by Peter Parkin
They had been seeing each other for over a year now and she knew Howard had pulled some strings to get her onto the Creep project. Her boss, Gene, wasn't one of her biggest supporters so she knew it hadn't been his idea. Howard had talked to her many times in the past about how fascinating this project was, and how if he had the chance he'd get her assigned to it. The Pentagon had tremendous pull at the CDC—whatever they wanted generally got done. So, she was sure that Howard had done something, but he'd played it coy with her nonetheless.
She didn't care about being on the project for the fascination of it—she wanted the travel, the excuses to be away from her husband, the trips away with Howard. That's what she wanted. She couldn't care less about a bunch of alien organisms. As long as they were contained, and she was in a Hazmat suit, they could crawl around all they wanted. And she already had more than her share of challenging assignments—with lots of potentially scary outcomes. She didn't need one more.
No, she needed romance and she needed to get laid.
Howard didn't have a family so that left lots of freedom for the two of them to plan their trysts. Angela's husband didn't really care where she was—in fact he seemed to prefer that she be elsewhere. When she was home, she cramped his style. She never suspected for a second that he was having an affair on her—he was too much of a slob. No woman would give him a second glance. He hadn't always been a slob. In fact, at one time a long time ago, he'd been quite the hunk.
But over the last few years he'd become lazy.
And over the last few years Angela had found her mojo.
On impulse, she picked up the phone and dialed Howard's mobile number. Shithead was in the living room asleep on the couch—he wouldn't hear a thing. And it was reaching the point where she didn't really care if he heard anyway.
No answer. Strange. Howard was usually at home on Fridays. And more likely today than ever, since their trip had been cancelled. He wouldn't have had time to make other plans. And no matter what, he always answered his mobile.
She tried his home number—no answer on that phone either. Well then, she would just have to go over there in person. She had her own key, so if he wasn't there she would wait for him. What a nice surprise for him to come home and find her waiting in his bed, wearing that sexy negligee that he loved so much. Or maybe wearing nothing at all? Angela liked her options.
She tiptoed through the living room past her snoring slob of a husband who was lying half on, half off the couch. Three empty beer cans lay on the floor beside him. Slob.
When Angela emerged from her bedroom, she was wearing a sleeveless vest, no bra, tight jeans, and no panties. She was ready to enjoy the weekend that was stolen from her. Yes indeedy—Howard would be surprised. And lucky her—she would get laid tonight after all.
*****
True to Brett's instructions, Dennis made a wide 180-degree arc on his approach to the northwest coast of Nevis. He marveled at the beauty of the island—palm-fringed shoreline, spectacular white beaches, majestic homes and villas as far as the eye could see.
This truly resembled paradise in his mind, and he thought how bizarre it was that this beautiful part of the world housed possibly the most dangerous creatures imaginable.
It was an interesting parallel—how pirates had introduced the non-indigenous Vervet monkeys to Nevis centuries ago, with how it had now happened to the island once again. Chimpanzees were now here and alien organisms also called this place home. It was rudely coincidental that they were possibly being mated with those last unwelcome invaders.
But the sheer outward splendor of Nevis kept these horrors hidden from the public eye. Who could possibly imagine what was transpiring five miles inland, and what this place and the rest of the world would look like if the things escaped uncontrolled?
Dennis pulled back on the throttle to slow his approach to the pier, and then shoved it into reverse as he slid in for a perfect docking on the starboard side of the launch. There were several other boats already tied up but other than that, virtually no signs of human activity. The place seemed deserted.
Dennis looked up towards the luxurious villas set back from the beach— Adirondack chairs and barbecues adorned the balconies but there were no people enjoying them. He wondered if the world would ever recover from this crippling recession. Would the concept of 'leisure' ever be the same again?
Brett leaped deftly onto the dock, followed by Avery. "Okay, Denny, this is great. I think you can safely linger here until we get back. I'll tie your lines and then we'll be off."
