Blood Web: Caitlin Diggs Series #1

by Gary Starta

  Chapter 29

  Hoyt walked briskly to his Lincoln Navigator, daring to peak over his shoulder only once he had released its door locks. Whoever was following him was bold. The man did not stop walking or try to pretend he was headed for a vehicle. Hoyt was able to absorb quite a bit of information about the man in just a few seconds. He was dressed in khaki pants and a drab, olive green t-shirt. This attire reminded Hoyt of a predator who was trying to blend in with the trees and bushes until the time was right to pounce on their prey. Despite his weariness, Hoyt was also able to take note of the man’s piercing eyes and short, cropped hair. It spoke volumes about his persona.

  This man was here to conduct some serious business—not to take a leisurely stroll on Quantico’s freshly cut lawns. Weighing fight or flight options, Hoyt’s brain opted for fight. He might stand better odds of battling the intruder hand to hand than attempting to flee. The pathologist suddenly envisioned the man drawing a gun and opening fire as he ducked into his car.

  As the man drew closer, Hoyt hoped his instincts to face the man were correct. Hoyt stood nearly six inches taller than the stranger, but fear was getting the best of him. He was not confident how he would fare in a brawl; he hadn’t taken a swing at anybody since elementary school. Furthermore, the man’s image was imposing, as if he dealt in intimidation on a 9 to 5 basis. His icy stare and stocky build conspired to send shivers down Hoyt’s spine. Thoughts flashed like flickering light bulbs in his mind. He saw bodies laid out on autopsy tables. The first two stiffs were Schenker’s victim. He knew the third body would be his. In order to interrupt this terrible train of thought, Hoyt blurted out the first words he could think of.

  “What do you want?”

  “I just want some of your time, Mr. Hoyt,” the stranger answered.

  “Since you know who I am, you might reciprocate and introduce yourself.” Hoyt’s taunt surprised even himself. Fatigue and anger had somehow coalesced into courage. Working eighteen-hour days, seven days a week, Hoyt found himself getting more and more snappy with his lab coworkers. Adding a heavy dose of annoyance was like lighting a stick of dynamite. For some odd reason, Hoyt believed this man was connected to Hainsworth, and the thought of it made his blood boil.

  “I hear you’re having a hard time explaining Lukas Schenker’s need for seratonin.” The man did not wait for Hoyt’s answer. “I just want to know if you think you can solve it, because if you can, I’ve got a place in my organization for a man like you.”

  Hoyt tried to digest the man’s words. His bluntness was surreal. Hoyt’s mind clouded, he placed his hand on the Navigator’s door to maintain his balance. How did this stranger know about my findings? Did he hack into my computer?

  “You see, there’s no use trying to feign ignorance with me, Mr. Hoyt. I am asking for your help to prevent some very catastrophic circumstances from taking place.”

  But Hoyt didn’t buy that this man was concerned for his fellow man. Maybe this is one of the men Jake Campbell warned about: someone who will try to exert control over the American populace. Maybe he even orchestrated this whole event as a means of testing the crystal’s powers. Hoyt decided to play along with this man’s game for his own safety. After all, he couldn’t help Rivers if her were laid out on an autopsy table.

  “I believe a solution may be possible, but wouldn’t it just be easier to take away the crystal from Schenker?” Hoyt waited for the man’s reaction. If he concurred, it would cast a light on the man’s true agenda. But Tom Wolvington wasn’t worried. He would just deny whatever he told Hoyt later on.

  “We have long range goals for the crystal. It’s going to change America—and the world—for the better. So that’s why I am enlisting your aid. You may be surprised at my candor. The fact is, I am telling you all this because I am untouchable. Not even your FBI superiors can lay a hand on me. So the only question you should be asking yourself tonight is ‘What can I do to help my country?’”

  “I am very exhausted right now. I need some time to think.”

  “Very well. I will be in touch. You should be honored that I’ve considered you for the project. Now go and get some rest so we can lick this little setback. Your country needs you.”

