by R Arundel
“No doubt, Dr. Tom Grabowski was killed. A high-energy-pulse weapon was used to stop his heart. Unless you were specifically looking for it, this would be classified as a garden variety heart attack. That’s what I thought initially.”
“Who has this technology?” says Jason.
Jason’s phone chimes, alerting him that he’s received a text message.
“Sorry, I have to take this.”
“No problem, you guys keep us all safe.”
Jason moves to a corner of the morgue to read the text. Jason’s fiancée, Celerie, sent him a text with a photo of herself. The text says: Get back to New York. Come over and make dinner. I’m the dessert. Jason takes a second look at the photo and swallows hard.
“Sorry about that; it couldn’t wait.”
“No problem. Whoever did this was cutting edge. They had to calculate the distance from the energy weapon to the subject. Too close and burn marks on the clothes and chest would have been a dead giveaway.”
Jason cringes at “dead giveaway.” Maybe it is her morgue humor.
“Too far away and the energy would have been dispersed over a larger area, no arrhythmia.”
Erin plops the heart back into Tom’s chest and replaces the flap of skin. She pushes hard and the body drawer slides closed. The clang echoes in the room.
***
“We are the only ones with this technology,” says the White House Chief of Staff.
The implications of the statement hang in the room. “How can this weapon system induce heart attacks?” says the president’s advisor on foreign affairs.
All the people sitting at the table have the president’s complete trust. With the surprising developments, the president had no choice. He had to call this emergency meeting in the Oval Office.
“The weapon system develops pulsed energy waves that can be focused very precisely. When focused on cardiac muscle, the conduction pathways of the heart are short circuited. The signals that usually go to the heart and tell it to beat regularly are stopped. This leads to an arrhythmia, an irregular beating of the heart.” Gilbert Lee rubs his left cheek and continues, “The heart cannot pump blood to the vital organs. Sudden death.”
Gilbert Lee is the president’s special advisor on physics and technology. He works closely with the military on innovation in weapons systems. Gilbert had been positive they were the only ones with this technology.
“I thought we were the only ones with this technology?” says Edith Clarke.
As Director of the CIA, Edith should know if anyone else has the weapon system. She seems clueless.
Gilbert Lee says, “We did as well; we knew a few of the other countries may have had intel that we had developed it, but we thought they were all at least ten years or more from developing their own system. It’s incredibly complex.”
In his early sixties, the president is still very trim and fit. Tall and thin, he looks the part of president, but these long meetings are beginning to wear on him. Gracie, his wife of thirty-seven years, wants him to slow down. She honestly wants him to quit after his first term, not run for re-election. He is popular, and although he grants her most of her wishes, he is running. He loves the job—they are working on things that will change the United States of America. He has to see it through.
President Middleton says, “So, Quentin, we know that Tom was murdered.”
Quentin says, “The examination of the body is conclusive.”
“We’re lucky to have such a bright young officer as Jason Cooper on our team, or we would have been under the assumption that it was a heart attack.”
“That’s why I chose him, Mr. President, and why I took the steps to uncover this.”
President Middleton asks, “Who is behind the murder?”
“We are actively pursuing some leads, Mr. President.”
“We don’t have any idea, is that it?”
Edith Clarke jumps in. “We have a number of scenarios. One, a foreign power has infiltrated our military, gained access to our energy weapon technology, and copied it. They also gained access to our facial transplant program.”
“They gained access to two of our most secure programs?” asks the White House Chief of Staff. He looks directly at Edith Clarke.
“They would have needed help. We are operating under the assumption that someone within the transplant program or a high-clearance government employee is passing on secrets,” says Edith.
“A spy?” says the president.
Quentin says, “We think that is the most likely scenario. We are investigating all the members as we speak. Nothing so far.”
The president asks, “Do we think they know about The Binary Sequence?”
Gilbert Lee answers, “All indications are that it has not been compromised.”
The Chief of Staff adds, “No one in the facial transplant program is aware of it. They couldn’t pass on the information.”
“Is the traitor in this room?” says the president.
All participants remain silent. Quentin bows his head. What an embarrassing comment for Carter Middleton to make. An awkward moment, but the president has a point. Only the people sitting at this table know the whole picture. Only they know the power of The Binary Sequence.
“No chance of that, Mr. President,” says Quentin.
Edith agrees. “All in this room have been cleared.”
The president says, “I don’t need to remind any of you of the importance of this project. This is a game changer. This is as big as it gets. This is why the American people give us their incredible trust. Do this right and the world will once again understand the hard work, resiliency, and creativity of the American people.”
The foreign affairs advisor turns to Quentin. “Looks like he is testing his election material. Isn’t the election two years away?”
Quentin smiles.
***
“We know all these people.” Sarah pushes her chair back from the computer and reclines.
The library is very busy. Matthew is bent directly behind Sarah’s chair in a very confined space. They talk softly.
“You’re right. All these guys with this kind of money have been in the news,” says Matthew.
