He moved to the other bed, where a now slim and athletic-looking Burton was packing the last of his pancakes away. “And, Burton, you must have lost twenty or thirty pounds.”
Burton smiled. “I guess Sheila will just have to get used to there being less of me to love.”
“Uh, Jordan,” Sheila said, pushing her empty plate to the side. “I do believe our increased metabolic rate has caused all of us to sweat profusely in our sleep, therefore showers are a must for all of us if we are to be in polite company. If the others don’t mind, I’ll go first, and then I can help you and Jackson cook up some more food while the others wash off the stink.”
Stone just shook his head and laughed. “I’m afraid Mr. Jackson is going to have to make a food run. You gluttons have about cleaned out the pantry.”
CHAPTER 41
Kevin couldn’t believe how light and spry he felt as he followed Dillard into the living room. Jeez, he thought, it’s not like I was a member of the over-the-hill gang or anything before the rejuvenation, but now I almost feel like I could fly.
Dillard stopped at the coffee table in the living room, picked up Kevin’s burner phone, and handed it to him.
“Your uncle Tom has called several times and left increasingly hostile messages. He says the money has been in the account for almost twelve hours and they haven’t heard from you. Ashby is getting quite paranoid that you are going to cheat him.”
Kevin nodded and immediately dialed his uncle’s number. When Alexander answered, Kevin said, “Hello, Uncle Tom. Sorry I haven’t gotten back to—”
“Wait a minute,” Alexander interrupted. “This isn’t my nephew Kevin!”
Kevin suddenly realized his voice was half an octave higher since his transformation. He quickly cleared his throat and made an effort to lower his tone. “Uh, sorry, Uncle Tom. I think I’m coming down with a cold.”
“Is that why you haven’t returned any of my calls?”
“Yes, I took a cold medicine, and I’ve been sleeping almost all day trying to get over it.”
“Well, what is going on with the formula?”
“It is all packaged up and being sent overnight as we speak. According to FedEx, it should arrive before ten a.m. tomorrow at the cabin’s address you gave us in North Waterford, Maine.”
Alexander’s voice softened. “Are there any specific instructions for its use?”
“No, just don’t let the air hit it. According to our studies, a moderately healthy individual will take from forty-eight to seventy-two hours to completely regenerate. The less healthy the individual, the longer it will take for the process to complete, but our first subject was on death’s door and it only took him the full seventy-two hours. You will experience high fevers, shaking with muscle aches similar to the flu, and a vastly increased metabolic rate. Your hair will fall out and be replaced within hours by a new growth. There will also be some weight loss, so if Ashby is already thin, prepare to feed him a high caloric diet and plenty of it for about a week following the transformation.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope, just enjoy your second chance, Uncle Tom, and thank you for all you’ve done for me over the years.”
Alexander’s voice became husky. “So, I guess this is it. We’ll probably never see each other again.”
“Right, if all goes well. So, good luck in your new life, Uncle Tom. Take care.”
“You, too, son.”
* * *
When the FedEx truck pulled up the next day, Ashby was ready for it. A bed had been placed directly next to his for Alexander’s use.
Matt Dodson, Ashby’s chief of security, followed Alexander as he brought the FedEx box into the living room where Ashby anxiously awaited him. He set the box on the bed, opened it, and found two syringes filled with a colorless fluid in a padded package within the box. He held the syringes up, smiling. “These contain our new lives, John. Are you ready?”
“Are the syringes marked with our names, or are they both the same?”
Alexander examined the syringes and found no external markings on them. “Both are the same as far as I can see.”
“Good. Mr. Dodson, please shut the door and bring the syringes over to me.”
Matt Dodson closed and locked the living room door, stepped over to Alexander, and held out his hand.
Alexander stared at Ashby for a moment, then he handed Dodson the syringes. “So, this is to be a classic double-cross?”
