Hail Mary (21 page)

So much is rubbish, and yet hidden within it all is the truth. Or, at least a version of the
eternal
truth.

But I digress, again. Just know that I am supremely confident of this: everyone’s burning questions will be answered by the end of my story…the first installment of what remains of my earthly quest.

So, back to this place called Al-haroun. While there are many places in the world that suffer from a host of calamities, only a few originate from a small epicenter within a few square miles. And not every one of these places contains what I need. However, since at first glance it is impossible to know for sure, I must research them all.

As a town, Al-haroun is no stranger to the wrath of God, or if you will, the unfortunate reputation as a cursed place. That night, I viewed article after article, along with an endless stream of film images to support the stories—literally, an endless succession of earthquakes, floods, famines, wars, and plague. Even a rare tornado struck the town in 1942 that destroyed nine homes and killed three people. Not exactly catastrophic weather, unless you consider the fact this is Iran we’re talking about and not Topeka, Kansas.

But all in all, if one considers the previous millennium’s host of travesties visited upon this small area, I have to consider the likely source: a single coin. Buried somewhere, and likely hidden from the light of day for centuries. Meanwhile, hundreds, if not thousands of lives have been ruined—either killed, homeless, or both. The last article I looked at talked about a rare blizzard from thirty years ago. That event took place in May, when things begin to heat up near the Alborz Mountains. More than three feet of snow fell upon the town, and the temperatures plummeted deeply enough to destroy livestock and crops.

The people believe they’re cursed, that somehow they’ve offended Allah. If only they knew that something there—likely buried beneath the soil—was indeed offensive to God, they might burn everything to the ground and leave. Forever.

My gut instinct was telling me a single silver shekel was responsible. One that bears Caesar’s notorious beak of a nose on one side and a proud eagle upon the back. Just like twenty-nine others I once accepted as payment for my evil deed. A moment of folly, and to think it could’ve been forty pieces of silver if Caiaphas hadn’t tried to cheat me by offering half-shekels instead.

Anyway, I was certain my assumption was one hundred percent correct. As I studied the latest stories and pictures on the screen, my left hand began to tremble. This familiar sensation always confirms the truth of what my intuitions tell me.

Silver ‘blood-coin’ number twenty-two is within reach.

Satisfied, I turned off the viewer. I then returned the older film to the correct cabinets and the newer CDs and flash drives to their file drawers.

It was time to request some vacation days, and make arrangements for a little trip overseas.

To order
Plague of Coins
, or for more information, please click here:
Kindle
or
Nook

Visit Aiden at:

www.aidenjamesfiction.com

Chronic Fear

The Fear Series #2

by

Scott Nicholson

(read on for a sample)

Chapter One

“
Surely you didn’t think we could let you live, after what happened
.”

Dr. Alexis Morgan’s lungs froze in shock at the words. She didn’t recognize the male voice on the phone, and the caller ID had been blocked. She’d answered out of habit, because she’d become a reliable source not just for academic types, but among the pop-culture journalists as well. Answering the phone was the price of becoming the Carl Sagan of the mind’s vast cosmos.

Alexis made herself take a breath, glancing around her office in the University of North Carolina neurosciences department, seeking reassurance in the fat books lining the shelves, the research notes pinned to the bulletin board, and the cold eye of the computer screen.

Yes, everything was normal, or at least typically abnormal.

“
Who is this?” she finally managed to whisper.

The voice chuckled on the other end of the line. “You could call me a ‘watchdog,’ but that wouldn’t narrow it down much, would it?.”

“
If you’re threatening me, I’ll report you to the university police.”

“
That would be wonderful, Dr. Morgan. Then they’d open up that whole barrel of monkeys and my work would be done.”

“
I’m a neurobiologist, not a kindergarten teacher. I’m afraid you have the wrong—”

“
You didn’t like playing second banana, did you? You want it all to yourself.”

She should have thumbed the phone dead. But people tended to let things slip that revealed secrets they’d hidden even from themselves. No matter how carefully the psychological vault was built, it always had a crack. Maybe she could bait him out.

“
Is Burchfield behind this?”

“
We gave you a chance to forget,” the voice said. “But, no, you just had to keep digging.”

Because the neurosciences department dealt with sensitive information as well as private health records, the technical security was high. But the best hacks were employed by the people with the most power, and right now, Sen. Daniel Burchfield was in the running for the most powerful position on the planet.

“
Halcyon is dead,” Alexis said.

“
See, you didn’t forget,” the voice answered. “But you never wanted to forget, did you?”

She couldn’t really place the age of the caller. She flipped through a mental file as she might go through a series of brain scans, trying to summon a face, but she was pretty sure she’d never heard the voice before.

Of course, she could have heard it and had her mind wiped clean. One of the lasting effects of the Monkey House trials was that stretches of the past were garbled or blank, like a cassette tape with Coke spilled on it.

“
If you were just going to kill me, I’d be dead,” she said. “So I must have something you want.”

“
Maybe lots of somethings.”

“
And maybe you can save us both some time by telling me what it is.”

“
What fun would that be?”

“
You can tell your boss that Halcyon is buried, and so is the past.”

And a lot of people along with it.

After a pause, the caller continued. “We know you’ve been playing around in your lab. Here’s what you need to—”

Alexis killed the signal. That was the only thing she needed to do, make him shut up.

