Olympus Device 2: The Olympus Device Book Two

by Joe Nobody

The Catholic Church helped some. Distant relatives contributed what they could. Often their empty stomachs were filled by the random kindness of strangers.

  Zeta managed to get a basic education. After working 10 grueling hours in the fields each day, he reported to the parish priest to study the alphabet and basic mathematics. The secret, he soon discovered, was learning to read. With that capability, he could find books that would open doors to all other knowledge.

  Candlelit nights were spent in their shack, scouring the armloads of books borrowed from any source he could find. Consuela learned too, but her pre-teen mind wasn’t as sharp or hungry for understanding.

  One day, a stranger wearing a uniform arrived in the village. He was there to gather the conscripts – young men who had reached the age of 17.

  The army initially didn’t see much value in young Zeta. Most of the draftees were given menial tasks, the organization more resembling a nationalized version of the Boy Scouts of America than a military training machine. In reality, the men running the operation were watching and testing – always on the lookout for young men with potential. Maximillian, like his namesake emperor, was soon moved to the head of the class.

  A year later, he was enrolled in his country’s military academy. While this was a rare opportunity for the son of a peasant farmer, Consuela suffered in his absence. She was shipped off to an aunt who didn’t want or need another mouth to feed.

  “She paid a high price for my success,” Zeta explained to the photograph. “She sacrificed as much as I did for these ribbons and rank – maybe more.”

  The years passed quickly for the aspiring soldier. Classes, schools, and field maneuvers filled his days. He sent half of his modest paychecks home, fully aware that the vile aunt was probably taking advantage of his sister’s stipends.

  Then, seemingly in a blink, it was graduation time. Consuela’s letter announcing her trip to the big city had pleased him to no end. They had celebrated, dined, toured, and shared for those three remarkable days.

  “I have something I need to tell you, big brother,” she said on their last day together. “I’m going north into the United States. My best friend’s brother owns a café in Phoenix, and I can get work there.”

  “No, Consuela, please don’t. There is great danger in crossing the border,” he had protested. But it was to no avail.

  “I have a life too, my handsome, strong brother. I can do well for myself in the States. There is nothing for me at home. In America, I can enroll in school and earn a decent wage. There is no dream for me here in Mexico… no future. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days harvesting food and babies. I’ve been saving the money you have so generously sent and have already paid for a guide.”

  Despite his best effort, her mind was set in stone. His baby sister had become a strong-minded, stubborn woman, and he couldn’t talk her out of her plan. There was also a streak of guilt that restrained his effort. He had left her behind, single-minded in a quest to better himself. Who was he to deny her a chance at a better life?

  On their way to the bus station, the siblings had passed a small sidewalk stand selling handmade silver trinkets and jewelry. Zeta had stopped and pointed, saying, “If you are determined to set out on this journey, let me give you something to comfort you during your travels.”

  He’d purchased a cheap St. Christopher’s necklace, splurging to have it engraved as they watched the artisan carve Zeta’s message of love and luck.

  Sitting in his office now, the colonel’s fondest memory of those days was his sister’s reaction to that tiny hunk of silver dangling from the serpentine chain. She had glowed with joy, cradling the prize and kissing him relentlessly on the cheeks. At the time, he’d assumed it was his gift that initiated her warm response. He had replayed that event so many times in his mind, the years of wisdom and afterthought finally revealing the true reason for Consuela’s warm reception. While meaningful, the religious symbol formed into a metal disk did not prompt her reaction. Rather, the colonel’s gift-giving gesture acknowledged his sister’s sacrifice for him, and that had made Consuela feel so valued.

  For days, he’d waited on news of her safe arrival. Every mail call was a disappointment, every phone message read with anxious eyes. After a week, he knew something was wrong. At ten days, he requested an emergency leave to go and find his beloved Consuela.

  It took three days to track down the coyote that had lead his sister’s group of hopeful men and women across the Arizona border. The young man was in the hospital, suffering from dehydration.