“I am afraid so, Tom. I just cannot take the chance that your nephew is bluffing when he said he booby-trapped the formulas. So, I am going to take mine, and if it works, I will do my best to have the other syringe’s contents analyzed so that I might have control of the Phoenix Formula. Unfortunately, that means there won’t be any formula left for you to use.”
“So, what about me? Am I supposed to just go on as if nothing has happened?”
“Not exactly.” Ashby shrugged his one good shoulder. “I am truly sorry about this, Tom. You have been a good friend to me, but I didn’t accumulate ten billion dollars by being soft and sentimental. I am afraid there will be no place for you in my new life. I have no choice. I’ll just have Mr. Dodson shoot you in the heart and bury you in the woods.”
“So, to keep the secret of your regeneration to a younger, smarter person, you are going to have me killed . . . by Matt here?”
“Sad, but true, Tom. I just cannot have anyone else know about my transformation, it would be much too dangerous.” He sighed. “And I’m afraid that goes for your nephew and his friends, too. I plan to spend whatever it takes to track them down and do away with them, too.”
Alexander shook his head. “Do you see what I meant, Matt?”
Dodson nodded. “Yes, sir, Dr. Alexander. I am afraid you were right on the money.”
“What . . . what’s going on here?” Ashby asked, alarm in his voice as he looked back and forth between the doctor and his hired man.
Alexander went over to the bedside table and picked up two of Ashby’s Montecristo Supreme Cuban cigars. After first turning off Ashby’s oxygen tank, he exchanged one of the cigars with Dodson for the syringes. He lit Dodson’s cigar and then his own with a gold lighter. Finally, he sat on the bed next to Ashby’s, leaned back, and crossed his legs as he got the cigar going to his satisfaction.
“I have learned a great deal from you over the years, John,” he said while watching his cigar smoke rise to the ceiling. “For instance, the other day when you said you did not get where you are today by trusting anyone, and how there were a number of people in the cemetery who had made the mistake of trusting you, well, let’s just say it got me to thinking. Why should I ever believe you would keep your word to me?”
Ashby saw where this was going, and he almost yelled, “Oh, come on, Tom. I was just kidding. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
“Please, John, let me finish. Anyway, I finally came to the conclusion that there was simply nothing to gain for you to let me live, and a great deal to lose, and you have always been about the gain, John. Therefore, I knew you were going to double-cross me—it was inevitable.”
“But, Tom—”
Alexander held up his hand to silence him. “So, once I figured that out, what was I to do? Last night, I decided to have a talk with Matt here, because, you see, he is in the same situation as me. As soon as you have made your transformation and he sees your new identity, he will become a loose end that you cannot allow to survive, either. We both know what you do with loose ends, John.”
Ashby turned his attention to Dodson. “Mr. Dodson, I’ll give you anything you want if you come in with me now against this crazy man.”
Dodson pursed his lips as if thinking for a moment, and then he shook his head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Ashby. I like my chances with the doctor much better.”
“Here is what is going to happen, John. I have told Matt that I have no desire for vast riches. All I want is to start over with enough money to last me while I travel and enj
oy the world that I missed while earning my medical degree and going through my many years of training. Matt, on the other hand, feels he has been sorely underpaid for the past fifteen years he has worked for you.”
Alexander paused to take a puff of the cigar and blow out several smoke rings. “So, Matt and I will assist each other in transforming using the Phoenix Formula. Matt has wisely forbidden any of his men from entering the cabin—they are to patrol outside only. Once we are transformed, Matt will procure a body from a nearby cemetery and there will be a fire in the cabin. Unfortunately, you and I will not survive, John.”
“Oh, please, please, Tom. Do not do this,” Ashby begged. “Give me another chance.”
“Don’t interrupt, John. I am just coming to the best part. Once the inquest is over and you and I are declared dead, the now much younger and smarter Matt Dodson will assume the identity you have so brilliantly prepared, which will inherit your fortune. The Matt Dodson who was your chief of security will disappear, leaving the authorities to suspect he might have had something to do with the fire, but he will never be found and so no case will be able to be made.”