  Hoyt watched the man walk off into the night as his heart palpitated furiously. Taking refuge in his car, he began to think about Rivers and her safety. Whoever this man was he sounded dangerous.

  Agent Diggs was sound asleep when Rivers’ cell rang. Rivers grabbed the device and bolted into the hotel bathroom to answer it.

  A smile spread across her face upon hearing Hoyt’s voice, but her elation quickly dissipated. She wondered why the pathologist was calling so late.

  Hoyt detailed his brief but disturbing visit with the military man. Rivers wondered to herself if this man wasn’t responsible for abducting Jake Campbell. However, she kept her theories to herself. She didn’t believe Hoyt could handle such an assumption. After all, he worked in the safe confines of a laboratory. He was trained neither mentally nor physically for armed confrontation.

  As Hoyt rambled on, Rivers thanked the heavens that he had not been harmed. She realized her feelings were becoming stronger for Hoyt even though the academy had trained her for emotional detachment. But like this case, Rivers realized training and application were two entirely different species.

  She found it most difficult to close the conversation, even after Hoyt had repeated his encounter for the third time. Rivers had bravely faced all of her Pittsburgh field assignments without one single word of comfort from friends of family. But things were different now. She needed Hoyt’s voice. She also wanted to keep him on the line in case the mystery man decided to return. Inventing an excuse to resume their conversation, Rivers began to brainstorm some more ideas about the crystal’s physiological effects.

  “I’ve got to tell you something, Ed. I’m more scared of writing my field report than facing our suspect. I will lose all credibility with the bureau if my findings can’t be proved scientifically.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. How can you be worried about a report when there’s a killer out there who can inflict internal and external injury at will? Oh, and must I remind you his blood is lethal?”

  “Okay, you’re right, Ed, but hear me out. I’ve been studying something called quantum bioholography. It proposes that a complex electrodynamics field establishes the organization of any biological system. Since complex information is stored in electromagnetic fields, it stands to reason that DNA acts as a holographic projector of EM information. The result: gene-expression.”

  “I think you’re losing me Deondra. Are you proposing that information contained in EM waves can alter our genetic makeup?”

  “Exactly. It all makes sense. How could Schenker be able to heal himself so rapidly or even be seen leaving his body without a genetic transformation?”

  “He left his body—? What?”

  “I’ll fill you in later. But the bottom line is that we have a witness who reports Schenker left his body to subdue his attacker at the Arkansas convenience store. I think this is scientifically possible if you consider Schenker’s exposure to EM waves. If astral projection can be encoded as information on a wave, Schenker now has the capability of reading it. It’s as if his brain and mind are working together as a biocomputer, reading information stored on these waves. In turn, I believe his chromosomes may now have the capability of transforming their own genetic-sign laser radiations into broadband genetic-sign radio waves.”

  “Can you translate that into English?” Hoyt asked facetiously. He couldn’t help thinking about how scared he was just an hour ago. Now, hearing Rivers’ voice, the pathologist was comfortable enough to crack jokes.

  “In essence, I think he can read the genetic coding of other individuals. I have to believe he is using this to track the descendants of the Sand Creek Massacre.”

  “Again I’m at a lost. He’s tracking who?”

  Rivers realized she had forgotten to enlighten H
oyt about Diggs’ latest theory. “Schenker may be using genealogy to track down the descendants of United States cavalry men. He wants these descendants to pay for the crimes committed against the Cheyenne Indians.”

  “There seems to be a thread of commonality in all of this—survival.”

  “I have to admit that Caitlin’s theory does hold water after all, but at the same time, I have to be able to test it in a laboratory before I will include it in a field report.”

  “I can’t believe you’re back to worrying the field report.” Hoyt paused so he could enjoy the sound of Deondra’s laughter. “And speaking of Agent Diggs, how are you two getting along, besides your differences in methodology?”

  “Well, we do stand on opposite sides of the fence when it comes to nutrition. But I have to say I admire and respect the woman. She’s returning to the job after losing her partner. Yet, she’s able to come at this case with full resolve and dedication. It’s as if she’s unaffected by the loss.”

