Project Aurora (Hope Novak Thrillers)

by Daniel Pelfrey

  “Your things will be sent once we have cleared them to leave the building.”

  “I need my jacket.”

  “We have a car waiting for you, Ms. Meyers. You won’t need that jacket for now.”

  This entire situation concerned Meyers. She had never seen these security guards before. The staff in Human Resources had been replaced too. Her personal items needing clearance to leave the building also rankled her. The new owners of Midwest Today ran tighter security than most government facilities, Meyers thought.

  Daphne was concerned about her future. She was fifteen years younger than James, with whom she had a brief relationship after James’ wife passed away. Still in her mid-forties, she did not have the luxury of retiring yet.

  That non-compete clause and nondisclosure agreement she signed made it impossible to find work in journalism—print, television, radio, internet.

  Perhaps a job as a book editor would be acceptable?

  She did not know it yet, but the car NorthBay had sent was not taking her home. Because Daphne had read James Lewis’ article and verified of some Lewis’s sources, NorthBay had no intention of letting Daphne Meyers walk away.

  James Lewis would be taken care of, but that was for another day.

  Two people disappearing just after a conversation where both lost their jobs would draw unwanted attention.

  To hide what Daphne had learned, she would become the next experiment. Unbeknownst to even Robert Fritz, who had set this into motion, someone deep in the hidden structure of NorthBay decided that killing Daphne Meyers and James Lewis straight away would be too simple. The Cabal, the shadow organization that used various companies, Like NorthBay or WestGate, as their legitimate front, would eliminate enemies without the need to kill if the newest plan was a success.

  The security escort walked with Daphne through the building, accompanied her down the elevator, and into the parking garage below.

  Near the exit into the garage, the guard who had done all the talking said into his radio, “we’re near the door now.”

  This is odd, Daphne thought.

  She saw a black Suburban pull up. The guards ushered her to the rear side door, and suddenly a second vehicle approached. It was a Mercedes Sprinter van that blocked the glass doors that led back into the building.

  When the silent guard opened the rear door, the talkative one grabbed Daphne from behind, injecting her in the arm with a hypodermic needle.

  The door to the Suburban closed as the side door of the Sprinter van opened, but it was too late for Daphne to struggle as she was quickly losing consciousness.

  She did not feel being stuffed into the Sprinter, bound hand and foot.

  She would be out for a long while.

  They took no chances.

  Daphne awoke later to find herself strapped to a hospital bed. Daphne did not know how long she had been out, but she was afraid. And her hip hurt into the bone.

  She wondered what they had done to her. What she did not know was what was to come.

  A single tear escaped the corner of her left eye as she thought and hoped James Lewis had not met a similar fate.

  FIVE

  The best thing about the transition from the print newspaper job to an online journal for Lewis was not working from an office anymore. He stayed home or traveled where he chose.

  Lewis thought of getting an RV and traveling the country after James junior, his son, finished college in a couple months.

  James Lewis missed Elizabeth, JR’s mother. She died just before JR’s senior year of high school from an aggressive form of breast cancer. Next year, he thought, JR will get the house as a college graduation present, and I can buy that motorcoach I’ve been eyeing.

  While Lewis loved not going into the office, he hated meeting with his editor, Daphne Meyers, via Skype. The concept was too much of a modern inconvenience for his taste.

  A few months after Elizabeth passed, Lewis and Meyers had tried dating. The relationship did not work out. Lewis was not ready. Their professional relationship was awkward for a time, but came out stronger in the end.

  Meetings like this only happened when a story did not meet Daphne’s idea of scintillating news. Lewis knew Daphne was not thrilled with his piece on WestGate and its SCI program by the email setting up the Skype session. There was still a part of Lewis’s reporting style that was ‘old-school,’ and Daphne was entirely ‘new school.’ Typically, that meant more fluff and less substance, thought Lewis.

  Lewis logged in at 10 a.m., the appointed time for his face-to-face with Daphne.

  “Morning, Daphne.”

  “We can’t run your latest piece.” Daphne was always straight to business. But this is not normal, thought Lewis.

  “Why not?”

  “There’s not enough substantiated proof in what you’re writing about.” She seems uncomfortable. “You’d be better to put this one aside. Take a week off. I’ll send you some other ideas to work with.” Daphne has never made those suggestions. He’ll make a few changes or the like, but to abandon a story. Never, thought James.

  “Do you want me to get more information, maybe dig up another source or two?”

  “Look, James, we can’t run this. Period.”

  “And why not?”

  “Our new owners don’t want it run.”

  “And who are the new owners?” James had a suspicion.

  “NorthBay Conglomerated. Look, James, bury this. Take a week. We’ll get you some new leads for stories.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Consider your employment ended.”

  “Bury this story, or I’m fired? Really?”

  “No. You’ll receive your pension as a lump sum. I fought for that Hell, I fought just to have this conversation. For that, I’m out too.”

  “Is that all the cards on the table?” Lewis figured it was a done deal either way. Take the money now, or there would be nothing in a week.

  “No. Take the offer now. It won’t be here in a week.” Figures, James thought.

  “Well, I guess I’m retired then.”

