“The intruders also destroyed equipment and property. In the laboratory we discovered a number of what appear to be human embryos, almost adult-sized.” He raised his head, with a frown furrowing his forehead. “This is well beyond our expertise—something I’ve never experienced before.” He returned to his notes. “The embryos were deceased, shot apparently by these intruders.
“Also, it’s our assessment that one person was responsible for the deaths of the intruders. He also wounded the intruder we have in our custody. We suspect this person was Mark Midway; he’s known to reside at the complex and is missing. We issued APBs for both the fugitive driver—identity unknown, trying to find witnesses—and this Midway. Finally, when we returned to our vehicles, Deputy O’Donnell observed the wreckage of what appeared to be a drone, half buried in a snow bank just off the road. O’Donnell suspects it has a missile attached. I think that’s all.” He closed his notebook.
“Thank you for the summary,” said MayAnn.
Schmidt spoke up. “Please cancel the APB for Midway. He’s known to us, and currently, he’s not a suspect. Based on your report, he was acting in self-defense. His subsequent disappearance was likely in order to avoid his attackers. Remarkable, just remarkable—he singlehandedly defeated an attacking force of nine, who were equipped with military weapons and supported by a drone.”
A deputy sheriff spoke up. “That’s my assessment as well, sir. He defended his home, his property, and his personal safety against a heavily armed force of attackers. Personally, I’d be scared shitless. Sorry ma’am.”
The sergeant nodded. “We all agree. Once this meeting’s concluded, I’ll cancel that APB.”
“Do you know how he traveled out of the complex?” inquired Schmidt.
“Sir, as far as we can determine, he rode a motorcycle.”
“In the blizzard?”
“Yes, sir. He’s a damn good rider, from what we could see. We followed his trail for a short distance and then lost it. There’s too much snow.”
“What steps have you taken to secure the site? Checked for fingerprints, DNA, etc.?” asked MayAnn.
“We’ve three deputies on duty at the crime scene, ma’am. With the four of us here, that’s just about all our available resources. There’re two FBI agents on site as well, from this office. As directed by Mr. Schmidt, I’ve instructed that no one is allowed to access the complex until we hand over to you. We retrieved the injured attacker and transported him to hospital. Apart from checking for life signs, we’ve not disturbed any aspect of the crime scene. The medical examiner’s team is waiting for permission to access and remove the bodies. We don’t have the manpower to handle a crime scene of this size, and we are very eager to hand over to you.” He smiled, showing sympathy rather than any other emotion.
“I can imagine. Anyone with further ideas about these—adult-sized—embryos? About the function of LifeLong?”
“Ma’am, they paid their taxes and, as far as we all know, they’re law-abiding. LifeLong—according to the security guard—does some kind of genetic research. The staff—we’ve contacted some who live offsite—seem to hold Dr. Weinek in very high regard. I can’t help with any technical details.” The speaker was the other sergeant. MayAnn checked her notes—his name was Lowry, Sergeant Lowry.
Schmidt spoke. “Anything else to add? Anyone?” There were no volunteers. “Good. Let’s get to the scene. Sergeant Douglas, please lead the way in your vehicle. Agent Freewell and I will follow you.” He turned to MayAnn. “I’ve arranged for a team to be on duty here, all day. We’re going to need some high level experts and this office will be the focal point of this case, at least for now.”
“I agree.” MayAnn addressed the senior agent on duty. “Terry—Terry Raker?” He nodded. “I’ll prepare an initial list of resources. We need crime scene experts initially—both investigative and laboratory people. Can you start that off? We need them like yesterday. Also some genetics people—we may need outside consultants; I don’t think we have any internal experts in genetics. The drone is worrying—we’ll need a military bomb squad to disarm the missile. I’ll email you as soon as I have a coherent list.” She turned to Schmidt. “This is going to be one heck of an assignment.”
Schmidt smiled. “That’s why I got the best. Come on, we shouldn’t keep the sheriff’s team waiting.”