Sarah sits browsing the computer. She is looking at international newspapers. She scans the headlines at remarkable speed. Matthew’s face keeps brushing into her hair as people pass behind him.
Matthew says, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Maybe you were right and this is a waste of time.”
Sarah continues to tap on the keyboard. “Not so soon. We still have a few financial papers to look at.”
“I’m sure the guy who died on the table was not one of these guys.”
“I agree.”
Matthew says, “Type in Eastern Europe money men. I think we need to look at expats farther away.”
Sarah turns around, and her hair brushes across his entire face.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s quite all right, we’re in pretty tight here. We need to include Australia, South America, even Asia.”
Matthew opens his knapsack. He has brought in a couple of orange sodas, and he offers one to Sarah.
“Can we drink that in here?”
“I won’t tell if you don’t. It’s made from organic juices, my favorite.”
“Thanks.”
She looks at the label.
“Not right now,” says Sarah and hands it back.
“Suit yourself.”
Matthew drinks while Sarah vigorously types on the computer. Matthew notices that Sarah’s white hair seems to glow under the lights of the library. It is the first time he can see it is pure white. He tries to remember the medical term for it. Premature something or other. Sarah gives a long sigh. Matthew’s nose is almost resting on her head. Sarah turns around.
She says, “This is no use. I am not sure we are going about this the right way.”
“It was a long shot, but you saw the patient yourself. He was white, male, la
te fifties, early sixties.”
“I think we can’t get too caught up on age, or even ethnicity. We could be off by a lot on the age depending on how he took care of himself.”
“You could be right.”
Sarah turns her chair around to face Matthew.
“Where’d you grow up?” says Sarah.
“Where did that come from?”
Sarah uncrosses her legs and lolls her head back.
“I don’t know. I think we need a break, a change of pace.”
Matthew says, “Early days near Palo Alto, so I’m a California boy. Yourself?”
“I grew up in Chicago. Lots of Swedes settled there. My parents are from Gullholmen.”
“Small village in Sweden.”
“How do you know it?” says Sarah.
“Aren’t all villages in Sweden small?”
“Ha, Ha.” Sarah continues, “No, my origins are from that small fishing village in Sweden. My parents took me back at fourteen, and it was beautiful. My hair was already all white by then. I stuck out like a sore thumb in Chicago. The thing I most remember is seeing all the village kids my age with white hair.”
“I know what it is to be on the outs as a kid. I had it rough growing up. My mom was a single parent. I grew up quickly; kids can be cruel at that age.”
“Kids can be cruel. The teasing was nonstop. My parents were really supportive. They told me my hair was a gift, that only special people had it. Mom and Dad’s thirtieth anniversary is next year. I want to be there for it. I’m going to surprise them with a trip to Gullholmen. My brother and his wife are coming as well.”
“My mom worked two jobs to make ends meet. It’s the old cliché, hardworking single mom, barely making it. Tom was around a lot.”
Matthew’s cell phone rings. “Hi?”
Amanda Soto, his operating room nurse, is on the other end. When Amanda asks if he is alone, Matthew looks at Sarah and says, “No, I’m with someone.”
Amanda tells him to come alone, immediately, and not to tell anyone where he is going. Amanda hangs up.
Matthew puts the phone back in his pocket. “Sorry, something’s come up. Keep working, and I’ll be back in an hour.”
Within no time, he is on his way to Amanda’s house, wondering what has prompted her mysterious call.
***
Celerie has a modest apartment. It is eighteen hundred square feet. She bought the flat because of its stunning view of Central Park. She had the whole place gutted and a friend of hers did the interior design work for free. The results were impressive with high-end finishes throughout. The apartment was featured on a program showing how to maximize small spaces.
Celerie says, “You got back here pretty quick.”
“Your photo had its intended effect. I couldn’t stop seeing it in my mind all the way back.”
Celerie sits on the sofa. Jason is making dinner.
“What are you making?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Celerie sits up to try to see the countertop. “All I can smell is red meat.”
“It’s Frogo.”
“Frogo?”
“I’m experimenting. It’s a North African dish. Basically beef in a rich sauce.”
“Sounds good.” Celerie browses a magazine.
Celerie, “We’re going to my parents next weekend.”
“Whose birthday is it?” says Jason.
“No one’s, we’re going to visit, have fun.”
“With your parents?”
Jason cuts the large chunks of beef into cubes.
“Very funny, just don’t forget,” says Celerie as she flips pages.
“These models are all too thin. The clothes hang off them. They look like little boys.”
“Seriously, I could be busy. The case is heating up.”
Celerie looks up from the magazine. “Don’t miss this—everyone will be there.”
“I think Matthew is selling secrets.”
“Come on.” Celerie closes the magazine.
“I think he murdered his mentor.”
“Matthew. Murder. No way.”
“I can’t go into details, but I think the guy is guilty. I have a hunch.”
“Never,” says Celerie.
Jason puts some garlic and oil into the pan. “How can you be so sure?”
