tyler and his fellow assassins had managed to get to Rome and back undetected. Not that Collier would ever admit that, of course.
She had to wonder what other top-secret resources Collier had at his disposal. After all, he now had many of the best minds at Boeing, Microsoft, Amazon, and Ubient Software to recruit from, not to mention p-positive geniuses like Dalton Gibbs. In more ways than one, he had the future on his side.
And that was a very scary thought.
She sat across from Marco, while she researched Eastern State Penitentiary on her laptop. A pair of red designer reading glasses perched on her nose. Thankfully, there was no end of information online regarding the historic prison, including a couple of video tours of the ruins. A glance at Marco’s own computer revealed that he was busy downloading numerous images of the prison’s interior to his cell phone, the better to teleport about the structure if necessary.
Good idea, she thought. Too bad I can’t award him a bonus for this mission.
Across the aisle, the two Garritys took advantage of the flight to catch up on their sleep. They snored in harmony.
Tess Doerner sat apart from the NTAC agents, keeping to her self. She appeared immersed in a paperback copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Meghan still wasn’t entirely comfortable including the former mental patient in this operation, no matter how handy her unique ability might prove. As far as she knew, the girl’s only true loyalty was to Kevin Burkhoff. Meghan had to worry about her motives.
If she wanted to take over this mission, how on Earth would I stop her?
Marco looked up from his laptop. His eyes met hers.
“Feels weird not to have Tom and Diana along,” he said. “This is more their kind of action than mine.”
“Tell me about it.” She had already left a message on Tom’s home machine, telling him not to expect her for dinner tonight, but she wished she had been able to speak with him directly before embarking on this mission. Despite Collier’s bias against agents without abilities, she had been sorely tempted to enlist Tom and Diana anyway. They both had a lot more experience with Richard Tyler than she did.
But, no, she had ultimately decided, Tom and Diana were too urgently needed in Seattle to divert them on this dubious rescue mission. Shutting down the plot to clone Danny Farrell was just as important as liberating Richard Tyler.
Maybe even more so.
“Okay, they’re not going anywhere.”
Carl finished binding Tom and Diana to adjoining couches. Thick leather straps held their arms and legs down. Tom strained against the restraints, but didn’t feel any give. He and Diana were at their captors’ mercy.
Grayson lowered his gun. He stood a few feet away, watching the proceedings carefully. The older woman sat on a stool nearby, knitting a sweater.
“Sorry we can’t make you more comfortable,” the mortician said acidly. Life on the run had clearly taken a toll on him. Stubble dotted his gaunt cheeks and jaw. Purple pouches hung under bloodshot eyes. His voice seethed with resentment. “But this was the best reception we could arrange under such short notice.”
Grayson had claimed earlier that he and his accomplices had been expecting them. Tom wondered who had tipped them off. Had Kyle spilled the beans to Collier after all? Tom prayed that his son wasn’t to blame for their dire circumstances. Who else could it be? he agonized. We only found out about this place a few hours ago!
Diana must have been pondering the same question. “Mind telling us how you knew we were coming?”
“That would be my doing,” a new voice explained.
Abigail Hunnicutt strolled in from the back, looking just as a
t home in the refurbished plasma center as she was in the Theory Room. The blond analyst waved at Grayson and the others. “Sorry to be running late. We were short-handed at NTAC. Everybody seemed to be playing hooky this afternoon …”
Tom’s jaw dropped. He exchanged a confused look with Diana. “Abby?”
“Hi, Tom, Diana,” she greeted them. A wet twill raincoat dripped water onto the floor. She seemed not at all dismayed to see her colleagues trussed up like unruly patients in a psych ward. “Guess you wonder what I’m doing here.”
“A little,” Tom admitted. Surprise gave way to anger as he realized that Abby had betrayed them. His face flushed brightly. “I’m not used to being sold out by my own people!”
Diana gave her a withering look. “How could you?”