Fiona hesitated before leaving the launch. She looked back at Dennis and smiled. She blew him a kiss. Dennis blew one back.
Then she was gone.
He watched as his newly blonded lover with the freshly minted blue eyes followed Brett and Avery along the dock to the edge of the beach. He loved the way she walked: the subtle sway of her hips, the confident swing of her arms, and the gentle lilt of her head.
Dennis prayed to God that she'd be okay.
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
Fiona was confident that the three of them looked sufficiently official; they were dressed the part and they walked the part. But she sure hoped they could find a car, because a five-mile hike in the tropical heat would kill them.
They strolled through the visitor parking lot of 'The Hamilton' villa complex, and she watched as Brett's eyes shifted from side to side. He was looking for something specific but she didn't have a clue as to what that was. His trained eyes clearly knew what they wanted and she was fairly certain that what that was did not exist in this particular parking lot.
Brett led them along the sides of the villas, where the residents would park either beside or in front of their units. They passed numerous cars that would have been suitable, Fiona thought, but apparently not to Brett. She and Avery followed without saying a word.
Fiona noticed that most of the parking spots were empty—only about one out of three had cars parked, and the complex seemed like a ghost town to her. The pool and tennis courts were empty, no one was swimming in the ocean, and not a soul was sitting on the beach. The area was beautiful and deserved to be buzzing, she thought, but there were no signs of life that she could see except for the occasional luxury car.
Suddenly Brett stopped. And Fiona knew why. They were standing behind a late model Lexus LS 600H, a vehicle that would retail in the United States for about 140,000 dollars. The parking spot indicated it was attached to Unit # 21, which was a beautiful pink and white villa, located directly in front of the car. But this unit was different than most—it was on a corner and almost completely shrouded in palm trees and other tropical foliage. Brett looked at Avery with a question mark in his eyes. Avery nodded.
Fiona watched as they silently went to work. Avery walked over to the next car down, removed a tool from his pocket and quickly removed the license plates. Then he did a switch with the plates on the Lexus while Brett stood watch.
When that was done Avery stood on the sidewalk, alert and seemingly at attention in his slick military uniform. Brett tapped Fiona on the shoulder and whispered, "Follow me."
He led the way up the paved patio steps to the front door of Unit #
21. Fiona noticed it was a combination lock. Brett didn't knock—he pulled a tiny little remote transmitter from his pocket and aimed it at the electronic lock. He pushed a button and it began to sing—soft notes that indicated it was searching for the combination. When it found a number, it beeped, and then quickly resumed its singsong. After three beeps, the lock clicked and Brett calmly turned the handle of the carved mahogany door.
He walked in and Fiona quietly followed. They both saw it at the same time—hanging on the foyer wall was a key wrangler shaped like an elephant. Three sets of keys hung like bulky earrings, and two of them bore the Lexus logo. Brett quietly slipped one of the sets off the hanger and passed it back to Fiona. Then he put a finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow.
He led her through the living room
and into the master bedroom. An elderly man was lying on the bed, snoring the afternoon away. Brett slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew what looked like a tiny pistol; more like a derringer. Fiona gasped—she couldn't help herself. That gasp was all it took to stir the man from his slumber.
He lurched up into a sitting position. "What the..."
Brett fired.
The old man choked, reached his hand up to his neck, and then collapsed back into the exact same position he had been in before Fiona gave away their presence.
Brett moved quickly to the side of the bed, put one hand in front of the old man's nose, and the other hand on his wrist. "He's fine—just going to have a longer sleep than he planned today."
Brett then put his thumb and forefinger along the side of the man's neck and pulled. He waved an object in front of Fiona. "Just a dart, Fiona. Not to worry. A sedative—it should buy us four hours."
Fiona placed her hand across her heart. "Oh, thank God."
Brett moved to within two inches of her face and glared into her eyes.
"Don't do that again. Next time you could get us killed."
