By six o’clock they had run out of the egg cells they had prepared, and had to call it a day. Louisa was given the task of preparing some new recipient egg cells, and Jason volunteered to produce more G-nuclei with the G-blood. It was a sad and baffled team that closed up the lab and headed for home that evening.
For the first time since they had started the project, something was going wrong.
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There was nothing on the television on Monday nights. Normally Don would hang out in his local pub and practice on the dart board, but tonight as he launched his personalised darts at the dart board on the back wall of the Crown and Cushion, no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t concentrate. His darts flew repeatedly wide of his targets and in frustration he packed the darts away into their velvet case and left the pub. He walked without thinking, staring at his feet and trying to sort some things out in his subconscious mind. First of all, he was trying to make that decision, trying to pluck up the courage to go and speak to his minister about the possibility of being baptised or confirmed or blessed, or something. Something by which he could make an outward sign to others that he was now a believer. He felt the desire or need to do something but lacked the courage to do it.
And secondly, there was the problem they had encountered in the lab today. What did it mean? Whatever the problem was, he felt certain that they would overcome it. They had come so far, were so close to achieving what he believed they were destined to do. But in spite of all their efforts, there was something missing. Something important. The only logical conclusion was that they must have overlooked something. But what?
It didn’t surprise Don that when he eventually looked up, he found himself standing outside the doors to the I.G.E.G.G.M labs.
He rode the elevator up to the top floor, and chatted briefly to the two security guards outside the elevator. They were listening to some international football match and were keen to get back to it, so Don left them and let himself into the lab at the end of the corridor. He bunnied up, and worked his way through the airlocks until he emerged, still deep in thought, into the dark lab beyond.
Instead of switching the lights on as he entered, he walked across the darkened room to the bench running around the edge of the lab, and resting his hands on the edge of the bench looked out through the windows to the glowing lights of the city on the other side of the park below. He often did this when he needed to think. The peace and quiet and the soft warming lights of the city relaxed him and cleared his mind, and he found that sometimes the answers to his problems would just pop into his head as he stared out into the space beyond.
His mind wandered back to the image of the nucleus being expelled from the cell.
"Why?" He asked himself for the hundredth time.
The lights of the city danced before him, and as he stared out into night sky he went through the procedure in his mind over and over again, step by step. For the life of him, he couldn't think of anything they had done wrong. There had to be something else...something they hadn't thought about.
He looked down at the small vial in his hands, which contained the thorn he had 'borrowed' from the lab. He had brought it with him deliberately, hoping that it might be able to inspire him somehow during his walk, and give him some answers.
As he looked at it again, he realised that if they had indeed missed something fundamental, then perhaps they would have to start again from scratch.
From the beginning.
As he looked at the thorn through the see-through container a sixth sense told him that somehow the little thorn contained the answer to their problems, and for the first time since he had stolen it, he felt glad that he had.
Yet, if the thorn in his hands somehow did contain an answer to their problems, how was he going to admit to the others in the group that he stolen it in the first place?
"Ouch…, that was going to be a tough one...."
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Chapter Forty Seven
CBWI Bunker
Vale, Colorado
Tuesday 6th Dec 5.00pm
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The next day, Tim drove to the airport and took the President’s private jet to Vale. It was two weeks since he had last visited the laboratory, and officially there was every reason for him to make another visit that week. Anyway, being in overall charge of the project, he could come and go as he pleased.
His aircraft touched down just as the sun was setting across the mountains. Officially, the military airstrip into the laboratory facilities didn’t exist, and all air traffic flying in and out of the base wasn’t recorded or logged. Denver airport had got used to the strange comings and goings in and out of the area, and the CIA had their own man in the air traffic control centre who worked for them, guiding the planes in and out of the area efficiently and secretly. No 'official' records ever existed of the lab’s visitors.
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The CBWI facility at Vale was a huge affair. Built into the side of a mountain, at one time it had been an underground nuclear bunker, designed to house four hundred government officers with enough supplies to keep them alive for two years in the event of a nuclear attack.
With the end of the Cold War the nuclear threat was significantly reduced. The nuclear bunker had been mothballed and after sitting empty for many years, its potential as an ideal laboratory facility for genetic and biological research had been spotted by Daniel, Tim’s boss at the CIA. After making a few phone calls, the facility had been reassigned and the airport at the base reopened.
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Working at the institute was a strange affair. Scientists worked underground for a month at a time, only seeing the outside world through the special rooms that had been built closer to the top of the mountain and whose camouflaged metallic curtains were only drawn back at night time, affording the inhabitants a stunning night view of the lights of the city in the valley below.
Special 'natural' lighting filled the subterranean corridors and rooms, and natural cinematic views of the outside countryside were projected in real time to fake imitation windows and large screens which adorned the walls of corridors, private rooms and recreational areas, going some way to making the whole establishment feel less claustrophobic and acceptable.
