The Blueprint (The Upgrade Book 1)

by Wesley Cross

  Soon his was spitting and coughing the vile slush. A couple of times his backpack caught on the wire, jerking him back and out, making him panic as the hiss of bullets came dangerously close. He pressed on, burying his head in the mud again.

  After what seemed an eternity the mud crawl was over.

  The Cargo Net obstacle, the fifty-foot high grid of rough rope stretched between two posts, was next. Mike just started his way up the rope, trying to keep the momentum, when he heard Porter barking orders, making everybody abandon the course.

  “What the hell,” said Doug, who was climbing the net right after Connelly. He jumped off the net and landed on the compressed sand with the grace of a shot duck.

  “I don’t know,” said Mike, mostly to himself, as he watched the instructor run back to the mud pool.

  Mike jumped off the net as well, landing next to Doug, who now looked concerned.

  “Shit, Mike, where’s Sean?” he said, looking around.

  Mike didn’t answer. Something was horribly wrong. He started running toward the mud pool. Doug, then a moment later, Patrick, caught up with him on either side.

  A listless body of Sean Young was lying next to the barbwire. Mike felt his stomach contracted into a tight knot as he looked at the small hole in Sean’s temple. There was almost no blood.

  “What the fuck happened?” said Doug, looking at the fallen team member.

  “Ricochet, I think. But we’ll have to conduct a proper investigation,” said Porter, examining the body. “I’m sorry.”

  The training was halted for the rest of the day. They were lifted by helicopters, transferred back to the camp, and told to await further orders. The word was that Sean had a wife and two kids back home. The mood was dark.

  In the evening when Sean’s body was carried away and transported into the chopper, Rick Porter came to the group. In his tow was a seven foot tall giant with pasty white skin pocked with acne scars and a shy smile.

  “Gents,” said Porter, looking at the quiet group, “my condolences. Sean will be missed. I thought he was going to make it to the end of the course.”

  Porter paused, waiting for a response, but none came.

  “However,” he continued, “we have to carry on with the training, and you can’t afford the luxury of being distracted.”

  “We understand,” said Doug quietly.

  “This is your new team member, gentlemen,” said Porter, patting the giant on the shoulder, “I wish you the best of luck.”

  He turned around and walked away.

  “Hey, guys,” said the man in a surprisingly small voice, offering a shovel of a hand for a handshake, “Sorry about your friend. My name’s Martin.”

  CHAPTER 31

  “It’s all over the papers,” said Jason, putting the Wall Street Journal on the kitchen table. “They liken it to the Porsche’s attempt of taking over much larger Volkswagen.”

  “That’s a horrible analogy,” said Max, sipping his morning coffee. “Porsche’s attempt had failed. We succeeded.”

  Jason grinned at his friend, finished his own coffee, and checked his watch.

  “It’s almost seven-thirty; I should go. By the time I get there everybody will be there.”

  “But I thought the board of directors meeting was at nine-thirty,” said Max. “Oh, I see. You want to check out the place before the meeting.”

  “Something like that.”

  Jason arrived at the Brooklyn facility just after eight. A pair of guards checked his documents and ushered him inside. A tall, stocky man in his sixties was waiting for him at the lobby.

  “Daniel Leibowitz,” he introduced himself, offering a hand, “I was told you’d be here at nine-thirty.”

  “I figured I’d talk to the current CEO and have him show me the place for myself before all the important people get here.”

  “Well, I’ll be glad to give you a tour,” the man said and waved his hand to the elevators. “I was instructed that your security clearance has been appropriately upgraded. We should start from my office.”

  They walked to the elevator and the man swiped his access card.

  “As you know we have three research facilities, this one here and two smaller ones in New Jersey,” said the man as the elevator started its ascent. “This building also houses the administrative staff on the top two floors.”

  They got off on the ninth floor, and Leibowitz led Jason through a row of cubicles to the small corner office.

  “I’m afraid there’s not much of a view,” the man said, waving his hand at the windows completely closed by thick blinds. “Security measures. If you listen carefully, you can actually hear the blinds hum. They generate white noise in case someone is using a laser on our windows to eavesdrop.”

  “That’s impressive,” said Jason.

  “It’s sad actually,” said Daniel. “There is no good ol’ competition anymore. Everyone tries to steal secrets. You would think we’re at war. But let me show you the floor plan.”

  He fired up his computer terminal and brought up a blueprint of the building on the screen.

  “As you can see, there are nine floors above ground and twenty floors below.” He touched the screen to illustrate. “The top two, as I mentioned, house the admin staff. Everything above ground is purely theoretical. Floors five through seven are neuroscience research. Three and four are engineering. One and two do cloning research.”

  “You said engineering. What exactly do they do?”

  “Well…” Leibowitz paused for a second. “Asclepius is a human augmentation company. We look at the human body as if it were a machine. It has parts. When those parts break, we try to replace them.”

  “But my understanding was that the majority of your contracts were military.”

  “They are,” said Leibowitz, “but that doesn’t change the principle. Think of it in automotive terms. You bring us your grandmother’s broken minivan. We fix it and give you back a three-ton Humvee with a fifty caliber mounted on top of it.”

