“By missing do you mean abducted?”
Hallier shrugged. “We don’t know the full circumstances related to Dr. Merrick’s disappearance yet. But we have reason to believe he may be in possession of a technology that has the potential to harm many people.”
“You think he might be trying to sell the technology to our enemies?”
“I’m afraid that’s a possibility.”
“Why come to us and not LAPD? They could put an army of feet on the street for you in a matter of seconds.”
“That’s precisely what I don’t want. This has to be done quietly. I need professionals, not street cops. Your team will be under explicit instructions to observe and report - that’s all. I want Dr. Merrick located as soon as possible and placed under surveillance until my men are ready to make their move. The decision to engage will be made by me and no one else.”
“So, you’re asking for the Bureau’s help, but you don’t think we’re capable of taking Merrick into custody on your behalf. Is that it? Seriously, Colonel, we’re a little better trained than you’re giving us credit for.”
“No you’re not, Assistant Director,” Hallier replied curtly. “Not for Merrick.”
Ann Ridgeway looked perplexed. “You know the one thing that I hate more than anything else, Colonel? It’s when people aren’t straight with me. You need to come clean, right now. I’m fine with this being your operation, but these are my people. Exactly what is it that you’re not telling me? Just how much danger will my agents be in?”
Hallier didn’t answer.
Undaunted, the Assistant Director pressed him for a reply.
“All right, Colonel,” she said. “Let me put the question to you another way.” Ann Ridgeway leaned forward and placed her elbows on her desk. “Just exactly what is it about Merrick that has DARPA’s sphincter registering a ten-out-of-ten on the pucker scale?”
CHAPTER 16
BLACK AND whites blocked off the store services lane at the back of the Corona Mews Shopping Mall. Chief Riley Jenkins had been called to the crime scene when it was confirmed that part of a human thumb had, in fact, been found beside a Dumpster at the back of the mall. Deputy Jack Poole met him as he arrived and stepped out of his Jeep. The Chief was already in a sour mood. Sixteen straight hours spent in interrogation questioning a suspect about a murder in a municipality that hadn’t seen the commission of a violent crime in the last ten years had left him feeling drained and more than a little touchy.
“What’ve we got?” Jenkins asked. Poole met him at the Jeep and ducked under the black and yellow crime scene tape. Corona County coroner, Dr. Earl Kent, was kneeling on the ground at the foot of the garbage bin collecting samples from the ground and carefully placing them in plastic specimen jars.
“A couple of kids out for a bike ride found it while Dumpster diving,” Poole replied. “Freaked ‘em out when they saw it was real. They rode home and told their parents, who called us. We’d already dispatched a unit to check out a complaint from a resident who backs onto the laneway. Guy reported a stench coming from the back of the mall. Said it smelled like rotten meat. Two of our guys puked their guts up as soon as they got here. Can’t say I blame ‘em either. It stinks to high heaven over there.”
“What’s that under your nose, Jack?” Chief Jenkins asked. He reached out his finger and touched a shiny layer of gel under Poole’s nostrils.
Poole drew his head back, brushed away the Chief’s hand. “Mentholatum,” he muttered.
“Seriously… you?”
“Yep.”
“And I thought you were a seasoned veteran.”
Poole smirked. “You don’t see me over there decorating the pavement with my lunch and messing up a perfectly good crime scene, do you? No. Why? Experience, my friend. Remember what happened last year with Stinky Steve?”
“The floater we hauled out of Royce Lake.”
“Exactly. That dude was riper than my brother-in-law’s farts. And believe me, that man can clear a room. I swear he stores up his crap for weeks. After Stinky Steve, me and my Mentholatum go everywhere together.”
“I’ll bet your wife loves that.”
“She takes after her brother,” Poole said. “Lucky me.” He removed the small container of Mentholatum from his trouser pocket and offered it to the Chief. “Want some?”
Jenkins waved him off. “I’m good.”
