The Ancient Breed

by David Brookover

  eo’s top-of-the-line, radio alarm clock clicked on promptly at 6:30 a.m., and a newsman’s voice boomed through the Dolby 6.1 stereo system. Neo sprang to a sitting position, eyes pried fully open and his mind shedding its night fog like a dog shaking water from its coat. The morning sun invaded his bedroom between the window blind slats and cast linear streaks of dawn on the opposite wall. He yawned, stretched, turned down the sound system’s volume, and staggered toward the bathroom.

  “Another day in paradise,” he muttered, and then yanked the door shut behind him.

  An hour later, he appeared in the kitchen, nattily attired in a double-breasted, navy pinstriped suit, a lightly starched white shirt, a complementary silk tie, and burnished alligator shoes. It was easy to play the role of a millionaire – he was one. His NFL-playing days had netted him a not-so-small fortune.

  He finished spreading a thick layer of cream cheese on a bagel and then called Nick on his sat phone; but instead of a ringing tone on the other end, there was a loud burst of static.

  “What the hell?” he groaned. Neo tried several more times before placing the phone beside his plate and eating his breakfast. Must be sunspot interference again, he guessed.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Neo exited the taxi, overtipped the driver, stood at the edge of the moving throng of New Yorkers on the sidewalk, and admired the impressive headquarters of Aspirations, Inc. The office building was a unique architectural creation of black marble and amber glass that soared into the Manhattan skyline, sparkling like a priceless jewel beneath the summer sun. The impressive structure narrowed as it approached the top six floors, giving them the appearance of a mini-pyramid. The casual passerby would be hard-pressed to believe that the owners of that beautiful skyscraper were behind one of the most widespread world-domination schemes since Hitler and the Nazis.

  At precisely 10:00 a.m., Neo pushed through the revolving doors at the entrance of the glass-and-marble monolith. He likened his actions to entering Hell.

  The interior décor included lush gardens, hissing water fountains, and rainbow waterfalls. The elevators were recessed in mock cave entrances, and a glittering, silver cataract obscured the lone escalator that rose at a steep angle toward the mezzanine. Exotic birdcalls and whistles mingled with the subtle thumping of tribal drums emanating from a myriad of cleverly concealed speakers.

  Towering, gilded letters were engraved in the black marble above the reception counter and proclaimed:

  Aspirations, Incorporated

  Nurturing Youth’s Eternal Bloom

  Neo stifled a chuckle as he read the trifling quote beneath:

  Youth is more than a state of mind . . . it’s a state of being.

  Tobias Simpkins—CEO, Aspirations, Incorporated

  A stunningly attractive woman, with long brunette hair flowing over her shoulders, greeted Neo with a well-rehearsed smile. Her tropical-patterned sweater clung to her ample breasts, and her short, matching skirt displayed a lusty eyeful of thigh.

  She extended a well-manicured hand. “I’m Margo Smith,” she announced.

  “Neo Doss,” he returned, shaking her hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

  “I’ll be your counselor today. Would you please follow me to my desk?” Margo pointed to an area behind a distant, sprawling garden.

  “Certainly.” He nodded for her to lead the way. They passed a sign identifying one of the gardens as The Garden of Youth, and walked by another sign beside a crystalline waterfall that proclaimed it to be The Fountain of Youth.

  What a setup. It was difficult to believe that anyone with a fat wallet in his right mind would actually buy into this hokum; but then again, he realized that desperate people believed what they wanted to believe. He, for one, had no desire to return to the days of his youth, not even if Aspirations paid him. A younger face and body wouldn’t alter his thoughts, his habits, or his shortcomings. He’d still be an old fool in a young fool’s body who had managed to toss away a fortune for the age-reducing process. He wondered if those Aspirations customers who were hit and killed by a bus the day after their treatments would be eligible for a refund.

  Margo turned, studied his face, and broke into one of her employee-training smiles. “A penny for your thoughts.”

  Not a chance, he chuckled to himself. Security’d kick his ass out of there if he told her what he was really thinking. “I’m just fascinated by all these beautiful gardens and fountains,” Neo lied.

