The Demon Pool (11 page)

Kevin Williams is a freak.

Jim considered the thought as he cruised east
toward I-75, passing the strip malls, cheap motels, and tourist traps lining
the roadway leading out of Ft. Myers. Something about Williams disturbed him.
It had nagged at him all afternoon Friday and now, on Saturday, it still
bothered him. Something about that little creep isn’t right.

It would not surprise him if someday they
discovered Williams had been a serial killer who scattered his victims around
South Florida as the wind scattered the remnants of an August thunderstorm.

Jim had taken the entire video server Williams
had given him at the traffic management center to the closest Pack and Mail
store. Jim had it carefully packed up, sealed with security tape, and shipped
to the state’s computer forensics lab. If they could not recover the video from
last Wednesday night, then Jim would request that they ship the server to the
FBI. Hell, if he had to, Jim would fight to have the server sent to NASA or the
NSA.

Some lunatic out there had demonstrated a
willingness to put innocent lives at risk, using a speeding car as a murder
weapon, probably for the simple thrill of going fast. He would not let that
lunatic get away with it.
Hell, no, Bucko. Not on my watch and not on my
highway.

The Saturday after Labor Day weekend had
blossomed into a beautiful day. Jim had taken the extra Saturday shift as a
favor to Trooper Carl Johns. The Army had ordered Carl’s reserve unit back to
the Middle East and he wanted some extra time off with his family before
deploying again. Jim and Carl had attended the FHP academy together, and
although Jim ragged on Carl about being a dogface Army National Guard soldier,
Jim liked Carl and could not turn him down. Especially since he did not have to
have Linda’s permission anymore to help a friend.

The crackling police radio shattered Jim’s hope
for a quiet, post-holiday shift. He reached for the handset, hoping that the
call would be something simple, like a motorist reporting a breakdown, or maybe
a large chunk of tractor-trailer tire on one of the interstate travel lanes.

Jim answered the call. Dispatch reported a motor
vehicle accident with injuries two miles south of Ft. Myers.
So much for a
quiet shift.

He hit his lights and siren. To his left, a woman
stepped out of a store in a shabby little strip mall that sold some kind of
occult crap. As he passed the store, he glimpsed the tail end of a red,
high-dollar sports car parked next to a piece-of-crap hippy van. An oncoming
minivan, slowing down and pulling over to get out of the way, interrupted his
view. His attention went back to the road in front of the Charger as he
accelerated toward the freeway.

***

Kat stepped outside into what had to be the world’s
largest sauna. She released the door but it didn’t close and Kevin popped out
behind her. He reached for Kat and grabbed her arm, stopping her momentarily.
She pulled away, but Williams held on tight. A Florida Highway Patrol Charger
raced past.

“What?” she asked, her voice harsh.

“There,” Williams hissed, pointing toward the
accelerating Charger as it raced past a minivan. “That one, there. I know that
cop. He’s looking for you. You and your red car.”

The Charger sped away toward the interstate.

“Maybe he was too busy to notice,” Kevin said.
“Maybe he didn’t see us.”

Despite his diminutive size, Williams’ grip was
strong. Nevertheless, Kat was stronger and she reached over and pried her arm
loose. The custom choppers had left. Only the Viper, partially shielded by
Williams’ van, and the van itself, remained in the parking lot.

“I told you I could help you,” Kevin said.
Reverence shined from the eyes of the pathetic, little freak standing beside
her.

Kat stared down the highway. How many red sports
cars were there in South Florida — dozens, hundreds? But it would be stupid to
get overconfident without knowing more.

“Maybe he saw us, maybe he didn’t,” Kat told him,
as the red and blue lights got smaller and smaller.

“Maybe he didn’t.” She repeated, speaking as much
to herself as to Kevin. “But we need to assume that he did.”

Robert Teal pressed his right eye against the eyecup of
the security sensor. He placed his right index finger on the fingerprint pad
next to the heavy security door leading to the Infinity project labs. The
sensors identified Robert’s iris and fingerprints and verified Robert’s body
temperature, a combination that ensured the heavy vault door would be impenetrable
to unauthorized entry.

The door lock released with a heavy clunk and
Robert entered the administrative office for the lab. Kat Connors sat at her
terminal in the control room just beyond the office. She had her back to the
door, monitoring the myriad of instruments tracking the status of the life
support systems for the fetal farm.

The fetal farm had been Robert Teal’s brainchild,
his baby, so to speak. Two dozen artificial wombs held the first batch of
genetically superior fetuses that could be harvested for stem cells and organs.
In the future, once grown into fully developed human beings, they might even be
the recipients of another person’s brain. Immortality would no longer be the
sole purview of science fiction writers and religious charlatans.

