The Fourth Law

by Paul Stein

  When Palmer’s first shot went high and wide of the mark, he suggested aiming lower left to compensate. The second shot was centered but too low, hitting the target in the stomach. “Stay left, rise up two clicks, and you’ll hit center mass,” he said and watched confidently as the third shot drilled the shooter in the middle of the chest.

  “Jesus-H…good shot, man, you tore him a new one. Rafie got off a head shot at the same time; the guy’s down for keeps.”

  Henry kept the spotter’s scope steadily trained on the actions surrounding Rafie. All of a sudden, the Navigator rocketed into view. “Holy shit,” he exclaimed. “Marshall just slammed into the trailer. He rocked ’em hard. Damnit…didn’t see brake lights…he must’ve been hit. Stupid bastard!”

  Although he saw the Navigator’s impact momentarily destabilize the trailer, Palmer never hesitated. The target’s knees buckled but quickly recovered, looking to shoot at Rafie. “Yeah, I see it,” he calmly replied, keeping his emotions in check. There was nothing worse than too much adrenaline when steadying a rifle. He placed the scope’s crosshairs on the target and said, “Okay, second shooter…shot’s away.” He took a slow, deep breath, held it, and pulled the trigger.

  Palmer lost site of the hit from the rifle’s powerful recoil but could see from the way the man flew backward he’d hit his mark.

  “Bull’s eye! Good shooting, ace!” Henry said, slapping his hand on the hood of the car. “Another direct hit…you’ve got the sights dialed now.”

  “That’s it…let’s get in there,” Palmer said, stuffing the rifle back in the car. “Rafie has no clue he’s got backup. We need to make contact.”

  “Agreed,” Henry said, keeping the spotter’s scope steady on the unfolding events before them. “It looks like the professor is trying to get off the truck. I don’t see the other two men,” he added, scanning the open field where they were last seen. “They must have bugged out. Let’s roll!”

  Colt Hamil and Sully Metusack witnessed the aftermath of both Kilmer’s and Ventura’s execution. They were lying in the brush about halfway between the trailer and the depository. Neither of them could believe that Rafie was somehow involved with the failure of the mission, but they knew instinctively they were finished. To engage further was both pointless and stupid, but surrender was considered dishonorable.

  “Our odds are better if we split up,” Sully said. “We’ve got about three hours before sunrise. Keep your head down, Colt. Good luck.”

  “You too, Sully. Be cool.”

  They crawled away in opposite directions and would never see each other again.

  SIXTY-NINE

  FORT KNOX ARMY BASE

  JARROD CONRAD was appalled by the violent bloodbath all around and almost retched when he caught sight of Richard Kilmer’s lifeless, dismembered body. Even though he loathed the man and everything he stood for, he found it difficult to summon any emotion other than pity for the calamity that became of Kilmer’s life. The sight of severed body parts strewn about made it especially difficult to focus anywhere without viewing the carnage.

  The antigravity generator was still bucking and straining against the heavy mounting bolts, but the gravitrons seemed to be reconstituting within the matrix of the core. The thermonuclear critical mass he feared was somehow averted. His biggest concern now was for the driver of the vehicle that had slammed into the trailer. Whatever the consequences, he needed to determine who was in the car, seized by a haunting premonition that it was probably Ryan. He decided to break away, pulling free from his newfound ally, Rafie Nuzam.

  “Professor! I ordered you not to move,” Rafie shouted exasperatedly as Jarrod jumped down from the trailer. “Christ man, can you follow orders...just once?” His alarm turned to panic when Jarrod ran to the car wedged beneath the trailer. Rafie’s singular objective was to assure Conrad’s safety. If he were harmed in any way, Freeman would skin him alive. Son-of-a-bitch!

  Jarrod acted instinctively, his intuition leading him forward. “Sorry, can’t do, mister,” he yelled back, running to the car. “Someone’s tried to help us…I can’t just ignore that.”

  All of a sudden Rafie’s attention was diverted from Conrad as scores of camouflaged soldiers emerged like ghosts from the darkness. They were fully armed for night combat and ready to engage any suspected enemy. Within moments the trailer was completely surrounded.

