4
From the outside Thompson Research Station looked like the other office buildings in Century city. The front was painted a dark green, but the rest of the building was creamy white. Except for the front of the building, the building had no other windows. To enter the 20-year-old building one needed to go through a guarded barrier, which was manned 24/7.
The first thing that came into view entering TRS was a reception area, including a receptionist, computer, and telephone switchboard. Further into the building, after signing in, there was a spacious hall. This hall contained six doors along each side of the hallway. Behind each door there was a laboratory, there were 12 in total.
John Kinsella and George Malthouse had been testing numerous possibilities to create an artificial virus, which could kill cancer cells in the human brain.
“Looks like we have a huge breakthrough here,” Kinsella exclaimed. His overweight body completely filled his swirling chair.
Malthouse peeked over Kinsella’s shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of what his colleague was looking at through his microscope.
“See for yourself.” Kinsella invited his colleague to have a look.
While Malthouse stared through the microscope, Kinsella moved his chair a couple of meters to the right.
“What do you say? Shall we try the ones in the first lot?” John asked, referring to a small colony of white mice. John tapped softly on their living quarters. “They’re all asleep again. So much for the tube system you put in for them, George.”
“I really feel they deserve some kind of quality of life.”
The microbiologists worked for almost five years on the same project at the Thompson Research Station. Taking another bite from his sandwich, Malthouse looked at his colleague. Kinsella appearance was simple; a broad forehead and descending hair. His neck, which seemed none existed, was covered by a double chin.
Kinsella didn’t seem to know how to chew his food. He swallowed the pieces of bread either whole, or after only chewing them a few times, Malthouse found it utterly disgusting. How could anyone eat like that? No wonder Kinsella weighed so much. “Wasn’t he able to feel when he was full? “Take the time to listen to what your body is telling you”‘, Malthouse read once in one of his wife’s magazines.
With the day almost over, the men were looking forward to the next. Soon the discovery of the virus was going to be all over the news which meant an end to five years of secrecy. At the same time as the microbiologists wrapped up their work for the day, Edgar Ellis moved swiftly through a tunnel shaped corridor of the Thompson Research Station. Although the outside temperature was around the 90s, the fluorescent lights gave the narrow space a grim and cold effect. Walking with his head bent down, he carried a small plastic box. In spite of the coolness of the corridor, the roots of his hair were wet with perspiration.
Ellis carried the box with great care. He prepared everything down to the slightest detail. This was no time for mistakes, not even the smallest one. He opened a heavy steel door which brought him into the reception area, keeping his eyes fixed on the box.
Once outside the building, he couldn’t believe how easy everything went. His client intended to pay him a tremendous sum of money for the contents of the box. In the car park, he carefully opened the driver’s door. After placing the plastic box into the glove compartment, he turned on the engine of his new Ford.
He waved at the guards. His short chestnut hair made him appear youthful. He hated the gear they had to wear in the lab. It made him sweat like a pig.
Inside the box, miniscule drops were escaping from the culture tube. The drops found a way through a small crack in the glass. Unaware of what was going on inside the box Ellis drove through the slow moving traffic of LA.
At his house, Ellis took the tube carefully out of the plastic box. He wore double latex gloves. His client ought to be satisfied with the only specimen he had been able to obtain. His head start gave him at least a few hours before the men in the lab discovered the tiny bottle missing. He knew he must work as fast as he could to get rid of any evidence.
With great care, Ellis unscrewed the cap of the tube. Next, he filled a syringe with the contents of the specimen, which he then injected into two fountain pens. Once he secured the fountain pens, they looked like ordinary writing utensils. He put them neatly away in a pencil case. Now he had to get rid of the empty tube.
“We don’t want to harm innocent people!” His client must have been joking when saying this. There were no innocent people, certainly not around here. Nevertheless, Ellis promised to be vigilant. Cautiously he put the empty tube through the opening of a yellow plastic box, closing it tightly.
Concentrating, the sweat poured of his face although the air conditioning was turned on full blast. Wiping his forehead with a tissue Ellis noticed a blister on his hand. He checked his other hand and his arms to his shock there were blisters there too. There must have been a tear in one of the gloves. Quickly he dialled a number on his mobile.
*
Frank Clark’s hand trembled while holding his Havana. He had strolled along the beach of Ocho Rios Jamaica for a great part of the morning. The rolling waves and the smell of seaweed had done him good. With his lungs filled with healthy sea air, he’d gradually ventured onto the weekly market which was on every Thursday. Market stalls holders sold melons, pineapples, tomatoes, chili peppers and many more delicious fruits and vegetables. At the sight of the fish mongers Frank turned around abruptly to avoid the disgusting smell. If there was anything Frank didn’t appreciate, it was fish.
After his visit to the town market he needed some well deserved civilization. Sitting in the bathtub, he slowly relaxed. He’d walked too far again; his muscles were aching like hell.
Disturbed by a phone call, Clark barked through the receiver, “How could this happen? I want you to do whatever it takes to make things right.”