Suddenly Ashby jerked the Enforcer pistol from beneath his blanket and pointed it at Alexander. “You won’t get away with this, Tom, ’cause I’m gonna blow you to hell first”—and he pulled the trigger.
Alexander smiled and shook his head as the hammer fell on an empty chamber. The loud click was like a knife piercing John Palmer Ashby’s heart.
Alexander reached over and took the pistol from Ashby’s limp hand. “One of your problems is that you continually underestimate your opponents, John. But the good news is that this is probably the last time you’ll ever do that.”
CHAPTER 42
Dillard called the FBO and told them to gas up the Cessna and complete the other services to make it ready to depart. He then called the control tower and filed a flight plan for the Grand Cayman Islands. He figured they’d spend a couple of days there relaxing, then make their way down to Belize, and from there, it would be everyone for themselves.
As the group began to pack up their belongings, Dillard said, “Listen up, guys and gals, the Cessna only has a payload maximum takeoff weight of thirty-six hundred pounds above its empty weight, and when you figure fuel and passenger weight, we need to keep our luggage to a minimum. Only take a couple of days’ worth of clothes. There are plenty of shops where we’re going so no need to get crazy . . . besides, most of your old clothes no longer fit anyway.”
“That’s for sure,” Burton said, pulling his waistband out to show he’d lost at least ten inches off his belly.
“Still, we don’t want to leave them for anyone looking for us to find, so just pack what you don’t need in a couple of large trash bags and we’ll dump them on the way to the airport.”
Once everyone was ready and in their safe cars, Dillard walked around the house, spraying his bleach on just about every surface they might have touched. When he was finished, he hooked a canister of the bleach mix up to the air-conditioning unit so it would circulate and erase any traces of the group that had been left in the house. Extreme measures that were probably not necessary, but Dillard figured being too careful beat being not careful enough every time.
An hour and a half later, after they’d left their safe cars parked in the long-term parking lot at the airport, they were loading the plane’s cargo hold with their duffel bags and what small amounts of personal goods Dillard would allow them to carry.
The plane was designed to carry one pilot and seven passengers, so there was an extra seat at the back of the plane, where they placed Angus’s bed.
As he was taxiing for takeoff, Dillard spoke on the intercom to the passengers in the back of the plane. “It’s approximately eleven hundred and seventy miles to the Caymans from Houston, and the Cessna has a range of fifteen hundred and forty miles, so unless we hit extreme headwinds we should be okay.”
“How long of a flight is it, Jackson?” Kat asked.
“Although this baby can hit three hundred and nine miles per hour, she gets maximum fuel efficiency at about two hundred and fifty miles an hour, so the flight should take about four and a half to five hours, depending on the winds at our altitude, which will be twenty-five thousand feet.”
The takeoff went without incident, and soon they were cruising out over the Gulf of Mexico toward the islands five hours away.
Angus was sitting in Kat’s lap, looking out of the window like he’d flown dozens of times before. She had her arms wrapped around him and her head resting on Kevin’s shoulder as he sat next to her.
He would occasionally take a deep whiff of her lovely scent and then kiss the top of her head gently. He couldn’t believe how much he loved her, and he was so glad they’d saved having sex together until after their transformations.
Burton and Sheila were in seats a row ahead and were busy discussing to which medical schools they might want to apply. Their college records would be no problem, because Dillard had already set them up with his forger, who, he said, could show them graduating from any schools they wanted with any grades they wanted.
They were already planning to set up practice together once they’d graduated, and since money or income would be no problem, they were talking about possibly working for Doctors Without Borders, or the Peace Corps, whichever would let them work together.
Burton took her hand in his, kissed it, and said, “The important thing is not where or for whom we work, but that we’ll be together for the rest of our lives.”