A month had been chosen as the minimum habitation time for any tour of duty, the idea being that based on the average incubation period for most known viruses, it was likely that anyone accidentally infected with something from the labs would first develop the disease and show symptoms inside the centre, before leaving the confines of the lab and infecting the world outside.
It was a flaky rule at best, not really standing up to much scientific scrutiny, but it had stuck and no one really complained too much. Only senior officials, like Tim, were able to flaunt the rules without being questioned.
Life underground was made as luxurious as possible for everyone, and the time passed by quickly. Especially when working on something interesting and of great importance. And there had never been anything like the “Crown of Thorns” project before.
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Tim was picked up at the airport by a Captain dressed in the uniform of the Military Council Protection Elite, a special core of crack soldiers recently pulled together by President Jamieson with sworn allegiance to protect himself and other members of the Senate from terrorist activity. The idea to form the MCPE had been a prudent one, especially with the growing numbers of terrorist assassinations occurring throughout the world.
Despite himself Tim admired the crack soldiers, knowing that had he been younger he would have been attracted to join them himself, but he hated the uniforms which reminded him of the Waffen SS troops created by Adolf Hitler in the Second World War of the twentieth century. No doubt that’s where the President had got his inspiration from. However, instead of the skull and cross bones which the SS used as their logo, the symbol borne on every MCPE uniform and cap was an eye looking out from the middle of a pyramid, the sym
bol of America that used to adorn the old dollar bills.
Escorted by the young captain they crossed quickly through the security checks at the military airport and jumped into a jet-shuttle which projected them effortlessly through the underground tunnel system into the heart of the mountain and the complex of labs.
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Tim had wanted to keep his visit low key, but as he stepped out of the shuttle Colonel John Smart appeared as if from nowhere and saluted him.
“Welcome to Vale, Sir! I trust you had a good journey?”
“John...yes, thank you I did. How did you know I was coming?”
“Surely you would be surprised if I didn’t, Sir. That’s what you pay me for.”
“I suppose so...but I want you to keep it low key...I’m only here for a flying visit. I have to be in Washington by tomorrow night.”
“Understood Sir. Please, come this way...”
As Tim followed the Colonel through a maze of bright white walled passages, with doctors and scientists in white coats streaming past them talking excitedly and scanning print outs and clip boards as they walked, Tim tried to curb the annoyance he felt at the Colonel knowing he was coming. Okay, so it was the Colonel’s job to know, but Tim was the head of the president’s secret service and security, and the thought that even he was monitored and checked, and not beyond suspicion from his own colleagues really bugged him. The America he loved was falling apart. It was turning into a military and police state far worse than anything America had ever fought against and feared and resisted during the last century.
Tim caught his negative train of thought and curtailed it abruptly, reprimanding himself severely for allowing himself to think like that. He wouldn’t tolerate such negative thinking in his staff so he mustn’t allow himself to think like that either.
Passing through the rabbit warren of tunnels they eventually came to an elevator which they rode down four levels, coming out into a room with three doors on either side of a small square reception area.
“These are the executive suites. They’ve been refurbished and opened up since your last visit. They were being used as storage areas since the lab was mothballed, but with so many people working on the Crown of Thorns Project, we’ve been running out of space. Anyway, there’s a guard stationed outside your door permanently for your security. If you need anything you can ask him to arrange it for you by calling him from the phone inside your room. The other rooms are empty just now so you’ve got the floor to yourself.” Colonel Smart showed him to the door of his executive suite.
“Excellent. Thanks for your help, I appreciate it.” Tim thanked the Colonel. “Oh, before you go, can you arrange for Prof. Stuart and Prof. Calvert to join me in my room for dinner at 10pm this evening?”
“Certainly Sir… I’ll leave you to wash up now Sir. If you need me at all, just ask the Corporal and he’ll call me. I hope I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast? I can give you an update then if you would like?”
“That would be great. I think I’ll take a shower and make a few calls just now. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight.”
The Colonel saluted, turned and stepped back into the elevator. The Corporal at the desk immediately outside the elevator clicked his heels and jumped to attention, and then ushered Tim into his executive suite. It was a palatial affair, more like a Royal suite at the Waldorf than a room in an underground bunker. Tim fixed himself a quick drink at his own private bar and downed the whisky in one. He opened up his suitcase and took out a small brown envelope which he quickly slipped into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Looking in the mirror briefly to adjust his tie, he stepped out of his suite, into the waiting elevator and rode it to Level 3, the floor where the Crown of Thorns was being kept in one of the laboratories.
