More interestingly though, the Ubichip used technology which implemented the first ever combination of advanced bio-sensors and web-enabled wireless telecommunications, linking the chip to the satellite controlled Global Positioning System. The idea reviewed in the paper had been that by implanting the Ubichip underneath the skin of a child, or a convict, or even a pet, and then by monitoring the position of the Ubichip via the earth orbiting satellites, it would be possible to locate the wearer of the chip to within a yard on the planet's surface within a matter of seconds. In the future, the article announced, 'children could be chipped, and they would never get lost again!'
So what had Fiona done?
She had called the makers of the Ubichip and told them the Washington Post wanted to do another article on the technology, and to run another experiment for the story. They had sent her a few more of the microchips, and she had inserted them into the lining of two large bubble wrapped jiffy parcels. She had cheekily filled the parcels with copies of the most recent editions of the Washington Post and sent them to David Sonderheim via UPS Special DeliveryPLUS. She had sent one of the parcels to David's home address in Orlando, which she had easily got from the local telephone directory, and the other to David Sonderheim c/o Gen8tyx at the old company address in Florida.
Fiona had a hunch that although the Post Office had not been exactly forthcoming in helping her, Sonderheim would have left a secret forwarding address for personal mail arriving at his old home address, and would likewise have made arrangements for mail for the Gen8tyx Company to be redirected to the new company location in California.
UPS Special Delivery PLUS guaranteed delivery within 24 hrs inside the US, and as part of the service, as soon as the delivery was signed for upon receipt, they either called you or sent you an SMS message on your cell phone to inform you that the delivery had just been made.
As part of the so-called trial of the Ubichip, Fiona had arranged that the moment she received the message from UPS telling her the parcels had been delivered and signed for, that she would pick up the phone and call the Ubichip company, who in turn, would immediately use their satellites to trace the exact GPS location of the chip in question.
It had worked like a dream. As expected, both parcels had been forwarded by the US Post Office to the new locations in California.
Within seconds of David Sonderheim signing for the parcel at breakfast-time at his new home just outside of Carmel, and the night-watchman signing for the delivery of the parcel on behalf of Sonderheim at the new company location at Purlington Bay, Fiona had been given the exact location of both, down to the nearest yard.
"The girl's a bloody genius!" Kerrin laughed to himself, as he finished his orange juice and memorized the addresses in Fiona's report. Minutes later, he left the motel room and was driving down the road en route to Purlington Bay.
According to the map, Purlington Bay was just around the headland from Tippleton, a little coastal town not far from Carmel. Driving south along Pacific Highway No.1, he passed one fantastic view after another: stunning high cliffs plunging down to the Pacific Ocean and crashing onto the rocks and beaches below. Kerrin had read in the in-flight magazine on the plane that the drive from San Francisco down to Carmel through the area known as the Big Sur was considered to be one of the most beautiful drives in the world. Although it had been dark yesterday when Kerrin had driven down through that particular stretch of the coast, if the scenery was anything to compare with the road he was driving along now, he was not about to dispute the claim.
Kerrin was only too aware that he didn’t really have a plan. The trip to California to find David Sonderheim and the new Gen8tyx Company was an attempt to do something, but what that something actually was, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he and Dana were now in real danger, that time was not on their side, and that he had very little to go on. He needed to come up with something on Gen8tyx. And fast.
Apart from being caught, what worried Kerrin most of all, was being recognized or traced. The memory of him being tailed by the Mazda in Miami was still fresh in his mind. He knew that they had probably identified him from his car registration plate and the rental records at Hertz. He didn't want to make that mistake again. Now he had a new identity, he had to protect Mark Twain at all costs. He couldn't afford to be recognized and spotted with his new rental car, or there was a risk they could trace the registration plate and track down Mark Twain too.
The car he had hired was from one of the cheapest firms available, a local company which he had found on the internet. Kerrin had taken a taxi from the airport, and was dropped off at the company's garage just outside San Francisco. It was in the middle of a run down suburb north of the city, and even the local taxi-driver had problems finding it. Which was exactly the reason why Kerrin had chosen it. If he was spotted in his rental car, he wanted to make it as difficult as possible for anyone to find out where he rented it from.
It wasn't exactly 'Rent-a-Wreck' but it wasn't far off it either. The best thing about the firm was that Kerrin's experience as a policeman told him that although the car looked sound enough, it was probably stolen, and almost certainly the number plates were not properly registered. So, even if someone did try to track down the number plate, the chances were that they would not have any luck tracing it back to the rental firm and to him.
As he entered the sleepy tourist town of Tippleton, he spotted a bicycle shop and pulled up outside it. He walked in and looked around. All the latest models of bicycles were available in the shop, brightly colored, and gleaming silver and gold, tempting the boy in every man.
"Hi…can I help you?" a voice boomed from behind him. He turned round to find a young man in a cycling shirt and shorts, hands on hips and a big smile beaming from ear to ear.
"I hope so…nice bikes, but I was actually hoping just to rent one for the day. Do you do rentals?"