“What can I say?” She shrugged. “The Great Leap Forward changed everything, including me. It’s obvious now that the Movement is the future.” There wasn’t a hint of guilt in her voice. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting to be on the right side of history.”
Diana did not let her off the hook. “No matter how many people perish to build Collier’s brave new world?”
“People die every day for no reason at all,” Grayson said. “Trust me, nobody knows that better than a mortician. I wasted most of my adult life processing their worthless remains, making no meaningful contribution to the world, until the Great Leap Forward opened my eyes and expanded my perceptions.” He raised his eyes heavenward and steepled his hands before his chest. “I’ll never forget that day. My brain came alive with new ideas and understanding. I found my purpose for being.”
Abby nodded. “Bernie is being too modest. Promicin amplified his IQ to a phenomenal degree, giving him an innate understanding of chemistry and biology. He knows more about DNA and genetic modification than most Nobel Prize winners. He’s been a godsend to our project.”
“That was no accident,” Grayson declared. “All of this was meant to be.” He looked at Tom. “When your nephew’s body came into my possession, right after I changed, I realized that it was no mere coincidence. I knew at once that I was destined to spread Daniel’s gift to all the world.” He gestured at Carl, who was keeping a close eye on the prisoners. “With the help of courageous volunteers like Carl here.”
The young man brushed away Grayson’s accolade. His gun was tucked in his trousers. “It’s a privilege and an honor. I only hope I can be the one to bring the rest of mankind into the fold.”
“You will be,” Abby promised him. Her voice rang with certainty. “We’re going to succeed this time. I can feel it.”
Tom realized there was no reasoning with these people. They were all true believers, like that fanatic at the mortuary. Even Abby seemed to have embraced Collier’s agenda with all her heart. All he could hope from them now were answers.
“But I saw Danny’s body at his funeral,” Tom said. “I helped load his casket into the hearse.”
Grayson indicated the older woman in the corner. “Thank Rosita there. Perhaps you remember her from Danny’s service? She projected an illusion of your nephew’s body during the ceremony, just as she masked our presence from your senses several minutes ago.”
Rosita looked up from her knitting. She beamed proudly.
“But the duplicate bodies?” Diana asked. “How did you manage that?”
Abby raised her hand. “That would be me again. I’m afraid I’ve been holding out on you guys when it comes to the full extent of my ability. I can do more than just read DNA, I can also manipulate it.” She flexed her fingers. “With Bernie’s help, I’ve been attempting to turn willing volunteers into perfect genetic doubles of Danny Farrell.”
“I’ve seen your work,” Diana said coldly. “In our morgue.”
Abby flinched. “I admit that none of our test subjects have survived the procedure so far,” she said defensively. Diana had obviously hit a nerve. “But I’m getting closer every time.” She turned to reassure Carl. “We’re almost there. I know it!”
“I believe you,” the youth said. “I have faith in the future.” He scowled at Tom and Diana. “So what are we going to do with these Feds anyway?” He drew his gun and leveled it at the supine agents. “I say we waste them now before they can cause any more trouble.”
His bloodthirsty tone reminded Tom of the homicidal morgue assistant. What was it about Collier’s message that inspired such blind devotion in young men like Carl and Kyle? A desire to make their mark on the world, no matter the consequences? Carl sounded positively eager to kill in Collier’s name.
“Not a good idea,” Abby objected. “According to the prophecies, which I believe to be coded instructions from the future, Baldwin has a special destiny to fulfill. Eliminating him would risk everything we’ve worked for.”
“Right,” Carl conceded. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He turned his gun toward Diana instead. “What about her, though?”
Abby vetoed that execution as well. “Skouris is special in her own right. She has a unique immunity to promicin that merits closer study.”
“I concur,” Grayson said. He eyed Diana with scientific curiosity. “A careful analysis of her blood chemistry could yield valuable insights into the effects of promicin on the human nerve system.”
Clearly outnumbered, Carl lowered his gun. Disappointment showed on his face. “So what are we going to do with them?”