“I just don’t think Matt would be involved in anything like that.”
“Pass me the coriander.” Jason looks at her.
Celerie goes to the spice rack. “We’re out.”
Jason says, “Not good.”
“I’ll run out and get some.” Celerie puts on her shoes. “Be back in ten.”
As soon as the door closes, Jason goes to Celerie’s bedroom. Behind the row of books, he puts his hand on the diary. Jason opens the diary. He quickly reads some sections; other parts he only reads a sentence or two. He grimaces. Thirty minutes later Jason hears the door open.
“Back,” says Celerie.
Jason puts the diary back. He flushes the toilet and then goes into the kitchen.
Celerie says, “Coriander.”
“Thanks.” Jason finishes the meal.
Chapter Eleven
The modest bungalow on the street with no trees has aluminum siding that is peeling, but the grass is neatly trimmed.
Amanda opens the door, and it is obvious she has been crying.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Her olive complexion is pale. Her eyes are red. She rejects his hug and leads Matthew to the kitchen.
The large window allows the bright sunlight to warm the room. Amanda is obviously upset, and Matthew decides that the best approach is to give her time. He puts his arm around her. She removes his arm and sits at the table.
“Hey, calm down.”
She begins to sob loudly.
“I’m sorry—they threatened my Inez.”
Matthew notes a flat top cap on the counter. Then he hears two soft poof poof sounds.
Two neat bullet wounds appear on Amanda’s forehead before she falls forward. Matthew turns in the direction of the sound.
He feels a sharp pain in his head and hears a thump. He slowly watches the world fade to black. He wonders, is this how it ends? It feels like he is floating. He wonders if he will see the white light.
The tall, thin man is pleased with his work. He takes his flat top cap from the kitchen counter and puts it on his head. He pulls the front down low. To hit the medulla oblongata from his location is perfection. He knew his shot was on its mark when she immediately went limp. A perfect shot from a difficult angle in the house. The second bullet was for insurance. He knew the fates were with him.
The ringing will not stop in Matthew’s brain. His eyes are still closed and all he can hear is this loud continuous siren going off in his head. He slowly opens his eyes. He looks down at his hand. There is a gun. The ringing in his head is getting louder by the second. As he stands up, Matthew realizes that it is not tinnitus. It is the sirens of the approaching police.
The man readjusts his flat top cap over his forehead. The fates were indeed with him. Killing Matthew would have been the wrong thing to do when he was at the hospital. Matthew lived so he could use him. The fates are always right. He quietly makes his exit from Amanda’s house. The sirens get louder.
Matthew is very unsteady on his feet. He is still recovering from the powerful blow to the back of his head. He goes to Amanda and feels for a pulse. She is dead. He drops the gun. He has only seconds to get out of here before he is arrested for the murder of his scrub nurse.
Matthew’s mind clears, and he realizes his dilemma. His prints are on the murder weapon. His car is out front. The telephone log will reveal Amanda called him. The sirens are getting louder, just seconds away. He picks up Amanda’s telephone in the kitchen.
Liam answers on the fifth ring.
“It’s me. I’m at Amanda Soto’s house”
“What are you doing at Amanda’s house?” says Liam.
&nb
sp; “Someone just killed Amanda.”
Liam, “Amanda’s been murdered?”
“I was knocked out.”
“What is the noise in the background?”
“Sirens,” says Matthew.
“Wait for the police. Tell them what happened.”
“No, they’ll take me in. I’ll be arrested.”
“If you run, you look guilty.”
Matthew says, “I can’t be arrested. I need to find out who did this. Where are you?”
“In my car.”
“We need to meet up.” Matthew waits.
“Go to the Fox & Farmer bar. Dump your cell phone.” The phone goes dead.
Matthew watches the police cars arrive out front. He is trapped.
***
Officer Frank Melky is a veteran. He has served the police department for eighteen years. As the most senior officer on the scene, he is in command. Officer Kathy Sanders has been on the force for five years. Kathy likes being Frank’s partner; they get along. Kathy has two young boys. Frank has two older boys that are both off at college. Frank’s boys play college football. Frank never misses a game. He drives down every weekend with his wife.
The second squad car screeches to a halt behind them. Frank signals them to cut the sirens.
“Draw your weapons,” says Frank.
Kathy walks four feet behind Frank. The other two officers walk side by side, guns out in front.
“Cover the rear exit.” Frank motions the two officers to go around the side.
Matthew’s hand is still on the phone. He sees the two officers heading for the back. Frantically, he tries to race to the rear door. He is too late; he sees a heavyset young officer beginning to climb the step, gun pointing straight ahead.
Officer Melky never likes these types of calls. An anonymous tip that a man with a gun is on the scene, shots heard. It could be nothing, but it could be your last call. When he was younger, the adrenaline flowed and he loved it. Now, he just wants to make it home to see his wife, Adele, and his two sons.
Kathy says, “His car is still here.” She points to the car in the driveway.
“Good chance he’s still on premises. Exercise caution.”