***
Chapter 9
Mark accelerated the motorcycle and felt the slide of the rear wheel. He eased off the throttle and relaxed as the tire gripped. Snow and ice were extremely hazardous for a motorcycle at speed and normal people kept their bikes safely in storage when it snowed. However, he needed to get away from the complex, he needed to find safety, a place where he was not known, where this unknown enemy could not find him. Once he was safe, he would determine his next steps, including how to identify and find his enemy.
He had donned warmer gloves and additional winter clothing as protection against the deadly cold for his ride out of and away from the complex. He wore a full helmet, which shielded his face from the driving snow. He was cold, and he was in the middle of a blizzard.
He kept his speed down, and still the bike slid at every opportunity. The slightest twitch of the throttle was met by the threat of a slide on the ice and snow. Mark wanted to reach Interstate 64 where he could head west, away from the storm’s path. The highway should be clear of snow, he hoped. He planned to follow I-64 to I-77, and then make his way to I-95, all the time heading south. Anywhere, but this freezing cold.
His bike slid again, and he cursed as he corrected it. He dropped his speed a notch. These backroads were not regularly snowplowed, and certainly not early on a Saturday morning in blizzard conditions. Visibility was bad, it was freezing cold, the road surface was more ice than snow, and the bike was barely controllable. All it needed was—and then it happened. The bend in the road was sharper than he expected. As he leaned into the curve, the bike fell away and, encountering more ice, dropped into a slide. Mark cursed again. He went down with the bike, protected by the crash bars. He held firmly to the bike until it finished its slide, finally slamming into a tree. He was jarred by the impact. There had been nothing to stop the bike on its wild sideways career off the road.
Shaking, he stood and inspected the bike. It was bent—the final slide into the tree trunk had twisted the frame in some way. Well, he thought, it was an old bike. There was nothing he could do now except abandon it and hope that he could persuade someone to give him a lift. A faint hope, this early in the morning, in these conditions.
Mark stepped back up to the road, staggering through the snow, fighting to stay upright against the slippery ice. He hitched his pack into a more comfortable position and started walking. He limped slightly. The jarring impact had bruised his leg. He kept his helmet on. While it felt awkward, he realized that without its protection his face would soon freeze in the driving snow. He trudged. One foot after the other. Again and again.
He checked his watch. One hour since sliding his motorcycle and he had probably covered only two miles. His mind wandered as he continued to trudge through the snow. At this rate he would be a human icicle before he reached I-64.
He walked on, struggling with the snow and ice underfoot. He didn’t hear the vehicle until it was almost next to him. He jumped sideways to the edge of the road, floundering in the snow, just as it drew to a stop. It was an old truck, towing a horse trailer. The driver leaned out of the window.
“Do you need a lift?” she shouted above the harsh rumble of the engine. “Sorry about the noise, I think the muffler’s worn out. I’ll give you a lift if you promise to help me with the horse and trailer. Fair?”
“Oh, definitely,” Mark said. “I accept your offer—I’m freezing. Where are you headed?”
“To a little place the other side of Charlotte. Near Rock Hill, if you’ve heard of it?”
“No, never. Is it warmer than here?” Charlotte certainly was on his planned route.
She laughed.
“Lots. Come on, hop in.”
Mark did not need any more urging and he opened the passenger door, removed his helmet, unlimbered his backpack and stowed both behind the passenger seat. He closed the door quickly, trying to preserve the heat and sat back, enjoying the warmth.
“My name’s Mark,” he offered.
“Robin.” She held out her hand and Mark shook it. She was young, he thought, about 25 or 26. She was dressed in jeans, boots and a woolly sheepskin jacket. A wisp of straw intruded on her shoulder.
“Why are you out in this weather?” Mark asked. “Not that I’m complaining, mind.”
Robin laughed. “I could ask you the same question.”
“Family emergency,” was the best response Mark could think of. “My motorbike slid on ice at a corner a few miles back. The bend was sharper than I expected. The frame’s bent and it’s unrideable. I’ll have to come back for it later. When it’s a lot warmer.”
“Where’re you headed?”