  The reality of Rivers’ situation suddenly became illuminated for Hoyt. Her mention of McAllister’s death did little to provide comfort. Rivers would ultimately face grave danger when the time came to confront Schenker. Hoyt fought images of the mystery man and Schenker during the few hours he would spend in bed. The two men now loomed in his consciousness like monsters in a horror film. Both had the capability of destroying his newfound happiness with Agent Rivers. He could not rest knowing this. Groggy and nearly delirious, he rose at 6 a.m. and returned to the lab.

  ***

  Wolvington spent a solitary night back in the confines of his Fort Belvoir townhouse. He had immediately called out to Alyssa upon stepping through the door, but there was no answer. He imagined what life would be like after the transformation. With a single thought, he would know just where Alyssa or anybody else was on God’s green earth, or more aptly—his green earth.

  He removed his pants and plopped into bed, still wearing his t-shirt. He discovered he really didn’t care where Alyssa was right now. All that mattered was putting Project Right Hand back on track. Attempting to lure Hoyt away from the FBI and into DARPA was a first step in that direction. However, this would be no easy task. Wolvington realized the pathologist was currently preoccupied with Dudek’s new special agent Deondra Rivers. Even if Wolvington had not obtained illegal access to Hoyt’s phone records, the colonel could have surmised as much. Still, Hoyt was only one cog in the machine.

  The colonel mulled over other options while he lay on his back, staring at his ceiling. He glanced at his bedside alarm clock. It coldly told him it was 3 a.m. Yes, it was going to be another sleepless night. Wolvington rose, conceding to insomnia. He wrapped a robe around him, stumbled into the kitchen, and punched the red button on his Mr. Coffee machine to commence brewing. Pulling a pad of paper out of the kitchen draw, he began to jot down notes. In minutes, he had compiled a list of scientists who had worked on the project a decade earlier. Tom thought there must be a few good men and women from this list who could solve the seratonin quirk. He just needed to contact them.

  Wolvington began to rap a teaspoon against the sugar dispenser. This unconscious action signified that Wolvington wasn’t so confident in his assessment. There was a good chance many of the men and women on his list had either died or suffered from one of the many ills that nature springs on the old and infirm. Pushing these thoughts to the far corner of his mind, Wolvington began to curse the day he gave the order to kill the Schenkers. They were highly skilled at neural interfacing. It was extremely likely they would have been able to process a chip, which could synthesize the neurotransmitter Lukas Schenker’s hijacked body now desperately sought.

  Tom proceeded to the counter and poured his coffee, attempting to take solace in the fact that Major Schumacher was now out in the field. At least he was far removed from Hoyt and any other capable scientists who might be able to provide a solution. To put it bluntly, Jonas Schumacher was just too trigger happy for the colonel’s liking. Wolvington had considered sparing Angelika and Karsten’s lives even after he discovered their emails. But Schumacher had forcefully convinced Wolvington to put the hit on the Schenkers. Schumacher viewed their alleged treason as a personal attack on his parents.

  It was never too good to become emotionally involved in your work, Wolvington mumbled, reflecting on the major’s weakness. The colonel took pride in the fact he managed to keep a safe emotional distance from Alyssa. She was just a screw and that was all. For that reason, he didn’t mind sharing her with Hainsworth. The day he felt jealously or love for this woman was the day he would become a weak link in the chain.

  Wolvington believed his self-control entitled him to godhood. And the good news was that overly aggressive men like Schumacher and overly promiscuous woman like Alyssa could be cured in the new order. Weak traits likes theirs could be abolished as easily as curing athlete’s foot. And it would be so, or Colonel Tom would simply terminate both of these acquaintances. Godhood demanded perfection, after all.

  As daylight streamed through the window, the colonel looked with hope upon the new day. In an hour, he would meet with Senator Alfonse Palumbo to secure funding for DARPA’s spring budget. Wolvington had always found the politician to be overly accommodating in the past. There was no reason to believe money couldn’t be thrown at the problem. Wolvington chuckled at this notion, succumbing to delirium from sleep deprivation.

