Genetic Imperfections

by Steve Hadden

  He saw the flash of the brass knuckles announcing the arrival of the second blow to his left cheek and went with it this time. The pain was the same, but Joe assessed the damage as survivable.

  “I’ll ask you one more time. Where is Wellington?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.” Joe braced for another blow, but it didn’t come.

  Instead, the man in the balaclava mask nodded to the pugilist with the knuckles, and he handed him a large dark object. Joe squinted through the blood running through his eyes; it looked like a gun—with a cord. The power drill roared to life, and the spinning bit closed in on his left eye. Joe knew he needed to get to work. With his hands cuffed behind him, he slipped his index finger and thumb into the waistband of his shorts. His tank top hung long, about halfway down his thighs, and provided the appropriate cover.

  Joe could see the half-inch bit in the drill spinning as it stopped just under his eyebrow.

  “You know, these things go quickly through bone, but they get tangled up in muscle and tendons,” the man said.

  Joe concentrated on his hands and pulled on one of the two safety pins he always kept in his running shorts. He used them to pin race numbers onto his shirt at the recreational races he loved. Once at the proper angle, he twisted his hand towards the keyhole on the cuffs.

  “You’ll talk. Most do. Usually once we start with the thigh,” the masked man bragged, “but a few are a little tougher and don’t break until we try the eye socket.”

  “I’m a high achiever,” Joe taunted trying to buy some time.

  “Well, it’s time for your final exam.” The man guided the drill into position just above Joe’s right thigh. He heard a chuckle behind him. He felt the drill tugging at the material on his shorts. The click, followed by the release of the pressure on his wrists, said his hands were free, and he put his twenty inch biceps to use.

  In one motion he grabbed the drill, thrust it into the masked man’s eye and stood with his feet still anchored to the chair. The man reeled in agony and collapsed on the floor screaming. Joe twisted on both feet and caught the man behind him by the throat. The choke hold dropped him to his knees in less than four seconds. With the drill still spinning in his left hand, he drilled through the plastic ties on his legs and sprinted to the door.

  In an instant he was streaking down the 405 in the Suburban, wiping his face and checking his wounds.

  “Not bad,” he said as he pressed the cuts on his cheek, while looking in the mirror.

  He knew they were professionals; he’d run into enough of them in his time with the CIA. Someone had to be paying them, and they didn’t come cheap. Whoever they were, he was convinced they’d caused the plane crash; they’d killed Prescott Rexsen, tried to kill his boss and nearly killed him. He promised himself he’d see they didn’t succeed.

  “Semper Fi,” he said looking at his image in the rearview mirror again and smiling.

  He loved that motto. Short for the inscription Semper Fidelis, held in the bald eagles beak on the Marine Corps emblem, it translated to “Ever Faithful.” It always gave him great strength and determination. Joe knew he was ever faithful to the Corps—and now, to David Wellington.

  CHAPTER 35

  Tori Clarke clung tightly to the brass rail she considered a life line. It was the only thing between her and the angry black waters attacking the hull. The storm seemed to have been waiting for them behind the horizon, then pounced, making the huge catamaran insignificant in the endless waves. Dark clouds rumbled and the sea chopped at the deck. With one eye focused on David and the other on the water, she fought her fear of the ocean. Who knew what roamed beneath the waves, watching and waiting for the unsuspecting prey to hit the water? Cold rain stung her face and announced the leading edge of the storm. She shivered and watched David skillfully guide the catamaran into Hamilton Cove.

  As the storm worsened, the chill sank deeper into Tori’s body, and her heart sank deeper into an abyss. She battled the debilitating power of her lack of trust in men, and she knew that now, without trust in David Wellington, she’d be doomed; cast out to sea to fend for herself, with no direction, or skills, to handle the troubled waters.