“Jacksonville.” It was the first place he thought of, and it was a lot further than the destination proffered by Robin.
“Sit back and relax. If you need a drink of water,” she indicated a spare bottle, “help yourself. My home’s about three hundred miles away. We should be there by two o’clock, at the latest. I plan to stop for breakfast at Lewisburg, if you’re interested?”
“Excellent. I’m in need of food. Hot and lots. With coffee.”
~~~
When they finished their breakfast, Robin agreed Mark could drive for a while, after he showed her his driver’s license. It was genuine, he had been informed, except it did not show his real surname. He had a spare, with another surname, as part of his runaway preparation. His backpack contained supporting documents matching each of his licenses. Dr. Otto had provided him with the documents a year before. It was in case of emergencies, he had said, without indicating what the emergencies might consist of. The doctor also warned Mark not to disclose the existence of the duplicate documents to anyone. At the time, Mark had experienced a déjà vu feeling. He had a dim recollection of another name before he was called Mark.
“Not that I don’t trust you,” Robin laughed. “It’s just that my insurance premium will skyrocket if you had an accident and didn’t have a license.”
“I understand. I’ll drive carefully, so I don’t have to brake quickly. I’ll remember we have a horse passenger in the trailer.”
As Mark drove, they chatted, their conversation general and inconsequential. Robin explained she had to move her mare from her parents’ farm. “They think my pony is just a hay-burner. I’ve owned her for nearly ten years. I’m a teacher at a school in Rock Hill. I’ve no plans to return to live at home. Last month I rented a house with enough land for poor old Sadie. She can retire there, away from the winter snows. We don’t get that many blizzards in Rock Hill.”
Mark concentrated on driving while Robin slept. As he drove he tried to analyze the events of the early morning. He could not understand why the intruders had attacked with such deadly, murderous, intensity. He had not recovered from the shock of seeing the dead bodies of his parents, and his mind slid away from any review of his reactions. He had killed all except one of the attackers, he thought, and did it without compunction, without remorse. He wanted that last attacker, the one who had driven away, and whoever was behind the attack. He was determined to take his revenge.
He suddenly noticed that his speed had increased and he calmed his thoughts, gradually bringing the truck’s speed back to its more comfortable fifty miles per hour. Mile after mile trundled past as he wrestled with his thoughts, and at last he recognized it was a fruitless pursuit.
“You must hate that person.”
“What?” Mark did not hide his surprise.
“I was waking up. You were accelerating, I could feel the engine. Your hands were almost white, gripping the steering wheel.”
“It’s a long story. Maybe sometime, once I resolve it—”
~~~
Mark drove the truck and trailer, at Robin’s direction, up to a makeshift stable where she wanted to unload her pony. It was late afternoon. The trip had taken two hours longer than estimated. Everyone, including the pony, was tired.
“Mark, could you help me with Sadie? She’s going to be annoyed and irritable.”
Mark edged into the trailer, carefully avoiding the pony’s hindquarters. He made soothing noises as he unhitched the bridle ties and held out the back of his hand to the pony. She sniffed his knuckles and nibbled his hand. Then he explained to the pony. “You need to back out. Robin has a nice warm barn waiting for you, with fresh water and hay.” He tugged on the bridle. The pony snorted and slowly backed out, with Mark continuing his soothing words.
Robin laughed. “You have a magic touch. She’d never do that for me.”
Mark released the reins and Robin took control of the pony, and led her into the barn. After the pony was settled, Mark moved the truck and unhitched the trailer, and parked the truck where Robin instructed. He then followed her into the small cottage.
“Come on in, it’s not fancy, but it’s now my home. You can drop your things there.”
Mark placed his helmet, jacket, and backpack as instructed. He followed Robin to the kitchen where she started to prepare a brew of coffee. He looked around. The kitchen was tidy and clean, although it was sparsely furnished with a small table and two chairs. The room had a comfortable atmosphere, Mark thought, as he sat down.
“I don’t entertain much,” explained Robin. “When I can afford more furniture I suppose it’ll change.”
