Killer Thrillers Box Set: 3 Techno-Thriller, Action/Adventure Science Fiction Thrillers (83 page)

13

THE COMPUTER IN FRONT OF her chirped, signaling a new email. Amid stacks of books, unfiled papers, and other detritus from weeks of research, the desktop computer was almost hidden from view. Dr. Diana Torres shuffled some of the papers around and found the computer mouse, shaking the screen awake from its screensaver, the never-ending flowing ribbons of color that had come preinstalled on the computer when she first started working here.

Dr. Torres’ job had only recently become official after months of contracting for the research firm. She enjoyed the work, mainly because she didn’t have to put up with any bureaucracy or any of the usual corporate nonsense that had driven her from her previous jobs. The research firm had been established over forty years ago and had constantly been in a stage of growth. Still, Dr. Torres had been a “key hire,” and was expected to take the firm to new levels in biological molecular research.

She navigated across the desktop and clicked on her email program — the only application that was constantly running on the machine. Never much of a computer person, Dr. Torres often called in her research assistant to finalize and prepare her reports electronically. He chided her for the irony of it — a woman whose career was spent creating computer models of molecules and microscopic organisms was afraid of computers. She never let it bother her; it was all in good fun. And regardless of her methods, unorthodox or not, the research firm knew she was one of the best in the business at what she did.

Dr. Torres double-clicked the email — no subject line —
 
and began reading the body of the text. The email was short and to the point; just a request for help on a particular project. She brushed aside an old Wendy’s burger wrapper and a half-empty Diet Coke that was lying in front of her keyboard. She rolled her chair closer to the desk and clicked on the “reply” button. As her fingers hit the keys to type a standardized answer to the request, she caught a glimpse of the sender’s email address.

She blinked, doing a double-take, and read the email address again. She lifted her hands from the keyboard to think through her response. Dr. Torres reached over to the Diet Coke and brought it to her lips. She took a long, slow sip of the completely flat soda and read the email one more time.

> I need your help on this one. Sending sample soon. Came from Yellowstone explosion. Please rush, will call soon.

> Ben

Ben?
she thought. She hadn’t heard from him in over ten years, but she knew he’d become a park ranger and had little to no access to the outside world most of the time. Still, she was stunned.

She removed her cell phone — a flip phone relic that she had used for years — from her pocket and began browsing through the contacts. Coming to his name, she hesitated over the dial button. She’d never actually used this number. She stared down at the phone for another few seconds and then slammed it shut.

Not now,
she thought.
Not yet.

Thoughts raced through her mind.
Where was he? What was he doing? Why did he need her help, of all people?

She sat in the chair for another few minutes, silent and thinking. She didn’t move until her assistant came in.

“Dr. Torres?” The young man’s voice snapped her back to attention. She turned, trying to wipe the surprised expression from her eyes. She failed.

“Dr. Torres — are you okay?”

“I — I’m all right,” she said in return. “Just got another request. Something… I didn’t expect, but we’ll get going on it pretty soon.”

“Sounds good. I can prepare equipment and send word down to Vanessa that some samples will be arriving. Do you have a date?”

At first, Dr. Torres didn’t know how to respond. She stood up from her chair and walked toward the young man at the doorway. “Not sure, Charlie. Let’s get everything set up now just to be ready. It’s just going to be me and you on this one, understand?”

Charlie Furmann nodded without hesitation. The bulk of the company’s projects were government funded, but the employed scientists were free — encouraged, even — to pursue personal interests and research projects when time permitted. Some of these projects, Charlie knew, weren’t exactly public knowledge.

“I’ll get everything set up this afternoon. I’ll have Vanessa bring the package up personally when it arrives and leave it outside my office. The lab is open tomorrow night from about 8:30 until the next morning — shall I get it booked?”

“Yes, please. Thank you. I’m going to finish up in here and head home. Don’t worry about cleaning anything up; I’ll be back in bright and early.”

Charlie didn’t say anything else. He left the room, closing the door behind him. Dr. Torres turned back to her computer and sat down in the chair. The screensaver had already resumed, and she wiggled the mouse to wake it up.

She stared at the screen for another minute, reading the email over and over again.

14

NORTHWEST TERRITORY, CANADA, ONE YEAR Ago

It’ll be any minute now,
Gareth Winslow thought. He’d called in, just the way he’d been instructed, over three hours ago, just after he’d finished reading out loud the small journal they’d found. Dr. Fischer was ecstatic, mostly because their findings would verify and support his tenure.
 

He couldn’t believe it himself, really. Some weird powdery substance that killed people? It was pretty exciting. But what was it?
Gareth knew that was the ultimate question, but there was no way Dr. Fischer was letting any of them near the cave and the rest of the unopened baskets. It was way too risky, and besides, they didn’t have the equipment to start a field analysis of whatever might be inside.
 

Still, Gareth knew everyone was curious. Beyond curious, actually. Dinner was campfire-cooked foil packets filled with vegetables, and the conversation surrounding the bonfire in the middle of camp related to two topics: What was the powdery substance made out of and who put it there?

Theories were that it was the dried remains of some mysterious plant that the native tribes in the area held as sacred, or at least viewed as medicinal. Either that or it was some extravagant conspiracy against the Russians from a Romanov-era traitor or enemy. Even Dr. Fischer, clearly playing along, threw in a far-fetched story of alien invaders using a cosmic element to start their takeover of the human race.
 

Gareth listened intently, as curious as everyone else, but he didn’t contribute to the building exuberance of the conspiracy theorists. He wasn’t sure what was in the baskets, but he knew it didn’t matter.
 

Only a matter of time,
he told himself again.
They should be here by now.
 