  She laughed – probably a rehearsed laugh. “We get that a lot around here.”

  He grinned politely. “I’ll bet.”

  As they rounded The Garden of Youth, Neo wasn’t too surprised that Margot’s office furnishings were crafted from actual tree trunks.

  “Please have a seat, Mr. Doss.” She opened a thick folder that held background, credit, and evaluation forms. “Before I give you a tour of the facilities, I’m afraid we’ll have to complete these forms. It should take approximately ninety minutes.”

  Neo whistled. “I’m only here to evaluate your facilities, not sign up.”

  “Of course, Mr. Doss, but we need to complete these forms before I can give you a tour. Security, you know. We have competitors who would love to learn our secrets.”

  He hadn’t counted on such a delay, but it appeared as if he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Neo was about to grudgingly give his approval to start the process when a distinguished-looking man suddenly strode from behind the garden and approached Margo Smith’s desk.

  Her bottom lip drooped, and her forehead wrinkled into an anxious frown – an unrehearsed frown.

  “I’ll take that file, Margot,” he said pleasantly and removed the folder from her desk blotter. The man pumped Neo’s hand and introduced himself. “I’m Sloan McGrath, a senior partner here at Aspirations. I’d like to personally escort you on a tour of our wonderful facilities. I hope Margot won’t mind my butting in like this.”

  She blushed. “Of . . . of course not, Mr. McGrath.”

  Neo was instantly suspicious of McGrath. He sensed that McGrath’s sudden appearance wasn’t just a coincidence. Like Nick, he didn’t believe in coincidences. “Good, then let’s get started.” Sloan pointed toward the escalator. “Follow me, Mr. Doss.”

  Neo hoisted his briefcase from the floor and nearly collided with Sloan who stopped around the corner from Margot’s office.

  “Did Margot happen to mention how old she was?” Sloan asked.

  Neo shook his head.

  “Would you humor me with a guess?”

  “I’m not real good at guessing people’s ages.”

  “Oh, be a sport,” Sloan insisted.

  Neo decided to play along and see where this was going. He pictured the voluptuous young woman in his mind. “I’d say Margot’s in her late twenties or early thirties.”

  Sloan laughed. “A predictable response, but I’m afraid you’re way off the mark. Margot Smith is fifty-seven years old.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Of course not, but it happens to be true. That’s exactly why you need to tour Aspirations and discover what we have to offer your . . . mother, isn’t it?”

  Neo tightened his grip on his briefcase. “Yes.”

  “Seeing is believing, Mr. Doss.”

  “Neo, please.”

  “Certainly.”

  They stepped onto the escalator and rode it to the mezzanine. Neo couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a fly being escorted into the spider’s parlor.

  Neo cleared his throat. “So Margot Smith is actually fifty-seven. That’s very hard to believe.”

  Sloan raised his eyebrows. “At this point in the tour, I’m sure it is,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  Neo was stunned. He, Rance, and Nick assumed that Aspirations scammed its customers, utilizing smoke and mirrors to create the illusion of recaptured youth. But, if Sloan was on the level about Margot’s real age, he could be in big trouble here. McGrath and his other partne
rs weren’t con artists. They were powerful magicians.

  “Let’s chat a bit in my office before we begin the tour,” he said, as they reached the mezzanine.

  Unlike the tropical facade below, the mezzanine was all stainless-steel, chrome, and glass. Four armed guards and a metal detector secured the entrance to the considerable expanse beyond. Recalling the girth of the building, Neo realized that he would need a knowledgeable guide or a AAA TripTik to navigate the maze of corridors. According to the chrome-and-black directory mounted to wall beside the metal detector, the mezzanine level housed countless client interview rooms, a massive employee cafeteria, and something called the Fitness Garden Suite.

  Neo followed Sloan to an elevator located well away from the others. “I have something remarkable to tell you.”