  “Don’t shoot! I’m with DOD! Don’t shoot!” Rafie shouted. “There are two shooters still in the mesa,” he yelled again, pointing, cognizant that Colt and Sully were still at large.

  A captain leading the charge recognized Major Nuzam’s rank and yielded his authority. “Where were the men last seen, sir?” he questioned, ready to redeploy his troops.

  “About 200 yards northeast of this location,” Rafie replied, pointing in the general vicinity that Colt and Sully were headed.

  Rafie looked gravely concerned. He glanced back at the generator. “Captain, radio the command center. We need to get everyone away from this trailer. There’s nuclear material aboard. It’s probably unstable. Get your men back…move!”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll report your findings, but my orders are to secure this unit, dangerous or not.”

  Their conversation was cut short when another vehicle came roaring onto the scene amidst a cloud of dust. Major Nuzam and the captain drew their weapons and looked suspiciously at the two men who jumped from the vehicle, hands held high.

  “Easy, Rafie. We’re cleaners,” Jason Henry said, thinking this would get his attention more quickly than anything else he could say. He stood his ground but stretched his hands higher to emphasize they were not a threat.

  They could see from the shocked look on Rafie’s face that he couldn’t quite comprehend how his two old partners mysteriously showed up. It took more than a few seconds before Rafie could comprehend what was happening.

  “Stars and stripes forever,” he proclaimed, baffled and astounded all at once. “Wonders never cease.”

  Rafie secured his weapon and motioned for the captain to do the same. “It’s okay, Captain, I know these men. I’ll take it from here. Redeploy your men…and find those other shooters,” he ordered.

  Rafie hustled over to his erstwhile buddies and the three of them exchanged a quick bear hug. “How in hell did you guys get here?”

  “We’ll explain later,” Henry hurriedly replied. “It’s a long story, Rafie. Freeman sent us in to observe and contain that machine,” he said nodding his head toward Conrad’s device. “It seems your mission is to protect Conrad. Let’s hurry. We saw him heading away from the Navigator. He’s looking for his cousin, Ryan Marshall.”

  “Tell me you’re kidding…he can’t be here too.” Rafie replied, bemused by all that had come to light the last few minutes.

  “I know…the man’s one stubborn pain-in-the-ass,” Henry responded.

  “You’d think Freeman could have briefed me you two were backup. Man, it’s good to see you guys,” Rafie said with a grin.

  The three men ran past the Navigator. “Let’s just find Conrad before something else goes haywire,” Henry urged. “Freeman’ll skin all three of us if we lose this guy.”

  Rafie grimaced and quickened his step. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  Jarrod made it to the Navigator and immediately discovered the bullet holes that pockmarked the front of the vehicle. The windshield had not shattered, but there were several telltale holes attesting that the driver had surely been hit. He glanced inside, bracing himself against the possibility of finding a body, but thankfully found no one. Blood on the seat and smeared on the door, however, didn’t bolster confidence; whoever had driven it into the back of the trailer was badly injured.

  There was no time for a close inspection, but Jarrod spotted a Brighton purse with the initials “SM” on the sterling silver clasp. Mystery solved. It’s Sarah’s, he thought. I knew this was Ryan’s doing. Where are you, cuz?

  Jarrod searched around the perimeter but couldn’t see an
y signs of his cousin. What the hell?

  From far off in the distance, Jarrod thought he heard a shallow voice calling for help. He paused, straining to hear, cupping his hands to his ears and hoping to pick up a direction. With all the background noise and the blaring sirens, the sound could have just been his imagination. But then he heard it again.

  “Help me, Lord,” the faint voice weakly called out.

  “Ryan, where are you, man?” Jarrod shouted, rushing headlong in the general direction of the voice calling out from the darkness.

  “Conrad…stop!”

  Jarrod looked behind as he ran, spotting three men fast closing in on his location. He could just barely make out their forms through the extreme background light coming from the depository. He couldn’t be sure of their intentions, but wasn’t about to stop. Ryan was lying out there somewhere. He had heard his voice. He was sure of it.