“Suit yourself,” Poole said. He applied more of the menthol-scented gel under his nostrils. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
Dr. Earl Kent scooped a specimen of gooey paste off the asphalt at the foot of the Dumpster and spread it inside a sample jar. He stood as Chief Jenkins and Deputy Poole approached.
“Thumb’s definitely human, Chief” Dr. Kent confirmed. “Distal phalanx. Part of the joint is still intact with some partial ridge detail remaining. Not much, but I’ve preserved it.”
“Good,” Jenkins replied. “Run the print. Let’s see if we get a hit.”
The medical examiner nodded and gestured toward the bin. “You need to look at this.”
The men walked over to a section of carpet that lay open on the ground beside the garbage container. A thick opaque mass had congealed on the filthy floor covering, the result of its direct exposure to the afternoon sun.
“We pulled it out of the bin and unrolled it,” Dr. Kent said. “Some of it leaked out. The whole container reeks.”
“Leaked out?” Jenkins asked.
The coroner nodded. “They’re liquefied remains, Chief. So far the tip of the thumb is the only physical part of the body we’ve been able to find. Which is to say these remains might not comprise the whole body. After all, the thumb was found beside the Dumpster, not in it. This might just be the disposal site and not our primary crime scene.”
“Jesus.” Chief Jenkins removed his microphone from its shoulder clip. “4512 to Command,” he said.
“Go ahead, 4512.”
“Dispatch a K-9 to my location, 10-18. Tell them to meet me on scene.”
“4512. K-9, 10-18, your location. Copy that.”
“4512.”
With the urgent assistance for a canine tracking dog requested, the Chief continued his discussion with Dr. Kent.
“What the hell could have caused this, doc?”
Kent shrugged. “If I were to speculate, I’d say alkaline hydrolysis, also called ‘green death.’ Funeral homes and crematoriums offer it these days as an alternative to traditional burial or cremation. The body is liquefied in a chemical bath at high temperature and then separated from ash and bone in a drying process. The dry remains are left. The liquid is disposed of off–site.”
“Any funeral homes around here doing that?”
“Not that I’m aware of. And if there were, state law would require them to use a pick-up service to properly dispose of the liquid waste.”
“What if someone wanted to do it themselves… to dispose of a body this way. Could they?”
“I suppose so,” Dr. Kent replied. “They’d need a pressure vessel that was large enough to accommodate a body and could handle a mixture of water and lye at a temperature just shy of boiling. But yes, it could be done.”
“You thinking body dump, Chief?” Poole speculated. “Mexicans, maybe? Sinaloa cartel getting creative?”
“Could be,” Jenkins answered.
An officer who had been sifting through the contents of the Dumpster called out. “Got something here, Chief.”
The officer stood on a ladder that had been placed into the garbage bin to facilitate ease of entry and exit from the container. In his hands he held two magnetic car signs. Each read, Dan’s Home Improvements. The phone number on the sign was local.
“Pass me a couple of evidence bags,” the officer said. “There’s more stuff down here the Doc should take a look at. Work boots, clothing...”
Chief Jenkins removed his cell phone and dialed the number on the sign.
Somewhere within the disposal bin a phone rang. The
officer poked around, found it. “Got it,” he said. He passed the ringing phone to Jenkins. The Chief hit the speaker button just before the call went to voicemail. The announcement began to play: ‘You’ve reached Dan Labrada and Dan’s Home Improvements. Sorry I can’t take your call at the present time…”
“Son of a bitch,” Chief Jenkins said.
He snatched the radio mic from his lapel: “4512 to Command,” he snapped. “Where the hell is my K-9?”
CHAPTER 17
HALLIER TOOK a seat. The Assistant Director was right. Her people would be in danger. She deserved to know the truth. To that end, an emergency security clearance had been approved to permit the Colonel to share sensitive military information with her in his search for Merrick.