“Not much is probably still more than I do.” His room in the laboratory complex was hardly an entertainment venue, he thought.
~~~
After dinner—a pasta mix which tasted marvelous—Mark watched as Robin made up a temporary bed on a long couch in the sitting room, which was only marginally larger than the kitchen.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s the best I can do. We’ll get you on your way tomorrow.”
“I appreciate it.” Mark stretched out, hoping sleep would ease his stress-induced exhaustion.
His mind was far too busy for him to relax. He kept seeing the bodies of his parents, their blood-splattered features haunting his thoughts. When he managed to stop thinking about them, images of the embryos returned, as though they were blaming him for their deaths. He moaned, turning and twisting on the couch as he tried to sleep.
He shivered. It was cold on the top of the tank stand. He was holding a Heckler and Koch, the weapon he had taken from the intruders, and was firing it over the side of the stand at unknown and unseen targets. He kept missing and each time he missed, a body drifted past, either one of his parents or one of the dead embryos. He fired again and again, carefully targeting his attackers, and still he missed.
Before he could pause and identify his targets, a needle-sharp pain pierced his right temple and stretched across to the other side of his head, temple to temple. Then the pain traveled through his head until it felt as though someone, a very unskilled someone, was trepanning his skull. His body joined in and his muscles, his skeleton, his entire nervous system was on fire. He moaned in agony. Dr. Otto had told him these pain experiences had ended, that his body was now fully developed, that his rapid growth had ceased.
A soft, cool cloth wiped his brow. A voice, distant, told him to relax, that his pain would ease. He wondered. He believed. He felt the pain ease and gradually disappear with the slow movement of the cloth across his forehead. At last he slept.
Mark woke to kitchen sounds. He could smell breakfast cooking. He stretched and then stood and folded the blankets, draping them over the back of the couch. He found the bathroom and washed his face.
He joined Robin in her kitchen, where she was in the final stages of preparing their breakfast.
“I thought breakfast noises and smells would wake you,” she said. “Give me two minutes and we’ll eat.”
“Thank you, Robin,�
�� Mark said as she set the breakfast plates down. “And thank you for your ministrations, last night. At least I think it was you—I could have been dreaming.”
“Nightmare, more like. You seemed to be in pain, a lot of pain. Does that happen often?”
“More often than I’d like.”
“Well, you look as though you slept soundly for the rest of the night.”
Mark yawned and they both laughed.
“Now tell me, where’re you really headed?” Robin held out a coffee mug.
The question startled Mark. “Why do you ask that?”
“You may have a family emergency,” said Robin. “I know you’ve been very tensed and stressed. Yet you aren’t out there, thumbing your next lift. When I asked where you were headed, you said Jacksonville. It seemed it was the first place you thought of. Tell me more—are you in trouble?”
“No, I’m not in trouble—well, at least not with the law. Some people—killed my parents and a couple who worked for them. They were scientists. I escaped. These attackers may—will—try to find me—and kill me.”
Robin was silent, absorbing the sparse details. “Wow. I—I just don’t know what to say. That sounds really horrendous. Why don’t you go to the police—the FBI?” She reached out her hand and gripped Mark’s shoulder.
“The attackers seemed like military. I don’t know who I can trust. If I just go to the police, I could end up in the hands of whoever authorized the raid on—on my home.”
“There was nothing—illegal?”
“No, certainly not. My parents did genetics research. I worked with them.”
“So you need somewhere to stay, where you’ll be safe?”
“Yes.” He was thoughtful, that was a problem he had not yet addressed.
“I’ve a suggestion. I know a place, along the coast, well before you reach Jackson. It’s a small fishing town—village, really, it’s far too small to be a town. Well, it used to be a fishing village. The channels are all silted up and no one wants to pay for dredging them. Now it’s almost deserted except for a few families, people who’ve lived there for years. The population doubles when holiday-makers arrive. I think it’d be safe for you. I’ll draw you a map—it’s near Jekyll Sound.” Robin sipped her coffee, her eyes on Mark.
Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four Page 7
