THE GIFT

Chapter 2

Private investigator, or rather…gun for hire…Allan Stephens read the dossier several times, committing it, and the accompanying photos to memory. Collins had been his friend. He shouldn’t have died that way. Burnt alive. He didn’t deserve that. But Collins had made too many mistakes, beginning with his cover being blown…then murdering the scientist he was supposed to kidnap. Finally, falling into the trap that killed him. His idiotic insistence on wearing all black made him stick out like some Hollywood cliché.

But no matter that. He was going to complete the mission his friend had started…and get some revenge along the way…and be handsomely rewarded. These fools hadn’t done a very good job of covering their tracks up until killing Collins. Then they seemed to vanish. Collins had not put any contingency plans into place…either for his own safety or for tracking his prey, should they evade him.

Collins died with the tracking device he had planned to place on James’ Jaguar, that very evening, in his glove compartment. He never got the chance, as James’ taunts were irresistible. His humiliated rage made him fall for the trap.

Collins was his friend, but Collins was…well…stupid. And it cost him his life. Their masters required results. Collins had failed. No further failure would be tolerated. He would not fail.

The formula would be secured, tested and verified. The U.S. would have first dibs. Compliant Americans would cheerfully get fully dosed, and the non-compliant would be judiciously segregated.

Other governments will line up to subjugate their own populations. Our historic friends will get priority. Promises of loyalty to America from those now wanting to be our friends will qualify them, while those that do not will find themselves quarantined from the vaccinated 14 world, their economies slowly crumbling. Our enemies will be last to get it.

He didn’t have a real understanding of what the formula was capable of, but he didn’t care.

Besides all that pseudo-patriotic crap…he was going to make millions. He had been a loyal lapdog for years, but late one evening, he accidentally overheard a couple Big Pharma executives whispering about this miracle vaccine…this “potion”. If it could do what they claimed…it was his golden egg. When they gave him the assignment, they had no idea that he knew their secret.

Of course, he would hand it over to his masters, but he would copy or withhold enough to sell to the highest bidder. By the time they found out, he’d be long gone. He was sure that something this revolutionary would command nine-figure offers...especially from the Chinese.

Betraying his country wasn’t a problem. With money like that…who needed a country. He could buy an island and a security force. Nothing would stand in the way of his plan. James Scott was as good as dead.

Meanwhile, he still had to locate his prey. Had his rabbit gone to ground? If so, where? He decided to dig deeper into James’ life. He used his limited Internet skills for the basics.

Semi-retired auto mechanic. Wife died eighteen months ago…sudden kidney failure. He met our deceased scientist through his side hustle working on antique cars. Evidently, the two became buddies and he ends up being a human guinea pig. Apparently, Dr. Frankenstein’s formula worked. Our boy became the most valuable human on the planet. The scientist got himself killed.

He meets Little Miss Realtor and starts a relationship. Hmm…seems she has social media skills. Turning those old folks into celebrities was clever. No kidnapping. Too many devoted eyes watching. Something more subtle was needed. It was time to visit the O’Connors.

A week later, early in the evening, Reggie opened his front door and greeted yet another journalist who wanted to interview “Grandmother Life”. It was later in the day than they normally interviewed, but this 15 one had called ahead and asked politely, claiming his schedule had been trashed by missing a flight connection in Denver. He was driving and couldn’t stay in town overnight, as he was running against a deadline.

“Come on in and have a seat.” Reggie bade mechanically, motioning to the sofa. This was becoming routine. He appreciated the security the attention afforded them, but he missed his privacy. “Mama’s busy in the backroom, but she’ll be right out in a minute or two. Would you like some lemonade?”

“That would be great.” Stephens answered, pleasantly.

“I suppose you want to know how she’s doing and all.” Reggie guessed, setting the frosty glass on the coffee table.

“Well, yes, of course…but I’d also like to get your angle, too.” He lied. “Also, I’m curious…how long did you know these people who gave her the cure? I mean…were they friends? Relatives?”

Reggie was old…82…but mentally, he was still as sharp as a tack. The alarm bells in his head started ringing. “Not very long. In fact, I couldn’t even tell you where they came from. They weren’t here that long, ya know. Very nice people, especially Miss Melanie. This internet thing was her idea. She and Irene really hit it off. But I’m not sure exactly where they came from. That never really came up.” He evaded. “Back east somewhere is all I know.” He lied. He knew much more that he was willing to say. He slowly started back toward the kitchen.