Yet, in spite of everything that had gone right
on this project, Robert Teal had a problem. Two problems actually. Briggs’
death had created two dilemmas for Robert — the first, how to continue
funneling the money into the Infinity project without arousing the suspicion of
government regulators, religious busybodies, and dumbass corporate types. While
Robert’s brilliance in the lab was undeniable, Briggs had been the political
and financial genius behind AGT. Fetal farming for stem cells, currently the heart
of AGT’s secret process, was a concept that most Bible-belt politicians and
their constituents simply would not accept.

Robert’s second dilemma was almost as interesting
and challenging: how to get Kat Connors into bed. She had taken a week’s
vacation the same week that Briggs had been killed. Now, back at work, she
seemed more amenable to his advances.
And to think, I almost got her fired
by telling Briggs about her little side job.

Everything had changed so quickly, and,
potentially, so wonderfully. The Highway Patrol had informed him that Briggs
may have died while racing someone on the freeway. Somehow, that did not
surprise him. Briggs had a penchant for taking chances that other people
thought were foolish. Yet, that risk taking had made Briggs a very wealthy man.
Sadly, for Briggs, it apparently had also made him a very dead one.

On the plus side, Briggs’ death had unexpectedly
made Robert the most important person at AGT. Neither the vice president of
operations nor the vice president of finance had a clue as to the true extent
of Robert’s research. New money had flooded the research budget from several
foundations and from federal stimulus funding for stem cell research. His
research would soon see tens of millions more from new State of Florida bonds —
if nothing got in the way.

He glanced at Kat. Brigg’s death seemed to have
changed his relationship with her as well. She had started as a lab technician
in the stem cell research section. Robert personally brought her into the
Infinity project, attracted by both her looks and her ruthless efficiency.
Unfortunately, she had been just as ruthless in refusing his advances. She
reminded him of a strip club version of La Femme Nikita. He walked into the
control room, stood behind her, and rubbed her shoulders.

“Are we still on for tonight?” He felt her
shoulders rise up in a slow shrug, and he took that as a signal to continue the
massage.

“The sensors in Bay 3 keep going offline,” she
said.

Robert leaned in closer. Keeping his left hand on
her shoulder, he took control of the workstation’s mouse and clicked on
telemetry icon for Bay 3. A number of digital readings and meters appeared on
the screen. Everything looked normal.

“Probably a loose sensor connection. I doubt it’s
anything serious,” he replied. Robert let go of the mouse and picked up a book
lying next to the mouse pad —
Principles of Gene Manipulation and Genomics, 7
^th
edition
. He opened the book where a bookmark had been inserted and read the
chapter title, “Applications of Gene Manipulation and Genomics.”

“A little light reading?” he asked.

“What we are doing here could change the world,
Robert. You know that better than anyone. I want to understand everything about
it.”

He smiled at the perceived complement. Her voice
had lost its coldness. Robert leaned to the right, improving his view of Kat.
Her hair was dark with auburn highlights. A week ago, it had been blond. An
intoxicating mixture of expensive hair products and even more expensive perfume
snuck into Robert’s nostrils. Her smell alone made his heart race.

“If you are really interested, I could show you
some of my research papers sometime,” he said.

“Where are we going tonight? Some place nice,
right?” She shrugged again, more slowly this time, prompting him to put the
book down and restart the massage. “You’re going to be a very important man,
Robert. It’s time to get used to having the best.”

His fingers worked their way from her shoulders to
her neck and back. Her abrupt change in attitude toward his advances surprised
him. When he first brought her into the Infinity project, her rejections had
been as coldly efficient as her work. Briggs’ death seemed to have changed the
rules of their little game. Unlike the rigid, unbending rules of chess — which
he liked — life’s rules had a nasty habit of changing in the middle of the
frickin’ game. Normally, he hated that. Consistency and reliability. Those were
the qualities that Robert valued.
Who knows, maybe this time, change will
bring something good.

***

Robert was not the most repulsive man Kat had ever had
to deal with, but he was certainly in the top ten. The digital meters and
readings remained steady as Robert continued the massage. Kat had decided to
think of Robert as a tool, a brilliant computing machine covered with lumpy,
unattractive flesh. Something to use, and when appropriate, discard.

In the past, being this close to Robert would have creeped
her out. Hell, he was even less attractive than Bruce, and had nowhere near the
money. At least not yet. Nevertheless, now that Briggs was gone, Kat let him
into her space, let him touch her. For some reason, she even found herself
deeply interested in his research. She turned her head toward him. Her eyes
drilled into his and his hands froze on her shoulders. His face went blank.
Captured.