  “Ryannn!” he yelled again.

  Ryan was on his hands and knees struggling to stand. The excruciating pain from every part of his body rendered him practically immobile. The decision to jump from the car before it slammed into the truck seemed like his only choice at the time, but now he deeply regretted it. His head throbbed, his back ached, and he could feel something trickling down his neck. He put his hand to his face and wiped a warm, slippery liquid from his forehead. Although he couldn’t clearly see his hands, he knew they were covered with blood. He’d sustained at least three gunshot wounds, and blood was seeping from his head, neck, and shoulder.

  There was no way to determine the severity of the bullet wounds, although he knew he was rapidly losing blood. He was beginning to feel faint, cognizant that shock was beginning to set in, but the concussion to his lower back and hip was his greatest concern. He figured he’d hit the ground at near sixty miles an hour, and although the sandy ground had absorbed some of the impact, he knew he had sustained several broken bones.

  He managed to stand with great effort, but when he tried to take a step, his legs gave way and he dropped back to his knees. My God, what have I done? he wondered, totally incapacitated.

  Ryan looked at the sky ahead, ablaze with lights and sirens. He could make out the trailer and noted for the first time that the Navigator had made a direct hit. He remembered bullets hitting the windshield before he set the cruise control and aimed the car in the direction of the trailer just before bailing out. He was amazed it actually worked, but had no idea if he’d helped Jarrod in the slightest. He was disconsolate; a feeling of failure blasted through his consciousness. It reminded him of Jacob. Not again. Just as I failed Jacob, so, too, have I failed Jarrod.

  He remembered the day Jacob had died. Ryan had slept on the floor beside his bed the night before, his son’s labored breathing more tortured than ever. He couldn’t bear the thought of Jacob dying alone. He still remembered their last conversation:

  “Dad,” Jacob asked, “what happens when you die?”

  Ryan had searched his soul for the right words to answer his son’s profound question. Clearly Jacob was scared, but faced his fear with the courage of a lion.

  “I don’t know for sure, son,” he’d answered. “But I do know that you don’t have to worry about anything. You’ve been a good boy and you’ll go straight to heaven. You’ll fall peacefully asleep and your spirit will rise from your body and you’ll be whisked to heaven by a legion of angels welcoming you home. You’ll be able to fly, Jacob, and that old muscular dystrophy will never again keep you from doing anything your heart desires.”

  “What about you and Mom…will I ever see you again?”

  “Of course you will, son. Your mom and I love you more than life itself. You’ll go ahead and prepare the way. Just you wait…we’ll all be together in heaven one day soon, your brother, Jer, too.”

  Jacob had survived the night, but Ryan could tell from his pale blue complexion the next morning that the end was near. God was merciful in the end; Jacob’s death came swiftly and Ryan wasn’t present when he began to choke. Unable to catch his breath, he quickly asphyxiated, slumping forward in his wheelchair. Had Ryan been present, the impulse to start CPR would have been irresistible. When the paramedics did arrive, it was too late. Their efforts to revive him were for naught. Jacob died with his little dog, Minnie, on his lap, a loyal friend to the very end.

  The haunting despair of this memory and the powerlessness he’d felt following Jacob’s death came storming back. Once again he felt an inconsolable emptiness, as if his soul were mortally wounded and the stabbing pain in his heart would never heal. All his efforts seemed hopelessly inadequate. Ryan hung his head in shame, putting his hands to his face, and began weeping. Why does this keep happening? What do you want from me, God?

  “Help me, Lord!” he called out, throwing his hands to the heavens in surrender, coming to terms with his abject helplessness and despair.

  Jarrod’s voice rushed him back to reality. “Ryan, where are you, man?”

  “I’m here,” Ryan called back, straining, but his voice was barely more than a whisper. He tried to stand again but the pain was too great. He remained on his knees, not even sure if he could lie down. “Jarrod,” he called again with the last ounce of energy he could summon. His body began to tremble at the realization that Jarrod was still alive.

  The three cleaners caught up to Jarrod just as he stumbled upon his hapless cousin. They had somehow been thrown together in this strange affair and were treated to one of the most amazing sights any of them had ever seen. Rafie pulled a flashlight from his pants pocket and for a moment they let the cousins have their reunion. It was a moment not to be interrupted.