“So, you were willing to trust strangers with your wife’s life?” Stephens asked, instantly regretting it.

Reggie stopped and turned to Stephens. “Ya know…all the other journalist folks never seemed to be concerned about those two. They just wanted to meet Irene. Some just wanted to touch the hand of a miracle.”

“But you…” he started, “son…who are you…really? What is it you want?” he asked as he steadily made his way to the kitchen. An island drawer held the Colt .45 pistol he had put there just in case. He knew 16 that his wife’s miracle would draw the wrong kind of attention…and it had.

Sensing Reggie’s change in demeanor, Stephens rose from the sofa and moved toward the old man just as he was opening the drawer. Seeing a gun emerging, he drew his own weapon. Without thinking, his murderous instincts kicked in and he fired two shots into Reggie’s chest.

SHIT! s**t! His mind raced. Why did you do that? Just then, Irene came running into the kitchen and stopped in her tracks at the sight of Reggie’s crumpled body.

“REGGIE!” she screamed. “REGGIE!” She finally noticed the stranger standing before her with a gun in his hand. Their eyes locked, but instead of fear…Irene’s eyes were ablaze with hatred and anger, surprising Stephens.

Instantly, she spun around and raced for their bedroom, to fetch the shotgun they kept loaded in the closet ever since word got out. Stephens was close behind, but she managed to lock the door behind her. She knew it wasn’t going to hold for long, but she only needed seconds. Just as she grabbed the gun, the door burst open.

Stephens saw the shotgun coming to bear on him. Again without thinking, he placed two shots in Irene’s forehead.

“GODDAMMIT!” he screamed. “WHY?...I just wanted to talk.” He lied. True, he did want to talk, but he had no intention of leaving witnesses. This was the inevitable ending for these two…just not before he had got what he needed.

The neighbor’s houses were near enough to have possibly heard his gun shots...or Irene’s screams. This wasn’t planned. He meant to interrogate first, then shoot...with a silencer attached…not alert the whole neighborhood. Panic tickled his racing mind.

He was unable to think, much less do anything. He frantically searched the house for any indication as to who or where the two missing targets were. He found nothing to even indicate they had been here…until his 17 rummaging around a dresser drawer produced a Polaroid snapshot of Reggie and a younger man standing beside an old black sports car in mint condition, and another of them in front of an old Packard, also in mint condition.

The dossier had mentioned a black antique sports car of unknown type. Closer examination revealed the small, chromed figure of a big cat leaping from the front of the hood…a Jaguar. Well…at least he had that. He knew it was rare, so sending out an internal B.O.L.O. might get something. Big Pharma had big eyes…and ears. Any sightings could give him an indication which way they went.

The porch lights on nearby homes were beginning to light up. s**t! No time to draw the minimum pint of blood from Irene. His masters weren’t going to be pleased, but he would lie his way out of it. With the only lead he was going to get, he quickly left the O’Connor residence and managed to slip out of town without being noticed. He knew that asking around would only draw attention…especially after the bodies were discovered. There was nothing more this little town could do for him.

Later, he stopped for the night at a seedy roadside motel with a greasy spoon café attached. He made some calls and sent the images to his corporate cohorts. A few days later, he got a lead while talking to the owner of a novelty shop along Route 66, who remembered the people...but especially the car. He portrayed James and Melanie as dishonest embezzlers on the run, which offended the shop owner. He thought they were such a nice couple. James had even chatted with him about the car. Embarrassed by their deception, he mentioned that he thought they might be headed south, to Texas…or maybe even Mexico.

Mexico would be a logical destination. Medicine south of the border wasn’t regulated nearly as much as it was north of the Rio Grande. Illicit laboratories would do anything for a fee. The danger was in a drug cartel getting hold of the formula. Then, all bets were off. They would sell it to the highest bidder…and that would almost certainly be China.

A vaccine able to regenerate human cells would become another weapon in their arsenal, worse than the viruses they have been experimenting with lately. Certain loyal classes would be given priority, while the “unnecessary” masses would be left to perish.

He envisioned scenarios in which entire nations were infected with fatal viruses or pathogens, only to have China blackmail them into national servitude, the likes of which the world has never seen. Even the Nazis and the Soviets, in their heydays, could not hope to compare to the total control China would have.

Stephens was not going to let that happen, though. If anyone controlled the planet…it would be America…and his masters, Big Pharma. Their soulless business science knows what humanity needs better than any totalitarian ideology. The people don’t know what is best for them, but they will learn…and they will learn to like it.