“Ten years ago,” Hallier began, “DARPA commenced a two-tier black book project with one simple objective: to create a human military asset that could be being deployed at a moment’s notice to anywhere in the world, in a battle-ready covert capacity. Dr. Jason Merrick was selected to lead the research team. We code-named the co-projects Channeler and LEEDA.”
“Sounds like a Hollywood movie plot,” Ridgeway said.
“Far from it,” the Colonel replied. “Dr. Merrick was tasked to create organic and inorganic exploration technologies that would be capable of syncing with the human brain and which would permit psychic dimensional crossover. In truth, we’ve been able to do this for quite some time, but our objective for the Channeler and LEEDA projects was that they would take us to the next level.”
“Exactly what do you mean by psychic exploration?”
“Mind travel, also known as remote viewing.”
“Dr. Merrick was able to accomplish this?”
“And more.”
“My God.”
Hallier continued. “The project succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. One of our best and brightest, a Sergeant by the name of Ben Egan, was selected to field test Channeler and push it to its limit. This morning, Merrick disappeared from DARPA’s technology development think tank, Dynamic Life Sciences, under unusual circumstances.” The Colonel removed the photograph of Merrick taken with his family in Paris and showed it to the Assistant Director. “I don’t think for a second that he was abducted.”
“Nice family shot,” Ridgeway said. “But how is this relevant?”
“Read the back.”
She turned over the picture. “All will pay,” she said. “Merrick wrote this?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like a threat to me.”
“We’re proceeding under that assumption,” Hallier said. He removed the Channeler prototype from his pocket and laid it on the desk. Ridgeway picked it up, examined it.
“What’s this?”
“That is the result of nine years of research and investigation into man’s ability to harness the secret capabilities of the human mind. It’s the first prototype of Project Channeler. Merrick left it for us to find.”
Ridgeway looked puzzled. “I don’t understand. If you have the device in your possession what's the concern?”
“Like I said, that is the first prototype. We’re now six generations beyond that what you’re holding in your hand. Merrick is in control of Channeler. And Commander Egan is missing as well.”
“You think the Commander has turned?”
Hallier shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I believe Egan is a just pawn in Merrick’s game. But if Merrick has control of Channeler he’s probably controlling Egan, too. The current version of Channeler imbues Egan with the power to do things we never thought humans could be capable of accomplishing, like physical energy transference, modulation and telekinesis. We believe Merrick has achieved Channeler and LEEDA’s penultimate goals: the ability to break down and rematerialize matter at the cellular level, at will, using nothing more than the power of the human mind.”
“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying…”
“You would more commonly know it as teleportation.”
The Assistant Director leaned back in her chair, speechless. Finally, she asked, “So this is real? We’re actually able to do this?”
“Yes. And Channeler and LEEDA are just the tip of the iceberg, Assistant Director. I can’t tell you where we plan to go from here. That’s highly classified. Suffice it to say, we’re just getting started.”
“What about Commander Egan? If Merrick is controlling Channeler, and Channeler is controlling the Commander, shouldn’t we be looking for him too?”
“Yes. But finding Merrick is the key. Shut down Merrick and we shut down Egan. And eliminate the threat in the process.”
“And Project Channeler? What happens to it?”
“It’s over. With Merrick, Egan and both technologies unaccounted for there’s no telling what might happen. Both Merrick and the Commander might not be recoverable.”
“Meaning?”
“Did you review the file I sent you on Merrick?”
“I did.” Ann Ridgeway turned in her chair and retrieved the printout from her credenza.
Hallier continued. “Then you’ll recall a reference to a personal tragedy he endured many years ago. His daughter, Paige, was found dead. She had been murdered. The case was never solved. That incident broke him. Shortly afterward, Merrick’s wife, Alma, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Alma had always been a very healthy and vibrant woman. The day that she received the news about her daughter’s death she fell apart; probably lost her will to live. She refused to continue her cancer treatment. Merrick tried to encourage her to stay under care, but she wouldn’t. It was only a matter of time before she was gone.”