  Well, I’m not buying it, Neo thought, and was thankful for the 9-mm semiautomatic concealed inside his briefcase. Neo’s bloodhound senses sniffed an ambush, and although he appeared outwardly relaxed, his muscles were steel coils awaiting the opportunity to spring into action.

  McGrath activated the elevator with a key, and the doors parted. They stepped inside, and it whisked them nonstop to one of the upper floors. After the doors opened, Neo followed the brisk-walking Sloan McGrath through a maze of hallways that terminated at an open reception area the size of Orion Sector’s entire conference room. The room was extravagantly appointed with gleaming mahogany furnishings, elegantly framed paintings, plush burgundy carpeting, and deeply pleated, burgundy damask draperies. A lone secretary sat primly at her desk. Neo could tell by her no-nonsense expression and severe attire that she wasn’t a flirtatious bimbo like Margot Smith. She assessed her boss’s guest above her frameless reading glasses.

  “Coffee?” Sloan asked Neo as they walked toward his office.

  “Sure.” Neo was temporarily caught off guard by the man’s seemingly sincere affability.

  “How do you take it?” the secretary asked. Neo guessed her to be in her early forties; but then at Aspirations, the employees weren’t exactly the age they appeared to be.

  “Black. Two sugars.”

  Sloan pushed the heavy mahogany doors open and led Neo to a glass conference table that afforded them a view of Manhattan. He offered Neo his choice of the four vacant chairs. After Neo sat, McGrath retrieved a leather portfolio from his desk and settled across from his guest. Neo tucked his briefcase close to his right leg and casually unsnapped the side pocket that housed the semiautomatic. The secretary served their coffees on a silver tray and placed it on the table between them.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” she asked.

  “No, Selma, that’ll be all for now. Please hold all my calls,” he instructed her and remained silent until she left.

  McGrath sipped the steaming brew. “Well, Neo, let’s get down to brass tacks. I didn’t invite you here for a tour any more than you came here to evaluate our facilities for your wonderfully young-looking mother.” Sloan opened the portfolio and slid an 8 x 10 color glossy of the beautiful Leonida Doss across the table.

  Neo cleared his throat. This was definitely not what he expected. He absently scanned his mother’s picture and slid it back. He slammed both palms onto the glass top and leaned menacingly toward McGrath.

  “Okay, just what kind of game are we playing here, McGrath?” Neo demanded.

  “Whoa,” Sloan said, leaning back defensively. “I can assure you that this is not a game. Please allow me a few minutes to explain before you crush me with one of your patented, bone-jarring tackles.”

  Neo didn’t retreat an inch. “I’m listening,” he growled.

  “All right.” McGrath moved forward and sipped his coffee again. “I am the person responsible for your attendance here this morning.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, it is. I left you a clue at our New Jersey testing facility that led you here: a business card.” He patted his portfolio. “I have suspected my partners of illegal human product testing for some time now.”

  Neo played dumb. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. So, I did some digging, at considerable personal expense, I might add.”

  Neo glanced around the lavish room. This guy could afford way more than considerable. “Go on. I’m all ears.”

  “We’ve been experimenting with a revolutionary enzyme that will, believe it or not, turn back the human biological clock. According to federal guidelines, we purportedly limited our research testing to approved laboratory animals; but I got wind a few months ago that Tobias Simpkins, our CEO, and Grant Donovan, the other senior partner, were illegally testing this enzyme on human subjects,” he explained, swallowing more coffee.

  “I didn’t believe it at first, but when I heard the accusation from a very reliable colleague, I hired a reputable and discreet investigative agency to look into the matter. Two months later, they reported that these tests were, indeed, being conducted at our New Jersey facility we purchased years ago for its riverfront investment value.” He sighed deeply. “Or so I was led to believe. I found myself in a quandary. I couldn’t contact the FBI directly, because my phone calls and personal activities are closely monitored. Tobias is a very distrustful person who has spies everywhere, and he would have known the minute I phoned you. So, I resorted to leaving an unnamed business card in a test victim’s dress in the basement of that horrible old asylum. I don’t mind telling you that the place gave me the creeps.”