***

Baalzaric watched Kat exercise her power over Robert.
It pleased him. He knew that Kat would get Robert to do whatever she asked.
Every night since the pool, except for the short trip to Naples, Kat had burned
candles and chanted. She also began reading the book on Luciferian witchcraft,
along with the books on genetics, both full of dense and esoteric writing.

She had barely scratched the surface of
witchcraft, yet her ability to influence people seemed to grow tenfold in just
days. With only her eyes, she had just hypnotized Robert and he did not even
know it. The true source of her power remained hidden. Baalzaric would keep it
that way as long as it served his purposes.

Not only had Kat’s power to influence and control
others grown, she had also experienced an expansion of her intellect. It had
been little more than a week since the crash that killed Briggs, and Kat had
been able to absorb several years’ worth of highly advanced genetic knowledge.

Two areas interested Baalzaric — the potential
for extreme longevity and the prospect of human cloning. The humans at AGT were
on the verge of undoing God’s little trick of limiting their life spans. A
trick God put into effect after the Great Rain. To Baalzaric, it looked like
God had underestimated the ability of the created to exceed the knowledge and
wisdom of their supposed creator.

While a return to the long lifespans that humans
enjoyed before the Great Rain was an exciting prospect for Baalzaric, the
science of cloning had far greater implications for the demonic world as a
whole. Since humankind had not yet reached a state where demons were able to
hijack a human at will, humans had to be open to possession — involved either
in the occult, or in some other so-called new age pursuit that exposed them to
demonic cohabitation. Baalzaric pondered the possibilities.

What if cloned humans were bereft of souls? What
if avoiding the normal conception process could create spiritually empty, but
physically functional, husks?

What if it were possible to produce thousands, or
tens of thousands, or thousands of thousands, of cloned, soulless human beings?
Empty houses waiting for their demonic occupants. Moreover, what if those human
bodies lived for hundreds or thousands of years? The entire earth would once
again become a demonic playground. Baalzaric was pleased. For the first time in
several millennia, he felt close to fulfilling his eternal destiny.

***

Some unknown force pulled Robert downward until his
mouth bumped against a small, soft cushion. He closed his eyes as his lips were
forced apart. Some living entity teased, probed, invaded, and finally occupied
his mouth. It did not stop there. It pushed its way past his teeth, past his
tongue, up through his sinuses. It did not stop there, either. It continued to
slide upward until it wrapped itself around his brain. As the thing pushed in
and around the soft, cerebral tissue, pressure inside his cranium built to an
excruciating level.

Pictures and memories flashed through his mind.
Every pain, every pleasure, every secret thought and deed twisted together into
a psychic kaleidoscope of images, thoughts, and feelings. The thing inside his
head continued to push and probe. It penetrated his brain’s pleasure center
triggering wave after wave of erotic bliss. His body and spirit seemed to melt
away. Thinking became impossible as his soul poured out onto a black altar of
divine madness.

When Robert’s eyes reopened, he stared at
something he did not understand. Eyes within eyes. It had to be an illusion. A
drop of cold sweat slid down his spine. Pulsing drums beat against the sides of
his head. Robert blinked, stood straight, rubbed his eyes and then his temples.

“You okay, Robert?” Kat asked, her voice soft.

Kat stood and slid her fingers beneath Robert’s
fingers. She gently rubbed his temples and the pounding subsided. Robert closed
his eyes and opened them again. He looked at Kat. No eyes within eyes. Kat
continued her gentle massage.

“I don’t know what happened,” he replied.

He licked his lips. Kat wore lipstick, but Robert
did not taste it. He was sure that she had started kissing him, but then
something had gone wrong.
Maybe a mild stroke?
No, damn it. I’m too
young to have a stroke. God, what just happened?

More cold sweat rolled down his back. Kat’s
fingers slid away from his temples.

“Maybe you should sit down for a minute.”

Kat moved around beside her chair and Robert took
her seat.

He watched the Bay 3 sensors for a moment and
waited for his pulse to return to normal. Kat rubbed his shoulders.
God, she
has strong hands.

They expertly pushed every bit of stress and
tension away.
He relaxed and his mind drifted back to what had happened.
Did she do something to me? If she did do something to me, how the hell
would I know?

Robert shivered. A sense of dread encircled him,
but Kat’s scent and the feeling of her hands on his body incited a stronger
sensation. Fear and lust battled briefly. As Kat’s fingers worked their magic
on Robert’s shoulders, lust won.