  Bundled in yellow rain gear, the pair worked in unison to stow the sails and snag the mooring that bobbed in the dark waters. David guided Tori with his directions. Tori sensed gentleness in his orders that firmly guided her actions. It was a caring she’d never seen when watching him in his role as CEO. She’d seen him in employee town hall meetings where he would bark out financial results and cut off those brave enough to ask challenging questions, somewhere just above the ankles. But this was a different man. She wondered if the change was due to the current circumstances and his need for her expertise and eventual testimony, if they lived, or just a result of his near death experience in the waters a hundred miles north of Catalina. She knew her life was in his hands now, and she decided his reason for changing didn’t matter.

  Rain dripped from the hood of her yellow slicker as she entered the cabin ahead of David. She felt his hand against her back gently guiding her across the slippery deck. They pushed back their hoods in unison and shared a smile.

  “You did great out there. Thanks for the help,” David said as he pushed the water droplets off his cheeks. His dark eyes and warm smile comforted Tori. He pulled the slicker off by the sleeves and for the first time, Tori noticed the slight rippling of the muscles in his arms. Tori kept her slicker on and looked at the sheets of rain washing over the boat outside.

  “Are we going to be okay here?”

  David hung the coat on a hook beside the cabin door and surveyed the stormy waters for a moment.

  “Nothing to worry about now,” he said smiling.

  He stepped behind Tori and lifted the slicker from her shoulders.

  “This cove is secure, both from the storm and those clowns trying to kill us. This storm will blow itself out in a few hours. And thanks to Joe’s connections, we are registered with the harbor master under the owner’s name. It’s a private mooring, so no one will know we’re here. Even the cops can’t find us.”

  David shook the rain from Tori’s slicker and tossed it over his on the brass hook hanging on the wall. He opened a cabinet and pulled out two white towels. After tossing one to Tori, he rubbed the water from his salt and pepper hair, looking more like a little boy fresh out of the pool than a CEO. She admired his athletic build and blue-green eyes and for the first time she was attracted to him. In minutes he had two steaming cups of coffee ready and set them on the table in front of Tori.

  “Thanks, Mr. Wellington,” she said.

  David chuckled. “I think you can call me David now.”

  Tori didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She wanted to, but her fear was holding her back. It was always there, telling her to trust no one. She was smarter than any man she knew. She’d proved that every time one tried to get close to her. It protected her. But it wasn’t protecting her now and it wouldn’t get her out of this mess. Only trust; trust in David. He was not the young stable hand her father had hired for the summer. He was not the one she chose for a romantic summer fling. He was not the one who took something that was supposed to be the ultimate act of intimacy and turned it into the criminal violation of a woman’s body, mind and soul. Worried her mind would win the argument again, she decided to plunge into the unknown.

  “Okay, David. I want to thank you for helping me back there,” she smiled and patted the seat beside her. David sat and gripped his coffee with both hands, never taking his eyes from Tori’s. Tori felt her need for self-preservation begging her to retreat; the free-fall in the pit of her stomach tried to convince her of certain death, if she uttered another word. Despite her minds warning to run for cover, she pushed through her fear and forced a shaky smile.

  “I was kind of scared back at Dana Point and wanted to apologize for what I said to you.”

  David smiled and shifted his gaze to his coffee cup.

  “Actually, I w
anted to apologize for getting you in the middle of this.” David hesitated, still looking into his cup. “I want you to know you don’t have to do this. I can get you to the mainland and get you out of town until this thing with Rexsen Labs is settled, one way or another.”

  Tori felt her courage slipping a little, but caught herself. “Actually, as I remember, I called you, not the other way around.” Both shared a chuckle. “Besides, I have other reasons for doing what I’m doing.”

  David shifted his gaze back to Tori. She felt his eyes searching for an answer before she gave one.

  “This is my life’s work. CGT was my life’s work. I believe it can save lives. Not just of the people who suffer from cancer, but all of those who suffer with them.”

  Tori’s mind drifted to a distant dark place. This was getting dangerously close to a fragile corner of her heart.

  “People like your little brother?” David said.

  Tori shook her head, still afraid of what she’d do if she allowed David to see the pain in her eyes.

  “And every mother, father, sister and brother who die a little bit with them,” she replied.