Kevin and Kat were now young enough that they had a few years before they’d even have to decide whether to attend college or just go straight into medical and graduate schools. Though they had enough money that they never needed to work again, both felt that life would be empty and unhealthy without a purpose to keep their interests engaged.
A half hour into the flight, there was a loud bump from the rear of the plane, and the closet door banged open. A rather obese, sweating man emerged holding a Beretta nine-millimeter semiautomatic pistol in his hand.
“Okay, people, hands up!” he shouted.
When Dillard heard the shout he quickly put the autopilot on and eased back into the rear cabin, his own .380 pistol in his hand.
Fowler immediately stepped over behind Kat and stuck the pistol against the back of her head, causing Angus to bare his teeth and give a low warning growl.
“Put the pistol down, Dillard, or I’ll blow her brains all over the cabin.”
“You can’t fire that weapon in here,” Dillard said urgently. “If you perforate a window, we’ll decompress and all be killed.”
“I’m not stupid, Dillard. When I knew I was going to confront you on an airplane, I loaded the gun with hollow points. They’ll mushroom, but unless they hit a window directly, they won’t perforate the plane’s fuselage. They will, however, perforate a human body quite nicely.”
“You must be special agent in charge Fowler,” Dillard said, scorn in his voice.
“Oh, so you know about me, huh?”
“I know you’re a traitor to your job and to your country and that you’ve gone rogue trying to get rich, like any of the two-bit criminals you used to put away.”
Fowler’s face turned red and blotchy, and sweat poured off his forehead. “A little bit more than a two-bit criminal, Dillard. Your formula is going to make me a billionaire.”
Sheila said, “I don’t think you’re going to live to spend it, Mr. Fowler. It looks to me like you are about to have a medical crisis of some sort right now. Are you feeling okay?”
He looked startled by her question and suddenly got a funny look on his face and put his hand to his chest. “Uh . . . my chest and left arm hurt . . .”
Right at that moment, Angus put both paws on the back of Kat’s seat and leapt over it right at Fowler. He flew through the air, hit the man square in the midsection, and immediately clamped his jaws on the wrist of the hand holding the pistol.
Fowler
screamed in fright and pain and dropped the pistol, staggering back from the impact of Angus’s hit.
Angus let go of his wrist and stood over the pistol, growling and baring his teeth in a terrifying display.
Fowler looked at the dog for a moment, trying to decide whether he should go for the gun, and then he looked surprised, grabbed his chest again, and keeled over onto his face.
Sheila and Kat raced to his side, flipped him over, and both felt for a pulse—one on the wrist, the other on the carotid artery.
They looked at each other grimly. “Fluttering like a bird in flight,” Sheila said. “I’m afraid he’s going into ventricular fibrillation.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Dillard, who was picking up Fowler’s pistol. “Do you have a defibrillator on board?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Just the minimal first aid kit, but I do have an oxygen canister.”
She shook her head. “Please get it, but I’m afraid he’s not going to make it unless we can get him to a hospital very quickly.”
Dillard shook his head as he pulled a small green oxygen tank with attached face mask from an overhead bin. “We’re still several hours out from landing, and there’s nothing between us and the islands ahead.”
Kat suddenly jumped to her feet and ran to the rear of the plane, where she dug into one of the duffel bags. She came out a few moments later with a syringe and held it up so the others could see.
“What do you think?” she asked Sheila.
Sheila shrugged, “It might be too late, but it is the only chance he has.”
Kat glanced at Kevin and Burton and Stone, who all nodded their assent.
She knelt next to Sheila, who made a tourniquet with her hands, which caused a vein to pop out on Fowler’s arm.
Kat quickly inserted the needle and injected the Phoenix Formula into Fowler’s antecubital vein.
Dillard turned the knob on the oxygen canister and handed the small mask to Sheila, who placed it over Fowler’s nose and mouth.
The FBI agent continued to sweat and pant for several minutes, but then slowly his color returned to normal and he quieted down.
Dust to Dust Page 34