He didn't wait for her response. Brett led the way out the front door and down the steps to a waiting Avery, who was still standing like a statue in front of the Lexus.
"Okay, we're off." Before crawling into the driver's side, Brett removed a sticker from his pocket, peeled off the backing and stuck it onto the lower left corner of the driver's side window. It bore the 'Hertz' logo. "We might as well complete the image, huh? We would obviously have had to rent a car while here; little things someone might notice if we didn't pay attention to them."
Fiona shook her head in disbelief. The efficiency of this man and his attention to detail—she was flabbergasted, while at the same time relieved. She was 100% certain that this mysterious man named Brett Horton would keep them alive.
Avery slipped into the front passenger seat and Fiona sat in the rear. Avery pulled the map out of his pocket, studied it for a second and pointed ahead through the front windshield. "Drive down about 500 yards and hang a left onto Longboat Cay Road. That should take us right to the front door of the lab."
As they cruised along, Fiona watched the world of Nevis slip by. Children on bikes and walking in groups, on their way home from school. Cute little plaid skirts, white blouses with matching plaid scarves for the girls; black trousers and white shirts for the boys. They all looked so prim and proper, a stark contrast to the ramshackle homes they were scampering home to.
Little shops dotted the road, peppered with shacks advertising themselves as bars. No doors, no glass windows, young men sitting at patio tables sipping beers seemingly without a care in the world. Fiona thought, if only they knew what was going on just mere miles away.
The road came to a 'T' junction, and Avery motioned for Brett to turn right. Just ahead Fiona could see the barbed wire fences and electronic gate signifying an installation that was intended to be undisturbed. Then she saw the sign: 'Behavioral Modification Foundation.' And beneath that sign was a smaller one, but one that was no less noticeable: 'Trespassers Will be Shot on Sight.'
Brett pulled up to a speaker box in front of the gate and pressed the intercom button. A female voice came through the box asking for identification. Brett answered, "Colonel Howard Wentworth, Pentagon; Doctor Gene Sikorsky, CDC; and Doctor Angela Huntington, CDC."
There was a moment of silence, then a voice. "Please proceed to the Visitor Parking area. Leave the keys in the vehicle and the doors unlocked.
256
Then advance through the front doors to the Reception area, where the Director will meet you."
Fiona's stomach flipped.
*****
Angela Huntington slipped her key into the lock and crept inside, careful to make sure that no snoopy neighbors saw her. Even though Howard wasn't married, he was still the cautious type. He didn't like his neighbors knowing his business.
She called out his name. In reply, she heard a thump. It came from upstairs. She called out again...another thump...then another. She ran down the hall, then took the stairs two at a time. Angela could feel her heart struggling to keep pace with the speed of her ascent up the steep narrow stairs of the old brownstone.
Out of breath, she burst into the master bedroom and stopped dead in her tracks. Angela stared in disbelief at an almost unrecognizable human figure wrapped from his head to his toes in plastic packing tape. Howard Wentworth looked like a mummy.
She rushed to his side and pulled the tape back from his mouth. Howard took a moment to exhale with relief. Then he shouted, "Get the scissors—top dresser drawer—cut this shit off me! Watch out for my right arm—the wrist is broken and so is the elbow.
"And Angela, dial the Pentagon on your mobile—quickly! We don't have a moment to spare!"
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
The corridors were antiseptic. White ceramic-tiled floors and walls, with shiny metal-clad ceilings. There was a pervasive smell that Fiona pegged as formaldehyde and it made her want to puke.
The Director was tall and nerdy—glasses, slicked-back greasy hair, black trousers and a white lab coat. His sneakers squeaked as he led them down the long bright hallway that seemed to be endless. He introduced himself as Doctor Clyde Shannon. His voice was high-pitched and his manner was brusque. Fiona guessed that the man resented having his facility inspected—a typical scientist. Obsessed with his work and intolerant of any outsiders who felt they had some kind of vested interest. To him the work was probably everything and having to account to anyone for that work was a pain in the ass.