  David reached for her hand.

  “I need to warn you, it will only get more dangerous from here on out. But I’ll protect you the best I can.”

  “Our odds of surviving this are better than what my little brother faced.”

  Tori felt strength in her own words. Her fear was nothing compared to what Aaron must have felt. She remembered him lying in the hospital bed, his small body ravaged by leukemia and the chemo. His eyes were nearly colorless and had sunk deep into his skull. His skin hung on his bony cheeks. He was in terrible pain, and he knew his young life was slipping away. His eyes begged his big sister to rescue him as she’d always done; he didn’t understand that no one could help. She’d watched his eyes close and in an instant become nothing more than a body; his life had ended, and no one could have helped—no one until now. She thought about her commitment back then to search for the answers no one had, so that no other big sister had to endure the agony and helplessness she’d endured back then.

  Her resolve returned. She locked eyes with David’s.

  “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  CHAPTER 36

  The shining white hull of the Zodiac planed through the waves and hugged the Catalina coastline. The rain had passed, but the red hue that outlined the thunderheads to the west warned storms were still roaming the open water. David, donning a black ball cap pulled down over his eyes, held a firm grip on the throttle of the fifteen horsepower outboard and traced the coastline in the fading gloom of sunset. He guided the boat south through Descanso Cove. Tori gripped the gray plastic handrail of the shiny white craft with one hand and held her wide brimmed straw hat on her head with the other.

  Entering the Avalon Harbor, David sped the Zodiac past the Casino, a huge ballroom built in 1929 that stood like a sentinel guarding the harbor. Huge white columns held the ballroom twelve stories above the water. It dwarfed the Zodiac. David glanced up at the tall dark windows as they passed and wondered; could anyone be watching?

  He negotiated the sleek craft through a maze of expensive yachts and sailboats moored in a haphazard pattern in the harbor. He skirted the harbor master’s office at the end of Green Pier and ducked into the dinghy dock, just a few hundred yards from the Catalina Boat Terminal. David and Tori sat still for a moment and surveyed the shore along Crescent Avenue. Most of the tourists who had been sent scurrying for cover in the storm were now emerging from the string of gift shops, restaurants, and bars lining Crescent. They streamed like ants to the Terminal to catch the 4:30 departure to the mainland. Some looked soaked as they returned the glorified golf carts that littered Catalina’s roads and provided a healthy income for the rental companies.

  “Let’s go,” David said.

  Tori grabbed the straw beach bag resting on the fiberglass deck of the Zodiac. David stood on the dock and extended his hand to steady Tori as she stepped from the bobbing boat. Their hats were pulled low, and their eyes were covered with dark sunglasses. White shorts, nylon windbreakers, and a straw beach bag helped them blend in perfectly with the Wednesday afternoon crowd. They ducked into a dive shop and purchased two sets of diving gloves. David led them through the wandering hoard of tourists and day trippers, and they boarded the Catalina Flyer for the hour and a half trip to Newport Beach.

  As the four Cummins Marine engines roared to life, David and Tori moved to the upper deck of the speeding aluminum hulled catamaran. Billed as one of the largest and fastest on the West Coast, it would have them in Newport by 6 p.m.

  “So far so good,” David said as he leaned on the rail and pointed across the channel to the mainland. “I think we’ll be good until we hit Balboa Pavilion. Then we need to be very careful not to be recognized.”

  “They’ll have our pictures everywhere won’t they?” Tori replied.

  David chuckled and plucked at his Hawaiian print shirt. “Not like this. The only photos they have of me will be in a suit. Even my driver’s license photo is in a suit.”

  “That makes me feel better. My DMV photo is the ugliest photo I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ugly is hard to believe, but if that’s the case they’ll never recognize you.”

  Tori blushed.

  David pulled his cap further over his eyes as a uniformed security guard passed.

  “We’ll need to get a cab at the Pavilion and then have it drop us at Fashion Island. Rexsen headquarters is just a short walk from the plaza. We’ll need to pick up a few things at the fountain where Joe stashed them—then it’s a go.” David turned to Tori. “It will be the point of no return. Once we enter the Rexsen Lab complex, there’s no turning back. You sure you’re up for this?”