"Sure, what price range are you looking at? What type of frame do you want?" the young man replied, stepping towards him and resting a hand on the handlebars of one of the many bikes lined up in a row on display. "But if you’re wanting to rent the bike, you'll have to secure it with a credit card."
"Oh dear," Kerrin replied. "Then we've got a problem. I only have cash!"
Since they had tracked down his true identity, Kerrin's new alias was the most precious thing he had. To use Mark Twain's credit card on the doorstep of those who were after him was inviting disaster, so he had decided that wherever possible, he would pay for everything in cash.
"Do you have any cheap second hand bikes?"
"I have a few…depends what you want…" the boy replied moving to the rear of the shop and waving his hand at a selection of second-hand bikes along the back wall.
"Oh…medium…nothing too flash, but something not too heavy…" Kerrin bluffed. He didn't have a clue what bikes were made of nowadays, or what they cost.
"Okay, let's see. We could give you a good deal on this 'Specialist' bike if you wish. It's aluminum, I'd say it's your height, and it's got twenty one gears. You'll need them if you're going cycling around here!"
"Sounds good. I'll take it."
The boy pulled out a red and white mountain bike from the row, and lent it against the counter. Stepping behind the till, the young man started to ring up the bill. $500. This was one expense that Kerrin would gratefully let The Post pay.
"Can I ask you a question? When I was a kid I used to cycle around here with my dad. We used to cycle to a place somewhere nearby beginning with P…I've forgotten its name…something like Parl..or Pirl Bay?" Kerrin knew exactly where it was, but he was fishing for any local information he could get on the place.
"Oh, that'll be Purlington Bay…it’s only about forty minutes from here. Lovely place. I used to swim there too, when I was a kid. But you won't get anywhere near it now. They’ve closed the bay to public access."
"Purlington Bay! That's the one! But why's it closed?"
"Some big science company bought all th
e land down there just over a year ago. Since then they've built a big factory and lots of offices. Rumor has it that it looks incredible, but I don't know anyone who's actually been down there. They have security guards that keep the place pretty much airtight. The closest you'll get to it, is to the security gate at the top of the valley, about two minutes off the road."
"Is there any way I can get down to the beach off-road?"
"Not really…"
"That's a shame. I was really hoping to swim there again."
"I know what you mean, the locals are really angry about it. We're a friendly bunch around here, and they're too secretive for the likes of us."
"Any idea what they're called or what they do?"
"No idea what they do, but I know they're called Gen8tyx. Old Larry delivers the mail down there still, and goes down there once or twice a week…but only to the security gate…he hasn't seen the building itself. Strange, all that security. I reckon it's some government place. They certainly don't like unwelcome visitors. Can I get you anything else?"
"What about some cycling clothes…I could do with a new T-shirt and trousers…"
If Kerrin was going to cycle down to Purlington Bay, he wanted to get into character and look like a proper amateur cyclist. $200 worth of cycling gear later, and after a quick lunch at the local deli to boost his energy supply, he was on his way.
He could see what the shop assistant meant about the gears coming in handy. It had been years since Kerrin had cycled anywhere, and going up and down the winding hills along the coastal route was harder work than he had imagined it would be.
Hard work though it was, the scenery was brilliant, and a couple of times he stopped to pause and catch his breath while admiring the tall hills on his left which swept down in long, pleasant curves to the deep blue sea on his right. The sun was shining high in the sky, and there weren't any clouds to be seen. It was a perfect day.
As Kerrin cycled around the next hill he followed the road back inland as it swept along the edge of the coastal inlet. The head of the valley was narrow inland, broadening out as the mouth opened up towards the sea. Large trees covered most of the valley slopes, tall conifers reaching high into the sky and offering some well appreciated shade.
At the top of the valley a dirt road led off from the main road down the hill towards the valley mouth. A large sign announced "Private Land. Trespassers will be prosecuted. Security Dogs Patrolling." Enough of a warning to put off the average person from venturing anywhere down the path.
Kerrin switched down a gear and pointed his bike down the road. Inside the forest, the smell of spruce filled the air and pine needles crunched under the wheels of his bike. The wheels jumped and skidded off the stones on the dirt-track, and Kerrin's body jarred violently as he wished he had gone for a more expensive bike with better suspension.
About a hundred yards down the hill the road swept to the left, a security gate blocking off the road ahead, beyond which a newly tarmaced road led off through the trees. Two armed security guards in black uniforms stepped out from small security buildings on either side of the road. They stood in front of the gate, weapons brandished across their chests. Kerrin cycled up to them, taking the time to notice the electrified wire fence that extended away from the gate on either side, running into the woods and disappearing along the edges of the valley.
"Excuse me sir. This is private property. Please turn around and return to the main road." The bigger of the two men announced loudly as Kerrin slowed his bike down and came to a stop by the gate, resting his weight on his right foot and remaining seated on the bike.
"I'm sorry…I used to cycle here as a kid, right down to the bay, and then swim in the sea. Part of my training for the triathlon before we all moved to New York. So what's down there now? Can't I go down there?"