“And Dr. Merrick?”
“Took an extended leave. Closed himself off from the world. Had no contact with the lab whatsoever. Then one day he shows up. Throws himself back into his work. After that, progress on the Channeler and LEEDA projects picked up at an astonishing rate. Every month his team was announcing one new breakthrough or another. But despite all of his success Merrick remained distant. He hardly engaged with his colleagues, just ran the projects. As one of them put it, he seemed ‘continually preoccupied.’ He just kept to himself. He was obsessed with working with the Commander and insisted he be his field handler. Even threatened to pull out of the project if we disagreed, so we let him have his way. We weren’t worried. He was under constant supervision, even though he never knew it. But somewhere along the way we dropped the ball. He found a way to steal Channeler and LEEDA. For what reasons we don’t yet know.”
“Do you think he plans to sell it?”
Hallier shook his head. “That’s doubtful. Geniuses like Merrick are too personally invested in their work to part with it for mere financial gain. For them it’s about receiving peer recognition in the scientific community. No, something more is going on here.”
Ridgeway read the statement on the back of the picture again. “According to this, his intention seems pretty clear.”
“I agree,” Hallier said. “So, Assistant Director. Can I count on your help?”
ADC Ridgeway stood, extended her hand.
“I’ll assemble a team right away. Let’s go find your men, Colonel.”
Hallier shook her hand. “Thank you. Your government appreciates your help.” He turned to leave.
“One last thing, Colonel.”
Hallier looked back at the Assistant Director. “Yes?”
“It’s Ann.”
Hallier smiled. “Quentin.”
CHAPTER 18
K-9 OFFICER KIP barked, wagged his tail and jumped out of the back seat of the black and white Ford Explorer. Police Canine Supervisor Don Button attached Kip’s search lead to his collar and made a fuss over his partner. He bounced the dogs training ball on the pavement, teased him and scratched his head. Kip knew it was time to go to work.
The dog sniffed the ground and followed a direct path to the Dumpster. Beside it, the open carpet that had been smeared with the foul-smelling matter had been bagged and tagged for forensi
c processing. Kip ran to the long plastic bag and lay down beside it, barking repeatedly, a confirmation to his partner that he had found precisely what he had been trained to find: human remains.
“Good boy, Kipper!” Officer Button said, “Such a good boy!” Button tossed Kip’s hard rubber ball on the ground within catching distance of the dog. Kip pounced to his left, caught the ball mid-bounce and began to chew contently on the rubber training toy.
“That confirms that,” Chief Jenkins said to the coroner.
Dr. Kent patted the dog’s head. “Yes, it does. I’ll take the carpet to the morgue. We’ll run a few tests. See what we come up with.”
“Any chance this is Dan Labrada?” Jenkins asked.
“If his DNA is on file we’ll know soon enough. Failing that, I’ll have to send it to the State lab. I deal with natural causes; floaters, the occasional motor vehicle accident, death by misadventure, and so on. But this? This is… soup.”
“Thanks for the visual, doc. Remind me not to have lunch with you anytime soon.”
Dr. Kent knelt down beside Kip. The German Shepherd rolled onto his back, soaked up the attention.
Officer Byers, who had been given the unfortunate job of scouring the disposal bin for evidence, threw his leg over the top of the Dumpster onto the ladder. He lost his balance and fell, landing hard on the ground, twisting his ankle. He grabbed his foot. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled.
“You okay, Pat?” Jenkins asked.
Kip chuffed and rolled to his feet.
“Yeah. Thanks, Chief. I'm good." Kip walked over to Byers and sniffed his foot.
Pat rubbed the dog's face. "Thanks, buddy. I’m okay.”
Kip lay down beside Byers and started to bark.
“Either he smells dead guy on you,” Officer Poole teased, “or you need to give serious thought to changing your deodorant, Pat.”
“Funny,” Byers replied, “This coming from the guy who discovered Stinky Steve. Or should I say, wore him for a few days?”
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