  “James, part of the deal is a nondisclosure agreement. You can’t take this freelance anywhere, either. You need to turn over your notes too.” Damn, there goes that idea. “we will send the papers over by courier later today.”

  ◆◆◆

  By noon a courier arrived. James figured he would have some time to look through the paperwork and send it back in a day or two.

  “Mr. Lewis, I’m to wait until you have signed the paperwork. At which point, you turn over all notes on the article in question.” The courier had an intimidating look about him as he informed James of how this was to play out.

  “There is a lot to look at here. I need a chance to read it. I want to know what I am signing.”

  “Mr. Lewis, I understand. But it is in your best interest to sign.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Not from me, personally. I’m just conveying a message. The sooner you sign and turn over those notes. I’m sorry. That’s what they instructed me to say. Also, if you look at the payout information, you’ll find that it is rather generous.”

  Lewis looked, realizing the payout amount was at a minimum four times what his pension should be worth. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” He chuckled as the courier flushed with embarrassment. At least, James hoped it was embarrassment.

  “I wasn’t made aware of the full details.”

  “You’re right. Couriers aren’t usually given details. Or additional messages.”

  “I’m new at this. They gave me an opportunity for a better life and I took it.”

  “Mind me asking what you did before?”

  “I was in prison. I had a temper. Got into a couple of bad spots because of it. I’m glad I was accepted into the SCI program.”

  This concerned Lewis. Was this intentional? Sending someone who benefitted from what he had investigated. He decided it’s probably best to sign and send the courier on his
way.

  “Alright, I’m signing now, and here are the notes.” Using the ink pen the courier had given him with the papers, James Lewis ended his journalism career. It was a cheap retractable-type.

  Typical, thought Lewis.

  As Lewis pressed down to extend the ballpoint, he felt a small prick on his thumb. Thinking nothing of it, as he quickly signed and clicked the pen a second time, giving both pen and papers back to the courier.

  “Thank you.” The nameless courier then left without incident. Lewis still found it peculiar but did not fuss. He would get that motorcoach a little sooner than planned and enjoy a well-earned retirement.

  ◆◆◆

  The next day, James Lewis went looking at that motorcoach. In fact, he bought the next model up. The thirty-four foot Tiffin Allegro set Lewis back almost two-hundred thousand dollars. It would be delivered in three weeks. There were some customizations he requested. Lewis would still have plenty to live on.

  The dealership suggested Lewis would need a different car if he wanted to have a tow vehicle. Apparently, RVs this size are not always the easiest to maneuver. A separate vehicle to use while the RV was parked would be essential was how the salesperson explained it to Lewis.

  With that in mind, Lewis headed over to the Jeep dealer. Picking out a Gladiator, the Jeep’s truck variant in the Gobi tan color to match the RV, Lewis arranged delivery to his house later in the week. He planned to give JR the car. It was only two years old and much nicer than the beater JR had been driving at college.

  Shutting down the story meant there was something. Lewis planned to use his retirement to track that down. He would not do it while being stationary. Lewis figured it would be best to move around. For now, he kept the house in his name and add JR to the deed. That way, if anything happened, he did not have to worry.

  Lewis gave the courier a copy of the files, but he kept his original, never revealing the safe. This story needed to be told. Even if Lewis could never publish what he found, he would find the depths of this enigma.

  Lewis did not tell JR about his retirement or purchases. He would wait until his graduation and surprise him. Lewis had taken a job where he planned to live at home. He just did not know it would be his. After moving JR back home, Lewis planned to hit the road, see the sights, and possibly dig a little deeper into the WestGate-NorthBay mystery.

  Lewis knew to be careful. Not push too hard on this one. It was worth doing. He only took the money because he knew finding another job at his age would be difficult. The way they pushed him out would make him a liability for any reporting job. Not that it mattered with the nondisclosure and non-compete agreements included in his ‘retirement package.’

  James Lewis was finished as a journalist.

  For the time being, Lewis did nothing with the story. He could not. But Lewis still had that curiosity. When he started looking into this puzzle again, Lewis found nothing. Actually, he discovered they had folded Pathways into NorthBay, and that, in turn, had been taken private. The cost for that was staggering, thought Lewis. But anything he put together no longer mattered. It was a dead end. Lewis realized he would either have to work harder at this or leave it behind and enjoy his retirement.

  The decision was straightforward. Retirement looked good.

  Lewis knew he should enjoy his newfound freedom. He meandered his way west. Lewis blogged about his journey. He could not leave writing behind. Besides, it was fun visiting places, taking pictures, writing about his days traveling, and posting it all. Few had signed on to follow his blog. He did not care. The writing itself was a reward for Lewis.

  SIX

  Dr. Black laughed to himself. Black was not even his name. No one in the video conferences used their actual names, and to the world, the man with his name was dead. Calvin Stein had been an up-and-coming psychiatrist.

  He wrote a theoretical paper about treating sex offenders using nanotechnology to suppress deviant behaviors. Someone in the Cabal liked the idea, resulting in Calvin Stein having an ‘accident.’ He had left behind a wife and a young daughter. It was explained to him they would remain safe as long as he did what he was told. That was ten years ago. The Safe Communities Initiative started three years after his disappearance.