  “Hence the engineering,” said Jason.

  “Correct,” said Daniel. “That is where neuroscience and engineering have to meet halfway and figure out how to take a crazy cocktail of tissue and metal and connect it to the body.”

  “So, what’s happening in the underground facility?”

  “One, two, and three are prosthetics. Four and five are working with heart implants. Six and seven are kidney implants and biofilters. Eight through ten are body armor.”

  “Body armor? It doesn’t sound like human augmentation to me,” said Jason.

  “Body armor implants,” explained Leibowitz. “Some of them are what pundits call ‘wet-wired’ to weapon systems.”

  “I see. Go on.”

  “Eleven and twelve are animal trials areas. Thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen are human trials.”

  “That’s a lot of space for human trials.”

  “Well, only the fifteenth floor is the actual trials. The other two are just assembly and support. Sixteen and seventeen are lung implants and breathing aids.”

  “And what’s on the last three?”

  “That, I’m afraid is still above your clearance level,” said Leibowitz, “but this is just temporary. Once they approve your board seat, which is just a formality given your ownership stake, your clearance will be updated to access the lower floors as well.”

  “Fair enough,” Jason said and smiled, “I can wait.”

  “Is there anything in particular you’d like to see before the board meeting?”

  “Not really,” said Jason. “Maybe after the meeting. Why don’t you take me to the conference room now?”

  The board had nine permanent members, and Alexander Engel, now the company’s second-largest shareholder, arrived first. He walked around Jason without acknowledging his presence and took a seat at the head of the long, polished table.

  “Good morning Alex,” said Jason, looking him in the eye. “You are looking as dapper as usual.”

 
“Let’s get something straight,” said Engle. “I know you cheated. I don’t know how, but I’ll find out. And when I do, you’ll rot in jail for the rest of your life.”

  “I’m only getting started Alex,” Jason fired back, “but I promise you, in the end, I’ll take away the only thing that you care for. Money.”

  “That’s funny,” said Alex, leaning back in his chair, a carefree smile on his lips. “You’re not your father, boy. If he were to tell me that, I’d be excited. I love a little challenge. With you, it’s just pathetic.”

  “Gentlemen,” said Leibowitz, entering the room with a few men in tow, “I believe everyone’s here.”

  “Thank you, Daniel,” said Alexander, dismissing him with a nod. “We’ll let you know when we’re done.”

  “Let me introduce everyone,” Engel said as everybody sat down. “From left to right. Andre Michu, John O’Hara, Michael Weinstein, Kristen Smith, Bob Stapleton, Steven Poznyak, Mary McMillan, and Larry Patel.”

  “It’s nice to meet everyone,” said Jason politely, “Jason Hunt.”

  “Now,” said Alex, “we all know that Mr. Hunt here would like to sit on the board, and given that his ownership stake is greater than thirty percent, all he needs is just the confirmation by the simple majority of the board.”

  Alex got up and started to slowly walk around the table.

  “However.” He stopped and looked at Jason. “I have a problem with that.”

  A low murmur broke out at the table.

  “What are you saying, Alex?” said Larry Patel, a small thin man, his smart brown eyes magnified by the powerful glasses.

  “What I’m saying is that I’d like to block this fellow from getting a seat on this table,” he said, looking around the table, “and I know it requires a unanimous vote, given the size of his stake. But that wouldn’t be a problem now, would it?”

  “Aren’t you the clever one,” said Jason quietly.

  “You can’t always win, Jason,” said Alex, his lips stretching into a thin smile. “Those in favor of blocking Jason Hunt from being nominated to the board of directors please raise hands.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Latham was sitting in Guy Brennan’s office. The room was small, stuffy, and cluttered. The stale smell of tobacco and bad coffee hung heavily in the air.

  “So what can I do for you, Mr. Watkins?” said Brennan, his multiple chins moving in unison as he spoke. “I’m still confused.”

  Latham watched the captain with a mix of curiosity and disgust. It was unclear to him how a slob like him could maneuver himself into the position of power, given the complexity of the current political landscape. He made a mental note to trace the captain’s relatives to see if there was someone in the position to exert such influence.

  “Well,” he said, “first of all I’d like to assure you that we all work for the same purpose. All I’m asking you—”

  “And what purpose would that be?” Guy interrupted him. “I work for the Police Department. What exactly do you do and how you were even able to get this interview is a complete mystery to me. So either get to the point or get the fuck out of my office.”

  “Let’s cut the bullshit then,” said Latham. “We both work for certain individuals known as Alphas. I’d like you to point me in the direction of a certain English individual you know as Alpha One.”

  He watched the captain’s features tense when he heard the name. A bright red color started spreading across Brennan’s massive neck.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, standing. “Now get out of my office.”

  “A long time ago when I was in high school, I wanted to become a shrink,” said Latham, not moving from his chair. “Everybody told me I’d be great at it. I just had this natural gift of reading people. See? Even now I can see you’re lying just by watching your eyes darting back and forth. Not to mention that beautiful deep red color spreading across your face. Yeah, I would make a good shrink. Alas, we never get what we want.”