  “Okay, let’s cut the crap, Sloan. First, your miracle enzyme comes from Florida – a little place historically known as The Fountain of Youth,” Neo asserted gruffly. “Second, you haven’t told me anything I don’t already know. You got any proof of what you’re telling me?”

  He opened his portfolio and slid a pair of glossy prints across the table. “That’s Mindy Landers, a former bag lady from Queens. The top photo is Mindy before their experiments and the other one was taken after her illegal treatments.”

  The difference was startling. “Are you certain that this is the same woman?” he asked, tapping his forefinger on the after picture.

  “I am. I stole these photos from the lab in New Jersey, which I understand you are quite familiar with.”

  “Yeah, I was there.”

  Sloan passed two more glossies Neo’s way. “Lurdene Walken, a lowbrow prostitute. Same results,” he said.

  Neo was floored by the miraculous results. Both women were numbing knockouts after their treatments. “Okay, so you’ve got these pictures. The district attorney could claim they were doctored and throw out your case.”

  “I’ve thought of that, so I arranged for both women to meet with you and personally describe their horrifying experiences at our illegal testing site,” he declared.

  Neo recalled the carnivorous little creature Nick encountered during his captivity at the asylum. Did these women witness the same thing? If they did, then Orion Sector had a solid case against Aspirations.

  But on the other hand, was it worth risking his skin for an interview if one or both of them turned into one of those nasty little creatures? That was definitely a dilemma.

  McGrath sensed his concern. “I had legitimate medical people test both these women, and for some reason, the youth enzyme disappeared from their systems. As of yet, the doctors can’t figure it out,” he added. “So, you’ll be perfectly safe with them, but if you don’t believe me, interview them at a secure site.”

  “I might do that,” he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Where can I get in touch with these women?”

  “I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a meeting for you. I hope you don’t mind. The ladies are waiting for you right now in the Starbucks across the street.”

  Neo stood. “I’ll check out their stories and get back to you,” he said.

  “Please, when you return, you must maintain your son-helping-mother cover story. That’s the only way that I can safely meet with you again,” he said, fear glazing his eyes.

  Neo nodded, snatched his b
riefcase, and hurried out of McGrath’s office. He could hardly wait to fill Nick in on this startling turn of events. It appeared as if they had finally gotten a huge break in their investigation.

  After the office doors closed, Sloan sat back and smiled. After the gullible Neo Doss met with Mindy and Lurdene, there would be no more office meetings with the Orion Sector agent.

  Ever.

  54

  N

  eo paused on the marble steps outside Aspirations, flicked a piece of fuzz from his suit coat sleeve, and phoned Rance on his private Orion Sector line. He rolled the tension from his stiff neck as he waited for Rance’s secretary to find her boss. He had had enough of Sloan McGrath. After twenty minutes with the scumbag, Neo’s bullshit detector was fried, and his patience was worn as thin as his college football socks.

  Neo made his decision whether to interview the test subjects or not on the way down from McGrath’s office. If McGrath believed that Neo was actually going to stroll into his two-broad ambush and let them shred him into black confetti, then he was the biggest fool Neo had ever met.

  “Yeah?” Rance grumbled.

  Neo cleared his throat, described his visit with Sloan McGrath, and requested backup support. “Send Carter and Lomax. They’re here in New York doing some undercover work on an official FBI case, anyway,” he suggested.

  “Another case? Explain.” Rance demanded curtly.

  “Terrorists.”

  “That all?”

  “That’s all, boss.”

  “Are Crow and Nick there?”

  Neo bit his tongue as he watched the steady flow of customers enter and exit Starbucks. “No.”

  “Goddammit!” Rance exploded. “I expressly ordered them to get their asses to New York and back you up.”

  Neo chuckled silently despite the gravity of his own situation. “I’m sure they’ll be here any minute, but in the meantime . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll contact Carter and Lomax and have them report to you at Aspirations, on the double.”

  “Have them meet me across the street from the Aspirations building at Starbucks.”