  Kneeling before them was Ryan Marshall—blood oozing from multiple gunshot wounds, unable to stand, tears running down his face, tortured by the thought he’d failed his mission. Jarrod Conrad knelt down in front of him and gently took him in his arms.

  “You did it, Ryan,” he whispered reassuringly. “You’re a hero. Through everything that’s happened, you made it here. I don’t know how you did it, but you saved me, you rescued Jer, and you recovered my research. You’re amazing, Ryan,” he said, hugging him like he was consoling a small child. “I’ll never distrust you again. Nono and Nana would be so proud of you. Well done, Ryan.”

  Ryan let his head slip forward onto Jarrod’s shoulder and silently wept, overcome with relief and gratitude. His quest was finally completed. He hadn’t failed after all. A peaceful tranquility and lightheadedness transcended his consciousness. Nothing else mattered.

  The lights on the horizon were no longer visible and the siren’s wail faded away. The darkness came swiftly. Ryan Marshall closed his tired eyes and gave way to the weariness that beckoned for him to stop. He had nothing left to give. He was completely spent. Thank you, God…take me home, was his last thought.

  EPILOGUE

  THE AFTERMATH of the events at Fort Knox was surreal. The raid on the depository dominated every news source for weeks, and all points of the globe remained spellbound by widely circulated reports of the world’s first antigravity machine.

  At first, General Blake Freeman tried to contain sensational reports surrounding the application of this revolutionary technology, but Jarrod Conrad’s discovery was too big to hide. While the military gained a significant foothold in consolidating the weapons capability of Jarrod’s technology, the president ordered that the discovery couldn’t justifiably be withheld from society. When the White House finally confirmed the existence of the antigravity technology, a maelstrom of press coverage broadcast the story to every world government. Most news sources hailed the discovery as one of the greatest achievements of modern man, rivaling revolutionary discoveries like DNA by Watson and Crick, Einstein’s relativity, and Steven Hawking’s black holes and cosmic radiation.

  Jarrod Conrad finally realized his dream of world renown for his lifelong pursuit to harness gravity, the fourth fundamental law of the universe. He ultimately published his research in the Journal of Atomic Physics: “The Grand Unif
ied Theorem—Gravity Demystified.” He was awarded the Nobel Prize for his pioneering work in subatomic physics, and Time Magazine declared him Man of the Millennium. For years he basked in the limelight of this well-deserved celebrity.

  Just as Alastair Holloway predicted, when the industries of the world realized that gravity had been harnessed, unsolicited offers began pouring into Quantum Labs. Many of the biggest Wall Street corporations sought exclusive manufacturing rights to the device. As the surviving controlling partner of Quantum Corporation, Jarrod amassed incredible wealth in the years to come as his antigravity technology made astounding impacts on every existing technology.

  The effect of the F-13 scram on the generator used at Fort Knox was miraculously inconsequential. Conrad’s graduate students eventually perfected the mathematical equations that simulated the parameters of the scram. Their research proved that the critical mass Jarrod had feared was averted by a very slim margin. Never again would this technique be used to halt the machine under full operation.

  Jarrod remained a faculty member at Stanford University as Professor Emeritus and taught well into his later years. He spent most of his leisure time in Baltimore, Maryland, with Sela Coscarelli. They purchased a home close to Johns Hopkins University, and although they never married, they enjoyed a close, intimate relationship throughout the remainder of their lives.

  Sela Coscarelli continued her research to find a cure for neuromuscular diseases at Johns Hopkins. She never lost her zeal in pursuing a cure for muscular dystrophy, the disease that had cost her nephew Jacob Marshall his life. Sela achieved several significant break-throughs from the inspiration she drew from Jacob’s memory, never losing hope that this deadly disease could one day be vanquished.

  Alastair Holloway was arrested at his estate on Hilton Head the morning following the Fort Knox incident. His legendary temper and seemingly unlimited access to money and powerful people was no match for Senator Alfonse Coscarelli.