  “The U.S. border agents caught us just on the other side,” the young man had claimed. “They started shooting at us, and we scattered into the desert night. It was chaos, everyone running in all directions. They found me three days later, almost dead, and deported me back here.”

  “And my sister? Consuela? What became of her?”

  “The gringos told me they had found several bodies that day. That is all I know, señor.”

  Zeta lost control of his temper. He sprang at the bedridden man, clutching his throat with an iron grip. “You lie! You are a criminal and a villain! Tell me! Tell me the truth!”

  Something in the coyote’s eyes saved his life that day. Zeta remembered the man didn’t struggle or fight, but merely stared back into his attacker’s face.

  “I’m telling you the truth, señor. You can kill me if you wish. I don’t care. The ghosts of those lost souls will haunt me for the rest of my days. It would be a relief to stop seeing their faces when I close my eyes.”

  For some reason, Zeta believed the man and spared his life.

  Zeta had used his position to gain a visitor’s visa into Arizona. He’d driven a rented car to the main Border Patrol facility in the area indicated by the coyote.

  “We find bodies in the desert all the time, slick,” the gruff, uncaring American had responded. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

  Zeta suppressed the urge to strike the man, barely holding his temper in check. He provided the date, general area, and description of his sister.

  After several clicks on the computer keyboard, the agent finally responded. “Yes, we recovered a body matching that description in that area.”

  “Her remains?”

  “Our policy is to wait five days for the deceased to be claimed. After that, the corpuses are buried by the state. I have photographs of the body if you would like to attempt an identification.”

  Zeta’s world became suddenly small and meaningless as he stared at the photographs. It was Consuela, her skin red and purple in death. He didn’t see the blistered, cracked lips or sunburned skin – only the vision of her vibrant eyes and wonderful smelling hair filled his senses.

  “And the cause of death?” the Mexican hissed.

  “Gunshot wound.”

  “Who? Who would shoot an innocent, unarmed woman?”

  The American behind the counter frowned as he read the computer screen. “There was no autopsy or forensics performed. Our agents don’t normally fire on illegal immigrants unless they’re fired upon. Was she smuggling dope? Was she a mule being escorted by armed men?”

  The exasperation and anger in Zeta’s voice was obvious, “She wanted to be a waitress, sir, nothing more. She had never even held a firearm. Where is she buried?”

  The border agent provided the address. As Zeta turned to leave, the man had called out. “Sir, there were also some personal effects recovered from the victim. If you’ll hold on just one minute, I can retrieve them.”

  A few minutes later, the man returned carrying a small plastic bag of clothing and the St. Christopher’s medal. Zeta pulled out his sister’s bloody blouse and found two bullet holes in the back of the stained garment. Rage pounded in his head as he gripped the cloth with white knuckles.

  Somehow, he managed to steer the rental to the gravesite. There were no markers or stones, just an open field with numbered wooden posts sticking up from the ground. He found #462, the site where the A
merican had said his sister was laid to rest. In the distance was a landfill, a place where garbage was buried.

  It all overwhelmed the young Zeta. His sister had been nothing but trash to the Americans. They didn’t see a young girl, hopeful and full of life. They only saw a trespasser who was trying to circumvent their law. The injustice of it all raked his soul with claws that left deep scars that would never heal.

  The pain overwhelmed him, causing him to drop to his knees and sob over her grave. So intense was the agony… so deep the remorse, he thought for a moment he would surely go insane with grief.

  But then a pinpoint of light shone in his conscious. It wasn’t much to begin with, but it grew. Zeta’s sanity was salvaged by that small shimmer of relief. Revenge. As he wept in that open, Arizona field, the shimmer of vengeance grew into resolve, pushing aside the remorse and agony. It anchored in a corner of his mind, stabilizing him with a platform of reason.

  “One day I will revenge your death,” he had promised his sister’s ghost. “One day the Americans will pay.”