As if on cue, his ears picked up the faint beating of helicopter rotors. It was low pitched and vibrated gently, seeming to emanate from within his body rather than from a machine flying in from miles away. As it grew in volume, a few other students picked up on it.
 

“Hey, shut up for a sec — you guys hear that?” one of the students asked. Everyone went silent, and only the crackling of the fire in front of them could be heard.
 

Another few seconds passed, and another student heard the noise. “Is that a helicopter? Out here?”
 

Dr. Fischer was frowning —
he probably couldn’t hear it yet
, Gareth thought — but he was focusing intensely on the surrounding forest.
 

Suddenly, Dr. Fischer’s eyes opened wider and Gareth stood, acting out his role. “It definitely is. Weird; I wonder where they’re headed?”
 

Gareth stood up from the rock he was using as a makeshift seat and excused himself from the group. He walked to one of the trucks in their three car caravan and opened the passenger-side door. He reached below the seat, squeezing his arm into the gap between the truck’s floor and the bottom of the chair, and felt around.
 

He found his prize and slowly withdrew his hand. The dome lights in the truck illuminated the small device, and Gareth took a look at it.
 

It was black and silver, plastic with some metal components. A small rubber antenna extended from one side of the rectangular box, directly above a tiny button. He pushed the button, held it, and waited for a faint LED light to flash red once.
 

Done
. It was amazing what technology could do. The tiny GPS tracking device was now activated, and the inbound helicopter would stop tracking the archeology team’s
expected
location within a grid of longitudinal coordinates and begin tracking their
actual
location. Their general coordinates had been posted on the university’s internal boards months ago, but even Dr. Fischer was unsure where exactly their hunt for the Russian team would take them.
 

For that reason, the Company needed someone on the ground.
 

Gareth Winslow was brought on the team to provide IT and administrative support — a part of archeology that hadn’t existed a few years prior, when much of the data collected was shipped off and documented elsewhere. Using his interest in archeology and his undergraduate degrees in Computer Science and Technology Systems, he had assisted in building a suite of software tools that were helpful to archeologists, geologists, and geographers.
 

And since he was the one who had written the program, he was the perfect grad student to operate it. The recruitment interview with Dr. Fischer was short and sweet — they shook hands, Dr. Fischer asked if he was interested in helping out, and Gareth was in.
 

It was only after they’d started planning the trip that Gareth was approached by the Company. A shady guy in a black suit showed up at his apartment one day, knocked on his door, and gave him a check.
 

It was a larger paycheck than any Gareth had seen his name on before, and he hadn’t done anything to earn it.
 

“There’s another one just like it after your trip,” the man said.
 

“For what?” He knew that everyone had their price, but he wasn’t about to kill someone.
 

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing illegal. The Company deals in information, and we’ve set up similar deals with plenty of other digs and research projects around the world.”
 

“And what company is that?” Gareth asked.
 

“I told you — the Company.” Gareth nodded once, still consumed by the amount of money on the check. He interpreted the answer to mean he wasn’t supposed to ask about it again.

“Okay, that’s fine. I can live with a mysterious benefactor. But why not just go to the university? Or the expedition lead, Dr. Fischer?”
 

“We can’t have a legal battle if there’s anything of value found. You understand that. Plus, we need the expedition to run as smoothly as possible, without any hiccups along the way. Follow?”
 

“I do. You don’t want anyone jealous that I’m making this kind of money on some low-profile dig.”
 

The man nodded. “Good. You understand. As I said, the Company is prepared to write another check in this amount if you successfully report any findings during your excursion.” He made sure Gareth was looking at him as he finished. “You have a few days before you depart. I would suggest cashing the check so you know we’re not messing around, and then you’ll be given instructions.”
 

Gareth’s hand had been shaking the entire conversation, but as the man finished speaking, he suddenly found a boost of confidence. “You got it. I’m in.”
 

That was over a week ago, and Gareth was still riding the high of knowing what would be in his bank account one week from now. He thought through the list of instructions he’d been given after he cashed the check, to make sure he wouldn’t mess anything up.
 

It was a short list:
 

1. Participate in the expedition and do nothing to raise suspicion.
 

2. If any profitable or seemingly conspicuous items are found, email details to the address below.

The rest of the letter was a simple liability waiver, “
that by accepting and depositing the check the Company was hereby removed from any liability
yada yada…”

He’d sent the email after reading the journal for Dr. Fischer, using his laptop and satellite connection. Gareth mentioned briefly that they’d found “some sort of powdery substance that supposedly led to the demise of the entire Russian expedition…”
and “we believe there to be more of the substance available in a nearby cave…” He sent it, and almost immediately there was a response. It was simple:
 

“We are converging on your general location. As the included battery will not hold much power, use the device only when you believe we are close to help us find your exact position.”
 

Wow,
Gareth thought.
These guys are on the ball.

Now, as the helicopter’s rotor wash grew, he knew they’d be on them in minutes.
Do I need to do anything to prepare?

He placed the tracking device back under the seat of the truck and slammed the door. As he turned back to the campfire, he noticed the students and Dr. Fischer standing and looking around the sky, trying to figure out where the helicopter was coming from.
 

“There it is!” the Korean guy yelled out. Gareth hadn’t bothered to learn any of their names — he knew they’d go home empty-handed, so there was no reason to become part of the team.
 

They all looked to where he was pointing. Southwest, hanging low over the tree line. If it weren’t for the slowly receding hill they were on, they wouldn’t have been able to see the bird at all.
 

Gareth examined the growing shape in the dusky sky. It looked dark, almost black, but that could be due to the lack of light at this time of day. It seemed to be sleek, too, not like the commercial helicopters he’d seen flying around cities. It was flatter, more military-looking.