  “Those morons tried to kill us. They’re counting on exploiting people’s hopes of a cure with CGT. If they succeed, my work was for nothing. Based on what you said last night, they’ll cash out and leave the dying patients and their families holding the bag. The lawyers will file suit against Rexsen when they find the defect in the drug, but Brayton will be long gone. They’ll destroy any chance for the cure. We’ll be dead or in jail for life, and they’ll never try to fix CGT.”

  David was surprised by the change in Tori’s mood. She was far from the helpless young researcher he’d thought he’d drawn into this mess. Tori stared at the thunderheads that flashed with lightning in the distance.

  “My brother puked his guts out, couldn’t eat or sleep for months. After what he went through, this is nothing. I’m in—for good!”

  David smiled as he remembered Adam Rexsen again and his lecture on purpose. He recalled the calm look on Adam’s face while he plunged to his certain death. It brought to mind the mysterious orderly’s words.

  You need to know there is a reason. It’s his reason. Listen to your heart; open it up to everything; listen. The reason is within each of us. It’s as unique as every person on earth. Some never find it. You’ve been given a second chance.

  “There is a reason,” David mumbled to himself.

  Tori smiled and put her hand on his. “Yes, there is.”

  CHAPTER 37

  The Bell Long Ranger helicopter banked left over midtown Manhattan. The skyscrapers arrogantly jutted into the evening sky and boldly challenged the night with their luminescence. The gaudy spire of the Chrysler Building led the charge, quickly followed by the Empire State building and a supporting cast of thousands. Royce Brayton surveyed the scene and realized the insignificance of Rexsen’s IPO to this center of power and money. He knew ten times more money was made at lunch in Manhattan today, than Rexsen Labs would deliver in the next ten years. Still, it was his money; money he deserved, and with the proceeds from the IPO and the immediate sale of the company, he’d be able to share in the city’s arrogance.

  The touchdown at the East 34th Street Heliport was smooth, and Brayton and Priscilla were ushered into the waiting black limo. The driver deftly ma
neuvered the car through the maze of traffic and within minutes, stopped at the entrance to Pouvoir, a midtown restaurant reserved for the rich and powerful.

  The back door of the limo opened, and Priscilla, elegantly outfitted in a black sequined evening gown, extended her hand. The driver smartly helped her exit the car. Brayton, bow tied in a plain black tuxedo, rudely popped out and marched into the entrance ahead of Priscilla. In the past few days, his lust for her had disappeared and had been replaced by visions of his bossy, greedy stepmothers.

  “Royce Brayton here for dinner with Mr. Thomas,” he announced to the host.

  “Certainly. Mr. Thomas is waiting for you.”

  Weaving elegantly through the tables, the host guided them to the back of the room. Dark-suited older men seated with much younger women represented New York’s business society. They dined on overpriced entrees off linen tablecloths and sipped from crystal goblets filled with Bordeaux and champagnes so expensive the prices were never mentioned and never asked. Brayton’s gaze drifted around the room. He recognized the faces of several of Wall Street’s current cover boys. He was convinced he deserved a seat at those tables, and knew his chance was only days away. He sensed the stares following him. He knew the intelligence network that connected the investment bankers to the money makers on Wall Street was intricate and accurate. The word was surely out about his ascension to CEO and the money about to explode into the shares of Rexsen Labs upon its public offering. Those willing to pay the price of admission were already counting their profits. He knew only the already rich could pay that price. The lowly individual investors would never get a chance. Controlled by the investment bankers working as underwriters, they only allowed those who would return the favor into the elite club that would own shares at the outset and ride them to the top.

  And the hottest investment banker in New York City stood to greet Brayton and Priscilla. Jeff Thomas was the senior vice president at Jones-Frederick. His strong jaw, deep set blue eyes, and dark brown hair with grey highlights immediately drew Priscilla’s smile.