  He had recently learned of the ‘additions’ to his work. Stein wondered how they got the politicians and other opponents to change their minds. Now that he knew, Stein was ready to burn it all down. Dr. Roberto Gomez, newest member to join ‘the Ranch,’ what the Cabal called their most secretive facility, developed next-generation stem cell research that would eliminate many surgery types, including plastic surgery.

  The entire staff at the Ranch was comprised of experts who showed brilliance in their fields. Some had been established for years while others were college students who disappeared on their spring break. What they all had in common, the world thought them dead or missing.

  After being forced to create Zoe Mills to test Gomez’s research, the Ranch’s entire staff was in on the plan to escape. Once the DNA re-sequencing of Daphne Meyers was complete, Stein was to reprogram her mind.

  Only a problem existed. Daphne’s mind reprogrammed itself. As they made her younger, she acted younger. At first, Stein thought Meyers had developed a dissociative identity. He was proven wrong quickly as Meyers remembered everything from her past life, including what led her to being at the Ranch, even though she insisted she was now Zoe Mills.

  Stein and the staff had been told she was a convicted felon. A former teacher who had a sexual relationship with a minor student. The information provided also stated that the prisoner was a habitual liar and not to believe anything she said. They had brought her in with three other women and three men, all prison inmates.

  Fortunately for Meyers, Roberto Gomez, the scientist behind the DNA splicing techniques, had decided the best course of treatment was to complete the gene therapy and DNA splicing first. The mental reprogramming and conditioning would come after the physical transformation.

  It was easy for Stein to verify Meyers’s story and identity. With this in hand, the plans for her conditioning changed. They brought Daphne into the fold on how to proceed. Stein went ahead with the nanorobotic implantation to help suppress specific memories in Meyers’ mind. He warned her of the possibility of actually developing a personality identity disorder.

  Meyers, or Mills as she insisted on being called, said, “they’ve already killed Daphne Meyers, there’s no sense in being her anymore.”

  They faked a setback to hide the true depths of what was being planned. The inmates were all successfully given new identities and personas, then hidden. The experimentation logs showed they all died before completing the transformation.

  They all agreed to help with the escape. They had fresh identities and were willingly conditioned to not repeat their past lives. Each would be placed in appropriate positions to help gather information on members of the Cabal.

  From then on, everything was a performance, intending to get Zoe Mills into the world. The staff began making other plans too. None could go back to their old lives. The things they had been forced to do for the Cabal and keeping their families safe made that a certainty.

  Part of the new staged regimen including no one talked to the patient while she underwent her ‘treatment.’ She had remained strapped to the bed, appearing to be heavily medicated much of the time.

  The few times she was awake, the doctors would talk about her as if she was not there. In fact, they never called her ‘Daphne.’ At first, they referred her to as ‘the patient.’ More recently, the staff had taken to calling her ‘Zoe.’ Daphne hated the lengths they were forced to use in convincing the Cabal she would enter the world as their asset.

  Every time she heard the name ‘Zoe,’ she would know it was her, but it would annoy her. Part of the plan included the simulated conditioning to make her believe she was an unwilling participant. She would hear a buzz, seemingly in her head, each time she would become annoyed. What she
did not know was that it was part of the programming. The buzz was the punishment for not being compliant. It also helped Mills know when information could be shared and when not. This was an added protection, so she did not reveal her origins at an inopportune time.

  One day, a nurse asked, “how are you today, Zoe?”

  Without considering the name used, she smiled and said, “I feel fine.” This was part of the conditioning for the cameras that monitored the labs at the Ranch. She had just acknowledged she was now Zoe. Daphne was moving to be the past. As part of this, Zoe felt a momentary warmth, also part of the conditioning. The reward for exhibiting ‘proper’ behavior. Eventually, Daphne would seem like someone who had been made up or an acquaintance from long ago.

  After a few cycles of the nurses using the name Zoe, a doctor entered the room. While examining his patient, he asked, “How are you today, Daphne?”

  With the annoyance of being called the wrong name, Zoe said, “my name is Zoe, Zoe Mills. That’s the name I was given when I was born. I don’t know who this Daphne person is.” A warm, pleasant feeling spread over Zoe, and she smiled.

  “I know,” replied the doctor, “you’d had an accident with a severe head injury. When you were brought in, you claimed to be Daphne Meyers. A forty-four-year-old newspaper editor.”

  “That’s silly. I’m twenty-three. I studied to be a fitness instructor. I graduated from college in May.” Again the warm feeling.

  The doctor finished his exam and told Zoe, “You should get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow.”

  The next time Zoe awoke, she found herself in an unfamiliar room. Gone was the sterile hospital-style room. Also gone, the straps that had held her down for so long. Zoe found herself in a hotel suite. At least it appeared to be. It was the next phase of her conditioning regimen. She had not yet left the facility Daphne Meyers had been taken to when abducted.

  Zoe was cautiously getting up since she knew she had been in bed for a while. A disconnected voice came over a PA into the room, saying, “please go to the closet and pick out some clothes.”