  “Get out of my office before I have you thrown out,” said Brennan quietly.

  “Sure,” said Latham, still not moving. “However, it might be useful for you to know, that the mayor also played tough first. Not until I introduced some wonderful chemical compounds to his body. After he was paralyzed for a couple of minutes while feeling as if he were being burned alive he had some time to reconsider.”

  The captain clenched his fists but didn’t say anything.

  “You surely know who I’m working for, or else you would have thrown me out already,” continued Latham, “and I didn’t introduce any toxins to you via a simple handshake like I did with the mayor because I think you’re a quicker learner. But if I’m wrong, hey, I can pay a visit to your daughters or your ailing mother. So please, sit the fuck down, and let’s have a conversation.”

  Brennan stood there for a few more seconds, his big features contorted into a mask of fury, then he unclenched his fists, took a deep breath, and lowered himself into the chair. It squeaked under his massive weight.

  “You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” he said quietly. “You and I are just pawns in this game. Pawns get sacrificed. That’s what always happens.”

  “Don’t get poetic on me,” said Latham. “I need you to tell me everything you know about the Englishman. Tell me who he is and where he is.”

  “I don’t know much. It’s not how this works and you know it. I’m only aware of what’s needed to be done, and I know one person below me. All I know is the Englishman is indeed a man and actually from England.”

  “Where in England can I find him?”

  “I don’t know where he comes from,” said Brennan, “but he’s no longer in England. I think he’s here, in New York, and I think he’s been living in New York for a long time.”

  “How do you contact him?”

  “You don’t. He always contacts me. It used to be less frequently, but now it’s about once a week or so.”

  “Here’s what I need you to do,” said Latham, getting up. “Next time he contacts you, I need you to tell him that you have some vital piece of information that you can’t convey over the phone.”

  “He won’t meet me in person,” said the captain. “He made it clear from the start.”

  “I don’t expect him to,” said Watkins, “but if you’re convincing enough he’ll send someone else. And that someone will know more than you do. Just arrange the meeting, let me know the details, and I’ll take care of the rest. Do we have a deal?”

  “Sure,” said Brennan, staring at his big hands.

  “Oh, one more thing,” said Latham, stopping by the door. “I need to know the name of the person reporting to you.”

  • • •

  Kowalsky first met Greg Constantine when they were still in high school. They weren’t really close, but Chuck’s house was only a block south from Greg’s, and the two always ended up in the same motley crew of characters looking for what all teenagers look for, girls, booze, and trouble. After high school they lost each other’s contact as Chuck went to the academy. A few years later when Chuck ran into the handsome Greek, Greg was a rising star with the Bureau well on track to be the youngest deputy director of the New York district. They were friends since.

  As Chuck sat in a small Italian restaurant waiting for Greg, he went over the story in his head for the millionth time. No matter how much he toned it down it still sounded crazy. Ryan believed him, of course, but that was different. Convincing the now district director of the impending coup would take some serious facts.

  Constantine arrived right on time, dressed in an immaculate custom-made suit and a fashionably thin tie. He looked more like a career politician than a federal agent. But you don’t make the youngest district director without being a bit of a politician, thought Kowalsky, watching his friend.

  “Have you ever heard of ISCD?” asked Chuck after they exchanged pleasantries.

  “That’s an odd question,” said Greg, his dark, al
most black eyes scanning Chuck’s face.

  “I’m in an odd situation,” he said, “and I need to figure out whether I’m onto something big and ugly.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of them,” said Greg, “along with less than a dozen other people in this country. Or so I thought.”

  Chuck felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had tried to contact Mike’s handler at the ISCD, but the number that Connelly gave him was no longer in service. By now he was starting to doubt his decision to believe Mike’s story. To see Constantine take what he had to say seriously and not refer him to a psychiatrist was on the one hand refreshing. On another, it meant that the country was probably on the brink of upheaval and civil war.

  When Chuck finished, Greg sat there without moving for some time, as if weighing his options.

  “Well, the first thing I need to do is to notify the Secret Service that there’s an imminent threat to the President,” he said, “and if you’re wrong, I’m all but finished with the Bureau.”

  “Greg,” said Chuck, “I just watched something I can only describe as a clean-up crew try to assassinate the guy. And the crazy thing is, they weren’t even the first to try.”

  “Alright.” Greg stood. “Let’s go. I’ll notify the Secret Service, then we’ll have to move you and your guy to a secure location. Once you’re safe and sound, and I know I have people I trust watching your back, we can reach out to ISCD. I need to understand what the fuck’s going on.”

  “But we already have a safe house,” said Chuck.

  “Yeah, that’s what you thought last time, until you guys burned people with napalm. From now on we’re playing by my rules.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Chuck threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat and got up. As a cop, taking orders wasn’t a new concept for him, but he couldn’t help but feel this was so much more than just a temporary suspension of independent decision-making. His gut was telling him that in the place the world was going to, personal liberties were low on everyone’s list.