“Kill two birds with one stone,” Abby said smugly. She had it all worked out. “The prophecies say Baldwin is destined to become one of us, right? And if we can transform you into another Danny Farrell, we’re going to need a guinea pig to make sure you can actually infect people with promicin …”
Tom realized Abby intended to test Carl’s ability on him. “That’s not going to work,” he warned them. “I dosed myself with U-Pills right before I came in.”
Abby shrugged. “Well then, we’re just going to have to wait for them to wear off.”
SIXTEEN
EASTERN STATE PENITENTIARY loomed before them like something out of the Dark Ages. Nestled in an upscale Philadelphia neighborhood of bookstores, museums, and pricy restaurants, the medieval-looking fortress stood out like an immense stone anachronism, almost as though it had been dropped into place by the same time travelers that had relocated the 4400 in history. Watchtowers and crenellated battlements crowned its gloomy gray façade. Darkened arrow-slit windows looked out over the street below. Moss climbed its weathered thirty-foot walls. The mammoth prison occupied an entire city block. Floodlights, positioned along the base of the gatehouse, illuminated its granite exterior. The building’s intimidating appearance was quite deliberate, intended to instill the fear of God, and a profound sense of penitence, in all who were brought unwillingly through its gates. “Let the doors be of iron,” one of the prison’s nineteenth-century founders had instructed, “and let the grating, occasioned by opening and shutting them, be increased by an echo that shall deeply pierce the soul.”
Or so Meghan had read. From the looks of the place, Dr. Benjamin Rush had gotten just what he asked for.
Meghan, Marco, Tess, and Jed Blue contemplated the prison from across the street. They loitered casually upon the sidewalk, avoiding the glare of the streetlamps. It was nearly eleven, East Coast time, but there was still plenty of nighttime traffic cruising down Fairmount Avenue. Their own limo, provided by one of Collier’s sleeper agents in Philly, was parked a few blocks away on Twenty-fourth Street. Jed Red was currently cooling his heels behind the wheel of the waiting getaway car. The two Garritys had drawn straws to determine which of them got stuck in the car.
“Creepy place,” Marco said, stating the obvious. Like the rest of them, he wore dark civilian clothing without any NTAC labels or insignia. They had left their badges and ID on the plane. This mission was strictly off the books. “Who knew Dracula had real estate in the heart of Philly?”
“Actually, this used to be empty farmland, miles away from the city,” Tess informed them. She had appointed hersel
f the resident expert on the prison’s history. “A cherry orchard to be exact. When they first built the penitentiary, almost two hundred years ago, there was nothing else around. But the city gradually spread out and enveloped it. That’s one of the reasons they shut it down in the seventies. People didn’t like having a prison full of convicted felons living right next door—even though the prison had been here first.”
Meghan wondered what the neighbors would think of what was going on inside Eastern State these days. If they knew about it, that is.
She turned to Tess. “You ready for this?”
“Not really,” the girl admitted. “But what choice do I have?” She seemed to need a moment to talk herself into going forward. “Back in the fifties, before I was abducted, my dad dug a bomb shelter in our backyard, just in case the Reds dropped A-bombs on us. We used to have duck-and-cover drills in school. I had bad dreams about one big war destroying the entire world … I can’t let those nightmares come true.”
Meghan sympathized. Even though Tess’s ability still wigged her out, she was relieved to discover that the former mental patient’s motivations were understandable enough. Not to mention sane. “We’re not going to let that happen.”
“I hope not.”
Tess crossed the street, leaving the others behind. An electronic bug in her collar allowed Meghan to listen in via a concealed earpiece. She heard Tess gulp and take a deep breath before walking up to the imposing front gate of the prison. A sign on the door declared that the historic site was closed for renovations. Haspelcorp was mentioned nowhere on the sign.
“Here goes,” Tess whispered into the mike. She knocked on the iron door, then pressed a button installed in the archway. A buzzer sounded somewhere beyond the gate.