  Zeta, now a respected senior officer and the commander of men, leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Today is the day.”

  Professor Middleton pushed his spectacles up his nose, and then nervously scratched his chin. “This is most concerning, Dr. Weathers. I’ve never seen a concentration of this specific compound before. Where did you say the sample originated?”

  Mitch pretended absentmindedness, “It was mailed to me, Doctor. I can’t recall the address, but I have it on file.”

  The older man nodded in understanding – he had trouble remembering where he had left his checkbook. “Regardless, this needs to be investigated. I would also recommend you notify the CDC and the EPA.”

  “What could the possible causes be?”

  The older man returned his eye to the microscope before answering. “If this was the 1960s, I would say it was industrial pollution… probably airborne. Given this animal was clearly born after that decade, it most likely is an unknown waste site. Perhaps even a landfill that is leaking into the water supply. Whatever the source, this is dangerous.”

  Mitch wanted to be clear before he chose a plan of action. “So you’re saying this compound doesn’t occur anywhere in nature?”

  “Absolutely not,” replied the professor, slightly annoyed at his colleague’s lack of knowledge. “Hydrogen cyanide, oxycyanide, and borocyanide were once used in the plating of metals, such as anticorrosive galvanization. They were cheap, extremely effective, and accomplished several steps for preparation in one nasty-ass chemical bath - the only problem being that they were also practically impossible to dispose of. Most communities don’t want cyanide in their water supplies or landfills.”

  Peering up from his instrument, Middleton continued, “Like so many things in commercial manufacturing, the cheapest method is often the most dangerous. Our automobiles cost more because of the banning of substances like this, but in my opinion, it’s well worth it.”

  Mitch thanked the man and exited the Agricultural Administration building. “Damn it, Dusty. How do you keep bumbling into shit like this? Cyanide? Wow!” he whispered.

  Still, there was a bright side. He couldn’t justify the risk of visiting his brother based simply on his emotional needs. This would provide a good excuse.

  Returning to his own office, Mitch found one of his undergraduate students working at the reception area. “Danny, do you know where that file of conference invitations is?”

  Scanning around for a moment, the young student pointed to a nearby filing cabinet. “I believe you’ll find it in the top drawer, Professor.”

  Mitch pulled the thick folder, thanking his aide and then shutting the office door behind him. He had to be careful because he assumed the FBI was always watching and listening.

  He quickly thumbed through the file’s contents. Being a department head at A&M, the younger Weathers was always in demand to speak, contribute, partake or attend various conferences, reviews and trade shows. He ignored 99% of the invitations, always busy with ongoing university business or family events.

  As he thumbed through the myriad of correspondence, he found a single-page letter inviting him to attend the Fourth International Conference on Photonic and Optoelectronics. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the meeting was at the Corpus International Convention Center… and had started today.

  He spun quickly to his PC, pulling up a page of search results. Already, his colleagues were posting pictures of the event on social media. It looked like a pretty good size show, with several dozen exhibitors on the convention floor.

  Wanting to minimize any risk, Mitch then pulled up a list of tomorrow’s sessions and speakers. There were a few that he would be mildly interested in and could justify attending if questioned.

  So if I drive down there, how do I shake my FBI shadow… if they bother to follow me? he questioned.

  Leaning back in his chair, Mitch thought it through. Like a meticulous physics experiment, his trained mind processed every step, forward and backward.

  He hadn’t seen a single indication of continued FBI surveillance, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. He operated daily under the assumption that they were reading every email, listening to every phone call and probably had his office bugged, perhaps even with video capabilities.

  A short time later, he sat at the Java Barn nursing a cup of the best coffee on campus. The table of paper in front of him was already filled with two pages of notes.

  I can do this, he thought. I can see Dusty, and they’ll never know.