It was Tuesday evening. Tim knew that this was the evening that Prof. Calvert and Prof. Stuart had their group team meetings in the main presentation theatres on Level Two, which meant that the labs would be empty of all staff working on the Crown of Thorns project. As he tapped the day’s security code onto the security pad outside the lab door, then scanned his retina and the finger print on his left index finger, he checked his watch and made a mental note that he had only got forty-five minutes before he had to be back in his room to meet the others. Forty-five minutes during which he had to somehow try to get the Crown’s original owner, or God, to grant him one small miracle just like the other miracles that had already been granted to a few of the other people who had come in contact with the Crown.
And what exactly was he meant to do? Prostrate himself on the floor before the Crown? Kneel before it? Touch it? How exactly was a person meant to beg for a miracle anyway?
As he stepped into the lab and the door closed behind him, he locked it from the inside and moved towards the airlock. He was just about to bunny up, and climb quickly into his protective biological suit, when he checked himself.
What was he doing? What was he going to do? The Crown wasn’t a god…it was just an object. What madness had possessed him to come all this way to 'touch' an object in the hope of being granted a miracle?
He stood before the row of bunny suits, his heart pounding in his chest and his hands shaking nervously. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the brown envelope, taking out the photographs of his daughter that he’d brought with him.
As he looked at the smiling face of his daughter, her eyes bright with laughter as she played in their garden one afternoon last summer, Tim fought in vain to suppress the wall of pain which came from nowhere and hit him like a moving train. The tears burst from his eyes, and he began to sob uncontrollably.
He fell to his knees, letting the photographs fall from his hands onto the floor below, and with his hands dangling loosely by his side he threw back his head and let out a long, guttural moan that started somewhere in his feet and found its way up through his legs and stomach and chest and out into the world outside.
“I’ve never asked you for anything in my life before, never, but please hear me now… GOD... Please...please cure my daughter...Take me...give her my life...cure her...I KNOW you can do it!...”
He fell face forward onto this chest, throwing his arms out in front of him.
Tim didn't really know how much he believed the words he had said. He didn't know for certain if there was a God. He didn't know what to believe in any more. As he lay on the floor of the lab crying his eyes out from the futility of it all, maybe no one was listening to his tears. But as he cried he realised that if there was no one there, if there was no God, then Tim and his wife had exhausted all the possibilities, and sure as the dawn would come, his daughter was going to die.
"There has to be a God...there just has to be!!!" he cried in desperation, the tears coming fast and furiously.
The tears flowed from deep within his soul, and it was twenty minutes before he stopped sobbing and realised there were no more tears to be shed. As he lay on the ground, his face pressed against the heated tiles of the lab floor, he slowly opened his eyes and looked around him.
He was alone with the sound of the air filtration units. As the last of the tears flowed from his eyes, he pushed himself up onto his knees and gathered up the pictures scattered on the floor around him, putting them back into the envelope before inserting them once more into his jacket pocket.
He stood up and looked briefly at the wall of bunny suits and then turned back towards the lab door. He wouldn’t be going into to see or touch the Crown. He had cried his soul out to ‘God’, and if ‘God’ hadn’t heard him, then he never would. His tears had said everything his heart had wanted to.
Tim wasn’t a good man. He knew that himself, but his daughter was good. Tim’s request to God had been real. Heartfelt. From the very core of his 'soul', assuming of course that he still had one.
As he recovered his posture and checked himself in the mirror before stepping from the lab into the busy corridor outside, he knew that there was nothing more that he could do.
&n
bsp; He had spoken to his God. Whether or not his God had heard him, was another matter. He prayed that 'He' had.
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Tina lay asleep in her warm bedroom at the Curt’s family home. Built in the affluent Washington D.C. suburb of Belgravia, each house in the exclusive suburb lay in sprawling grounds large enough to build a small town upon.
Unfortunately, leukaemia was blind to the trappings of wealth, as well as the suffering of those living in poverty. It affected both those with rich and poor clothes alike. Even the best doctors that money could buy had been unable to help the Curts family in their time of need, and as Tina slept in her bed upstairs, her mother Regina cried alone in the study downstairs.
The gin did little to take the edge of her sorrow. Tina was her baby, and now she was alone and she didn’t have to be strong for Tim, she mourned for the loss that was soon to come, and for the baby that was going to be taken from her so soon.
Outside in the private grounds that surrounded their house, no one could hear her tears or share her pain.
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The grandfather clock at the top of the wide arching staircase chimed eleven times. Tina stirred in her bed and her eyelids fluttered as the brightness penetrated through the layers of her dream.
She was swimming in the ocean, full of energy and happy. She didn’t want to leave the dream…but that light…it was so bright...so very bright.
Suddenly the beautiful sea was gone, and she was dreaming that she was alone in her bedroom, a light brighter than she had ever seen before, coming from the corner of her room. In her dream her eyes flickered open and Tina lifted her heavy head slightly from her pillow. The brightness in her bedroom was pouring from a doorway hovering in the air above her doll's house. She blinked and shaded her eyes.
BOX SET of THREE TOP 10 MEDICAL THRILLERS Page 117