Armed with a crow bar and petrol can a man dressed in black entered Ellis’s house. He was wearing a King Kong mask. His task was simple, eliminate Ellis and get the hell out of there with the specimen. He’d barely entered the kitchen when two other men stormed through the door.
“Put the can down!” A man with a Dracula mask shouted.
“Ha,” King Kong sniggered. “What are you gonna do? He produced a lighter, and clicking it on the flame flickered dangerously close to the petrol can.
“You’ll kill us all,” the third man with a Tigger mask said.
“Not if you piss off and let me do my job!” Kong exclaimed. In the meantime Dracula approached him.
“Don’t come any nearer!” Kong waved the lighter in front of the man’s face. “One more step and….” A black boot kicked the lighter out of his hand, flying through the air it landed somewhere on the floor, the flame still burned. Quick witted Kong tried to unscrew the petrol can, but before he could another blow hit him. This time it was a fist from Tigger that hit his face. The stumbling ape managed to hold on to the can. Again he attempted to unscrew the top. Then a black boot bashed into his stomach. He doubled up and let go of the can. Slowly the petrol spilt out of the container.
“You fool!” Kong yelled. “Look what you’ve done.” Putting his hand in his pocket he brought out another lighter and showed Dracula and Tigger. “Just in case!”
Both men charged him at the same time, King Kong flicked the lighter and threw it on the floor, flames flared throughout the room. Dracula and Tigger tried to stop the blaze by tramping on the flames, but it was in vain.
Kong dashed further into the house in search for Ellis.
“It’s no use,” Dracula shouted. Hurrying after Kong they found him with Ellis. The man lay unconscious on the floor, Kong was busy searching through his pockets.
“One wrong move and I slice your throat!” Feeling a knife pushing against his jugular vein, King Kong froze.
“Now get up very slowly.”
Meanwhile the flames licked their way through the house, the sparks ventured dangerously close to the fighting men.
“Take off your shoes and kick them over to him,” Tigger was pushing the knife against Kong.
“Hurry up,” he pushed the knife into the ape’s neck drawing blood. A red line trickled along his neck.
Kong touched his neck after he’d thrown the shoes toward Dracula, seeing the blood he yelled,” I’ll get you for this!”
The flames were now surrounding the men and with the room full of smoke the large man slashed the ape’s throat, leaving him in a pool of blood, the men hurried towards Ellis. Helping each other the large man slung the unconscious body over his shoulder.
Edgar Ellis never heard anyone entering his house. Neither did he hear the footsteps in the rooms. He did not hear the splashing sound of petrol being splashed all over the place. Not aware of anything, he saw colours, beautiful bright colours. They blend in with each other as the world around him was spinning. In an old-fashioned carousel he rode one of the horses like children do. He bent over to smell its mane, funny, but it appeared to have a sweet odour. He buried his head deeper into the mane of the horse, forgetting everything around him. Then he let go of the reins, spreading both of his arms wide and flung his head back. Through an array of colours he flew with a steady speed into a brightly lit tunnel; while the flames worked their way through the house.
Fire truck sirens echoed through the night, their blue and red flashing lights gave the air a lilac tint. The driver of the truck progressed through the heavy city traffic with great difficulty. At one intersection, he almost crashed into an oncoming car. The truck swerved with great skill around the car. The sky turned silver and the last rays of the sun reflected against the windows of the buildings. By the time they arrived, the fire had already destroyed most of Ellis’s house.
The two men carried a heavy oblong package. They moved under the cover of darkness convinced nobody noticed them. They put their load with great care into the back of silver Fort Transit. There was no need to wear their masks any longer. Dracula and Tigger were two men in their thirties. Slowly, they drove through the city’s rush hour. When they arrived at an intersection the van turned South East in the direction of Las Vegas. Once on the highway the men had little eye for the scenery. They were driving more than two hours through San Bernardino County before they approached Barstow.
“Is this where the marine base is?” The passenger asked the driver.
“The Logistic Corps is four miles east of the city and I’m going to avoid it like the plague,” The driver answered.
“So, this means we’re going through Barstow then?”
“I don’t think so, we’re taking the scenic route,” the driver smiled A few hundred yards further he turned onto a side road. Proceeding, the terrain changed, trees gave way to sand and gravel basins on the horizon. Yucca, Creosote and Bladder sage were scattered scarcely in the otherwise barren landscape.
Three hours into their journey, the road developed into a track which repeatedly forced one of them to get out of the van to remove an obstacle. At nightfall, the men pulled over at an old wooden house. A black Mercedes stood as a quiet witness in the sweltering night. With only the light of the moon and stars, the men took the package out of the Transit and carried it into the house.
Inside the house, the owner of the Mercedes greeted the men. She wore her auburn hair loose over her shoulders. Her brown eyes fixed on the package; the woman opened a door to a dimly lit room. Once the men put their heavy load down, the woman pulled the zip of the package.