  ***

  Tom Wolvington was just about to nod off when Senator Palumbo arrived. Wolvington had reserved a booth at the back of the Steak & Potatoes Grill House Restaurant. He had spent the last half hour stirring a cup of cold coffee waiting for the senator to join him for breakfast. Wolvington believed in the old adage: the early bird gets the worm.

  Palumbo excused himself for his tardiness. Wolvington was taken aback. He had never once heard the senator apologize for anything.

  “Holy canoli! This damn leg injury slows me down more than I care to admit,” the senator began. “But the doctors keep telling me it will eventually heal.” He took his seat, gingerly favoring his right leg. Exhaling a sigh, he propped the cane against the table.

  “Ah, the marvels of modern medicine,” Wolvington sarcastically quipped.

  The two men laughed heartily at the cynical observation.

  “You know, Senator, in the new order a small ailment like yours could be cured with a snap of the fingers.”

  “How’s that?” Palumbo countered irritably.

  “The crystal will make it possible to alter the genetic makeup of living individuals. That’s all you need to know. Now be a good doobie and get me my DARPA budget approved.”

  “You know I want to Tom. It’s just that the president will not be so easily convinced this time. You remember he ordered the project to cease and desist a while back?”

  “Well that was because we didn’t have the key component to make the project a success. But we’re just days, maybe even hours, away from obtaining that component. I’ve got a man in the field right now just waiting to take the crystal from our infamous Arrowhead Killer. When he does, we’ll be back in business.”

  “Then why do you need this funding?” Palumbo rubbed his right hand underneath his chin while perusing the menu. To Wolvington, it seemed the senator was much more interested in steak and eggs than world domination.

  “We have a small problem. It seems the crystal needs sustenance to do its job. It requires a neurotransmitter called seratonin. It’s probably part of the reason why Schenker brutally killed his victims. You have kept up on the news, I trust.”

  “Oh yes, yes...” The senator still sounded distracted. The colonel finally realized that his friend required a certain kind of sustenance as well. By the looks of Palumbo, he probably hadn’t missed one meal in his entire lifetime. The senator used his portly build to “add weight” to his arguments over the course of the last two decades.

  This genetic disposition was why Wolvington was so confident the senator could secure the necess
ary funding. It was no secret that the senator sometimes stepped outside the boundaries of the law to make sure certain funding was appropriated. His strong-arm tactics were legendary. Wolvington wondered to himself if the man’s penchant for brutality had finally caught up with him. His curiosity prompted him to inquire how Palumbo sustained his leg injury. The senator obliged begrudgingly.

  “I foolishly listened to my son-in-law. He persuaded me to join him on a skiing expedition to Vermont last winter. My legs crossed in a downhill run, and now I’m paying for my clumsiness.”

  Wolvington’s brows arched. He wasn’t buying the senator’s story. He could not picture a man who weighed nearly 300 pounds gliding downhill, not without taking an entire ski lodge and tram system in tow. Wolvington knew his instincts were correct as the senator nervously tried to change the topic of conversation to the weather.

  The truth was that Palumbo had not sustained any injury on the slopes. In fact, he could not even drag the garbage can to the curb without sweating and panting like a bull in a rodeo. Palumbo didn’t become such a successful politician without taking his work home with him every once and while. After enduring years of the senator’s strong-arm tactics at home, Mrs. Ava Palumbo decided one day that enough was enough.

  Alfonse had just exited the bathroom ranting how Ava had forgotten to replace the toilet paper, when an arm interlocked with his. He found himself desperately losing a fight with gravity in the ensuing minutes. Tumbling heavily down the stairwell, a defiant Ava Palumbo stared from above, hands on hips. Alfonse Palumbo could not recall ever losing an argument over such a trivial thing as toilet paper. The experience had humbled him. It was the reason why he felt compelled to apologize to Wolvington for his tardiness, but old habits die hard. In the next minutes, Palumbo was back to his old crotchety self, rapping his cane against the table and demanding service.

  “What’s the hold up? Is the food being shipped from Tuscany?”