However, Colonel Avery Duncan, aka Colonel Howard Wentworth, played his part perfectly. He did all the talking as the de facto head of their little entourage and dominated the arrogant scientist with his military demeanor. Avery made it abundantly clear that he was having none of this "I haven't got time for you folks" shit.
Doctor Shannon started off by saying, "I only have thirty minutes to spare." Avery responded by saying, "You'll give us all the time we need, sir, and I'll be the one to decide when we're finished."
As they walked, Fiona noticed Brett being careful to aim his face in the direction of the spaces that he wanted to film, but he did it in a way that was subtle—no one would notice that he was anyone other than a man with poor eyesight, when in fact he was a walking talking video camera.
"So, what do you want to see? You folks have been here so many times, I can't even count that high."
Avery answered in his monotone military voice. "We want to see the labs, assess the current status of experiments, and satisfy ourselves that our own deadlines will be met."
"Deadlines—we're doing important work here and it can't be rushed. We have deadlines too, but we make sure that they're responsible and realistic. All you Pentagon types want to do is use things before they're ready. You've already had a couple of disastrous outcomes, and if you'd waited like I begged you to, those wouldn't have happened."
Doctor Shannon, keep in mind that this lab exists because of us 'Pentagon types.' You wouldn't have the luxury of doing your important work if we weren't funding it for you. Please remember that."
Shannon grunted and kept walking.
They rounded a corner and Shannon stopped in front of a steel door with a magnetic pad, which was also equipped with a push-button combination console.
"Colonel, would you please produce your entry card?"
Avery reached into his pocket and pulled out the card that Brett had stolen from the real Colonel Wentworth the day before. He held it up to the reader and it beeped. Then Shannon pushed a button and a shield popped out, hiding from view the numbers that he proceeded to punch in to the combination console. The door clicked open and Fiona quietly sighed with relief. The card hadn't been deactivated yet—which meant that Wentworth was still out of action and undiscovered. They had passed their first big test.
"Colonel Wentworth, you've been here before. And so, have you, Doctor Sikorsky. Do you
really need me to explain everything all over again?" The good doctor was clearly frustrated with their imposition and his impatience was showing.
Brett spoke for the first time. "I'll answer that. Yes, we do need you to explain everything all over again. My associate here, Doctor Angela Huntington, will be a new key player on the project. This is her first time at the facility, as you know, and we need her to hear about what's going on right from the horse's mouth. And that horse is you, Doctor Shannon."
Shannon sighed, exasperation seething from his lungs.
"Alright. I'll give brief explanations as we do the tour. I won't go into too much detail, because that may be too much for you to grasp."
Fiona couldn't resist. "Doctor Shannon, I'm a microbiologist and a vascular surgeon. I also have a Master's degree in chemistry and a PHD in zoology. I think I might be able to understand at least half of what you explain to us."
Shannon scrutinized her critically, sizing her up. Fiona guessed that the man's chauvinistic condescending brain was having a tough time reconciling that someone so pretty could be so well educated.
He grunted in his now familiar fashion, and motioned with his finger for them to follow. As the scientist turned his back to them, Fiona felt the nudge of Brett's elbow. She was encouraged to see him wearing an approving grin, along with his thumb and forefinger formed into a circle, which silently said, "You go, girl!"
They arrived at a wall of glass that seemed to be equipped at one end with a sliding glass door panel and a similar entry pad and button console to what the metal hallway door had.
"We won't go inside—you can observe from this vantage point. There are no live organisms, as these Vervet monkeys were injected months ago. But human intervention can disturb them. This is one-way glass, so we can see them but they can't see us. Please do not tap on the glass and make sure to keep your voices low."
Inside the compound were about two dozen little green monkeys, some sitting up with their backs against the wall, others scattered about the floor no closer together than at least three feet.