Her main research lab was three floors below. For some reason, even in its modern science buildings, UNC still confined much of its research to the basement. It was a tradition dating back to Memorial Hospital’s founding, when the dead were wheeled away in the middle of the night and kept out of view of the living patients. Mortality was bad for business.

Unless you were in the business of murder.

Alexis thought about calling Mark, but he always turned off his cell when he was at the shooting range, and he’d be wearing ear protection, anyway. Besides, she didn’t want to scare him until she knew what the caller wanted. Mark was scared enough already, considering what was happening inside his skull.

She hurried from the office to the elevator. She hit the button twice but the light was stuck on Floor Seven. That was the outpatient floor, the one on which Anita Molkesky had undergone intensive therapy for her bipolar disorder and suicidal ideations.

We were so close to getting away with it, Anita. But you know that there’s really only one escape.

Alexis gave up on the elevator and made for the stairs, jogging down the three flights with her heels clacking on the concrete. She passed an intern she recognized, mumbling an impersonal greeting. Only three people had keys to her lab, except for the master key held by housekeeping. But the cleaning staff was under orders not to enter any labs without direction, since most of the research was proprietary, classified, or potentially hazardous to human health.

She reached the basement, wondering whether the mysterious caller had been from a legitimate federal agency, a drug company, or that special class of mercenary operating slightly beyond the influence of either. Burchfield trolled in all three of those murky pools.

Alexis had projects going in three labs, but two of the labs were shared. The private one was a perk, containing functional MRI, PET and CT scanners for her neural research. The department head had granted it as an unspoken reward for her work on the president’s bioethics council. She’d resigned from the council three months before, citing personal reasons, although the council’s shift in focus from mind-changing drugs to synthetic biology had made her a bit of a dinosaur anyway.

But this was one dinosaur that didn’t plan on going extinct. Not until she’d saved her husband, the world, and possibly herself, in that order.

Her imaging lab was in the farthest corner of the basement floor, which was underground on three sides with a main entrance to the rear, a rectangular hallway connecting the labs. Although the hallway was brightly lit, she could feel the weight of the earth and the darkness that waited beyond the waterproof concrete walls. It was early evening and much of research section was empty, but a few doors were open. She didn’t glance in, lest someone call out to her in greeting.

She had a feeling she didn’t have much time.

She rounded the corner and saw two men outside the imaging lab. They were dressed like hospital interns in green scrubs, with cotton masks fitted over their mouths. The lab door was open.

“
Hey,” she called.

The two men glanced at her, then each other. The taller one bolted to the left, where the hallway led back to the main entrance. He carried a white canvas bag in one gloved hand, and its bulk and sagging weight made her think it held machinery or books.

Alexis started after him but the second man stepped forward, blocking her path. She was so enraged by the invasion she didn’t consider that he might be armed.

“
You’re not allowed access,” she shouted at the fleeing man, but he was already around the corner.

The remaining man spread his arms as if to tackle her if she tried to run past. Most of his body was covered, but his dark eyes and brown skin suggested someone of Indian or Middle Eastern descent. There was a large Indian and Pakistani population in the medical department, but she had a feeling this wasn’t an inside job.

“
I’ve called the police,” Alexis said, hoping she sounded more commanding than she felt.

“
We are the police,” the man said. She detected a Middle Eastern accent, but his voice was muffled enough that she couldn’t tell whether he was the same man who’d called. But maybe the caller had wanted to tip her off or send her into danger.

The sounds of conversation and shoes squeaking on hard tiles came from around the bend, in the direction opposite the one in which the man with the canvas bag had fled. Alexis considered calling out to the approaching people, but she didn’t want anyone else involved. Involvement meant complications, which would lead to questions.

And the man knew it. Because he stood his ground. She wondered if he was smiling behind the mask.

Alexis lowered her voice. “You have what you wanted. Now get out of here.”

“
I don’t think so, Dr. Morgan. Not even half of it.”

“
Are you going to start making threats again? Because I can’t take you seriously while you’re dressed as House.”

His black eyebrows lifted as if he’d never heard of the television show. The people around the corner were moving closer, and Alexis recognized one of the speakers as Franz Huber, a visiting neurobiologist from the Planck Institute in Heidelberg. Huber was typically Teutonic, blonde and broad-shouldered, and would have been just as suited for fur and a stone ax as a lab coat. If trouble erupted, she’d bet on him over the slim man who was blocking her way.

Assuming he wasn’t hiding a gun in his scrubs.

“
We’ll talk later, Dr. Morgan,” he said, pulling his mask up a little higher on his face. Huber and his companion, a female in a pants suit whom Alexis didn’t recognize, rounded the corner, and Huber hailed Alexis. The man in the scrubs walked away with a forced ease, as if he preferred to run but was holding back.

“
Dr. Morgan, you’re working late,” Huber said in his deep voice, barely glancing at the man in scrubs.

Elitism. I’d have reacted the same way. If that guy hadn’t been raiding my lab, I wouldn’t have given him a second look. Just another nurse handling specimens.

“
Hi, Franz,” Alexis said, straining a grin and hiding her impatience. They went through the formalities of introductions while Alexis kept glancing behind her into her lab to see if anything had been disturbed. It wasn’t until Alexis said her husband was waiting that the pair continued on their way.