"It's private property sir. As is the track from the road down to here. You're trespassing right now, sir. I must insist you back up and leave, before I have to ask you for some ID."
"Hey, …I'm just being friendly. No need to take that attitude…You're not from around here are you sir? If you were, you'd know we're all friendly people. No need to get so…"
The guard stepped forward, moving the barrel of his automatic rifle menacingly towards Kerrin.
"May I see some ID please sir?" he asked threateningly.
"What authority do you have to ask me for ID? Do you work for the government?" Kerrin probed.
"I have all the authority I need." He replied, gesturing with the automatic rifle. "Please do not be difficult sir. Either identify yourself or leave. Immediately."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Kerrin noticed a camera on top of one of the security gates swiveling around towards him. Kerrin couldn't afford to be identified. He swung his bike around and without engaging in any further conversation with the beefy security guard, he cycled back up the hill.
When he got to the main road, he turned right and continued along the edge of the valley rim. He wanted to try and get a view of the Gen8tyx building if it were at all possible, but disappointingly the woods ran around the whole valley, and he couldn't find any clearing where he could get a view over the tree tops to the valley below.
When the road started to turn inland again, he realized from the terrain that he had turned from one valley into the next. His best bet at getting a view of the complex would be to leave his bike somewhere and head up through the trees on foot until he came to the top of the hill. Hopefully from there he would get a clear view over the buildings below.
After thirty minutes of steep climbing he came out into a clearing, leaving the tree line behind him. The track to the top of the hill took him another thirty minutes, and he continued without resting, until sweating, overheated and incredibly thirsty, he finally emerged onto a small, stony plateau.
He sat down on a rock, gasping for breath and mopping his forehead and neck with the cycling shirt he had long since taken off his back. From where he was sitting he could see quite far out to sea, with an impressive panoramic view of the hills and cliffs running along the coastline.
Kerrin's binoculars weren't the best in the world. They were really opera glasses, one of those practical but well thought out presents that he had got from his parents as a Christmas present a few years ago. Nevertheless, they were still quite powerful and using them to scan the trees in the valley below Kerrin was able make out the shape of several buildings nestling amongst the trees.
Unfortunately he couldn't see much, only the tops of the buildings, but those he could see seemed to span quite an area.
As he watched, a helicopter came towards him from the sea and disappeared amongst the trees onto a landing site near the complex. A few minutes later it rose again from the tree line and headed back out to sea.
Still very hot, and rather tired, Kerrin conceded that there was little he was going to be able learn from the Gen8tyx Company headquarters, save from the fact that the new owners had gone to great lengths to secure its privacy and security.
Heading back down through the trees to find where he had left his mountain bike, Kerrin just hoped he would have more luck in getting information from David Sonderheim when he met him face to face. Tonight, if everything went well, Kerrin was planning to surprise him at his home address, and hopefully bring this affair to some sort of conclusion.
First of all though, he had to go back to the motel and pick up his gun.
Kerrin was nervous. Very nervous. The first thing you learn in policing is never to underestimate anyone you might be investigating or arresting. Never. Kerrin knew too many widows of colleagues who had.
Sonderheim was a powerful man. From what they'd discovered about him, he was well-connected and rich beyond his wildest dreams. His every instinct told him that Sonderheim was the man behind all the Orlando murders, the death of his brother-in-law and his friend James. As such, Kerrin had no intention of going up against the man unarmed. He needed some sort of protection.
After loading the
bicycle into his rented car, he drove back to his hotel. The woman at reception was pleasant, but too talkative. She was probably bored sitting behind the desk all day long, and welcomed any opportunity for company and conversation. If Kerrin had not been in such a hurry he would have been happy to spend some time chatting with her, but it was already getting late and he had places to go.
"Hi, I'm from room 506. I was wondering if I've had any parcels delivered for me this afternoon?"
"Hello…nice day isn't it…say, are you from the East Coast? I like the accent…I've got a sister in Philadelphia…ever been to Philly? Maybe you know her?…"
Kerrin raised his eyebrows at her and smiled.
"Oh…okay. A parcel? Actually yes. UPS delivered it just an hour ago…Can I ask you to sign for it please?"
She pulled out a large heavy box and pushed it over the counter to Kerrin, along with a receipt form and a pen.
He signed for it, thanked her and made his way back to his room. Once inside, he threw the box onto the bed, and pulled out a pair of gloves from his suitcase. Opening the parcel, ripping off the brown paper and discarding it into the trash can, he took out a large metal tin full of cookies. Turning it upside down, he emptied all the biscuits onto the bed, and picked up the heavy brown envelope that fell out on top of them.
His Beretta 9mm pistol.
Opening the top of the envelope he pulled out the pistol that he had confiscated from a drug addict during a raid in Miami, along with two magazines full of bullets. He held the gun in his gloved hands, inserting one of the magazines and feeling the weight of the pistol, balancing it in his palm. It was a good gun. When he had confiscated it, he had noticed that like most crime weapons, the serial number had already been filed off. As an added precaution he had once fired a bullet from the gun and run a ballistics check on it. There were no outstanding crimes associated with the Beretta. It was clean.
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