  Day Nine - Morning

  The undergraduate was absolutely thrilled Dr. Weathers had selected him to attend a professional conference. Part of the exhilaration was replaced with puzzlement when the department head asked if the student could drive his own personal car. The elation completely disappeared when the professor announced they had to leave at 4 a.m. In the morning. Tomorrow morning.

  Still, it would be good to get out of College Station for a few days, and the university was paying mileage and meals. It was agreed.

  The predawn adventure began with both the passenger and the driver keyed up, but for completely different reasons. The student was anxious to impress the man who would control his grade and potentially his career. The teacher was charged with energy because he was going rogue and risking imprisonment.

  “I reserved us a spot in one of the lab demonstrations,” Weathers announced as the Texas countryside passed by. “Dr. Cummings from Texas Tech is conducting a workshop on the restrictive principles of sub-element velocities.”

  After a deep yawn, the driver nodded vigorously. “I’ve read about that. He’s trying to develop a desktop version of a particle accelerator.”

  “Yes, you’re correct. Personally, I’m a bit worried about the direction the project is headed. He’s using the vibrations from gamma radiation as a substitute for miles and miles of magnetic fields. While I applaud the concept, any usage of radioactive materials in the lab is a concern.”

  The kid decided not to comment on that, the science more interesting than any political or social fallout concerning terrorism, bomb-building materials, or community exposure.

  The two continued driving south, managing to bypass the outskirts of Houston before the gridlock of morning traffic. Corpus was still another three hours away, but Mitch felt comfortable with his schedule.

  Dusty hadn’t slept. Throughout the night, every little creak and rattle had sent him peering into the darkness with a white knuckled grip on his weapons. Twice he’d been tempted to just start walking to somewhere… anywhere. But there wasn’t any place to go.

  The fiery-red sun cresting in the east provided him with some relief. Deciding there wasn’t anything he could do at the moment, he prepared to refill the birdfeeders. If evil found its way to the ranch, then he’d do the best he could to survive, and that was that.

  Given his newfound resolve, he stopped and took a moment to admire that fresh-da
y smell and note the heavy dew that sparkled on every surface.

  The new day was a relief for his troubled mind. He’d never quite understood why watching the sun come up filled him with warmth and calm, but it seemed like it always did. “Maybe it’s some engrained primordial instinct,” he whispered to the new Sol. “Maybe after a 100,000 years, we’re programmed to celebrate surviving the night.”

  Whatever it was, he enjoyed it every time, and some days, like this morning, it was powerful therapy. This is the one good thing I’ve discovered about being an outlaw, he mused. I really do appreciate the little things that I might not experience tomorrow.

  Penny’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “Good morning!”

  “Ma’am,” he replied, tipping his hat.

  “Mr. Hastings called last night and said I should be at the courthouse tomorrow and to make sure and bring bail money. I’ve used up most of what we got for that pistol and was wondering if you’ve found any of Papa’s other guns that were worth selling.”

  Dusty thought for a moment before replying, “Yes, there are a couple that might bring in some serious money if we can find the right buyer. I’m not sure Laredo is the best place to shop them though. I was going to talk to you about maybe listing them online after I finished cleaning them up.”

  “What about Corpus Christi? That’s a much bigger city.”

  He shrugged, “Couldn’t hurt to try, I suppose. I’m not familiar with that town – never been there.”

  Penny smiled, “I was thinking of taking the girls and driving over that way this morning. It’s not that far really, and I have a sister who lives there. I was going to hit her up for a loan just in case the guns were worthless. If you want, we can load them up, and you can ride over with us. While I’m visiting Sissy, you can take the truck and visit a few gun shops.”

  The thought of exposing himself to more people didn’t initially sit well with Dusty, and his concern must have shown on his face.

  “We can have some fun while we’re at it,” Penny said, bolstering the idea. “I suspect we would all benefit from the fresh sea air. And since you’ve never been there, we can visit a few of the tourist attractions. I think the girls could use a little fun in their lives right now anyway.”